sveceri use harvard college library the wisdom of the east series edited by l. cranmer-byng dr. s. a. kapadia the path of light wisdom of the east the path of light, rendered for the first time into english from the bodhi- charyĀvatĀra of ŚĀnti-deva, a manual of mahĀ-yĀna buddhism by l. d. barnett, m.a., litt. d. - - - london john murray, albemarle street, w. is p . mtafuard collection jul lierary, wales feed cle printed by hazell, watson and viney, ld., london and aylesbury, contents ohap. page introduction . . . . . . i. the praise of the thought of enlighten- ment . . . . . . . ii. the confession of sin . . . . iii. taking the thought of enlightenment . iv. heedfulness in the thought of en- lightenment. · · · · · lightenment v. watchfulness. . . vi. the perfect long-suffering . vii. the perfect strength . . viii. the perfect contemplation . ix. the perfect knowledge . . . . . . notes . appendix . . . . . . . . . . . . $ r . carvard college jul library wales deed printed by hazell, watson and viney, ld., london and aylesbury contents chap page oduction introduction . . . . . . i. the praise of the thought of enlighten- ment · · · · · · ii. the confession of sin . . . . iii. taking the thought of enlightenment. ment iv. heedfulness in the thought of en- lightenment · · · · · v. watchfulness. . . . . vi. the perfect long-suffering . . . vii. the perfect strength . . viii. the perfect contemplation . . ix. the perfect knowledge . . . g-suffering . . . . notes . appendix . . . . . . . . . . . editorial note m he object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west-the old world of thought and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper know- ledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. finally, in thanking press and public for the very cordial reception given to the “wisdom of the east ” series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects at hand. l. cranmer-byng. s. a. kapadia. northbrook society, piocadilly, w. the path of light introduction hen the religion formerly received is v rent by discords,” remarks bacon in his subtle essay on the “ vicissitudes of things," “and when the holiness of the professors of religion is decayed and full of scandal, and withal the times be stupid, ignorant, and barbarous, you may doubt the springing up of a new sect; if then also there should arise any extravagant and strange spirit to make himself author thereof. if a new sect have not two properties, fear it not, for it will not spread : the one is the supplanting, or the opposing of authority established-for nothing is more popular than that; the other is the giving licence to pleasures and a voluptuous life: for as for speculative heresies (such as were in ancient times the arians, and now the arminians), though they work mightily upon men’s wits, they do not produce any great altera- tion in states, except it be by the help of civil introduction occasions. there be three manners of planta- tions of new sects : by the power of signs and miracles; by the eloquence and wisdom of speech and persuasion; and by the sword. for martyr- doms, i reckon them amongst miracles, because they seem to exceed the strength of human nature; and i may do the like of superlative and admirable holiness of life.” so far as his range of knowledge extended, bacon's remarks are true. but when we attempt to apply them to the history of buddhism, we find that they need considerable qualification. buddhism arose in an age when “the holiness of the professors of religion,” the influence of the brahman hierarchy in india, was “decayed and full of scandal.” but the times, far from being “stupid, ignorant, and barbarous,” were full of eager intellectual and moral activity; on all sides ancient doctrines were being reaffirmed by their professors and assailed by critics, while new systems of thought were rising everywhere. the buddha himself was not an “extravagant and strange spirit,” but a man whose thought in essentials was thoroughly in harmony with the ideas of hinduism, and whose character fulfilled a hindu ideal. his church did indeed endeavour to supplant the authority of the brahmans ; but it sought to attain this end neither by " the giving licence to pleasures and a voluptuous life," nor by the sword. its marvellous success was due to life of gautama buddha "the eloquence and wisdom of speech and persuasion” and to “ the superlative and admir- able holiness of life ” of the buddha. about a hundred miles north from benares, on the border of nepal, where the plain of the ganges begins to rise to the uplands at the edge of the mighty himalayas, lies a little region which was once the home of the sākyas, a class of kshatriyas, or men of the warrior caste. to suddhodana of kapila-vastu, a nobleman of the gautama family of this tribe, was born about b.c. à son siddhārtha. when he grew up siddhārtha likewise married and begot a son, rāhula by name. and then, when he was about twenty-nine years of age, as tradition relates, siddhārtha became weary of the world and the flesh. the ghastly riddle of life-life with its endless vicissitudes of phantom pleasure and ever-renewed pain—was ceaselessly pressing itself upon him, as it has pressed itself upon so many thousands of other hindus, and he could find no rest in his father's home. so he left the world, to become a wandering beggar-student, in the hope of finding the key to the great mystery in the teachings of some master of philosophic lore. but none of the teachers whom he met could satisfy the hunger of his soul, and the severest mortifications of the flesh brought him no light. one day, as he sat meditating in the shadow of a fig-tree, his long searchings of heart came to members of “causal series” which means “ origination in a causal series." the members of this series are as follows: ignorance (sanskrit, avidyā; pali, avijjā). conformations (sanskrit, samskāras ; pali, sam- khārā). consciousness (sanskrit, vijnāna; pali, viññāna). name and form (sanskrit and pali, nāma-rūpa). six sense-organs (sanskrit, shad-āyatana; pali, salāyatana). contact (sanskrit, sparsa; pali, phassa). feeling (sanskrit and pali, vedanā). desire (sanskrit, trishņā; pali, tanhā). attraction (sanskrit and pali, upādāna). being (sanskrit and pali, bhava). birth (sanskrit and pali, jāti). age and death (sanskrit and pali, jarā-marana), grief, lamentation, pain, depression, and despair (sanskrit, soka-paridevana-duḥkha-daurmanasya- upayāsa). there are very few dogmas in the whole history of philosophy and religion that have been so copiously discussed and so differently interpreted as this. it seems to be an attempt to show how individual existences and consciousnesses arise in the cosmic process. according to buddhist teaching, there is no permanent “soul ” and there is no real “matter." there exists only an infinite number of series of consciousnesses either potentially or actively in operation, and each series consists of a succession of moments of introduction consciousness, each moment being the direct resultant of its predecessors. now the force which directs this process in each series is its karma, or “works,” the influence of former activities, mostly in previous births; it is by reason of its former karma that a train of consciousness at a particular moment begins to develop itself into an "indi- vidual," that is to say, a consciousness of being a particular person, human, divine, or animal. so we may interpret the buddha's formula as a vague expression for the manner in which the individual emerges from the ocean of cosmic being. first in order is “ignorance"; that is to say, when we analyse the operation of karma upon a train of moments of consciousness, we find that its primary effect is to cause ignorance, namely, the false belief held by this consciousness that it is a “self," an ego, and the other con- sequent delusions. this ignorance, in turn, issues in“conformations,” the potentialities of love, hatred, and the like weaknesses of the spirit, which are the resultants of activities in previous individuated existences, and inspire to future activities. then emerges consciousness of finite being in general, and from this issue “name and form," the conception of a definite world of particulars. this leads to the evolution of the sense-organs, and the union of these with the apparent world outside them produces sensation, which issues in desire. in its turn desire leads to “name” and “form” dese tina de less "attraction,” the attachment to individual life. so finite existence, bhava, is at last reached, and the developed consciousness passes through the stages of birth, disease, sorrow, and finally death. then the process begins anew under the guidance of the old karma, reinforced by that which has resulted from the process that has just come to an end. if this interpretation be right (and it must be confessed that several others are equally plausible), it is evident that the formula is by no means satisfactory on all points ; the causal connection between several of the members in the series in the pratītya-samutpāda is far from being clear, and can only be regarded as a dogma -post hoc, ergo propter hoc. an individual, according to buddhist teaching, does not really exist; but the semblance of an individual, the phenomenal personality, is a fact that cannot be denied, and must be explained. the buddhists explain it by saying that it is a combination of name and form. in “name" are included all the subjective phenomena of thought, namely, feeling, general notions, “con- formations,” and definite consciousness, which are called "aggregations” (in sanskrit, skandhas ; in pali, khandhas). “form," meaning the four elements of physical nature (earth, water, fire, and air) and their products, is a fifth khandha. as we have seen, the force that unites these five khandas into an apparent individual or person- introduction the iden kamma, iway, because identical mi ality is what is called in sanskrit karma, in pali kamma, the resultant of all his previous acts. “ when a man dies, the khandhas of which he is constituted perish, but by the force of his kamma a new set of khandhas instantly starts into exist- ence, and a new being appears in another world, who, though possessing different khandhas and a different form, is in reality identical with the man just passed away, because his kamma is the same. kamma, then, is the link that preserves the identity of a being through all the countless changes which it undergoes in its progress through samsára.” now the great purpose of buddhism, like that of most hindu faiths, is to enable the believer to reach the perfect spiritual peace of nirvāṇa, and thus come to an end of the cycle of embodied births. to attain this object he must destroy his kamma; and this can be done by walking in the “noble path,” which will infallibly lead him, either in his present birth or later, to final salvation. this is, in broad outline, the teaching of buddhism as it is understood by most buddhists in ceylon and further india. in theory it verges upon nihilistic idealism, for it regards all the data of finite experience as pure subjective phenomena corresponding to no objective reality, and created merely by the force of karma; there is no higher power than man's own will, and his karma to childers, pali dictionary, s.v. khandho, the buddhist creed orld. help him towards salvation. on the deepest mysteries of existence, the origin of karma and the condition of the spirit after it has passed away for ever from the cycle of births, buddhism has nothing to tell us. in practice it is a creed that fosters in its votaries in abundant measure both the homely virtues of laic life, and the higher spiritual aspirations of asceticism ; and its ideals are well expressed in one of its best known texts, the mangala-sutta of the sutta- nipāta : “following not the foolish, following the learned, reverence for the worshipful—this is the highest blessing." “dwelling in a meet land, merit from deeds done of old, due heed to one's own spirit--this is the highest blessing." " depth of learning, craftsmanship, gentle breeding well taught, words well spoken-this is the highest blessing." “service to father and mother, the company of wife and child, and peaceful pursuits--this is the highest blessing.”. “ almsgiving and righteousness, the company of kinsfolk, blameless works—this is the highest blessing." “withholding and withdrawing oneself from sin, abstinence from strong drink, heedfulness in doing duty--this is the highest blessing." “reverence and humility, cheerfulness and sele the hone mil ho of wiervice to blessing", words, zist rge ene iter ghe. escape from the karma + ides . theology. sometimes he seems to have inclined in his utterances to one side, sometimes to another ; but this was apparently for the sake of argument, and there seems to be much truth in the tradition which represents him as having forbidden his followers to speculate upon the deepest questions of life. even of nirvāṇa he refused to give any definition ; when the question was bluntly put by an inquiring monk, he was told that he would never know anything about it. it is even doubtful whether his denial of the self was an essential part of his doctrine, or whether it was only adopted for purposes of controversy. his great aim was practical. he sought to impart a remedy for the world's gorrow, to teach his fellow-creatures an escape from their karma and its fatal fruit of earthly birth. this remedy was the utter destruction of desire, even of the desire for salvation. it could be attained by the man or woman who renounced the world, entered into the monastic order, followed the “noble path," and in perfect calm and happiness of spirit waited until death should open the portals of the unknowable, everlasting stillness from which there is no return. karma and its resultant metempsychosis were to him facts of practical experience, and could be remedied by an empirical method, the suppression of desire under a practical law of conduct; as to their metaphysical basis he made no revelation. it unds - the older buddhism lagi + zdo ism. anck an birth after birth to higher and higher sanctity in the practice of the ten perfections until at last he is born as the buddha, preaches the law, and passes away into the everlasting stillness of nirvāṇa. a vast amount of buddhist literature consists of jätakas, or legends of the deeds in which the bodhi-sattvas proved their fitness for their high mission. it was around these points that the breach arose which split the church into the divisions which we commonly and somewhat inaccurately distinguish as northern and southern buddhism. the older buddhism that we have surveyed in outline did not give enough play for the elements of mysticism and emotion that have always been strong in the hindu spirit. its saints, the arhats, were regularly ordained members of monastic fraternities, who sought salvation for themselves and denied nirvāṇa to laymen; and though their deeds of charity and other righteous- ness were incontestable, it was argued that their merit was marred by this self-seeking. its theology was very sober, according to indian standards ; it tended towards intellectualism, and allowed little room for the large and highly coloured mythological imagination in which the the päramitās, or perfections, according to the chief northern schools, are almsgiving, morality, long-suffering, manliness, meditation, mystic insight (prajnā), resolution, strength, knowledge, and skill in choice of means (upāya). wel introduction hindu thought revels. now during the early centuries of buddhism the vishnuite church grew rapidly, and the spirit that inspired it was stirring likewise in buddhism. this force was what the hindus call bhakti, a passionate emotional wor- ship of a supreme god revealed on earth in human personality. many buddhists also longed to find a supreme god, to whom they could offer a wor- ship of the heart, and whose personality could satisfy their restless imaginations. thus arose upon the old foundations a new church, a vast and gorgeous edifice of soaring fancy tenanted by countless buddhas and bodhi-sattvas trans- figured into a magnificent brilliance of godhead and worshipped with a passionate fervour of self-surrendering love. the new church held out to all alike the dazzling hope of buddhahood. every man, however humble or sinful, might become a bodhi-sattva, a candidate for buddha- hood, and finally reach that blessed end, if he would but will it so and hold to his purpose. love for the holy buddhas and bodhi-sattvas of the past, the omnipotent and omnipresent hier- archy of heaven, and love for his fellow-creatures, manifested in perfect self-sacrifice for their needs, active compassion and charity, were the prime requisites for salvation. inspired by this vivid energy, the new buddhism speedily took posses- sion of northern india, tibet, central asia, and china. the new buddhism yol дан ч find / pop- cose rast ited ? ehicle ognise oposition he now to marathough buded itself ins- lead that this movement was antinomian and fraught with danger from the first, is obvious. its doctrine of love unfettered by considerations of social expediency and ordinary morality, and the wild luxuriance of its myth, were capable of working harm as well as good, and in practice have often lent themselves to the most dis- graceful abuse. but on this dark side of the picture we need not dwell here. it is enough that we should recognise that the mahā-yāna, the “great vehicle," as the new church proudly called itself, in opposition to the more primitive buddhism, which it scornfully styled hina-yāna, the “ little vehicle," laid especial stress upon the emotional side of religion and ethics, which had been somewhat neglected in the latter school, and that it thus gained a novel character and significance. in the doctrine of the older schools the buddha was a teacher whose enlightenment raised him above all the gods, but withal a man, who had passed away from the world for ever, and could no more wield any influence upon it, save as a holy and blessed memory. his nirvāṇa was the same as that of any other man who should attain it. he dispensed no divine power to bring his followers to salvation; only their own efforts in justice to some theologians, such as sānti-deva, it must be said that they endeavoured to correct this anti. nomianism ; but they hardly succeeded. no mo away insods, butenlightenhools the finfluence nirvāṇa wasittain introduction could win for them that goal. man's destiny is moulded by his own acts, his “ karma," and each individual's karma concerns him alone, and can- not be applied for the spiritual weal of another. lastly, as we have already remarked, salvation was confined to the monastic orders. the mahā-yāna changed almost everything. the buddha now appeared as a god of the first order, invested with all the qualities that the most extravagant mythopoic imagination could suggest. like the conception of christ in the docetic schools, he was imagined as existing throughout the whole of the cosmic period, in the “ body of enjoyment " visible to the beatified bodhi-sattvas, and the “ body of magic form” revealed to common mortals, and he was multi- plied to infinity. imagination created countless periods and countless domains, each under the presidency of a buddha ; and from the beginning of our era we observe that the historical gautama buddha, even in his most mythical disguise, begins to fall into the background, whilst other figures of purely mythical origin become the first favourites of popular fancy. the most con- spicuous of these is the buddha amitābha, “he of infinite light,” a being of supreme splendour and grace ; for now the buddhas have become active dispensers of grace, at any rate from the standpoint of relative truth. each buddha dwells in his paradise amidst a retinue of bodhi- the buddha amitĀbha bue dd sattvas ; of the latter the two highest in rank serve as the ministers of his grace, constantly visiting the worlds under his rule in the forms most suitable to their purpose, in order to show their love for suffering mortality by helping them in divers ways and leading them to paradise. the paradise of amitābha is sukhāvatī, “the happy place,” a fairyland which is tenanted by an entirely divine population dwelling in perfect bliss. amitābha's chief minister is avalokite- śvara, a bodhi-sattva who has taken a vow not to enter nirvāna until he has led thither all living creatures, and who for this supreme grace is worshipped throughout the north with a corre- sponding fervour of devotion. as a last develop- ment of this mythology, the buddhas are asso- ciated with tārās, or saviour-ladies, who under the form of sexual antithesis typify their consorts' energy of grace. the moral standpoint is likewise changed. the ideal is no longer the calm, ascetic monk, waiting in cheerful tranquillity for the end, but the bodhi-sattva, the self-appointed votary seek- ing eagerly to procure happiness for his fellow- creatures at any cost, even if he must surrender his own right to spiritual advancement as the price. for now is affirmed the principle of one of the most popular mahayanist texts is the suk- hävatī- vyūha, which is a detailed description of this fairy- land. ing eagerly to va, the self-appointer the end, but introduction pariņāmanā : the karma of an individual is no longer confined to his experience, but can be made to redound to the benefit of others. the righteous can, of their own free will, sacrifice the merit of their own good deeds for the happiness of their fellow-creatures. strictly speaking, as we shall see, the ideas of “self," " non-self," "happiness," and “suffering ” are illusions. they are real only from the standpoint of relative truth. but this condition of imperfect reality is inseparable from humanity ; it must be accepted and made the basis of a moral activity which by perfect self-sacrifice purifies the spirit from the taint of finite error. and so sānti-deva ends his bodhi- chayāvatāra with a chapter of prayer that the merit gained by him by his work may not only uplift him to the higher grades of beatification as a bodhi-sattva, but may be also diverted for the benefit of fellow-creatures. “through the blessing which comes to me for pondering upon the entrance into the path of enlightenment, may all beings be brightened by walking in enlightenment. may all that are sick of body and soul in every region find oceans of bliss and delight through my merits. whilst embodied life lasts on, may they never lack happiness, and for ever may the world win the joy of the sons of enlightenment. in all the hells that are in the spheres of the universe may creatures rejoice in the delights of paradise. may the path of enlightenment they that are afflicted with cold find warmth, the heat-smitten be cooled in the oceans raining from the mighty clouds of the son of enlighten- ment. . . . may all skies be gracious to all way- farers, and may they encompass as they purpose the enterprise for which they journey. may such as travel on ship achieve their desire, and come in happiness to shore and rejoice with their kindred. may they who stray amid wildernesses find company of travellers' troops, and journey on without dread of bandits and wild beasts. in the stress of sickness, wildernesses, and the like may the heavenly powers guard the slumber- ing, the distraught, and the heedless, the master- less, the young, and the aged. may they be for ever saved from all mischance, dowered with faith, understanding, and tenderness, and pos- sessed of goodly shape and virtue. may their storehouses never fail and their treasuries rise to the skies, and may they live in freedom, without strife or affliction. may beings of little strength win much strength, and the hapless creatures that are of ill form become goodly. may all women in the world become men; and to their estate may the humble come, and lose their vanity. through this my merit may all beings cease from every sin, and everlastingly do righteousness, lacking not the thought of enlightenment, surrendering themselves to the path of enlightenment, withholding their hands introduction from the works of the tempter, and be taken into the arms of the enlightened. may all creatures have boundless term of age; may they live for ever in bliss, and the very name of death perish. may all regions become filled with buddhas and sons of the buddhas,' and lovely with groves of the trees of desire ravishing the heart with the sound of the law. . . . as long as the heavens and the earth abide, may i continue to overcome the world's sorrows. may all the world's suffering be cast upon me, and may the world be made happy by all the merits of the bodhi-sattva.” in its metaphysics the mahā-yāna carried to a logical conclusion the nihilistic idealism that had begun to find expression in the older schools. its cardinal doctrine is that “all is void.” every- thing that is conceived or can be conceived by the mind is but a subjective imagination in constant flux, existing only in instants of the thought of the subject and by virtue of his karma. no permanent reality can be predicated of it, except that it is really « void.” “there are five skandhas,' and these he considered as by their nature empty. form is emptiness, and emptiness indeed is form. ... thus perception, name, conception, and knowledge also are emptiness. thus, o Śāriputra, all things have the character of emptiness, they have no beginning, no end, i bodhi-sattvas. ? see above, p. . of emo. sarand kaon; thus teaching of the mahĀ-yana they are faultless and not faultless, they are not imperfect and not perfect. therefore, o Śāri- putra, here in this emptiness there is no form, no perception, no name, no concept, no know- ledge. no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. no form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and objects. . . . . there is no knowledge, no ignorance, no destruction (of ignorance). ... there is no decay and death, no destruction of decay and death; there are not (the four truths, viz.) that there is pain, origin of pain, stoppage of pain, and the path to it. there is no knowledge, no obtaining, no not-obtaining, of nirvāṇa. therefore, o Śāriputra, as there is no obtaining (of nirvāņa), a man who has ap- proached the prajnā-pāramitā º of the bodhi- sattvas dwells (for a time) enveloped in conscious- ness. but when the envelopment of conscious- ness has been annihilated, then he becomes free of all fear, beyond the reach of change, enjoying final nirvāņa.” thus everything, even the most fundamental doctrines of buddhism and the existence of buddhas and bodhi-sattvas, is denied.. but the negation is not intended to be absolute. the vedantic metaphysicians could find no term to predicate of brahma, the absolute, transcen- see above, p. . see above, p. . from the larger prajnā pāramitā-hridaya-sūtra, trans- lated in sacred books of the east, vol. xlix. nahus everyt buddhishtvas, is ded to be introduction negalicate noond all prothey fel truth be dental reality, but “nay, nay !” and it is rather in this sense that we should interpret the negations of the mabā-yāna philosophers/ they predicate nothingness of everything but that which is beyond all predication, the inconceivable, transcendental all. they felt that this was a reality too vast for words, a truth before which the thought must be still. but yet they felt it as mysteriously revealing its existence in their moral consciousness, as a divine glory faintly reflected in the soul of man, and they called it the dharma-kāya, the “body of the law"; for in the stillness of this transcendental unity of joy and love and peace all spirits are one, and this is the law of the buddha. thus the buddhists, like the vedantis, were able to accept two spheres of reality. one was the absolute truth, the “ void"; the other was that of relative truth, in which they could rear their edifices of doctrine and myth. of the buddha and his law they could, in transcendental truth, say only “no!” as practical realities they affirmed them heartily. being and thought are one, in the opinion of these buddhist idealists ; in the objects of thought there dwells no reality except the thought which conceives them. now the highest being is the • void,” and the understanding of this is the “absolute truth," the “enlightenment” (bodhi) or “perfect wisdom” (prajnā pāramitā), which the “body of the law” is the peculiar possession of a buddha. this knowledge is actually realised by a buddha in the ecstasy of his nirvāņa, where he dwells for ever in the utter stillness of infinite thought. but it sometimes happens that a bodhi-sattva who, through the perfection of his wisdom and righteousness, is ripe to enter nirvāņa, will not take this step, for his abounding compassion urges him to remain in finite being, and to soothe the sorrows of his fellow-creatures. his passage into nirvāṇa is then potential, capable of being realised at his will. this enlightenment in nirvāṇa, actual or potential, together with the “void ” which is its object and therefore is identical with it, is the dharma-kāya, the “ body . of the law.” but the needs of history and myth must also be satisfied ; and the mahā-yāna achieved this by inventing two more conceptions, the sambhoga-kāya, or “body of enjoyment,” and the nirmāna-kāya, or“ body of magical form.” every buddha has a domain of his own, or buddha-kshetra, a universe under the rule of the law preached by him. the magnificence of such a domain is proportionate to the nobility of the deeds performed by its ruling buddha during his probation as a bodhi-sattva. in these domains the reigning buddhas are revealed to their attendant bodhi-sattvas in gigantic radiant onate to "magnifice rule of my or introduction ded by these the di suffering, anche far-away daydirvāna; then . forms, surrounded by halos composed of magical figures of buddhas. these forms, though mani- fest to the sanctified senses of the divine company, are essentially spiritual; and the buddhas wearing them are constantly teaching their holy law to the bodhi-sattvas of highest rank, who appear in similarly transfigured bodies. this beatific form is the sambhoga-kāya or “body of enjoyment.” it is the fruit of the merit acquired by the buddhas and bodhi-sattvas through countless deeds of liberality, long- suffering, and virtue. it dwells in the celestial sphere until the far-away day when the buddha shall enter into his final nirvāņa ; then in its place will appear a stūpa, or monument- sanctuary, and the buddha will rest in perfect stillness. in the case of the buddhas this transfiguration is, strictly speaking, illusory. the buddhas have passed into nirvāņa, the void ; they are identified with the “ body of the law,” in which finitude does not exist. but the merit of their good deeds still lives on in the finite world, and becomes a force working spontaneously for the happiness and welfare of other creatures. it thus creates in the minds of the holy bodhi- sattvas the conception of a “ sambhoga-kāya” abundant illustration will be found in the art of northern buddhism, especially in the frescoes of the recently dis- oovered temples of chinese turkestan. the “body of enjoyment” of their buddha revealing itself for their joy and instruction in beatific form.' while this theory of the “ body of enjoyment" satisfied the hunger of the imagination for visions of paradise, the doctrine of the “ body of magical form" attempted to explain the appearance of buddhas and bodhi-sattvas in the world of mortality. they never really appeared among men, and never will so appear, according to the buddhist sages ; they were but illusions, phan- toms which the buddhas and bodhi-sattvas in their “ bodies of enjoyment” created from their compassion to help and instruct the blind and sorrowing creatures of the world. even as the buddhas' merits have been turned to the profit of the bodhi-sattvas by conjuring up before their eyes the vision of their transfigured forms in paradise, so this same force brings blessing to the lower classes of beings by creating for them apparitions of buddhas and bodhi-sattvas teach- ing the law in the most diverse guises. and this idea has also its metaphysical side. we have seen that, to the buddhist philosopher, the subject and the object of thought are really one, so that the dharma-kāya represents at once the infinite and the understanding of the infinite. this explanation is due to m. l. de la vallée poussin, in his article the three bodies of a buddha, in the journal of the royal asiatic society, , p. foll. the reader should also consult suzuki's outlines of mahâ-yâna buddhism. introduction in the same way the “ body of magical form" represents also the universal intellect when, under the influence of samskāras or “conforma- tions” resulting from former moments of con- sciousness and will, it conceives its object as a universe of finite forms. thus the universal intellect issues in what appear to themselves to be individual minds dwelling in finite worlds under the dispensation of the buddhas. this seeming individuality and finitude is the con- genital illusion of the lower orders of creatures, from which the law of the buddhas alone can uplift them to union with the absolute. the current of mystic imagination which culminated in this bold theology seems to have arisen early. possibly it may, in a rudimentary form, have been one of the elements of primitive buddhism which were rejected as heretical by the more puritanic schools of the “hina-yāna." certainly it was already well established before the christian era, and the famous council of king kanishka gave official recognition to the mahā- yāna doctrines, and apparently granted to them the royal favour. if modern research is right in identifying the date of kanishka's accession with the initial date of the samvat era, b.c., then the council traditionally believed to have been held under his auspices must have sat not many years afterwards. to a somewhat later date may be ascribed a the work of nĀgĀrjuna . half-legendary, half-historical character that is of singular interest. the real nāgārjuna, the scholar who founded the mādhyamika school, is overshadowed by the legendary nāgārjuna, the hero of a hundred myths in which he figures as a miracle-working saint who propagated his doctrine by the marvels of his magic. these wild legends have passed from buddhist circles into the common stock of hindu tradition, where he has become a typical sorcerer, to whom are ascribed many works on the black art and divination, notably the popular kaksha-puța. the real work of nāgārjuna, however, was much more respectable. he systematised the old mahā-yāna into the mādhyamika school, which by its vigorous dialectic became one of the most effective vehicles of northern buddhism. and it is to a follower of his school, sānti-deva, who lived in the seventh century, or possibly some- what earlier, that we owe two works, the bodhi- charyāvatāra and the sikshā-samuchchaya, in which are embodied the keenest logic and the highest spiritual aspirations attained by the buddhism of the north. the following pages contain an abridged translation of the original sanskrit of the bodhi- charyāvatāra, based upon two editions, that contained in vol. ii. of the journal of the buddhist text society (calcutta, ) and that pub- lished with pranjākara-mati's commentary by introduction professor l. de la vallée poussin in the biblio- theca indica. i have omitted a good deal of the text where it seemed needlessly prolix, and the whole of the scholastic disputation which makes up the bulk of the ninth chapter. but i hope that even in this curtailed form my transla- tion will enable readers to understand and fairly appreciate the fervent devotion and brotherly love which make this little book, in spite of its errors, a lasting monument of true religious emotion, “an everlasting possession.” i have much pleasure in acknowledging my debt of gratitude to professor poussin's masterly french translation of the text published in the revue d'histoire et de littérature religieuses, vols. x.-xii. ( – ) under the title bodhi- caryavatāra : introduction à la pratique des futurs bouddhas. the thought of enlightenment were not the thought of enlightenment ? ( ) pondering through many æons, the supreme saints have found this blessing, whereby a swelling joy sweeps in sweetness down the bound- less waters of mankind. they who would escape the hundreds of life's sorrows, who would end the anguish of living creatures, and who would taste hundreds of deep delights, must never surrender the thought of enlightenment. the wretch held in thrall by life's minions ( ) is declared a son of the blessed ones straightway when the thought of enlightenment arises in him, and he becomes worshipful to the worlds of men and gods. this foul form that he has taken he makes into the priceless jewel of a conqueror's form; oh, grasp firmly the thought of enlightenment, that exceedingly potent elixir ! ho, ye who are exiles in the marts of bodied being, grasp firmly the precious jewel of the thought of enlightenment, which the immeasurably wise sole guides of the world's caravan have well assayed ! like the plantain-tree ( ), all other righteousness fades away after its fruit is cast; but the tree of the thought of enlightenment bears everlasting fruit and fades not, but is ever fecund. though he have wrought most grievous sins, a man by taking refuge therein escapes them straightway; as ignorant beings under the guardianship of a mighty man escape sore terrors, why seek they not their refuge in this ? , .. chapter ii the confession of sin enlightend healingt in to to win this jewel of the thought i offer perfect worship to the blessed ones ( ), to the stainless gem of the good law, and to the sons of the enlightened ( ), oceans of virtues. all flowers, fruits, and healing herbs, all gems and all waters clear and pleasant in the world, likewise moun- tains of jewels, forests sweet in their solitude, climbing plants bright with ornaments of flowers, trees whose branches bend with goodly fruit, fragrant incenses, trees of desire, and jewel- bearing trees in the worlds of the gods and their kin, lakes bedecked with lilies and wondrously pleasant with the cries of swans, harvests spring- ing without tilth and crops of grain, and all else adorning them whom we worship, all things that are bounded by the spreading ethereal sphere and are in the possession of none, i take in spirit and offer as guerdon to the supreme saints and their sons. worthy of choicest gifts and great of compassion, may they mercifully accept this to the enlightened ones of me! i am exceeding poor, and without righteousness; there is naught else for me to offer. so may their care for others' weal be for my weal, and let the lords take this in their native grace. yea, i give to the conquerors and their sons myself entirely. take me for your chattel, o noble beings; i make myself in love your slave. by being your chattel i am freed from fear in life, and work good for living crea- tures ; i escape my former sins, and do evil no more. ... with as many obeisances as there are atoms in all the domains ( ) i adore all the enlightened ones of the past, present, and future, the law, and the noble congregation. i worship all the memorial-sanctuaries and the dwellings of the son of the enlightened ( ) ; i salute the pre- ceptors and the worshipful holy men. i take refuge with the enlightened one, awaiting the coming of the perfect light; i take refuge in the law and the congregation of sons of en- lightenment. with clasped hands i make sup- plication to the enlightened ones dwelling in all regions and to the most merciful sons of en- lightenment. whatsoever be the sin that i, poor . brute, in my beginningless round of past births or in this birth have in my madness done or made others do or approved for my own undoing, i confess the transgression thereof, and am stricken with remorse. whatsoever wrong i the confession of sin . have done by sin against the three gems ( ) or father and mother or other elders by deed, word, or thought, whatever dire offence has been wrought by me, a sinner foul with many a stain, o masters, i confess all. how may i escape from it? speedily save me, lest death come too soon . upon me ere my sin have faded away. death considers not what works be done or not done, and strikes us through our ease, a sudden thunder-bolt, unsure alike for the healthy and the sick. for the sake of things unloved and things loved have i sinned these many times; and never have i thought that i must surrender everything and depart. they whom i love not, they whom i love, i myself, shall be no more, naught shall remain. all the things whereof i have feeling shall pass away into a memory ; like the vision of a dream, all departs, and is seen no more. the many whom i love or love not pass away while i stand here; only the dire sin wrought for their sake remains before me. i understood not that i was but a chance comer, and through madness, love, or hatred i have wrought many a sin. unceasingly through night and day the waning of vital force increases ; must i not die ? lying here on my bed, or standing amidst my kin, i must suffer the agonies of dissolution alone. whence shall i find a kins- man, whence a friend, when the death-god's ore. the i stand here, before me. the fear of death e love and the hea what come con las ide all the messengers seize me? righteousness alone can save me then, and for that i have not sought. clinging to brief life, i have been blind to this . terror, heedless ; o my masters, grievous guilt have i gathered. he who is taken to be maimed of his limbs at once withers away; thirst racks him, his sight is darkened, the world is changed to his sight. how then will it be with me when i am in the charge of the death-god’s hideous messengers, consumed by a fever of mighty terror, covered with filth, looking with timid glances to the four quarters of heaven for aid? who will be the friend to save me from that awful terror ? i shall see in the heavens no help, and sink back into madness; then what shall i do in that place of horror ? now, now i come for refuge to the mighty lords of the world, the conquerors eager for the world's protection, who allay all fear ; to the law learned by them i come with all my heart for refuge, and to the congregation of the sons of enlightenment. ... whatsoever guilt i have gathered in my foolishness and delusion, alike the wrong of nature and the wrong of commandment, i confess it all as i stand before the masters with clasped hands, affrighted with grief, and making obeisance again and again. may my lords take my transgression as it is ; never more, o masters, will i do this unholy work. chapter iii taking the thought of enlightenment ( ) i rejoice exceedingly in all creatures' good works that end the sorrows of their evil lot; may the sorrowful find happiness! i rejoice in the deliverance of embodied beings from the griefs of life's wanderings, and in the sonship of enlightenment, and the enlightenment that belongs to the saviours. i rejoice in the commanders' ( ) oceans of thought, that bring happiness and establish welfare for all creatures. with clasped hands i entreat the perfectly enlightened ones who stand in all regions that they kindle the lamp of the law for them who in their blindness fall into sorrow. with clasped hands i pray the conquerors who yearn for the stillness ( ) that they abide here for endless æons, lest this world become blind. in reward for all this righteousness that i have won by my works i would fain become a soother of all the sorrows i of all creatures. may i be a balm to the sick, their healer and servitor, until sickness come self-surrender never again; may i quench with rains of food and drink the anguish of hunger and thirst ; may i be in the famine of the ages' end their drink and meat; may i become an unfailing store for the poor, and serve them with manifold things for their need. my own being and my pleasures, all my righteousness in the past, present, and future i surrender indifferently, that all creatures may win to their end. the stillness lies in surrender of all things, and my spirit is fain for the stillness ; if i must surrender all, it is best to give it for fellow-creatures. i yield myself to all living things to deal with me as they list; they may smite or revile me for ever, bestrew me with dust, play with my body, laugh and wanton ; i have given them my body, why shall i care ? let them make me do whatever works bring them pleasure ; but may never mishap befall any of them by reason of me. if the spirit of any be wroth or pleased with me, may that be ever a cause for them to win all their desires. may all who slander me, or do me hurt, or jeer at me, gain a share in enlightenment. i would be a pro- tector of the unprotected, a guide of wayfarers, a ship, a dyke, and a bridge for them who seek the further shore; a lamp for them who need a lamp, a bed for them who need a bed, a slave for all beings who need a slave. i would be a magic gem, a lucky jar, a spell of power, a sovereign balm, a wishing-tree, a cow of plenty ( ), for ship, at the unprotectent. i woeer at me, saint of enlightenment sun driving away the gloom of the world's ignor- ance, a fresh butter created by the churning of the milk of the good law. for the caravan of beings who wander through life's paths hungering to taste of happiness this banquet of bliss is prepared, that will satisfy all creatures coming to it. i summon to-day the world to the estate of enlightenment, and meanwhile to happiness ; may gods, dæmons, and other beings rejoice in the presence of all the saviours ! a bove.. . . . chapter iv heedfulness in the thought of enlightenment the son of the conqueror, who has thus firmly laid hold of the thought of enlightenment, must constantly strive without slackening to observe the rule. if a work be undertaken in haste and without right reflection, one may well consider whether it should be done or no, even though a vow have been made ; but how should i delay in this work, which has been perpended by the enlightened ones, by their most sage sons, and by me likewise according to the measure of my power ? if i fulfil not my vow by deeds, i shall be false to all beings, and what a fate will be mine! even of a small matter it is said that he who gives not what he has purposed in thought to give becomes a tortured ghost; how, then, shall it be with him who proffers aloud and earnestly the gift of supreme happiness? i shall be false to all the world, and what a fate will be mine!... me likewiones, by w been per fulfilment of vows therefore i must heedfully fulfil my vow; if i labour not this very day, down, down i fall. numberless are the enlightened who have passed by in search of all living beings; and through my own fault i have not come into their healing hands. if this day also i shall be as i have been again and again, misery, sickness, death, maiming, dismemberment, and the like will fall to my lot ; and when shall i win that most rare boon, the coming of one of the enlightened, faith, human birth, and fitness to labour in righteousness, a day of health with food and no vexations ? life is a brief instant, and plays us false ; the body is like a thing held in precarious tenure. truly with deeds such as mine have been i shall not again win human birth; and if i win it not, evil awaits me; whence should good come ? since i work not righteousness when i am able, how shall i do it when crazed by the pains of hell ? i do no righteous work, and gather sin ; the very name of good destiny is lost to me for millions of æons. therefore the lord has said that human birth is exceedingly hard to win; hard as for a turtle to pass its neck into the hole of a yoke in the ocean. ... i have found this most rare sphere of weal ( ), i know not how; and shall i with open eyes suffer myself to be borne back to these hells ? my thought cannot grasp it; like one who is driven mad by spells, i know not by whom i heedfulness of enlightenment am crazed or who possesses me. my foes, desire, hate, and their kindred, are handless and footless, they are neither valiant nor cunning ; how can they have enslaved me? but they dwell in my spirit, and there at their ease smite me. and withal i am not wroth with them; fie on my unseemly long-suffering! if all gods and man- kind were my foes, they could not drag me to the fire of the hell avichi; but into this flame, at the touch whereof not even ashes would remain of meru ( ), these mighty enemies the passions hurl me in an instant. no other foes have life so long as the beginningless, endless, everlasting life of my enemies the passions. all beings may be turned by submission to kindness ; but these passions become all the more vexatious by my submission. then whilst these everlasting foes, sole source of the birth of the floods of sorrow, are dwelling in my heart, how can i fearlessly rejoice in the life of the flesh ? whence can i have happiness, if these warders of the prison-house of existence, ay, these torturers of the damned in hell and elsewhere, lodge in the house of my spirit, in the bower of my desire? then i will not lay down my burden until these foes be smitten before my eyes. men of lofty spirit are stirred to wrath against even a mean offender, and sleep not until they have smitten him. they rage in the forefront of battle, furious, heeding not the anguish of wounds from arrows and javelins, to conflict with the passions strike fiercely at the poor creatures doomed by nature to death, and turn not away until they have fulfilled their purpose. how then, and for what reason, should i, who have set myself to strike down these natural foes, the constant causes of all miseries, sink down in base despair, even for hundreds of disasters ? men bear on their limbs, like ornaments, meaningless scars gotten from their enemies ; why should sufferings overcome me, who am labouring to accomplish a lofty end ? setting their thoughts upon their mere livelihood, fishers, chandālas, husbandmen, and the like bear the miseries of cold, heat, and the rest; why should not i suffer them for the weal of the world ? ah, when i vowed to deliver all beings within the bounds of space in its ten points ( ) from the passions, i myself had not won deliverance from the passions. knowing not my now measure, i spoke like a madman. then i will never turn back from smiting the passions. i will grapple with them, will wrathfully make war on them all except the passion that makes for the destruction of the passions. though my bowels ooze out and my head fall off, i will nowise abase myself before my foes the passions. an enemy, though driven away, may establish himself in another spot, whence he may return with gathered powers ; but such is not the way of the enemy passion. where can this dweller in my he boundons, i mus. komadmathie passioke war heedfulness of enlightenment spirit go when i cast him out; where can he stand, to labour for my destruction ? it is only that i-fool that i am-make no effort; the miserable passions are to be overcome by the vision of wisdom. the passions lie not in the objects of sense, nor in the sense-organs, nor between them, nor elsewhere ; where do they lie? and yet they disturb the whole world! they are but a phantom. then cast away thy heart's terror, and labour for wisdom; why shouldst thou vainly torture thyself in hell ? thus resolved, i will strive to fulfil the rule as it has been taught ; how should he who needs medicine find healing, if he depart from the phy- sician's command ? chapter v watchfulness he who would keep the rules must diligently guard his thought; the rules cannot be kept by him who guards not the fickle thought. untamed elephants in their madness do not such harm here as the thought works in avichi and the rest of the hells, a young elephant ranging free. but if the young elephant of thought be entirely bound by the rope of remembrance ( ), all peril departs, and perfect happiness comes. tigers, lions, elephants, bears, snakes, all foes, all the warders of the hells, witches and devils—all of them are bound, if only thought be bound ; all are subdued if only thought be subdued. the speaker of the truth has said that from thought alone come all our countless terrors and griefs. who has diligently forged the swords of hell, or its pave- ment of red-hot iron, and whence were born its sirens ? all this has sprung from the sinful thought, as the saint's song tells; thus in the threefold world there is no foe to fear save the thought. if the perfect charity frees the world from watchfulness poverty, how could the saviours of old have had it, since the world is still poor? the perfect charity is declared to be the thought of sur- rendering to all beings our whole possessions and likewise the merit thereof; thus it is but a thought ( ). where can fishes and other crea- tures be brought into safety, that i may not slay them? when the thought to do them no hurt is conceived, that is deemed the perfect conduct. how many can i slay of the wicked, who are measureless as space ? but when the thought of wrath is slain, all my foes are slain. whence can be found leather enough to cover the whole earth ? but with a single leather shoe the whole ground is covered. in like manner the forces without me i cannot control; but i will control the thought within me, and what need have i for control of the rest? though aided by voice and body, indolence can never win for its prize an estate such as that of brahmā, which falīs to the lot of the vigorous unaided thought. the prayers and mortifications of a heedless and feeble man, however long he labour, are all in vain, says the omniscient. to overcome sorrow and win happiness men wander in vain, for they have not sanctified their thought, the mysterious essence of holiness. then i must keep my thought well governed and well guarded ; . what need is there of any vows save the vow to guard the thought ?.... remembrance lodging destroy our withdraw let it be brou re- the thief heedlessness, waiting to escape the eye of remembrance, robs men of the righteousness they have gathered, and they come to an evil lot. the passions, a band of robbers, seek a lodging, and when they have found it they rob us and destroy our good estate of life. then let remembrance never withdraw from the portal of the spirit; and if it depart, let it be brought back by remembering the anguish of hell. re- membrance grows easily in happy obedient souls from the reverence raised by their teachers' lore and from dwelling with their masters. “the enlightened and their sons keep unfailing watch in every place. everything is before them, i stand in their presence.” pondering this thought, a man will be possessed by modesty, obedience, and reverence, and the remembrance of the enlightened will thus be always with him. when remembrance stands on guard at the portal of the spirit, watchfulness comes, and nevermore departs. the thought thus must be kept ever under watch ; i must always be as if without carnal sense, like a thing of wood. the eyes must never glance around without object; their gaze should always be downward, as if in meditation. but sometimes, to rest his gaze, one may look around him; he sees [strangers] as mere phantoms, but will turn his eyes upon them to bid them welcome. on the road, and other such places, he will look watchfulness ad to the stoof his thought with great from time to time to the four quarters of space, to take note of danger; he will rest and turn round to look about him. he will go forward or backward with heed, and in all conditions do what he has to do with understanding. in every act that he undertakes he will consider the due posture of his body, and from time to time will look to see how it is. he will watch with great heed the wild elephant of his thought, so that it remain bound to the stout stake of holy medita- tion and become not loosed. he will watch to see where his mind is moving, so that it may not even for an instant cast off the yoke of rapt devotion. ... when the body is dragged hither and thither by vultures lusting for meat, why is it powerless to save itself? why dost thou watch over this frame, o my spirit, as if it were thine own? if it is a thing apart from thee, what canst thou lose thereby? silly one, what thou claimest as thine is not as clean as a wooden doll; why dost thou cling to this rotten machine framed in foulness ? lift in thy imagination this envelope of skin, and with the scalpel of wisdom remove the flesh from the frame of bones. open likewise the bones, and look upon the marrow within them. then ask thyself what essential thing is therein. and now that thou hast made diligent search and found therein nothing essential, say wherefore thou still clingest to the body. thou unimportance of the body ibo canst not eat its impurities and entrails, nor drink its blood ; what wilt thou do with the body ? this poor flesh, which thou guardest in order to feed vultures, jackals, and the like, is fitted only to be a tool for men's works. though thou guardest it thus, pitiless death will tear away the body and give it to the vultures ; and then what wilt thou do? to a servant who will not remain, gifts of garments and the like are not given; when it has eaten, the body will depart, then why waste thy riches upon it ? pay to it its wage, then set thy thought upon thine own business ; for we give not to the hireling all that he may earn. conceive of the body as a ship that travels to and fro, and make it go at thy bidding for creatures to fulfil their end. he who is thus master of himself will ever bear a smiling face; he will put away frowns and be first to greet others, a friend of the world. he will not noisily and hastily throw down benches or the like, nor beat upon a door, but always will delight in silence. the crane, the cat, and the thief walk silently and calmly, and accomplish the end that they desire ; thus the holy man will always act. he will accept with bowed head the words of those who are skilful in exhorting others and do kindness unsought; he will ever be the disciple of all men. he will give applause to all kindly words ; when he sees one who does righteous works, he will gladden him with praises. ... watchfulness the perfections, charity, and the rest, are of an ascending order of excellence; he will not forsake a more excellent for another, save in respect of the dyke of virtue ( ). thus minded, he will be always active for the welfare of others ; even a forbidden deed is permitted to him in his kindliness, if he foresees a good result. he will give of his alms to the fallen, the masterless, and the religious, and eat himself but a moderate portion; he will surrender everything but his three robes ( ). he will not for slight purpose afflict his body, which is in the service of the good law; for thus it will speedily fulfil the desires of living beings. and therefore he will not cast away his life for one whose spirit of mercy is impure ( ), but only for one whose spirit is like his own; and thus naught is lost. ... chapter vi the perfect long-suffering all the righteousness, the charity, the worship of the blessed, that have been wrought in thou- sands of æons, are destroyed by ill-will. there is no guilt equal to hatred, no mortification equal to long-suffering ; and therefore one should diligently practise patience in divers ways. while the arrow of hate is in the heart, none can have a peaceful mind in equipoise, or feel the joy of kindliness, none can win sleep or calm. they whom a master cursed with an evil spirit honours with wealth and favours, and who dwell under his protection, seek nevertheless to destroy him. even his friends are in terror of him. his gifts win for him no service. in short, there is no way for a passionate man to find happiness. he who stoutly fights against wrath, the enemy that brings these and other sorrows, wins joy in this world and beyond. nourished by discontent, hatred grows swollen and destroys me; and discontent springs from doing unpleasing works or from the battling of desire. then i will cut the perfect long-suffering off the nourishment of my enemy, for this foe- man's sole purpose is to slay me. my cheer- fulness shall not be disturbed, even by the most untoward events ; discontent works no good, and only destroys merit. what profits dis- content if there is a remedy; and what profits it if there is none? we shrink from sorrow, defeat, rude speech, and dishonour for ourselves and our friends, and from the opposite of these for our enemy. happiness is hard to win, pain comes readily, there is no escape from life save by pain; then be firm, o my spirit! the karņāțas, the “ little children of durgā,” suffer the agonies of burning and maiming in a vain hope of salvation; why then shall i be faint- hearted? there is nothing which practice cannot make easy; so by practice in slight sufferings we learn to bear great pains. flies, stinging creatures, gnats, hunger, thirst, and other like pains, fierce itch and other like miseries—lookest thou upon these as profitless ? before cold, heat, rain, wind, travel, sickness, bondage, and blows be not tender and delicate, else thy anguish will increase. some there are who at the sight of their own blood become exceedingly valorous, and some at sight of others' blood fall into faintness. this comes about through firm- ness and feebleness of spirit; then he who is unconquerable by pain will overcome suffering. even in pain the wise man will not let the calm anger unpremeditated pain arranged bthinking of his spirit be disturbed ; for he is at war with the passions, and in war suffering abounds. they who overcome their foes by presenting their bosoms to the enemy's blows are “ victors," "heroes"; the rest are “slayers of the slain." another virtue of suffering is that from loathing of the flesh pride is brought low, and there arise pity for the creatures wandering through births, fear of sin, and love for the conqueror. i have no anger against the gall and the rest of my humours ( ), although they cause great suffering ; then can one be wroth against thinking beings, who likewise are deranged by outer forces ? as a bodily pain arises unwilled [by the humours), so too wrath perforce arises un- willed [in the offender). a man does not become angry of his free will and with purpose of anger ; nor does wrath resolve of itself to break forth before it breaks forth. all offences, all the various sins, spring of necessity from outer forces; none are self-guided. the total of outer forces has no consciousness that it engenders an effect, and the effect has no consciousness that it is engendered. the “primal matter” and “ soul” of which forsooth men talk are imaginations ( ). they do not come into being with consciousness of doing so. before coming into being they do not exist; and who can then desire to come into being ? if the “soul ” is active upon its objects, it will not cease thence; and if it is willed (in this), so to the perfect long-suffering constant, impassive, and like the ether, it is manifestly inactive; for though it be joined to outer forces, how can a changeless thing act ? what part of the action is done by a thing which at the time of action is the same as before it? if “its own action” is the bond [between soul and object], what is the ground of this? thus every- thing depends on a cause, and this cause likewise is not independent; in no wise, then, can wrath be felt against beings mechanical as phantoms. “ then there can be no restraint; what is to be arrested, and who shall arrest it?” not ; for since all is really the work of outer forces, hence we deem that sorrow may have an end ( ). so when we see a foe, or even a friend, doing un- righteously, let us remember that such are the outer forces moving him, and remain in peace. if all mortals could win their ends at their own pleasure, none would suffer vexation ; for none desire it. in heedlessness, wrath, or lust for women and other things beyond their reach, men bring them- selves into distress from thorns, lack of food, and the like. some destroy themselves by hanging, springing down from a height, taking poison or unwholesome measure of food, or doing unrighteousness. since under the sway of the passions they harm thus their own persons, which they love, how can they spare the bodies of others? maddened by passions, striving for their own destruction, there can be only pity for them ; unjustifiable anger wh. but he is hate hattsame suffer for how should we be angered ? if it is the nature of fools to hurt their fellows, it is as wrong for me to feel anger against them as it is to be wroth with the fire which naturally burns me; and if again it is a passing frailty, and creatures are upright of nature, then it is as wrong to be angered against them as against the air when smoke fills it. say i am angered not against the instrument- the stick or whatso it may be—but against him who moves it. but he is moved by hatred; it is better then for me to hate hatred. i myself in former times have wrought the same suffering for other creatures; then i deserve this for ' having done hurt to living beings. the cause of my suffering is twofold-my enemy's sword and my body. he has taken the sword, i the body; with which shall i be angry? what i have got is an ulcer in the shape of a body, unable to bear the touch ; and thus tortured in the blindness of desire, with what shall i be wroth ? i seek not suffering, yet in my folly seek the cause of suffering ; since my pain comes from my own offence, why shall i be wroth with another? the forest whose leaves are swords, the birds of hell, spring from my own works ; with whom then shall i be wroth? they who do me hurt are moved thereto by my works, and thence they fall into hell ; surely it is i that undo them ! thanks to them, my guilt through much patience the perfect long-suffering fades away; thanks to me, they go to the long agonies of hell. it is i who do them hurt, they who do me kindness ; base-spirited fellow, where- fore this absurd anger ? if i fall not into hell, it will be by the merit of my spirit; what matter is it to them that i save myself ? ( ) if i should return them evil for evil, they would not be saved thereby; my progress would be wrecked ; and these poor creatures would be lost. in no place and by naught can the mind be destroyed, for it is unembodied; but from imaginations clinging to the body it suffers with the body's hurt. discomfiture, rude speech, dishonour, all these things harm not the body ; then why art thou wroth, o my spirit ? can the ill-will of others towards me touch me in this life or in births to come, that i should mislike it ? haply i may mislike it because it hinders me from gaining alms ; but then the alms that i get will vanish here, my guilt will stay with me for ever. better for me to die this same day than to live long in sin, for however long i stay, the same death-agony awaits me. one man in dreams enjoys a hundred years of bliss, and awakes ; another is happy for an hour, and awakes ; surely the pleasure of both, when they wake, is alike ended. and so it is at the time of death with the long-lived and the short-lived. though i may get many gifts, and long enjoy my pleasures, i shall depart empty-handed and naked, the perfect long-suffering when a house is burning, and the fire may fall upon the next house and seize upon the straw and like stuff within it, we carry this stuff away from it; and in like manner must we straightway cast out the things by touch whereof the spirit is inflamed with the fire of wrath, for fear lest the substance of our merit be consumed. if a man doomed to death be released with one hand cut off, is it not well for him ? and if one through human tribulations escapes hell, is it not also well for him ? if one cannot bear the small suffering of the moment, then why does he not put away the wrath that will bring upon him the agonies of hell ? by reason of wrath i have been thus afflicted in hell thousands of times, and done no service to myself or to others. my present tribulation is not so heavy, and will be very gainful ; let me be glad of a suffering that redeems the world from its suffering. if some find delight in praising one of high worth, why, o my spirit, dost thou not rejoice likewise in praising him ? such joy will bring thee no blame ; it will be a fountain of happiness; it is not forbidden by men of worth ; it is the noblest way to win over thy fellows. if thou art not pleased because he (who praises] is glad, then thou wouldst forbid such things as payment for service, and seen and unseen rewards alike perish ( ). thou art willing for thy neighbour to be glad when he praises thy worth ; but thou jealousy of the righteous art loth to be thyself glad when another's worth is praised. thou hast framed the thought of enlightenment in desire to make all creatures happy: then why now art thou wroth with creatures who of themselves find happiness ? forsooth thou wouldst have all beings become buddhas, and worthy of the three worlds' worship; then why art thou vexed to see their brief honours ? he who nurtures them that thou shouldst nurture gives to thee; yet when thou findest one that feeds thy household, thou art wroth, not glad! he that desires the en- lightenment of living beings desires all good for them; but whence can one have the thought of enlightenment who is angered at another's good fortune? if the gift comes not to thy neighbour, it stays in the house of the offerer ; in no wise does it fall to thee : what matter to thee whether it be given or no ? shall he check his righteous- ness, the kindness of others, or his own worth ? shall he not take what is given ? say, art thou not angered in every case ? not only wilt thou not grieve for thine own sins, but thou darest to be jealous of the righteous. if sorrow could befall thine enemy at thy pleasure, what would come of it? thy mere ill-will cannot bring forth an issue without a cause ; but if it were accomplished by thy wish, what happiness wouldst thou have in his grief ? the issue then would be more harmful to thee than aught else. the perfect long-suffering this is in sooth a deadly hook in the hands of the fisher passion; the wardens of hell will take thee thence in purchase and seethe thee in their kitchens. praise, glory, and honours make not for righteousness or long life, or for strength, or health, or pleasure of the body. but such will be the end sought by a wise man knowing his advantage ; and he who desires mirth of spirit may give himself to drink, gambling, and the like. for glory men waste their substance, ay, even their lives. but will syllables feed them ? and when they are dead, who has pleasure of it ? as a child wails bitterly when its house of sand is broken down, so i deem my own spirit will be when praise and glory vanish. praise is but sound, and being itself without thought, cannot praise me. “nay, i am glad, forsooth, because my neigh- bour is pleased with me.” but what is it to me whether my neighbour is pleased with me or with another ? the joy is his ; not the smallest share of it is mine. if happiness springs from the joy of others, then i should have it in every event; so why am i not glad when men rejoice to honour another ? then gladness arises within me only because i am praised; and thus, being foreign to myself, it is an utter child's play. these praises and honours destroy my welfare and horror of the flesh ; they arouse envy of the worthy and anger at their fortune. then they the perfect long-suffering “but my enemy seeks not to prosper my patience, and therefore he is not worthy of honour”_nay, why then do we honour the good law, the unconscious cause of blessing? “nay, his purpose is to do me hurt ”—but if an enemy is therefore not honoured, how can i otherwise shew patience towards him, as though he were intent, like a physician, on my welfare ? it is by reason of his evil design that my patience is born; therefore he is the cause of patience, and as worthy of honour from me as the good law. therefore the saint has told of the domain of creatures and the domain of conquerors ( ); for by seeking the favour of creatures and con- querors many have risen to supreme fortune. since with both creatures and conquerors is the same gift of the qualities of the enlightened ( ), how may we deal partially and refuse to creatures the reverence shown to conquerors ? the great- ness of the purpose lies not in itself, but in its works ; hence creatures have a like greatness, and therein they are like [to the enlightened). the greatness of creatures is that he who has the spirit of kindliness towards them wins worship; the greatness of the enlightened is that merit is won by love toward them. thus creatures are like to the conquerors by giving in part the dower of the qualities of the enlightened, albeit none of them are peer to the enlightened, who are oceans of virtues, infinite of parts; and if reverence to “conquerors " he atom-sma the virtues bid is not even one atom-small virtue from these sole stores of the essence of the virtues be found in any creature, the whole threefold world is not enough for his worship. in creatures is found a little power, but that most noble, for bringing forth the qualities of the enlightened ; according to that little power should creatures be honoured. moreover, what perfect reparation can be made to these kinsmen without guile, these doers of immeasurable kindness, save the service of creatures ? they tear their own bodies, they go down into the hell avīсhī, all for the welfare of others; then even to them who most sorely wrong us we must do all manner of good. how dare i shew pride, instead of a slave's humble- ness, towards those masters for whose sake my masters are heedless of their own lives? when they are happy, the saints are rejoiced, and wroth when they are distressed ; in their gladness is the gladness of all the saints ; when they are wronged, wrong is done to the saints. as one whose body is entirely in flame finds no comfort in any things of desire, so when creatures are distressed these beings of mercy have no way to find pleasure. forasmuch then as i have done hurt to all these most compassionate beings by doing hurt to living things, i confess now my sin; may the saints pardon me for the wrong that i have done them! to win the grace of the blessed ones to-day i make myself utterly the hey are are heedlese master of a slave the perfect long-suffering slave of the world. let the crowds of living beings set their feet upon my head, or smite me, and the lord of the world be glad ! beyond all doubt these merciful ones have made the whole universe their own; truly it is our lords who shew themselves in the form of creatures, and dare we despise them? it is this that moves the blessed to grace, this that wins my true end, this that wipes away the misery of the world ; then be this my vow ! a single henchman of the king handles a crowd rudely; and the throng, looking on from afar, dares not shew sign of passion; for he is not alone, the king's power is his strength. and likewise thou mayst not dishonour him who wrongs thee because he is weak; for the warders of hell and the merciful ones are his strength. then let us seek the favour of creatures, as a servant the favour of a wrathful king. can a king in his anger bring upon us the anguish of hell, which we shall bear for making creatures sorrowful ? can a king in his pleasure bestow aught equal to enlightenment, which we shall bear for making oreatures happy? but beside the destined enlightenment that springs from kindness to creatures, seest thou not that herein lie fortune, glory, comfort ? favour, health, joy, long life, and abounding delight of empire fall to the lot of the patient man in the course of his lives, chapter vii the perfect strength now he who is patient will seek for strength, for in strength lies enlightenment. without strength there is no righteous work, as without the wind there is no motion. and what is strength ? vigour in well-doing. what is its contrary called ? faintness, clinging to base things, despair, self-contempt. from inaction, delight in pleasure, slumber, and eagerness for repose springs a spirit that feels no horror at the miseries of life, and from this arises faintness. pursued by the passions, those fishers, thou hast come into the net of birth, and knowest thou not that this selfsame day thou hast fallen into the jaws of death ? seest thou not thy comrades smitten down one after the other ? and withal thou fallest into slumber like a bullock in the butcher's hands. watched by the death-god, thy ways hemmed in on every side, how canst thou find delight in food, how canst thou sleep and love ? wait a little while, until death shall the perfect strength looks upon his flesh as no more than herbs, what hardship is it for him to surrender his flesh and bone ? he is not hurt, for he has cast off sin, nor sad, for knowledge is his ; for distress comes in the mind from false imaginations, and in the body from sin. the body is made happy by righteous works, the spirit by knowledge ; what can vex the compassionate one who remains in embodied life only for the welfare of others ? annulling his former sins, amassing oceans of righteousness, by the power of his thought of enlightenment he travels more swiftly than the disciples ( ). having thus in the thought of enlightenment a chariot that removes all vexa- tion and weariness, travelling from happiness to happiness, who that is wise will despair ? to accomplish the welfare of his fellow-creatures he has an army, the troops of which are love of right, constancy, joy, and abandonment. the love of right he will frame from the fear of suffering and from pondering upon merits. when he has uprooted his foes, he will strive for increase of vigour by means of his armies, which are the love of right, pride, joy, abandonment, devoted heed, and self-submission. countless are the faults in myself and my fellows that i shall have to destroy, and hundreds of thousands of æons must pass ere even one of these fade away. but i find not in myself the least morsel of vigour to set myself to undo these faults ; i am doomed the love of right - what h and off sin, comes the o be what mers ? of t of x to boundless anguish, and why does my bosom not burst ? many are the virtues in myself and my fellows that must be gained, and hundreds of thousands of æons will scarce be enough for the practice of even one of them. but i have never practised the least morsel of virtue ; to no purpose has been spent the birth so hardly and marvellously won. the joy of the great festivals in worship of the lord has not been mine; i have done no honour to the law, nor fulfilled the desire of the poor; i have not given security to them that are in fear, nor happiness to the afflicted; i have been only a vexation of my mother's womb, to work sorrow. because of old i departed from the love of right, i am now in this evil plight; who would forsake the love of right? this love the saint has proclaimed to be the root of all righteous works ; and its root is the constant meditation upon the fruit that grows from deeds. manifold are the pains, the sorrows, the terrors, and the disappointments that arise to sinners. whithersoever the desire of the righteous turns, it is greeted with happy issue, because of their merits; and whithersoever turns the sinner's yearning for pleasure, it is smitten with swords of pain, because of his sins. they that are godly of works enter the wombs of broad, sweet-smelling, cool lotus-blossoms ; their lustrous forms grow nurtured by the con- queror's sweet melody; then they issue in comely this evil phis love the hteous workon' the fruit the perfect strength beauty from the lotus-flowers awakened by the sunbeams of the holy one, and are born as sons of the blessed in the presence of the blessed. as to them that are ungodly of works, shrieking in anguish, they are flayed of their whole skin by the death-god's henchmen, their bodies bathed with copper molten in the fire, their flesh cut off in gobbets by hundreds of blows from flaming swords and pikes, and they fall again and again upon beds of red-hot iron. then let the love of righteousness be with you, and be heedful thus to foster it. in setting his hand to a work one should foster pride, according to the rule of the vajra-dhvaja sūtra. when he has first considered the sum of circumstances, he will either begin it, or not begin it; for it is better not to begin at all than to leave undone what has been begun. for this practice will last even into other births, and from such sin will arise abounding sorrow; and not only is the present work not accomplished, but likewise others that might be done in the same time come not to pass. in respect of three things may pride be borne- man's works, his temptations, and his power. the pride of works lies in the thought “ for me alone is the task.” this world, enslaved by passion, is powerless to accomplish its own weal; then i must do it for them, for i am not impotent like them. shall another do a lowly task while a may pand his for me pride of conquest ö sa para i am standing by ? if i in my pride will not do it, better it is that my pride perish. the very crow becomes a garuda ( ) when he lights upon a dead lizard; if my spirit is feeble, the least occasion of sin will overcome me. to him who is palsied by a faint heart occasions of sin come abundantly ; but he who has a noble pride ever alert is unconquerable even by great tempta- tions. then with firm spirit i will undo the - occasions of undoing; if i should be conquered by them, my ambition to conquer the threefold world would be a jest. i will conquer all ; none shall conquer me. this is the pride that i will bear, for i am the son of the conqueror-lions. creatures who are overcome by arrogance bear the title of misery, not of pride ; he that is proud falls not into the power of the foe, but they are slaves to the foe arrogance. through arrogance they are brought into evil estate, and even in human birth lose their joys, eating the bread of others, slaves, fools, uncomely, wasted away ; despised on all sides are the wretches stiff in arrogance; if they are ranked with the proud, say, who are the miserable ? proud, victorious, heroic are they who set their pride on conquest of the foe arrogance, who overthrow him in all his might, and freely show to the world the fruit of their conquest. surrounded by the troop of the passions, a man should become a thousand times prouder, greediness for work through the body, so the sin that finds a weak spot spreads through the spirit. a man carrying à bowl full of oil, surrounded by soldiers with drawn swords, in fear of death if he should trip, will walk heedfully ( ); and so it is with him that is under the vow. then when slumber and faintness fall upon him, he will strive against them as speedily as one springs up when a serpent is creeping into his lap. whenever he is caught unawares, he will be sorely grieved, and consider what he should do that it may not befall him again. for the sake of this he will desire godly company or tasks to come in his way, that his remembrance may be exercised in these condi- tions. remembering the sermon on heedful- ness ( ), he will hold himself in readiness, so that even before a task comes to him he is pre- pared to turn to every course. as the seed of the cotton-tree is swayed at the coming and going of the wind, so will he be obedient to his resolution ; and thus divine power is gained. chapter viii the perfect contemplation when thus vigour has been nurtured, it is well to fix the thought in concentred effort; the man of wandering mind lies between the fangs of the passions. it cannot wander if body and thought be in solitude ; so it is well to forsake the world and put away vain imaginations ( ). because of love, or hunger for gain, and the like, men will not forsake the world; then in order to cast it aside the wise will lay to heart these thoughts. passion is overcome only by him who has won through stillness of spirit the perfect vision. knowing this, i must first seek for stillness ; it comes through the contentment that is regardless of the world. what creature of a day should cling to other frail beings, when he can never again through thousands of births behold his beloved ? yet when he sees him not, he is ill at ease ; he rests not in concentred thought; and even when he beholds him he is not satisfied, but is distressed by the same longing as before. he attitude to the foolish sees not things in their reality; he loses his horror of the world; he is consumed by his grief in yearning for union with the beloved. in thoughts thereupon his brief life vainly passes away hour by hour; and the eternal law is broken for the sake of a short-lived friend ! . if he share in the life of the foolish, a man assuredly goes to hell ; if he share it not, he wins hatred; what profits it to have commerce with the foolish? they are friends for a moment, foes for a moment, wrathful when they should be pleased how hard to content are the worldly ! they are angered if wholesomely counselled, and hold me back from good ; if i heed them not they are wroth, and pass into hell. when can good come of a fool ? he is jealous of a better man, contentious with a peer, haughty towards one that is lower, puffed up by praise, angered by blame. exaltation of self, blame of others, discourse in praise of worldly pleasure--some such guilt will assuredly come from fool to fool. thus it is from the union of one with another; evil thereby meets evil. i will live alone, in peace and with untroubled mind. it is well to flee from the foolish. if he come in thy way, seek to win him over by kindness, not so as to hold commerce with him, but in a manner of godly indifference. i will take from him only enough for the holy life ( ), as the bee takes honey from the flower; thus in every the perfect contemplation place i will hold myself from commerce with him, like the new moon ( ). the mortal who thinks of his gains or his honours or the favour of many men will be afraid of death when it falls upon him. what- soever it be in which the pleasure-crazed spirit takes its delight, that thing becomes a pain a thousand times greater. therefore the wise man will seek not for pleasure, for from desire arises terror; and if it come of itself, let him stand firm and wait. many there are who have found gain, many who have won fame; but none know whither they have gone, with their gains and their fame. some loathe me; then why shall i rejoice in being praised ? some praise me; then why shall i be cast down by blame ? living beings are of diverse character ; not even the conquerors can content them, much less simple souls such as i. then why think of the world ? they blame a fellow-creature who gains naught, they scorn him who gains something ; being thus by nature unpleasant companions, what happiness can come from them? the blessed ones have said that the fool is no man's friend; for the fool has no love gave where his interest lies. the love that rests on interest is but selfish, even as grief at loss of wealth springs from loss of pleasure. trees are not disdainful, and ask for no toilsome wooing ; fain would i consort with those sweet a life of solitude = - za b e companions ! fain would i dwell in some deserted sanctuary, beneath a tree or in caves, that i might walk without heed, looking never behind ! fain would i abide in nature's own spacious and lordless lands, a homeless wanderer free of will, my sole wealth a clay bowl, my cloak profitless to robbers, fearless and careless of my body! fain would i go to my home the graveyard, and compare with other skeletons my own frail body! for this my body will become so foul that the very jackals will not approach it because of its stench. the bony members born with this corporeal frame will fall asunder from it, much more so my friends. alone man is born, alone he dies ; no other has a share in his sorrows. what avail friends, but to bar his way? as a wayfarer takes a brief lodging, so he that is travelling through the way of existence finds in each birth but a passing rest. it is well for a man to depart to the forest ere the four bearers ( ) carry him away amidst the laments of his folk. free from commerce and hindrance, possessing naught but his body, he has no grief at the hour of death, for already he has died to the world; no neighbours are there to vex him or disturb his remembrance of the enlightened and like thoughts ( ). then i will ever woo sweet solitude, untroubled dayspring of bliss, stilling all unrest. released from all other thoughts, with mind utterly set upon my own rã de eek Öy to z the perfect contemplation spirit, i will strive to concentre and control my spirit. the desires beget harm in this world and beyond: here, by bondage, slaughter, and loss of limb; beyond, in hell. that for the sake of which thou hast bowed many a time before bawds, heeding not sin nor infamy, and cast thyself into peril and wasted thy substance, that which by its embrace has brought thee supreme delight-it is naught but bones, now free and unpossessed; wilt thou not take thy fill of embraces now, and delight thyself ? this was the face that erstwhile turned downwards in modesty and was unwilling to look up, hidden behind a veil whether eyes gazed upon it or gazed not; and this face now the vultures unveil to thee, as though they could not bear thy impatience. look on it—why dost thou flee now from it? ... mark how fortune brings endless misfortune by the miseries of winning it, guarding it, and losing it; men's thoughts cling altogether to their riches, so that they have not a moment to free themselves from the sorrows of life. thus they who are possessed by desire suffer much and enjoy little, as the ox that drags a cart gets but a morsel of grass. for the sake of this morsel of enjoy- ment, which falls easily to the beast's lot, man, blinded by his destiny, wastes this brief fortune, that is so hard to win ( ). for all time lasts the perfect contemplation have the same sorrows, the same joys as i, and i must guard them like myself. the body, mani- fold of parts in its division of members, must be preserved as a whole ; and so likewise this manifold universe has its sorrow and its joy in common. although my pain may bring no hurt to other bodies, nevertheless it is a pain to me, which i cannot bear because of the love of self ; and though i cannot in myself feel the pain of another, it is a pain to him which he cannot bear because of the love of self. i must destroy the pain of another as though it were my own, because it is a pain ; i must show kindness to others, for they are creatures as i am myself.... then, as i would guard myself from evil repute, so i will frame a spirit of helpfulness and tender- ness towards others.” by constant use the idea of an “i” attaches itself to foreign drops of seed and blood, although the thing exists not. then why should i not conceive my fellow's body as my own self ? that my body is foreign to me is not hard to see. i will think of myself as a sinner, of others as oceans of virtue; i will cease to live as self, and will take as my self my fellow-creatures. we love our hands and other limbs, as members of the body; then why not love other living beings, as members of the universe ? by constant use man comes to imagine that his body, which has no self-being, is a "self" ; why then should he regard for others not conceive his “self” to lie in his fellows also ? thus in doing service to others pride, admira- tion, and desire of reward find no place, for thereby we satisfy the wants of our own self. then, as thou wouldst guard thyself against suffering and sorrow, so exercise the spirit of helpfulness and tenderness towards the world. ..., make thyself a spy for the service of others, and whatsoever thou seest in thy body's work that is good for thy fellows, perform it so that it may be conveyed to them. be thou jealous of thine own self when thou seest that it is at ease and thy fellow in distress, that it is in high estate and he is brought low, that it is at rest and he is at labour. make thine own self lose its pleasures and bear the sorrow of thy fellows; mark its deceit at each time and in each act. cast upon its head the guilt even of others' works ; make confession to the great saint of even its slightest sin. darken its glory by telling of the greater glory of others. make it a carrier in thy fellow- creatures' service, like a mean slave. it is made of sin, and because it may have some chance morsel of goodness from without, it is not there- fore worthy of praise. let no man know its goodness. in short, let all the wrong that thou hast done for the sake of thine own self to others fall upon thine own self for the sake of thy fellow- creatures. grant it no power to talk overmuch ; keep it in the condition of a young bride, abashed, chapter ix the perfect knowledge all this equipment ( ) the sage has ordained for the sake of wisdom ; so he that seeks to still sorrow must get him wisdom. we deem that there are two verities, the veiled truth and the transcendent reality. the reality is beyond the range of the understanding ; the understand- ing is called veiled truth ( ). . . . thus there is never either cessation or existence; the universe neither comes to be nor halts in being. life's courses, if thou considerest them, are like dreams and as the plantain's branches ( ); in reality there is no distinction between those that are at rest and those that are not at rest. since then the forms of being are empty, what can be gained, and what lost? who can be honoured or despised, and by whom? whence should come joy or sorrow? what is sweet, what bitter? what is desire, and where shall this desire in verity be sought? if thou considerest the world of living things, who shall die therein ? who shall be the veiled truth sË born, who is born ? who is a kinsman and who a friend, and to whom? would that my fellow-creatures should understand that all is as the void ! they are angered and delighted by their matters of strife and rejoicing ; with grief and labour, with despair, with rending and stabbing one another, they wearily pass their days in sin as they seek their own pleasure ; they die and fall into hells of long and bitter anguish ; they return again and again to happy births after births and grow wonted to joy ( ). . . . in life are oceans of sorrow, fierce and boundless beyond compare, a scant measure of power, a brief term of years ; our years are spent in vain strivings for existence and health, in hunger, faintness, and labour, in sleep, in vexation, in fruitless commerce with fools, and discernment is hard to win; how shall we come to restrain the spirit from its wont of wandering ? there, too, the spirit of desire ( ) is labouring to cast us into deep hells ; there evil paths abound, and un- belief can scarce be overcome; it is hard to win a brief return, exceeding hard for the enlightened to arise to us ; the torrent of passion can scarce be stayed. alas, how sorrow follows on sorrow ! alas, how lamentable is the estate of them that are borne down in the floods of affliction, and in their sore distress see not how sad their plight is, like one who should again and again come forth from the waters of his bath and cast himself < a < e - the perfect knowledge into fire, and so in their sore trouble deem them- selves to be in happy estate! as thus they live in sport that knows not of age and dissolution, dire afflictions will come upon them, with death in their forefront. then when will the day come when i may bring peace to them that are tortured in the fire of sorrow by my ministrations of sweetness born from the rain-clouds of my righteousness, and when i may reverently declare to the souls who imagine a real world that all is void, and righteousness is gathered by looking beyond the veiled truth ( ) ? notes ( ) “ as is fitting, the book begins with homage to the 'threefold jewel,' or three pearls,' i.e. in early buddhism, the buddha (mākya-muni), the law preached by him (dhar- ma), and the brotherhood of his monks (sangha). here, agreeably to the doctrines of the great vehicle, we have (i) the buddhas, designated by the title sugata, the well gone,' or 'the well arrived,' i.e. they who have left the world of becoming in order to enter nirvāna,' or who know the truth,' 'who have departed to return no more,' ‘who have cast off all frailty of body, speech, and mind.' those definitions aim at establishing from every point of view a fundamental difference between the buddhas and all other beings. (ii) the sons of the buddhas, namely (a) the bodhi-sattvas ('creatures of enlightenment') who have reached a 'stage,' a 'ground,' even though it be the first, in their career as future buddhas (in opposition to the future buddhas, bodhi-sattvas, who have not yet entered upon the career, or are only at the outset of it); (b) all 'the worshipful ones,' i.e. the teachers of discipline or doc- trine,' etc. we must understand 'all spiritual friends.' (iii) the 'body of the law,' i.e. either the sum-total of the scriptures or the body of the law of the buddhas,' in opposition to their bodies as visible upon this earth, and to their bodies as beatified in paradise. this body is the uncreated wisdom which constitutes the essence of all the buddhas ; and the law preached by the buddhas is only notes the intellectual or verbal expression of this wisdom" (prof. de la vallée poussin). ( ) the “ thought of enlightenment" (bodhi-chitta) is to the mahā-yāna what 'grace' is to christian theology. buddhism, in common with the other schools of indian thought, holds that all living beings are fettered in the beginningless and endless cycle of embodied births, metemp- sychosis or samsāra, in which every instant of present experience is a resultant of former actions. only the buddhas, the loving teachers of salvation to mankind, have risen after æons of effort in countless births into the trans- cendental peace of nirvāna. hence the great religious duty of the believer is aspiration to become a buddha for the weal of fellow-creatures. this yearning arises in his heart, by the special grace of the buddhas, in the form of the bodhi-chitta, which is finely expressed by our author in his third chapter. by this vow the believer constitutes himself a bodhi-sattva, « or creature of enlightenment,” of the first stage; he has devoted himself to the acquisition of merit by charity and knowledge which shall raise him through higher and higher planes of existence, until he reaches the condition of the celestial bodhi-sattvas, such as manju. ghosha and avalokitesvara, who have attained the highest beatification that the finite universe can give, and are only delaying their departure into the infinite stillness of nir. vāna in order to continue their works as loving guides and helpers of mankind towards happiness and spiritual sancti cation. · ( ) the minions of life are the passions and other frailties which keep the soul enchained in the cycle (samsara) bodily births. ( ) the musa sapientum. ( ) see the chapter on the perfect long-suffering, below. ( ) the buddhas, here styled tathāgata, on which see the journal of the royal asiatic society for , p. compare the term sugata (above, note ). ( ) this term here denotes the divine bodhi-sattvas - - - notes (avalokitesvara, manju-ghosha, etc.), who have reached the higher stages of beatification. ( ) a buddha-kshetra, or “ domain of buddha,” is a system of a thousand millions of worlds, each under the guardianship of a buddha. ( ). this refers to the buddha of the present era, gautama. the ſākya, and the places hallowed by his pious deeds in various births previous to his nirvāņa. ( ) the buddha, the law, and the congregation. . ( ) see above, note . ( ) these are the celestial bodhi-sattvas (see notes , ). ( ) "stillness” is perhaps the most suitable term to express the idea of nirvāņa ; compare deussen, allgemeine geschichte der philosophie, bd. i., abteil. , pp. f., f., etc. nirvāņa does not signify extinction or annihilation, as is commonly imagined in europe, but the very reverse, perfect spiritual self-realisation in transcendental being. the metaphor first occurs in the upanishads, and frequently reappears later in non-buddhist theology; it denotes mo- ksha, the state in which the individual soul, identifying itself with universal being, is entirely at rest in itself and in brahma, in the stillness of infinite thought. the fire of delusion and earthly desire has become extinguished in it by the annihilation of its fuel, the false imagination of finite being. nirvāna is thus similar to the yoga, or ecstasy of the yogic adept, which is technically defined as chitta-vritti. nirodha, cessation of the activity of the finite imagination, and it is frequently used in the same connection. nirvāņa properly may denote either the blowing-out of a flame, or the burning of a flame undisturbed by wind (compare bha- gavad-gitā, vi. ). the latter interpretation will suit the oldest passages where the word occurs; but the former is also applicable, and is necessary in some of the later passages. now the buddhists denied the existence of a soul, or per- manent self. logically, therefore, they could not assert the existence of a nirvāṇa, or transcendental existence of the soul or self; and theoretically, indeed, the madhyamika appendix the bodhi-sattva will dread gain and honour, will shun exaltation; he will have glad faith in the law, and dismiss doubts. when the body is made pure, it becomes wholesome for creatures to enjoy, like perfect spotless rice. as a crop of grain overgrown by weeds sinks under disease, and thrives not, so a scion of the buddha, if overcome by sin, cannot grow in grace. what is the “cleansing of our person"? cleans- ing it of evil and sin, in obedience to the words of the enlightened. if this endeavour be lacking, hell awaits us. let men be long-suffering, and fain to hear the law, then let them withdraw to the forest, strain the thought on concentred effort, and ponder upon the uncleanness of the flesh and the like. understand how to make clean thy enjoy- ments, until thy soul be cleansed. make thy merit pure by deeds full of the spirit of tender- ness and the void.' acts are to be inspired by knowledge of the void and brotherly love. these two requisites (sambhāra), the intel- lectual and the moral, are necessary for spiritual advance- ment; one is of no avail without the other. appendix full many there are who will take from thee. if thou hast but little, what of that? if it gives not full satisfaction, then it must be increased. what is increase of the body ? increase of strength and energy. increase of enjoyment is from almsgiving full of the spirit of tenderness and the void. firstly should a man with care establish firmly his resolution and purpose; then with an attendant spirit of tenderness, he should strive to increase his merit. the rule of right conduct_worship and the like should ever be reverently observed. let faith and the like be always practised, likewise brotherly love and the remembrance of the buddha. in short, the weal of fellow-beings in all con- ditions, the godly gift without worldly desire, and the thought of enlightenment cause right- eousness to increase. perfection arises from constancy in the heedful effort to make right renunciations, by remem- brance, by attention, and by true meditation. us do & % †† h a rva r d c o l l e g e l i b r a r y the wisdom of a b r a h a m l i n c o l n being extracts from the speeches, state papers, and letters of the great president “. . . his clear-grained human worth and brave old wisdom of sincerity" – lowell new york a. wessels company * s us & oo iſ , . yharvard college library from the estate of lawrence j. henderson may , copyrighted a. wessels company new york september, p r e f a c e ost books of selections from the writings and conversations of abraham lincoln are designed primarily to show the peculiarities of his unique personality. composed largely of his humorous stories, his witty and satirical comments upon his contemporaries, and anecdotes revealing the eccentricities of his genius, they uniformly produce a cari- cature of the accidental rather than essen- tial features of him who stands as the ideal type of american manhood. in this anthology this limited and thor- oughly culled field has been avoided, and the broader domain of lincoln's genius explored to find the fruits of his ripened wisdom rather than the flowers of his brilliant and pungent personality. the mind and the soul of the man are shown, possibly too purely and severely. yet v while softening details are lacking in this portrait, all the strong and well-beloved lineaments of lincoln are preserved, – each line as he himself drew it. every passage is authentic and authoritative, the source and date of its utterance being given. the extracts are arranged in chronological order. the index of the book is by subjects. the compiler acknowledges with thanks permission given him by the current lit- erature publishing company to use the text of its centenary edition of the life and works of abraham lincoln in making the extracts. marion mills miller. the first american extract from ode recited at the harvard commem- oration, july , , . by james russell lowell hither leads the path to ampler fates that leads not down through flowery meads, to reap an aftermath of youth's vainglorious weeds; but up the steep, amid the wrath and shock of deadly-hostile creeds, where the world's best hope and stay by battle's flashes gropes a desperate way, and every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds. peace hath her not ignoble wreath, ere yet the sharp, decisive word light the black lips of cannon, and the sword dreams in its easeful sheath; but some day the live coal behind the thought, whether from baal's stone obscene, or from the shrine serene of god's pure altar brought, bursts up in flame; the war of tongue and pen learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught, vii forgive me, if from present things i turn to speak what in my heart will beat and burn, and hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. nature, they say, doth dote, and cannot make a man save on some worn-out plan, repeating us by rote: for him her old-world moulds aside she threw, and, choosing sweet clay from the breast of the unexhausted west, with stuff untainted shaped a hero new, wise, steadfast in the strength of god, and true. how beautiful to see once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, who loved his charge, but never loved to lead; one whose meek flock the people joyed to be, not lured by any cheat of birth, but by his clear-grained human worth, and brave old wisdom of sincerity! they knew that outward grace is dust; they could not choose but trust in that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, and supple-tempered will that bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. his was no lonely mountain-peak of mind, thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, a sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind; x broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, fruitful and friendly for all human-kind, yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. nothing of europe here, or, then, of europe fronting mornward still, ere any names of serf and peer could nature's equal scheme deface and thwart her genial will; here was a type of the true elder race, and one of plutarch's men talked with us face to face. i praise him not; it were too late; and some innative weakness there must be in him who condescends to victory such as the present gives, and cannot wait, safe in himself as in a fate. so always firmly he he knew to bide his time, and can his fame abide, still patient in his simple faith sublime, till the wise years decide. great captains, with their guns and drums, disturb our judgment for the hour, but at last silence comes; these all are gone, and, standing like a tower, our children shall behold his fame, the kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, new birth of our new soil, the first american. x c o n t e n t s page the first american : extract from har- vard commemoration ode, by james russell lowell . . . . . . . . . . . . extracts from lincoln's writings and speeches : announcement of candidacy for legislature speech in legislature on the state bank . address on the perpetuation of our political institutions . . . . . . . . . . speech against the van buren administra- tion . . . . . . . - address to washingtonian (temperance) society . . . . . . letter to george e. pickett . . . . . notes on protection . . . . . . . . letter to williamson durley . . . . . letter to william johnston with poem . letter to william johnston with poem . speech in congress arraigning president polk . . . . . . . . . . . . letter to j. m. peck . . . . . . . . speech in congress on internal improve- ments . . . . . . . . . . . . note: “were i president '' . . . . . letter to william h. herndon . . . . speech in congress on military heroes . . vii : : o x extracts (continued) notes for lecture on niagara falls notes for law lecture eulogy of henry clay . . notes on government speech on repeal of missouri compromise letter to george robertson letter to joshua f. speed . . speech at first republican convention . speech at galena . . . . . . speech in frémont campaign . . speech at republican banquet in chicago . reply to douglas at springfield speech accepting nomination for senator . reply to douglas at chicago . . speech at springfield on douglas's pr tial aspirations . . . . - speech at lewiston . . . . . speech at clinton . speech at paris . . . . . . speech at edwardsville . . . . debate with douglas at jonesboro debate with douglas at charleston debate with douglas at galesburg debate with douglas at quincy . debate with douglas at alton . . . letter to j. j. crittenden . . . letter to dr. a. g. henry . . . letter to h. d. sharpe . . . . esiden- e - e. e - - - letter to jefferson dinner committee of boston . . . . . . . . letter to m. w. delahay . letter to dr. theodore canisius. letter to samuel galloway . . sreech at columbus . . . . . xii extracts (continued) - page speech at cincinnati . . . . . . . . address at wisconsin agricultural fair . speech at leavenworth . . . . . . . lecture on discoveries, inventions, and improvements . . . . . . . . . speech at cooper union . . . . . . speech at hartford . . . . . . . . speech at new haven . . . . . . . i letter to c. h. fisher . . . . . . . letter to william s. speer . . . . . remarks at indianapolis . . . . . . i remarks to the indiana legislature . . remarks to germans at cincinnati . . . remarks at pittsburg . . . . . . . . remarks at new york . . . . . . . remarks to the senate of new jersey . . remarks in independence hall, philadel- phia . . . . . . . . . . . . first inaugural address . . . . . . message to congress in special session . letter to o. h. browning . . . . . . note to major ramsey . . . . . . . first annual message to congress . . . letter to general hunter . . . . . . appeal to border state representatives . address to negro deputation . . . . letter to horace greeley . . . . . . remarks to chicago church delegation . preliminary emancipation proclamation . reply to mrs. gurney . . . . . . . meditation on the divine will . . . . second annual message to congress . . letter to miss fanny mccullough . . . on admission of west virginia into union x extracts (continued) page message to congress on united states notes . . . . . . . . . . . . letter to workingmen of manchester, england . . . . . . . . . . . letter to general hooker . . . . . . letter to alexander reed . . . . . . letter to general rosecrans . . . . . . letter to governor andrew johnson . . proclamation of fast day . . . . . . letter to erastus corning and others . . letter to committee of ohio democrats . o letter to governor seymour . . . . . letter to james c. conkling . . . . . dedication of gettysburg cemetery . . . remarks to committee of new york work- ingmen . . . . . . . . . . . remarks at baltimore sanitary fair . . letter to committee of baptists . . . . endorsement of application for employ- ment . . . . . . . . . . . . remarks to th ohio regiment . . . remarks on the bible to negro delegation remarks on presidential election at sere- made . . . . . . . . . . . . letter to mrs. bixby . . . . . . . letter to governor fletcher . . . . . second inaugural address . . . . . . letter to thurlow weed . . . . . . remarks to an indiana regiment . . . speech on reconstruction . . . . . . xiv the wisdom of abraham lincoln ellow-citizens: i presume you all know who i am. i am humble abraham lincoln. i have been solicited by many friends to become a candidate for the legislature. my politics are short and sweet, like the old woman's dance. i am in favor of a national bank. i am in favor of the internal improvement system, and a high protective tariff. these are my sentiments and political principles. if elected, i shall be thankful; if not, it will be all the same.— announcement of candidacy for legislature; march, . i [am] opposed to making an examination [of the state bank] without legal authority. i am opposed to encouraging that lawless and mobocratic spirit, whether in relation to the bank or anything else, which is already abroad in the land; and is spreading with rapid and fearful impetuosity to the ultimate overthrow of every institution, of every moral principle, in which persons and property have i i hitherto found security. — on inquiry into management of the state bank; january, . a" what point shall we expect the approach of danger [to our republican institu- tions]? by what means shall we fortify against it? shall we expect some transat- lantic military giant to step the ocean and crush us at a blow p never! all the armies of europe, asia, and africa combined, with all the treasure of the earth (our own ex- cepted) in their military chest, with a bona- parte for a commander, could not by force take a drink from the ohio or make a track on the blue ridge in a trial of a thousand years. at what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? i answer, if it ever reach us it must spring up amongst us; it cannot come from abroad. if destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. as a nation of freemen we must live through all time or die by suicide. . . . turn to that horror-striking scene at st. louis. a mulatto man by the name of mcin- tosh was seized in the street, dragged to the suburbs of the city, chained to a tree, and actually burned to death; and all within a single hour from the time he had been a free- man attending to his own business and at peace with the world. such are the effects of mob law, and such are the scenes becoming more and more fre- ment, and particularly of those constituted like ours — i mean the attachment of the people — may effectually be broken down and destroyed. . . . at such a time, and under such circumstances, men of sufficient talent and ambition will not be wanting to seize the opportunity, strike the blow, and overturn that fair fabric which for the last half century has been the fondest hope of the lovers of freedom throughout the world. — the perpetuation of our political institu- tions. an address to the young men's lyceum of springfield, ill.; january , . r. lamborn insists that the differ- ence between the van buren party and the whigs is that, although the former some- times err in practice, they are always correct in principle, whereas the latter are wrong in principle; and, better to impress this propo- sition, he uses a figurative expression in these words: “the democrats are vulnerable in the heel, but they are sound in the head and the heart.” the first branch of the figure — that is, that the democrats are vulnerable in the heel — i admit is not merely figuratively, but literally true. who that looks but for a moment at their swartwouts, their prices, their harringtons, and their hundreds of others, scampering away with the public money to texas, to europe, and to every spot of the earth where a villain may hope to find refuge from justice, can at all doubt that they are most distressingly affected in their heels with a species of “running itch”? it seems that this malady of their heels operates on these sound-headed and honest-hearted crea- tures very much like the cork leg in the comic song did on its owner; which, when he had once got started on it, the more he tried to stop it, the more it would run away. at the hazard of wearing this point threadbare, i will relate an anecdote which seems too strik- ingly in point to be omitted. a witty irish soldier, who was always boasting of his bravery when no danger was near, but who invariably retreated without orders at the first charge of an engagement, being asked by his captain why he did so, replied: “captain, i have as brave a heart as julius caesar ever had; but, somehow or other, whenever danger approaches, my cowardly legs will run away with it.” – against the subtreasury and other policies of the van buren administra- tion. speech at springfield, ill.; december, . when the conduct of men is designed to be influenced, persuasion, kind, un- assuming persuasion, should ever be adopted. it is an old and a true maxim “that a drop of honey catches more flies than a gallon of gall.” so with men. it you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. therein is a drop of honey that catches his heart, which, say what he will, is the great highroad to his reason, and which, when once gained, you will find but little trouble in convincing his judgment of the justice of your cause, if indeed that cause really be a just one. on the contrary, assume to dictate to his judgment, or to command his action, or to mark him as one to be shunned and despised, and he will retreat within him- self, close all the avenues to his head and his heart; and though your cause be naked truth itself, transformed to the heaviest lance, harder than steel, and sharper than steel can be made, and though you throw it with more than herculean force and precision, you shall be no more able to pierce him than to pene- trate the hard shell of a tortoise with a rye straw. such is man, and so must he be under- stood by those who would lead him, even to his own best interests. but it is said by some that men will think and act for themselves; that none will disuse spirits or anything else because his neighbors do; and that moral influence is not that powerful engine contended for. let us ex- amine this. let me ask the man who could maintain this position most stiffly, what com- pensation he will accept to go to church some sunday and sit during the sermon with his wife's bonnet upon his head? not a trifle, i’ll venture. and why not? there would be nothing irreligious in it, nothing immoral, nothing uncomfortable — then why not? is it not because there would be something egregiously unfashionable in it? then it is the influence of fashion; and what is the influence of fashion but the influence that other people's actions have on our actions — the strong inclination each of us feels to do as we see all our neighbors do? nor is the influence of fashion confined to any particular thing or class of things; it is just as strong on one subject as another. let us make it as unfashionable to withhold our names from the temperance cause as for husbands to wear their wives’ bonnets to church, and instances will be just as rare in the one case as the other. of our political revolution of ' we are all justly proud. it has given us a degree of political freedom far exceeding that of any other nation of the earth. in it the world has found a solution of the long-mooted problem as to the capability of man to govern himself. in it was the germ which has vegetated, and still is to grow and expand into the universal liberty of mankind. but, with all these glori- ous results, past, present, and to come, it had its evils too. it breathed forth famine, swam in blood, and rode in fire; and long, long after, the orphan's cry and the widow's wail continued to break the sad silence that ensued. these were the price, the inevitable price, paid for the blessings it bought. turn now to the temperance revolution. in it we shall find a stronger bondage broken, a viler slavery manumitted, a greater tyrant deposed; in it, more of want supplied, more disease healed, more sorrow assuaged. by it no orphans starving, no widows weeping. by it none wounded in feeling, none injured in interest; even the dram-maker and dram- seller will have glided into other occupations so gradually as never to have felt the change, and will stand ready to join all others in the universal song of gladness. and what a noble ally this to the cause of political free- dom; with such an aid its march cannot fail to be on and on, till every son of earth shall drink in rich fruition the sorrow-quenching draughts of perfect liberty. happy day when — all appetites controlled, all poisons sub- dued, all matter subjected — mind, all-con- quering mind, shall live and move, the monarch of the world. glorious consumma- tion hail, fall of fury! reign of reason, all hail! – address to the washingtonian society of springfield, ill.; february , . i have just told the folks here in spring- field on this th anniversary of the birth of him whose name, mightiest in the cause of civil liberty, still mightiest in the cause of moral reformation, we mention in solemn awe, in naked, deathless splendor, that the one victory we can ever call complete will be that one which proclaims that there is not one slave or one drunkard on the face of god's green earth. recruit for this victory. / - . . . now, boy, on your march, don't you go and forget the old maxim that “one drop of honey catches more flies than a half-gallon of gall.” load your musket with this maxim, and smoke it in your pipe. — letter to george e. pickett; february , . in the early days of our race the almighty said to the first of our race, “in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread”; and since then, if we except the light and the air of heaven, no good thing has been or can be enjoyed by us without having first cost labor. and inasmuch as most good things are pro- duced by labor, it follows that all such things of right belong to those whose labor has pro- duced them. but it has so happened, in all ages of the world, that some have labored, and others have without labor enjoyed a large proportion of the fruits. this is wrong, and should not continue. to secure to each laborer the whole product of his labor, or as nearly as possible, is a worthy object of any good government. but then a question arises, how can a gov- ernment best effect this? in our own country, in its present condition, will the protective principle advance or retard this object? upon this subject the habits of our whole species fall into three great classes — useful labor, useless labor, and idleness. of these the first only is meritorious, and to it all the products of labor rightfully belong; but the two latter, while they exist, are heavy pensioners upon the first, robbing it of a large portion of its just rights. the only remedy for this is to, so far as possible, drive useless labor and idleness out of existence. and, first, as to useless labor. before making war upon this, we must learn to distinguish it from the use- ful. it appears to me that all labor done directly and indirectly in carrying articles to the place of consumption, which could have been produced in sufficient abundance, with as little labor, at the place of consumption as at the place they were carried from, is useless labor. let us take a few examples of the application of this principle to our own country. iron, and everything made of iron, can be produced in sufficient abundance, and with as little labor, in the united states as anywhere else in the world; therefore all labor done in bringing iron and its fabrics from a foreign country to the united states is useless labor. . . . we may easily see that the cost of this use- less labor is very heavy. it includes not only the cost of the actual carriage, but also the insurances of every kind, and the profits of the merchants through whose hands it passes. all these create a heavy burden necessarily falling upon the useful labor connected with such articles, either depressing the price to the producer or advancing it to the consumer, or, what is more probable, doing both in part. - -- ore] the abandonment of the pro- io tective policy by the american government must result in the increase of both useless labor and idleness, and so, in proportion, must produce want and ruin among our people. — notes on protection jotted down while congressman-elect; december, . i hold it to be a paramount duty of us in the free states, due to the union of the states, and perhaps to liberty itself (paradox though it may seem), to let the slavery of the other states alone; while, on the other hand, i hold it to be equally clear that we should never knowingly lend ourselves, directly or indirectly, to prevent that slavery from dying a natural death — to find new places for it to live in, when it can no longer exist in the old. — letter to williamson durley; october , . y childhood's home i see again, and sadden with the view; and still, as memory crowds my brain, there's pleasure in it too. o memory ! thou midway world "twixt earth and paradise, where things decayed and loved ones lost in dreamy shadows rise, and, freed from all that’s earthly vile, seem hallowed, pure, and bright, like scenes in some enchanted isle all bathed in liquid light. ii as dusky mountains please the eye when twilight chases day; as bugle-notes that, passing by, in distance die away; as leaving some grand waterfall, we, lingering, list its roar — so memory will hallow all we’ve known, but know no more. near twenty years have passed away since here i bid farewell to woods and fields, and scenes of play, and playmates loved so well. where many were, but few remain of old familiar things; but seeing them, to mind again the lost and absent brings. the friends i left that parting day, how changed, as time has sped' young childhood grown, strong manhood gray, and half of all are dead. i hear the loved survivors tell how naught from death could save till every sound appears a knell, and every spot a grave. i range the fields with pensive tread, and pace the hollow rooms, and feel (companion of the dead) i’m living in the tombs. letter to william johnston; april , . and begged and swore, and wept and prayed, with maniac laughter joined; how fearful were these signs displayed by pangs that killed the mind! and when at length the drear and long time soothed thy fiercer woes, how plaintively thy mournful song upon the still night rose ! i’ve heard it oft as if i dreamed, far distant, sweet and lone, the funeral dirge it ever seemed of reason dead and gone. to drink its strains i’ve stole away, all stealthily and still, ere yet the rising god of day had streaked the eastern hill.’ air held her breath; trees with the spell seemed sorrowing angels round, whose swelling tears in dewdrops fell upon the listening ground. but this is past, and naught remains that raised thee o'er the brute; thy piercing shrieks and soothing strain are like, forever mute. now fare thee well ! more thou the cause than subject now of woe. all mental pangs by time's kind laws hast lost the power to know. i o death ! thou awe-inspiring prince that keepst the world in fear, why dost thou tear more blest ones hence, and leave him lingering here? letter to william johnston; september , . if he [president polk] can show that the soil was ours where the first blood of the war was shed, then i am with him. . . . but if he can not or will not do this, – if on any pretense or no pretense he shall refuse or omit it, — then i shall be fully convinced of what i more than suspect already, - that he is deeply conscious of being in the wrong; that he feels the blood of this war, like the blood of abel, is crying to heaven against him; that originally having some strong mo- tive — what, i will not stop now to give my opinion concerning — to involve the two countries in a war, and trusting to escape scrutiny by fixing the public gaze upon the exceeding brightness of military glory, - that attractive rainbow that rises in showers of blood — that serpent’s eye that charms to destroy, - he plunged into it, and has swept on and on till, disappointed in his calculation of the ease with which mexico might be sub- dued, he now finds himself he knows not where. how like the half-insane mumbling of a fever dream is the whole war part of his late message . . . his mind, taxed beyond its power, is running hither and thither, like i some tortured creature on a burning surface, finding no position on which it can settle down to be at ease. . . . he is a bewildered, con- founded, and miserably perplexed man. god grant he may be able to show there is not something about his conscience more painful than all his mental perplexity. — speech in congress; january , . ossibly you consider those acts [of ag- gression upon the mexicans] too small for notice. would you venture to so consider them had they been committed by any nation on earth against the humblest of our people? i know you would not. then i ask, is the precept “whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.” obsolete? of no force? of no application? — letter to j. m. peck; may , . b". suppose, after all, there should be some degree of inequality [in the govern- ment making internal improvements through- out the various states]. inequality is certainly never to be embraced for its own sake; but is every good thing to be discarded which may be inseparably connected with some degree of it? if so, we must discard all government. this capitol is built at the public expense, for the public benefit; but does any one doubt that it is of some peculiar local advantage to i mr. chairman, the president seems to think that enough may be done, in the way of improvements, by means of tonnage duties under state authority, with the consent of the general government. now i suppose this matter of tonnage duties is well enough in its own sphere. i suppose it may be efficient, and perhaps sufficient, to make slight improve- ments and repairs in harbors already in use and not much out of repair. but if i have any correct general idea of it, it must be wholly inefficient for any general beneficent purposes of improvement. i know very little, or rather nothing at all, of the practical matter of levy- ing and collecting tonnage duties; but i sup- pose one of its principles must be to lay a duty for the improvement of any particular harbor upon the tonnage coming into that harbor; to do otherwise — to collect money in one harbor, to be expended on improve- ments in another — would be an extremely aggravated form of that inequality which the president so much deprecates. if i be right in this, how could we make any entirely new improvement by means of tonnage duties? how make a road, a canal, or clear a greatly obstructed river? the idea that we could involves the same absurdity as the irish bull about the new boots. “i shall niver git 'em on,” says patrick, “till i wear 'em a day or two, and stretch 'em a little.” we shall never make a canal by tonnage duties until it shall i already have been made awhile, so the ton- nage can get into it. – speech in congress; june , . ere i president, i should desire the legislation of the country to rest with congress, uninfluenced by the executive in its origin or progress, and undisturbed by the veto unless in very special and clear cases. – vote; july, . i cannot but think there is some mis- take in your impression of the motives of the old men. i suppose i am now one of the old men; and i declare, on my veracity, which i think is good with you, that nothing could afford me more satisfaction than to learn that you and others of my young friends at home are doing battle in the contest, and endearing themselves to the people, and tak- ing a stand far above any i have ever been able to reach in their admiration. i cannot conceive that other old men feel differently. of course i cannot demonstrate what i say; but i was young once, and i am sure i was never ungenerously thrust back. i hardly know what to say. the way for a young man to rise is to improve himself every way he can, never suspecting that anybody wishes to hinder him. allow me to assure you that suspicion and jealousy never did help any i man in any situation. there may sometimes be ungenerous attempts to keep a young man down; and they will succeed, too, if he allows his mind to be diverted from its true channel to brood over the attempted injury. cast about, and see if this feeling has not injured every person you have ever known to fall into it. now, in what i have said, i am sure you will suspect nothing but sincere friendship. i would save you from a fatal error. you have been a laborious, studious young man. you are far better informed on almost all subjects than i have ever been. you cannot fail in any laudable object, unless you allow your mind to be improperly directed. — letter to william h. herndon; july , . fellow once advertised that he had made a discovery by which he could make a new man out of an old one, and have enough of the stuff left to make a little yellow dog. just such a discovery has general jack son's popularity been to you [democrats). you not only twice made president of him out of it, but you have had enough of the stuff left to make presidents of several com- paratively small men since; and it is your chief reliance now to make still another. by the way, mr. speaker, did you know i am a military hero? yes, sir; in the days of o ! the black hawk war i fought, bled, and came away. speaking of general cass's career reminds me of my own. i was not at still- man's defeat, but i was about as near it as cass was to hull's surrender; and, like him, i saw the place very soon afterward. it is quite certain i did not break my sword, for i had none to break; but i bent a musket pretty badly on one occasion. if cass broke his sword, the idea is he broke it in despera- tion; i bent the musket by accident. if gen- eral cass went in advance of me in picking huckleberries, i guess i surpassed him in charges upon the wild onions. if he saw any live, fighting indians, it was more than i did; but i had a good many bloody struggles with the mosquitoes, and although i never fainted from the loss of blood, i can truly say i was often very hungry. mr. speaker, if i should ever conclude to doff whatever our democratic friends may suppose there is of black-cockade federalism about me, and therefore they shall take me up as their candidate for the presi- dency, i protest they shall not make fun of me, as they have of general cass, by attempt- ing to write me into a military hero. i have heard some things from new york; and if they are true, one might well say of your party there, as a drunken fellow once said when he heard the reading of an indictment for hog-stealing. the clerk read on till he got to and through the words “did steal, take, i and carry away ten boars, ten sows, ten shoats, and ten pigs,” at which he exclaimed, “well, by golly, that is the most equally divided gang of hogs i ever did hear of !” if there is any other gang of hogs more equally divided than the democrats of new york are about this time, i have not heard of it. — speech in con- gress; july , . the mere physical of niagara falls is a very small part of that world's wonder. its power to excite reflection and emotion is its great charm. . . . it calls up the indefinite past. when columbus first sought this con- tinent — when christ suffered on the cross — when moses led israel through the red sea — nay, even when adam first came from the hand of his maker: then, as now, niagara was roaring here. the eyes of that species of extinct giants whose bones fill the mounds of america have gazed on niagara, as ours do now. contemporary with the first race of men, and older than the first man, niagara is strong and fresh to-day as ten thousand years ago. the mammoth and mastodon, so long dead that fragments of their monstrous bones alone testify that they ever lived, have gazed on niagara — in that long, long time never still for a single moment [never dried], never froze, never slept, never rested. — notes for a popular lecture on niagara falls; july, ing too much on speech-making. if any one, upon his rare powers of speaking, shall claim an exemption from the drudgery of the law, his case is a failure in advance. discourage litigation. persuade your neighbors to compromise whenever you can. point out to them how the nominal winner is often a real loser — in fees, expenses, and waste of time. as a peacemaker the lawyer has a superior opportunity of being a good man. there will still be business enough. never stir up litigation. a worse man can scarcely be found than one who does this. who can be more nearly a fiend than he who habitually overhauls the register of deeds in search of defects in titles, whereon to stir up strife, and put money in his pocket? a moral tone ought to be infused into the pro- fession which should drive such men out of it. the matter of fees is important, far beyond the mere question of bread and butter in- volved. properly attended to, fuller justice is done to both lawyer and client. an exor- bitant fee should never be claimed. as a general rule never take your whole fee in advance, nor any more than a small retainer. when fully paid beforehand, you are more than a common mortal if you can feel the same interest in the case, as if something was still in prospect for you, as well as for your client. and when you lack interest in the case the job will very likely lack skill and dili- gence in the performance. settle the amount of fee and take a note in advance. then you will feel that you are working for something, and you are sure to do your work faithfully and well. never sell a fee note — at least not before the consideration service is performed. it leads to negligence and dishonesty — negli- gence by losing interest in the case, and dis- honesty in refusing to refund when you have allowed the consideration to fail. there is a vague popular belief that lawyers are necessarily dishonest. i say vague, be- cause when we consider to what extent con- fidence and honors are reposed in and con- ferred upon lawyers by the people, it appears improbable that their impression of dishonesty is very distinct and vivid. yet the impression is common, almost universal. let no young man choosing the law for a calling for a mo- ment yield to the popular belief – resolve to be honest at all events; and if in your own judgment you cannot be an honest lawyer, resolve to be honest without being a lawyer. choose some other occupation, rather than one in the choosing of which you do, in ad- vance, consent to be a knave. — notes for law lecture; july, . m*, clay ever was on principle and in feeling opposed to slavery. the very earliest, and one of the latest, public efforts of his life, separated by a period of more than fifty years, were both made in favor of gradual emancipation. he did not perceive that on a question of human right the negroes were to be excepted from the human race. and yet mr. clay was the owner of slaves. cast into life when slavery was already widely spread and deeply seated, he did not perceive, as i think no wise man has perceived, how it could be at once eradicated without produc- ing a greater evil even to the cause of human liberty itself. his feeling and his judgment, therefore, ever led him to oppose both ex- tremes of opinion on the subject. those who would shiver into fragments the union of these states, tear to tatters its now venerated constitution, and even burn the last copy of the bible, rather than slavery should continue a single hour, together with all their more halting sympathizers, have received, and are receiving, their just execration; and the name and opinions and influence of mr. clay are fully and, as i trust, effectually and endur- ingly arrayed against them. but i would also, if i could, array his name, opinions, and in- fluence against the opposite extreme — against a few but an increasing number of men who, for the sake of perpetuating slavery, are beginning to assail and to ridicule the white man's charter of freedom, the declara- tion that “all men are created free and equal.” — eulogy of henry clay; july , . the legitimate object of government is to do for a community of people whatever they need to have done, but cannot do at all, or cannot so well do, for themselves, in their separate and individual capacities. in all that the people can individually do as well for themselves, government ought not to interfere. equality in society alike beats inequality, whether the latter be of the british aristo- cratic sort or of the domestic slavery sort. we know southern men declare that their slaves are better off than hired laborers among us. how little they know whereof they speak! there is no permanent class of hired laborers amongst us. twenty-five years ago i was a hired laborer. the hired laborer of yesterday labors on his own account to-day, and will hire others to labor for him to-morrow. ad- vancement — improvement in condition — is the order of things in a society of equals. as labor is the common burden of our race, so the effort of some to shift their share of the burden onto the shoulders of others is the great durable curse of the race. originally a curse for transgression upon the whole race, when, as by slavery, it is concentrated on a part only, it becomes the double-refined curse of god upon his creatures. free labor has the inspiration of hope; pure slavery has no hope. the power of hope upon human exertion and happiness is won- derful. the slave-master himself has a con- ception of it, and hence the system of tasks among slaves. the slave whom you cannot drive with the lash to break seventy-five pounds of hemp in a day, if you will task him to break a hundred, and promise him pay for all he does over, he will break you a hundred and fifty. you have substituted hope for the rod. and yet perhaps it does not occur to you that to the extent of your gain in the case, you have given up the slave system and adopted the free system of labor. if a can prove, however conclusively, that he may of right enslave b, why may not b snatch the same argument and prove equally that he may enslave ap you say a is white and b is black. it is color, then; the lighter having the right to enslave the darker? take care. by this rule you are to be slave to the first man you meet with a fairer skin than your own. you do not mean color exactly? you mean the whites are intellectually the superiors of the blacks, and therefore have the right to enslave them? take care again. by this rule you are to be slave to the first man you meet with an intellect superior to your own. but, say you, it is a question of interest, and if you make it your interest you have the right to enslave another. very well. and if he can make it his interest he has the right to enslave you. the ant who has toiled and dragged a crumb to his nest will furiously defend the fruit of his labor against whatever robber assails him. so plain that the most dumb and stupid slave that ever toiled for a master does constantly know that he is wronged. so plain that no one, high or low, ever does mistake it, except in a plainly selfish way; for although volume upon volume is written to prove slav- ery a very good thing, we never hear of the man who wishes to take the good of it by being a slave himself. - most governments have been based, practi- cally, on the denial of the equal rights of men, as i have, in part, stated them; ours began by affirming those rights. they said, some men are too ignorant and vicious to share in gov- ernment. possibly so, said we; and, by your system, you would always keep them ignorant and vicious. we proposed to give all a chance; and we expected the weak to grow stronger, the ignorant wiser, and all better and happier together. we made the experiment, and the fruit is before us. look at it, think of it. look at it in its aggregate grandeur, of extent of country, and numbers of population — of ship, and steamboat, and railroad. – notes on govern- ment; july, . i think, and shall try to show, that the repeal of the missouri compromise is wrong — wrong in its direct effect, letting slavery into kansas and nebraska, and wrong in its prospective principle, allowing it to spread to every other part of the wide world where men can be found inclined to take it. this declared indifference, but, as i must think, covert real zeal, for the spread of slavery, i cannot but hate. i hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself. i hate it because it deprives our republican example of its just influence in the world; enables the enemies of free institutions with plausibility to taunt us as hypocrites; causes the real friends of freedom to doubt our sin- cerity; and especially because it forces so many good men among ourselves into an open war with the very fundamental prin- ciples of civil liberty, criticising the dec- laration of independence, and insisting that there is no right principle of action but self-interest. when southern people tell us they are no more responsible for the origin of slavery than we are, i acknowledge the fact. when it is said that the institution exists, and that it is very difficult to get rid of it in any satisfactory way, i can understand and appreciate the saying. i surely will not blame them for not doing what i should not know how to do my- self. if all earthly power were given me, i should not know what to do as to the existing institution. my first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them to liberia, to their native land. but a moment's re- - * flection would convince me that whatever of high hope (as i think there is) there may be in this in the long run, its sudden execution is impossible. if they were all landed there in a day, they would all perish in the next ten days; and there are not surplus shipping and surplus money enough to carry them there in many times ten days. what then? free them all, and keep them among us as under- lings? is it quite certain that this betters their condition? i think i would not hold one in slavery at any rate, yet the point is not clear enough for me to denounce people upon. what next? free them, and make them politically and socially our equals. my own feelings will not admit of this, and if mine would, we well know that those of the great mass of whites will not. whether this feel- ing accords with justice and sound judgment is not the sole question, if indeed it is any part of it. a universal feeling, whether well or ill founded, cannot be safely disregarded. we cannot then make them equals. it does seem to me that systems of gradual emancipation might be adopted, but for their tardiness in this i will not undertake to judge our brethren of the south. when they remind us of their constitu- tional rights, i acknowledge them — not grudgingly, but fully and fairly; and i would give them any legislation for the reclaiming of their fugitives which should not in its stringency be more likely to carry a free man people manifest, in many ways, their sense of the wrong of slavery, and their conscious- ness that, after all, there is humanity in the negro. if they deny this, let me address them a few plain questions. in you joined the north, almost unanimously, in declaring the african slave-trade piracy, and in annex- ing to it the punishment of death. why did you do this? if you did not feel that it was wrong, why did you join in providing that men should be hung for it? the practice was no more than bringing wild negroes from africa to such as would buy them. but you never thought of hanging men for catching and selling wild horses, wild buffaloes, or wild bears. again, you have among you a sneaking individual of the class of native tyrants known as the “slave-dealer.” he watches your necessities, and crawls up to buy your slave, at a speculating price. if you cannot help it, you sell to him; but if you can help it, you drive him from your door. you despise him utterly. you do not recognize him as a friend, or even as an honest man. your children must not play with his; they may rollick freely with the little negroes, but not with the slave-dealer's children. if you are obliged to deal with him, you try to get through the job without so much as touching him. it is com- mon with you to join hands with the men you meet, but with the slave-dealer you avoid the ceremony — instinctively shrinking from the well ! i doubt not that the people of ne- braska are and will continue to be as good as the average of people elsewhere. i do not say the contrary. what i do say is that no man is good enough to govern another man without that other's consent. i say this is the lead- ing principle, the sheet-anchor of american republicanism. still further: there are constitutional re- lations between the slave and free states which are degrading to the latter. we are under legal obligations to catch and return their runaway slaves to them: a sort of dirty, disagreeable job, which, i believe, as a gen- eral rule, the slaveholders will not perform for one another. then again, in the control of the government — the management of the partnership affairs — they have greatly the advantage of us. by the constitution each state has two senators, each has a number of representatives in proportion to the number of its people, and each has a number of presi- dential electors equal to the whole number of its senators and representatives together. but in ascertaining the number of the people for this purpose, five slaves are counted as being equal to three whites. the slaves do not vote; they are only counted and so used as to swell the influence of the white people's votes. the practical effect of this is more aptly shown by a comparison of the states of south carolina and maine. south carolina has six question in which i am somewhat concerned, and one which no other man can have a sacred right of deciding for me. if i am wrong in this — if it really be a sacred right of self- government in the man who shall go to ne- braska to decide whether he will be the equal of me or the double of me, then, after he shall have exercised that right, and thereby shall have reduced me to a still smaller fraction of a man than i already am, i should like for some gentleman, deeply skilled in the myste- ries of sacred rights, to provide himself with a microscope, and peep about, and find out, if he can, what has become of my sacred rights. they will surely be too small for detection with the naked eye. but nebraska is urged as a great union- saving measure. well, i too go for saving the union. much as i hate slavery, i would con- sent to the extension of it rather than see the union dissolved, just as i would consent to any great evil to avoid a greater one. but when i go to union-saving, i must believe, at least, that the means i employ have some adaptation to the end. to my mind, nebraska has no such adaptation. it hath no relish of salvation in it. it is an aggravation, rather, of the only one thing which ever endangers the union. when it came upon us, all was peace and quiet. the nation was looking to the forming of new bonds of union, and a long course of peace and prosperity seemed to lie before us. in the whole range of possibility, there scarcely ap- pears to me to have been anything out of which the slavery agitation could have been revived, except the very project of repealing the missouri compromise. every inch of territory we owned already had a definite settlement of the slavery question, by which all parties were pledged to abide. . . . in this state of affairs the genius of dis- cord himself could scarcely have invented a way of again setting us by the ears but by turning back and destroying the peace meas- ures of the past. the counsels of that genius seem to have prevailed. the missouri com- promise was repealed; and here we are in the midst of a new slavery agitation, such, i think, as we have never seen before. who is responsible for this? is it those who resist the measure, or those who causelessly brought it forward and pressed it through, having reason to know, and in fact knowing, it must and would be so resisted p. it could not but be expected by its author that it would be looked upon as a measure for the extension of slavery, aggravated by a gross breach of faith. argue as you will and long as you will, this is the naked front and aspect of the measure. and in this aspect it could not but produce agitation. slavery is founded in the selfish- ness of man's nature — opposition to it in his love of justice. these principles are in eternal antagonism, and when brought into collision so fiercely as slavery extension brings them, shocks and throes and convulsions must ceaselessly follow. repeal the missouri com- promise, repeal all compromises, repeal the declaration of independence, repeal all past history, you still cannot repeal human nature. it still will be the abundance of man’s heart that slavery extension is wrong, and out of the abundance of his heart his mouth will con- tinue to speak. fellow-countrymen, americans, south as well as north, shall we make no effort to ar- rest this? already the liberal party through- out the world express the apprehension “that the one retrograde institution in america is undermining the principles of progress, and fatally violating the noblest political system the world ever saw.” this is not the taunt of enemies, but the warning of friends. is it quite safe to disregard it — to despise it? is there no danger to liberty itself in discarding the earliest practice and first precept of our ancient faith? in our greedy chase to make profit of the negro, let us beware lest we “can- cel and tear in pieces” even the white man's charter of freedom. our republican robe is soiled and trailed in the dust. let us repurify it. let us turn and wash it white in the spirit, if not the blood, of the revolution. let us turn slavery from its claims of “moral right” back upon its ex- isting legal rights and its arguments of “neces- sity.” let us return it to the position our fathers gave it, and there let it rest in peace. let us readopt the declaration of independ- ence, and with it the practices and policy which harmonize with it. let north and south — let all americans — let all lovers of liberty everywhere join in the great and good work. if we do this, we shall not only have saved the union, but we shall have so saved it as to make and to keep it forever worthy of the saving. we shall have so saved it that the succeeding millions of free happy people, the world over, shall rise up and call us blessed to the latest generations. – on the repeal of the missouri compromise speech at peoria, ill.; october , . sinº. then [the missouri compromise of ] we have had thirty-six years of ex- perience; and this experience has demon- strated, i think, that there is no peaceful extinction of slavery in prospect for us. the signal failure of henry clay and other good and great men, in , to effect anything in favor of gradual emancipation in kentucky, together with a thousand other signs, extin- guished that hope utterly. on the question of liberty as a principle, we are not what we have been. when we were the political slaves of king george, and wanted to be free, we called o the maxim that “all men are created equal” a self-evident truth, but now when we have grown fat, and have lost all dread of being slaves ourselves, we have become so greedy to be masters that we call the same maxim “a self-evident lie.” the fourth of july has not quite dwindled away; it is still a great day — for burning fire-crackers!!! that spirit which desired the peaceful ex- tinction of slavery has itself become extinct with the occasion and the men of the revolu- tion. under the impulse of that occasion, nearly half the states adopted systems of emancipation at once, and it is a significant fact that not a single state has done the like since. so far as peaceful voluntary emancipa- tion is concerned, the condition of the negro slave in america, scarcely less terrible to the contemplation of a free mind, is now as fixed and hopeless of change for the better, as that of the lost souls of the finally impenitent. the autocrat of all the russias will resign his crown and proclaim his subjects free re- publicans sooner than will our american masters voluntarily give up their slaves. our political problem now is, “can we as a nation continue together permanently — for- ever — half slave and half free?” the prob- lem is too mighty for me — may god, in his mercy, superintend the solution. — letter to george robertson; august , . bonds of union, and a long course of peace and prosperity seemed to lie before us. in the whole range of possibility, there scarcely ap- pears to me to have been anything out of which the slavery agitation could have been revived, except the very project of repealing the missouri compromise. every inch of territory we owned already had a definite settlement of the slavery question, by which all parties were pledged to abide. . . . in this state of affairs the genius of dis- cord himself could scarcely have invented a way of again setting us by the ears but by turning back and destroying the peace meas- ures of the past. the counsels of that genius seem to have prevailed. the missouri com- promise was repealed; and here we are in the midst of a new slavery agitation, such, i think, as we have never seen before. who is responsible for this? is it those who resist the measure, or those who causelessly brought it forward and pressed it through, having reason to know, and in fact knowing, it must and would be so resisted p. it could not but be expected by its author that it would be looked upon as a measure for the extension of slavery, aggravated by a gross breach of faith. argue as you will and long as you will, this is the naked front and aspect of the measure. and in this aspect it could not but produce agitation. slavery is founded in the selfish- ness of man's nature — opposition to it in * his love of justice. these principles are in eternal antagonism, and when brought into collision so fiercely as slavery extension brings them, shocks and throes and convulsions must ceaselessly follow. repeal the missouri com- promise, repeal all compromises, repeal the declaration of independence, repeal all past history, you still cannot repeal human nature. it still will be the abundance of man's heart that slavery extension is wrong, and out of the abundance of his heart his mouth will con- tinue to speak. - - - - - - - - fellow-countrymen, americans, south as well as north, shall we make no effort to ar- rest this? already the liberal party through- out the world express the apprehension “that the one retrograde institution in america is undermining the principles of progress, and fatally violating the noblest political system the world ever saw.” this is not the taunt of enemies, but the warning of friends. is it quite safe to disregard it — to despise it? is there no danger to liberty itself in discarding the earliest practice and first precept of our ancient faith? in our greedy chase to make profit of the negro, let us beware lest we “can- cel and tear in pieces” even the white man's charter of freedom. our republican robe is soiled and trailed in the dust. let us repurify it. let us turn and wash it white in the spirit, if not the blood, of the revolution. let us turn slavery from acknowledge your rights and my obligations under the constitution in re- gard to your slaves. i confess i hate to see the poor creatures hunted down and caught and carried back to their stripes and unre- quited toil; but i bite my lips and keep quiet. in you and i had together a tedious low- water trip on a steamboat from louisville to st. louis. you may remember, as i well do, that from louisville to the mouth of the ohio there were on board ten or a dozen slaves shackled together with irons. that sight was a continued torment to me and i see something like it every time i touch the ohio or any other slave border. it is not fair for you to assume that i have no interest in a thing which has, and continually exercises, the power of making me miserable. you ought rather to appreciate how much the great body of the northern people do crucify their feelings, in order to maintain their loy- alty to the constitution and the union. i do oppose the extension of slavery because my judgment and feeling so prompt me, and i am under no obligations to the contrary. if for this you and i must differ, differ we must. . . . you inquire where i now stand. that is a disputed point. i think i am a whig; but others say there are no whigs, and that i am an abolitionist. when i was at washington, i voted for the wilmot proviso as good as forty times; and i never heard of any one attempting to unwhig me for that. i now do no more than oppose the extension of slavery. i am not a know-nothing; that is certain. how could i be? how can any one who abhors the oppression of negroes be in favor of degrading classes of white people? our progress in degeneracy appears to me to be pretty rapid. as a nation we began by declar- ing that “all men are created equal.” we now practically read it “all men are created equal, except negroes.” when the know- nothings get control, it will read “all men are created equal, except negroes and foreigners and catholics.” when it comes to this, i shall prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty, - to russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy. — letter to joshua f. speed; august , . he conclusion of all is, that we must restore the missouri compromise. we must highly resolve that kansas shall be free! we must reinstate the birthday promise of the republic; we must reaffirm the declara- tion of independence; we must make good in essence as well as in form madison's avowal that “the word slave ought not to appear in the constitution”; and we must even go further, and decree that only local law, and not that time-honored instrument, shall shelter a slave-holder. we must make this a land of liberty in fact, as it is in name. but in seeking to attain these results — so indispensable if the liberty which is our pride and boast shall endure — we will be loyal to the constitution and to the “flag of our union,” and no matter what our grievance — even though kansas shall come in as a slave state — and no matter what theirs — even if we shall restore the compromise — we will say to the southern disunionists, we won't go out of the union, and you shan't | | | – speech before the first re- publican convention, bloomington, illinois, may , , as reported by henry c. whitney. yo. further charge us with being dis- unionists. if you mean that it is our aim to dissolve the union, i for myself an- swer that it is untrue; for those who act with me i answer that it is untrue. have you heard us assert that as our aim p do you really believe that such is our aim p do you find it in our platform, our speeches, our conventions, or anywhere? if not, withdraw the charge. but you may say that though it is not our aim, it will be the result if we succeed, and that we are therefore disunionists in fact. . . . the only charge that could be made [against us] is that the restoration of the restriction of , making the united states territory free territorv, would dissolve the union. gentle- men, it will require a decided majority to pass such an act. we, the majority, being able constitutionally to do all that we purpose, would have no desire to dissolve the union. do you say that such restriction of slavery would be unconstitutional, and that some of the states would not submit to its enforce- ment? i grant you that an unconstitutional act is not a law; but i do not ask and will not take your construction of the constitution. the supreme court of the united states is the tribunal to decide such a question, and we will submit to its decisions; and if you do also, there will be an end of the matter. will you? if not, who are the disunionists — you or we? we, the majority, would not strive to dissolve the union; and if any attempt is made, it must be by you, who so loudly stig- matize us as disunionists. but the union, in any event, will not be dissolved. we don't want to dissolve it, and if you attempt it we won’t let you. with the purse and sword, the army and navy and treasury, in our hands and at our command, you could not do it. this government would be very weak indeed if a majority with a disciplined army and navy and a well-filled treasury could not preserve itself when attacked by an unarmed, undis- ciplined, unorganized minority. all this talk about the dissolution of the union is humbug, nothing but folly. we do not want to dis- solve the union; you shall not. — speech at galena, illinois; august, . rºº. to the question, “shall slavery be allowed to extend into united states territory now legally free?” this is a sectional question — that is to say, it is a question in its nature calculated to divide the american people geographically. who is to blame for that? who can help it? either side can help it; but how? simply by yield- ing to the other side; there is no other way; in the whole range of possibility there is no other way. then, which side shall yield? to this, again, there can be but one answer, — the side which is in the wrong. true, we differ as to which side is wrong, and we boldly say, let all who really think slavery ought to be spread into free territory, openly go over against us; there is where they rightfully belong. but why should any go who really think slavery ought not to spread? do they really think the right ought to yield to the wrong? are they afraid to stand by the right? do they fear that the constitution is too weak to sustain them in the right? do they really think that by right surrendering to wrong the hopes of our constitution, our union, and our liberties can possibly be bettered?— speech in frémont campaign; october, . o". government rests in public opinion. whoever can change public opinion can change the government practically just so much. public opinion, on any subject, always has a “central idea,” from which all its minor thoughts radiate. that “central idea” in our political public opinion at the beginning was, and until recently has continued to be, “the equality of men.” and although it has always submitted patiently to whatever of inequality there seemed to be as matter of actual necessity, its constant working has been a steady progress toward the practical equality of all men. the late presidential election was a struggle by one party to discard that central idea and to substitute for it the opposite idea that slavery is right in the ab- stract, the workings of which as a central idea may be the perpetuity of human slavery and its extension to all countries and colors. less than a year ago the richmond enquirer, an avowed advocate of slavery, regardless of color, in order to favor his views, invented the phrase “state equality,” and now the presi- dent, in his message, adopts the enquirer's catch-phrase, telling us the people “have asserted the constitutional equality of each and all of the states of the union as states.” the president flatters himself that the new central idea is completely inaugurated; and so indeed it is, so far as the mere fact of a presidential election can inaugurate it. to us it is left to know that the majority of the people have not yet declared for it, and to hope that they never will. let us reinaugurate the good old “central idea” of the republic. we can do it. the human heart is with us; god is with us. we shall again be able not to declare that “all states as states are equal,” nor yet that “all citizens as citizens are equal,” but to renew the broader, better declaration, including both these and much more, that “all men are created equal.” – speech at republican ban- quet in chicago; december io, . i protest against the counterfeit logic which concludes that, because i do not want a black woman for a slave i must neces- sarily want her for a wife. i need not have her for either. i can just leave her alone. in some respects she certainly is not my equal; but in her natural right to eat the bread she earns with her own hands without asking leave of any one else, she is my equal, and the equal of all others. i think the authors of that notable instru- ment [the declaration of independence] in- tended to include all men, but they did not intend to declare all men equal in all respects. they did not mean to say all were equal in color, size, intellect, moral developments, or social capacity. they defined with tolerable distinctness in what respects they did con- sider all men created equal — equal with “certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” this they said, and this they meant. they did not mean to assert the obvious untruth that all were then actually enjoying that equality, nor yet that they were about to con- fer it immediately upon them. in fact, they had no power to confer such a boon. they meant simply to declare the right, so that en- forcement of it might follow as fast as circum- stances should permit. they meant to set up a standard maxim for free society, which should be familiar to all, and revered by all; constantly looked to, con- stantly labored for, and even though never perfectly attained, constantly approximated, and thereby constantly spreading and deepen- ing its influence and augmenting the happi- ness and value of life to all people of all colors everywhere. the assertion that “all men are created equal” was of no practical use in effecting our separation from great britain; and it was placed in the declaration not for that, but for future use. its authors meant it to be — as, thank god, it is now proving itself — a stumbling-block to all those who in after times might seek to turn a free people back into the hateful paths of despotism. they knew the proneness of prosperity to breed tyrants, and they meant when such should reappear in this fair land and com- mence their vocation, they should find left for them at least one hard nut to crack. i had thought the declaration promised something better than the condition of british . subjects; but no, it only meant [according to judge douglas] that we should be equal to them in their own oppressed and unequal condition. according to that, it gave no prom- ise that, having kicked off the king and lords of great britain, we should not at once be saddled with a king and lords of our own. i had thought the declaration contem- plated the progressive improvement in the condition of all men everywhere; but no, it merely “was adopted for the purpose of justi- fying the colonists in the eyes of the civilized world in withdrawing their allegiance from the british crown, and dissolving their con- nection with the mother country.” why, that object having been effected some eighty years ago, the declaration is of no practical use now — mere rubbish — old wadding left to rot on the battle-field after the victory is won. i understand you are preparing to celebrate the “fourth,” to-morrow week. what for? the doings of that day had no reference to the present; and quite half of you are not even descendants of those who were referred to at that day. but i suppose you will cele- brate, and will even go so far as to read the declaration. suppose, after you read it once in the old-fashioned way, you read it once more with judge douglas's version. it will then run thus: “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all british subjects who were on this continent eighty-one years ago, were o and sell him for fifteen hundred dollars, and the rise. — speech in reply to senator douglas at springfield, ill.; june , . wf are now far into the fifth year since a policy was initiated with the avowed object and confident promise of putting an end to slavery agitation. under the operation of that policy, that agitation has not only not ceased, but has constantly augmented. in my opinion, it will not cease until a crisis shall have been reached and passed. “a house divided against itself cannot stand.” i be- lieve this government cannot endure per- manently half slave and half free. i do not expect the union to be dissolved — i do not expect the house to fall — but i do expect it will cease to be divided. it will become all one thing, or all the other. either the op- ponents of slavery will arrest the further spread of it, and place it where the public mind shall rest in the belief that it is in the course of ultimate extinction; or its advocates will push it forward till it shall become alike lawful in all the states, old as well as new, north as well as south. it will throw additional light . . . to go back and run the mind over the string of his- torical facts already stated. several things wil" appear less dark and mysterious than hen they were transpiring. the roger, and james, for instance, — and we see these timbers joined together, and see they exactly make the frame of a house or a mill, all the tenons and mortises exactly fitting, and all the lengths and proportions of the different pieces exactly adapted to their respective places, and not a piece too many or too few, not omitting even scaffolding — or, if a single piece be lacking, we see the place in the frame exactly fitted and prepared yet to bring such piece in — in such a case we find it impossible not to believe that stephen and franklin and roger and james all understood one another from the beginning, and all worked upon a common plan or draft drawn up before the first blow was struck. — speech accepting the nomination for united states senator, spring- field, ill., june , . hat was squatter sovereignty p i sup- pose if it had any significance at all, it was the right of the people to govern them- selves, to be sovereign in their own affairs while they were squatted down in a country not their own, while they had squatted on a territory that did not belong to them, in the sense that a state belongs to the people who inhabit it — when it belonged to the nation —such right to govern themselves was called “squatter sovereignty.” now i wish you to mark what has become of that squatter sovereignty. what has be- come of it? can you get anybody to tell you now that the people of a territory have any authority to govern themselves, in regard to this mooted question of slavery, before they form a state constitution? no such thing at all, although there is a general running fire, and although there has been a hurrah made in every speech on that side, assuming that policy had given the people of a territory the right to govern themselves upon this question; yet the point is dodged. to-day it has been decided – no more than a year ago it was decided by the supreme court of the united states, and is insisted upon to-day — that the people of a territory have no right to exclude slavery from a territory; that if any one man chooses to take slaves into a territory, all the rest of the people have no right to keep them out. we were often . . . in the course of judge douglas's speech last night reminded that this government was made for white men. . . . well, that is putting it into a shape in which no one wants to deny it; but the judge then goes into his passion for drawing inferences that are not warranted. i protest now and forever, against that counterfeit logic which presumes that because i do not want a negro woman for a slave, i do necessarily want her for a wife. my understanding is that i need not have her for either; but, as god made us separate, we can leave one another alone, and do one another much good thereby. there are white men enough to marry all the white women, and enough black men to marry all the black women, and in god's name let them be so married. the judge regales us with the terrible enormities that take place by the mixture of races; that the inferior race bears the superior down. why, judge, if we do not let them get together in the territories, they won’t mix there. [a voice: “three cheers for lincoln/* the cheers were given with a hearty good will.] i should say at least that that is a self-evident truth. we have . . . among us . . . men who have come from europe . . . and settled here, finding themselves ouredual in all things. if they look back through this history to trace their connection with those days by blood, they find they have none; they cannot carry themselves back into that glorious epoch and make themselves feel that they are part of us; but when they look through that old declara- tion of independence, they find that those old men say that “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,” and then they feel that that moral sentiment taught in that day evidences their relation to those men, that it is the father of all moral principle in them, and that they have a right to claim it as though they were blood of the blood, and flesh of the flesh, of the men who wrote that declaration, and so they are. that *- race as a reason for enslaving the men of another race, it is all the same old serpent, and i hold if that course of argumentation that is made for the purpose of convincing the public mind that we should not care about this should be granted, it does not stop with the negro. i should like to know — taking this old declaration of independence, which declares that all men are equal upon principle, and making exceptions to it — where will it stop? if one man says it does not mean a negro, why not another say it does not mean some other man? if that declaration is not the truth, let us get the statute-book in which we find it, and tear it out! who is so bold as to do it? if it is not true, let us tear it out. [cries of “no, no.”] let us stick to it, then; let us stand firmly by it, then. it is said in one of the admonitions of our lord, “be ye perfect, even as your father which is in heaven is perfect.” the saviour, i suppose, did not expect that any human creature could be perfect as the father in heaven; but . . . he set that up as a stand- ard, and he who did most toward reaching that standard attained the highest degree of moral perfection. so i say in relation to the principle that all men are created equal, let it be as nearly reached as we can. if we can- not give freedom to every creature, let us do nothing that will impose slavery upon any other creature. let us then turn this govern- ment back into the channel in which the framers of the constitution originally placed it. let us stand firmly by each other. if we do not do so, we are tending in the contrary direction that our friend judge douglas pro- poses — not intentionally — working in the traces that tend to make this one universal slave nation. he is one that runs in that direction, and as such i resist him. — speech at chicago; july , . tº is still another disadvantage under which we labor. . . . it arises out of the relative positions of the two persons who stand before the state as candidates for the senate. senator douglas is of world-wide renown. all the anxious politicians of his party, or who have been of his party for years past, have been looking upon him as certainly, at no distant day, to be the president of the united states. they have seen in his round, jolly, fruitful face, post-offices, land-offices, marshalships, and cabinet appointments, chargeships and foreign missions, bursting and sprouting out in wonderful exuberance, ready to be laid hold of by their greedy hands. and as they have been gazing upon this at- tractive picture so long, they cannot, in the little distraction that has taken place in the party, bring themselves to give up the charm- ing hope; but with greedier anxiety they rush about him, sustain him, and give him marches, triumphal entries, and receptions beyond what even in the days of his highest prosperity they could have brought about in his favor. on the contrary, nobody has ever expected me to be president. in my poor, lean, lank face nobody has ever seen that any cabbages were sprouting out. — speech at springfield, ill., july , . nº. my countrymen, if you have been taught doctrines conflicting with the great landmarks of the declaration of inde- pendence; if you have listened to suggestions which would take away from its grandeur and mutilate the fair symmetry of its proportions; if you have been inclined to believe that all men are not created equal in those inalien- able rights enumerated by our chart of liberty, let me entreat you to come back. return to the fountain whose waters spring close by the blood of the revolution. think nothing of me — take no thought for the political fate of any man whomsoever — but come back to the truths that are in the declaration of independence. you may do anything with me you choose, if you will but heed these sacred principles. you may not only defeat me for the senate, but you may take me and put me to death. while pretending no indif- ference to earthly honors, i do claim to be actuated in this contest by something higher than an anxiety for office. i charge you to o drop every paltry and insignificant thought for any man's success. it is nothing; i am nothing; judge douglas is nothing. but do not destroy that immortal emblem of human- ity — the declaration of american independ- ence. — speech at lewiston, ill.; august , . ou can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time. — speech at clinton, ill., sep- tember , . udge douglas's discovery: . . . the -- right to breed and flog negroes in ne- braska was popular sovereignty. — speech at paris, ill., september , . nd when, by all these means, you have succeeded in dehumanizing the negro; when you have put him down and made it impossible for him to be but as the beasts of the field; when you have extinguished his soul in this world and placed him where the ray of hope is blown out as in the darkness of the damned, are you quite sure that the demon you have roused will not turn and rend you? what constitutes the bulwark of our own liberty and independence? it is not our frowning battlements, our bristling sea- coasts, our army and our navy. these are not our reliance against tyranny. all of those may be turned against us without making us weaker for the struggle. our reliance is in the love of liberty which god has planted in us. our defence is in the spirit which prized liberty as the heritage of all men, in all lands everywhere. destroy this spirit and you have planted the seeds of despotism at your own doors. familiarize yourselves with the chains of bondage and you prepare your own limbs to wear them. accustomed to trample on the rights of others, you have lost the genius of your own independence and become the fit subjects of the first cunning tyrant who rises among you. and let me tell you, that all these things are prepared for you by the teach- ings of history, if the elections shall promise that the next dred scott decision and all future decisions will be quietly acquiesced in by the people. — speech at edwardsville, ill.; september , . i hold that the proposition [advanced by judge douglas] that slavery cannot enter a new country without police regulations is historically false. it is not true at all. i hold that the history of this country shows that the institution of slavery was originally planted upon this continent without these “police regulations” which the judge now thinks necessary for the actual establishment of it. not only so, but is there not another fact — how came this dred scott decision to be made it was made upon the case of a negro being taken and actually held in slavery in min- nesota territory, claiming his freedom be- cause the act of congress prohibited his being so held there. will the judge pretend that dred scott was not held there without police regulations? there is at least one matter of record as to his having been held in slavery in the territory, not only without police reg- ulations, but in the teeth of congressional legislation supposed to be valid at the time. this shows that there is vigor enough in slavery to plant itself in a new country even against unfriendly legislation. it takes not only law but the enforcement of law to keep it out. that is the history of this country upon the subject. i wish to ask one other question. it being understood that the constitution of the united states guarantees property in slaves in the territories, if there is any infringement of the right of that property, would not the united states courts, organized for the government of the territory, apply such remedy as might be necessary in that case? it is a maxim held by the courts, that there is no wrong without its remedy; and the courts have a remedy for whatever is acknowledged and treated as a wrong. again: i will ask you, my friends, if you were elected members of the legislature, what would be the first thing you would have to do before entering upon your duties? swear to support the constitution of the united states. suppose you believe, as judge douglas does, that the constitution of the united states guarantees to your neighbor the right to hold slaves in that territory, - that they are his property, — how can you clear your oaths unless you give him such legislation as is nec- essary to enable him to enjoy that property? . . . and what i say here will hold with still more force against the judge's doctrine of “unfriendly legislation.” how could you, having sworn to support the constitution, and believing that it guaranteed the right to hold slaves in the territories, assist in legislation intended to defeat that right? that would be violating your own view of the constitu- tion. not only so, but if you were to do so, how long would it take the courts to hold your votes unconstitutional and void? not a moment. lastly i would ask — is not congress itself under obligation to give legislative support to any right that is established under the united states constitution ? . . . a member of congress swears to support the constitu- tion of the united states, and if he sees a right established by that constitution which needs specific legislative protection, can he clear his oath without giving that protection? let me ask many of us who are opposed to slavery upon principle give our acquiescence to a fugitive-slave law? why do we hold our- selves under obligations to pass such a law, and abide by it when it is passed? because the constitution makes provision that the owners of slaves shall have the right to re- claim them. it gives the right to reclaim slaves, and that right is, as judge douglas says, a barren right, unless there is legislation that will enforce it. — debate with douglas at jonesboro, ill., september , . i have never had the least apprehension that i or my friends would marry negroes if there was no law to keep them from it; but as judge douglas and his friends seem to be in great apprehension that they might, if there were no law to keep them from it, i give him the most solemn pledge that i will to the very last stand by the law of this state, which for- bids the marrying of white people with ne- groes. i will add one further word, which is this: that i do not understand that there is any place where an alteration of the social and political relations of the negro and the white man can be made except in the state legisla- ture — not in the congress of the united states; and as i do not really apprehend the approach of any such thing myself, and as judge douglas seems to be in constant horror that some such danger is rapidly approach- ing, i propose, as the best means to prevent it, that the judge be kept at home and placed in the state legislature to fight the measure. — debate with douglas at charleston, ill.; september , . he judge has alluded to the declaration of independence, and insisted that ne- groes are not included in that declaration; and that it is a slander upon the framers of that instrument to suppose that negroes were meant therein; and he asks you: is it pos- sible to believe that mr. jefferson, who penned the immortal paper, could have supposed himself applying the language of that instru- ment to the negro race, and yet held a portion of that race in slavery p. would he not at once have freed them? i only have to remark upon this part of the judge's speech that i believe the entire records of the world, from the date of the declaration of independence up to within three years ago, may be searched in vain for one single affirmation, from one single man, that the negro was not included in the declaration of independence; i think i may defy judge douglas to show that he ever said so, that washington ever said so, that any president ever said so, that any member of congress ever said so, or that any living man upon the whole earth ever said so, until the necessities of the present policy of the democratic party in regard to slavery had to invent that affirmation. and i will remind judge douglas and this audience that while mr. jefferson was the owner of slaves, as undoubtedly he was, in speaking upon this very subject, he used the strong language that “he trembled for his country when he remem- bered that god was just”; and i will offer the highest premium in my power to judge douglas if he will show that he, in all his life, ever uttered a sentiment at all akin to that of jefferson. i have never manifested any impatience with the necessities that spring from the actual presence of black people amongst us, and the actual existence of slavery amongst us where it does already exist; but i have insisted that, in legislating for new countries where it does not exist, there is no just rule other than that of moral and abstract right. with reference to those new countries, those maxims as to the right of a people to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” were the just rules to be constantly referred to. there is no misunderstanding this, except by men interested to misunderstand it. . . . the real difference between douglas and his friends and the republicans is that the judge is not in favor of making any difference be- tween slavery and liberty — that he is in favor of eradicating, of pressing out of view, the questions of preference in this country for free or slave institutions; and consequently every sentiment he utters discards the idea that there is any wrong in slavery. every- thing that emanates from him or his coad- jutors in their course of policy carefully ex- cludes the thought that there is anything wrong in slavery. if you will take the judge's speeches, and select the short and pointed sentences expressed by him, - as his declara- tion that he “don’t care whether slavery is voted up or down,” — you will see at once that this is perfectly logical, if you do not admit that slavery is wrong. if you do admit that it is wrong, judge douglas cannot logi- cally say he don't care whether a wrong is voted up or voted down. judge douglas declares that if any community wants slavery they have a right to have it. he can say that logically, if he says that there is no wrong in slavery; but if you admit that there is a wrong in it, he cannot logically say that anybody has a right to do wrong. he insists that upon the score of equality the owners of slaves and owners of property — of horses and every other sort of property — should be alike, and hold them alike in a new territory. that is perfectly logical, if the two species of prop- erty are alike, and are equally founded in right. but if you admit that one of them is wrong, you cannot institute any equality be- tween right and wrong. and from this differ- ence of sentiment — the belief on the part of one that the institution is wrong, and a policy springing from that belief which looks to the arrest of the enlargement of that wrong; and m this other sentiment, that it is no wrong, and a policy sprung from that sentiment which will tolerate no idea of preventing that wrong from growing larger, and looks to there never being an end of it through all the existence of things — arises the real difference between judge douglas and his friends on the one hand, and the republicans on the other. now, i confess myself as belonging to that class in the country who contemplate slavery as a moral, social, and political evil, having due regard for its actual existence amongst us, and the difficulties of getting rid of it in any satisfactory way, and to all the constitu- tional obligations which have been thrown about it; but who, nevertheless, desire a policy that looks to the prevention of it as a wrong, and looks hopefully to the time when as a wrong it may come to an end. judge douglas — and whoever, like him, teaches that the negro has no share, humble though it may be, in the declaration of inde- pendence — is going back to the era of our liberty and independence, and, so far as in him lies, muzzling the cannon that thunders its annual joyous return; . . . he is blowing out the moral lights around us, when he con- tends that whoever wants slaves has a right to hold them; . . . he is penetrating, so far as lies in his power, the human soul, and eradi- cating the light of reason and the love of liberty, when he is in every possible way pre- paring the public mind, by his vast influence, for making the institution of slavery perpetual and national. — debate with douglas at galesburg, ill., october , . udge douglas asks you, “why j cannot the institution of slavery, or rather, why cannot the nation, part slave and part free, continue as our fathers made it forever?” in the first place, i insist that our fathers did not make this nation half slave and half free, or part slave and part free. i insist that they found the institution of slavery existing here. they did not make it so, but they left it so because they knew of no way to get rid of it at that time. . . . more than that: when the fathers of the government cut off the source of slavery by the abolition of the slave-trade, and adopted a system of restricting it from the new territories where it had not existed, i maintain that they placed it where they understood, and all sensible men understood, it was in the course of ultimate extinction; and when judge douglas asks me why it can- not continue as our fathers made it, i ask him why he and his friends could not let it re- main as our fathers made it? it is precisely all i ask of him in relation to the institution of slavery, that it shall be placed upon the basis that our fathers placed it upon. mr. brooks, of south carolina, o about squatter sovereignty. he has at last invented this sort of do-nothing sovereignty — that the people may exclude slavery by a sort of “sovereignty” that is exercised by doing nothing at all. is not that running his popular sovereignty down awfully? has it not got down as thin as the homeopathic soup that was made by boiling the shadow of a pigeon that had starved to death? but at last, when it is brought to the test of close reasoning, there is not even that thin decoc- tion of it left. it is a presumption impossible in the domain of thought. it is precisely no other than the putting of that most unphilo- sophical proposition, that two bodies can oc- cupy the same space at the same time. the dred scott decision covers the whole ground, and while it occupies it, there is no room even for the shadow of a starved pigeon to occupy the same ground. — debate with douglas at quincy, ill., october , . b". is it true that all the difficulty and agitation we have in regard to this insti- tution of slavery springs from office-seeking — from the mere ambition of politicians? is that the truth? how many times have we had danger from this question? go back to the day of the missouri compromise. go back to the nullification question, at the bot- tom of which lay this same slavery question. go back to the time of the annexation of not to talk about it? if you will get every- body else to stop talking about it, i assure you i will quit before they have half done so. but where is the philosophy or statesmanship which assumes that you can quiet that dis- turbing element in our society which has dis- turbed us for more than half a century, which has been the only serious danger that has threatened our institutions — i say, where is the philosophy or the statesmanship based on the assumption that we are to quit talking about it, and that the public mind is all at once to cease being agitated by it? yet this is the policy here in the north that douglas is advocating — that we are to care nothing about it! i ask you if it is not a false philos- ophy? is it not a false statesmanship that undertakes to build up a system of policy upon the basis of caring nothing about the very thing that everybody does care the most about — a thing which all experience has shown we care a very great deal about? that is the real issue. that is the issue that will continue in this country when these poor tongues of judge douglas and myself shall be silent. it is the eternal struggle be- tween these two principles — right and wrong — throughout the world. they are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. the one is the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of kings. it is the same principle in whatever shape it develops itself. it is the same spirit that says, “you toil and work and earn bread, and i’ll eat it.” no matter in what shape it comes, whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from one race of men as an apology for enslaving an- other race, it is the same tyrannical principle. why, this is a monstrous sort of talk about the constitution of the united states | there has never been as outlandish or lawless a doctrine from the mouth of any respectable man on earth. i do not believe it is a consti- tutional right to hold slaves in a territory of the united states. i believe the decision was improperly made, and i go for reversing it. judge douglas is furious against those who go for reversing a decision. but he is for legislating it out of all force while the law itself stands. i repeat that there has never been so monstrous a doctrine uttered from the mouth of a respectable man. . . . i defy any man to make an argument that will justify unfriendly legislation to deprive a slaveholder of his right to hold his slave in a territory, that will not equally, in all its length, breadth, and thickness, furnish an argument for nullifying the fugitive-slave law. why, there is not such an abolitionist in the nation as douglas, after all. — debate with douglas at alton, ill.; october , . he emotions of defeat at the close of a struggle in which i felt more than a merely selfish interest, and to which defeat the use of your name contributed largely, are fresh upon me; but even in this mood i can- not for a moment suspect you of anything dishonorable. — letter to j. j. crittenden; november , . i am glad i made the late race. it gave me a hearing on the great and durable ques- tion of the age, which i could have had in no other way; and though i now sink out of view, and shall be forgotten, i believe i have made some marks which will tell for the cause of civil liberty long after i am gone. — letter to dr. a. g. henry; november , . hile i desired the result of the late canvass to have been different, i still regard it as an exceeding small matter. i think we have fairly entered upon a durable struggle as to whether this nation is to ulti- mately become all slave or all free, and though i fall early in the contest, it is nothing if i shall have contributed, in the least degree, to the final rightful result. — letter to h. d. sharpe; december , . gº: your kind note inviting me to attend a festival in boston, on the th instant, in honor of the birthday of thomas jefferson, was duly received. my engagements are such that i cannot attend. bearing in mind that about seventy years ago two great political parties were first formed in this country, that thomas jeffer- son was the head of one of them and boston the headquarters of the other, it is both curi- ous and interesting that those supposed to descend politically from the party opposed to jefferson should now be celebrating his birthday in their own original seat of empire, while those claiming political descent from him have nearly ceased to breathe his name everywhere. remembering, too, that the jefferson party was formed upon its supposed superior devo- tion to the personal rights of men, holding the rights of property to be secondary only, and greatly inferior, and assuming that the so- called democracy of to-day are the jefferson, and their opponents the anti-jefferson party, it will be equally interesting to note how com- pletely the two have changed hands as to the principle upon which they were originally sup- posed to be divided. the democracy of to- day hold the liberty of one man to be abso- lutely nothing, when in conflict with another man's right of property; republicans, on the contrary, are for both the man and the dollar, but in case of conflict the man before the dollar. i remember being once much amused at seeing two partially intoxicated men engaged in a fight with their great-coats on, which fight, after a long and rather harmless contest, ended in each having fought himself out of his own coat and into that of the other. if the two leading parties of this day are really identical with the two in the days of jefferson and adams, they have performed the same feat as the two drunken men. but, soberly, it is now no child's play to save the principles of jefferson from total overthrow in this nation. one would state with great confidence that he could convince any sane child that the simpler propositions of euclid are true; but nevertheless he would fail, utterly, with one who should deny the definitions and axioms. the principles of jefferson are the definitions and axioms of free society. and yet they are denied and evaded, with no small show of success. one dashingly calls them “glittering generalities.” another bluntly calls them “self-evident lies.” and others insidiously argue that they apply to “superior races.” these expressions, dif- fering in form, are identical in object and effect — the supplanting the principles of free government, and restoring those of classifica- tion, caste, and legitimacy. they would de- light a convocation of crowned heads plotting against the people. they are the vanguard, the miners and sappers of returning despot- ism. we must repulse them, or they will sub- jugate us. this is a world of compensation; and he who would be no slave must consent to have no slave. those who deny freedom to others deserve it not for themselves, and, under a just god, cannot long retain it. all honor to jefferson — to the man who, in the concrete pressure of a struggle for national independence by a single people, had the cool- ness, forecast, and capacity to introduce into a merely revolutionary document an abstract truth, applicable to all men and all times, and so to embalm it there that to-day and in all coming days it shall be a rebuke and a stum- bling-block to the very harbingers of reap- pearing tyranny and oppression. — letter to jefferson dinner committee of boston; april , . you will probably adopt resolutions in the nature of a platform. i think the only temptation will be to lower the republican standard in order to gather recruits. in my judgment such a step would be a serious mis- take, and open a gap through which more would pass out than pass in. and this would be the same whether the letting down should be in deference to douglasism or to the south- ern opposition element; either would surren- der the object of the republican organization — the preventing of the spread and nationali- zation of slavery. this object surrendered, the organization would go to pieces. i do not mean by this that no southern man must be placed upon our national ticket in . there are many men in the slave states for any one of whom i could cheerfully vote to be either president or vice-president, pro- vided he would enable me to do so with safety to the republican cause, without lowering the republican standard. this is the indis- pensable condition of a union with us; it is idle to talk of any other. any other would be as fruitless to the south as distasteful to the north, the whole ending in common defeat. let a union be attempted on the basis of ignoring the slavery question, and magnifying other questions which the people are just now not caring about, and it will result in gaining no single electoral vote in the south, and los- ing every one in the north. — letter to m. w. delahay; may , . unº. the spirit of our in- stitutions to aim at the elevation of men, i am opposed to whatever tends to degrade them. i have some little notoriety for com- miserating the oppressed negro; and i should be strangely inconsistent if i could favor any project for curtailing the existing rights of white men, even though born in different lands, and speaking different languages from myself. — letter to dr. theodore canisius; may , . twº things done by the ohio republi- can convention — the repudiation of judge swan, and the “plank” for a repeal of the fugitive-slave law — i very much re- gretted. these two things are of a piece; o and they are viewed by many good men, sincerely opposed to slavery, as a struggle against, and in disregard of, the constitution itself. and it is the very thing that will greatly endanger our cause, if it be not kept out of our national convention. there is another thing our friends are doing which gives me some uneasiness. it is their leaning toward “popular sovereignty.” there are three substantial objections to this. first, no party can command respect which sustains this year what it opposed last. secondly, douglas (who is the most dangerous enemy of liberty, because the most insidious one) would have little support in the north, and by consequence, no capital to trade on in the south, if it were not for his friends thus mag- nifying him and his humbug. but lastly, and chiefly, douglas's popular sovereignty, ac- cepted by the public mind as a just principle, nationalizes slavery, and revives the african slave-trade inevitably. taking slaves into new territories, and buying slaves in africa, are identical things, identical rights or identi- cal wrongs, and the argument which estab- lishes one will establish the other. try a thousand years for a sound reason why con- gress shall not hinder the people of kansas from having slaves, and when you have found it, it will be an equally good one why con- gress should not hinder the people of georgia from importing slaves from africa. — letter to samuel galloway; july , . i his is an idea, i suppose, which has arisen in judge douglas's mind from his peculiar structure. i suppose the institu- tion of slavery really looks small to him. he is so put up by nature that a lash upon his back would hurt him, but a lash upon any- body else's back does not hurt him. that is the build of the man, and consequently he looks upon the matter of slavery in this un- important light. judge douglas ought to remember, when he is endeavoring to force this policy upon the american people, that while he is put up in that way, a good many are not. he ought to remember that there was once in this country a man by the name of thomas jefferson, sup- posed to be a democrat — a man whose principles and policy are not very prevalent amongst democrats to-day, it is true; but that man did not take exactly this view of the insignificance of the element of slavery which our friend judge douglas does. in contem- plation of this thing, we all know he was led to exclaim, “i tremble for my country when i remember that god is just ” we know how he looked upon it when he thus expressed himself. there was danger to this country, danger of the avenging justice of god, in that little unimportant popular-sovereignty ques- tion of judge douglas. he supposed there was a question of god's eternal justice wrapped up in the enslaving of any race of men, or any ma" and that those who did so braved the arm of jehovah — that when a nation thus dared the almighty, every friend of that na- tion had cause to dread his wrath. choose ye between jefferson and douglas as to what is the true view of this element among us. then i say if this principle is established, that there is no wrong in slavery, and whoever wants it has a right to have it; that it is a matter of dollars and cents; a sort of question as to how they shall deal with brutes; that between us and the negro here there is no sort of question, but that at the south the question is between the negro and the croco- dile; that it is a mere matter of policy; that there is a perfect right, according to interest, to do just as you please — when this is done, where this doctrine prevails, the miners and sappers will have formed public opinion for the slave-trade. they will be ready for jeff davis and stephens, and other leaders of that company, to sound the bugle for the re- vival of the slave-trade, for the second dred scott decision, for the flood of slavery to be poured over the free states, while we shall be here tied down and helpless, and run over like sheep. — speech at columbus, ohio; sep- tember , . a* . . . memphis, he [judge douglas] declared that in all contests between the negro and the white man, he was for the white man, but that in all questions between the negro and the crocodile he was for the the first inference seems to be that if you do not enslave the negro you are wronging the white man in some way or other; and that whoever is opposed to the negro being en- slaved is, in some way or other, against the white man. is not that a falsehood? if there was a necessary conflict between the white man and the negro, i should be for the white man as much as judge douglas; but i say there is no such necessary conflict. i say that there is room enough for us all to be free, and that it not only does not wrong the white man that the negro should be free, but it positively wrongs the mass of the white men that the negro should be enslaved; that the mass of white men are really injured by the effects of slave-labor in the vicinity of the fields of their own labor. . . . the other branch of it is, that in a struggle between the negro and the crocodile, he is for the negro. well, i don't know that there is any struggle between the negro and the croco- dile, either. i suppose that if a crocodile (or, as we old ohio river boatmen used to call them, alligators) should come across a white man, he would kill him if he could, and so he would a negro. but what, at last, is this prop- osition? i believe that it is a sort of propo- si- proportion, which may be stated e negro is to the white man, so is the crocodile to the negro; and as the negro may rightfully treat the crocodile as a beast or reptile, so the white man may rightfully treat the negro as a beast or reptile.” that is really the point of all that argument of his. now, my brother kentuckians, who believe in this, you ought to thank judge douglas for having put that in a much more taking way than any of yourselves have done. i think that there is a real popular sover- eignty in the world. i think a definition of popular sovereignty, in the abstract, would be about this — that each man shall do pre- cisely as he pleases with himself, and with all those things which exclusively concern him. applied in government, this principle would be, that a general government shall do all those things which pertain to it, and all the local governments shall do precisely as they please in respect to those matters which ex- clusively concern them. labor is the great source from which nearly all, if not all, human comforts and necessities are drawn. there is a difference in opinion about the elements of labor in society. some men assume that there is a necessary connec- tion between capital and labor, and that con- nection draws within it the whole of the labor of the community. they assume that nobody works unless capital excites him to work. they begin next to consider what is the best way. they say there are but two ways — one is to hire men and to allure them to labor by their consent; the other is to buy the men and drive them to it, and that is slavery. having assumed that, they proceed to discuss the question of whether the laborers themselves are better off in the condition of slaves or of hired laborers, and they usually decide that they are better off in the condition of slaves. in the first place, i say that the whole thing is a mistake. that there is a certain relation between capital and labor, i admit. that it does exist, and rightfully exists, i think is true. that men who are industrious and sober and honest in the pursuit of their own interests should after a while accumulate capital, and after that should be allowed to enjoy it in peace, and also if they should choose, when they have accumulated it, to use it to save themselves from actual labor, and hire other people to labor for them, is right. in doing so, they do not wrong the man they employ, for they find men, who have not their own land to work upon, or shops to work in, and who are benefited by working for others — hired laborers, receiving their capital for it. thus a few men that own capital hire a few others, and these establish the relation of capital and labor rightfully — a relation of which i make no complaint. but i insist that that relation, after all, does not embrace more than one eighth of the labor of the country. a so fugitive-slave law, because the constitution requires us, as i understand it, not to withhold such a law. but we must prevent the out- spreading of the institution, because neither the constitution nor general welfare requires us to extend it. we must prevent the revival of the african slave-trade, and the enacting by congress of a territorial slave-code. we must prevent each of these things being done by either congresses or courts. the people of these united states are the rightful masters of both congresses and courts, not to over- throw the constitution, but to overthrow the men who pervert the constitution. to do these things we must employ instru- mentalities. we must hold conventions; we must adopt platforms, if we conform to ordi- nary custom; we must nominate candidates; and we must carry elections. . . . i should be glad to have some of the many good and able and noble men of the south to place themselves where we can confer upon them the high honor of an election upon one or the other end of our ticket. it would do my soul good to do that thing. it would enable us to teach them that, inasmuch as we select one of their own number to carry out our principles, we are free from the charge that we mean more than we say. — speech at cincinnati; september , . - fº the first appearance of man upon the earth down to very recent times, the words “stranger” and “enemy” were quite or almost synonymous. long after civilized nations had defined robbery and murder as high crimes, and had affixed severe punishments to them, when practiced among and upon their own people respectively, it was deemed no offense, but even meritorious, to rob and murder and enslave strangers, whether as nations or as individuals. even yet, this has not totally disappeared. the man of the highest moral cultivation, in spite of all which abstract principle can do, likes him whom he does know much better than him whom he does not know. to correct the evils, great and small, which spring from want of sympathy and from positive enmity among strangers, as nations or as individuals, is one of the highest functions of civilization. to this end our agricultural fairs contribute in no small degree. they render more pleas- ant, and more strong, and more durable the bond of social and political union among us. the effect of thorough cultivation upon the farmer's own mind, and in reaction through his mind back upon his business, is perhaps quite equal to any other of its effects. every man is proud of what he does well, and no man is proud of that he does not well. with the former his heart is in his work, and he will do twice as much of it with less fatigue; the such relation between capital and labor as assumed; that there is no such thing as a free man being fatally fixed for life in the condition of a hired laborer; that both these assump- tions are false, and all inferences from them groundless. they hold that labor is prior to, and independent of, capital; that, in fact, capital is the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if labor had not first existed; that labor can exist without capital, but that capital could never have existed without labor. hence they hold that labor is the superior — greatly the superior — of capital. they do not deny that there is, and prob- ably always will be, a relation between labor and capital. the error, as they hold, is in assuming that the whole labor of the world exists within that relation. a few men own capital; and that few avoid labor themselves, and with their capital hire or buy another few to labor for them. a large majority belong to neither class — neither work for others, nor have others working for them. even in all our slave states except south carolina, a majority of the whole people of all colors are neither slaves nor masters. in these free states, a large majority are neither hirers nor hired. men, with their families — wives, sons, and daughters — work for themselves, on their farms, in their houses, and in their shops, taking the whole product to themselves, and asking no favors of capital on the one hand, nor of hirelings or slaves on the other. i it is not forgotten that a considerable number of persons mingle their own labor with capi- tal — that is, labor with their own hands, and also buy slaves or hire free men to labor for them; but this is only a mixed, and not a distinct, class. no principle stated is dis- turbed by the existence of this mixed class. again, as has already been said, the oppo- nents of the “mud-sill” theory insist that there is not, of necessity, any such thing as the free hired laborer being fixed to that con- dition for life. there is demonstration for saying this. many independent men in this assembly doubtless a few years ago were hired laborers. and their case is almost, if not quite, the general rule. the prudent, penniless beginner in the world labors for wages awhile, saves a sur- plus with which to buy tools or land for him- self, then labors on his own account another while, and at length hires another new begin- ner to help him. this, say its advocates, is free labor — the just, and generous, and prosperous system, which opens the way for all, gives hope to all, and energy, and prog- ress, and improvement of condition to all. if any continue through life in the condition of the hired laborer, it is not the fault of the system, but because of either a dependent nature which prefers it, or improvidence, folly, or singular misfortune. i have said this much about the elements of labor generally, as introductory to the consideration of a new l phase which that element is in process of assuming. the old general rule was that educated people did not perform manual labor. they managed to eat their bread, leav- ing the toil of producing it to the uneducated. this was not an insupportable evil to the working bees, so long as the class of drones remained very small. but now, especially in these free states, nearly all are educated — quite too nearly all to leave the labor of the uneducated in any wise adequate to the sup- port of the whole. it follows from this that henceforth educated people must labor. otherwise, education itself would become a positive and intolerable evil. no country can sustain in idleness more than a small per- centage of its numbers. the great majority must labor at something productive. from these premises the problem springs, “how can labor and education be the most satis- factorily combined?” by the “mud-sill” theory it is assumed that labor and education are incompatible, and any practical combination of them impossible. according to that theory, a blind horse upon a tread-mill is a perfect illustration of what a laborer should be — all the better for being blind, that he could not kick understandingly. according to that theory, the education of laborers is not only useless but pernicious and dangerous. in fact, it is, in some sort, deemed a misfortune that laborers should have heads at all. those same heads are regarded as explosive materials, only to be safely kept in damp places, as far as possible from that peculiar sort of fire which ignites them. a yankee who could invent a strong-handed man without a head would receive the ever- lasting gratitude of the “mud-sill” advocates. but free labor says, “no.” free labor argues that as the author of man makes every individual with one head and one pair of hands, it was probably intended that heads and hands should co-operate as friends, and that that particular head should direct and control that pair of hands. as each man has one mouth to be fed, and one pair of hands to furnish food, it was probably intended that that particular pair of hands should feed that particular mouth — that each head is the natural guardian, director, and protector of the hands and mouth inseparably connected with it; and that being so, every head should be cultivated and improved by whatever will add to its capacity for performing its charge. in one word, free labor insists on universal education. erelong the most valuable of all arts will be the art of deriving a comfortable subsist- ence from the smallest area of soil. no com- munity whose every member possesses this art, can ever be the victim of oppression in any of its forms. such community will be alike independent of crowned kings, money kings, and land kings. it is said an eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent him a sentence to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. they presented him the words, “and this, too, shall pass away.” how much it expresses! how chastening in the hour of pride! how consoling in the depths of affliction “and this, too, shall pass away.” and yet, let us hope, it is not quite true. let us hope, rather, that by the best cultivation of the physical world beneath and around us, and the intel- lectual and moral world within us, we shall secure an individual, social, and political pros- perity and happiness, whose course shall be onward and upward, and which, while the earth endures, shall not pass away. — ad- dress at wisconsin state agricultural fair; september , . b". you democrats are for the union; and you greatly fear the success of the repub- licans would destroy the union. why? do the republicans declare against the union? nothing like it. your own statement of it is that if the black republicans elect a presi- dent, you “won’t stand it.” you will break up the union. if we shall constitutionally elect a president, it will be our duty to see that you submit. old john brown has been executed for treason against a state. we cannot object, even though he agreed with us in thinking slavery wrong. that cannot excuse violence, bloodshed, and treason. it could avail him nothing that he might think himself right. so, if we constitutionally elect a president, and therefore you undertake to destroy the union, it will be our duty to deal with you as old john brown has been dealt with. we shall try to do our duty. we hope and believe that in no section will a majority so act as to render such extreme measures necessary. — speech at leavenworth, kan., december , . s plato had for the immortality of the soul, so young america has “a pleasing hope, a fond desire — a longing after” ter- ritory. he has a great passion — a perfect rage—for the new ; particularly new men for office, and the new earth mentioned in the revelations, in which, being no more sea, there must be about three times as much land as in the present. he is a great friend of humanity; and his desire for land is not self- ish, but merely an impulse to extend the area of freedom. he is very anxious to fight for the liberation of enslaved nations and colo- nies, provided, always, they have land, and have not any liking for his interference. as to those who have no land, and would be glad of help from any quarter, he considers they an o wait a few hundred years longer. in knowledge he is particularly rich. he knows all that can possibly be known; in- clines to believe in spiritual rappings, and is the unquestioned inventor of “manifest des- tiny.” his horror is for all that is old, particu- larly “old fogy”; and if there be anything old which he can endure, it is only old whisky and old tobacco. if the said young america really is, as he claims to be, the owner of all present, it must be admitted that he has considerable advan- tage of old fogy. take, for instance, the first of all fogies, father adam. there he stood, a very perfect physical man, as poets and painters inform us; but he must have been very ignorant, and simple in his habits. he had had no sufficient time to learn much by observation, and he had no near neighbors to teach him anything. no part of his break- fast had been brought from the other side of the world; and it is quite probable he had no conception of the world having any other side. in all these things, it is very plain, he was no equal of young america; the most that can be said is, that according to his chance he may have been quite as much of a man as his very self-complacent descendant. little as was what he knew, let the youngster discard all he has learned from others, and then show, if he can, any advantage on his side. in the way of land and live-stock, adam was quite in the ascendant. he had dominion over all the earth, and all the living things upon and round about it. the land has been sadly divided out since; but never fret, young america will re-annex it. the great difference between young amer- ica and old fogy is the result of discoveries, inventions, and improvements. these, in turn, are the result of observation, reflection, and experiment. . . . all nature — the whole world, material, moral, and intellectual — is a mine; and in adam's day it was a wholly unexplored mine. now, it was the destined work of adam's race to develop, by discov- eries, inventions, and improvements, the hid- den treasures of this mine. but adam had nothing to turn his attention to the work. if he should do anything in the way of in- ventions, he had first to invent the art of invention, the instance, at least, if not the habit, of observation and reflection. as might be expected, he seems not to have been a very observing man at first; for it appears he went about naked a considerable length of time before he ever noticed that obvious fact. but when he did observe it, the observation was not lost upon him; for it immediately led to the first of all inventions of which we have any direct account — the fig-leaf apron. the inclination to exchange thoughts with one another is probably an original impulse of our nature. if i be in pain, i wish to let you know it, and to ask your sympathy and assistance; and my pleasurable emotions also as the mother of all “sewing-societies,” and the first and most perfect “world's fair,” all inventions and all inventors then in the world being on the spot. . . . but speech alone, valuable as it ever has been and is, has not advanced the condition of the world much. this is abundantly evi- dent when we look at the degraded condition of all those tribes of human creatures who have no considerable additional means of communicating thoughts. writing, the art of communicating thoughts to the mind through the eye, is the great invention of the world. great is the astonishing range of analysis and combination which necessarily underlies the most crude and general conception of it — great, very great, in enabling us to converse with the dead, the absent, and the unborn, at all distances of time and space; and great, not only in its direct benefits, but greatest help to all other inventions. . . . the precise period at which writing was invented is not known, but it certainly was as early as the time of moses; from which we may safely infer that its inventors were very old fogies. . . . when we remember that words are sounds merely, we shall conclude that the idea of representing those sounds by marks, so that whoever should at any time after see the marks would understand what sounds they meant, was a bold and ingenious conception, not likely to occur to one man in a million in ioo the run of a thousand years. and when it did occur, a distinct mark for each word, giv- ing twenty thousand different marks first to be learned, and afterward to be remembered, would follow as the second thought, and would present such a difficulty as would lead to the conclusion that the whole thing was impracticable. but the necessity still would exist; and we may readily suppose that the idea was conceived, and lost, and reproduced, and dropped, and taken up again and again, until at last the thought of dividing sounds into parts, and making a mark, not to repre- sent a whole sound, but only a part of one, and then of combining those marks, not very many in number, upon principles of permu- tation, so as to represent any and all of the whole twenty thousand words, and even any additional number, was somehow conceived and pushed into practice. this was the in- vention of phonetic writing, as distinguished from the clumsy picture-writing of some of the nations. that it was difficult of concep- tion and execution is apparent, as well by the foregoing reflection, as the fact that so many tribes of men have come down from adam’s time to our own without ever having possessed it. its utility may be conceived by the reflec- tion that to it we owe everything which dis- tinguishes us from savages. take it from us, and the bible, all history, all science, all gov- ernment, all commerce, and nearly all social intercourse go with it. . . . ioi printing came in , or nearly three thousand years after writing. . . . it is but the other half, and in reality the better half, of writing; and . . . both together are but the assistants of speech in the communication of thoughts between man and man. when man was possessed of speech alone, the chances of invention, discovery, and improvement were very limited; but by the introduction of each of these they were greatly multiplied. when writing was invented, any important observation likely to lead to a discovery had at least a chance of being written down, and consequently a little chance of never being forgotten, and of being seen and reflected upon by a much greater number of persons; and thereby the chances of a valuable hint being caught proportionately augmented. by this means the observation of a single indi- vidual might lead to an important invention years, and even centuries, after he was dead. in one word, by means of writing, the seeds of invention were more permanently pre- served and more widely sown. and yet for three thousand years during which printing remained undiscovered after writing was in use, it was only a small portion of the people who could write, or read writing; and con- sequently the field of invention, though much extended, still continued very limited. at length printing came. it gave ten thousand copies of any written matter quite as cheaply as ten were given before; and consequently io ~ l is, in this connection, a curious fact that a new country is most favorable – almost necessary — to the emancipation of thought, and the consequent advancement of civiliza- tion and the arts. . . . in anciently inhabited countries, the dust of ages — a real, down- right old-fogyism — seems to settle upon and smother the intellect and energies of man. it is in this view that i have mentioned the dis- covery of america as an event greatly favor- ing and facilitating useful discoveries and inventions. next came the patent laws. these began in england in , and in this country with the adoption of our constitution. before then any man [might] instantly use what another man had invented, so that the inventor had no special advantage from his invention. the patent system changed this, secured to the inventor for a limited time ex- clusive use of his inventions, and thereby added the fuel of interest to the fire of genius in the discovery and production of new and useful things. – lecture on “discoveries, in- ventions, and improvements,” before the spring- field (ill.) library association; february , . nd now, if they would listen, – as i sup- pose they will not, — i would address a few words to the southern people. . . . you say we are sectional. we deny it. t an issue; and the burden of ioa proof is upon you. you produce your proof; and what is it? why, that our party has no existence in your section — gets no votes in your section. the fact is substantially true; but does it prove the issue? if it does, then in case we should, without change of principle, begin to get votes in your section, we should thereby cease to be sectional. you cannot escape this conclusion; and yet, are you will- ing to abide by it? . . . the fact that we get no votes in your sec- tion is a fact of your making, and not of ours. and if there be fault in that fact, that fault is primarily yours, and remains so until you show that we repel you by some wrong prin- ciple or practice. if we do repel you by any wrong principle or practice, the fault is ours; but this brings you to where you ought to have started — to a discussion of the right or wrong of our principle. if our principle, put in practice, would wrong your section for the benefit of ours, or for any other object, then our principle, and we with it, are sectional, and are justly opposed and denounced as such. meet us, then, on the question of whether our principle, put in practice, would wrong your section; and so meet us as if it were pos- sible that something may be said on our side. do you accept the challenge? no! then you really believe that the principle which “our fathers who framed the government under which we live” thought so clearly right as to adopt it, and indorse it again and again, ios upon their official oaths, is in fact so clearly wrong as to demand your condemnation with- out a moment's consideration. . . . again, you say we have made the slavery question more prominent than it formerly was. we deny it. we admit that it is more promi- nent, but we deny that we made it so. it was not we, but you, who discarded the old policy of the fathers. we resisted, and still resist, your innovation; and thence comes the greater prominence of the question. would you have that question reduced to its former proportions? go back to that old policy. what has been will be again, under the same conditions. if you would have the peace of the old times, readopt the precepts and policy of the old times. . . . but you will break up the union rather than submit to a denial of your constitutional rights. that has a somewhat reckless sound; but it would be palliated, if not fully justified, were we proposing, by the mere force of num- bers, to deprive you of some right plainly written down in the constitution. but we are proposing no such thing. when you make these declarations you have a specific and well-understood allusion to an assumed constitutional right of yours to take slaves into the federal territories, and to hold them there as property. but no such right is specifically written in the con- stitution. that instrument is literally silent ioë about any such right. we, on the contrary, deny that such a right has any existence in the constitution, even by implication. your purpose, then, plainly stated, is that you will destroy the government, unless you be allowed to construe and force the consti- tution as you please, on all points in dispute between you and us. you will rule or ruin in all events. . . . but you will not abide the election of a republican president in that supposed event, you say, you will destroy the union; and then, you say, the great crime of having destroyed it will be upon us! that is cool. a highwayman holds a pistol to my ear, and mutters through his teeth, “stand and de- liver, or i shall kill you, and then you will be a murderer!” wrong as we think slavery is, we can yet afford to let it alone where it is, because that much is due to the necessity arising from its actual presence in the nation; but can we, while our votes will prevent it, allow it to spread into the national territories and to overrun us here in these free states? if our sense of duty forbids this, then let us stand by our duty fearlessly and effectively. let us be diverted by none of those sophistical contrivances where with we are so industri- ously plied and belabored — contrivances such as groping for some middle ground be- tween the right and the wrong; vain as the io'ſ a property basis. what lessens the value of property is opposed; what enhances its value is favored. public opinion at the south re- gards slaves as property, and insists upon treating them like other property. on the other hand, the free states carry on their government on the principle of the equal- ity of men. we think slavery is morally wrong, and a direct violation of that principle. we all think it wrong. it is clearly proved, i think, by natural theology, apart from revela- tion. every man, black, white, or yellow, has a mouth to be fed, and two hands with which to feed it — and bread should be allowed to go to that mouth without controversy. slavery is wrong in its effect upon white people and free labor. it is the only thing that threatens the union. it makes what senator seward has been much abused for calling an “irrepressible conflict.” when they get ready to settle it, we hope they will let us know. public opinion settles every question here; any policy to be permanent must have public opinion at the bottom — something in accordance with the philosophy of the human mind as it is. the property basis will have its weight. the love of prop- erty and a consciousness of right or wrong have conflicting places in our organization, which often make a man’s course seem crooked, his conduct a riddle. some men would make it a question of in- difference, neither right nor wrong, merely io plain as can be found to express their mean- ing. in all matters but this of slavery the framers of the constitution used the very clearest, shortest, and most direct language. but the constitution alludes to slavery three times without mentioning it once the language used becomes ambiguous, round- about, and mystical. they speak of the “im- migration of persons,” and mean the importa- tion of slaves, but do not say so. in estab- lishing a basis of representation they say “all other persons,” when they mean to say slaves. why did they not use the shortest phrase? in providing for the return of fugitives they say “persons held to service or labor.” if they had said “slaves,” it would have been plainer and less liable to misconstruction. why did n’t they do it? we cannot doubt that it was done on purpose. only one reason is possible, and that is supplied us by one of the framers of the constitution — and it is not possible for man to conceive of any other. they expected and desired that the system would come to an end, and meant that when it did the constitution should not show that there ever had been a slave in this good free country of ours. i am glad to see that a system of labor pre- vails in new england under which laborers can strike when they want to, where they are not obliged to work under all circumstances, and are not tied down and obliged to labor ii desire that if you get too thick here, and find it hard to better your condition on this soil, you may have a chance to strike out and go somewhere else, where you may not be de- graded, nor have your family corrupted by forced rivalry with negro slaves. i want you to have a clean bed and no snakes in it ! then you can better your condition, and so it may go on and on in one ceaseless round so long as man exists on the face of the earth. — speech at new haven; march , . i have received the speech and book which you sent me. . . . both seem to be well written, and contain many things with which i could agree, and some with which i could not. a specimen of the latter is the dec- laration, in the closing remarks upon the “speech,” that the institution is a “neces- sity” imposed on us by the negro race. that the going many thousand miles, seizing a set of savages, bringing them here, and mak- ing slaves of them is a necessity imposed on us by them involves a species of logic to which my mind will scarcely assent. — letter to c. h. fisher; august , . i appreciate your motive when you suggest the propriety of my writing for the public something disclaiming all intention to interfere with slaves or slavery in the states; but in my judgment it would do no good. i ii on “passional attraction.” by the way, in what consists the special sacredness of a state? i speak not of the position assigned to a state in the union by the constitution; for that, by the bond, we all recognize. that position, however, a state cannot carry out of the union with it. i speak of that assumed primary right of a state to rule all which is less than itself, and ruin all which is larger than itself. if a state and a county, in a given case, should be equal in extent of territory, and equal in number of inhabitants, in what, as a matter of principle, is the state better than the county? would an exchange of names be an exchange of rights upon princi- ple? on what rightful principle may a state, being not more than one-fiftieth part of the nation in soil and population, break up the nation and then coerce a proportionally larger subdivision of itself in the most arbitrary way? what mysterious right to play tyrant is con- ferred on a district of country with its people, by merely calling it a state? fellow-citizens, i am not asserting anything; i am merely asking questions for you to consider. – re- marks to the indiana legislature; february , . i agree with you, mr. chairman, that the working-men are the basis of all govern- ments, for the plain reason that they are the more numerous. . . . mr. chairman, i hold that while man exists ii it is his duty to improve not only his own con- dition, but to assist in ameliorating mankind; and therefore, without entering upon the details of the question, i will simply say that i am for those means which will give the greatest good to the greatest number. in regard to the homestead law, i have to say that in so far as the government lands can be disposed of, i am in favor of cutting up the wild lands into parcels, so that every poor man may have a home. in regard to the germans and foreigners, i esteem them no better than other people, nor any worse. it is not my nature, when i see a people borne down by the weight of their shackles — the oppression of tyranny — to make their life more bitter by heaping upon them greater burdens; but rather would i do all in my power to raise the yoke than to add anything that would tend to crush them. inasmuch as our country is extensive and new, and the countries of europe are densely populated, if there are any abroad who desire to make this the land of their adoption, it is not in my heart to throw aught in their way to prevent them from coming to the united states. – remarks to germans at cincinnati; february , . here is no crisis but an artificial one. what is there now to warrant the con- dition of affairs presented by our friends over ii whole country, has acquired its greatness), unless it would be that thing for which the union itself was made. i understand that the ship is made for the carrying and preser- vation of the cargo; and so long as the ship is safe with the cargo, it shall not be aban- doned. this union shall never be abandoned, unless the possibility of its existence shall cease to exist without the necessity of throw- ing passengers and cargo overboard. – re- marks at new york; february , . aw. back in my childhood, the earliest days of my being able to read, i got hold of a small book, . . . weems’ “life of washington.” i remember all the accounts there given of the battle-fields and struggles [of our forefathers] for the liberties of the country. . . . i recollect thinking then, boy even though i was, that there must have been something more than common that these men struggled for. i am exceedingly anxious that that thing — that something even more than national independence; that something that held out a great promise to all the people of the world to all time to come — i am exceed- ingly anxious that this union, the constitu- tion, and the liberties of the people shall be perpetuated in accordance with the original idea for which that struggle was made, and i shall be most happy indeed if i shall be a humble instrument in the hands of the al- i i mighty, and of this, his almost chosen people, for perpetuating the object of that great strug- gle. — remarks to the senate of new jersey; february , . it was not the mere matter of separation of the colonies from the motherland, but that sentiment in the declaration of inde- pendence which gave liberty not alone to the people of this country, but hope to all the world, for all future time. it was that which gave promise that in due time the weights would be lifted from the shoulders of all men, and that all should have an equal chance. this is the sentiment embodied in the decla- ration of independence. now, my friends, can this country be saved on that basis? if it can, i will consider myself one of the hap- piest men in the world if i can help to save it. if it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. but if this country can- not be saved without giving up that principle, i was about to say i would rather be assas- sinated on this spot than surrender it. – re- marks in independence hall, philadelphia; february , . i hold that, in contemplation of universal law and of the constitution, the union of these states is perpetual. perpetuity is im- plied, if not expressed, in the fundamental i law of all national governments. it is safe to assert that no government proper ever had a provision in its organic law for its own termi- nation. continue to execute all the express provisions of our national constitution, and the union will endure forever — it being im- possible to destroy it except by some action not provided for in the instrument itself. again, if the united states be not a govern- ment proper, but an association of states in the nature of contract merely, can it, as a con- tract, be peaceably unmade by less than all the parties who made it? one party to a contract may violate it — break it, so to speak; but does it not require all to lawfully rescind it? . . . it follows from these views that no state upon its own mere motion can lawfully get out of the union; that resolves and ordi- nances to that effect are legally void; and that acts of violence, within any state or states, against the authority of the united states, are insurrectionary or revolutionary, according to circumstances. i therefore consider that, in view of the constitution and the laws, the union is un- broken; and to the extent of my ability i shall take care, as the constitution itself ex- pressly enjoins upon me, that the laws of the union be faithfully executed in all the states. doing this i deem to be only a simple duty on my part; and i shall perform it so far as practicable, unless my rightful masters, the i american people, shall withhold the requisite means, or in some authoritative manner direct the contrary. i trust this will not be regarded as a menace, but only as the declared purpose of the union that it will constitution- ally defend and maintain itself. in doing this there needs to be no bloodshed or violence; and there shall be none, unless it be forced upon the national authority. the power confided to me will be used to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the government, and to collect the duties and imposts; but beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the people anywhere. . . . the mails, unless repelled, will continue to be furnished in all parts of the union. so far as possible, the people everywhere shall have that sense of perfect security which is most favorable to calm thought and reflection. plainly, the central idea of secession is the essence of anarchy. a majority held in re- straint by constitutional checks and limita- tions, and always changing easily with delib- erate changes of popular opinions and senti- ments, is the only true sovereign of a free people. whoever rejects it does, of necessity, fly to anarchy or to despotism. unanimity is impossible; the rule of a minority, as a per- manent arrangement, is wholly inadmissible; so that, rejecting the majority principle, an- i archy or despotism in some form is all that is left. physically speaking, we cannot separate. we cannot remove our respective sections from each other, nor build an impassable wall between them. a husband and wife may be divorced, and go out of the presence and be- yond the reach of each other; but the differ- ent parts of our country cannot do this. they cannot but remain face to face, and inter- course, either amicable or hostile, must con- tinue between them. is it possible, then, to make that intercourse more advantageous or more satisfactory after separation than be- fore ? can aliens make treaties easier than friends can make laws? can treaties be more faithfully enforced between aliens than laws can among friends? suppose you go to war, you cannot fight always; and when, after much loss on both sides, and no gain on either, you cease fighting, the identical old questions as to terms of intercourse are again upon you. this country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or their revolutionary right to dismember or overthrow it. . . . why should there not be a patient confi- dence in the ultimate justice of the people? is there any better or equal hope in the world? in our present differences is either party with- i is “sovereignty” in the political sense of the term p would it be far wrong to define it “a political community without a political su- perior”? tested by this, no one of our states except texas ever was a sovereignty. and even texas gave up the character on coming into the union; by which act she acknowl- edged the constitution of the united states, and the laws and treaties of the united states made in pursuance of the constitution, to be for her the supreme law of the land. the states have their status in the union, and they have no other legal status. if they break from this, they can only do so against law and by revolution. the union, and not themselves separately, procured their inde- pendence and their liberty. by conquest or purchase the union gave each of them what- ever of independence or liberty it has. the union is older than any of the states, and, in fact, it created them as states. originally some dependent colonies made the union, and, in turn, the union threw off their old dependence for them, and made them states, such as they are. not one of them ever had a state constitution independent of the union. . . . this relative matter of national power and state rights, as a principle, is no other than the principle of generality and locality. whatever concerns the whole should be con- fided to the whole — to the general govern- ment; while whatever concerns only the state should be left exclusively to the state. this is all there is of the original principle about it. whether the national constitution in defining boundaries between the two has ap- plied the principle with exact accuracy, is not to be questioned. we are all bound by that defining, without question. it might seem, at first thought, to be of little difference whether the present move- ment at the south be called “secession ” or “rebellion.” the movers, however, will understand the difference. at the beginning they knew they could never raise their treason to any respectable magnitude by any name which implies violation of law. they knew their people possessed as much of moral sense, as much of devotion to law and order, and as much pride in and reverence for the history and government of their common country as any other civilized and patriotic people. they knew they could make no advancement directly in the teeth of these strong and noble sentiments. accordingly, they commenced by an insidious debauching of the public mind. they invented an ingenious sophism which, if conceded, was followed by perfectly logical steps, through all the incidents, to the complete destruction of the union. the sophism itself is that any state of the union may consistently with the national constitu- tion, and therefore lawfully and peacefully, withdraw from the union without the con- sent of the union or of any other state. the i little disguise that the supposed right is to be exercised only for just cause, themselves to be the sole judges of its justice, is too thin to merit any notice. with rebellion thus sugar-coated they have been drugging the public mind of their section for more than thirty years, and until at length they have brought many good men to a will- ingness to take up arms against the govern- ment the day after some assemblage of men have enacted the farcical pretense of taking their state out of the union, who could have been brought to no such thing the day before. this sophism derives much, perhaps the whole, of its currency from the assumption that there is some omnipotent and sacred su- premacy pertaining to a state — to each state of our federal union. our states have neither more nor less power than that reserved to them in the union by the constitution — no one of them ever having been a state out of the union. the original ones passed into the union even before they cast off their british colonial dependence; and the new ones each came into the union directly from a condition of dependence, excepting texas. . . . nothing should ever be implied as law which leads to unjust or absurd consequences. the nation purchased with money the coun- tries out of which several of these states were formed. is it just that they shall go off with- out leave and without refunding? . . . the nation is now in debt for money applied to the i benefit of these so-called seceding states in common with the rest. is it just either that creditors shall go unpaid or the remaining states pay the whole . . . again, if one state may secede, so may an- other; and when all shall have seceded, none is left to pay the debts. is this quite just to creditors? did we notify them of this sage view of ours when we borrowed their money? if we now recognize this doctrine by allowing the seceders to go in peace, it is difficult to see what we can do if others choose to go or to extort terms upon which they will promise to remain. the seceders insist that our constitution admits of secession. they have assumed to make a national constitution of their own, in which of necessity they have either discarded or retained the right of secession as they insist it exists in ours. if they have discarded it, they thereby admit that on principle it ought not to be in ours. if they have retained it by their own construction of ours, they show that to be consistent they must secede from one another whenever they shall find it the easiest way of settling their debts, or effecting any other selfish or unjust object. the principle itself is one of disintegration, and upon which no government can possibly endure. if all the states save one should assert the power to drive that one out of the union, it is presumed the whole class of seceder politicians would at once deny the power and denounce i o the act as the greatest outrage upon state right. but suppose that precisely the same act, instead of being called “driving the one out,” should be called “the seceding of the others from that one,” it would be exactly what the seceders claim to do, unless, indeed, they make the point that the one, because it is a minority, may rightfully do what the others, because they are a majority, may not rightfully do. these politicians are subtle and profound on the rights of minorities. they are not partial to that power which made the constitution, and speaks from the preamble calling itself “we, the people.” it may be affirmed without extravagance that the free institutions we enjoy have devel- oped the powers and improved the condition of our whole people beyond any example in the world. of this we now have a striking and impressive illustration. so large an army as the government has now on foot was never before known, without a soldier in it but who has taken his place there of his own free choice. but more than this, there are many single regiments whose members, one and another, possess full practical knowledge of all the arts, sciences, professions, and what- ever else, whether useful or elegant, is known in the world; and there is scarcely one from which there could not be selected a president, a cabinet, a congress, and perhaps a court, abundantly competent to administer the gov- i ernment itself. nor do i say this is not true also in the army of our late friends, now ad- versaries in this contest; but if it is, so much better the reason why the government which has conferred such benefits on both them and us should not be broken up. whoever in any section proposes to abandon such a govern- ment would do well to consider in deference to what principle it is that he does it — what better he is likely to get in its stead — whether the substitute will give, or be intended to give, so much of good to the people? there are some foreshadowings on this subject. our adversaries have adopted some declarations of independence in which, unlike the good old one, penned by jefferson, they omit the words “all men are created equal.” why? they have adopted a temporary national con- stitution, in the preamble of which, unlike our good old one, signed by washington, they omit “we, the people,” and substitute, “we, the deputies of the sovereign and independent states.” why? why this deliberate press- ing out of view the rights of men and the authority of the people? this is essentially a people's contest. on the side of the union it is a struggle for main- taining in the world that form and substance of government whose leading object is to elevate the condition of men — to lift artifi- cial weights from all shoulders; to clear the paths of laudable pursuit for all; to afford all an unfettered start and a fair chance in the i race of life. yielding to partial and temporary departures, from necessity, this is the lead- ing object of the government for whose ex- istence we contend. our popular government has often been called an experiment. two points in it our people have already settled — the successful establishing and the successful administering of it. one still remains — its successful maintenance against a formidable internal attempt to overthrow it. it is now for them to demonstrate to the world that those who can fairly carry an election can also suppress a rebellion; that ballots are the rightful and peaceful successors of bullets; and that when ballots have fairly and constitutionally de- cided, there can be no successful appeal back to bullets; that there can be no successful appeal, except to ballots themselves, at suc- ceeding elections. such will be a great lesson of peace: teaching men that what they cannot take by an election, neither can they take it by a war; teaching all the folly of being the beginners of a war. it was with the deepest regret that the exec- utive found the duty of employing the war power in defense of the government forced upon him. he could but perform this duty or surrender the existence of the government. no compromise by public servants could, in this case, be a cure; not that compromises are i not often proper, but that no popular govern- ment can long survive a marked precedent that those who carry an election can only save the government from immediate destruc- tion by giving up the main point upon which the people gave the election. the people themselves, and not their servants, can safely reverse their own deliberate decisions. as a private citizen the executive could not have consented that these institutions shall perish; much less could he, in betrayal of so vast and so sacred a trust as the free people have confided to him. he felt that he had no moral right to shrink, nor even to count the chances of his own life in what might follow. in full view of his great responsibility he has, so far, done what he has deemed his duty. you will now, according to your own judg- ment, perform yours. he sincerely hopes that your views and your actions may so ac- cord with his, as to assure all faithful citizens who have been disturbed in their rights of a certain and speedy restoration to them, under the constitution and the laws. and having thus chosen our course, with- out guile and with pure purpose, let us renew our trust in god, and go forward without fear and with manly hearts. – message to congress in special session; july , . my dear sir: yours of the th is just received; and coming from you, i con- tonishes me. that you should object i to my adhering to a law which you had as- sisted in making and presenting to me less than a month before is odd enough. but this is a very small part. general frémont's proc- lamation as to confiscation of property and the liberation of slaves is purely political and not within the range of military law or neces- sity. if a commanding general finds a neces- sity to seize the farm of a private owner for a pasture, an encampment, or a fortification, he has the right to do so, and to so hold it as long as the necessity lasts; and this is within military law, because within military neces- sity. but to say the farm shall no longer belong to the owner, or his heirs forever, and this as well when the farm is not needed for military purposes as when it is, is purely political, without the savor of military law about it. and the same is true of slaves. if the general needs them, he can seize them and use them; but when the need is past, it is not for him to fix their permanent future condi- tion. that must be settled according to laws made by law-makers, and not by military proclamations. the proclamation in the point in question is simply “dictatorship.” it assumes that the general may do anything he pleases — confiscate the lands and free the slaves of loyal people, as well as of disloyal ones. and going the whole figure, i have no doubt, would be more popular with some thoughtless people than that which has been done ! but i cannot assume this reckless i in the condition of a hired laborer. both these assumptions are false, and all inferences from them are groundless. labor is prior to, and independent of, cap- ital. capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if labor had not first existed. labor is the superior of capital, and deserves much the higher consideration. cap- ital has its rights, which are as worthy of pro- tection as any other rights. nor is it denied that there is, and probably always will be, a relation between labor and capital producing mutual benefits. the error is in assuming that the whole labor of the community exists within that relation. a few men own capital, and that few avoid labor themselves, and with their capital hire or buy another few to labor for them. a large majority belong to neither class — neither work for others nor have others working for them. in most of the southern states a majority of the whole people, of all colors, are neither slaves nor masters; while in the northern a large ma- jority are neither hirers nor hired. men with their families — wives, sons, and daughters — work for themselves, on their farms, in their houses, and in their shops, taking the whole product to themselves, and asking no favors of capital on the one hand, nor of hired laborers or slaves on the other. it is not for- gotten that a considerable number of persons mingle their own labor with capital — that is, they labor with their own hands and also buy or hire others to labor for them; but this is only a mixed and not a distinct class. no principle stated is disturbed by the existence of this mixed class. again, as has already been said, there is not, of necessity, any such thing as the free hired laborer being fixed to that condition for life. many independent men everywhere in these states, a few years back in their lives, were hired laborers. the prudent, penniless be- ginner in the world labors for wages awhile, saves a surplus with which to buy tools or land for himself, then labors on his own account another while, and at length hires another new beginner to help him. this is the just and generous and prosperous system which opens the way to all — gives hope to all, and consequent energy and progress and improve- ment of condition to all. no men living are more worthy to be trusted than those who toil up from poverty — none less inclined to take or touch aught which they have not honestly earned. let them beware of surrendering a political power which they already possess, and which, if surrendered, will surely be used to close the door of advancement against such as they, and to fix new disabilities and bur- dens upon them, till all of liberty shall be lost. from the first taking of our national census to the last are seventy years; and we find our population at the end of the period eight times as great as it was at the beginning. the in- crease of those other things which men deem i desirable has been even greater. we thus have, at one view, what the popular principle, applied to government, through the machinery of the states and the union, has produced in a given time; and also what, if firmly main- tained, it promises for the future. there are already among us those who, if the union be preserved, will live to see it contain , ,ooo. the struggle of to-day is not altogether for to-day — it is for a vast future also. with a reliance on providence all the more firm and earnest, let us proceed in the great task which events have devolved upon us. – an- nual message to congress; december , . have been, and am sincerely your friend; and if, as such, i dare to make a sugges- tion, i would say you are adopting the best possible way to ruin yourself. “act well your part, there all the honor lies.” he who does something at the head of one regiment, will eclipse him who does nothing at the head of a hundred. your friend, as ever, a. lincoln. — letter to major-general david hunter; december , .” * on the outside of the envelope in which this letter was found, general hunter had written : “the president's reply to my ugly letter." this lay on his table a month after it was written, and when finally sent was by a special conveyance, with the direc- tion that it was only to be given to me when i was in a good humor.” i o obtain their freedom on this condition. i suppose one of the principal difficulties in the way of colonization is that the free colored man cannot see that his comfort would be advanced by it. . . . this is (i speak in no unkind sense) an extremely selfish view of the case. you ought to do something to help those who are not so fortunate as yourselves. there is an unwillingness on the part of our people, harsh as it may be, for you free col- ored people to remain with us. now, if you could give a start to the white people, you would open a wide door for many to be made free. if we deal with those who are not free at the beginning, and whose intellects are clouded by slavery, we have very poor ma- terial to start with. if intelligent colored men, such as are before me, would move in this matter, much might be accomplished. it is exceedingly important that we have men at the beginning capable of thinking as white men, and not those who have been systematically oppressed. there is much to encourage you. for the sake of your race you should sacrifice something of your present comfort for the purpose of being as grand in that respect as the white people. it is a cheering thought throughout life, that something can be done to ameliorate the condition of those who have been subject to the hard usages of the world. it is difficult to make a man miserable while he feels he is worthy of himself and claims kindred to i the great god who made him. — address to a deputation of colored men; august , . dº. sir: i have just read yours of the th, addressed to myself through the new york tribune. if there be in it any statements or assumptions of fact which i may know to be erroneous, i do not, now and here, controvert them. if there be in it any inferences which i may believe to be falsely drawn, i do not, now and here, argue against them. if there be perceptible in it an impatient and dictatorial tone, i waive it in deference to an old friend whose heart i have always supposed to be right. as to the policy i “seem to be pursuing,” as you say, i have not meant to leave any one in doubt. i would save the union. i would save it the shortest way under the constitution. the sooner the national authority can be restored, he nearer the union will be “the union as it was.” if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time save slavery, i do not agree with them. if there be those who would not save the union unless they could at the same time destroy slavery, i do not agree with them. my paramount object in this struggle is to save the union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. if i could save the union i without freeing any slave, i would do it; and if i could save it by freeing all the slaves, i would do it; and if i could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone, i would also do that. what i do about slavery and the colored race, i do because i believe it helps to save the union; and what i forbear, i for- bear because i do not believe it would help to save the union. i shall do less whenever i shall believe what i am doing hurts the cause, and i shall do more whenever i shall believe doing more will help the cause. i shall try to correct errors when shown to be errors, and i shall adopt new views so fast as they shall appear to be true views. i have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty; and i intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men everywhere could be free. — letter to horace greeley; august , . ' he subject presented in the memorial is one upon which i have thought much for weeks past, and i may even say for months. i am approached with the most opposite opinions and advice, and that by religious men who are equally certain that they repre- sent the divine will. i am sure that either the one or the other class is mistaken in that be- lief, and perhaps in some respects both. i hope it will not be irreverent for me to say that if it is probable that god would reveal io i his will to others on a point so connected with my duty, it might be supposed he would re- veal it directly to me; for, unless i am more deceived in myself than i often am, it is my earnest desire to know the will of providence in this matter. and if i can learn what it is, i will do it. these are not, however, the days of miracles, and i suppose it will be granted that i am not to expect a direct revelation. i must study the plain physical facts of the case, ascertain what is possible, and learn what appears to be wise and right. the subject is difficult, and good men do not agree. . . . you know that the last ses- sion of congress had a decided majority of antislavery men, yet they could not unite on this policy. and the same is true of the re- ligious people. why, the rebel soldiers are praying with a great deal more earnestness, i fear, than our own troops, and expecting god to favor their side. . . . what good would a proclamation of eman- cipation from me do, especially as we are now situated? i do not want to issue a document that the whole world will see must necessarily be inoperative, like the pope's bull against the comet. would my word free the slaves, when i cannot even enforce the constitution in the rebel states? is there a single court, or magistrate, or individual that would be influenced by it there? and what reason is there to think it would have any greater effect upon the slaves than the late law of congress, at the north, though not so much, i fear, as you and those you represent imagine. still, some additional strength would be added in that way to the war, and then, unquestionably, it would weaken the rebels by drawing off their laborers, which is of great importance; but i am not so sure we could do much with the blacks. if we were to arm them, i fear that in a few weeks the arms would be in the hands of the rebels; and, indeed, thus far we have not had arms enough to equip our white troops. i will mention another thing, though it meet only your scorn and contempt. there are fifty thousand bayonets in the union armies from the border slave states. it would be a serious matter if, in conse- quence of a proclamation such as you desire, they should go over to the rebels. i do not think they all would — not so many, indeed, as a year ago, or as six months ago – not so many to-day as yesterday. every day in- creases their union feeling. they are also getting their pride enlisted, and want to beat the rebels. let me say one thing more: i think you should admit that we already have an important principle to rally and unite the people, in the fact that constitutional gov- ernment is at stake. this is a fundamental idea going down about as deep as anything. do not misunderstand me because i have mentioned these objections. they indicate the difficulties that have thus far prevented my action in some such way as you desire. i i have not decided against a proclamation of liberty to the slaves, but hold the matter under advisement; and i can assure you that the subject is on my mind, by day and night, more than any other. whatever shall ap- pear to be god's will, i will do. — remarks to representatives of chicago churches; sep- tember , . o’. the first day of january, in the year of our lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any state or designated part of a state the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the united states, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the ex- ecutive government of the united states, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the free- dom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom. — preliminary emancipation proc- lamation; september , . n the very responsible position in which i happen to be placed, being a humble in- strument in the hands of our heavenly father, as i am, and as we all are, to work out his great purposes, i have desired that all my works and acts may be according to his will, i and that it might be so, i have sought his aid; but if, after endeavoring to do my best in the light which he affords me, i find my efforts fail, i must believe that for some pur- pose unknown to me, he wills it otherwise. if i had had my way, this war would never have been commenced. if i had been al- lowed my way, this war would have been ended before this; but we find it still con- tinues, and we must believe that he permits it for some wise purpose of his own, mysteri- ous and unknown to us; and though with our limited understandings we may not be able to comprehend it, yet we cannot but believe that he who made the world still governs it. – reply to an address by mrs. gurney; september , . the will of god prevails. in great con- tests each party claims to act in accord- ance with the will of god. both may be, and one must be, wrong. god cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. in the present civil war it is quite possible that god’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party; and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adaptation to effect his purpose. i am almost ready to say that this is probably true; that god wills this contest, and wills that it shall not end yet. by his mere great power on the minds of the now i o contestants, he could have either saved or destroyed the union without a human con- test. yet the contest began. and, having begun, he could give the final victory to either side any day. yet the contest proceeds. – meditation on the divine will; september , . nation may be said to consist of its territory, its people, and its laws. the territory is the only part which is of certain durability. “one generation passeth away, and another generation cometh, but the earth abideth forever.” it is of the first impor- tance to duly consider and estimate this ever- enduring part. that portion of the earth's surface which is owned and inhabited by the people of the united states is well adapted to be the home of one national family, and it is not well adapted for two or more. its vast extent and its variety of climate and pro- ductions are of advantage in this age for one people, whatever they might have been in former ages. steam, telegraphs, and intelli- gence have brought these to be an advanta- geous combination for one united people. . . . our national strife springs not from our permanent part, not from the land we in- habit, not from our national homestead. there is no possible severing of this but would multiply, and not mitigate, evils among us. in all its adaptations and aptitudes it i demands union and abhors separation. in fact, it would erelong force reunion, however much of blood and treasure the separation might have cost. our strife pertains to ourselves — to the passing generations of men; and it can with- out convulsion be hushed forever with the passing of one generation. in this view i recommend the adoption of the following resolution and articles amenda- tory to the constitution of the united states [and providing for compensated emanci- pation]. fellow-citizens, we cannot escape history. we of this congress and this administration will be remembered in spite of ourselves. no personal significance or insignificance can spare one or another of us. the fiery trial through which we pass will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation. we say we are for the union. the world will not forget that we say this. we know how to save the union. the world knows we do know how to save it. we – even we here — hold the power and bear the responsibility. in giving freedom to the slave, we assure free- dom to the free — honorable alike in what we give and what we preserve. we shall nobly save or meanly lose the last, best hope of earth. other means may succeed; this could not fail the way is plain, peaceful, generous ºy which, if followed, peace. it is said that the admission of west virginia is secession, and tolerated only be- cause it is our secession. well, if we call it by that name, there is still difference enough between secession against the constitution and secession in favor of the constitution. i believe the admission of west virginia into the union is expedient. — opinion on ad- mission of west virginia into the union; december , . - tha. congress has power to regulate the currency of the country can hardly admit of a doubt, and that a judicious meas- ure to prevent the deterioration of this cur- rency by a reasonable taxation of bank circu- lation or otherwise is needed, seems equally clear. independently of this general consider- ation, it would be unjust to the people at large to exempt banks enjoying the special privilege of circulation from their just pro- portion of the public burdens. – message to congress on issue of united states notes; january , . i know and deeply deplore the sufferings which the working-men at manchester, and in all europe, are called to endure in this crisis. it has been often and studiously represented that the attempt to overthrow this government, which was built upon the foundation of human rights, and to substitute i for it one which should rest exclusively on the basis of human slavery, was likely to obtain the favor of europe. through the action of our disloyal citizens, the working-men of europe have been subjected to severe trials, for the purpose of forcing their sanction to that attempt. under the circumstances, i cannot but regard your decisive utterances upon the question as an instance of sublime christian heroism which has not been sur- passed in any age or in any country. it is indeed an energetic and reinspiring assurance of the inherent power of truth, and of the ultimate and universal triumph of justice, humanity, and freedom. i do not doubt that the sentiments you have expressed will be sustained by your great nation; and, on the other hand, i have no hesitation in assuring you that they will excite admiration, esteem, and the most reciprocal feelings of friend- ship among the american people. i hail this interchange of sentiment, therefore, as an augury that whatever else may happen, what- ever misfortune may befall your country or my own, the peace and friendship which now exist between the two nations will be, as it shall be my desire to make them, perpetual. — letter to the workingmen of manchester, england; january , . eneral: i have placed you at the head of the army of the potomac. of course i have done this upon what appear to me to i again, could get any good out of an army while such a spirit prevails in it; and now beware of rashness. beware of rashness, but with energy and sleepless vigilance go for- ward and give us victories. – letter to major- general joseph hooker; january , . y dear sir: your note, by which you, as general superintendent of the united states christian commission, invite me to preside at a meeting to be held this day at the hall of the house of representatives in this city, is received. while, for reasons which i deem sufficient, i must decline to preside, i cannot withhold my approval of the meeting and its worthy objects. whatever shall be sincerely, and in god's name, devised for the good of the soldier and seaman in their hard spheres of duty, can scarcely fail to be blest. and what- ever shall tend to turn our thoughts from the unreasoning and uncharitable passions, preju- dices, and jealousies incident to a great na- tional trouble such as ours, and to fix them upon the vast and long-enduring conse- quences, for weal or for woe, which are to result from the struggle, and especially to strengthen our reliance on the supreme be- ing for the final triumph of the right, cannot but be well for us all. the birthday of washington and the christian sabbath coinciding this year, and suggesting together the highest interests of i this life and of that to come, is most propi- tious for the meeting proposed. – letter to alexander reed; february , . ruth to speak, i do not appreciate this matter of rank on paper as you officers do. the world will not forget that you fought the battle of stone river, and it will never care a fig whether you rank general grant on paper, or he so ranks you. — letter to major- general rosecrans; march , . i am told you have at least thought of rais- ing a negro military force. in my opinion the country now needs no specific thing so much as some man of your ability and posi- tion to go to this work. when i speak of your position, i mean that of an eminent citizen of a slave state and himself a slave- holder. the colored population is the great available and yet unavailed of force for re- storing the union. the bare sight of fifty thousand armed and drilled black soldiers upon the banks of the mississippi would end the rebellion at once; and who doubts that we can present that sight if we but take hold in earnest? — letter to governor andrew johnson, of tennessee; march , . whºs. it is the duty of nations as well as of men to own their depen- dence upon the overruling power of god; to confess their sins and transgressions in humble sorrow, yet with assured hope that genuine repentance will lead to mercy and pardon; and to recognize the sublime truth, announced in the holy scriptures and proven by all history, that those nations only are blessed whose god is the lord: and insomuch as we know that by his divine law nations, like individuals, are sub- jected to punishments and chastisements in this world, may we not justly fear that the awful calamity of civil war which now deso- lates the land may be but a punishment in- flicted upon us for our presumptuous sins, to the needful end of our national reformation as a whole people? we have been the recipi- ents of the choicest bounties of heaven. we have been preserved, these many years, in peace and prosperity. we have grown in numbers, wealth, and power as no other na- tion has ever grown; but we have forgotten god. we have forgotten the gracious hand which preserved us in peace, and multiplied and enriched and strengthened us; and we have vainly imagined, in the deceitfulness of our hearts, that all these blessings were pro- duced by some superior wisdom and virtue of our own. intoxicated with unbroken suc- cess, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the god that made us: it behooves us, then, to humble ourselves before the offended power, to confess our i national sins, and to pray for clemency and forgiveness – proclamation of april , , as a national fast day; march , - i understand the meeting whose reso- lutions i am considering to be in favor of suppressing the rebellion by military force — by armies. long experience has shown that armies cannot be maintained unless desertion shall be punished by the severe penalty of death. the case requires, and the law and the constitution sanction, this punishment. must i shoot a simple-minded soldier boy who deserts, while i must not touch a hair of a wily agitator who induces him to desert? this is none the less injurious when effected by getting a father, or brother, or friend into a public meeting, and there working upon his feelings till he is persuaded to write the sol- dier boy that he is fighting in a bad cause, for a wicked administration of a contemptible government, too weak to arrest and punish him if he shall desert. i think that, in such a case, to silence the agitator and save the boy is not only constitutional, but withal a great mercy. — letter to erastus corning and others; june , . yoº claim that men may, if they choose, embarrass those whose duty it is to com- bat a giant rebellion, and then be dealt with in turn, on" as if there were no rebellion. degree than to any other cause; and it is due to him personally in a greater degree than to any other one man. . . . with all this before their eyes, the conven- tion you represent have nominated mr. val- landigham for governor of ohio, and both they and you have declared the purpose to sustain the national union by all constitu- tional means. but of course they and you in common reserve to yourselves to decide what are constitutional means; and, unlike the albany meeting, you omit to state or intimate that in your opinion an army is a constitu- tional means of saving the union against a rebellion, or even to intimate that you are conscious of an existing rebellion being in progress with the avowed object of destroy- ing that very union. at the same time your nominee for governor, in whose behalf you appeal, is known to you and to the world to declare against the use of an army to suppress the rebellion. your own attitude, therefore, encourages desertion, resistance to the draft, and the like, because it teaches those who incline to desert and to escape the draft to believe it is your purpose to protect them, and to hope that you will become strong enough to do so. . . . i send you duplicates of this letter in order that you, or a majority of you, may, if you choose, indorse your names upon one of them and return it thus indorsed to me with the understanding that those signing are thereby i slaughter-pen. no time is wasted, no argu- ment is used. this produces an army which will soon turn upon our now victorious sol- diers, already in the field, if they shall not be sustained by recruits as they should be. it produces an army with a rapidity not to be matched by our side, if we first waste time to reexperiment with the volunteer system al- ready deemed by congress, and palpably, in fact, so far exhausted as to be, inadequate, and then more time to obtain a court decision as to whether a law is constitutional which requires a part of those now not in the service to go to the aid of those who are already in it, and still more time to determine with abso- lute certainty that we get those who are to go in the precisely legal proportion to those who are not to go. my purpose is to be in my action just and constitutional, and yet practical, in performing the important duty with which i am charged, of maintaining the unity and the free principles of our common country. — letter to governor horatio sey- mour, of new york; august , . [ sº of] you say you will not fight to free negroes. some of them seem willing to fight for you; but no matter. fight you, then, exclusively to save the union. i issued the proclamation on purpose to aid you in saving the union. whenever you shall have con: quered all resistance to the union, if i shall cated to the proposition that all men are created equal. now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. we are met on a great battle-field of that war. we have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. it is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. but, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground. the brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. the world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. it is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. it is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead ... shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under god, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. – dedication of the national ceme- tery at gettysburg, pa.; november , . the strongest bond of human sympathy, outside of the family relation, should be one uniting all working people, of all na- tions, and tongues, and kindreds. nor should this lead to a war upon property, or the own- ers of property. property is the fruit of labor; property is desirable; is a positive good in the world. that some should be rich shows that others may become rich, and hence is just encouragement to industry and enter- prise. let not him who is houseless pull down the house of another, but let him work diligently and build one for himself, thus by example assuring that his own shall be safe from violence when built. — remarks to a committee of new york workingmen; march , . he world has never had a good defini- tion of the word liberty, and the ameri- can people, just now, are much in want of one. we all declare for liberty; but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. with some the word liberty may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor; while with others the same word may mean for some men to do as they please with other men, and the product of other men's labor. here are two, not only different, but incompatible thing ºv the same name, liberty. and it f ch of the things is, by the respective parties, called by two different and incompatible names — liberty and tyranny. the shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act, as the de- stroyer of liberty, especially as the sheep was a black one. plainly, the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty; and precisely the same difference prevails to-day among us human creatures, even in the north, and all professing to love liberty. hence we behold the process by which thousands are daily passing from under the yoke of bondage hailed by some as the advance of liberty, and bewailed by others as the destruction of all liberty. — remarks at a sanitary fair in baltimore; april , . in response to the preamble and resolu- tions of the american baptist home mis- sion society, which you did me the honor to present, i can only thank you for thus adding to the effective and almost unanimous support which the christian communities are so zeal- ously giving to the country and to liberty. indeed, it is difficult to conceive how it could be otherwise with any one professing christi- anity, or even having ordinary perceptions of right and wrong. to read in the bible, as the word of god himself, that “in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,” and to preach therefrom that, “in the sweat of other men's faces shalt thou eat bread,” to my mind can scarcely be reconciled with honest sincer- ity. when brought to my final reckoning, may i have to answer for robbing no man of his goods; yet more tolerable even this, than for robbing one of himself and all that was his. when, a year or two ago, those pro- fessedly holy men of the south met in the semblance of prayer and devotion, and, in the name of him who said, “as ye would all men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them,” appealed to the christian world to aid them in doing to a whole race of men as they would have no man do unto themselves, to my thinking they contemned and insulted god and his church far more than did satan when he tempted the saviour with the kingdoms of the earth. the devil's attempt was no more false, and far less hypocritical. but let me forbear, remembering it is also written, “judge not lest ye be judged.” — letter to committee of baptists; may , . i am always for the man who wishes to work. – endorsement of application for employment; august , . ther: may be some inequalities in the practical application of our system. it is fair that each man shall pay taxes in exact proportion to the value of his property; but o placing any obstacle in the way. so long as i have been here i have not willingly planted a thorn in any man's bosom. while i am deeply sensible to the high compliment of a reelection, and duly grateful, as i trust, to almighty god for having directed my country- men to a right conclusion, as i think, for their own good, it adds nothing to my satisfaction that any other man may be disappointed or pained by the result. may i ask those who have not differed with me to join with me in this same spirit toward those who have?— remarks in response to a serenade; november io, . ear madam, - i have been shown in the files of the war department a state- ment of the adjutant-general of massachu- setts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. i feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. but i cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the republic they died to save. i pray that our heavenly father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of free- dom. — letter to mrs. bixby; november , . i it seems that there is now no organized military force of the enemy in missouri, and yet that destruction of property and life is rampant everywhere. is not the cure for this within easy reach of the people them- selves? it cannot but be that every man not naturally a robber or cut-throat would gladly put an end to this state of things. a large majority in every locality must feel alike upon this subject; and if so, they only need to reach an understanding, one with another. each leaving all others alone solves the problem; and surely each would do this but for his ap- prehension that others will not leave him alone. cannot this mischievous distrust be removed? let neighborhood meetings be everywhere called and held, of all entertain- ing a sincere purpose for mutual security in the future, whatever they may heretofore have thought, said or done about the war, or about anything else. let all such meet, and, waiv- ing all else, pledge each to cease harassing others, and to make common cause against whoever persists in making, aiding, or en- couraging further disturbance. the practical means they will best know how to adopt and apply. at such meetings old friendships will cross the memory, and honor and christian charity will come in to help. — letter to gov- ernor thomas c. fletcher; february , . i either party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with, or even before, the conflict itself should cease. each looked for an easier triumph, and a re- sult less fundamental and astounding. both read the same bible, and pray to the same god; and each invokes his aid against the other. it may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just god's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged. the prayers of both could not be answered — that of neither has been answered fully. the almighty has his own purposes. “woe unto the world because of offenses for it must needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh.” if we shall suppose that american slavery is one of those offenses which, in the provi- dence of god, must needs come, but which, having continued through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he gives to both north and south this terrible war, as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the be- lievers in a living god always ascribe to him? fondly do we hope — fervently do we pray — that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. yet, if god wills that it continue i until all the wealth piled by the bond- man's two hundred and fifty years of unre- quited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, “the judgments of the lord are true and righteous altogether.” with malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as god gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan — to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among our- selves, and with all nations. – second in- augural address; march , . evº one likes a compliment. thank you for yours on my little notification speech and on the recent inaugural address. i expect the latter to wear as well as — per- haps better than — anything i have pro- duced; but i believe it is not immediately popular. men are not flattered by being shown that there has been a difference of purpose between the almighty and them. to deny it, however, in this case, is to deny that there is a god governing the world. it is a truth which i thought needed to be told, and as whatever of humiliation there is in it b” these recent successes the reinaugura- tion of the national authority — recon- struction — which has had a large share of thought from the first, is pressed much more closely upon our attention. it is fraught with great difficulty. unlike a case of war between independent nations, there is no authorized organ for us to treat with — no one man has authority to give up the rebellion for any other man. we simply must begin with and mold from disorganized and discordant ele- ments. nor is it a small additional embar- rassment that we, the loyal people, differ among ourselves as to the mode, manner, and measure of reconstruction. as a general rule, i abstain from reading the reports of attacks upon myself, wishing not to be provoked by that to which i cannot properly offer an an- swer. in spite of this precaution, however, it comes to my knowledge that i am much censured for some supposed agency in setting up and seeking to sustain the new state gov- ernment of louisiana. . . . we all agree that the seceded states, so called, are out of their proper practical rela- tion with the union, and that the sole object of the government, civil and military, in re- gard to those states is to again get them into that proper practical relation. i believe that it is not only possible, but in fact easier, to do this without deciding or even considering whether these states have ever been out of the union, than with it. finding themselves clay, henry, eulogy of, ; in favor of gradual eman- cipation, , . clinton, ill., speech at, . columbus, o., speech at, . condolence, letter of, to miss fannie mccullough, ; letter of, to mrs. bixby, . congress, speech in, on president polk, : speech in, on internal improvements, ; speech in, on military heroes, zo. conkling, james c., letter to, . constitution, the. see slavery. cooper union, new york, speech at, o . corning, erastus, and others, letter to, . crittenden, j. j., letter to, . declaration of independence (see also slavcry), enemies of, ; valid for all time, ; l. would be assassinated rather than give up its principles, ; hope of the country and the world, . delahay, m. w., letter to, democratic party (see also douglas, stephen a.), whigs contrasted with lemocrats. ; in new york an “equally divided gang of wogs,” ; has ex- changed coats with republican party, ; puts dollar before the man, , bushwhacking tactics of, i . discoveries, invetitions, and improvements, lecture on, . divine will, meditation on the, o. - douglas, senator stephen a., l. attacks his popular sovereignty theory, ; l. replies to him at spring- field, june , , ; his version of the declara- tion of independence, o ; conspirator in re dred scott decision, ; l. replies to him at chicago, §: io, º ; l. contrasts himself with, ; de- ate with l. at jonesboro, ; debate with l. at charleston, ; debate with l. at quincy, o; debate with l. at alton, ; dangerous enemy of liberty, ; contrasted with jefferson, ;. l. denounces his paralell between negro and crocodile, , , o. dred scott decision. see slavery. durley, williamson, letter to, . education, basis of enduring prosperity, , . edwardsville, ill., speech at, . emancipation. ... see slavery. emancipation proclamation, preliminary, . fashion, influence of . fast amation of, march , , . view of, , , ; the cotton-gin and, ; dred scott decision annihilates popular sovereignty, ; douglas an abolitionist, ; southern man on repub- lican ticket, , ; no compromise on extension of in republican platform, ; l. objects to radical ohio republican platform, o; l. denounces doug- las's parallel between negro and crocodile, , , to ; free labor versus slave, , . ; hammond's “mud-sill” theory, o ; sophistical pleas of its advo- cates, ; vested interests in, ios: l. endorses seward's phrase, “irrepressible conflict,” ; the snake in the union bed, o, ; no struggle be- tween white man and negro, o ; not a necessity, ; futility of repeating assurances not to interfere with, in states, ; freedom the people's fight, ; l. opposes frémont's order of military emancipation, ; l. offers compensated emancipation with colon- ization to border states, ; l. urges colonization as duty upon intelligent negroes, ; divine guidance in question of, ; advantages and disadvantages of emancipation, ; preliminary emancipation proclamation, ; l. recommends compensated emancipation to congress, ; right- ousness of emancipation, , ; on arming ne- groes, , , , ; hypocrisy of its advocates, ; war, god’s judgment on, ; the ballot, a reward to negro for effort, o. speech, invention of, oo. speed, joshua f., letter to, . speer, william s., letter to, . springfield, ill., speech against the van buren adminis- tration at, ; address to washingtonian society at, ; reply to douglas, june , , at, ; speech at, accepting nomination for senator, june , , : speech at, july , , ; lecture on discoveries, inventions, and improvements, before library ass’n of, ; letter to james c. conkling read at union meeting in, . taney, roger b., conspirator in re dred scott decision, . tariff, l. in candidacy for illinois legislature announces himself in favor of a high protective tariff, ; notes on rotection, jotted down while congressman-elect, ec. , ; protection abolishes useless labor of transportation, , . temperance, º: to washingtonian society of springfield, ill., feb. , , ; letter to george e. pickett on, ; conjoined with abolition of slavery, . | |||| , |- : |- - , • , : ----~♥-------_-----|-|-|- (~~~~|-− |- ---------|-− |-- - |-|-|-№|-:|----- ! - |-----|- |------ ___ |---------|- ·----¿ |-¿(±(√≠√≠√≠√∞|-! ¿¿|-¿ §§§§§©®°¶√¶√≠√≠√±º(…) ------- #$%&&&&&&§§§§&&&&& &&&&&&&& · ----- -----~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~);·:·º·:·º·:· •!:…(~~~~·……………………, |-~~~~~ ~~~~--~~~~ £ ,ººººººº· ță |-|-----|-|-|- |-·|-|-|-|-|-|- |-- |-|- |- |-)|-----|- |-|-|-|--------- |-|-|-|------|-|- --------|-|-|- ſae-------------ae |-|-|- ¿? ºzºº §§ Ř } | º º rººzzº -~~ ~~~~*)(…º………*****************************!!!,,,* -`-|-!“«……….……… :~ ~~~~ ~~~~*:)*)( )(……… :( :( --.*,,+.***…*…*---- - -|---★ →.ae|-- -|-----, ! «· |-· · ·• • • • • •· · ·|-|-----· · · · · ·- - - - - -|-… • •-|-· · · · ·, , º^ ^, !----v , !**… …“. * …’ (**) zºff (* * · · · · ·:, -. , ** , , , ,|-~º: . . . . ', , , , !.!.! !! !!!~º: *…*:)*, *)(.*?),;*** , !!,---+* …* …|-|-* * · *ſ.º. ,·},, … :( , , … • ?-, ,----|-*…*… !> •... •* … ' :-- :-)~~, , )±( ). , (*· • × |-- -- - - ----- (****... … ···*…? |-|-* …!”! ± % ~); ∞ √° × ' .·, ! ) { **)(.*\*.**… ) №, ...?? §. , , ºſ %-- (,,,,,,,,, ·~*~ |- ·…» º . > *…* !!!!!!! ſ ſ~~ ~~! >' ) ) * ·· « ~~.* ‘.-}} + (&:º.' *)(.*, , ,*;,». %); Ă,\;\;. №ſí º ( $ $ (; **:§§§§§§)?:%),¿??¿: ·→ ·-~ . …- - ----- } , , ):.*¿.· · * ſ; , ; *:)*)\ſ*(r); *** !!!!!=== c). · a treatise on wisdom ! w . / by - ' pierre charron paraphrased by myrtilla h. n. daly with an introduction by marcus benjamin la vraie science et le vrai étude de l'homme, c'est raemme. - charron, "de la sagesse,'' lib, , ch. , réor, • g. p. putnam's sons new york london . » west twenty-third st. king william st., strand cbc irnichcrbockcr )rcss v\ aa | * - s is a - y /?ſ... (- - ° ′ × - * d cu &m ( . § & sep * r a rn copyright, by myrtilla. h. n. daly - * * * * * * * - ". - -- , , "" º lſº sº - ºn tº cbe knickerbocket pregg, rew lºork electrotyped, printed, and bound by g. p. putnam's sons --- in memoriam m. n. d. *:)*,,,,,=--~~~~:::::: ~f prefatory note. the interest in the works of pierre charron, of which this paraphrase is an outcome, was first awakened by the tribute buckle pays to him in his “history of civilization.” the strong desire to learn more of this priest and philosopher, “who,” says buckle, “rose to an elevation which to montaigne would have been inaccessible,” led to an effort to secure a copy of his “treatise on wisdom,” and after a long search a quaint and rare translation, made by samson lennard early in the seventeenth century, was found in london, upon which the presen volume has been based. . . w § vi prefatory wote. having become a true admirer of this great author, i have tried in this enchiridion to faithfully preserve the expression of his views without the wearisome repetitions of a more leisurely age; to give the crystallized thought without its massive setting, feeling sure that a convenient form of this, his most celebrated work, is all that is needed to win for him a new recognition. the following ex- tract from the “memoirs of the countess de genlis” is of peculiar interest: “some days before his departure, m. de talleyrand asked me what orders i had for paris, when i re- quested him to send me the work called “la sagesse de charron.’ next morning i received a charming note from him, with the book i was desirous of, most elegantly bound, and of an elzevir edition. prefatory note. vii “it happened accidentally that he had this very book, which he kept at the sale of his fine library in lon- don, and took always along with him, as he was very fond of it.” m. h. n. d. introduction. xi chaplain to queen margaret of va- lois, the wife of henri quatre. notwithstanding the reputation that he had acquired as a brilliant orator, and, the opportunities now afforded him for advancement, he relinquished his appointment, and in returned to paris in order to become a monk in fulfilment of an early vow he had made. besides, the quiet life in a monastery would give him the time which he desired to devote to philosophical speculations. but his age, being upward of forty- five, proved a barrier to his desires. refused for the above reason by the order of chartreuse, and then by the celestins, he returned to preaching, first at angers, and then at bordeaux. it was here that he , met montaigne, who at this time held public office, and their acquaint- ance soon ripened into a deep friend- ship, which continued until the death antroduction. xiii of all religions the christian was the only true one; and demonstrating to the unbeliever that there was nothing but what was good in the catholic church. in the following year he published his “traité de la sagesse,” a work which was purely philosophical, and showed the influence of his friend montaigne. in it the spirit of the free-thinker, rather than that of the theologian, is apparent, and so many of its passages contained unorthodox thoughts that charron became the victim of violent attacks by his con- temporaries. notwithstanding his correction of several chapters, not- withstanding his publication in of the “réfutation des hérétiques” with certain of his sermons on the divinity, the creation, the redemp- tion, and the eucharist; notwith- standing his sudden death, which should have disarmed his enemies, xiv introduction. he and his book were bitterly pur- sued by the state authorities and the jesuits. the jesuit father gavasse called charron le patriarche des es- prits fort, and insisted that he was an atheist. after the death of charron, the authorities in connection with the theological faculty undertook to suppress the “traité de la sagesse,” but the president—jeannin—charged by the chancellor to revise it, made such corrections that a new edition was printed in , with a life of the author. this is the most cele- brated of his works, and to it charron owes his place in the history of modern philosophy. buckle refers to it and says in it “we find, for the first time, an at- tempt made in a modern language to construct a system of morals without the aid of theology.” else- where he continues: “taking his introduction. xv stand, as it were, on the summit of knowledge, he boldly attempts to enumerate the elements of wisdom, and the conditions under which those elements will work. in the scheme which he thus constructs he entirely omits theological dogmas, and he treats with undissembled scorn many of those conclusions which the people had hitherto universally received. he reminds his countrymen that their religion is the accidental result of their birth and education, and that if they had been born in a mohammedan country they would have been as firm believers in mo- hammedanism as they then were in christianity. from this considera- tion, he insists on the absurdity of their troubling themselves about the variety of creeds, seeing that such variety is the result of circumstances over which they have no control. also it is to be observed that each xvi antroduction. of these different religions declares itself to be the true one; and all of them are equally based upon super- natural pretensions, such as mys- teries, miracles, prophets, and the like. it is because men forget these things, that they are the slaves of that confidence which is the great obstacle to all real knowledge, and which can only be removed by tak- ing such a large and comprehensive view as will show us how all nations cling with equal zeal to the tenets in which they have been educated. and, says charron, if we look a little deeper, we shall see that each of the great religions is built upon that which preceded it. thus the religion of the jews is founded upon that of the egyptians; christianity is the result of judaism; and, from these two last, there has naturally sprung mohammedanism. we, therefore, adds this great writer, introduction. xvii should rise above the pretensions of hostile sects; and, without being ter- rified by the fear of future punish- ment, or allured by the hope of future happiness, we should be con- tent with such practical religion as consists in performing the duties of life; and, uncontrolled by the dog- mas of any particular creed, we should strive to make the soul retire inward upon itself, and by the efforts of its own contemplation admire the ineffable grandeur of the being of beings, the supreme cause of all created things.” charron was the first writer in a modern language to point out the doctrine of religious development. indeed the germ of very many of the advanced thoughts now recog- nized in our modern theology can be distinctly traced back to his writ- ings. the naturalism which was subsequently advanced by holbach -------------------------------------- - xviii introduction. and rousseau is found in the “traité de la sagesse.” in the hope that there may be those who desire to know something more of the writings of this author, whose ideas were so far ahead of his time that he was called “an ad- vanced thinker,” this collection of his sentiments has been prepared. marcus benjamin. new york, july , . author's preface. it is necessary in the beginning of this work to know what wisdom is. at the first view of the simple word some have imagined it to be a qual- ity not common, but exclusive and elevated above that which is ordi- nary, be it good or evil, for it is used in both senses. we say a wise tyrant and thief as well as a wise king and pilot. opposed to wis- dom there is not only folly, which is an irregularity of life, but common baseness and plebeian simplicity. wisdom is strong, well proportioned, a regulation of life, sufficient for whatever is required and necessary. xix author's preface. xxi it is the first and highest of the in- tellectual virtues, which may be without either honesty, action, or other moral virtue. the theolo- gists do not make it speculative, but practical, and contend that it is the knowledge of divine things, from which proceeds a judgment and rule of human actions, and they make it twofold: that acquired by study, and like the philosopher's; and that infused and given by god—“com- ing from above, a gift of the holy ghost.” the spirit of god is the spirit of wisdom, which is found only in those who are just and free from sin. it is not our purpose to speak of divine wisdom here. of human wisdom, of which this book treats, the descriptions are various and insufficient; some think that it is only discretion, and advised conduct in man's affairs and conver- sation. this is a most ordinary de- author's preface. xxiii is good and profitable. the theolo- gists mount higher, filled with the desire for divine wisdom, and look- ing principally to the eternal good and salvation of mankind, but teach- ing with more austerity. the phi- losophers have also shown excellence not only in their writings but in their honorable and heroic lives. for these reasons in this book i ordinarily fol- low their advice and sayings, not rejecting those of the theologists, for in substance they agree. if i had undertaken to instruct the cloister i must necessarily have followed the advice of the theolo- gists; but our book is intended for daily life, and to form a man for the world, and instruct him in human wisdom which is of law and reason; a noble composition of the º man, his thoughts, words, and ac- tions. that work is well done which is complete and perfect in all its -º-º-º-º-º-º-º-º: xxiv. author's preface. parts, and that man is accounted wise who best knows how to keep himself from vice, errors, and pas- sion; who considers and judges all things without prejudice, and rules himself according to reason, law, and the light inspired by god, which 'shines in us. he who is without knowledge of himself and subjects his mind to any kind of servitude is not wise. if wisdom could be seen with our bodily eyes there would be stirred within us a strong desire to possess it. the two principal means to attain wisdom are the natural and the ac- quired. he who is fortunate in the first, being favorably formed by nature, has the advantage. but he who is not so gifted must study to supply that which is wanting. soc- rates said of himself, that by the study of philosophy he had corrected and reformed his natural defects. xxvi author's preface. “every man should abound in his own understanding,” not judging or condemning those who think otherwise. pierre charron. contents. wisdom . . . - - - first consideration of man . - the soul. • * * * * the senses . . . . . the spirit . . . . . the passions , , , , , love . • e º 'º - ambition - - - - - covetousness . . . . . powerty and riches . . . the estimation of life . . . comparisons of life . . - some of man's natural. qualities. inconstancy . - - - - misery . - - - - - presumption . • * * * the difference in men . . . marriage - - - - - parents and children . e - i o . : xxvii xxviii contents. pace the body - - - - - . manners. - - - . . . masters and servants . - - . the necessities of the state - . wars - - - - - - . io lawyers, doctors, teachers -- . the vulgar sort . - - - . io nobility. - . - - - . io honor . - - - - - • ii science or learning . - - ... ii. desiring wisdom . - - - . liberty of spirit and judgment . . i universality of spirit . º - . i laws and customs . - - - . i honesty . - - - - - . i piety - - - - - - . i repentance . . - - - - • i to govern desires and pleasures . i consideration of others . - . . i man's own affairs. - - - . i to be ready for death . • - . ioi tranquillity of the spirit . - . i moral, virtues - • - - . i justice . - - - - . . . i contents. xxix | *i º ----- | love and friendship . fidelity . - flattery - lying - - benefits . - duty - - valor - - fortitude - public reproach revenge . - page - . i - . - . - . o - . - . - . - - - i - • iq - . -------- --------- - - - - - . a treatise on wisdom. vvisdom. the most excellent and divine counsel, the best and most profitable of all advice, but that least followed, is to study and learn how to know ourselves. this is the foundation of wisdom and the highway to what- ever is good; and there is no folly compared to this, to be anxious to know all things rather than ourselves. for the true science and true study of man, is man. by the knowledge of himself man arrives sooner and better at the knowledge of god than by any other means, because he finds in himself better help, more marks of the divine nature than he can know in any other way, and he can better understand i first consideration of man. knowledge was greater than others, but because his knowledge of himself was better; for being a man as others were, weak and miserable, he knew it, and ingenuously acknowledged his condition, and lived and governed himself accordingly. the knowledge of ourselves is not obtained from another, or by com- parison, rule, or example, but is acquired only by a true and daily study, a serious and attentive ex- amination, not only of our words and actions, but of our most secret thoughts. the first consideration of man. we will consider god's supernatu- ral creation, according to the descrip- tion which moses gives of the creation of the world, the boldest and richest piece of work ever brought to light. i mean the first nine chapters of genesis: man was made by god, **--------------------- a treatise on wisdom. } not only after all other creatures, as the most perfect, but master and superintendent of all ; “that he might rule over the fish of the sea, the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the earth.” on the same day wherein the four-footed beasts were created, including those two which most re- semble man,—the swine inwardly and the ape outwardly,–after all was ended, as the closing seal and sign of his work, and in a word, as the accomplishment and perfection of the work, the honor and miracle of nature, god made man with de- liberation, counsel, and preparation. he said: “let us make man in our image, according to our likeness.” he then rested ; and this rest was also made for man. “the sabbath was made for man, not man for it.” afterward he made himself man, which he did for his love of him. “for us and for our salvation,” first consideration of man. whereby we see that in all things god has aimed at man, finally in him and by him to bring all things unto himself, the beginning and end of all. man's body was first formed of virgin earth, afterwards the soul was by divine inspiration infused; and so the body and the soul made a living creature. “he breathed into his face the breath of life.” man was created upright, only a small part touching the earth; the head directly tending towards heaven whereon he gazes, contrary to the plant, which has its head and root in the ground. so that man is a divine plant, and grows up unto heaven. the beast is in the middle, between man and the plant. there are three parts in man. the spirit (or mind), which is in the brain, and which is the fountain of the sensitive soul; the soul, and the flesh. the spirit and the flesh are a treatise on wisdom. the two extremes, heaven and earth; the soul, the middle region. there are in the soul two very dif- ferent parts. one pure, intellectual, and divine, wherein the base has no part; the other, base, sensitive, and brutish, a mean between the intel- lectual part and the body. the spirit is the highest, and most heroic, a spark, and image of the divinity, breathing nothing but good and heaven, to which it tends. the flesh is as the dregs of the earth, tending always to material things. the soul is continually disturbed by the spirit and the flesh, and, ac- cording to whichever it yields, is either spiritual and good, or carnal and evil. here are lodged all those natural affections which are neither virtuous nor vicious, as the love of our parents and friends, fear of shame, compassion toward the afflicted, de- sire for good reputation. first consideration of man. the attributes of the body are health, beauty, cheerfulness, strength, and vigor. there is nothing to be preferred above bodily health, except honesty, which is the health of the soul. next follows beauty, which is a powerful quality, nothing surpassing it; there are none so barbarous, none so resolute as not to be influenced by it. it clouds the judgment, makes deep impressions, and men yield to its authority. socrates called it “a short tyranny”; plato, “the privilege of nature.” “he who is gently born may well rejoice, to have by nature what he would by choice.” there is nothing more beautiful in man than his soul; and in the body of man than his visage, wherein is an image of the soul, like an escut- cheon with many quarters represent- ing the collection of all his titles to a treatise on wisdom. honor, placed at the entrance of his palace. the countenance is the throne of beauty and love, also of all inward emotions; like the hand of a dial which notes the hours and moments of time, the wheels and movements being hidden within. he who shows in his countenance the favors of na- ture imprinted in rare and exquisite beauty, has a lawful power over us, and we, turning our eyes toward him, he likewise turns our affections and enthralls them despite ourselves. the beauty of the body, especially the visage, should in all reason demonstrate and prove the beauty of the soul. the soul. it is difficult to define or say truly what the soul is, as with other forms; because they are things relative, which subsist not of themselves, but are parts of a whole. it has been the soul. discussed by the wisest of all nations, but with great diversity of opinion, varying according to country, re- ligion, and profession, without any certain determination. aristotle con- futed twelve definitions that were before him, and could hardly sustain his own. it is easy to say what it is not: that it is not fire, air, water; nor has it the qualities of these elements. neither has it the action, life, or en- ergy of a living body, for to live, to see, to understand, is but the effect or action of the soul and not the soul itself. we may simply say it is an essential quickening power, which gives to the plant a vegetal life; to a beast a sensible life, which com- prehends the vegetal; to a man an intellectual life, which includes the other two. i call it the intellective soul rather than the reasonable; for in some io a treatise on wisdom. measure, according to the greatest philosophers, and experience itself, the reasonable is likewise found in beasts; but not the intellective, that being higher. not “like horse and mule in whom there is no understanding.” the soul is not the beginning or source. that properly belongs to the sovereign first author; but an inward cause of life, motion, sense, and understanding; it moves the body, but god moves the soul. concerning the nature and essence of the human soul (for the soul of a beast is without doubt material, bred and born with the matter, and with it corruptible) there is a question of great importance. is it corporeal or incorporeal p it is corporeal accord- ing to the philosophers and our greatest theologists, and their de- cision is that whatever is created, being compared to god, is gross the soul. ii and material, and he only is incor- poreal. whatever is included in this finite world is finite; limited both in virtue and substance, enclosed and circum- scribed, which is the true condition of the body. god only is infinite. we must consider in spiritual creatures three things, essence, faculty, and operation. by the latter, which is the action, we know the faculty, and by it, the essence. the action may be hindered, and wholly cease without any prejudice to the soul and its faculties; as the skill and knowledge of painting re- main in the painter, although his hands are bound ; but if the faculties perish the soul must needs be gone, as fire is no longer fire having lost the power of warming. another important question offers itself: whether there is in creat- ures, especially in man, one soul or *** ***-------------------, ----------------------------- -— a treatise on wisdom. which are but accidents, die—that is, cannot be exercised without the body, the intellectual soul is al- ways well, because there is no need of a body. the immortality of the soul (the foundation of all religion) is gener- ally acknowledged throughout the world by outward profession, though inwardly this is not always so. it is profitable to believe, and has been proved by many natural rea- sons; but better established by the authority of religion than in any other way. there is in man an inclination and disposition to be- lieve it; he is disposed by nature to desire it; the justice of god con- firms it. as to what becomes of the soul, and its condition after the natural separa- tion by death there are many opinions, but that question does not belong to the subject of this book. the a treatise on wisdom. the senses. it is said all knowledge begins in us by the senses, but this is not alto- gether true. they are our first masters. one does not depend upon another, each being equally great in its own domain, though the domain of one far exceeds that of another. of the five senses given to man, these are the most precious and beautiful jewels: sight, hearing, and speech. sight in composition is most won- derful and of shining beauty. it excels all the other senses in appre- hending more quickly, extending farther, even to the heavens and fixed stars; it is more divine, and possesses liberty incomparable, abil- ity to signify our thoughts, to please or displease; it serves for a tongue and a hand; it speaks and it strikes. the privation of sight is darkness, which naturally brings fear, because a treatise on wisdom. in wisdom : he who rules his tongue well is wise, because in it are both good and evil. speech should be sober and seldom. to know how to be silent is a great advantage in speaking well; and he who does not know how to do one well, does not know the other. they who abound in words are barren in good speech and good actions; like those trees which are full of leaves and yield little fruit. the wise man has his tongue in his heart, the fool his heart in his tongue. a man must not be too anxious to relate what happens in the market- place, nor enter into a long account of his own actions and fortunes, for others do not take the same pleasure in hearing as in relating. above all, never be offensive, for speech is the forerunner and instrument of charity, and to abuse it, is contrary to the the spirit. i ------------------------------ the action that follows this knowl- edge, which is to extend itself and advance the thing known, is will. so all these attributes, imagination, reason, judgment, understanding, knowledge, will, are one and the same essence, but all are different in force, virtue, and action. no one can set forth the greatness or capacity of the mind of man. let it be called an image of the living god, a celestial ray, to which god has given reason for a guide. there is nothing wherein the mind plays not a part, with vain and trivial sub- jects as well as high and weighty ones. the action of the mind is always to search without intermis- sion. the pursuits of the spirit of man are without limit. the world is a school of inquiry. we are born to search for truth, but to possess it belongs to a higher power. truth is not his who thrusts a treatise on wisdom. himself into it, but his who strives to reach it. truth and error are received into the soul in the same way; the mind has no way to distinguish truth from a lie but by reason and experience. the spirit of man is rash and dan- gerous, especially one that is quick and vigorous; for, being so free, it easily shakes off common opinions, and those rules whereby it should be restrained, as unjust tyranny. it un- dertakes to examine all things, to judge that which is received plausibly by the world to be ridiculous and absurd; and finding an appearance of reason will defend itself against all. there are very few in whose guidance and conduct a man may trust, and upon whose judgment he can rely. the finest wits are not the wisest men. wisdom and folly are near neigh- bors, with but a step between. the spirit. aristotle said: “there is no great spirit without some mixture of fol- ly.” seneca said: “the mind of man is naturally stubborn, always inclined to difficult and contrary things, and is easier led than driven; like generous horses that are better governed with an easy bridle than a cutting bit.” the will is made to follow the understanding, which is a guide and lamp to it, but being corrupted by the passions, perhaps corrupts the understanding, and hence come the greater part of erroneous judgments. envy, hatred, malice, love, and fear make us judge and look at things other than they are, from whence comes the saying, “judge without passion.” so it is that the generous actions of men are often obscured by base misconstructions, which proceed either from envy, a malignant na- ambition. the soul thinks to be good for it or to avoid that which it takes to be evil. every passion is moved by the appearance and opinion, either of what is good or evil. those pas- sions which have the most appear- ance of good are love, desire, hope, despair, joy; of evil, are anger, hatred, envy, jealousy, revenge, cruelty, and fear. love. the first and chief mistress of all the passions is love, which consists of various degrees, as friendship, charity, and esteem. ambition. ambition (which is a thirst for honor and glory) is a sweet and pleasing passion, but not unal- loyed. an ambitious man never looks backward but forward, and it is greater grief to suffer one to go a treatise on wisdom. before him than pleasure to let a thousand be behind him. ambition is twofold—one for glory and honor, the other for greatness and com- mand. an ambitious nature is never satisfied, soaring higher and higher to enrich itself, not at a slow pace, but with a loose bridle running headlong to greatness and glory. tacitus said, the last vice which even the wise abandon, is desire for glory. ambition is the strongest and most powerful passion. it van- quishes even love, and robs it of health and tranquillity (for glory and tranquillity cannot lodge to- gether). it tramples under foot reverence and respect for religion. take for example mahomet, who tolerated all religions, that he might reign ; and those arch heretics who would rather be leaders in lies than dis- ciples of truth. ambition. there is nothing that resists the force of ambition, and it has no limit, but is a gulf without brink or bottom, a fire which increases by the nourishment given it; it some- times hides other vices, but does not take them away. serpents retain their venom though frozen, and an ambitious man his vices, though he covers them with cold dissimulation. ambition is not altogether to be condemned, for the noblest desires and actions arise from it; and al- though honorable achievements and glorious exploits have not been true works of virtue but of ambition in their authors, nevertheless the ef- fects have been beneficial. that one should be virtuous and do good for glory as if that were the recompense, is a false and vain opinion. much were the state of virtue to be pitied if she should receive her com- mendations and rewads from another. covetousness. to have acted them. virtue cannot find outside itself a reward worthy itself. covetousness, covetousness is the vile and base passion of fools, who account riches the highest good and poverty the greatest evil, weighing what is good by the goldsmith's balance, when nature has taught us to measure it by the ell of necessity. what greater folly can there be than to adore that which nature itself has put under our feet and hidden in the bowels of the earth as unworthy to be seen. “riches serve a wise man but command a fool.” what can be more base than for a man to disgrace himself and become a slave to that which should be sub- ject to him. “poverty wants many things but covetousness all.” the counter passion to covetous- ness, too, is vicious, which is—to *********----------- o a treatise on wisdom. hate riches or to waste them prodi- gally; this is to refuse the means to do well and to escape the labor of a noble use of them. if riches come to you do not re- ject them, but cheerfully accept them; receive them into your house, but not into your heart, into your possession, but not into your love. employ them honestly and discreetly for the good of others. if they hap- pen to be lost or stolen, be not sorrowful, and let them go by them- selves. he deserves not to be accepted of god, and is unworthy his love, who makes account of the riches of this world. poverty and riches. the two elements and sources of discord in the world are poverty and riches, for the excessive wealth of some stirs them to pride, a love of poverty and riches. i luxury and pleasure, and disdain of the poor, and the extreme poverty of others provokes them to jealousy and despair. which of the two, poverty or riches, is more dangerous has not been determined. according to aris- totle, it is abundance; for a state need not doubt those who desire only to live, but those who are am- bitious and rich. according to plato it is poverty, for desperate poor men, are terrible and furious creatures, and they dare, because their number is great. law-makers and statesmen have gone about to take away these two extremes, to make all things com- mon, and to establish equality which they call the mother of peace and amity, something which can never exist, except in the imagination. there is no hatred stronger than between equals—the jealousy of ******* -------~~~~ a treatise on wisdom. equals is the school of trouble. in- equality is good, if it be moderate. harmony does not consist in like sounds, but in true accord. good and ill—prosperity and ad- versity—is the twofold fortune in which we enter the list, the two schools of the spirit of man. wisdom teaches us to hold our- selves upright, to keep always the same countenance, and whatever falls into our hands to make it a subject for doing good. honors, riches, and the favors of fortune are wrongfully called goods, and he who names them so and places in them the good of man fastens his happiness to a rotten cable and anchors it in quicksands. for what is more uncertain than such possessions which come and go, pass and run on like a river ? like a river they make a noise at their coming in, their entrance is full of poverty and riches. vexation; and when they are dried up there remains nothing in the bot- tom but mud. prosperity is like a honeyed poison, sweet and pleasant, but dangerous. when fortune laughs, and everything is according to our heart's desire, then should we fear most, stand upon our guard, bridle our affections, control our actions by reason, and above all avoid presump- tion. prosperity is a slippery pass whereon a man must take sure foot- ing. there is no time when men so much forget god as in prosperity; it is a rare thing to find men who willingly attribute to him their succcss. there are some who swim in shal- low waters, elated with the least favors of fortune, forgetting them- selves, and becoming insupportable, which is a true picture of folly. a wise man knows how to com- mand in prosperity, and conduct a treatise on wisdom. himself in adversity, which is the more difficult. wisdom furnishes us with arms and discipline for both combats, with a spur for adversity to incite our courage, and a bridle for prosperity to keep ourselves within bounds of modesty; the first is fortitude, the last temperance, the two moral vir- tues against the two fortunes which that great philosopher, epictetus, well expressed in two words con- taining all moral philosophy—“sus- tain and abstain.” in whatever afflicts us let us con- sider two things, the nature of that which has happened to us, and that which is in ourselves. we must likewise cast our eyes upon those that are in a worse condition than ourselves, who would think them- selves happy were they in our place. he who takes heed, and considers the adversity of another as some- poverty and riches. of an offence to anger is to correct vice by itself. pythagoras was wont to say that the end of anger was the beginning of repentance. the most glorious conquest is for a man to conquer himself, not to be moved by another. to be stirred to anger is to confess the accusation. he can never be great, who yields himself to the offence of another. if we vanquish not our anger it will conquer us. reason when blinded by passion serves us no more than the pinioned wing of a bird. how much grace and sweetness there is in clemency, how pleasing and accept- able to others, and gratifying to ourselves; it draws unto us the hearts and wills of men. in consid- eration of that esteem and love which we bear wisdom, we must command ourselves, remain constant and invincible, lift our thoughts from earth to that height which is a treatise on wisdom. never overshadowed with clouds, nor troubled with thunders, but in perpetual serenity. hatred, which strangely and with. out reason troubles us, puts it in the power of those we hate to afflict and vex us. if there is anything to be hated in this world it is hate itself. envy is cousin-german to hatred; a miserable passion which in torment exceeds hell itself. it is the desire for that good which another pos- sesses; it gnaws our heart, and turns the good of another to our own hurt. whilst an envious man looks upon the possessions of another, he loses what is good in himself and takes no delight in it. do thou rather pity others than envy them; if it should be a true good that has happened to another, we should rejoice at it. to be pleased with another's prosperity is to increase our own. poverty and riches. jealousy is a weak malady of the soul, vain, terrible, and tyrannical. it is the gall which corrupts the honey of life; it changes love into hate and respect into disdain. the means to avoid it is for a man to make himself worthy of that which he desires, for jealousy is a distrust of one's self. the emperor aurelius, of whom faustina, his wife, asked what he would do if his enemy cassius should obtain the victory against him in battle, answered, “i serve not the gods so slenderly that they will send me so hard a fortune.” so they who have any part in the affection of another and fear losing it, should say, i honor not so little his love that he will deprive me of it. the confidence we have in our own merit is a great gauge of the regard of another. cruelty is a detestable vice and against nature; it is called inhu- o a treatise on wisdom. manity; it proceeds from weakness, an offspring of cowardice, for a valor- ous man always exercises his strength against a resisting enemy, whom he no sooner has at his mercy than he is satisfied. it arises from the inward malignity of the soul which feeds and delights itself with the hurt of another. compassion is that virtue so much commended in religion, found in the holiest and wisest of mankind. it is to mourn with those who are af- flicted, and with a fellow-feeling pity their miseries. wisdom teaches us to succor the afflicted, without afflict- ing ourselves. god commands us to aid and have a care for the poor and to defend their cause. sadness is a languishing of the spirit, it is a dangerous enemy to our rest, it takes from us reason, it cor- rupts the whole man, puts his vir- tues to sleep when he most needs poverty and riches. them to withstand that evil which oppresses him. philosophy teaches us to confront and disdain all evils, though they be great and grievous; accounting them not evils, or at least small and light, and unworthy the slightest disturbance of our minds. to be sorry or complain is ill befit- ting a man; so taught the stoics, peripatetics, and platonists. this manner of preserving a man from sorrow and melancholy is as rare as it is excellent, and belongs to spirits of the highest rank. fear is the apprehension of evil to come, which holds us in continued anxiety; not that fear of god so much commended in the scriptures, nor that fear which proceeds from love, and is a sweet respect toward the thing beloved; but that vicious fear which troubles and afflicts. it is a deceitful passion, and has no other power over us but to mock and . a treatise on wisdom. allure; and in a doubtful darkness holds and torments us with masks and shows of evils, that have naught in themselves whereby to hurt us, save in appearance. fear, doubtless, is of all evils the greatest and most vexatious, for other evils are but evils while they last; but fear is of that which is, and that which is not, and per- haps never shall be, and sometimes of that which cannot possibly be. this then is a passion truly malignant and tyrannical, which draws from an im- aginary evil true and bitter sorrows. that mind is in a lamentable state which is troubled about future things, robbed of its understanding, and losing the peaceable comfort of present good let no man anticipate evils. our fears are as likely to deceive us as our hopes, and it may be those things which we dread most may bring the greatest comfort. the estimation of life. think that a solitary life is the more perfect, more fit for the exercise of virtue, grossly deceive themselves, for it is an ease of life, an indifferent possession—it is not to enter into business, troubles, and difficulties, but to flee from them ; and it is easier to part with goods, honors, and re- sponsibilities than to govern them well. to think solitude a sanctuary and an assured haven against all vice and temptations is not true in all respects. to flee is not to escape, sometimes it increases the danger. a man must indeed be wise and strong and well assured of himself, when he falls into his own hands; there is an excellent spanish proverb which says, “god keep me from my- self.” it is beyond all doubt far more noble and difficult to discharge the duties of a king, a prelate, or pastor, than those of a monk or hermit. a treatise on wisdom. : comparisons of life. the comparisons between country and city life to him who loves wis- dom are not hard to make. in the fields the spirit is more free and to itself. in cities, both our affairs and those of others—the contentions, visits, and entertainments, how much time do they steal from us? “friends steal away time.” cities are prisons to men's spirits, as cages are to birds. the celestial fire that is in us will not be shut up, it loves the air and the fields. it has been said that country life is the cousin of wisdom, which cannot be without beautiful free thoughts and meditation, not found amidst the troubles and con- fusion of the city. the country life is pure, innocent, and simple. as for pleasure and health the whole heavens lie open before us, the earth discloses its beauty, its fruits are be- comparisons of life. fore our eyes; while those who live in cities are banished from this world. some have thought that life led in common, wherein nothing belongs to any man whereby he may say, “this is mine,” or “that is thine,” tends most to perfection, and has most charity and concord. this may take place in the company of a certain number of people led and directed by certain rules, but not in a state and common- wealth. plato having once approved it, thinking thereby to take away all avarice and dissensions, quickly changed his opinion; for, as the practice shows, not only is there no hearty affection toward that which is common to all, but in such commu- nities are murmurings, contentions, and hatreds, and as the proverb says, “the common ass is always ill saddled.” man's natural qualities. - - - -------- us nothing, — building castles in spain. what vanity and loss of time there are in salutations, entertainments, and ceremonies. how many hyperbolic speeches, hypocrisies, and impos- tures there are in the sight and knowledge of all; how much incon- venience does a man suffer from these courtly vanities; and in famil- iar conversation how much that is unprofitable, false, boastful and vain, not to say wicked and pernicious, does he endure. a vain man de- sires and delights to speak of him- self and that which is his, and, if he thinks he has said or done anything worthy of honor he is not at ease until he has told of it and made it known to others. the crown and perfection of the vanity of man is shown in that which he most seeks after. he pleases himself and places his whole happiness in those vain a treatise on wisdom. and frivolous goods without which he could live comfortably, not caring for the true and essential ; his whole good, nothing but opinions and dreams; he runs, he hunts up and down, he catches a shadow, he flies, he dies, and a mote at last is the reward of his life's work. let us note some effects and tes- timonies of human weakness. it is imbecility to be unwilling to give or receive a reproof, and to be unable to give a denial with reason, or to suffer a repulse with patience. another form of imbecility is when a man subjects himself to a certain particular mode of life; this is effeminate and un- worthy an honest man; it makes him different in conversation and may be hurtful too, when a change of man- ners and bearing is necessary. in false accusations and suspicion there is a twofold weakness: one in justifying and excusing one's self too carefully; man's watural qualities. the other when the accused is so coura- geous that he takes no care to excuse or justify himself, because he scorns the accusation and accuser as un- worthy an answer, and will not do himself the wrong to defend himself. the fairest form of living is to be pliable to all, even to excess itself if need be; to be able to dare, to know how to do all things, and yet do nothing but what is good. it is good to know all, but not to use all. another testimony of weakness is running after scholastic examples; never to settle an opinion without proof in print; not to believe men but such as are in books, nor truth itself, except it is of the ancients. for this reason foolish things if they once pass the press have credit and dignity. now every day many things are done before our eyes which, if we had the ability and in- clination to collect and apply to the a treatise on wisdom. errors; sometimes a god, sometimes a fly; he laughs and weeps for one and the same thing (as the extremity of laughter is mingled with tears); content and discontent; he will and he will not, and in the end knows not what he will ; now he is filled with such joy and gladness that he cannot stay within his own skin, and presently he falls out with himself and dares not trust himself. for the most part men's actions are nothing but impulses, induced by occasions and that have reference to others. irresolution, inconstancy, and instability are the most common, and apparent vices in the nature of man. we follow our inclinations, and as the wind of occasion carries us, not governed by reason. constancy, which is a stayed reso- lution, is always maintained by the wise, in whom the will is governed and subject to the rule of reason, misery. and not by flecting, inconstant opin- ions which are commonly false. misery. “man born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery"; sorrow is the only true evil man is wholly born to, and it is his natural property. the mexicans thus salute their new-born infants, “infant, thou art come into the world to suffer. endure, suffer, and hold thy peace.” the empire of sorrow is far greater than that of pleasure. evil comes of itself with- out seeking; pleasure must be sought after, and many times we pay more for it than it is worth. pleasure is not always unalloyed, and there is always something wanting; grief is often entire and absolute, and the greatest pleasures touch us not so nearly as the lightest sorrows. we are not so conscious of our sound a treatise on wisdom. health as of the least malady. it is - not enough that man is by nature miserable, and that besides substan- tial evils he forges false ones; but he causes both the true and false to en- dure longer than necessary by the remembrance of what is past, and in the anticipation of that which is to come. the fearful, and sometimes false apprehension of evils which may come, afflict and darken, as with smoke, all the beauty and serenity of the soul. let us leave this anticipa- tion of evil, for there is misery in every painful thought, and we have no power over that which is to come, and much less over what is past. the world has three sorts of people in it who take up much room and carry great sway, both in number and reputation: the superstitious, the formalists, and the pedants, and notwithstanding they differ in opin- ions they are all of one stamp; they } | : misery. are dangerous people and afflicted with an incurable disease. it is lost labor to try to persuade them to change their minds, for they account themselves the best and wisest in the world. opinionative obstinacy is there in its proper seat, and for him who is stricken with these evils there is little hope of recovery. the superstitious are enemies of true religion; they cover themselves with the cloak of piety, zeal, and love toward god, tormenting and punishing themselves more than is needful, thinking thereby to merit much, and that god is not only pleased but indebted to them. the formalists do nothing against the tenor of the law, and fashion their lives to outward forms, think- ing to be free from blame in follow- ing their desires, by omitting no outward observance. the rule of duty extends beyond the rule of a treatise on wisdom. law. how many good works have been omitted, how many evils com- mitted under the cloak of forms. and therefore it is very truly said that the extremity of the law is the extremity of wrong. the pedants, with great study and pains filch from other men's writings their learning, and set it out to view with ostentation. are there any people in the world so foolish in their affairs, more unskilful in every- thing, and yet so presumptuous and obstinate they have their memo- ries stuffed with the wisdom of other men, and have none of their own; and it seems their learning serves for no other purpose than to make them arrogant prattlers. presumption. pride and presumption are the greatest defects of the spirit. pre- sumption makes a man content only presumption. with himself; he will not give place to another, he disdains counsel, and rests in his own opinions; he takes upon himself to judge and condemn, even that which he does not under- stand. it is truly said that the best and most acceptable gift god ever made to man is judgment. pliny calls presumption the plague of man, the nurse of false and erroneous opinions. want of religion or false service to god proceeds from pre- sumption. we do not esteem or understand him enough, and our opinions and belief of the divinity are not high and pure enough. i do not mean by this enough, proportion answerable to the greatness of god, of whom being infinite, it is impossible to conceive or believe enough—but enough in respect of what we can and ought to do. we do not ele- vate our thoughts sufficiently in our imagination of the deity; our con- a treatise on wisdom. ception of him is unworthy, and we speak not only of his works, but of his majesty, will, and judgment with more confidence and boldness than we dare speak of an earthly prince. many there are who would scorn such service, and consider themselves abused, and their honor violated, if we should speak of them and abuse their names in so base a manner. there are those who desire to lead god, to flatter, to bend, and i might say to brave, threaten, and murmur against him. as caesar, who told his pilot not to fear to hoist the sails and commit himself to the fury of the sea even against destiny and the will of heaven, with only this assurance, that it was caesar whom he carried. presumption has the temerity to condemn and reject as false all things that are not easily understood and that are unpalatable; presumption. it is the property of those who have a good opinion of themselves, for finding their minds superior in some point, and that they see a little more clearly than the common sort, they assume for themselves a law and au- thority to decide and determine all things. it is great folly for a man to think he knows all that is to be known, the jurisdiction and limits of nature, the capacity of the power and will of god, and frame for him- self the truth and falsehood of things. how much there is that at one time we have rejected as impos- sible, which afterward we have been obliged to accept ; and on the other side, how many things have we re- ceived as articles of our faith, which have proved vanities and lies. by presumption we make too much of ourselves. man believes that the heavens, the stars, and all the celestial bodies were only made a treatise on wisdom. for him, and the poor miserable wretch is in the meantime ridicu- lous. yet he makes himself believe he is the master and commander of all; that all creatures, even those great luminous bodies, of whose least virtue he is ignorant, move but for him and to do him service. a gosling might think as much, and perhaps with more justice, for of all that man receives he has nothing in his own power or understanding, and is continually in doubt and fear, while a beast receives whatever comes from above without concern or complaint. the height of presumption is for a man to persuade others to receive as canonical what he believes, to im- pose a belief as if it were an obliga- tion. there is nothing to which men are more prone than expressing their own opinions, and thinking it a work of charity to persuade others presumption. to think as they do, and if necessary for their purpose to add their own inventions to supply a want. dogmatists and those who would govern and give laws unto the world, bring in certain general and funda- mental propositions that they call principles and pre-suppositions, which they say we must neither doubt nor dispute, and upon which they afterwards build whatever they please, and lead the world at their pleasure. but if these principles should be examined great untruths and weakness would be found in them. every human proposition has as much authority as another, except where reason is the guide. truth does not depend upon the authority and testimony of man; there are no principles in man if divinity has not revealed them. it is necessary for us to carefully guard and defend ourselves from a treatise on iſ?sdom. self-love and presumption, the plague of mankind, the enemy of wisdom, the gangrene and corrup- tion of the soul. this foolish love of ourselves proceeds from ignorance, and we should know that we are in as great danger in our own hands as in another's. faith, modesty, and a serious ac- knowledgment of our defects are a great proof of good and sound judg- ment, right will, and desire for wis- dom. the difference in men. there is nothing in this lower world wherein is found so great a difference as among men, except in the souls of men, for there is a greater difference between man and man than between man and beast, for a good beast comes nearer a base man than a base man to a great personage. this great difference in men comes the difference in men. from the inward qualities and from the spirit, in which are so many de- grees that it is an infinite thing to consider. the most notable diver- sity in man which concerns soul and body proceeds from his location on the earth, and accordingly from the different influences of country and climate. the features, complexion, and manners are different; also the faculties of the soul. as fruits and beasts vary according to the coun- tries where they are found, so men are born more or less warlike, just, temperate, docile, religious, chaste, strong, and beautiful. as, for ex- ample, the northerners excel in bod- ily strength; and to them belong the mechanical arts and military inven- tions, and from them have come the greatest armies. to the south be- long religious superstition, specula- tive sciences, and indolence ; while the middle regions are temperate in a treatise on wisdom. all things, and to sweeten, temper, and reduce excess to moderation is the work of wisdom. the two fundamental principles of all human society are authority and obedience, power and subjection, superiority and inferiority. they are relatives, and mutually respect and protect each other, and are necessary in all assemblies and com- munities. to authority belong the honor and difficulty (these two com- monly go together) the goodness, sufficiency, and all qualities of great- ness, ability and courage. authority is from heaven and of god. “all power is from god.” it has been said that god does not appoint. and establish men purely human and of common mould to rule, but such as by some divine touch and special virtue and gift from heaven excel others; and they are called heroes. marriage. obedience is necessary for the preservation of the public good; it is more necessary than wise leader- ship. although authority and obed- ience are equally required in every state, the trouble caused by dis- obedience in subjects is far more dangerous than by ill government. many states have prospered for a long time under the command of wicked princes and magistrates, the subjects obeying and accommodating themselves to the government. a wise man, being once asked why the commonwealth of sparta was so flourishing, and whether it was be- cause their king commanded well, answered, “nay; rather because the citizens obey well.” if subjects once refuse to obey, and shake off theyoke, the state must necessarily fall. marriage. notwithstanding marriage is the first and most important state, and, marriage. and honorable, instituted by god himself in paradise. afterwards the son of god approved it, and honored a marriage with his presence, and there wrought his first miracle; and it serves for a sign of his union with the church. if the choice be good, and well ordered, there is nothing more beautiful. it is a sweet part- nership of life, full of constancy, trust, and mutual obligations. it is a fellowship not only of love, but friendship. . a social equality is very essential, and that equality whereby the wife is called the companion of her hus- band, the mistress of her home, as the husband, the master and lord. their joint authority over the fam- ily is compared to an aristocracy. it is a great happiness to live in peace, to have a companion a man may trust, and upon whom he can rely, and in order to do this he must a treatise on wisdom. choose one who is true and loyal and then bind her to do well, by the trust and confidence he gives. “faith being given binds faith again.” there is nothing more beautiful than a household well and peaceably governed.) not difficult to have, but for the reason that the multitude of affairs, though they are of no great importance, annoy and weary a man. domestic thorns prick, be- cause they are ordinary, and never at an end. in all cases the master and mis- tress must take care to conceal their ignorance and insufficiency in the affairs of the house, for if servants have an opinion that the master does not look after things, they may chance to make his hair grow through his hood. it has been said, a ducat in a man's purse will give him more honor than ten prodigally spent. parcnts and children. parents and children. the duty of parents and children is reciprocal. the carelessness of parents in the instruction of their children is as great an evil as the ingratitude of children toward their parents. crates asked: “why do men take so much pains in heaping up riches, and so little care of those to whom they will leave them p. it is as if a man should take care of his shoe, and not of his foot. what will he do with riches who is not wise, and knows not how to use them parents are doubly obliged to attend to their duties, not only because their children are tender plants, but the future hope of the commonwealth. there are some who take great pains to discover the inclinations of children, and for what employment they seem best fitted, but this is too uncertain. better give them instruction, good, aarents and children. their study profits them nothing, because they only care to stuff their memories. presently they think themselves wise, remaining indi- gent and poor in the midst of their riches, and like tantalus suffering with hunger surrounded by dainties; and so, with a memory stuffed, they continue fools. as men they do not apply their learning, while in the time they employ with great pains heap- ing together what they can rob from other men, they allow their own good to fall to the ground and never put in practice their natural gifts. this counsel i would give : a man must not gather and keep the opin- ions and knowledge of another that he may report them or employ them for show or ostentation. he must use them so as to make them his own; not only lodge them in his mind, but incorporate and transub- stantiate them into himself. he o a treatise on wisdom. must not only refresh his mind with the dew of knowledge, but must make it essentially better, wiser, stronger, and more courageous, other- wise to what end does study serve wisdom is not only to be acquired by us but to be enjoyed. like the bees, who do not carry away the flowers, but settle upon them and draw from them their spirit and virtue, and nourishing themselves, afterwards make good and sweet honey, which is all their own, and is no more thyme or sweet marjoram; so must man gather from books the marrow and spirit, never enthralling himself to retain the words by heart, and hav- ing drawn the good, feed his mind therewith, form his judgment, in- struct and direct his conscience and opinions, and, in a word, make for himself a work wholly his own—that is to say, an honest man, wise and resolute. aarents and children. there are two ways of teaching: one by word, that is, by precepts, in- structions, lectures, and conversation with honest and able men, filing and refining our wits against theirs, as iron is cleansed and beautified by the file—the other by action,-that is, by example, which is derived, not only from good men by imitation, but also from wicked ones by avoid- ing their errors, for there are some who profit better by repugnance of the evil they see in others. it is a special use of justice to condemn one that he may serve for an example to others. and old cato was wont to say that wise men may learn more of fools than fools of wise men. this second means, or manner, in- structs with more ease and pleasure. to learn by precept is a long way. it is hard to understand well what we are thus taught, and, understand- ing, to retain and practise it: and a treatise on wisdom. hardly can we promise ourselves to reap that fruit which is promised us. but example and imitation teach us beyond the work or action itself, stimulate us with more ardor, and promise us that glory which we see has been attained. now these two means of profiting by speech and example are likewise twofold in the manner in which they are obtained, for they are drawn from intercourse with the living and reading the books of the dead. she who knows how to make use of books receives thereby great pleasure and comfort. he is eased of the burden of tedious idle- ness, occupied and kept from vain imaginations, and from outward things which vex and trouble.) the spirit and manners of men conform themselves to those with whom they commonly converse. a teacher of youth must make his pupils speak and reason; often ex- parents and children. amine them, ask their opinions of whatever shall present itself, awaken their spirit by demands upon it, make them first give their opinions, and then grant them the same lib- erty to ask of others. if without questioning they are taught, it is in a manner labor lost, and the child is not profited; he lends only his ears; neither is it enough to have them give their opinions, they must main- tain them and be able to give a reason, and not speak by rote. commend their endeavors and give them encouragement. although au- thorities may be given out of books, as the sayings of cicero or aristotle, yet it is not enough to recite them, they must judge of them, and so frame and fashion them for use that they may be applied to other sub- jects. it is not enough to report as history that cato killed himself rather than fall into the hands of caesar; a treatise on wisdom. and that brutus and cassius were the authors of the death of caesar; this is the least. i would have judg- ment given, whether they did well or not, whether they deserved well . of their country, or conducted them- selves according to wisdom, justice, or valor. nothing must leave the hands before it has passed the judg- ment. “he who inquires after noth- ing, knows nothing.” he who keeps not his mind busy, suffers it to rust. fashion and mould the spirit to the pattern and model of the world and nature. make it liberal, represent unto the youth' all things, the uni- versal face of nature, that the whole world may be his book; that what- ever subject is discussed he may cast his thought upon the immensity of the world, upon the different habits and opinions which have been and are in the world touching that sub- parents and children. ject. (the most noble minds are the most liberal) nothing does more deprave and enthrall the mind of man than to let him have and under- stand but one opinion, belief, and manner of life. d - what greater folly and weakne can there be than for a man to think all the world walks, lives, and dies according to his country? like those blockheads who, when they hear of manners and opinions of foreign countries contrary to their own, either will not believe them or ab- surdly condemn them as barbarous —so much are they enthralled and tied to their cradle. a kind of peo- ple, as they say, brought up in a bottle, who never see anything but through a hole. let the scholar take nothing upon credit, but examine all things with reason, and then let him choose. a treatise on wisdom. the body. after the mind comes the body, and care is likewise to be taken of it, at the same time with the spirit, both making the entire man. keep the child from delicacy, and pride in apparel, in sleeping, eating and drinking; accustom him to heat and cold; harden his muscles, as well as his mind; and make him lusty and vigorous. manners. concerning manners wherein both body and soul have a part, the ad- vice is twofold—to avert evil, and to ingraft and nourish the good. the first is the more necessary, and there- fore the greatest care must be taken, and it must be done in time, for there is no time too speedy to pre- vent the birth and growth of ill manners and faults which are to be feared in youth : as to lie, a base manners. vice; bashfulness, which must be corrected by study; all affectations and peculiarities in speech, gait, and gesture, which are a testimony of vanity and vainglory, and mar all that is good. x never allow children to have their own way by such means as anger, sullenness, or obstimacy; they should learn that these are qualities alto- gether useless and unprofitable. -- ingraft in them good and honest manners; and first instruct them to fear and reverence god, to speak seldom and soberly of him, of his power, eternity, wisdom, will, and all his works, not indifferently, and upon all occasions, but with rever- ence; not to be overscrupulous in the mysteries and points of religion, but to conform to the government and discipline of the church.w teach them to cherish candor, modesty, and integrity, and to be honest, out a .realise on wisdom. of an honorable and honest mind, not from fear, or through hope of honor, or profit, or other considera- tion than virtue itself. h. y we know that affection is recipro- cal and natural between parents and children, but that of parents toward their children is far the stronger.' that of children seems rather the payment of a debt and a thankful acknowledgment for a benefit re- ceived than a purely natural love. moreover, he who gives and does, good to another loves more than, he who receives, and is indebted: those things are most beloved which cost us most ; that is dearest to us which we come most dearly by; and to nourish and bring up children is a greater charge than to receive these benefits. * y true and fatherly love is shown in wise governing. x parents should receive their children into their soci- a treatise on wisdom. the reason is because the duty of a son towards his father is the more ancient and can be abrogated by no other. now this duty consists of five points comprehended in these words: “honor thy father and thy mother.” the first is reverence, which is that high and holy esteem which children ought to have for their parents. the second is obedi- ence. the third is to succor parents in all their needs, and to care for them in their old age. we have an example of this in the brute king- dom, for the little ones of the stork, as st. basil affirms, feed and care for the old mother, and couple them- selves together to carry her on their backs, love teaching them this art; and for this cause the hebrews call this bird chasida, that is to say, the charitable bird. fourth, children should not at- tempt anything of importance with- masters and servants. out the advice, consent, and appro- bation of parents. fifth, mildly and gently to endure their vices, imperfections, and severity. a child will not find these duties difficult if he consider how much care he has been, and with what affection he has been brought up. masters and servants. the use of slaves and the absolute power of lords and masters over them is monstrous and ignominious in the nature of man; and is not found among beasts. there are slaves born, and those made by war, volun- tary ones who sell their liberty for money, and in some parts of chris- tendom those that give and vow themselves to another for ever. this voluntary captivity is the strangest of all, and most against nature. the duty of masters toward their servants as well as slaves (inferior a treatise on wisdom. servants) is, not to treat them un- kindly, remembering they are men and of the same nature as themselves, and only fortune has made a differ- ence which is very variable, amusing itself by making great men small and small great. therefore the dif- ference is not so wide. treat them kindly, seeking rather to be beloved than feared. instruct them with religious counsel and those things requisite for their health and safety. the duty of servants is to honor their masters and yield them obedi- ence and fidelity, not only outwardly and for reward, but heartily, seri- ously, for conscience' sake, and with- out dissimulation. the necessities of the state. having spoken of private author- ity, we come to public power, that of the state, which is rule, domin- ion, or a certain order in command- the necessities of the state. ing and obeying, that is the prop, cement, and soul of human things, a vital point. it is the bond of society, which cannot otherwise subsist. it is the universal spirit, whereby so many millions of men breathe. greatness and power are so much desired because all the good there is in them appears outwardly, and the ill is altogether inward. to com- mand others is a thing as difficult as it is great, as beautiful as it is divine. the title of ruler (the outward dis- play) is gratifying and pleasant, but the burden inside is hard and irk- some. it is an honorable servitude, a noble misery, a rich captivity. but how often are these rulers less quali- fied by nature than those beneath them. the same appetites move a . fly and an elephant. can it be other than a great burden to govern people, since in ruling one's self there is so much difficulty? it is easier and a treatise on wisdom. himself with this buckler of distrust, which the wisest have thought to be a great part of prudence and wisdom. trust but few and those known by long experience. open distrust wrongs and invites as much deceit as an overcareless confidence, for many by showing too much fear of being deceived show how they may be. a ruler must be just, keeping well and inviolably his faith, the foundation wall of justice. then he must insist that his justice be main- tained in others, for it is his proper charge, and for that purpose he is installed. clemency, a princely virtue, is mildness and leniency. it lessens and qualifies the rigor of justice with judgment and discretion. it mod- erates and sweetly manages all things, forgives those who are faulty, rescues those who are fallen, and saves those the wecessities of the state. who are nearly lost. it is in a ruler what humanity is in a subject. it is contrary to cruelty and extreme rigor, not to justice, from which it does not so much differ, but softens and moderates it. one beloved will do more through love than through fear. the liberality of a ruler which con- sists in tax and show serves to small purpose. no credit is gained from display made through excessive tax- ation, for to the spectators of these triumphs it seems that they feed their eyes at the expense of their stomachs. a ruler should think that he has nothing wholly his own. that liberality is more commendable which consists in bestowing gifts, but even in this he must be well advised, giving to those who deserve it and have been of service to the country. liberality likewise must be spun a treatise on wisdom. with a gentle thread, little by little, and not all together, for that which is done speedily is soon forgotten. pleasant things must be done with ease and leisure, that one may have time to enjoy them. things rude and cruel (if they must needs be done) should be executed quickly. a prodigal ruler is worse than a covetous one, but well ordered liber- ality is profitable both to ruler and state. magnanimity and courage become a ruler. he has need of faithful friends to be his assistants. great burdens have need of great help. he must provide himself with good counsel and such men as know how to give it. these are his true treasures. counsellors must be first faithful. the two greatest philosophers have said that it is a sacred and divine thing to deliberate well and to give ioo a treatise on wisdom. which trouble and hinder all good deliberation; he must sometimes change his opinion, which is not inconstancy, but prudence. for a wise man does not always go by the same way, but as a good mariner who trims his sails according to the wind and tide, he will often turn and arrive at a place obliquely when he cannot do it directly and by a straight line. a counsellor must not be influenced by passion, envy, avarice, or private interest, the deadly poison of judgment and good understanding. he must avoid pre- sumptuous confidence and precipita- tion, which are the enemies of all good counsel. a wise man considers and reconsiders, weighing all that might happen, that he may execute with boldness. again, to keep secret, counsels and deliberations is very necessary in the management of affairs. “great io a treatise on wisdom. the revenue of the country, which must be used and managed without alienating it; conquests from an enemy, which must be profitably employed, not prodigally dissipated; the entrance and clearing of mer- chandise into various ports; a tax upon foreigners as well as upon sub- jects, a means just, lawful, ancient, and general; not to permit the traffic or transportation of the neces- saries of life, nor of raw or un- wrought wares, to the end that the subject may have work and gain the profit of his own labor; but to permit the exportation of manufactured articles and the bringing in of raw material, but not of the wrought or manufactured ; and in all things to charge the stranger more than the subject; for a foreign duty in- creases the treasury and enriches the country; to moderate, neverthe- less, the imposts upon those things io . a treatise on wisdom. the best soldier is not the merce- nary adventurer, but he who has the good of his country at heart. he is more patient, more obedient and courageous. victory does not consist in numbers, but in force and valor. after choice comes discipline, for it is not enough to have chosen those who are capable and likely to prove good soldiers. nature makes few men valiant, it is good instruc- tion and discipline that do it. now the principal point of disci- pline is obedience, and a soldier must fear his captain more than an enemy. soldiers are the body, captains and leaders the soul, or life of an army. true valor stirs not the tongue, but the hands; does not talk, but exe- cutes; great talkers are small doers. there is nothing in war that must be despised, and many times that which seems of small moment often yields great results. - wars. ios victory must not be stained with insolence, but accepted modestly; one needs to remember the per- petual flux and reflux of this world and the alternating of prosperity and adversity. “fortune is brittle and slippery; when it shines it breaks.” to the vanquished, wisdom is necessary to consider his loss at its worst, and afterwards with a good courage to renew his strength and hope for better fortune; it is better to die with honor than live in dis- honor. there is a question whether stratagem or courage is the more requisite in war. alexander would take no advantage of the obscurity of the night, saying he liked not thieving victories; “i had rather be sorry for my fortune than victory should shame me.” “security is the most common beginning of calamity.” fortune io a .weatise on wisdom. and success turn the mind of a noble and generous conqueror from wrath to mercy. lavvyers, doctors, teachers. it is one of the vanities and follies of man to prescribe laws and rules that exceed the use and capacity of men, as some philosophers and teach- ers have done. they propose strange and exalted forms of life, so difficult and austere that the practice of them is impossible for any time, and the attempt even dangerous to many. these are castles in the air, as the commonwealth of plato, beautiful and worthy imaginations; but the man has never yet been found that put them in practice. the sovereign and perfect lawgiver took heed of . this, who in himself, his life and doctrine, did not seek these extrava- gant forms beyond the common capabilities of men; and therefore the vulgar sort. io' he called his yoke easy and his burden light. they who have insti- tuted and ordered their society under his name have very wisely con- sidered the matter, and though they make special profession of virtue and devotion, and to serve the public weal above all others, nevertheless . they differ very little in their manner of living from the ordinary and civil life. many times these goodly law- makers, are the first law-breakers, for they often do quite the contrary to that which they require of others. reason is the life of the law. the vulgar sort. the people we call the vulgar sort are strange creatures, inconstant and variable, who love confusion and go to war without judgment, reason, or discretion. “it is the custom of the vulgar sort to despise the present, io a treatise on wisdom. desire the future, and praise and ex- tol that which is past.” they are malicious, envious, and treacherous, wishing all ill to those who are well and honorably spoken of. they care neither for public good nor com- mon honesty. “every one has his private spur.” they are monsters who have nothing but a mouth, tongues which cease not; they speak all things but know nothing, they look upon all but see nothing. show them the cudgel and they will admire you, do good to them and they will despise you. the vulgar multitude is the mother of igno- rance, vanity, injustice, and idola- try; their mot is, “the voice of the people is the voice of god,” but we may say, “the voice of the people is the voice of fools.” now the beginning of wisdom is for a man to keep himself clear and free, and not allow himself mobility. io to be carried away with popular opinions. nobility. nobility is a quality not common everywhere, but honorable, and rightly esteemed for its public util- ity. according to the general and common opinion, it is a quality of race or stock. aristotle says that it is the antiquity of a race and of riches. plutarch calls it the virtue of a race, meaning a certain habit and quality continued by descent. what this quality is all do not agree saving in this that it is profitable to the common weal, for to some and the greater part it is military, to others political, literary to the learned and palatine to those at- tached to the service of the prince. but military nobility is accounted most worthy, for besides its service to the country it is painful, labori- --- - - - - - - - mobility. i i i for our glory. neither are we to account that ours which has been before us.” what greater folly can there be than to glory in that which is not our own. they who have nothing commendable in themselves but this nobility of flesh and blood make much of it, have it in their mouths, and it is the mark by which they are known and a sign they have nothing else. what good is it to a blind man that his parents had excellent sight, or to him who stammers, that his grandfather was eloquent? personal and acquired honor has conditions altogether contrary, its nobility consists in good and profit- able effects, not in dreams and imagi- nations. “a mind well disposed to virtue makes him noble, who, upon what accident or condition soever, is able to raise himself above for tune.” (seneca.) natural and ac- i a treatise on wisdom. quired nobility are very often and willingly found together, and so make a perfect honor. for a man to know that he has sprung from honorable ancestors, and such as have deserved well of their country, is a strong obligation and spur to the exploits of virtue. it is a foul thing to degenerate and belie a man's own race. honor. some say that honor is the price and recompense of virtue or the prerogative of a good opinion. it is a privilege which draws its principal essence from virtue. it has also been called the shadow of virtue, which sometimes goes before as the shadow of the body, and sometimes follows. but to speak truly, it is the rumor of a beautiful and virtu- ous action which rebounds from a man's soul to the view of the world, aſonor. i and reflecting him, brings him the testimony of that which others be- lieve of him. but the question is, what are the actions to which honor is due p it is generally due to those who per- form their duty in whatever belongs to their profession, although it may be neither a famous nor profitable one; as he who upon the stage plays the part of a servant well is no less commended than he who represents the person of a king, and he who cannot work on statues of gold, may show the perfection of his art even in earth and leather. all cannot be called to manage great affairs, but all deserve commendation who do what they have to do, well. the marks of honor are various, but the best and most beautiful are those which are without profit and gain. it happens sometimes that it is a greater honor not to have the i a treatise on wisdom. marks of honor having deserved them, than to have them ; as cato said, “it is more honorable to me, that every man should ask me why i have not a statue erected in the market-place, than they should ask me why i have it.” honor is so much esteemed and sought after that a man will undertake and en- dure almost anything to attain it, re- garding it even more than life itself. nevertheless it is a matter of small moment, uncertain and a stranger to him that is honored. it does not enter a man, nor is it essential to . him ; it stays without and rests in his name, which carries all the honor and dishonor. so that a man is said to have either a good name or a bad one. all the good or evil that can be said of caesar is carried in his name. now the name is nothing of the nature and substance of the thing, it is only the image which science or learning. i presents it, the mark which dis- tinguishes it from others. whatso- ever valor, worth, and perfection the thing has in itself inwardly, if it produces nothing good it is incapa- ble of honor, and is as if it were not. science or leafrn ing. learning is a beautiful ornament and very profitable to those who know how to use it, but in what rank to place it, or how to prize it, all are not of one opinion, and there- fore commit two contrary faults; some by esteeming it too highly, others too little. for my part, i place it beneath honesty, sanctity, wisdom, and virtue, and yet dare rank it with dignity, natural nobility, and military valor, and think they may well dispute the precedence. as sciences are different in their subjects and matter, so are they in their utility, honesty, and necessity, i a treatise on wisdom. and also in their gain and glory. some sciences are theoretical, con- cerned only with speculations. others are realistic, consisting in the search after the knowledge of things that are without us, whether they are natural or supernatural. again some are particular, teaching the tongue to speak, the mind to reason; while others are practical and concerned with action. - those sciences which have most honesty and utility, and least glory, vanity, and mercenary gain, are to be preferred to all others; and the practical, such as moral science and political economy, which respect the good of man, are absolutely the best; teaching him to live well, to die well, to command and obey well; and diligently to be studied by all who desire to be wise. after these comes natural science; an aid to the knowledge of whatever is in the science or learning. world fit for our use, and likewise teaching us to admire the great- ness, goodness, wisdom, and power of the creator. all others are vain, and to be studied cautiously. st. paul's advice is: “beware lest any man spoil you through philos- ophy." learning which is acquired is an accumulation, a storing up of the good of another—that is, a collection of all that a man has seen, heard, and read in books. now the garner and storehouse where this provision is kept, the treasury of science and all acquired good, is the memory. he who has a good memory, the fault is his own if he lacks knowledge, for he has the key to it. knowledge is the wealth of the spirit. a wise man lives upon his own revenue, for wisdom is properly a man's own. i a treatise on wisdom. desiring wisdom. a man aspiring to wisdom should above all things know himself, la difficult matter, for every one de- lights to deceive, rob, hide, and be- tray himself, flattering and tickling himself to make himself laugh, ex- cusing his defects, and setting a high value upon the little good he has, winking continually lest he should too clearly see his own acts. now he who would be truly wise must always suspect whatever seems to please the greater number of people; he must look into and judge what is good and true in itself and not be borne along by the multitude, for the worst thing that can be said of a man is that the whole world ap- proves of him. once phocion, seeing the people highly applaud something he had said, turned to his friends who stood by him and asked, “has any folly unwittingly escaped my desiring wisdom. mouth, or any loose or wicked word, that all these people do approve me?” yet if you are not of the world, the world will hate you. we must as much as possible pre- serve ourselves from the judgment and opinions of the illiterate and ill- disposed, and without any stir keep our own opinions and thoughts to ourselves, remaining in the world without being of it. “i rather choose to seem a fool with ease, than to be wise indeed, and yet displease.” we should beware of spiritual lep- rosy which comes from not taking a proper interest in the affairs of life, and of growing too fond of ourselves. a wise man will never undertake more than he can accomplish; he will remember that to carry a burden it is necessary to have more strength than burden; but if it happen that by o a treatise on wisdom. accident or imprudence he should be engaged in a vocation distasteful to him, and see no escape, it is the part of wisdom to resolve to bear it and to adapt himself to it as much as pos- sible; like bees, who from thyme, a sharp and dry herb, gather sweet honey, and, as the proverb is, make a virtue of necessity. wisdom is a regular managing of the soul, a sweet harmony of our judgment, will, and manners, and a constant health of mind; whereas the passions, on the contrary, are the furious outbursts and rebounds of folly. passions are more easily avoided than moderated. we can guide in the beginning, and hold them at our mercy, but once thor- oughly aroused they carry us. all things at their birth are feeble and tender. in their weakness we do not discover the danger, and in their full growth and strength know besiring wisdom. not how to withstand them; as we often see when men who have entered easily and lightly into quarrels, law, and contentions are forced to settle as best they can. in all our dealings with men, we must be prudent from the beginning. “undertake coldly, pursue ardently." the true privilege of a wise and active man is, to judge of all things, not to be bound to any, but to be ready and open to all opinions. in all the outward and common actions of life, a man should accom- modate himself to custom, but with- out determination, affirmation, or condemnation of the ideas of others; always ready to entertain better opinions if they arise, and not of. fended with those who differ from him. let him rather desire to hear what may be said, that he may exer- cise his judgment and search for truth. a treatise on wisdom. since there are a thousand lies for one truth, a thousand opinions of one and the same thing, and but one that is true, why should we not ex- amine with the instrument of reason, which is the best, the most honest, and most profitable. liberty of spirit and judgment. is it possible that among so many laws, customs, opinions, and man- ners that are in the world contrary to our own, there are none good but ours? has all the world besides been mistaken p and who doubts others think not the same of us. the wise man will judge all; nothing shall escape him. - what can a holy man have above the profane, if his spirit, mind, and principles are in slavery p they shall govern as long as they will my hand, and my tongue, but liberty of spirit. i not my spirit, for that, by their leave, has another master. he who would bridle the spirit of man is a great tyrant. now a wise man will carry himself outwardly, for public reverence and in a manner to offend no one, ac- cording to the law, custom, and cere- mony of the country; but inwardly he will judge of the truth as it is according to reason, and many times he may condemn that which he out- wardly does. for example, in all humility i take off my hat and keep my head uncovered before my supe- rior, for the custom of my country requires it, but yet i have leave to judge that the custom of the east is far better, to salute and do reverence by laying the hand upon the breast without uncovering the head to the detriment of the health. if i were in the east, i would take my repast sitting upon the ground or a treatise on wisdom. leaning upon my elbow, or half lying, looking upon the table side- ways, as they do there, and yet i should not cease to judge the man- ner of sitting upright at table, my face toward it, as our custom is, the more comfortable and preferable. these are examples of small weight, and there are many like them. take another of more importance. i yield my consent that the dead shall be in- terred and left to the mercy of the worm, because it is now the common custom almost everywhere, but i cease not to judge that the ancient manner of burning bodies, and gathering together the ashes, is more noble and cleanly. religion itself teaches and commands to dis- pose of all things after this manner, as of that which was not eaten of the paschal lamb and the consecrated host; and why should not our bodies be treated with like respect? what liberty of spirit. i can be more dishonorable to a body than to cast it into the earth, there to corrupt? it seems to me to be the utmost punishment that can be inflicted upon infamous persons and offenders; honest and honorable men should be treated with more respect. a wise man considers calmly and without passion all things, is not obstinate, but always ready to re- ceive the truth, or what seems to have the best semblance of truth. there is nothing certain, nothing in nature but doubt, nothing certain but uncer- tainty. “the only thing certain is, that nothing is certain. this one thing know i, that i know nothing.” truth and falsehood enter us by the same gate, hold the same place and credit, and maintain themselves by the same means. there is no one opinion held by all, none that is not disputed, none of which the contrary is not main- a ×eatise on wisdom. tained. it is the doctrine and prac- tice of the greatest philosophers, dogmatists, and affirmers to doubt, inquire, and search, giving to all things no stronger title than proba- bility and possibility; by problemati- cal questions, rather inquiring than instructing. “they will seem not so much to think what they say as to exercise their wits with the difficulty of the matter”; solacing their spirits with pleasant and subtle inventions, “which they rather feign wittily than know skilfully.” aristotle, the most decided, the prince of dogmatists and peremp- tory affirmers, the god of pedants, how often has he been crossed in his opinions p not knowing how to explain the question of the soul,-a point where he is almost always unlike himself, and in other things he did not understand, we find him ingenuously confessing at i a zºreatise on wisdom. cause they do not perceive what it is, nor that the greatest men have made confession of it. they blush and have not the heart to say frankly, i know not, because they are possessed with the presumption of learning. they do not know that there is a kind of ignorance and doubt more learned, more noble and gen- erous, than all their certainty. it is that which has made socrates so renowned, and held for the wisest of men. it is the science of sciences and the fruit of all our studies. it is the modest, mild, innocent, and hearty acknowledgment of the mys- tical height of truth and the poverty of our human condition. here i would tell you that i caused to be engraved over the gate of my little house, which i built at condom, in the year , these words, “i know not.” he who thinks he knows some- liberty of spirit. i thing knows not yet what he ought to know. it is not the truth and nature of things that stir and trouble us, but opinions. the truth does not enter or lodge in us by its own strength and authority, for if it were so all things would be received alike, after the same manner and with equal credit, as truth is always uni- form. the world is led by opinion, that which i believe i cannot make another accept, and that which i firmly believe to-day i cannot assure myself i shall believe to-morrow. how often has time made us see we have been deceived in our thoughts, and forced us to change our opinion. to keep the mind in peace and tranquillity, free from agitations, ambition, presumption, and obsti- nacy in opinion (which cause sects, heresies, and seditions), does more universality of spirit. that it is necessary that god him- self, in whom it dwells, should reveal it as he does. and to prepare him- self for this revelation, man must first renounce all opinions and be- liefs with which the mind is already preoccupied, and offer himself pure and ready to receive it. having gained this point, it is necessary to present the principles of christianity as sent from heaven, brought by that perfect messenger of the divinity, confirmed by so many proofs and testimonies. so in this modest de- lay of opinion we see a great means to true piety, not only to receive it, but to preserve it. universality of spirit. a wise man views and considers the whole universe; he is a citizen of the world, like socrates, and holds in his affections all humanity. he sees like the sun with an equal and indif- a treatise on wisdom. ferent regard, and, as from a watch- tower, all the changes and course of things; not changing himself, but remaining always the same; which is the livery of the divinity and the high privilege of a wise man. partiality is an enemy to liberty, and overrules the mind so that it cannot judge aright. to better at- tain this universality of spirit, this general impartiality, we must con- sider these points: the great in- equality and difference of men, in their nature, form, and condition; the diversity of laws, customs, manners, and religions; the different opinions and reasonings of the philosophers concerning unity and plurality, the eternal and temporal, the beginning and end and the duration of time. the egyptian priests told herodotus that, since their first king, the sun had changed his course four times. the chaldeans, in the time of universality of spirit. diodorus, had a register of seven thousand years. plato said they of the city of sais had memorials in writing of eight thousand years, and that the city of athens was built a thousand years before the city of sais. zoroaster and others affirmed that socrates lived six thousand years before plato. others have said that the world has been from all time; and great philosophers have held the world for a god, made by another greater than it; or, as plato and others argue, that from the motions it is a creature composed of a body and of a soul, the soul lodging in the centre, disposing and spreading itself by musical numbers into all parts; and that the heavens and the stars are composed of bodies and a soul, mortal by reason of their composition, immortal by the decree and determination of the creator. according to ancient and a treatise on wisdom. most authentic writings, and founded upon reason, there are many worlds; in this world there is nothing alone, but all kinds multiplied in numbers, and it does not seem to have a sem- blance of truth that god made this world only and without a companion. by what we have learned of the discovery of the new world, the east and west indies, we see that some ancient writers have been deceived, thinking to have found the measure of the habitable earth, for now be- hold another world almost like our own ; and who will doubt but that in time there will be yet others dis- covered. if ptolemy and other ancient writers have been deceived, why should not he also be who affirms to the contrary p secondly, we see that the zones which were thought uninhabitable from their excessive heat and cold are habitable. --- universality of spirit. hirdly, in these new countries we find that almost all things which we esteem so much, holding that they were first revealed and sent from heaven, have been commonly believed and observed; many of them were in use a thousand years before we had any tidings of them, both in the matter of religion,-as the belief in one father of us all, of the universal deluge, of one god who once lived in the form of man, un- disciplined and holy; of the day of judgment and the resurrection of the dead;—and in the matter of policy, as, that the elder son should suc- ceed to the inheritance. there is nothing said, held, or be- lieved, at one time and in one place, which is not likewise said and be- lieved in another, and contradicted and condemned elsewhere. the best means to maintain our- selves in tranquillity and liberty is to a treatise on wisdom. |- lend ourselves to others, but to give ourselves to none, and to take our affairs into our hands, not to place them in our hearts. we must know how to distinguish and separate our- selves from our public cares, our friends, and our neighbors; one should comply with the customs of other men and the world, contribute to society those offices and duties requisite, but with moderation and discretion. a man may perform his duties without haste or excitement, and they deceive themselves very much who think that business is not well done if done without clamor and clatter. a wise man will serve and make use of the world just as he finds it, and he will likewise consider how to keep and carry himself apart from it. enough has been said of this per- fect liberty of judgment wherein i have rather insisted, because i know laws and customs. that it does not please the palate of the world; it is the enemy of pedan- try, as wisdom is, but it preserves us from being opinionative gainsayers; and a man maintaining himself in peaceable and assured modesty and noble liberty of spirit, is a fair flower and ornament of wisdom. lavvs and customs. laws and customs are maintained in credit, not because they are just and good, but because they are laws and customs; this is the mystical foundation of their power. a wise man observes them freely and simply for public reverence, and for their authority. law and custom estab- lish their authority differently, cus- tom little by little and without force, and by the common consent of all. the law springs up in a moment with authority and power. seneca said: “we are not led by reason, a treatise on wisdom. but misled by custom, and we hold that best which is most used.” this advice i would give to him who would be wise, to keep and ob- serve both in word and deed the laws and customs which he finds estab- lished wherever he may be, and like- wise to respect and obey magistrates and all superiors, but always with a noble spirit and generous manner, not servilely nor pedantically, and withal not to condemn foreign laws or customs, but freely and soundly to examine them, judging with rea- son only. after these two, law and custom, comes ceremony. a wise man must defend himself from this captivity. i do not mean that it should be met with a loose incivility, for he must forgive the world some- thing, and as much as he can out- wardly conform to that which is in practice, but not to enthrall himself with it; and with gallant and gener- -- -------- honesty. i i instinct which is god-given, not from any outward cause or inducement. a man desires to have all his pos- sessions good and sound, his body, judgment, and memory, even his hose and his shoes, and why will he not likewise have his will and con- science good? what though a man does not re- ceive recompense for his honesty, what can concern him so much as his own character p this is, as it were, not to care how bad the horse is so the saddle is good. if a man is honest for honor or reputation, from fear of the law or punishment, there is an end of his honesty. i would have him good, firm, and honest for the love of himself, because it is absolutely required of him by nature. and the pattern for honesty he will find in this nature itself, which is the universal reason that shines in every one of us. he that works honesty. i counsels of reason; and as the mari- ner's needle never rests until it points towards the north, and thus directs aright, so man is never tranquil until he sees this and directs the course of his life, manners, judgment, and will according to the divine natural law, which is an inward light whereof all others are but beams. to perfect our work we still need the grace of god by which life is given to hon- esty, goodness, and virtue. honesty in the soul is like a good organist, whose touch is true and according to art; the grace and spirit of god is the blast which gives life to the touch, and makes the instru- ment speak with pleasant melodies. this last good does not consist in long discourses, precepts, and in- structions, neither is it attained by our own act or labor; it is a free gift from above, and so we call it grace. but we must desire it, and ask for it a treatise on wisdom. both humbly and ardently. o god, vouchsafe of thy infinite goodness to look upon me with the eye of thy clemency, to accept my desire and my work, which thou hast im- planted, to the end that it may re- turn to thee, and that thou mayst finish what thou hast begun, and so be both my alpha and my omega. sprinkle me with thy grace, keep me and account me thine. the true remedy by which we are cleansed and healed of our sin, is a serious and modest confession of our faults; excuse is a remedy invented by the author of evil. there is a proverb which says, “sin makes itself a garment, but it is without warmth.” religion consists in the knowledge of god and of ourselves, and the office of religion is to join us to the author and giver of all good; and piety. i so long as we continue firm in our confidence in god we are preserved, but when he is separated from us we faint and languish. we must be sincere, obedient, and kind, if we would be fit to receive religion, and to believe and live under the law. by reverence and obedience we should subject our judgment, and suffer ourselves to be led by author- ity, “submitting our understanding to the obedience of faith.” piety. piety ranks first among our duties, and here it is very easy to err and be mistaken. it is a fearful thing to consider the great diversity among the religions that have been in the world, and still more the strange- ness of some of them, so unreason- able that it is a wonder the mind of man should have been infatuated with the impostures; for it seems io a treatise on wisdom. there is nothing in the world, high or low, which has not been deified, and that has not found a place wherein to be worshipped. they all agree in many things, are almost alike in their foundation and princi- ples: the belief in one god, the author of all things, his providence and love toward mankind, in the im- mortality of the soul, reward for the good, punishment for the wicked after this life, and a certain outward profession, in praying, honoring, and serving god: they have also their difference, by which they are dis- tinguished, and each prefers itself above the rest, as the truest. but it is not difficult to know which is the best, the christian religion, ele- vated and authentic, having so many advantages and privileges above the others. now, as they appear one after another, we find the younger builds piety. i upon the more ancient, and next pre- cedent, which it does not wholly disprove or condemn, but only accuses it of imperfections, and therefore comes to perfect or suc- ceed it; so by degrees the elder is overthrown and the younger en- riched with the spoils: as judaism, which has retained much of the egyptian religion, the christian, founded upon the tenets and promises of the judaic, the turk- ish built upon both, retaining almost all the doctrines of jesus christ, but not accepting his divin- ity. if, therefore, a man would change from judaism to mohamme- danism, he must pass through chris- tianity. yet the elder wholly con- demn the younger and regard them as enemies; although there have been mohammedans that have suf- fered torture to maintain the truths of the christian religion, as christians a 'realise on wisdom. would do to maintain the truths of the old testament. true and false religions are maintained by human means, but the true have another jurisdiction, and are received from and held by another hand. in regard to receiving them, the first general establishing of them has been, “god working, his word confirming, and signs following.” the detail is done by human means; it is the nation, country, and birth which give the particular religion; it is not of our choice or election, for a man without his knowledge is made jew or chris- tian, before he knows that he is a man. the better to know true piety, it is necessary to separate it from the false and feigned. there is nothing that makes a fairer show and , takes greater pains to resemble true religion, and yet no worse enemy to it, than superstition; it is like the flatterer that counterfeits a zealous a treatise on wisdom. and this is to approach the religion of the angels, and to accept the teaching of the son of god “to wor- ship in spirit and truth,” for god accounts such worshippers the best. there are others who would have a visible deity; and those that have chosen the sun for their god seem to have more reason than the others, because of its greatness, splendor, and unknown quality. it is necessary for him who intends to be wise not to separate piety from true honesty, and content himself with one of them, nor should he confound them. piety and probity, religion and honesty, devotion and con- science, i would have jointly in him whom i here instruct, because one cannot be perfect without the other. here are two rocks of which we must take heed: to separate these virtues and rest contented with one—to con- found them in such a way that one ***************-* - see - - - - piety. i i rules the other. the first who separate them and have but one of these vir- tues are those that give themselves to the worship and service of god, taking no care at all of true virtue and honesty for which they have no taste, but putting their whole confi- dence in the outward observance. through this they are the more daring in sin, thinking themselves released from all duty; they are never made better, and to them the proverb ap- plies, “an angel in the church a devil in the home.” there are others quite contrary; taking account of nothing but virtue and honesty and caring little for anything that belongs to religion, a fault of many philoso- phers. these are two extremes, but which is the more worthy, religion or honesty, it is not my purpose to de- termine. i will only say: the first is far more easy and of greater show, found in simple and ignorant minds; a treatise on wisdom. the second, more difficult, and in spirits valiant and generous. he who is honest from scruple and a re- ligious bridle, take heed of him, and he who has religion without honesty, i will not say he is more wicked, but far more dangerous than one who is without either. i desire that there be in this my wise man true honesty and true piety, joined and wedded together, both complete, and crowned with' the grace of god, which he denies to none who ask it of him. our in- struction to piety is to learn to know god. for from the knowledge of things proceeds the honor we give them. first we must believe that - he is, that he created the world by his power, goodness, and wisdom, and by these he governs it; that his providence watches over all things, even the least; and whatever he sends us is for our good, and that piety. i whatever is evil proceeds from our- selves. if we account the fortunes evil which he sends us we blaspheme his holy name, for we naturally honor those who do us good and hate those who hurt us. we must then resolve to obey him and to take all in good part whatever comes from his hand, and commit and submit ourselves to him. secondly we must honor him, raising our spirit from all earthly imagination to the contemplation of the divinity. god is the highest ideal of our im- agination, every man amplifying the idea according to his own capacity. he is infinitely above our most ex- alted conception. thirdly we must serve him with our heart and mind, the service answering his nature, a wise man's true sacrifice to the great god; the spirit is his temple, the soul is his image, and the affections man's offerings. the most accept- a treatise on wisdom. to him who gives it. there is nothing which god has given us in this present life unworthy our care, and for which we are not account- able. it is no frivolous commission for a man to direct himself and his life, for god has given it to him seriously and expressly. there are those, who would seem to be men of understanding, and professors of singular sanctity, who condemn all pleasures, and all care of the body, who withdraw the spirit into itself, and so pass life insensibly without thinking or taking part in it. to this kind of people, the saying, “to pass the time" is very applicable; for it seems to them that to make good use of this life is to silently pass it over, and as it were to escape it. contempt for all pleasures is as much a fault and an injustice as the abuse of them in loving them too much. we must neither run to them desires and pleasures. nor fly from them, but receive and use them with discretion and moder- ation. he who desires nothing, although he has nothing, is as rich as he who possesses the whole world ; both come to one end. he who is poor in desires is rich in contentment. if we let loose the bridle of our appetite to follow abundance and luxury, we will continue in perpetual pain and labor; superfluous things will become necessary, our souls will be slaves to our bodies, and we can live only while we live in pleasure and delight. if we do not moderate our pleas- ures and desires, if we do not measure them by the compass of reason, opinion will carry us to a headlong downfall, where there is neither bottom nor stay. as for example: if we make our shoes of a treatise on wisdom. velvet, afterwards we will want them of cloth of gold, and lastly embroid- ered with pearls and diamonds; we will build our houses of marble, afterwards of jasper and porphyry. with a fool nothing suffices, nothing has certainty or contentment; he is like the moon that asked for a garment that might fit it, but was answered that that was not pos- sible, because it was sometimes large, sometimes small, and always change- able. consideration of others. peremptory affirmation and obsti- nacy in expressing opinions are ordinary signs of senselessness and ignorance. the style of the ancient roman was, that in the witness de- posing and the judge determining that which of their own knowledge they knew to be true, they expressed themselves in these words: “it seemeth." it is good to learn to use man's own affairs. words that sweeten, and moderate the temerity of our propositions, as: it may be; i think; it is so said. it is well for a man to have his counte- nance and actions agreeable to all, but his thoughts hidden; to see and hear much, speak little, judge of all. do not fear nor be troubled with the rude incivility and bitter speeches of men; learn to harden and accus- tom yourself to them. aim always at the truth, to ac- knowledge it, and cheerfully yield to it. to acknowledge a fault, to confess ignorance, to yield when there is occasion, are acts of judgment, gentleness, and sincerity, which are the principal qualities of an honest and wise man. man's own affairs, when a man finds himself in any doubt or perplexity respecting a —-----~~~~~~~~ * o a treatise on jwisdom. choice of things that are not evil, he must choose that which has most honesty and justice in it, for though it may turn out otherwise than well, it will always be some comfort to have chosen the better part; and be- sides, he does not know if he had chosen the contrary what would have happened. when a man is in doubt as to the best and shortest way, he must take the straightest. avoid that which is base and un- just ; this is the rule of conscience. - never deceive, and yet take heed not to be deceived. defend opinions, but do not of. fend. subtle defence is as much to be commended as rude offence is to be condemned. take all things in their proper time and season; avoid precipitation, an enemy to wisdom, the step-mother, not the true, of all good actions. - to be ready for death. deliberate slowly, execute speed- ily. discretion seasons and gives a rel- ish to all things. indiscretion mars and takes away the grace from the best actions. to be ready for death, a fruit of vvis dom. seneca said: “he was not born in vain that dies well; neither has he lived unprofitably, that departs happily." he shoots not well who looks not on the mark; and he cannot live well who has not an eye to his death. the science of dying is the science of liberty, the way to fear nothing, to live well, contentedly and peaceably; there can be no pleasure in life to him who is al- ways in fear of loss. we must en- deavor to have our sins die before ourselves; and be always prepared for death. ii --- - --- - - --- ------------------ to be ready for death. help than a fool with his folly. it is misery to trouble life with the care and fear of death, and death with the care of life. it is uncertain in what place death attends us, and therefore let us attend death in all places, and be ready to receive it. “think every day thy last; each, ready be, and so the uncertain hour shall welcome thee." many make vain excuses to cover this fear, as, for example, those who say they grieve for themselves and others that they may be cut off in the flower and strength of their years. this is the complaint of those who measure everything by the ell, for- getting that exquisite things are generally fine and delicate. it is the mark of an excellent workman to enclose much in a small space. great virtue and a long life sel- dom meet together. life is meas- ured by the end; provided that is a treatise on wisdom. good and all the rest is in proportion, the quantity has nothing to do with making it more or less happy, any more than the greatness of a circle makes the circle more round. “the day which thou fearest as thy last is the birthday of etermity.” to seek and desire death is an evil, it is an injustice without a cause, and it is to be out of charity with the world, to which our lives may be of benefit. to fear death, on the other side, is against nature, reason, justice, and all duty; the day of thy birth binds thee, and sets thee as well in the way of death as of life. it is folly to grieve for that which cannot be mended, to fear that which cannot be avoided. - how excellent the example of david, after the death of his dear child, when he put on his best ap- parel and made merry, saying to to be ready for death. those who wondered, that while his son lived he importuned god for his recovery, but being dead there was no remedy. he who fears not to die, fears nothing; he makes himself master of his own life and of others. - the disregard of death is the source of beautiful and generous actions, and from it come the free speeches of virtue uttered by so many great imen. helvidius priscus, whom the emperor vespasian had commanded not to go to the senate, but if he went, to speak as he would have him, answered that, as he was a senator, it was right he should be in the senate, and being there if re- quired to give advice he should speak freely that which his con- science commanded. being threat- ened by the emperor that if he spoke he should die, he said, “did i ever tell you that i was immortal? a treatise on wisdom. do what you will, and i will do what i ought. it is in your power to put me unjustly to death, and it is in mine to die consistently.” our religion has no firmer princi- ple, nor one wherein its author has more insisted, than the contempt of this life. a desire for the life to come makes a man thirst after death as after a great gain, as the seed of a better life, the bridge unto paradise, the way to all good, and an earnest of the resurrection. a firm belief and hope in these things is incom- patible with the fear and horror of death. “have patience, man, and be content to live, . that which a day denies, a day may give.” tranquillity of the spirit. tranquility of the spirit is the sovereign good of man. this is that great and rich treasure which the tranquillity of the spirit. wisest seek by sea and land. all our care should tend thereto; it is the fruit of all our labors and studies, and the crown of wisdom. it is a beautiful, equal, just, firm, and pleasant condition of the soul, which neither business, idleness, good nor ill, nor time, can in any way trouble or depress. “nothing troubles true tranquillity.” the foundations a man must lay for it are true honesty, and to live in the state and vocation for which he is fitted, and added to these, true piety, with a soul pure, free, kind, contemplating god, the great sovereign, and absolute workmaster of all things; and from whom he is to hope for all manner of good, and to fear no evil. afterwards he must walk in simplicity and truth, and with a heart open to the eyes of god and the world; he must in thought, word, and action keep himself in moderation, laying aside all pomp a treatise on wisdom. and vanity; rule his desires, content himself with a sufficiency. he must be constant against what may wound or hurt him, and raise himself above and beyond all fear, and so hold himself firmly without inward con- tention, full of joy, peace, comfort, and content in himself. to conclude. two things are necessary for this tranquillity of the spirit—innocence and a good con- science. moral virtues. almost all the duties of life are comprehended in the four moral virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. prudence is with reason put in the first rank, as the superintendent and guide of all other virtues; it is the salt of life, the lustre and ornament of our actions. it is the knowledge and choice of those things which we must either a treatise on wisdom. may reap, but he who reaps need not care who were the sowers. love and friendship. friendship is the life of the world. without it there is no joy, and all things seem dark. “friendship is the companion of justice, the bond of nature, . . . the comfort of old age, and the quiet harbor of man's life.” if friendship were everywhere in force, there would be no need of law, which is a remedy for the want of it, enforcing and constrain- ing by authority that which for love and friendship should be free and voluntary. friendship rules the heart, the tongue, the hand, and the will. there is great diversity in friend- ships from the causes which engender them, and these are four in number— nature, virtue, profit, and pleasure, a treatise on wisdom. able things. the perfect is acquired only by a true lively virtue, recipro- cally known. the common may be between many, the perfect only be- tween two. there is nothing more free and voluntary than affection, built upon the choice and liberty of the will. the souls of men in this perfect friendship cannot be divided; neither would they be. there is no speech between them of indebtedness, thankfulness, and other light duties, , which are nourishers of common friendship, and yet testimonies of division. should i thank myself for the service i render myself p. he is the giver that gives cause to his friend to express and employ his love; and he is the receiver that by giving binds his friend: for both seeking above all things to do good one to the other, he that gives the occasion and yields the matter is he love and friendship. that is liberal, giving the content- ment to his friend to do what he most desires. of this perfect friendship and com- munion, antiquity gives us some ex- amples. blosius, taken for a great friend of tiberius gracchus, then condemned to die, being asked what he would do for his friend's sake, y answered he would refuse nothing. it was then demanded what he would do if gracchus should entreat him to fire the temples, to which he replied that gracchus would never ask such a thing at his hands, but, if he did, he would obey him—a bold and dan- gerous answer. iaving said that gracchus would never require it, that should have been his answer, for according to our description a perfect friend does not only know the will of his friend, but holds it in his sleeve, and wholly possesses it. " * ----------------------------------------------------…- .. --- ------- *-* *. * … . . .” --------------- * * a treatise on wisdom. free and hearty admonition is a very wholesome and excellent medi- cine, and the best office of friend- ship; for to wound and offend a little, to profit much, is to love soundly. this is one of the princi- pal and most profitable evangelical commandments: “if thy brother sin against thee, reprove him.” all have some need of this remedy, but espe- cially those in prosperity. to under- take this, four things are required: judgment, discretion, courageous liberty, and loyal friendship; these are tempered and mingled together, but for fear of offending, or for want of true friendship, few are willing to do it, and of those who are, how few know how to do it well. if it is not done well it is like medicine badly administered, it hurts without profit. truth, however noble it is, has not the privilege of being used at all hours and in all places. fidelity. observe the time and place, not choosing an occasion of feasting or great joy, for that were to “trouble the feast"; nor one of sorrow and adversity, that is the time to com- fort. “chiding is cruel in adversity; to chide is to condemn when help is needful." admonish secretly and without witnesses, that one may not be overcome with shame, especially before those whose good opinion one may desire to retain. fidelity. all men, even the most treacher- ous, know and confess that fidelity is the bond of human society, the foun- dation of all justice, and above all things to be religiously observed. nevertheless the world is full of treachery; there are but few who are truly loyal and keep their faith; they break it in various ways, per- haps without perceiving it. they r … → * * ... " a treatise on wisdom. find some pretext for what they do; seek corners, evasions, and subtilties. confidence is a sacred thing, and must simply be received; when hos- tages are demanded or sureties given, it is no more faith nor trust. do not think to give assurance of fidelity by new and strange oaths and the use of god's name, as many do. this is superfluous among honest men, and the breach includes per- jury, which is worse than treachery. treachery and perjury are in a cer- tain sense more base and execrable than atheism. the atheist who believes there is no god is not as hurtful in thinking there is no god as he who believes in him and in mockery and contempt abuses his name. treachery is the capital enemy of human society, for it breaks and destroys the bands there- of, and of all commerce that depends . upon the word and promises of men, o a treatise on wisdom. a flatterer will seem to exceed in love him whom he flatters, whereas there is nothing more opposite to love, not detraction, injury, nor pro- fessed enmity. it is the plague and poison of true friendship. better are the sharp admonitions of a friend than the kisses of a flatterer. flattery regards for the most part its own particular benefit; true friend- ship seeks not the good of self. a flatterer is changeable, like a chameleon, and he will accommodate himself to the minds of those he flat- ters. a friend is firm and constant, and cares not so much how he may please as how he may benefit. lying. near neighbor to flattery is lying, a base vice. the first step in the corruption of good manners is the banishment of truth. silence is more friendly than untrue speech. a-------------- benefits. if a lie had but one visage, as truth has, there would be some remedy. for it, for then we could take the exact contrary of that which the liar speaks to be the certain truth. but the contrary to truth has a thousand forms, and an unlimited field. there is but one way to hit the mark, but there are a thousand ways to miss it. doubtless if men realized the horror of lying they would pursue it with fire and sword; for like opinionative obstinacy it never leaves off growing. it be- hooves a liar to have a good memory. a man must not tell all he knows, that is folly; but that which he speaks, let it be what he believes. “report is never brought to full trial.” benefits. it is in the thankful acknowledg- . ment of obligations and benefits that ***ºrº--> wº-a-tº-fºr-------- a treatise on wisdom. we fail most. we neither know how to do good, nor to be thankful. it is the work of an honest and generous man to do good and to deserve well of another, and also to seek the opportunity to do so. “it is the part of a liberal man even to seek occasions for giving.” (ambrose.) god, nature, and reason invite us, and in nothing can we come nearer to the nature of god than in doing good. neither do we know any bet- ter means to imitate him, whose example and nature are wholly good. - he who gives, honors himself, and makes himself master over the re- ceiver. he who takes, sells himself. many have refused to receive bene- fits lest they should lose their liberty, especially from those whom they could not love. caesar was wont to say: “there a treatise on wisdom. which belongs to virtue and merit. doubtless, free and gracious gifts are due only to the good and wor- thy, but in a time of necessity or of common benefit it is better to do good to those who are unworthy, for the sake of the good, than to deprive the good on account of the evil. god lets the sun to shine, and the rain to fall, alike upon all. “there is a great difference between not excluding and choosing.” give willingly and cheerfully, not suffering one's self to be entreated and importuned. “god loveth a cheer- ful giver.” benefits are esteemed according to the will with which they are be- stowed. that which is yielded by entreaty is sold dearly, give speedily. “he gives twice who gives quickly.” an indifferent and careless regard when help is given is not kind; a -------------- ~~~ -- - ------ *** * benefits. ------------~~~~~~~~<----, -----, --, - - - readiness in giving doubles the benefit. diligence must be used in all points; to refuse to do a good deed, and that slowly, is a double injury. ‘he is less deceived who is soon denied.” the best way to give is to antici- pate, and prevent the necessity for asking. he who entreats humbles himself. give without hope of restitution; in this lies the force and virtue of a benefit, for while a man seeks after payment, he is deprived of that in- ward joy and comfort, which he receives in doing good. a gift has its true lustre and glory when there is no chance for requital, even ignorance from whence it came. he deserves nothing who does good that he may receive something in return. it is said a benefactor must forget his good deeds. he a treatise on wisdom. must continue them and by new ones confirm the old; never repent- ing, however it may seem that the seed has been cast upon barren and unfruitful ground. “let even the ill success of thy good deeds please thee.” - an unthankful man wrongs none but himself, and a good deed is not lost by ingratitude. “the best men, and generous minds will bear with an ungrateful person, until with their goodness they shall make him grateful; persevering goodness overcometh the evil.” how base a vice is ingratitude; it is odious to all men. “thou speak- est of all evil that can be said when thou namest an ungrateful man.” in revenge there is some show of justice, and man does not hide him- self to work his will, but in ingrati- tude there is nothing but base dishonesty and shame. benefits. thankfulness or acknowledgment must have these conditions: first: the benefit should be gra- ciously received. “he who receives the benefit thankfully discharges the first payment.” (seneca.) secondly: it should never be for- gotten. “he who forgets a benefit is of all others the most ungrateful, for in no respect can he be made thankful who forgets a service.” (pliny.) thirdly: it should be spoken of. as a man has found the heart and hand of another open to do him good, so must he have his mouth open to publish it. and fourthly: restitution should be made. but beware of too great an unwillingness to be in debt, or too much haste to cancel the obliga- tion. it gives occasion to the friend or benefactor to think his courtesy was not kindly accepted; for to be --~~~~~~~~~. ---------. . . . . . . . . . . . . ... --------------ºr a treatise on wisdom, too careful to pay incurs the sus- picion of ingratitude; yet be not too long, lest the benefit grows old; the graces are painted young. choose a proper occasion without noise or display. and lastly, if a man's in- ability be such that he cannot make present restitution, let his will be strong enough to acknowledge the benefit. duty. the duty of the great consists in two things: in endeavoring to use their lives and ability for the defence and conservation of piety, justice, and generally for the welfare and good of the commonwealth, of which they ought to be the pillars and sup- porters; and after this in defending and protecting the poor and op- pressed, and in resisting the violence of the wicked. in this manner moses became the head of the jewish nation, valor. undertaking the defence of men in- jured and unjustly oppressed. those that have done likewise have been called heroes, and for such, the de- fenders of their people, the deliver- ers of the oppressed, all honors have been established from ancient times. it is not greatness for men to make themselves feared, except by their enemies, or to terrify, which sometimes produces hate. it is bet- ter to be beloved. the duty of inferiors towards their superiors consists in honoring and reverencing those whom they serve, not only outwardly but with love and affection if it is deserved, and in pleasing by faithfully performing their duties, proving themselves worthy of protection. valor. valor is a right and strong determi- nation, a uniform steadiness of mind a treatise on wisdom. fitting for a man of honor to venture his valor where a base fellow in- structed by rules might gain the prize; for such victory comes not from virtue, or courage, but from certain artificial tricks and inven- tions, in which the base will do that which a valiant man knows not, neither desires to. fortitude. the virtue fortitude is exercised and employed against all that the world accounts evil, as adversity, affliction, injury, unhappiness, and accidents. fortitude arms a man against them and temperance guides him. evils are general or particular con- cerning the mass or only ourselves. in common evils or misfortunes one should consider from whence they come and note the cause. a man must not murmur against fortitude. i the will of god; it is impiety, and he torments himself to no purpose. there is no better remedy for the ills of destiny than to apply our wills to his will, and according to the advice of wisdom make a virtue of necessity. the advice we would give against personal evils, or wrongs that may be done to one by others, is to be firm and resolute ; not suffering one's self to be led by common opin- ion, but without passion to consider of what weight and importance things are according to truth and reason. how many make less account of a great wound than of a little blow? to be brief, all is measured by opinion. the world suffers itself to be per- suaded and led by impressions, and an opinion may offend more than a wrong done, and our impatience hurt us more than those of whom we complain. i * public reproach. i offenders, who gave us occasion to know those who would wrong us, that we may avoid them in the future; and secondly, by seeing our weak- ness and how we may be ourselves defeated, and a way to amend our faults. what better revenge can a man take than to profit by injuries received from an enemy, and thereby better and more securely to manage his affairs public reproach. this affliction is of various kinds. if it is loss of honors and dignities it is rather a gain than a loss. dig- nities are but honorable servitude, where a man by giving himself to the public is deprived of himself. honors are but the torches of envy and jealousy, and in the end exile and poverty. if a man recalls the history of the past he will find that many who have carried themselves a treatise on wisdom. another nothing remains in us but that which we retain. forgiveness wins for us affection. many things wise men do as men, but not as wise men. beauty is as wisdom, and wisdom is a spiritual beauty. nobility is a desire for virtue, and learning the riches of the spirit. “like apples of gold in pictures of silver, so are words spoken in due season.” (proverb.) a wise man is a skilful artificer who profits by all; whatever falls into his hands he makes a fit subject for good, and with the same counte- mance he beholds the two faces of fortune. wisdom is a mild and regular managing of the soul, and he is wise who governs himself in his desires, thoughts, opinions, speech, and ac- tions by the rule of judgment. revenge. i a wise man rules himself accord- ing to nature and reason, regards his duty, and suspects whatever depends upon opinion and passion; and so he lives in peace, passing away his life cheerfully, and not subject to re- pentance, recantations, or changes, because whatever may happen he could not have chosen better, and in this way he is neither provoked nor troubled, for reason is always tran- quil. wit and wisdom george eliot stas/ harvard college library wit and wisdom of george eliot. with a biographical memoir. qui leci crgo boston: roberts brothers. no .a.in harvard college library from the library of john graham brooks april , entered according to act of congress, in the year , by roberts brothers, in the oflice of the librarian of congress, at washington. contents. page. · . · . . .. · · .. · scenes from clerical life amos barton . . . mr. gilfil's love story . "mr. gilfil . . . . mester ford” . janet's repentance mrs. linnet .. ? mr. jerome, . mr. dempster .. * mr. tryan .. .. ·········· · ·...... . · .. ... · · · .. · · . .. · · . > . ·· · · adam bede adam . . ? mrs. poyser . dinah morris * bartle massey • parson irwine seth bede . ? lisbeth bede. mrs. irwine. • martin poyser . ... • • ....:· · · · · · . . . . · · ···· · • • • · (iii) contents. page. . · · . · . · · . . . · · · · · • • · · · · • · · · · • fells holt . . felix . . . ? rufus lyon . mrs. holt *denner . . mr. wace mr. johnson . . rev. a. debarry. parson lingon . tommy trounsen. harold transome. mottoes . . . esther lyon. .. · · · · • · · · · · · · · · · · · · . · . · · . . . · · · · · · · · · · . . · · · · · · · · · · . . · middlemarch dorothea mrs. cadwallader. mr. cadwallader. * lydgate . . . mr. farebrother. will ladislaw mary garth. caleb garth . . celia . . mr. brooke . · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ..... · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · .... · · daniel deronda * deronda · klesmer . sir hugo . · · · . . · . . · . . · . . · . . · · · · · contents page. · · kalonymos . mrs. meyrick . hans meyrick . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . theophrastus such · . · . . . · · . . · · . . · · . . · · . the spanish gypsy fedalma . .. juan zarca . don silva . sephardo . the prior. blasco . lorenzo . . . · · ......... . · . · . . · · . . · . . · . • the legend of jubal . · · . . . · · . . . . · · armgart . . armgart . leo. . the graf. . .... . · · . . . · · . . · · . . · · . various poems a minor prophet brother and sister oh, may i join . two lovers . · · ..... . . · · . . · · .. index . · . . . . . · . . . biographical memoir. not the least striking feature, perhaps, in the recently closed career of george eliot, is the fact that at a time when public curiosity invades and lays bare the most secret places in the private lives of those who challenge its attention, she maintained from first to last a reserve so complete as almost to obliterate her personality. never was the line between the work and the worker more dis- tinctly drawn or more persistently upheld; and though for upwards of twenty years bers had been regarded as one of the foremost figures in contemporary literature, it is literally true that at the time of her death scarcely more was known about george eliot than is known about shakspeare. when she was born and where; how she was educated; what were the circumstances of her early life; how she discovered her vocation to litera- ture; what was the character and personality of the woman as distinct from the artist, — these were ques- tious about which hardly enough was known to furnish a basis for plausible conjecture. now and then some visitor at combe priory, less discreet or less reticent than others, would give currency to some bit of gossip as to the personal appearance and bearing of its mistress; but these were in general discredited by the very circum- ( ) viii biographical memoir. stances under which they were given publicity, and at best they touched only upon the most superficial and inessential topics. the great majority of her readers thought of her not as marian evans, or as mrs. lewes, or even as mrs. cross, but as “ george eliot," -- a sort of impersonal intelligence, the creator of “adam bede," - silas marner,” “middlemarchi,” and the rest. the fame of these writings was world-wide in its extent; the writer herself remained so nearly unknown that the tidings of her death can have carried the shock of personal loss to but very few. when thackeray died. more particularly when dickens was so suddenly stricken down, there were many thousands who felt as though a very dear and intimately known friend had passed away; the only sentiment that has found expression in the nu- merous notices of the death of george eliot is that of profound regret that that busy and inspiring pen is ar- rested for ever, that the “really great novel ” which was to repair the comparative failure of “daniel deronda" will never be forthcoming. nor does it seem likely that the curtain of reserve which she kept so persistently lowered during her life will now be raised. within a month after dickens's death, enough details concerning his character and life had been published to furnish materials for an adequate biography; but from the obituary notices of george eliot, and from the disclosures of such of her friends as have not been deterred by her own example of silence we obtain only the correction of a few misconceptions the fixing of a few dates hitherto unsettled, and the estab. lishment of a few facts which throw light at once upon biographical memoir. her career and her character. to bring together these dates and facts, and to extract from them such light as we may, rather than to attempt a critical estimate of george eliot's work, is the object of this memoir. mary ann (or marian) evans was born on the d of november, , at griff, near nuneaton, in warwick- shire, england, about midway between london and liverpool. not far away is stratford-upon-avon, and it is worthy of passing remark that the only woman whose genius has ever been seriously compared with that of shakspeare was born in the same midland region of england and even in the same county. the house in which she first saw the light, and which is still in exist- ence, stands on the highway leading to the ancient town of coventry, and is a large brick building, surrounded by a pleasant garden, plain and unpretentious, but sug- gestive of convenience and comfort. its situation is delightful, and near by are the scenes of several interest- ing historic events. in one direction and but a short distance off is bosworth field, where richard iii. was slain ; and in another are the ruins of astley castle, once the home of the unfortunate lady jane grey. about her mother, who died when miss evans was fifteen, ab- solutely nothing is known, except that she was the second wife of her husband and bore him three children, of whom mary ann was the youngest. her father, robert evans, was land agent and surveyor to five estates in warwicksbire, including those of lord howe and sir robert newdegate, a position now held by her brother, isaac p. evans, who resides in the old homestead. robert evans is still remembered in the neighborhood as biographical memoir. a man of rare worth of character, and during his life his reputation for probity and trustworthiness was almost proverbial. he is said to have furnished the prototype of more than one character in the writings of his daugh- ter. conspicuous among these is caleb garth in “middlemarclı;” but the same note of character -- the craftsman's keen delight in perfect work — is struck in “adam bede” and in the little poem on stradivarius. no doubt many others among her characters could be traced back to her girlish experiences in that prosaic country district, for she is known to have drawn upon them largely in her first three novels as well as in the “ scenes of clerical life,” the allusions in which are so direct as to have disclosed the locale if not the personal identity of the author. indeed, in spite of the masculine pseudonyme under which they appeared, the inhabitants of nuneaton at once declared her to be the author. among the characters which they identified was that of mr. dempster, who was often called by that name in private circles, and who is said to have died only a year or two ago. on the influence upon george eliot's writings of the part of england in which she spent her early life and which she knew best, there is no need to dwell. says mr. r. e. francillon, in an article published last year: “scott is not more distinctively of the border, tennyson of lincolnshire, nor kingsley of devon, than she of the midlands. her genius is the reverse of cosmopolitan, and her strength lessens the further she goes from home. it is always a happy accident for a novelist — though probably the reverse is true of the poet — when his biographical memoir. genius is localized. provincial life, as no one knew better than balzac himself, is of necessity more intense in expression, deeper in its roots, at once more full of self and more enslaved by limits and circumstance, more characteristic altogether, and more open to thorough, personal, and sympathetic study than the life of great cities can possibly be, which no one hand, not even balzac's own, has ever been large enough to hold. george eliot's hand holds the whole of the time and of the country which she made her own, and every man knows ‘middle- 'march, for example, better than he knows his native town.” the parents of mary ann evans were devout church- of-england people, and there are still persons in the vicinity who remember the little girl as she sat in the high-backed pew in shepperton church listening to the sermon with grave attention. others recollect her as teaching in the sunday school in a little cottage near her father's house; and her youthful letters are said by a friend who has seen them to show that her mind was then deeply imbued with “evangelical ” sentiments. these letters must have been written at a very early period, for another friend declares that she began to doubt the faith of her fathers when but twelve years old, and that by the age of sixteen her philosophical proclivities had become distinctly manifest. at the age of eighteen and twenty she was ploughing deep in “ those barren fields where german metaphysics endeavored to come to the relief (or the confusion) of german theology;" and a few years later she was engaged upon those translations which constituted her first literary work. xii biographical memoir. during this period of intellectual ferment and changing opinions, the person who appears to have exercised the strongest influence upon her mind was her aunt, mrs. elizabeth evans, the original of dinah morris, the meth- odist preacher, in the story of “adam bede.” an im- portant collection of letters written by her to this aunt during the years , , and , is known to ex- ist, and one who has seen them recently describes them as pervaded-throughout with a religious tinge. “nearly every line denotes that george eliot was an earnest biblical student, and that she was very anxious about her spiritual condition. ... she is ever asking for ad- vice and spiritual guidance, and confesses her faults with a candor that is rendered additionally attractive by rea- son of the polished language in which it is clothed.” of the extent to which “ dinah morris ” is a portrait we have conclusive evidence in the shape of a letter of george eliot's, which is by far the most important that has yet been published, and which must find a promi- nent place in any biography of her that may be written. it was addressed to her friend, miss sara hennell of coventry, and was first published in the pall mall gazette : - holly lodge, oct. , . dear sara, — i should like, while the subject is vividly present with me, to tell you more exactly than i have ever yet done, what i knew of my aunt, elizabeth evans. my father, you know, lived in warwickshire all my life with him, having finally left staffordshire first, and then derby- shire, six or seven years before he married my mother. there was hardly any intercourse between my father's biographical memoir. xiii family, resident in derbyshire and staffordshire, and our family. few and far-between visits of (to my childish feel- ing) strange uncles and aunts and cousins from my father's far-off native country, and once a journey of my own, as a little child, with my father and mother, to see my uncle william, a rich builder, in staffordshire, but not my uncle and aunt samuel, só far as i can recall the dim out- line of things, are what i remember of northerly relatives in my childhood. but when i was seventeen or more, after my sister was married and i was mistress of the house, my father took a journey into derbyshire, in which, visiting my uncle and aunt samuel, who were very poor and lived in a humble cottage at wirksworth, he found my aunt in a very delicate state of health after a serious illness ; and, to do her bodily good, he persuaded her to return with him, telling her that i should be very, very happy to have her with me for a few weeks. i was then strongly under the influence of evan- gelical belief, and earnestly endeavoring to shape this anomalous english-christian life of ours into some consist- ency with the spirit and simple verbal tenor of the new testament. i was delighted to see my aunt. although i had only heard her spoken of as a strange person, given to a fanatical vehemence of exhortation in private as well as public, i believed that i should find sympathy between us. she was then an old woman, above sixty, and, i believe, had for a good many years given up preaching. a tiny little woman, with bright, small, dark eyes, and hair that had been black, i imagine, but was now gray, — a pretty woman in her youth, but of a totally different physical type from dinah. the difference, as you will believe, was not simply physical ; no difference is. she was a woman of strong natural excitability, which i know, from the biographical memoir. xv two things of any interest i remember in our lonely sittings and walks are her telling me one sunny afternoon how she had, with another pious woman, visited an unhappy girl in prison, stayed with her all night, and gone with her to execution, and one or two accounts of supposed miracles in which she believed, — among the rest, the face with the crown of thorns seen in the glass. in her account of the prison scenes, i remember no word she uttered, -- i only remember her tone and manner and the deep feeling i had under the recital. of the girl she knew nothing, i believe, or told me nothing, but that she was a common coarse girl, convicted of child-murder. the incident lay in my mind for years on years, as a dead germ, apparently, till time had made my mind a nidus in which it could fructify; it then turned out to be the germ of " adam bede.” i saw my aunt twice after this. once i spent a day and night with my father in the wirksworth cottage, sleeping with my aunt, i remember. our interview was less inter- esting than in the former time : i think i was less simply devoted to religious ideas. and once again she came with my uncle to see me when father and i were living at foleshill ; then there was some pain, for i had given up the form of christian belief, and was in a crude state of free-thinking. she stayed about three or four days, i think. this is all i remember distinctly, as matter i could write down, of my dear aunt, whom i really loved. you see how she suggested dinah ; but it is not possible you should see as i do how entirely her individuality differed from dinah's. how curious it seems to me that people should think di- nah's sermon, prayers, and speeches were copied, when they were written with hot tears, as they surged up in my own mind! as to my indebtedness to facts of locale, and personal xvi biographical memoir. history of a small kind, connected with staffordshire and derbyshire, you may imagine of what kind that is, when i tell you that i never remained in either of those counties more than a few days together, and of only two such visits have i more than a shadowy, interrupted recollection. the details which i knew as facts, and have made use of for my picture, were gathered from such imperfect allusion and narrative as i heard from my father in his occasional talk about old times. as to my aunt's children or grandchildren saying, if they did say, that dinah is a good portrait of my aunt, that is simply the vague, easily satisfied notion imperfectly instructed people always have of portraits. it is not sur- prising that simple men and women, without pretension to enlightened discrimination, should think a generic resem- blance constitutes a portrait, when we see the great public so accustomed to be delighted with misrepresentations of life and character, which they accept as representations, that they are scandalized when art makes a nearer approach to truth. perhaps i am doing a superfluous thing in writing all this to you, but i am prompted to do it by the feeling that in future years “adam bede” and all that concerns it may have become a dim portion of the past, and i may not be able to recall so much of the truth as i have now told you. once more, thanks, dear sara. ever your loving marian. in early childhood mary ann evans is said to have been not so much what is called precocious as thoughtful and earnest, but with talents remarkable enough to in- duce her father to give her the best education he could afford; so she was first sent to a boarding school in biographical memoir. xvii coventry, kept by a miss franklin. a school-mate, whose reminiscences are among the most interesting that have been given to the public, says that as a girl she was very popular with teachers and pupils. “she learned every thing with ease, but was passionately devoted to music, and became thoroughly accomplished as a pianist. her masters always brought the most difficult solos for her to play in public, and everywhere said she might make a performer equal to any then upon the concert stage. she was keenly susceptible to what she thought her lack of personal beauty, frequently saying that she was not pleased with a single feature of her face or figure. she was not especially noted as a writer, but so uncommon was her intellectual power, that we all thought her capable of any effort; and so great was the charm of her conversation, that there was continual strife among the girls as to which of them should walk with her. the teachers had to settle it by making it depend upon alphabetical succession.” how long she remained at this school, or what prog- ress she made while there, is not known, but in miss evans removed with her father from griff to foles- hill, near coventry. here, her sisters and brothers hav- ing married, she lived alone with her father, and became known as a most devoted daughter and an excellent household manager. at foleshill, moreover, with am- pler opportunity and leisure, her long and laborious process of self-culture may be said to have begun. she took lessons in greek and latin from the rev. t. sheepshanks, then head master of the coventry gram- 'mar school; and from signor brezzi she acquired a xviii biographical memoir. knowledge of french, german, and italian. hebrew she mastered by her own unaided efforts, and at a later period russian was added to the list of her linguistic attainments. iler passion for music was stimulated by mr. simms, the veteran organist of st. michael's, cov- entry, from whom she received lessons; and the more populous neighborhood in which she now lived afforded wider social opportunities than she had previously en- joyed. among the intimate and valued friends made by miss evans in coventry were mr. and mrs. charles bray, both well known in the literary circles of the day. in mr. bray's family and circle of acquaintances she found sympathy with her ardent love of knowledge and with the more liberal views that had begun to supplant those under which (as she described it) her spirit had been grievously burdened; and under these favorable influences her genius rapidly developed. says a friend whose rem- iniscences exhibit a greater familiarity with this period of miss evans's life than any others with which the pub. lic has been favored : “ there was perhaps little at first sight which betokened genius in that quiet, gentle- mannered girl, with pale, grave face, naturally pensive in expression; and ordinary acquaintances regarded her chiefly for the kindness and sympathy that were never wanting to any. but to those with whom, by some un- spoken affinity, her soul could expand, her expressive gray eyes would light up with intense meaning and humor, and the low, sweet voice, with its peculiar man- nerism of speaking, - which, by the way, wore off in after years, -- would give utterance to thoughts so rich xx biographical memoir. idiomatic english was by no means light, and her inti. mate friends of that time well remember the strain it entailed upon her for upwards of a year. the result, her first published work, appeared in , and she had the satisfaction of being complimented by strauss himself upon the success that had attended her efforts. her next published work was of the same character, a trans- lation of feuerbach's “ essence of christianity” ( ); and it is now reported that she left in manuscript a com- plete translation of spinoza's “ ethics,” executed at about this period, when as yet, apparently, she distrusted her capacity for original or creative work. in miss evans's father died, and in the summer of that year she accompanied her friends, the brays, on a continental tour, and by her own choice was left behind at geneva, where she stayed until the following spring. on her return to england she made her home with the same family until , when she was persuaded by dr. chapman to remove to london and assist him in the conduct of the westminster review, of which she had already become a valued contributor. in london she resided with dr. chapman, as one of the family, at the house no. strand, now occupied by a firm of tourist agents. “her position in the house,' says a writer in the pen, “was more that of a near relative than a friend. the ways of the chapmans were her ways, and their interests were her interests. her time was occupied partly with the household duties, which she shared with mrs. chapman, and partly in assisting dr. chapman in his literary labors. she was but little known outside her own circle of friends, her only published work being biographical memoir. xxi a translation of strauss's life of jesus. her original writing was confined to political and philosophical articles and reviews contributed to the westminster review. her method of work on these was the same as that she afterward employed in writing her novels. having thought deeply over the subject with which she intended to deal, she would retire to her room, and with infinite pains put her thoughts into writing, doing so little actual written work in the course of the day that a single article often took a week or more of the most laborious toil. we are informed by one who knew her in those days when her genius “bided its time,' that her habits were simple in the extreme, and that it was during this period that her metaphysical studies and unremitting literary labor matured in her that distaste for general society that never afterwards entirely left her.” her residence in dr. chapman's house must be re- garded as one of the most important epochs in miss evans's career, for it was here that she met the persons who most profoundly influenced her character, her life, and her work. the intimate friends of the chapmans were few in number, but among them were some of the most celebrated people of the day. in the drawing-room over the book-shop were often to be seen, amongst others, george henry lewes, who was a contributor to the re- view and a constant visitor, thomas carlyle, john stuart mill, dr. newbery, who translated carlyle's “ frederick the great” into german, dr. garth wilkinson, our own emerson, and, most important of all, perhaps, from the present point of view, herbert spencer. the relations between mr. spencer and george eliot xxii biographical memoir. have been the subject of more frequent and persistent misstatements, perhaps, than any other incident in her career, and nearly all the obituary writers have repeated the current errors in regard to them. mr. lewes long ago denied that mr. spencer had instructed her in lan- guages, explaining that while mr. spencer knows very little of one language beside his own, george eliot vas mistress of seven languages before she had ever met him ; and professor e. l. youmans, who of course knew both, has recently repudiated the idea that george eliot was a pupil of herbert spencer, and that he edu- cated her in accordance with his peculiar ideas. while this oft-repeated statement is incorrect, however, pro- fessor youmans thinks that the influence of mr. spencer upon george eliot's mind and career was very marked, and that it was he who determined her to take to ficti- tious literature. “mr. spencer,” he says, “had labored with her on the subject of the line of her intellectual work, insisting that it did not lie in the philosophical direction, but that her proper field was that of imagina- tive literature. she resisted the idea, and, without ad- mitting it, quietly entered upon it, and the success of the scenes of clerical life' vindicated spencer's judgment and determined her intellectual future. but spencer's influence upon the character of her works was deeper than this. he knew well enough that she could not be an ordinary novel-writer, but would carry her philosophical traits of mind into this work, and, in fact, would only use the descriptive and dramatic form for the expression and embodiment of her conceptions. she was a profound student of his own philosophical writings, and biographical memoir. xxiii mastered the most difficult of them. the toughest book that spencer ever published, and perhaps the most im- portant, was his ‘principles of psychology,' which ap- peared in . it was the first systematic application of the doctrine of evolution in the sphere of mind, and the difficulty that readers had with it was its utter nov- elty as well as its profundity. . . . now, this work was not only read by george eliot, but was a favorite with her, and was completely assimilated by her. when she had finished writing · the mill on the floss,' she was in such a state of emotional excitement and tension that it completely broke her down, and she then reverted to the principles of psychology,' and read it all through again as a means of mental diversion, and to recover her nervous equilibrium. george eliot was thus early in possession of a key to the analysis of character and the study of human nature of which the public knew nothing, and which was a powerful instrument for a mind as subtle and analytic as hers. this fact must be taken into account in any intelligent estimate of her remarkable works. the critics of her books have been chiefly struck by her extraordinary power of delineating the growth of character. she analyzes rather than de- scribes, and constantly deals with the dynamical side of her subject, tracing the working of circumstances and events in influencing or modifying the course of conduct. as the ideas in the ‘principles of psychology' become more familiar to the critical mind, it will be found that they pervade and color george eliot's works, and that she is in future to be very much interpreted in the light of that ucw philosophy which studies human nature as a xxiv biographical memoir. problem of forces in correspondence with its environ- ment. the genius of george eliot is undoubtedly of a high order, but it is, perhaps, more seen in the sagacity with which she discovered a new epoch of thought, the courage with which she accepted it, and the intellectual vigor with which she turned its resources to account, than in any other phase of its manifestation. the writings of george eliot must be regarded, i think, as one of the earliest triumphs of the spencerian method of studying personal character and the laws of social life.” the “scenes of clerical life” were published in blackwood's magazine in , and it was in connection with them that the famous pseudonyme,“ george eliot,” was first used. that it was a pen-name was generally suspected at the time, and guesses as to the author's identity were rife; but the prevalent impression was that it was the name, real or assumed, of a man, and even so astute a critic as the late john blackwood, editor of the magazine, was completely deceived. charles dickens, curiously enough, appears to have been the only one who penetrated the disguise at once. he wrote to the pub. lisher a private letter, praising “her” genius, and would not give up his opinion even in face of a loyal, though false, correction. he detected the woman's touch by what he regarded as the infallible sign, that her female characters were far more perfect than her men's. “she saw only the outside of the latter; while, in treating her own sex, she seemed to know their very hearts.” and this one fact, be it observed, refutes much that has been said about the “masculine” or “sexless” character of biographical memoir. xxv george eliot's genius. only a woman could have elabor- ated such a hero as daniel deronda, or felix holt, or even as adam bede, with the expectation that he would be accepted and admired; but her heroines --- her female characters from first to last — are drawn with the serene ürmness of omniscience. the success of “the scenes of clerical life” when published in book form, in , though not extraordi- nary in a commercial sense, was sufficient, as the author herself said afterwards, to put an end to her reviews, and to convince her that mr. spencer and mr. lewes were right in thinking her vocation to be imaginative fiction. she must have thrown herself into her new work with a good deal of ardor, for four elaborate novels from her pen were issued in rapid succession : “ adam bede” in , “ the mill on the floss” in , “silas marner” in , and “romola” (first published as a serial in the cornhill magazine ) in . owing, perhaps, to the long intervals between her later stories, it has been the custom to speak of george eliot as a very slow as well as a very painstaking writer ; but even when judged by the modern standard of literary fecundity, a novel a year for a series of years must be regarded as a tolerably conclusive indication of imaginative fertility and executive readiness, — to say nothing of the quality of the novels thus produced. this, in truth, was george eliot's pro- lific period, and until she had exhausted the stores of observation already accumulated she seems to have been able to produce them with as much facility and rapidity as any of her rivals. later, when new materials had to be gathered and fresh experience acquired, the high xxvi biographical memoir. conscientiousness with which she regarded her work and her indifference to the ordinary stimuli of literary produc. tiveness, appear to have rendered the work of composition a slow, arduous, and most exhausting process. there was nothing on the titlepage of “ adam bede” to connect it with the “scenes of clerical life,” but the authorship was guessed at once, and the place of george eliot among the foremost english novelists was never afterward called in question. thackeray, in one of the earliest numbers of the cornhill magazine, hailed her as “a star of the first magnitude just risen on the horizon;" dickens, as usual, was generous and outspoken in his praise; and there were many who believed (and still believe) that the greatest novel that has been contributed to english literature had made its appearance. “the mill on the floss” and “silas marner” were received with equal popular favor, and set the critics to wrangling over their comparative merits. “romola” is said to have been refused by messrs. blackwood on the ground that, in spite of her name, it was not likely to prove suc- cessful; and, though some of her most competent and critical admirers rank it first among her works, their estimate was not wholly mistaken: it is not known and loved as are “adam bede,” “silas marner,” and “ the mill on the floss." its comparative want of success appears to have discouraged the author, and it was nearly four years before her next novel appeared, “ felix holt, the radical” ( ). this novel was very carefully constructed and contains some of her best writing, but it was liked by few, and is seldom spoken of in connection with her greatest works. biographical memoir. xxvii after the publication of “felix holt,” george eliot turned her attention for a time to poetry, and in appeared her most important achievement in this field, “ the spanish gypsy.” in the following year “agatha” was published, and “the legend of jubal and other poems” appeared in . it is understood that she regarded her poetry as of higher value than hier prose, but in this opinion she was not countenanced by either the critics or the general public. the predominant feel. ing with regard to “the spanish gypsy” was that it is essentially a novel rather than a poem, and that it would have been more attractive in prose than in verse. a few of the shorter poems will probably find a place in the anthologies, but except for her prose romances the fame of george eliot would be ephemeral indeed. two of these romances yet remain to be mentioned. “ middlemarch: a study in provincial life” appeared in , and in it the author went back once more to the scenes and days of her childhood, to the scenes already depicted in “ adam bede," “ the mill on the floss," “silas marner,” and “felix holt.” in a commercial sense, “middlemarch” was the most successful of all her works; but it was five years before she had elaborated the next and last of the great novels which bear her name, ---“daniel deronda,” published in . the only other work requiring mention -- and requiring it only in order to make the list complete — is “the impressions of theo- phrastus such,” which appeared in , a sort of literary hybrid, half novel and half didactic essay. turning again now from the literary work to the private life of george eliot, the remaining facts are very xxviii biographical memoir. scanty and not very well authenticated. among the small but brilliant circle which she met at dr. chapman's house, as we have already remarked, was mr. george henry lewes, who seems at a very early period to have assumed the position of her literary confidant and adviser. she told miss kate field on one occasion that she should never have ventured upon a novel if mr. lewes had not urged her to it, that all her manuscripts passed through his hands before they were given to the public, and that he was at once her critic and her inspira- tion. this was said in florence, shortly after the publi- cation of " adam bede,” when she was making a tour of the continent in company with mr. lewes. on their return to london they took up their residence together at the priory, north bank, regent's park, where they lived until the death of mr. lewes in november, . during all this period there was no breach of domestic concord, and by mr. lewes himself, and by the numerous friends of both, she was always called “mrs. lewes ;" yet it is now known that no formal marriage between them ever took place. the obstacle which prevented this was the existence of another mrs. lewes, whose legal right to her husband's name was technically secure, though she had forfeited all moral claims upon him. all that is definitely known as to the circumstances of this unhappy situation is that the wife of lewes eloped with a foreigner, and that he having abandoned her, and she expressing penitence for her misconduct, lewes received her back again. by british law this acted as a condonation of his wife's offence, and though she eloped again within a year, he was debarred from obtaining a biographical memoir. xxix divorcs from her, and thus enabling liimself to give his relations with george eliot the sanction of a formal marriage. at various times, as the years went on, it was reported and believed that, the first mrs. lewes being dead, such a ceremony had been performed; but this was disproved by the fact that, as executrix of mr. lewes's will, george eliot subscribed to the legal form as “ marian evans, spinster.” it is now known, moreover, that mrs. lewes survived the husband whom she had wronged, and is still living in london. if it lacked the ceremonial sanction, however, the con- nection appears to have lacked nothing else. entire mu- tual loyalty and the rarest form of domestic happiness — that which comes from perfect community of tastes and sympathies — appears to have been theirs. the defer- ential submissiveness with which george eliot bore herself toward mr. lewes, and the benefit which she considered herself to have derived from his influence, sometimes exposed both to criticism, — since her death, in one or two instances, to ridicule ; but while, from one point of view, there was something grotesque in a great original genius like george eliot bowing herself in hu- mility before a mere clever man of letters like lewes, surely, from another point of view, just this feminine touch was wanted to give dignity and elevation to their attachment. it excuses the woman, if it derogates from the artist. partly owing to the peculiarity of her position, but quite as much, doubtless, to her natural distaste for it, george eliot was rarely seen in general society. the sunday afternoon receptions at the priory were fre- xxx biographical memoir. quented by the cleverest men and women in london, and a special invitation to a reunion there was regarded as a rare and distinguished honor; but her own excur- sions into the great world were infrequent and reluctant. only music and art could draw her from her retirement. “at every 'private view,' at every fine classical concert, george eliot was sure to be present, dressed unobtru- sively and seemingly oblivious of every one about her.” her personal appearance has been often described, not always in terms that can be made to agree with each other. she was above the medium height, large and somewhat angular in form, but singularly graceful in movement and self-possessed in carriage. her face was so plain as almost to repel the beholder at first, but the sense of this wore off on acquaintance. her great attrac- tions were a pair of most luminous and expressive eyes, an exquisitely low and musical voice, such as shakspeare declared to be an excellent thing in woman, and a pecul- iarly sweet and winning smile. her conversation was not brilliant, not often animated, but it was impressive by reason of her earnestness and the opulent knowledge which it revealed. any thing savoring of egotism was entirely absent, and her sensitiveness on the subject of her own works was so extreme that she would not tolerate the faintest allusion to them in general society. after the death of mr. lewes, george eliot con- tinued for a year and a half to reside quietly at the priory, but on may , , the world was astonished by the unheralded announcement that on the previous day she had been married at the fashionable church o st. george's, hanover square, to john walter cross, biographical memoir. xxxi of weybridge, surrey. all that could be learned about mr. cross was that he was senior partner in a london banking firm, that he was twenty years younger than his wife, and that he had been a frequent visitor of the lewes bousehold. on their return from the bridal tour to venice, they settled down at mr. cross's house at st. john's wood, chelsea, and the world again lost sight of george eliot until the tidings of her sudden death caused a painful shock of surprise and regret. she died on the evening of dec. , , of pericarditis, the seriousness of her symptoms not having been discovered until a few hours before her death. this is not the place, of course, for an estimate of george eliot's genius or for an analysis of the quality of her works; but one feature of the latter may be re- ferred to as justifying the following collection of extracts. no other writer of fiction has given utterance to so many of those pithy, pungent, and epigrammatic “sayings” which have become part of the current coin of conver- sation and literature, and the source of which is in many cases forgotten. on almost every page of her stories is to be found some wise thought finely expressed, some beautiful sentiment tenderly clothed, some pointed wit- ticism exquisitely turned, or some bit of humor genially exhibited ; and, more easily than is commonly the case, these are susceptible of being separated without damage from their context. scenes from clerical life u amos barton. in every parting there is an image of death. o the anguish of that thought that we can never atone to our dead for the stinted affection we gave them, for the light answers we returned to their plaints or their pleadings, for the little reverence we showed to that sacred human soul that lived so close to us, and was the divinest thing god had given us to know! love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the dominion of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish. what is opportunity to the man who can't use it? an unfecundated egg, which the waves of time wasb away into nonentity. a tallow dip, of the long-eight description, is an ex- cellent thing in the kitchen candlestick, and betty's nose and eye are not sensitive to the difference be- tween it and the finest wax; it is only when you stick it in the silver candlestick, and introduce it into the ( ) amos barton. drawing-room, that it seems plebeian, dim, and in. effectual. alas for the worthy man who, like that candle, gets himself into the wrong place! it is only the very largest souls who will be able to appreciate and pity him — who will discern and love sincerity of purpose amid all the bungling feebleness of achieve- - ment. nice distinctions are troublesome. it is so much easier to say that a thing is black, than to discriminate the particular shade of brown, blue, or green, to which it really belongs. it is so much easier to make up your mind that your neighbor is good for nothing, than to enter into all the circumstances that would oblige you to modify that opinion. at least eighty out of a hundred of your adult male fellow-britons returned in the last census are neither extraordinarily silly, nor extraordinarily wicked, nor extraordinarily wise; their eyes are neither deep and liquid with sentiment, nor sparkling with suppressed witticisms; they have probably had no hairbreadth escapes or thrilling adventures; their brains are cer- tainly not pregnant with genius, and their passions have not manifested themselves at all after the fashion of a volcano. they are simply men of complexions more or less muddy, whose conversation is more or less bald and disjointed. yet these commonplace peo- ple- many of them - bear a conscience, and have felt the sublime prompting to do the painful right; they have their unspoken sorrows, and their sacred joys; amos barton their hearts have perhaps gone out towards their first- born, and they have mourned over the irreclaimable dead. nay, is there not a pathos in their very insig. nificance - in our comparison of their dim and narrow existence with the glorious possibilities of that human nature which they share? depend upon it, you would gain unspeakably if you would learn with me to see some of the poetry and the pathos, the tragedy and the comedy, lying in the ex- perience of a human soul that looks out through dull gray eyes, and that speaks in a voice of quite ordinary tones. i have all my life had a sympathy for mongrel un- gainly dogs, who are nobody's pets; and i would rather surprise one of them by a pat and a pleasant morsel, than meet the condescending advances of the loveliest skye-terrier who has his cushion by my lady's chair. that, to be sure, is not the way of the world: if it happens to see a fellow of fine proportions and aris- tocratic mien, who makes no faux pas, and wins golden opinions from all sorts of men, it straightway picks out for him the loveliest of unmarried women, and says, there would be a proper match! not at all, say i: let that successful, well-shapen, discreet and able gentleman put up with something less than the best in the matrimonial department; and let the sweet woman go to make sunshine and a soft pillow for the poor devil whose legs are not models, whose efforts are often blunders, and who in general gets more kicks than half-pence. amos barton. what mortal is there of us, who would find his sat- isfaction enhanced by an opportunity of comparing the picture he presents to himself of his own doings, with the picture they make on the mental retina of his neighbors? we are poor plants buoyed up by the air-vessels of our own conceit: alas for us, if we get a few pinches that empty us of that windy self-subsist- ence! the very capacity for good would go out of us. for, tell the most impassioned orator, suddenly, that his wig is awry, or his shirt-lap hanging out, and that he is tickling people by the oddity of his person, instead of thrilling them by the energy of his periods, and you would infallibly dry up the spring of his elo- quence. that is a deep and wide saying, that no miracle can be wrought without faith — without the worker's faith in himself, as well as the recipient's faith in him. and the greater part of the worker's faith in himself is made up of the faith that others be- lieve in him. let me be persuaded that my neighbor jenkins con- siders me a blockhead, and i shall never shine in con- versation with him any more. let me discover that the lovely phæbe thinks my squint intolerable, and i shall never be able to fix her blandly with my discu. gaged eye again. thank heaven, then, that a little illusion is left to lis, to enable us to be useful and agreeable - that we don't know exactly what our friends think of us — that the world is not made of looking-glass, to show us just the figure we are making, and just what is going on dehind our backs! by the help of dear friendly illu- amos barton. sion, we are able to dream that we are charming - and our faces wear a becoming air of self-possession; we are able to dream that other men admire our tal- ents - and our benignity is undisturbed; we are able to dream that we are doing much good — and we do a little. end of “amos barton.” mr. gilfil's love-story. it is with men as with trees: if you lop off their finest branches, into which they were pouring their young life-juice, the wounds will be healed over with some rough boss, some odd excrescence; and what might have been a grand tree expanding into liberal shade, is but a whimsical misshapen trunk. many an irritating fault, many an unlovely oddity, has come of a hard sorrow, which has crushed and mained the nature just when it was expanding into plenteous beauty; and the trivial erring life which we visit with our harsh blame, may be but as the unsteady motion of a man whose best limb is withered. alas, alas! we poor mortals are often little better than wood-ashes — there is small sign of the sap, and the leafy freshness, and the bursting buds that were once there; but wherever we see wood-ashes, we know that all that early fulness of life must have been i, at least, hardly ever look at a bent old man, or a wizened old woman, but i see also, with my mind's eye, that past of which they are the shrunken rem- nant, and the unfinished romance of rosy cheeks and bright eyes seems sometimes of feeble interest and ( ) mr. gilfil's love-story. significance, compared with that drama of hope and love which has long ago reached its catastrophe, and left the poor soul, like a dim and dusty stage, with all its sweet garden-scenes and fair perspectives over- turned and thrust out of sight. rich brown locks, passionate love, and deep early sorrow, strangely different as they seem from the scanty white hairs, the apathetic content, and the un- expectant quiescence of old age, are but part of the same life's journey; as the bright italian plains, with the sweet addio of their beckoning maidens, are part of the same day's travel that brings us to the other side of the mountain, between the sombre rocky walls and among the guttural voices of the valais. the inexorable ticking of the clock is like the throb of pain to sensations made keen by a sickening fear. and so it is with the great clockwork of nature. daisies and buttercups give way to the brown waving grasses, tinged with the warm red sorrel; the waving grasses are swept away, and the meadows lie like emeralds set in the bushy hedgerows; the tawny- tipped corn begins to bow with the weight of the full ear; the reapers are bending amongst it, and it soon stands in sheaves; then, presently the patches of yellow stubble lie side by side with streaks of dark- red earth, which the plough is turning up in prepara- tion for the new-thrashed seed. and this passage froin beauty to beauty, which to the happy is like the flow of a melody, measures for many a human heart mr. qilfil's love-story. the approach of foreseen anguish - seems hurrying on the moment when the shadow of dread will be fol- lowed up by the reality of despair. all earthly things have their lull: even on nights when the most unappeasable wind is raging, there will be a moment of stillness before it crashes among the boughs again, and storms against the windows, and howls like a thousand lost demons through the key- holes. a mother dreads no memories—those shadows have all melted away in the dawn of baby's smile. among all the many kinds of first love, that which begins in childish companionship is the strongest and most enduring: when passion comes to unite its force to long affection, love is at its spring-tide. in the love of a brave and faithful man there is always a strain of maternal tenderness; he gives out again those beams of protecting fondness which were shed on him as he lay on his mother's knee. the delicate-tendrilled plant must have something to cling to. human longings are perversely obstinate; and to the man whose mouth is watering for a peach, it is of no use to offer the largest vegetable marrow. air. gilfil's love-story. to minds on the shepperton level it is repetition, not novelty, that produces the strongest effect; and phrases, like tunes, are a long time making themselves at home in the brain. “ignorance,” says ajax, “is a painless evil”; so, i should think, is dirt, considering the merry faces that go along with it. animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms. there are few of us that are not rather ashamed of our sins and follies as we look out on the blessed morning sunlight, which comes to us like a bright- winged angel beckoning us to quit the old path of vanity that stretches its dreary length behind us. it is a wonderful moment, the first time we stand by one who has fainted, and witness the fresh birth of consciousness spreading itself over the blank features, like the rising sunlight on the alpine summits that lay ghastly and dead under the leaden twilight. a slight shudder, and the frost-bound eyes recover their liquid light; for an instant they show the inward semi-con- sciousness of an infant's; then, with a little start, they open wider and begin to look ; the present is visible, but only as a strange writing, and the interpreter. memory is not yet there. mr. gilfils love-story. we have all our secret sins; and if we knew our. selves, we should not judge each other harshly.' our thoughts are often worse than we are, just as they are often better than we are. and god sees us as we are altogether, not in separate feelings or actions, as our fellow-men see us. we are always doing each other injustice, and thinking better or worse of each other than we deserve, because we only hear and see separate words and actions. we don't see each other's whole nature.' we can hardly learn humillty and tenderness enough except by suffering.' th’ yoong men noo-a-deys, the’re poor squashy things — the looke well anoof, but the woon't wear, the woon't wear. end of “mr. gilfil's love-story." janet's repentance. the golden moments in the stream of life rush past as, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. always there is seed being sown silently and un- seen, and everywhere there come sweet flowers with: out our foresight or labor. we reap what we sow, but nature has love over and above that justice, and gives us shadow and blossom and fruit that spring from no planting of ours. in the man whose childood has known caresses there is always a fibre of memory that can be touched to gentle issues. there is a power in the direct glance of a sincere and loving human soul, which will do more to dissi- pate prejudice and kindle charity than the most elab- orate arguments. the tale of the divine pity was never yet believed from lips that were not felt to be moved by human pity. ) janet's repentavce. there is an unspeakable blending of sadness and sweetness in the smile of a face sharpened and paled by slow consumption. worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral. they have the same effect of grating incongruity as the sound of a coarse voice breaking the solemn silence of night. there are moments when by some strange impulse we contradict our past selves — fatal moments, when a fit of passion, like a lava stream, lays low the work of half our lives. our habitual life is like a wall hung with pictures, which has been shone on by the suns of many years; take one of the pictures away, and it leaves a definite blank space, to which our eyes can never turn without a sensation of discomfort. nay, the involuntary loss of any familiar object almost always brings a chill as from an evil omen; it seems to be the first finger- shadow of advancing death. in those distant days, as in all other times and places where the mental atmosphere is changing, and men are inhaling the stimulus of new ideas, folly often mistook itself for wisdom, ignorance gave itself airs of knowledge, and selfishness, turning its eyes up- ward, called itself religion. religious ideas have the fate of melodies, which, janet's repentance. once set afloat in the world, are taken up by all sorts of instruments, some of them wofully coarse, feeble, or out of tune, until people are in danger of crying out that the melody itself is detestable. opposition may become sweet to a man when he has christened it persecution: a self-obtrusive, over-hasty reformer complacently disclaiming all merit, while his friends call him a martyr, has not in reality a career the most arduous to the fleshly mind. the strong emotions from which the life of a human being receives a new bias, win their victory as the sea wins his : though their advance may be sure, they will often, after a mightier wave than usual, seem to roll back so far as to lose all the ground they had made. nemesis is lame, but she is of colossal stature, like the gods; and sometimes, while her sword is not yet unsheathed, she stretches out her huge left arm and grasps her victim. the mighty hand is invisible, but the victim totters under the dire clutch. what scene was ever commonplace in the descend- ing sunlight, when color has awakened from its noon- day sleep, and the long shadows awe us like a disclosed presence? above all, what scene is commonplace to the eye that is filled with serene gladness, and bright- ens all things with its own joy? when we are suddenly released from an acute ab- janet's repentance. sorbing bodily pain, our heart and senses leap out in new freedom; we think even the noise of streets har- monious, and are ready to hug the tradesman who is wrapping up our change. it is a sad weakness in us, after all, that the thought of a man's death hallows him anew to us; as if life were not sacred too — as if it were comparatively a light thing to fail in love and reverence to the brother who has to climb the whole toilsome steep with us, and all our tears and tenderness were due to the one who is spared that hard journey. the first condition of human goodness is something to love; the second, something to reverence. it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession. the impulse to confession almost always requires the presence of a fresh ear and a fresh heart: and in our moments of spiritual need, the man to whom we have no tie but our common nature, seems nearer to us than mother, brother, or friend. our daily familiar life is but a hiding of ourselves from each other behind a screen of trivial words and deeds, and those who sit with us at the same hearth are often the farthest off from the deep human soul within us, full of unspoken evil and unacted good. janet's repentance. blessed influence of one true loving human soul on another! not calculable by algebra, not deducible by logic, but mysterious, effectual, mighty as the hidden process by which the tiny seed is quickened, and bursts forth into tall stem and broad leaf, and glowing tasseled flower. ideas are often poor ghosts; our sun-filled eyes cannot discern them; they pass athwart us in thin vapor, and cannot make themselves felt. but sometimes they are made flesh; they breathe upon us with warm breath, they touch us with soft responsive hands, they look at us with sad sincere eyes, and speak to us in appealing tones; they are clothed in a living human soul, with all its conflicts, its faith, and its love. then their presence is a power, then they shake us like a passion, and we are drawn after them with gentle compulsion, as flame is drawn to llame. surely, surely the only true knowledge of our fellow- man is that which enables us to feel with him — which gives us a fine ear for the heart-pulses that are beating under the mere clothes of circumstance and opinion. our subtlest analysis of schools and sects must miss the essential truth, unless it be lit up by the love toat sees in all forms of human thought and work, the lifc- and-death struggles of separate human beings. do not philosophic doctors tell us that we are unable to discern so much as a tree, except by an un- conscious cunning which combines many past and separate sensations : that no one sense is independent janet's repentance. of another, so that in the dark we can hardly taste a fricasee, or tell whether our pipe is alight or not, and the most intelligent boy, if accommodated with claws or hoofs, instead of fingers, would be likely to remain on the lowest form? if so, it is easy to understand that our discernment of men's motives must depend on the completeness of the elements we can bring from our own susceptibility and our own experience. see to it, friend, before you pronounce a too hasty judg- ment, that your own moral sensibilities are not of a hoofed or clawed character. the keenest eye will not serve, unless you have the delicate fingers, with their subtle nerve filaments, which elude scientific lenses, and lose themselves in the invisible world of human sensations. those stirrings of the more kindly, healthy sap of human feeling, by which goodness tries to get the upper hand in us whenever it seems to have the slight- est chance - on sunday mornings, perhaps, when we are set free from the grinding hurry of the week, and take the little three-year-old on our knee at breakfast to share our egg and muffin; in moments of trouble, when death visits our roof, or illness makes us de- pendent on the tending hand of a slighted wife; in quiet talks with an aged mother, of the days when we stood at her knee with our first picture-book, or wrote her loving letters from school. the strongest heart will faint sometimes under the feeling that enemies are bitter, and that friends only janet's repentance. know half its sorrows. the most resolute soul will now and then cast back a yearning look in treading the rough mountain-path, away from the greensward and laughing voices of the valley. the daylight changes the aspect of misery to us, as of everything else. in the night it presses on our imagination — the forms it takes are false, fitful, ex- aggerated : in broad day it sickens our sense with the dreary persistence of definite measurable reality. the man who looks with ghastly horror on all his property aflame in the dead of night, has not half the sense of destitution he will have in the morning, when he walks over the ruins lying blackened in the pitiless sunshine. it was probably a hard saying to the pharisees, that “there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that re- penteth, than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance." and certain ingenious philos- ophers of our own day must surely take offence at a joy so entirely out of correspondence with arithmetical proportion. but a heart that has been taught by its own sore struggles to bleed for the woes of another- that has “learned pity through suffering" - is likely to find very imperfect satisfaction in the “balance of happiness," "doctrine of compensations," and other short and easy methods of obtaining thorough com. placency in the presence of pain; and for such a heart that saying will not be altogether dark. the emo- tions, i have observed, are but slightly influenced by arithmetical considerations: the mother, when her janet's repentance. na sweet lisping little ones have all been taken from her oue after another, and she is hanging over her last dead babe, finds small consolation in the fact that the tiny dimpled corpse is but one of a necessary average, and that a thousand other babes brought into the world at the same time are doing well, and are likely to live; and if you stood beside that mother - if you knew her pang and shared it, it is probable you would be equally unable to see a ground of complacency in statistics. doubtless a complacency resting on that basis is highly rational; but emotion, i fear, is obstinately irrational: it insists on caring for individuals; it abso- lutely refuses to adopt the quantitative view of human anguish, and to admit that thirteen happy lives are a set-off against twelve miserable lives, which leaves a clear balance on the side of satisfaction. this is the inherent imbecility of feeling, and one must be a great philosopher to have got quite clear of all that, and to have emerged into the serene air of pure intellect, in which it is evident that individuals really exist for no other purpose than that abstractions may be drawn from them - abstractions that may rise from heaps of ruined lives like the sweet savor of a sacrifice in the nostrils of philosophers, and of a philosophic deity. and so it comes to pass that for the man who knows sympathy because he has known sorrow, that old, old saying about the joy of angels over the repentant sin- ner outweighing their joy over the ninety-nine just, has a meaning which does not, jar with the language of his own heart. it only tells him, that for angels too there janet's repentance. is a transcendent value in human pain, which refuses to be settled by equations; that the eyes of angels too are turned away from the serene happiness of the righteous to bend with yearning pity on the poor erring soul wandering in the desert where no water is; that for angels too the misery of one casts so tre- mendous a shadow as to eclipse the bliss of ninety- nine. no wonder the sick-room and the lazaretto have so often been a refuge from the tossings of intellectual doubt - a place of repose for the worn and wounded spirit. here is a duty about which all creeds and all philosophies are at one: here, at least, the conscience will not be dogged by doubt, the benign impulse will not be checked by adverse theory: here you may begin to act without settling one preliminary question. to moisten the sufferer's parched lips through the long night-watches, to bear up the drooping head, to lift the helpless limbs, to divine the want that can find no utterance beyond the feeble motion of the hand or beseeching glance of the eye - these are offices that demand no self-questionings, no casuistry, no assent to propositions, no weighing of consequences. within the four walls where the stir and glare of the world are shut out, and every voice is subdued – where a human being lies prostrate, thrown on the tender mercies of his fellow, the moral relation of man to man is reduced to its utmost clearness and simplicity : bigotry cannot confuse it, theory cannot pervert it, passion, awed into quiescence can neither pollute nor perturb it. as we janet's repentance. bend over the sick-bed, all the forces of our nature rush towards the channels of pity, of patience, and of love, and sweep down the miserable choking drift of our quarrels, our debates, our would-be wisdom, and our clamorous selfish desires. this blessing of serene freedom from the importunities of opinion lies in all sir ple direct acts of mercy, and is one source of that sweet calm which is often felt by the watcher in the sick-room, even when the duties there are of a hard and terrible kind. the idea of duty, that recognition of something to be lived for beyond the mere satisfaction of self, is to the moral life what the addition of a great central ganglion is to animal life. no man can begin to mould himself on a faith or an idea without rising to a higher order of experience: a principle of subordination, of self-mastery, has been introduced into his nature; he is no longer a mere bundle of impressions, desires, and impulses. the blessed work of helping the world forward, happily does not wait to be done by perfect men; and i should imagine that neither luther nor john bunyan, for example, would have satisfied the modern demand for an ideal hero, who believes nothing but what is true, feels nothing but what is exalted, and does noth- ing but what is graceful. the real heroes, of god's making, are quite different: they have their natural heritage of love and conscience which they drew in with their mother's milk; they know one or two of janet's repentance. those deep spiritual truths which are only to be won by long wrestling with their own sins and their own sor- rows; they have earned faith and strength so far as they have done genuine work; but the rest is dry barren theory, blank prejudice, vague hearsay. their insight is blended with mere opinion; their sympathy is perhaps confined in narrow conduits of doctrine, instead of flowing forth with the freedom of a stream that blesses every weed in its course; obstinacy or self-assertion will often interfuse itself with their grandest impulses; and their very deeds of self-sac- rifice are sometimes only the rebound of a passionate egoism. convenience, that admirable branch system from the main line of self-interest, makes us all fellow-helpers in spite of adverse resolutions. it is probable that no speculative or theological hatred would be ultimately strong enough to resist the persuasive power of con- venience: that a latitudinarian baker, whose bread was honorably free from alum, would command the custom of any dyspeptic puseyite; that an arminian with the toothache would prefer a skilful calvinistic dentist to a bungler stanch against the doctrines of election and final perseverance, who would be likely to break the tooth in his head; and that a plymouth brother, who had a well-furnished grocery shop in a favorable vicinage, would occasionally have the pleas- ure of furnishing sugar or vinegar to orthodox fam- ilies that found themselves unexpectedly "out of" these indispensable commodities. janet's repentance. the drowning man, urged by the supreme agony, lives in an instant through all his happy and unhappy past: when the dark flood has fallen like a curtain, memory, in a single moment, sees the drama acted over again. and even in those earlier crises, which are but types of death – when we are cut off abruptly from the life we have known, when we can no longer expect to-morrow to resemble yesterday, and find our- selves by some sudden shock on the confines of the unknown - there is often the same sort of lightning- flash through the dark and unfrequented chambers of memory. in this artificial life of ours, it is not often we see a human face with all a heart's agony in it, uncontrolle, by self-consciousness; when we do see it, it startles us as if we had suddenly waked into the real world of which this every-day one is but a puppet-show copy. janet had that enduring beauty which belongs to pure majestic outline and depth of tint. sorrow and neglect leave their traces on such beauty, but it thrills us to the last, like a glorious greek temple, which, for all the loss it has suffered from time and barbarous hands, has gained a solemn history, and fills our imag- ination the more because it is incomplete to the sense. there are unseen elements which often frustrate our wisest calculations - which raise up the sufferer from the edge of the grave, contradicting the prophecies of the clear-sighted physician, and fulfilling the blind janet's repentance. clinging hopes of affection; such unseen elements mr. tryan called the divine will, and filled up the margin of ignorance which surrounds all our knowledge with the feelings of trust and resignation. perhaps the pro- foundest philosophy could hardly fill it up better. history, we know, is apt to repeat herself, and to foist very old incidents upon us with only a slight change of costume. from the time of xerxes clown- wards, we have seen generals playing the braggadocio at the outset of their campaigns, and conquering the enemy with the greatest ease in after-dinner specches. but events are apt to be in disgusting discrepancy with the anticipations of the most ingenious tacticians; the difliculties of the expedition are ridiculously at variance with able calculations; the enemy has the impudence not to fall into confusion, as had been reasonably ex. pected of him; the mind of the gallant general begins to be distracted by news of intrigues against him at home, and notwithstanding the handsome compliments he paid to providence as his undoubted patron before setting out, there seema every probability that the te deums will be all on the nther side. heaven knows what would become of our socialit- if we never visited people we speak ill of: we should live, like egyptian hermits, in crowded solitude. errors look so very ugly in persons of small means - one feels they are taking quite a liberty in going astray; whereas people of fortune may naturally in- janet's repentance. dulge in a few delinquencies. "they've got the money for it,” as the girl said of her mistress who had made herself ill with pickled salmon. color blindness, which may mistake drab for scarlet, is better than total blindness, which sees no distinction of color at all. hatred is like fire - it makes even light rubbish deadly. i've nothing to say again' her piety, my dear; but i know very well i shouldn't like her to cook my victual. when a man comes in hungry an' tired, piety won't feed him, i reckon. hard carrots ’ull lie heavy on his stomach, piety or no piety. i called in one day when she was dishin' up mr. tryan's dinner, an' i could see the potatoes was as watery as watery. it's right enough to be speritial - i'm no enemy to that; but i like my potatoes mealy. i don't see as anybody ’ull go to heaven the sooner for not digestin' their dinner - providin' they don't die sooner, as mayhap mr. tryan will, poor dear man." i'd rether given ten shillin' an' help a man to stand on his own legs, nor pay half-a-crown to buy him a parish crutch; it's the ruination on him if he once goes to the parish. i've see'd many a time, if you help a man wi’ a present in a nсeborly way, it sweetens his blood - he thinks it kind on you; but the parish shillins turn it sour - he niver thinks 'em enough." janet's repentance. any coward can fight a battle when he's sure of win- ning; but give me the man who has pluck to fight when he's sure of losing. don't let us rejoice in punishment, even when the hand of god alone inflicts it. the best of us are but poor wretches just saved from shipwreck: can we feel anything but awe and pity when we see a fellow-pas- senger swallowed by the waves? as long as we set up our own will and our own wls- dom against god's, we make that wall between us and his love which i have spoken of just now. but as soon as we lay ourselves entirely at his feet, we have enough light given us to guide our owu steps; as the foot-soldier who hears nothing of the councils that de- termine the course of the great battle he is in, hears plainly enough the word of command which he must himself obey. my mind showed me it was just such as i - the help- less who feel themselves helpless - that god specially invites to come to him, and offers all the riches of his salvation : not forgiveness only; forgiveness would be worth little if it left us under the powers of our evil passions; but strength - that strength which enables us to conquer sin.“ end of “ janet's repentance.” adam bede adam bede. what greater thing is there for two hunan souls, than to feel that they are joined for life — to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sor- row, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting? that adoration which a young man gives to a woman whom he feels to be greater and better than himself, is hardly distinguishable from religious feeling. what deep and worthy love is so? whether of woman or child, or art or music. our caresses, our tender words, our still rapture under the influence of autumn sunsets, or pillared vistas, or calm majestic statues, or beetho- ven symphonies, all bring with them the consciousness that they are mere waves and ripples in an unfathom- able ocean of love and beauty; our emotion in its keenest moment passes from expression into silence, our love at its highest flood rushes beyond its object, and loses itself in the sense of divine mystery. is it any weakness, pray, to be wrought on by ex- quisite music?— to feel its wondrous harmonies search- ing the subtlest windings of your soul, the delicate fibres of life where no memory can penetrate, and ( ) adam bede. binding together your whole being past and present in one unspeakable vibration : melting you in one moment with all the tenderness, all the love that has been scat- tered through the toilsome years, concentrating in one emotion of heroic courage or resignation all the hard- learnt lessons of self-renouncing sympathy, blending your present joy with past sorrow, and your present sorrow with all your past joy? if not, then neither is it a weakness to be so wrought upon by the exquisite curves of a woman's cheek and neck and arms, by the liquid depths of her beseeching eyes, or the sweet childish pout of her lips. for the beauty of a lovely woman is like music: what can one say more? beauty has an expression beyond and far above the one wo- man's soul that it clothes, as the words of genius have a wider meaning than the thought that prompted them : it is more than a woman's love that moves us in a wo- inan's eyes — it seems to be a far-off mighty love that has come near to us, and made speech for itself there; the rounded neck, the dimpled arm, move us by some- thing more than their prettiness — by their close kin- ship with all we have known of tenderness and peace. the noblest nature sees the most of this impersonal expression in beauty (it is needless to say that there are gentlemen with whiskers dyed and undyed who see none of it whatever), and for this reason, the noblest nature is often the most blinded to the character of the one woman's soul that the beauty clothes. whence, i fear, the tragedy of human life is likely to continue for a long time to come, in spite of mental philosophers, adan bede. who are ready with the best receipts for avoiding all mistakes of the kind. the first sense of mutual love excludes other feel. ings; it will have the soul all to itself. how is it that the poets have said so many fine things about our first love, so few about our later love? are their first poems their best? or are not those the best which come from their fuller thought, their larger ex: perience, their decper-rooted affections ? the boy's flute-like voice has its own spring charm; but the man should yield a richer, deeper music. our love is inwrought in our enthusiasm as elec- tricity is inwrought in the air, exalting its power by a subtle presence. the man who awakes the wondering tremulous pas- sion of a young girl always thinks her affectionate. we look at the one little woman's face we love, as we look at the face of our mother earth, and see all sorts of answers to our own yearnings. love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves. it is generally a feminine eye that first detects the adan bede. moral deficiencies hidden under the “ dear deceit ” of beauty. there are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in varicus styles, from the desperate to the sheepish; but there is one order of beauty which seenis made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women. it is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and to engage in conscious mischief – a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush for inability to comprehend the state of mind into which it throws you. men's muscles move better when their souls are making merry music. no story is the same to us after the lapse of time; or rather, we who read it are no longer the same in- terpreters. so much of our early gladness vanishes utterly from our memory: we can never recall the joy with which we laid our heads on our mother's bosom or rode on our father's back in childhood; doubtless that joy is wrought up into our nature, as the sunlight of long- past mornings is wrought up in the soft mellowness of the apricot; but it is gone forever from our imag- ination, and we can only believe in the joy of childhood. ddan bede. but the first glad moment in our first love is a vision which returns to us to the last, and brings with it a thrill of feeling intense and special as the recurrent sensation of a sweet odor breathed in a far-off hour of happiness. it is a memory that gives a more ex- quisite touch to tenderness, that feeds the madness of jealousy, and adds the last keenness to the agony of despair. do we not all agree to call rapid thought and noble impulse by the name of inspiration? after our sub- tlest analysis of the mental process, we must still say that our highest thoughts and our best deeds are all given to us. there is a sort of fascination in all sincere unpre- meditated eloquence, which opens to one the inward drama of the speaker's emotions. all honor and reverence to the divine beauty of form! let us cultivate it to the utmost in men, wo- men, and children – in our gardens and in our houses. but let us love that other beauty too, which lies in no secret of proportion, but in the secret of deep human sympathy. paint us an angel, if you can, with a float. ing violet robe, and a face paled by the celestial light; paint us yet oftener a madonna, turning her mild face upward and opening her arms to welcome the divine glory; but do not impose on us any esthetic rules which shall banish from the region of art those old women scraping carrots with their work-worn hands, adam bede. those heavy clowns taking holiday in a dingy pot- house, those roun led backs and stupid weather-beaten faces that have bent over the spade and done the rough work of the world – those homes with their tin pans, their brown pitchers, their rough curs, and their clus- ters of onions. in this world there are so many of these common coarse people, who have no picturesquc sentimental wretchedness! it is so needful we should remember their existence, else we may happen to leave them quite out of our religion and philosophy, and frame lofty theories which only fit a world of extremes. therefore let art always remind us of them; therefore let us always have men ready to give the loving pains of a life to the faithful representing of commonplace things — men who see beauty in these commonplace things, and delight in showing low kindly the light of heaven falls on them. there are few prophets in the world; few sublimely beautiful women; few heroes. i can't afford to give all my love and reverence to such rarities: i want a great deal of those feelings for my every-day fellow-men, especially for the few in the fore- ground of the great multitude, whose faces i know, whose hands i touch, for whom i have to make way with kindly courtesy. neither are picturesque laz- zaroni or romantic criminals halt so frequent as your common laborer, who gets his own bread, and eats it vulgarly but creditably with his own pocket-knife. it is more needful that i should have a fibre of sympathy connecting me with that vulgar citizen who weighs out my sugar in a vilely-assorted cravat and waistcoat, than with the handsomest rascal in red scarf and greep adai bede. feathers; – more needful that my heart should swell with loving admiration at some trait of gentle good- ness in the faulty people who sit at the same hearth with me, or in the clergyman of my own parish, who is perhaps rather too corpulent, and in other respects is not an oberlin or a tillotson, than at the deeds of heroes whom i shall never know except by hearsay, or at the sublimest abstract of all clerical graces that was ever conceived by an able novelist. - falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult. the pencil is conscious of a delightful facility in drawing a griffin - the longer the claws and the larger the wings, the better : but that marvellous facility which we mistook for genius is apt to forsake us when we want to draw a real unexaggerated lion. examine your words well and you will find that even when you have no motive to be false, it is a very hard thing to say the exact truth, even about your own immediate feelings - much harder than to say something fine about them which is not the exact truth. it is for this rare, precious quality of truthfulness that i delight in many dutch paintings, which lofty- minded people despise. i find a source of delicious sympathy in these faithful pictures of a monotonous homely existence, which has been the fate of so many more among my fellow-mortals than a life of pomp or of absolute indigence, of tragic suffering or of world- stirring actions. i turn, without shrinking, from cloud- borne angels, from prophets, sibyls, and heroic war- riors, to an old woman bending over her flower-pot, adam bede. or eating her solitary dinner, while the noonday light, softened perhaps by a screen of leaves, falls on her mob-cap, and just touches the rim of her spinning- wheel, and her stone jug, and all those cheap common things which are the precious necessaries of life to her; - or i turn to that village wedding, kept between four brown walls, where an awkward bridegroom opens the dance with a high-shouldered, broad-faced bride, while elderly and middle-aged friends look on, with very irregular noses and lips, and probably with quart-pots in their hands, but with an expression of unmistakable contentment and good-will. i would not, cven if i had the choice, be the clever novelist who could create a world so much better than this, in which we get up in the morning to do our daily work, that you would be likely to turn a harder, colder eye on the dusty streets and the common green fields - on the real breathing men and women, who can be chilled by your indifference, or injured by your prej. udice; who can be cheered and helped onward by your fellow-feeling, your forbearance, your outspoken, brave justice. human nature is lovable, and the way i have learnt something of its deep pathos, its sublime mysteries, has been by living a great deal among people more or less commonplace and vulgar, of whom you would perhaps hear nothing very surprising if you were to inquire about them in the neighborhoods where they dwelt. ten to one most of the small shopkeepers in adan bede. their vicinity saw nothing at all in them. for i have observed this remarkable coincidence, that the select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest. for example, i have often heard mr. gedge, the landlord of the royal oak, who used to turn a bloodshot eye on his neighbors in the village of shepperton, sum up his opinion of the people in his own parish — and they were all the peo. ple he knew - in these emphatic words : “ay, sir, i've said it often, and i'll say it again, they're a poor lot i' this parish - a poor lot, sir, big and little.” i think ho had a dim idea that if he could migrate to a distant parish, he might find neighbors worthy of him; and indeed he did subsequently transfer himself to the saracen's head, which was doing a thriving business in the back street of a neighboring market-town. but, oddly enough, he has found the people up that back street of precisely the same stamp as the inhabitants of shepperton - "a poor lot, sir, big and little, and them as comes for a go o’gin are no better than them as comes for a pint o' twopenny — a poor lot.” it is very pleasant to see some men turn round; pleasant as a sudden rush of warm air in winter, or the flash of firelight in the chill dusk. a peasant can no more help believing in a tradi. tional superstition than a horse can help trenibling when he sees a came). adai bede. we are often startled by the severity of mild people on exceptional occasions; the reason is, that mild people are most liable to be under the yoke of tradi- tional impressions. susceptible persons are more affected by a change of tone than by unexpected words. the vainest woman is never thoroughly conscious of her own beauty till she is loved by the man who sets her own passion vibrating in return. if you feed your young setter on raw flesh, how can you wonder at its retaining a relish for uncooked par tridge in after-life? i believe there have been men who have ridden a long way to avoid a rencontre, and then galloped hastily back lest they should miss it. it is the favorite strat- agem of our passions to sham a retreat, and to turn sharp round upon us at the moment we have made up our minds that the day is our own. our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds; and until we know what has been or will be the peculiar combination of outward with inward facts, which constitutes a man's critical actions, it will be better not to think ourselves wise about his char- acter. there is a terrible coercion in our deeds which may first turn the honest man into a deceiver, and then reconcile him to the change; for this reason - adan bede. that the second wrong presents itself to him in the guise of the only practicable right. the action which before commission has been seen with that blende common-sense and fresh untarnished feeling which is the healthy eye of the soul, is looked at afterwards with the lens of apologetic ingenuity, through which all things that men call beautiful and ugly are seen to be made up of textures very much alike. europe ad- justs itself to a fait accompli, and so does an individual character, – until the placid adjustment is disturbed by a convulsive retribution. the strength of the donkey mind lies in adopting is course inversely as the arguments urged, which, well considered, requires as great a mental force as the direct sequence. surely all other leisure is hurry compared with a sunny walk through the fields from “afternoon church,” – as such walks used to be in those old leisurely times, when the boat, gliding sleepily along the canal, was the newest locomotive wonder; when sunday books had most of them old brown-leather covers, and opened with remarkable precision always in one place. leisure is gone - gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and the pack-horses, and the slow wagons, and the pedlers, who brought bargains to the door on sunny afternoons. ingenious philosophers tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisure for mankind. do not believe them: it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in adaji bede. even idleness is eager now - eager for amusement : prone to excursion-trains, art-museums, periodical lit- erature, and exciting novels; prone even to scientific theorizing, and cursory peeps through microscopes. old leisure was quite a different personage: he only read one newspaper, innocent of leaders, and was frec from that periodicity of sensations which we call post- time. he was a contemplative, rather stout, gentle- man, of excellent digestion, – of quiet perceptions, undiseased by hypothesis : happy in his inability to know the causes of things, preferring the things them- selves. he lived chiefly in the country, among pleas- ant seats and homesteads, and was fond of sauntering by the fruit-tree wall, and scenting the apricots when they were warmed by the morning sunshine, or of sheltering himself under the orchard boughs at noon, when the summer pears were falling. he knew noth. ing of weck-day services, and thought none the worse of the sunday sermon if it allowed him to sleep from the text to the blessing - liking the afternoon service best, because the prayers were the shortest, and not ashamed to say so; for he had an easy, jolly conscience, broad-backed like himself, and able to carry a great deal of beer or port-wine, - not being made squeamish by doubts and qualms and lofy aspirations. life was not a task to him, but a sinecure: he fingered the guineas in his pocket, and ate his dinners, and slept the sleep of the irresponsible; for had he not kept up his charter by going to church on the sunday after- noons? fine old leisure! do not be severe upon him, and ada bede. judge him by our modern standard: he never went to exeter hall, or heard a popular preacher, or read tracts for the times or sartor resartus. nemesis can seldom forge a sword for herself out of cur consciences - out of the suffering we feel in the suffering we may have caused : there is rarely metal enough there to make an effective weapon. our moral sense learns the manners of good society, and smiles when others smile; but when some rude person gives rough names to our actions, she is apt to take part against us. women who are never bitter and resentful are often the most querulous; and if solomon was as wise as he is reputed to be, i feel sure that when he compared a contentious woman to a continual dropping on a very rainy day, he had not a vixen in his cye-a fury with long nails, acrid and selfish. depend upon it, he meant a good creature, who had no joy but in the happiness of the loved ones whom she contributed to make uncomfortable, putting by all the tid-bits for them, and spending nothing on herself. such a woman as lisbeth for example – at once patient and com- plaining, self-renouncing and exacting, brooding the live-long day over what happened yesterday, and what is likely to happen to-morrow, and crying very readily both at the good and the evil. one of the lessons a woman most rarely learns, is never to talk to an angry or a drunken man. adan bede. it is our habit to say that while the lower nature can never understand the higher, the higher nature com- mands a complete view of the lower. but i think the higher nature has to learn this comprehension, as we learn the art of vision, by a good deal of hard expe- rience, often with bruises and gashes incurred in taking things up by the wrong end, and fancying our space wider than it is. an ingenious web of probabilities is the surest screen a wise man can place between himself and the truth. deep, unspeakable suffering may well be called a baptism, a regeneration, the initiation into a new state. it is not ignoble to feel that the fuller life which a sad experience has brought us is worth our own per- sonal share of pain: surely it is not possible to feel otherwise, any more than it would be possible for a man with cataract to regret the painful process by which his dim blurred sight of men as trees walking had been exchanged for clear outline and effulgent day. the growth of higher feeling within us is like the growth of faculty, bringing with it a sense of iddel strength: we can no more wish to return to a narrower sympathy, than a painter or a musician can wish to return to his cruder manner, or a philosopher to his less complete formula. adam bede had not outlined his sorrow – had not adam bede. felt it slip froin him as a temporary burden, and leave him the same man again. do any of us? god forbid. it would be a poor result of all our anguish and our wrestling, it we won nothing but our old selves at the end of it- if we could return to the same blind loves, the same self-confident blame, the same light thoughts oľ human suffering, the same frivolous gossip over blighted human lives, the same fecble sense of that unknown towards which we have sent forth irrepres- sible cries in our loneliness. let us rather be thank- ful that our sorrow lives in us as an indestructible force, only changing its form, as forces do, and passing from pain into sympathy — the one poor word which in- cludes all our best insight and our best love. in our eagerness to explain impressions, we often lose our hold of the sympathy that comprehends them. if i have read religious history aright — faith, hope, and charity have not always been found in a direct ratio with a sensibility to the three concords; and it is possible, thank licaven! to have very erroneous theories and very sublime feelings. the raw bacon which clumsy molly spares from her own scanty store, that she may carry it to her neighbor's child to "stop the fits,” may be a piteously inefficacious remedy; but the generous stirring of neighborly kindness that prompted the deed has a beneficent radiation that is not lost. without this fellow-feeling, how are we to get enough adam bede. patience and charity towards our stumbling, falling companions in the long and changeful journey? and there is but one way in which a strong determined soul can learn it — by getting his heart-strings bound round the weak and erring, so that he must share not only the outward consequence of their error, but their in- ward suffering. that is a long and hard lesson. energetic natures, strong for all strenuous deeds, will often rush away from a hopeless sufferer, as if they were hard-hearted. it is the overmastering sense of pain that drives them. they shrink by an ungovernable instinct, as they would shrink from lac- eration. if a country beauty in clumsy shoes be only shallow. hearted enough, it is astonishing how closely her mental processes may resemble those of a lady in society and crinoline, who applies her refined intellect to the problem of committing indiscretions without compromising herself. pray how many of your well-wishers would decling to make a little gain out of you? your landlady is sincerely affected at parting with you, respects you highly, and will really rejoice if any one else is gener- ous to you; but at the same time she hands you a bill by which she gains as high a percentage as possible. we don't inquire too closely into character in the case of a handsome generous young fellow, who wili adam bede. have property enough to support numerous peccadilloes - who, if he should unfortunately break a man's legs in his rash driving, will be able to pension him hand- somely; or if he should happen to spoil a woman's ex- istence for her, will make it up to her with expensive bon-bons, packed up and directed by his own hand. would be ridiculous to be prying and analytic in such cases, as if one were inquiring into the character of a confidential clerk. we use round, general, gentle- manly epithets about a young man of birth and for- tune; and ladies, with that fine intuition which is the distinguishing attribute of their sex, see at once that he is “nice.” the chances are that he will go through life without scandalizing any one; a sea-worthy vessel that no one would refuse to insure. - in young, childish, ignorant souls there is constantly this blind trust in some unshapen chance; it is as hard to a boy or girl to believe that a great wretchedness will actually befall them, as to believe that they will die. we do not hear that memnon's statue gave forth its melody at all under the rushing of the mightiest wind, or in response to any other influence, divine or human, than certain short-lived sunbeams of morning; and we must learn to accommodate ourselves to the discovery that some of those cunningly-fashioned instruments called human souls have only a very limited range or music, and will not vibrate in the least under a touch adam bede. that fills others with tremulous rapture or quivering agony. yes, the actions of a little trivial soul like hetty's, struggling amidst the serious, sad destinies of a human being, are strange. so are the motions of a little vessel without ballast tossed about on a stormy sea. how pretty it looked with its parti-colored sail in the sunlight, moored in the quiet bay! “let that man bear the loss who loosed it from its moorings.” but that will not save the vessel -- the pretty thing that might have been a lasting joy. see the difference between the impression a man makes on you when you walk by his side in familiar talk, or look at him in his home, and the figure he makes when seen from a lofty historical level, or even in the eyes of a critical neighbor, who thinks of him as an embodied system or opinion rather than as a man. parson irwine was one of those men, and they are not the commonest, of whom we can know the best only by following them away from the market-place, the platform, and the pulpit, entering with them into their own homes, hearing the voice with which they speak to the young and aged about their own hearth- stone, and witnessing their thoughtful care for the every-day wants of every-day companions, who take all adam bede. their kindness as a matter of course, and not as a sub- ject for panegyric. it is better sometimes not to follow great reformers of abuses beyond the threshold of their homes. the secret of our emotions never lies in the bare object, but in its subtle relations to our own past: no wonder the secret escapes the unsympathizing observer, who might as well put on his spectacles to discern odors. that is the great advantage of dialogue on horse- back; it can be merged any minute into a trot or a canter, and one might have escaped from socrates himself in the saddle. the beginning of hardship is like the first taste of bitter food - it seems for a moment unbearable; yet, if there is nothing else to satisfy our hunger, we take another bite and find it possible to go on. there is no despair so absolute as that which comes with the first moments of our first great sorrow, when we have not yet known what it is to have suffered and be healed, to have despaired and to have recovered hope. lisbeth looked round with blank eyes at the dirt and confusion on which the bright afternoon's sun shone dismally; it was all of a piece wita the sad confusion adam bede. of her mind — that confusion which belongs to the first hours of a sudden sorrow, when the poor human soul is like one who has been deposited sleeping aniong the ruins of a vast city, and wakes up in dreary amaze- ment, not knowing whether it is the growing or the dying day — not knowing why and whence came this illimitable scene of desolation, or why he too finds himself desolate in the midst of it. in our times of bitter suffering, there are almost always these pauses, when our consciousness is be numbed to everything but some trivial perception or sensation. it is as if semi-idiocy came to give us rest from the memory and the dread which refuse to leave us in our sleep. there is a strength of self-possession which is the sign that the last hope has departed. despair no more leans on others than perfect contentment, and in de- spair pride ceases to be counteracted by the sense of dependence. when our indignation is borne in submissive silence, we are apt to feel twinges of doubt afterwards as to our own generosity, if not justice; how much more when the object of our anger has gone into everlasting silence, and we have seen his face for the last time in the meekness of death! when death, the great reconciler, has come, it is adam bede. never our tenderness that we repent of, but our se- verity. what we thought the oldest truth becomes the most startling to us in the week when we have looked on the dead face of one who has made a part of our own lives. for when men want to impress us with the effect of a new and wonderfully vivid light, do they not let it fall on the most familiar objects, that we may measure its intensity by remembering the former dimness? our dead are never dead to us until we have for- gotten them : they can be injured by us, they can be wounded; they know all our penitence, all our aching sense that their place is empty, all the kisses we be- stow on the smallest relic of their presence. why did they say she was so changed? in the corpse we love, it is the likeness we see - it is the like- ness, which makes itself felt the more keenly because something else was and is not. the mother's yearning, that completest type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in the base, degraded man. if it be true that nature at certain moments seems charged with a presentiment of one individua' lot, inust it not also be true that she seems unmin.lful, adam bede. unconscious of another: for there is no hour that has not its births of gladness and despair, no morning brightness that does not bring new sickness to des- olation as well as new forces to genius and love. there are so many of us, and our lots are so different: what wonder that nature's mood is often in harsh contrast with the great crisis of our lives? we are children of a large family, and must learn, as such children do, not to expect that our hurts will be made much of-to be content with little nurture and caressing, and help each other the more. nature has her language, and she is not unveracious; but we don't know all the intricacies of her syntax just yet, and in a hasty reading we may happen to extract the very opposite of her real meaning. there are faces which nature charges with a mean- ing and pathos not belonging to the single human soul that flutters beneath them, but speaking the joys and sorrows of foregone generations - eyes that tell of deep love which doubtless has been and is somewhere, but not paired with these eyes - perhaps paired with pale eyes that can say nothing; just as a national lan- guage may be instinct with poetry unfelt by the lips that use it. family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains: blends yearning and repulsion; and adaji bede. ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement. we hear a voice with the very cadence of our own uttering the thoughts we despise; we see eyes - ah! so like our mother's - averted from us in cold alienation; and our last darling child star- tles us with the air and gestures of the sister we parted from in bitterness long years ago. the father to whom we owe our best heritage - the mechanical in- stinct, the keen sensibility to harmony, the unconscious skill of the modelling hand - galls us, and puts us to shame by his daily errors; the long-lost mother, whose face we begin to see in the glass as our own wrinkles come, once fretted our young souls with her anxious humors and irrational persistence. perhaps there is no time in a summer's day more cheering, than when the warmth of the sun is just be ginning to triumph over the freshness of the morning – when there is just a lingering hint of early coolness to keep off languor under the delicious influence cť warmth. there's such a thing as being over-speritial; we must have something beside gospel i’ this world. look at the canals, an' th' aqueducs, an' th' coal-pit engines, and arkwright's mills there at cromford; a man must learn summat beside gospel to make them things, i reckon. but thear some o' them preachers, you'd think as a man must be doing nothing all's life but shutting's eyes and looking what's a-going ou in- side him. i know a man must have the love o' god adam bede. in his soul, and the bible's god's word. but what does the bible say? why, it says as god put his sper- rit into the workman as built the tabernacle, to make him do all the carved work and things as wanted a nice haud. and this is my way o' looking at it: there's the sperrit o' god in all things and all times - week- day as well as sunday — and i' the great works and inventions, and i’ the figuring and the mechanics. and god helps us with our head-pieces and our hands as well as with our souls; and if a man does bits o' jobs out o' working hours - builds a oven for 's wife to save her from going to the bakehouse, or scrats at his bit o' garden and makes two potatoes grow istead o' one, he's doing more good, and he's just as near to god, as if he was running after some preacher and a-praying and a-groaning.' i've seen pretty clear ever since i was a young un, as religion's something else besides doctrines and notions. i look at it as if the doctrines was like find- ing names for your feelings, so as you can talk of 'em when you've never known 'em, just as a man may talk o'tools when he knows their names, though he's never so much as seen 'em, still less handled 'em." "they that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of those that are weak, and not to please themselves.” there's a text wants no candle to show't; it shines by its own light. it's plain enough you get into the wrong road i' this life if you run after this and that only for the sake o' making things easy and pleasant adai bede. to yourself. a pig may poke his nose into the trough and think o' nothing outside it; but if you've got a man's heart and soul in you, you can't be easy a-mak- ing your own bed an' leaving the rest to lie on the stones. nay, nay, i'll never slip my neck out o' the yoke, and leave the load to be drawn by the weak uns. there's nothing like settling with ourselves as there's a deal we must do without i’ this life. it's no use looking on life as if it was treddles'on fair, where folks only go to see shows and get fairings. if we do, we shall find it different.' i like to read about moses best, in th' old testa. ment. he carried a hard business well through, and died when other folks were going to reap the fruits : a man must have courage to look at his life so, and think what'll come of it after he's dead and gone. a good solid bit o' work lasts: if it's only laying a floor down, somebody's the better for it being done well, besides the man as does it." i can't abide to see men throw away their tools i’ that way, the minute the clock begins to strike, as if they took no pleasure i’ their work, and was afraid o' iloing a stroke too much. ... i hate to see a man's arms drop down as if he was shot, before the clock's fairly struck, just as if he'd never a bit o' pride and delight in's work. the very grindstone 'ull go on turning a bit after you loose it." adam bede. a foreman, if he's got a conscience, and delights in his work, will do his business as well as if he was a partner. i wouldn't give a penny for a man as 'ud drive a nail in slack because he didn't get extra pay for it. you can so seldom get hold of a man as can turn his brains to more nor one thing; it's just as if they wore blinkers like th’horses, and could see nothing o' one side of 'em. if a woman's young and pretty, i think you can see her good looks all the better for her being plain dressed.... it seems to me as a woman's face docsna want flowers; it's almost like a flower itself. ... it's like when a man's singing a good tune, you don't want thear bells tinkling and interfering wi' the sound.? it's wonderful how that sound of the “ harvest home") goes to one's heart almost like a funeral- bell, for all it tells one o' the joyfullest time o' the year, and the time when men are mostly the thankfullest. i suppose it's a bit hard to us to think anything's over and gone in our lives; and there's a parting at the root of all our joys. it seems to me it's the same with love and happi- ness as with sorrow - the more we know of it the better we can feel what other people's lives are or might be, and so we shall only be more tender to 'em, and wishful to help 'em. the more knowledge a man adam bede. has, the better he'll do 's work; and feeling's a sort o knowledge.' it 'ud be a poor look-out if folks didn't remember what they did and said when they were lads. we should think no more about old friends than we do about new uns, then." there's no rule so wise but what it's a pity for somebody or other.' it's a feeling as gives you a sort o'liberty, as if you could walk more fearless, when you've more trust in another than y' have in yourself.' it's poor foolishness to run down your enemies." i've seen pretty clear, ever since i was a young un, as religion's something else besides notions. it isn't notions sets people doing the right thing—it's feelings. it's the same with the notions in religion as it is with math’matics, -a man may be able to work problems straight off in's head as he sits by the fire and smokes his pipe; but if he has to make a machine or a build- ing, he must have a will and a resolution, and love something else better than his own ease.' when people's feelings have got a deadly wound, they can't be cured with favors. i know forgiveness is a man's duty, but, to my adam bede. thinking, that can only mean as you're to give up all thoughts o'taking revenge: it can never mean as you're ť have your old feelings back again, for that's not possible.' the best fire doesna flare up the soonest.' i won't open the door again. it's no use staring about to catch sight of a sound. maybe there's a world about us as we can't see, but th’ear's quicker than the eye, and catches a sound from't now and then. some people thirk they get a sight on't too, but they're mostly folks whose eyes are not much use to 'em at anything else. for my part, i think it's better to see when your perpendicular's true, than to see a ghost.? i began to see as all this weighing and sifting what this text means and that text means, and whether folks are saved all by god's grace, or whether there goes an ounce o' their own will to 't, was no part o' real religion at all. you may talk o’ these things for hours on end, and you'll only be all the more coxy and conceited for 't.' there's a deal in a man's inward life as you can't measure by the square, and say, “do this and that 'll follow," and, “do that and this 'll follow.” there's things go on in the soul, and times when feelings come into you like a rushing mighty wind, as the scripture says, and part your life in two a’most, so as adam bede. you look back on yourself as if you was somebody else. those are things as you can't bottle up in a “do this ” and “ do that"; and i'll go so far with the strongest methodist ever you'll find. that shows me there's deep speritial things in religion. you can't make much out wi' talking about it, but you feel it.' i found it better for my soul to be humble before the mysteries o' god's dealings, and not be making a clat- ter about what i could never understand." it takes something else besides 'cuteness to make folks see what 'll be their interest in the long run. it takes somes conscience and belief in right and wrong.' i don't remember ever being see-saw, when i'd made my mind up that a thing was wrong. it takes the taste out o' my mouth for things, when i know i should have a heavy conscience after 'em. i've seen pretty clear, ever since i could cast up a sum, as you can never do what's wrong without breeding sin and trouble more than you can ever see. it's like a bit o' bad workmanship — you never see th' end o' the mis- chief it'll do. and it's a poor look-out to come into the world to make your fellow-creatures worse off instead o' better. wc hand folks over to god's mercy, and show none ourselves. i hate that talk o' people, as if there was a way o' adam bede. making amends for everything. they'd inore need be brought to see as the wrong they do can never be altered. when a man's spoiled his fellow-creatur's life, he's no right to comfort himself with thinking good may come out of it: somebody else's goodi doesn't alter her shame and misery." it's well we should feel as life's a reckoning we can't make twice over; there's no real making amends in this world, any more nor you can mend a wrong subtraction by doing your addition right.' it cuts one sadly to see the grief of old people; they've no way o' working it off'; and the new spring brings no new shoots out on the withered tree. there's nothing but what's bearable as long as a man can work: the natur o' things doesn't change, though it seems as if one's own life was nothing but change. the square o’ four is sixteen, and you must lengthen your lever in proportion to your weight, is as true when a man's miserable as when he's happy; and the best o’ working is, it gives you a grip hold o' things outside your own lot." if we're men, and have men's feelings, i reckon we must have men's troubles. we can't be like the birds as fly from their nest as soon as they've got theii wings, and never know their kin when they see 'em and get a fresh lot every year.! adam bedr. wooden folks had need ha' wooden things thandle.' there's times when the crockery seems alive, an'flies out o’your hand like a bird it's like the glass, some- times, 'ull crack as it stands. what is to be broke will be broke.? the men are mostly so slow, their thoughts overrun 'em, an' they can only catch 'em by the tail. i can count a stocking-top while a man's getting's tongue ready; an' when he outs wi’ his speech at last, there's little broth to be made on't. it's your dead chicks take the longest hatchin'.? i know the dancin's nonsense; but if you stick at everything because it's nonsense, you wonna go far i'this life. when your broth's ready-made for you, you mun swallow the thickenin', or else let the broth alone. some folks' tongues are like the clocks as run on strikin', not to tell you the time o' the day, because there's summat wrong i’ their own inside.? it's the flesh and blood folks are made on as makes the difference. some cheeses are made o' skimmed milk and some o' new milk, and it's no matter what you call 'em, you may tell which is which by the look und the smell. folks as have no mind to be o use have allays the adan bede. luck to be out o' the road when there's anything to be done. it's them as take advantage that get advantage tbis world, i think : folks have to wait long enough afore it's brought to 'em.? it's all very fine having a ready-made rich man, but may-happen he'll be a ready-made fool; and it's no use filling your pocket full o' money if you've got a hole in the corner. it'll do you no good to sit in a spring-cart o’ your own, if you've got a soft to drive you; he'll soon turn you over into the ditch. i allays said i'd never marry a man as had got no brains; for where's the use of a woman having brains of her own if she's tackled to a geck as everybody's a-laughing at? she might as well dress herself fine to sit back’ards on a donkey." i've had my say out, and i shall be th' easier for 't all my life. there's no pleasure i' living, if you're to be corked up forever, and only dribble your mind out ny the sly, like a leaky barrel. the men are mostly so tongue-tied — you ’re forced partly to guess what they mean, as you do wi’ the dumb creaturs.* i aren't like a bird-clapper, forced to make a rattle when the wind blows on me. i can keep my own coansel when there's no good i' speaking.? adam bede. it seems as if them as aren't wanted here are th' only folks as aren't wanted i’th other world.? one ’ud think, and hear some folks talk, as the men war 'cute enough to count the corns in a bag o’ wheat wi' only smelling at it. they can see through a barn- door, they can. perhaps that's the reason they can see so little o' this side on ’t. them as ha’ never had a cushion don't miss it." if old harry wants any work done, you may be sure he'll find the means." i'm not denyin' the women are foolish: god al- mighty made 'em to match the men. hetty's no better than a peacock, as ’ud strut about on the wall, and spread its tail when the sun shone if all the folks i’ the parish was dying.” i'm not one o' those as can see the cat i' the dairy, an' wonder what she's come after.? as for farming, it's putting money into your pocket wi’ your right hand and fetching it out wi’ your left. as fur as i can see, it's raising victual for other folks, and just getting a mouthful for yourself and your chil- dren as you go along. ... it's more than flesh and blood ’ull bear sometimes, to be toiling and striving, and up early and down late, and hardly s'eeping a adam bede. wink when you lie down for thinking as the cheese may swell, or the cows may slip their calf, or the wheat may grow green again i’ the sheaf- and after all, at th end o' the year, it's like as if you'd been cooking a feast and had got the smell of it for your pains. it's allays the way wi' them meek-faced people; you may's well pelt a bag o’ feathers as talk to 'em. wi’ them three gells in the house i'd need have twice the strength, to keep 'em up to their work. it's like having roast-meat at three fires; as soon as you've basted one, another's burnin’.? there's nothing you can't believe o' them wenches : they 'll set the empty kettle o' the fire, and then come an hour after to see if the water boils. ... “ told her?” yes, i might spend all the wind i' my body, an' take the bellows too, if i was to tell them gells everything as their own sharpness wonna tell 'em. i have nothing to say again' craig, on'y it is a pity de couldna be hatched o'er again, an' hatched differ- ent. i'd sooner ha' brewin' day an' washin' day together than one o' these pleasurin’days. there's no work so tirin' as danglin' about an' starin' an' not rightly knowin' what you're goin' to do next; and keepin' adam bede. your face i' smilin' order like a grocer o’ market-day for fear people shouldna think you civil enough. an' you've nothing to show for't when it's done, if it isn't a yallow face wi' eatin' things as disagree.? we are led on, like the little children, by a way that we know not. it's good to live only a moment at a time, as i've read in one of mr. wesley's books. it isn't for you and me to lay plans; we've nothing to do but to obey and to trust. it is a vain thought to flee from the work that god appoints us, for the sake of finding a greater blessing to our own souls, as if we could choose for ourselves where we shall find the fulness of the divine presence, instead of seeking it where alone it is to be found, in loving obedience. it makes no difference - whether we live or die, we are in the presence of god. i think, sir, when god makes his presence felt through us, we are like the burning bush: moses never took any heed what sort of bush it was - he only saw the brightness of the lord. it's a strange thing - sometimes when i'm quite alone, sitting in my room with my eyes closed, or walking over the hills, the people i've seen and adam bede. known, if it's only been for a few days, are brought before me, and i hear their voices and see them look and move almost plainer than i ever did when they were really with me so as i could touch them. and then my heart is drawn out towards them, and i feel their lot as if it was my own, and i take comfort in spreading it before the lord and resting in his love, on their behalf as well as my own. i've noticed, that in these villages where the people lead a quiet life among the green pastures and the still waters, tilling the ground and tending the cattle, there's a strange deadness to the word, as different as can be from the great towns, like leeds, where i once went to visit a holy woman who preaches there. it's wonderful how rich is the harvest of souls up those high-walled streets, where you seemed to walk as in a prison-yard, and the car is defeaned with the sounds of wordly toil. i think maybe it is because the promise is sweeter when this life is so dark and weary, and the soul gets more hungry when the body is ill at ease. i've noticed it often among my own people around snowfield, that the strong, skilful men are often the gentlest to the women and children; and it's pretty to see 'em carrying the little babies as if they were no heavier than little birds. and the babies always seem to like the strong arm best.” poor dog! i've a strange feeling about the dumb adam bede. things as if they wanted to speak, and it was a troubt to 'em because they couldn't. i can't help being sorry for the dogs always, though perhaps there's no need. but they may well have more in them than they know how to make us understand, for we can't say half what we feel, with all our words. there's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for. we are over-hasty to speak — as if god did not manifest himself by our silent feeling, and make his love felt through ours. god can't bless you while you have one falsehood in your soul; his pardoning mercy can't reach you until you open your heart to him, and say, “i have done this great wickedness; o god, save me, make me pure from sin.” while you cling to one sin and will not part with it, it must drag you down to misery after death, as it has dragged you to misery here in this world, my poor, poor hetty. it is sin that brings dread and darkness and despair: there is light and blessedness for us as soon as we cast it off: god enters our souls then, and teaches us, and brings us strength and peace. the ti je cross of the redeemer was the sin and sorrow of this world — that was what lay heavy on his heart — and that is the cross we shall share with him, that is the cup we must drink of with him, if we adam bede. would have any part in that divine love which is one with his sorrow.” ah, that is a blessed time, isn't it, seth, when the outward light is fading, and the body is a little wearied with its work and its labor. then the inward light shines the brighter, and we have a deeper sense of resting on the divine strength. i sit on my chair in the dark room and close my eyes, and it is as if i was out of the body and could feel no want for evermore. for then, the very hardship, and the sorrow, and the blindness, and the sin, i have beheld and been ready to weep over-yeaall the anguish of the children of men, which sometimes wraps me round like sudden darkness - i can bear with a willing pain, as if i was sharing the redeemer's cross. for i feel it, i feel it - infinite love is suffering too — yea, in the fulness of knowledge it suffers, it yearns, it mourns; and that is a blind self-seeking which wants to be freed from the sorrow wherewith the whole creation groaneth and travaileth. surely it is not true blessedness to be free from sorrow, while there is sorrow and sin in the world; sorrow is then a part of love, and love does not seek to throw it off. it is not the spirit only that tells me this - i see it in the whole work and word of the gospel. is there not pleading in heaven? is not the man of sorrows there in that crucified body wherewith he ascended? and is he not one with the infinite love itself — as our love is one with our sorrow? adam bede. now, you see, you don't do this thing a bit better than you did a fortnight ago; and i'll tell you what's the reason. you want to learn accounts; that's well and good. but you think all you need do to learn accounts is to come to me and do sums for an hour or so, two or three times a week; and no sooner do you get your caps on and turn out of doors again, than you sweep the whole thing clean out of your mind. you go whistling about, and take no more care what you're thinking of than if your heads were gutters for any rubbish to swill through that happened to be in the way; and if you get a good notion in 'em, it's pretty soon washed out again. you think knowledge is to be got cheap - you'll come and pay bartle massey sixpence a week, and he'll make you clever at figures without your taking any trouble. but knowl- edge isn't to be got with paying sixpence, let me tell you: if you're to know figures, you must turn 'em over in your own heads, and keep your thoughts fixed on 'em. there's nothing you can't turn into a sum, for there's nothing but what's got number in it- even a fool. you may say to yourselves, “ i'm one fool, and jack's another; if my fool's head weighed four pound, and jack's three pound three ounces and three quarters, how many pennyweights heavier would my head be than jack's?” a man that had got bis heart in learning figures would make sums for hiin- self, and work 'em in his head: when he sat at his shoemaking, he'd count his stitches by fives, and then put a price on his stitches, say half a farthing, and then see how much money he could get in an hour: adam bede. and then ask himself how much money he'd get in a day at that rate; and then how much ten workmen would get working three, or twenty, or a hundred year's at that rate — and all the while his needle would be going just as fast as if he left his head empty for the devil to dance in. but the long and the short of it is - i'll have nobody in my night-school that doesn't strive to learn what he comes to learn, as hard as if he was striving to get out of a dark hole into broad day- light. i'll send no man away because he's stupid : if billy taft, the idiot, wanted to learn anything, i'd not refuse to teach him. but i'll not throw away good knowledge on people who think they can get it by the sixpenn'orth, and carry it away with 'em as they would an ounce of snuff. so never come to me again, if you can't show that you've been working with your own heads, instead of thinking you can pay for mine to work for you. that's the last word i've got to say to you. why, the scotch tunes are just like a scolding, nagging woman. they go on with the same thing over and over again, and never come to a reasonable end. anybody ’ud think the scotch tunes had always been asking a question of somebody as deaf as old taft, and had never got an answer yet. you must learn to deal with odd and even in life, as well as in figures. no man can be wise on an empty stomach.“ adam bede. as for age, what that's worth depends on the quality o' the liquor. it's easy finding reasons why other folks should be patient.* college mostly makes people like bladders — just good for nothing but thold the stuff as is poured into 'em. if you trust a man, let him be a bachelor - let him be a bachelor. i daresay she's like the rest of the women — thinks two and two 'll come to make five, if she cries and bothers enough about it. these poor silly women-things — they've not the sense to know it's no use denying what's proved." ah! the women are quick enough — they're quick enough. they know the rights of a story before they hear it, and can tell a man what his thoughts are before he knows 'em himself. mrs. poyser's a terrible woman! — made of needles - made of needles. but i stick to martin - i shall always stick to martin. and he likes the needles. god help him! he's a cushion made on purpose for 'em. ... i don't say th' apple isn't sound at the core; adam bede. but it sets my tenth on edge - it sets my teeth on edge. nonsense! its the silliest lie a sensible man like you ever believed, to say a woman makes a house com- fortable. it's a story got up, because the women are there, and something must be found for 'em to do. i tell you there isn't a thing under the sun that needs to be done at all, but what a man can do better than a woman, unless it's bearing children, and they do that in a poor make-shift way; it had better ha' been left to the men —it had better ha' been left to the men. i tell you, a woman 'ull bake you a pie every week of her life, and never come to see that the hotter th' oven the shorter the time. i tell you, a woman 'ull make your porridge every day for twenty years, and never think of measuring the proportion between the nieal and the milk – a little more or less, she'll think, doesn't signify: the porridge will be awk’ard now and then: if it's wrong, it's summat in the meal, or it's summat in the milk, or it's summat in the water. ... don't tell me about god having made such creatures to be companions for us! i don't say but he might make eve to be a companion to adam in paradise - there was no cooking to be spoilt there, and no other woman to cackle with and make mischief; though you see what mischief she did as soon as she'd an oppor- cunity. but it's an impious, unscriptural opinion to say a woman's a blessing to a man now; you might as well say adders and wasps, and foxes and wild beasts, are a blessing, when they're only the evils that adam bede. belong to this state o' probation, which it's lawful for a man to keep as clear of as he can in this life, hoping to get quit of 'em forever in another - hoping to get quit of 'em forever in another. i like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day. no dust has settled on one's mind then, and it presents a clear mirror to the rays of things.“ the commonest man, who has his ounce of sense and feeling, is conscious of the difference between a lovely, delicate woman, and a coarse one. even a dog feels a difference in their presence. the man may be no better able than the dog to explain the influence the more refined beauty has on him, but he feels it." when what is good comes of age and is llkely to live, there is reason for rejoicing." a man can't very well steal a bank-note unless the bank-note lies within convenient reach: but he won't make us think him an honest man because he begins to howl at the bank-note for falling in his way." a man can never do anything at variance with his own nature. he carries within him the germ of his most exceptional action; and if we wise people make eminent fools of ourselves on any particular occasion, we must endure the legitimate conclusion that wa carry a few grains of folly to our ounce of wisdom. adam bede. consequences are unpitying. our deeds carry their terrible consequences, quite apart from any fluctua- tions that went before — consequences that are hardly ever confined to ourselves. and it is best to fix our minds on that certainty, instead of considering what may be the elements of excuse for us.“ there is no sort of wrong deed of which a man can bear the punishment alone; you can't isolate yourself, and say that the evil which is in you shall not spread. men's lives are as thoroughly blended with each other as the air they breathe: evil spreads as necessarily as disease. it is not for us men to apportion the shares of moral guilt and retribution. we find it impossible to avoid mistakes even in determining who has committed a single criminal act, and the problem how far a man is to be held responsible for the unforeseen consequences of his own deed, is one that might well make us trem- ble to look into it. the evil consequences that may lie folded in a single act of selfish indulgence, is a thought so awful that it ought surely to awaken some feeling less presumptuous than a rash desire to punish." it's a deep mystery — the way the heart of man turns to one woman out of all the rest he's seen i’ the world, and makes it easier for him to work seven year for her, like jacob did for rachel, sooner than have any other woman for th' asking. i often think of them words, “and jacob served seven years for adam bede. rachel; and they seemed to him but a few days for the love he had to her.” thee mustna undervally prayer. prayer mayna bring money, but it brings us what no money can buy - a power to keep from sin, and be content with god's will, whatever he may please to send. dinah doesnt hold wi' them as are for keeping the society so strict to themselves. she doesn't mind about making folks enter the society, so as they're fit t enter the kingdom o' god. eh! well, if the methodies are fond o' trouble, they're like to thrive: it's a pity they canna ha't all, an' take it away from them as donna like it." one morsel's as good as another when your mouth's out o'taste.? eh, it's poor luck for the platter to wear well when it's broke i’ two.? " said?” nay, she'll say nothin'. it's on’y the men as have to wait till folks say things afore they find 'em out.? nonsense, child! nature never makes a ferret in the shape of a mastiff. you'll never persuade me that i can't tell what men are by their outsides. if i don't like a mau's looks, depend upon it i shall never like adam bede. him. i don't want to know people that look ugly and disagreeable, any more than i want to taste dishes that look disagreeable. if they make me shudder at the first glance, i say, take them away. an ugly, piggish, or fishy eye, now, makes me feel quite ill; it's like a bad smell. eh, it's a poor look-out when th’ould foulks doesna like the young uns. it isn't right for old nor young nayther to make a bargain all o' their own side. what's good for one's good all round i' the long run. i'm no friend to young follows a-marrying afore they know the difference atween a crab an'a apple; but they may wait o'er long. i should be loath to leave th’ old place, and the par- ish where i was bred and born, and father afore me. we should leave our roots behind us, i doubt, and diver thrive again. end of “adam bede.” the mill on the floss. ( ) the mill on the floss. journeying down the rhone on a summer's day, you have perhaps felt the sunshine made dreary by those ruined villages which stud the banks in certain parts of its course, telling how the swift river once rose, like an angry, destroying god, sweeping down the feeble generations whose breath is in their nostrils, and making their dwellings a desolation. strange contrast, you may have thought, between the effect produced on us by these dismal remnants of common- place houses, which in their best days were but the sign of a sordid life, belonging in all its details to our own vulgar era; and the effect produced by those ruins on the castled rhine, which have crumbled and mellowed into such harmony with the green and rocky steeps, that they seem to have a natural fitness, like the mountain-pine : nay, even in the day when they were built they must have had this fitness, as if they had been raised by an earth-born race, who had in- herited from their mighty parent a sublime instinct of form. and that was a day of romance! if those rob. ber-barons were somewhat grim and drunken ogres, they had a certain grandeur of the wild beast in them - they were forest boars with tusks, tearing and rend. ( ) the mill on the floss. ing, not the ordinary domestic grunter; they repre. sented the demon forces forever in collision withi beauty, virtue, and the gentle uses of life; they made a fine contrast in the picture with the wandering min- strel, the soft-lipped princess, the pious recluse, and the timid israelite. that was a time of color, wlien the sunlight fell on glancing steel and floating banners; a time of adventure and fierce struggle – nay, of liv- ing, religious art and religious enthusiasm; for were not cathedrals built in those days, and did not great emperors leave their western palaces to die before the infidel strongholds in the sacred east? therefore it is that these rhine castles thrill me with a sense of poetry: they belong to the grand historic life of hu- manity, and raise up for me the vision of an epoch. but these dead-tinted, hollow-eyed, angular skeletons of villages on the rhone oppress me with the feeling that human life — very much of it - is a narrow, ugly, grovelling existence, which even calamity does not elevate, but rather tends to exhibit in all its bare vul- garity of conception; and i have a cruel conviction that the lives these ruins are the traces of, were part of a gross sum of obscure vitality, that will be swept into the same oblivion with the generations of ants and beavers. that is the path we all like when we set out on our abandonment of egoism - the path of martyrdom and endurance, where the palm-branches grow, rather than the steep highway of tolerance, just allowance, and tie mill on the floss. self-blame, where there are no leafy honors to be gathered and worn. renunciation remains sorrow, though a sorrow borne willingly. we are not apt to fear for the fearless, when wa are companions in their danger. retribution may come from any voice: the hardest, cruelest, most imbruted urchin at the street-corner can inflict it: surely help and pity are rarer things — more needful for the righteous to bestow. what quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs? we judge others according to results; how else?- not knowing the process by which results are arrived at. at the entrance of the chill dark cavern, we turn with unworn courage from the warm light; but how, when we have trodden far in the damp darkness, and have begun to be faint and weary – how, if there is a sudden opening above us, and we are invited back again to the life-nourishing day? the leap of natural longing from under the pressure of pain is so strong, tie mill on the floss. that all less immediate motives are likely to be for. gotten — till the pain has been escaped from. watch your own speech, and notice how it is guided by your less conscious purposes. the conduct that issues from a moral conflict has often so close a resemblance to vice, that the distinc- tion escapes all outward judgments, founded on a mere comparison of actions. anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love. milk and mildness are not the best things for keep- ing, and when they turn only a little sour, they may disagree with young stomachs seriously. i have often wondered whether those early madonnas of raphael, with the blond faces and somewhat stupid expression, kept their placidity undisturbed when their strong- limbed, strong-willed boys got a little too old to do without clothing. i think they must have been given to feeble remonstrance, getting more and more peevisb as it became more and more ineffectual. poor relations are undeniably irritating — their ex- istence is so entirely uncalled for on our part, and they are almost always very faulty people. these bitter sorrows of childhood! when sorrow is all new and strange, when hope has not yet got wings tiie mill on tiiÈ floss. to fly beyond the day and weeks, and the space from summer to summer seems measureless. "ah, my child, you will have real troubles to fret about by-and-by,” is the consolation we have almost all of us had administered to us in our childhood, and have repeated to other children since we have been grown up. we have all of us sobbed so piteously, standing with tiny bare legs above our little socks, when we lost sight of our mother or nurse in some strange piace; but we can no longer recall the poign- ancy of that moment and wecp over it, as we do over the remembered sufferings of five or ten years ago. every one of those keen moments has left its trace, and lives in us still, but such traces have blent then- selves irrecoverably with the firmer texture of our youth and manhood; and so it comes that we can look on at the troubles of our children with a smiling dis- belief in the reality of their pain. is there any one who can recover the experience of his childhood, not merely with a memory of what he did and what hap- pened to him, of what he liked and disliked when he was in frock and trousers, but with an intimate pen. etration, a revived consciousness of what he felt then- when it was so long from one midsummer to another? what he felt when his school-fellows shut him out of their game because he would pitch the ball wrong out of mere wilfulness; or on a rainy day in the holidays, when he didn't know how to amuse hinself, and fell from idleness into mischief, from mischief into de- fiance, and from defiance into sulkiness; or when his tun dili un the iluss. mother absolutely refused to let him have a tailed coat that “half,” although every other boy of his age had gone into tails already? surely if we could recall that early bitterness, and the dim guesses, the strangely perspectiveless conception of life that gave the bitter- ness its intensity, we should not pooh-pooh the griefs of our children. childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow. there is no hopelessness so sad as that of early youth, when the soul is made up of wants, and has no long memories, no superadded life in the life of others; though we who look on think lightly of such prem- ature despair, as if our vision of the future lightened the blind sufferer's present. maggie in her brown frock, with her eyes reddened and her heavy hair pushed back, looking from the bed where her father lay, to the dull walls of this sad chamber which was the centre of her world, was a creature full of eager, passionate longings for all that was beautiful and glad; thirsty for all knowledge; with an ear straining after dreamy music that died away and would not come near to her; with a blind unconscious yearning for something that would link together the wonderful impressions of this mysterious lite, and give her soul a sense of home in it. no wonder, when there is this contrast between the outward and the inward, that painful collisions come of it. the mill on the floss. poor child ! it was very early for her to know one of those supreme moments in life when all we have hoped or delighted ir, all we can dread or endure, falls away from our regard as insignificant – is lost, like a trivial memory, in that simple, primitive love which knits us to the beings who have been nearest to us, in their times of helplessness or of anguish. maggie had that strange dreamy weariness which comes from watching in a sick-room through the chill hours of early twilight and breaking day - in which the outside daylight life seems to have no importance, and to be a mere margin to the hours in the darkened chamber. poor child! as she leaned her head against the win- dow-frame, with her hands clasped tighter and tighter, and her foot bcating the ground, she was as lonely in her trouble as if she had been the only girl in the civilized world of that day who had come out of her school-life with a soul untrained for incvitable strug- gles - with no other part of her inherited share in the hard-won treasures of thought, which generations of painful toil have laid up for the race of men, than shreds and patches of feeble literature and false his- tory — with much futile information about saxon and other kings of doubtful example – but unhappily quite without that knowledge of the irreversible laws within an. without her, which, governing the habits, becomes morality, and, developing the feelings of submission and dependence, becomes religion :- as lonely in her tie mill on the floss. trouble as if every other girl besides herself had been cherished and watched over by elder minds, not for- getful of their own early time, when need was keen and impulse strong. two hours ago, as tom was walking to st. ogg's, he saw the distant future before him, as he might have seen a tempting stretch of smooth sandy beach beyond a belt of flinty shingles; he was on the grassy bank, then, and thought the shingles might soon be passed. but now his feet were on the sharp stones; the belt of shingles had widened, and the stretch of sand had dwindled into narrowness. of those two young hearts tom's suffered the most unmixed pain, for maggie, with all her keen suscepti- bility, yet felt as if the sorrow made larger room for her love to flow in, and gave breathing-space to her passionate nature. no true boy feels that: he would rather go and slay the nemean lion, or perform any round of heroic labors, than endure perpetual appeals to his pity, for evils over which he can make no con- quest. while maggie's life-struggles had lain almost en tirely within her own soul, one shadowy army fighting another, and the slain shadows forever rising again. tom was engaged in a dustier, noisier warfare, grap- pling with more substantial obstacles, and gaining more definite conquests. so it has been since the days of hecuba, and of hector, tamer of horses : in- the mill on tiie floss. side the gates, the women with streaming hair and uplifted hands offering prayers, watching the world's combat from afar, filling their long empty days with memories and fears : outside, the men, in fierce strug. gle with things divine and human, quenching memory in the stronger light of purpose, losing the sense of dread and even of wounds in the hurrying ardor of action. it is a pathetic sight and a striking example of the complexity introduced into the emotions by a high state of civilization — the sight of a fashionably drest female in grief. from the sorrow of a llottentot to that of a woman in large buckram sleeves, with several bracelets on each arm, an architectural bonnet, and delicate ribbon-strings — what a long series of grada tions! in the enlightened child of civilization the abandonment characteristic of grief is checked and varied in the subtlest manner, so as to present an interesting problem to the analytic mind. if, with a crushed heart and eyes half-blinded by the mist of tears, she were to walk with a too devious step through a door-place, she might crush her buckram sleeves too, and the deep consciousness of this possibility pro- duces a composition of forces by which she takes al line that just clears the door-post. perceiving that the tears are hurrying fast, she unpins her strings and throws them languidly backward -- a touching gesture, indicative, even in the deepest gloom, of the hope in future dry moments when cap-strings will once more have a charm. as the tears subside a little, and with the mill on the floss. her head leaning backward at the angle that will not injure her bonnet, she endures that terrible moment when grief, which has made all things else a weariness, has itself become weary; she looks down pensively at her bracelets, and adjusts their clasps with that pretty studied fortuity which would be gratifying to her mind if it were once more in a calm and healthy state. people who live at a distance are naturally less faulty than those immediately under our own eyes; and it seems superfluous, when we consider the remote geographical position of the ethiopians, and how very little the greeks had to do with them, to inquire fur- ther why homer calls them “blameless.” jealousy is never satisfied with anything short of ap oinniscience that would detect the subtlest fold of the heart. the happilsi women, like the happiest nations, havo no history. we could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no chiidnood in it, – if it were not the earth where the same flowers come up again every spring that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as we sat isping to ourselves on the grass — the same hips and naws on the autumn hedge-rows-the same redbreasts tłaj we used to call “ god's birds,” because they did po harin to the precious crops. what novelty is worth the mill on tie floss. that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known? the wood i walk in on this mild may-day, with the young yellow-brown foliage of the oaks between me and the blue sky, the white star-flowers and the blue- eyed speedwell and the ground ivy at my feet - what grove of tropic palms, what strange ferns or splendid broad-petalled blossoms, could ever thrill such deep and delicate fibres within me as this home-scene? these familiar flowers, these well-remembered bird- notes, this sky, with its fitful brightness, these fur- rowed and grassy fields, each with a sort of personality given to it by the capricious hedge-rows - such things as these are the mother-tongue of our imagination, the language that is laden with all the subtle inextricable associations the fleeting hours of our childhood left behind them. our delight in the sunshine on the deep- bladed grass to-day, might be no more than the faint perception of wearied souls, if it were not for the sun- shine and the grass in the far-off years which still live in us, and transform our perception into love. there is no sense of ease like the case we elt in those scenes where we were born, where ubjects be. came dear to us before we had known the labor of choice, and where the outer world seemed only an ex- tension of our own personality: we accepted and loved it as we accepted our own sense of existence and our own limbs. very commonplace, even ugly, that ſur- niture of our early home might look if it were put up to auction; an improved taste in upholstery scorus it: tie mill on the floss. and is not the striving after something better and better in our surroundings, the grand characteristic that distinguishes man from the brute — or, to satisfy a scrupulous accuracy of definition, that distinguishes the british man from the foreign brute? but heaven knows where that striving might lead us, if our affec- tions had not a trick of twining round those old in- ferior things — if the loves and sanctities of our life had no deep immovable rools in memory. one's delight in an elderberry bush overhanging the confused leafage of a hedge-row bank, as a more gladdening sight than the finest cistus or fuchsia spreading itself on the softest undulating turf, is an entirely unjustifiable pref- erence to a nursery-gardener, or to any of those severely regulated minds who are free from the weak. ness of any attachment that does not rest on a demon- strable superiority of qualities. and there is no better reason for preferring this elderberry bush than that it stirs an early memory – that it is no novelty in my life, speaking to me merely through my present sensibil- ities to form and color, but the long companion of my existence, that wove itself into my joys when joys were vivid. we are all apt to believe what the world believes about us. a suppressed resolve will betray itself in the eyes. to minds strongly marked by the positive and neg. ative qualities that create severity - strength of will, tie mill on tie floss. conscious rectitude of purpose, narrowness of imagin- ation and intellect, great power of self-control, and a disposition to exert control over others - prejudices come as the natural food of tendencies which can get no sustenance out of that complex, fragmentary, doubt- provoking knowledge which we call truth. let a prej- udice be bequeathed, carried in the air, adopted by hearsay, caught in through the eye - however it may come, these minds will give it a habitation : it is soine. thing to assert strongly and bravely, something to fill up the void of spontaneous ideas, something to impose on others with the authority of conscious right: it is at once a staff and a baton. every prejudice that will answer these purposes is self-evident. a character at unity with itself — that performs what it intends, subdues every counteracting impulse, and has no visions beyond the distinctly possible – is strong by its very negations. a boy's sheepishness is by no means a sign of over- mastering reverence; and while you are making en- couraging advances to him under the idea that he is overwhelmed by a sense of your age and wisdom, ten to one he is thinking you extremely queer. the only consolation i can suggest to you is, that the greck boys probably thought the same of aristotle. it is only when you have mastered a restive horse, or thrashed a drayman, or have got a gun in your hand, that these siiy juniors feel you to be a truly admirable and enviable character. tie mill on the floss. . nature has the deep cunning which hides itself under the appearance of openness, so that simple people think they can see through her quite well, and all the while she is secretly preparing a refutation of their confident prophecies. under these average boy- ish physiognomies that she seems to turn off by the gross, she conceals some of her most rigid, inflexible purposes, some of her most unmodifiable characters. the great problem of the shifting relation between passion and duty is clear to no man who is capable of apprehending it: the question whether the moment has come in which a man has fallen below the possi- bility of a renunciation that will carry any efficacy, and must accept the sway of a passion against which he had struggled as a trespass, is one for which we have no master-key that will fit all cases. the cas- uists have become a by-word of reproach; but their perverted spirit of minute discriinination was the shadow of a truth to which eyes and hearts are too often fatally sealed – the truth, that moral judgments must remain false and hollow, unless they are checked and enlightened by a perpetual reference to the special circumstances that mark the individual lot. all people of broad, strong sense have an instinctive repugnance to the men of maxims, because such people early discern that the mysterious complexity of our life is not to be embraced by maxims, and that to lace ourselves up in formulas of that sort is to repress all the divine promptings and inspirations that spring from growing insight and sympathy. and the mill on the floss. the man of maxims is the popular representative of the minds that are guided in their moral judgment solely by general rules, thinking that these will lead them to justice by a ready-made patent method, with- out the trouble of exerting patience, discrimination, im- partiality - without any care to assure themselves whether they have the insight that comes from a hardly-earned estimate of temptation, or from a life vivid and intense enough to have created a wide fellow-feeling with all that is human. iteration, like friction, is likely to generate heat instead of progress. if people are to quarrel oftcn, it follows as a corol lary that their quarrels cannot be protracted beyond certain limits. we perhaps never detect how much of our social demeanor is inade up of artificial airs, until we see a person who is at once beautiful and simple: without the beauty, we are apt to call simplicity awkwardness there is nothing more widely misleading than sagac- ity if it happens to get on the wrong scent; and sa- gacity, persuaded that men usually act and speak from distinct motives, with a consciously proposed end in view, is certain to waste its energies on imaginary game. plotting covetousness, and deliberate contriv- ance, in order to compass a selfish end, are nowhere abundant bnt in the world of the dramatist: they tiie mill on the floss. demand too intense a mental action for many of our fellow parishioners to be guilty of them. it is easy enough to spoil the lives of our neighbors without taking so much trouble: we can do it by lazy acqui- escence and lazy omission, by trivial falsities for which we hardly know a reason, by small frauds neu- tralized by small extravagancies, by maladroit flat- teries, and clumsily improvised insinuations. we live from hand to mouth, most of us, with a small family of immediate desires — we do little else than snatch a morsel to satisfy the hungry brood, rarely thinking of seed-corn or the next year's crop. all long-known objects, even a mere window fasten- ing or a particular door-latch, have sounds which are a sort of recognized voice to us — a voice that will thrill and awaken, when it has been used to touch deep-lying fibres. so deeply inherent is it in this life of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably diffu- sive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and we can conceive no retribution that does not spread beyond its mark in pulsations of unmerited pain. it was one of those dangerous moments when speech is at once sincere and deceptive — when feeling, rising high above its average depth, leaves flood-marks which are never reached again. the mill on the floss. there is no feeling, perhaps, except the extremes of fear and grief, that does not find relief in music - that does not make a man sing or play the better. the middle-aged, who have lived through their strongest emotions, but are yet in the time when meinory is still half passionate and not merely con- templative, should surely be a sort of natural priest- hood, whom life has disciplined and consecrated to be the refuge and rescue of early stumblers and victims of self-despair. most of us, at some moment in our young lives, would have welcomed a priest of that natural order in any sort of canonicals or uncanonicals, but had to scramble upwards into all the difficulties of nineteen entirely without such aid. it was one of those moments of implicit revelation which will sometimes happen even between people who mect quite transiently - on a mile's journey, perhaps, or when resting by the wayside. there is always this possibility of a word or look from a stranger to keep alive the sense of human brotherhood. it is a wonderful subduer, this need of love — this hunger of the heart - as peremptory as that other hunger by which nature forces us to submit to the yoke, and change the face of the world. who has not felt the beauty of a woman's arm? the unspeakable suggestions of tenderness that lie in the dimpled elbow, and all the varied gently lessening the mill on the floss. it is precisely the proudest and most obstinate men who are the most liable to shift their position and con- tradict themselves : everything is easier to them than to face the simple fact that they have been thoroughly defeated, and must begin life anew. mrs. tulliver had lived thirteen years with her hus. band, yet she retained in all the freshness of her early .narried life a facility of saying things which drove him in the opposite direction to the one she desired. some minds are wonderful for keeping their bloom in this way, as a patriarchal gold-fish apparently retains to the last its youthful illusion that it can swim in a straight line beyond the encircling glass. mrs. tulli- ver was an amiable fish of this kind, and, after run- ning her head against the same resisting medium for thirteen years, would go at it again to-day with un- dulled alacrity. mrs. tulliver's monotonous pleading had doubtless its share of force; it might even be comparable to that proverbial feather which has the credit or discredit of breaking the camel's back; though, on a strictly impartial view, the blame ought rather to lie with the previous weight of feathers which had already placed the back in such imminent peril, that an otherwise in- nocent feather could not settle on it without mischief. mr. tulliver was a strictly honest man, and proud of being honest, but he considered that in law the ends of justice could only be achieved by employing a stronger the mill on the flos . knave to frustrate a weaker. law was a sort of cock- fight, in which it was the business of injured honesty to get a game-bird with the best pluck and the strong. est spurs. mr. tulliver regarded his parson with dutiful re. spect, as he did everything else belonging to the church-service; but he considered that church was one thing and common-sense another, and he wanted nobody to tell him what common-sense was. certain seeds which are required to find a nidus for themselves under unfavorable circumstances, have been supplied by nature with an apparatus of hooks, so that they wil. get a hold on very unreceptive surfaces. the spiritual seed which had been scattered over mr. tulliver had apparent.y been destitute of any corresponding pro- vision, and had slipped off to the winds again, from a total absence of hooks. feeble limbs casily resign themselves to be tethered, and when we are subdued by sickness it seems pos- sible to us to fulfil pledges which the old vigor comes back ard breaks. there is something strangely winning to most woinen in that offer of the firm arm : the help is not wanted physically at that moment, but the sense of help -- the presence of strength that is outside them and yet their's - meets a continual want of the imagination. one cannot be good-natured all round. nature her. tiie mill on the floss. self occasionally quarters an inconvenient parasite on an animal towards whom she has otherwise no ill-will. what then? we admire her care for the parasite. it was mr. stelling's favorite metaphor, that the classics and geometry constituted that culture of the mind which prepared it for the reception of any subse- quent crop. i say nothing against mr. stelling's the- ory: if we are to have one regimen for all minds, his seenis to me as good as any other. i only know it turned out as uncomfortably for tom tulliver as if he had been plied with cheese in order to remedy a gastric weakness which prevented him from digesting it. it is astonishing what a different result one gets by changing the metaphor! ouce call the brain an intel- lectual stomach, and one's ingenious conception of the classics and geometry as ploughs and hairgil's seems to settle nothing. but then it is open to some one else to follow great authorities, and call the mind a s et of white paper or a mirror, in which case one's knowl- edge of the digestive process becomes quite irrelevant. it was doubtless an ingenious idea to call the camel the ship of the desert, but it would hardly lead one far in training that useful beast. o aristotle! if you had had the advautage of being “the freshest modern ” instcad of the greatest ancient, would you not have mingled your praise of metaphorical speech, as a sign of high intelligence, with a lamentation that intelligence so rarely shows itself in speech without metaphor', – that we can so selilom declare what a thing is, excepi by saying it is something else? thie mill, un tie floss. a man with an affectionate disposition, who finds it wife to concur wich his fundamental idea of life, easily comes to persuade himself that no other woman would have suited him so well, and does a little daily snap- ping and quarrelling without any sense of alienation. the pride and obstinacy of millers (like mr. tulliver), and other insignificant people, whom you pass un- noticingly on the road every day, have their tragedy too; but it is of that unwept, hidden sort, that goes on from generation to generation, and leaves no record — such tragedy, perhaps, as lies in the conflicts of young souls, hungry for joy, under a lot made suddenly hard to them, under the dreariness of a home where the morning brings no promise with it, and where the un- expectant discontent of worn and disappointed parents weighs on the children like a damp, thick air, in which all the functions of life are depressed; or such tragedy as lies in the slow or sudden death that follows on a bruised passion, though it may be a death that finds only a parish funeral. there are certain animals to which tenacity of position is a law of life — they can never flourish again, after a single wrench : and there are certain human beings to whom predominance is a law of life — they can only sustain humiliation so long as they can refuse to believe in it, and, in their own conception, predominate still. if boys and men are to be welded together in the glow of transient feeling, they must be made of metal! tiie mill on tiie floss. that will mix, else they inevitably fall asunder when the heat dies out. o the sweet rest of that embrace to the heart-stricken maggie! more helpful than all wisdom is one draught of simple human pity that will not forsake us. the small old-fashioned book (thomas à kempis), for which you need only pay sixpence at a book-stall, works miracles to this day, turning bitter waters into sweetness : while expensive sermons and treatises, newly issued, leave all things as they were before. it was written down by a hand that waited for the heart's prompting; it is the chronicle of a solitary, hidden anguish, struggle, trust and triumph — not written on velvet cushions to teach endurance to those who are treading with bleeding feet on the stones. and so it remains to all time a lasting record of human needs and human consolations : the voice of a brother who, ages ago, felt and suffered and renounced -- in the cloister, perhaps, with serge gown and tonsured head, with much chanting and long fasts, and with a fashion of speech different from ours — but under the same silent far-off' heavens, and with the same passionate desires, the same strivings, the same failures, the same weariness. the suffering, whether of martyr or victim, which belongs to every historical advance of mankind, is rep- resented in every town, and by hundreds of obscure hearths: and we need not shrink from this comparison the mill on the floss. of small things with great; for does not science tel. us that its highest striving is after the ascertaiument of a unity which shall bind the smallest things with the greatest? in natural science, i have understood, there is nothing petty to the mind that has a large vision of relations, and to which every single object suggests a vast sum of conditions. it is surely the same with the observation of human life. there is something sustaining in the very agitation that accompanies the first shocks of trouble, just as an acute pain is often a stimulus, and produces an excite- ment which is transient strength. it is in the slow, changed life that follows -- in the time when sorrow has become stale, and has no longer an emotive inten- sity that counteracts its pain - in the time when day follows day in dull unexpectant sameness, and trial is a dreary routine;- it is then that despair threatens; it is then that the peremptory hunger of the soul is felt, and cye and ear are strained after some unlearned secret of our existence, which shall give to endurance the nature of satisfaction. this inalienable habit of saving, as an end in itself, belonged to the industrious men of business of a for- mer generation, who made their fortunes slowly, al- most as the tracking of the fox belongs to the harrier -- it constituted them a "race,” which is nearly lost in these days of rapid money-getting, when lavishness çoines close on the back of want. in old-fashioned times, an “independence” was hardly ever made with- the mill on the floss. out a litle miserliness as a condition, and you would have found that quality in every provincial district, combined with characters as various as the fruits from which we can extract acid. surely the only courtship unshaken by doubts and fears must be that in which the lovers can sing together. the sense of mutual fitness that springs from the two deep notes fulfilling expectation just at the right moment between the notes of the silvery soprano, from the perfect accord of descending thirds and fifths, from the preconcerted loving chase of a fugue, is likely enough to supersede any immediate demand for less impassioned forms of agreement. the contralto will not care to catechise the bass; the tenor will foresee no embarrassing dearth of remark in evenings spent with the lovely soprano. maggie and stephen were in that stage of courtship which makes the most exquisite moment of youth, the freshest blossom-time of passion - when each is sure of the other's love, but no formal declaration has been made, and all its mutual divination, exalting the most trivial word, the lightest gesture, into thrills delicate and delicious as wafted jasmine scent. the explicit- ness of an engagement wears off this finest edge of susceptibility; it is jasmine gathered and presented in a large bouquet. mrs. swelling was not a loving, tender-hearted woman : she was a woman whose skirt sat well, who tie mill on tie floss. adjusted her waist and patted her curls with a prce occupied air when she inquired after your welfare. these things, doubtless, represent a great social power, but it is not the power of love. it is pleasant to know that a new ministry just conie into ofiice are not the only fellow-men who enjoy a period of high appreciation and full-blown eulogy: in many respectable families throughout this realm, rel. atire: becoming creditable meet with a similar cordial- ity on recognition, which, in its fine freedom from the coercion of any antecedents, suggests the hopeful pos- sibility that we may some day without any notice find ourselves in full millennium, with cockatrices who have ceased to bite, and wolves that no longer show their teeth with any but the blandest intentions. it is always chilling in friendly intercourse, to say you have no opinion to give. and if you deliver an opinion at all, it is mere stupidity not to do it with an air of conviction and well-founded knowledge. you make it your own in uttering it, and naturally get fond of it. ugly and deformed people have great need of un- usual virtues, because they are likely to be extremely uncomfortable without them: but the theory that un- usual virtues spring by a direct consequence out of personal disadvantages, as animals get thicker wool in severe climates, is perhaps a little overstrained. the temptations of beauty are much dwelt upon, but i the mill on the floss. fancy they only bear the same relation to those of ugliness, as the temptation to excess at a feast, where the delights are varied for eye and ear as well as palate, bears to the temptations that assail the des peration of hunger. does not the hunger tower stand as the type of the utinost trial to what is human in us? i think my head 's all alive inside like an old cheese, for i'm so full o'plans, one knocks another over. if i hadn't mumps to talk to, i should get top-heavy an' tumble in a fit. i suppose it's because i niver went to school much. that's what i jaw my old mother for. i says, “you should ha' sent me to school a bit more," i says "an' then i could ha' read i' the books like fun, an' kep' my head cool an' empty.”] i think the more on 't when mr. tom says a thing, because his tongue doesn't overshoot him as mine does. lors! i'm no better nor a tilted bottle, i aren't - i can't stop mysen when once i begin.' dr. kenn was at me to know what i did of a sun- day, as i didn't come to church. but i told him i was upo' the travel three parts o' the sundays - an' then i'm so used to bein' on my legs, i can't sit so long on end - an' lors, sir,” says i, “a packman can do wi' a small ’lowance o' church: it tastes strong,” says i: “there's no call to lay it on thick.”] lors! it's a thousand pities such a lady as you tie mill on tiie floss. shouldn't deal with a packman, i'stead o goin' into these new-fangled shops, where there's half-a-dozen fine gents wi' their chins propped up wi’ a stiff stock, a-looking like bottles wi' ornamental stoppers, an' all got to get their dinner out of a bit o' calico: it stan's to reason you must pay three times the price you pay a packman, as is the nat ’ral way o' gettin' goods — an' pays no rent, an' isn't forced to throttle himself till the lies are squeezed out on him, whether he will or no. but lors! mum, you know what it is better nor i do — you can see through them shopmen, i'll be bound.' see here, now, here's a thing to make a lass's mouth water, an' on’y two shillin' – an’ why? why, 'cause there's a bit of a moth-hole i’ this plain end. lors, i think the moths an' the mildew was sent by prov- idence o' purpose to cheapen the goods a bit for the good-lookin' women as han't got much money. if it hadn't been for the moths, now, every hankicher on 'em 'ud ha' gone to the rich handsome ladies, like you, mum, at five shillin' apiece - not a farthin' less; but what does the moth do? why, it nibbles off three shillin' o' the price i' no time, an' then a packman like me can carry't to the poor lasses as live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for 'em. lors, it's as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher.' mumps doesn't mind a bit o' cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, au' 'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an’’ud niver ask tiie mill on tiie floss. theirselves how i got my dinner (ut on't. i niver cheat anybody as doesn't want to cheat me, miss — lors, i'm a honest chap, i am ; only i must hev a bit o' sport, an' now i don't go wi’ the ferrets, i'n got no varmint to come over but them haggling women.' oh, it is difficult life is very difficult! it seems right to me sometimes that we should follow our strongest feeling; — but then, such feelings con- tinually come across the ties that all our former life has made for us — the ties that have made others dependent on us — and would cut them in two. if life were quite casy and simple, as it might have been in paradise, and we could always see that one being first towards whom .... i mean, if life did not make duties for us before love comes, love would be a sign that two people ought to belong to each other. but i see – i feel it is not so now: there are things we must renounce in life; some of us must resign love. many things are difficult and dark to me; but i see one thing quite clearly - that i must not, cannot seek my own happiness by sacrificing others. love is natural; but surely pity and faithfulness and memory are natural too. and they would live in me still, and punish me if i did not obey them.” i couldn't live in peace if i put the shadow of a wilful sin between myself and god.? you feel, as i do, that the real tie lies in the feelings and expectations we have raised in other miuds. else tiie jill on tie floss. all pledges might be broken, when there was no out. ward penalty. there would be no such thing as faith- fulness. faithfulness and constancy mean something else besides doing what is easiest and pleasantest to our- selves. they mean renouncing whatever is opposed to the reliance others have in us — whatever would cause misery to those whom the course of our lives has made dependent on us. if the past is not to bind us, where can duty lie? we should have no law but the inclination of the moment. i think i should have no other mortal wants, if i could always have plenty of music. it seems to infuse strength into my limbs, and ideas into my brain. life seems to go on without effort, when i am filled with music. at other times one is conscious of carrying a weight. ? if we use common words on a great occasion, they are the more striking, because they are felt at once to have a particular meaning, like old banners, or every- day clothes, hung up in a sacred place.? i're never any pity for conceited people, because i think they carry their comfort about with them. it always seemed to me a sort of clever stupidity the mill on tie floss. mind very free when we give up wishing, and only think of bearing what is laid upon us, and doing what is given us to do. i'll tell you how i got on. it wasn't by getting astride a stick, and thinking it would turn into a horse. if i sat on it long enough. i kept my eyes and ears open, sir, and i wasn't too fond of my own back, and i made my master's interest my own. if i got places, sir, it was because i made myself fit for 'em. if you want to slip into a round hole, you must make a ball of yourself - that's where it is. you youngsters nowadays think you're to begin with living well and working easy : you've no notion of running afoot before you get on horseback. you must remember it isn't only laying hold of a rope -- you must go on pulling. it's the mistake you lads make that have got nothing either in your brains or your pocket, to think you've got a better start in the world if you stick yourselves in a place where you can keep your coats clean, and have the shop-wenches take you for finc gentlemen. that wasn't the way i started, young man: when i was sixteen, my jacket smelt of tar, and i wasn't afraid of handling cheeses. that's the reason i can wear good broadcloth now, and have my legs under the same table with the heads of the best firms in st. ogg's. the mill on the floss. i want tom to know figures, and write like print, and see into things quick, and know what folks mean, and how to wrap things up in words as aren't action- able. it's an uncommon fine thing, that is, when you can let a man know what you think of him without paying for it. it's a pity but what maggie 'd been the lad-she'd ha' been a match for the lawyers, she would. it's the wonderful'st thing as i picked the mother, because she wasn't o'er 'cute — bein' a good-looking woman too, an' come of a rare family for managing; but i picked her from her sisters o' purpose, 'cause she was a bit weak, like; for i wasn't agoin' to be told the rights o' things by my own fireside. but you see when a man's got brains himself, there's no knowing where they'll run to; an' a pleasant sort o' soft woman may go on breeding you stupid lads and 'cute wenches, till it's like as if the world was turned topsy-turvy. it's an uncommon puzzlin' thing." it is mere cowardice to seek safety in negations. no character becomes strong in that way.• a feeling of revenge is not worth much, that yon should care to keep it. i don't think any of the strongest effects our natures are susceptible of can ever be explained. we can peither detect the process by which they are arrived at, nor the mode in which they act on us. the great- tiie mill on the floss. est of painters only once painted a mysteriously divino child; he couldn't have told how he did it, and we can't tell why we feel it to be divine. i think there are stores laid up in our human nature that our under- standings can make no complete inventory of. certain strains of music affect me so strangely – i can never hear them without their changing my whole attitude of mind for a time, and if the effect would last, i might be capable of heroisms. love gives insight, and insight often gives fore. boding.' i think of too many things -- sow all sorts of seeds, and get no great harvest from any one of them. i'm cursed with susceptibility in every direction, and effec- tive faculty in none. i care for painting and music; i care for classic literature, and medieval literature, and modern literature; i flutter all ways, and fly m none. it seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. there are cer- tain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them. how can we ever be satis- fied without them until our feelings are deadened? i delight in fine pictures - i long to be able to paint such. i strive and strive, and can't produce what i want. that is pain to me, and always will be pain, until my faculties lose their keenness, like aged eyes." tie mill on tie floss. perhaps i am wrong; perhaps i feel about you as the artist does about the scene over which his soul has brooded with love: he would tremble to see it con- fided to other hands; he would never believe that it could bear for another all the meaning and the beauty it bears for him. you want to find out a mode of renunciation that will be an escape from pain. i tell you again, there is no such escape possible except by perverting or muti- lating one's nature. i can't think what witchery it is in you, maggie, that makes you look best in shabby clothes; though you really must have a new dress now. but do you know, last night i was trying to fancy you in a handsome fashionable dress, and do what i would, that old limp merino would come back as the only right thing for you. i wonder if marie antoinette looked all the grander when her gown was darned at the elbows. now, if i were to put anything shabby on, i should be quite unnoticeable - i should be a mere rag. i suppose all phrases of mere compliment have their turn to be true. a man is occasionally grateful when he says thank yon.” it's rather hard upon him that he must use the same words with which all the world declines a disagreeable invitation - don't you think , miss tuliver?! tie mill on the floss. - well, it will not go on much longer, for the bazaar is to take place on monday week. thank heaven! kenn himself said the other day, that he didn't like this plan of making vanity to do the work of charity; but just as the british public is not reasonable enough to bear direct taxation, so st. ogg's has not got force of motive enough to build and endow schools without calling in the force of folly.? evicom ".me mill. on the vlors.” silas marner (uit: silas marner. in old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. we see no white-winged angels now. but yet inen are led away from threatening destruc- tion: a land is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's. the gods of the hearth exist for us still; and let all new faith be tolerant of that fetishism, lest it bruise its own roots. that famous ring that pricked its owner when he forgot duty and followed desire - i wonder if it prickej very hard when he set out on the chase, or whether it pricked but lightly then, and only pierced to the quick when the chase had long been ended, and hope, fold- ing her wings, looked backward and became regret? if there is an angel who records the sorrows of men as well as their sins, he knows how many and deep are the sorrows that spring from false ideas for which no man is culpable. ( ) silas marner. our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us: there have been many circulations of the sap before we de- tect the smallest sign of the bud. favorable chance, i fancy, is the god of all men who follow their own devices instead of obeying a law they believe in. let even a polished mau of these days yet into a position he is ashamed to avow, and his mind will be bent on all the possible issues that may deliver him from the calculable results of that position. let him live outside his income, or shirk the resolute hon- est work that brings wages, and he will presently find himself dreaming of a possible benefactor, a possible simpleun who may be cajoled into using his interest, a possibile state of mind in some possible person not yet forthcoming. let him neglect the responsibilities of his office, and he will inevitably anchor himself on the chance, that the thing left undone may turn out not to be of the supposed importance. let him betray his friend's confidence, and he will adore that same cunning complexity called chance, which gives him the hope that his friend will never know. let lim forsake a decent craft that he may pursue the gentil- ities in a profession to which nature never called him, and his religion will infallibly be the worship of blessed chance, which he will believe in as the mighty creator of success. the cvil principle deprecated in that re- ligion, is the orderly sequence by which the seed brings forth a crop after its kind. silas marner. to the peasants of old times, the world outside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness and niystery: to their utravelled thought a state of wan- dering was a conception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came back with the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts, hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which would have prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct on his part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he had any reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handi- craft. all cleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument the tongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itself suspicious : honest folks, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostly not overwise or clever - at least, not beyond such a matter as knowing the signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity and dexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that they partook of the nature of conjuring. the yoke a man creates for himself by wrong-doing will breed hate in the kindliest nature. the prevarication and white lies which a mind that keeps itself ambitiously pure is as uneasy under as a great artist under the false touches that no eye detects but his own, are worn as lightly as mere trimnings when once the actions have become a lie. the sense of security more frequently springs from silas marner. habit than from conviction, and for this reason it often subsists after such a change in the conditions as might have been expected to suggest aların. the lapse of time during which a given event has not happened, is, in this logic of habit, constantly alleged as a reason why the event should never happen, even when the lapse of time is precisely the added condition which makes the event imminent. a man will tell you that he has worked in a mine for forty years unhurt by au accident as a reason why he should appreliend no danger, though the roof is beginning to sink; and it is often observable, that the older a man gets, the more dificult it is to him to retain a believing conception of his own death. instead of trying to still his fears, godfrey encour- aged them, with that superstitious impression which clings to us all, that if we expect evil very strongly it is the less likely to come. every man's work, pursued steadily, tends to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of his life. let even an affectionate goliath get himself tied to a small tender thing, dreading to hurt it by pulling, and dreading still more to snap the cord, and which of the two, pray, will be master? the vindication of the loved object is the best balm affection can find for its wounds :-"a man must have silas marner. much on his mind,” is the belief by which a wife often supports a cheerful face under rough answers and unfeeling words. excessive rumination and self-questioning is perhaps a inorbid habit inevitable to a mind of much moral sensibility when shut out from its due share of out- ward activity, and of practical claims on its affections - inevitable to a noble-hearted, childless woman, when her lot is narrow. "i can do so little – have i done! it all well?” is the perpetually recurring thought; and there are no voices calling her away from that solil- oquy, no peremptory demands to divert energy from vain regret or superfluous scruple. i suppose it is the way with all men and women who reach middle age without the clear perception that life never can be thoroughly joyous : under the vague dul- ness of the gray hours, dissatisfaction seeks a definite object, and finds it in the privation of an untried good. dissatisfaction, seated musingly on a childless hearth, thinks with envy of the father whose return is greeted by young voices - seated at the meal where the little heads rise one above another like nursery plants, it sees a black care hovering behind every one of them, and thinks the impulses by which men abandon free- dom, and seek for ties, are surely nothing but a brief madness. that quiet mutual gaze of a trusting husband and wife is like the first moment of rest or refuge from a silas marnek. great weariness or a great danger- not to be inter: fered with by speech or action which would distract the sensations from the fresh enjoyment of repose. memory, when duly impregnated with ascertained facts, is sometimes surprisingly fertile. perfect love has a breath of poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human beings. the subtle and varied pains springing out the higher sensibility that accompanies higher cuille, are perhaps less pitiable than that dreary absence of im- personal enjoyment and consoi ition which leaves ruder minds to the perpetual urgent companionship on their own griefs and discontents. often the soul is ripened into fuller goodness while age has spread an ugly film, so that mere glances can never divine the preciousness of the fruit. a plain man, speaking under some embarrassment, necessarily blunders on words that are coarser than his intentions, and that are likely to fall gratingly on suisceptible feelings. i suppose one reason why we are seldom able to comfort our neighbors with our words is, that our good-will gets adulterated, in spite of ourselves, before it can pass our lips. we can send black puddings and pellitoes without giving them a flavor of our own silas jarner. egoism; but language is a stream that is almost sure to smack of a mingled soil. even people whose lives have been made various by learning, sometimes find it hard to keep a fast hold on their habitual views of life, on their faith in the invis- ible - nay, on the sense that their past joys and sorrows are a real experience, when they are suddenly trans- ported to a new land, where the beings around them know nothing of their history, and share none of their ideas - where their mother earth shows another lap, and human life has other forms than those on which their souls have been nourished. minds that have been unhinged from their old faith and love have per- haps sought this lethean influence of ex re, in which the past becomes dreamy because its symbols have all vanished, and the present too is dreamy because it is linked with no memories. have not men, shut up in solitary imprisonment, found an interest in marking the moments by straight strokes of a certain length on the wall, until the growth of the sum of straight strokes, arranged in triangles, has become a mastering purpose? do we not wile away moments of inanity or fatigued waiting by re- peating some trivial movement or sound, until the repetition has bred a want, which is incipient habit? that will help us to understand how the love of accu- mulating money grows an absorbing passion in men whose imaginations, even in the very beginning of their hoard, showed them no purpose beyond it. silas marnek. marner's life had reduced itself to the mere function of weaving and hoarding, without any contemplatio of an end towards which the functions tended. tk same sort of process has perhaps been undergone b wiser men, when they have been cut off from faith an: love -- only, instead of a loom and a heap of guineas. they have had some erudite research, some ingenioum project, or some well-knit theory. the child was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep- only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into tha: wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky – before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway. the excitement had not passed away: it had only reached that stage when the keenness of the suscepti- bility makes the external stimulus intolerable - when there is no sense of weariness, but rather an intensity of inward life, under which sleep is an impossibility. any one who has watched such moments in other men remembers the brightness of the eyes and the strange definiteness that comes over coarse features from that transient influence. it is as if a new fineness of ear for all spiritual voices had sent wonder-working vibra- tions through the heavy mortal frame-as if “beauty born of murmuring sound” had passed into the face of the liste ier. silas marner. to people accustomed to reason abont the forins in which their religious feeling has incorporated itself, it is difficult to enter into that simple, untaught state of mind in which the form and the feeling have never been severed by an act of reflection. - strange lingering echoes of the old demon worship might perhaps even now be caught by the diligent lis- tener among the gray-haired peasantry; for the rude mind with difficulty associates the ideas of power and benignity. a shadowy conception of power that by much persuasion can be induced to refrain from in- flicting harm, is the shape most easily taken by the sense of the invisible in the minds of men who have always been pressed close by primitive wants, and to whom a life of hard toil has never been illuminated by any enthusiastic religious faith. to them pain and mishap present a far wider range of possibilities than gladness and enjoyment: their imagination is almost barren of the images that feed desire and hope, but is all overgrown by recollections that are a perpetual pasture to fear. “is there anything you can fancy that you would like to eat?” i once said to an old laboring man, who was in his last illness, and wbo had refused all the food his wife had offered him. “no,” he answered, “i've never been used to nothing but common victual, and i can't eat that.” experi- ence had bred no fancies in him that could raise the phantasm of appetite. well, master ma'ner, it's niver too late to turn ove' silas jarner. abuse their husbands, and then they turn round on one and praise 'em as if they wanted to sell 'em. there's nothing like a dairy if folks want a bit o' worrit to make the days pass. for as for rubbing furniture, when you can once see your face in a table there's nothing else to look for; but there's always something fresh with the dairy : for even in the depths o'winter there's some pleasure in conquering the butter, and making it come whether or no.? there's nothing kills a man so soon as having nobody to find fault with but himself. it's a deal the best way o' being master, to let somebody else do the ordering, and keep the blaming in your own hands. it ’ud save many a man a stroke, i believe.? you're right there, tookey: there's allays two 'pinions; there's the 'pinion a man has of himsen, and there's the 'pinion other folks have on him. there'd be two 'pinions about a cracked bell, if the bell could hear itself.: meanin' goes but a little way i' most things, for you may mean to stick things together and your glue may be bad, and then where are you? there's reasons in things as nobody knows on- that's pretty much what i've made out; though some folks are so wise, they'll find you fifty reasons straight silas marner. off, and all the while the real reason's winking at 'em in the corner, and they niver see 't.: breed is stronger than pasturc.“ things look dim to old folks : they'd need have somo young eyes about 'em, to let 'em know the world's the same as it used to be.“ there's debts we can't pay like money debts, by paying extra for the years that have slipped hy. while i've been putting off and putting off, the trees have been growing - it's too late now." nothing is so good as it seems beforehand. end of “silas marner." romola ( ) romola. the great river-courses which have shaped the lives of men have hardly changed; and those other streams, the life-currents that ebb and flow in human hearts, pulsate to the same great needs, the same great lɔves and terrors. as our thought follows close in the slow wake of the dawn, we are impressed with the broad sameness of the human lot, which never alters in the main headings of its history – hunger and labor, seed- time and harvest, love and death. even if, instead of following the dim daybreak, our imagination pauses on a certain historical spot, and awaits the fuller morning, we may see a world-famous city, which has hardly changed its outline since the days of columbus, seeming to stand as an almost un- violated symbol, amidst the flux of human things, to remind us that we still resemble the men of the past more than we differ from them, as the great mechan- ital principles on which those domes and towers were raised must make a likeness in human building that will be broader and deeper than all possible change. our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from our owu will. nay, children ( ) romola. may be strangled, but deeds never: they have an indestructible life both in and out of our conscious. ness. under every guilty secret there is hidden a brood of guilty wishes, whose unwholesome infecting life is cherished by the darkness. the contaminating effect of deeds often lies less in the commission than in the consequent adjustment of our desires — the enlistment of our self-interest on the side of falsity; as, on the other hand, the purifying influence of public confes- sion springs from the fact, that by it the hope in lies is forever swept away, and the soul recovers the noble attitude of simplicity. if the subtle mixture of good and evil prepares suffering for human truth and purity, there is also suffering prepared for the wrong-doer by the same mingled conditions. necessity does the work of courage. tito's mind was destitute of that dread which has heen erroneously decried as if it were nothing higher than a man's animal care for his own skin: that awe of the divine nemesis which was felt by religious pagans, and, though it took a more positive form under christianity, is still felt by the mass of mankind simply as a vague fear at anything which is called wrong- doing. such terror of the unseen is so far above mere sensual cowardice that it will annihilate that coward. romola. ice: it is the initial recognition of a moral law re- straining desire, and checks the hard bold scrutiny of imperfect thought into obligations which can never be proved to have any sanctity in the absence of feeling. “ it is good,” sing the old eumenides, in Æschylus, “ that fear should sit as the guardian of the soul, forcing it into wisdom - good that men should carry a threatening shadow in their hearts under the full sunshine; else, how should they learn to revere the right?” that guardianship may become needless; but only when all outward law has become needless - only when duty and love have united in one stream and made a common force. the exhaustion consequent on violent emotion is apt to bring a dreamy disbelief in the reality of its cause. we are so made, almost all of us, that the false seeming which we have thought of with painful shrink- ing when beforehand in our solitude it has urged itself on us as a necessity, will possess our muscles and move our lips as if nothing but that were easy when once we have come under the stimulus of expectant eyes and ears. it belongs to every large nature, when it is not under the immediate power of some strong unques- tioning emotion, to suspect itself, and doubt the truth of its own impressions, conscious of possibilities be. yond its own horizon. romola. every strong feeling makes to itself a conscience of its own — has its own piety; just as much as the feel- ing of the son towards the mother, which will some. times survive amid the worst fumes of depravation. while we are still in our youth there can always come, in our early waking, moments when mere pas. sive existence is itself a lethe, when the exquisiteness of subtle indefinite sensation creates a bliss which is without memory and without desire. even to the man who presents the most elastic resistance to whatever is unpleasant, there will come moments when the pressure from without is too strong for him, and he must feel the smart and the bruise in spite of himself. a man's own safety is a god that sometimes makes very grim demands. tito showed no other change from the two months and more that had passed since his first appearance in the weather-stained tunic and hose, than that added radiance of good fortune, which is like the just per- ceptible perfecting of a flower after it has drunk a morning's sunbeams. the feelings that gather fervor from novelty will be of little help towards making the world a home for dimmed and faded human beings; and if there is any love of which they are not widowed, it must be tho romola. love that is rooted in memories and distils perpetually the sweet balms of fidelity and forbearing tenderness. the human soul is hospitable, and will entertain conflicting sentiments and contradictory opinions with much impartiality. a girl of eighteen imagines the feelings behind the face that has moved her with its sympathetic youth, as easily as primitive people imagined the humors of the gods in fair weather: what is she to believe in, if not in this vision woven from within? no one who has ever known what it is to lose faith in a fellow-man whom he has profoundly loved and reverenced, will lightly say that the shock can leave the faith in the invisible goodness unshaken. with the sinking of high human trust, the dignity of life sinks too; we cease to believe in our own better self, since that also is part of the common nature which is degraded in our thought; and all the finer impulses of the soul are dulled. all who remember their childhood remember the strange vague sense, when some new experience came, that everything else was going to be changed, and that thore would be no lapse into the old monotony. our relations with our fellow-men are niost often determined by coincident currents; the inexcusable word or deed seldom comes until after affection or romola. reverence has been already enfeebled by the strain of repeated excuses. there is no compensation for the woman who feels that the chief relation of her life has been no more than a mistake. she has lost her crown. the deepest secret of human blessedness has half whispered itself to her, and then forever passed her by. all minds, except such as are delivered from doubt by dulness of sensibility, must be subject to a recur- ring conflict where the many-twisted conditions of life have forbidden the fulfilment of a bond. for in strict- ness there is no replacing of relations: the presence of the new does not nullify the failure and breach of the old. life has lost its perfection; it has been maimed; and until the wounds are quite scarred, con- science continually casts backward, doubting glances. she who willingly lifts up the veil of her married life has profaned it from a sanctuary into a vulgar place. if energetic belief, pursuing a grand and remote end, is often in danger of becoming a demon-worship, in which the votary lets his son and daughter pass through the fire with a readiness that hardly looks like sacri- fice : tender fellow-feeling for the nearest has its dan- ger too, and is apt to be timid and sceptical towards the larger aims without which life cannot rise into religion. romola. it is the lot of every man who has to speak for the satisfaction of the crowd, that he must often speak in virtue of yesterday's faith, hoping it will come back to-morrow. there are moments when our passions speak and decide for us, and we seem to stand by and wonder. they carry in them an inspiration of crime, that in one instant does the work of long premeditation. it is in the nature of all human passion, the lowest as well as the highest, that there is a point at which it ceases to be properly egoistic, and is like a fire kindled within our being to which everything else in us is mere fuel. love does not aim simply at the conscious good of the beloved object: it is not satisfied without perfect loyalty of heart: it aims at its own completeness. wherever affection can spring, it is like the green leaf and the blossom - pure, and breathing purity, whatever soil it may grow in. life never seems so clear and easy as when the heart is beating faster at the sight of some generous self- risking deed. we feel no doubt then what is the high est prize the soul can win; we almost believe in our own power to attain it. as romola walked, often in weariness, among the ronola. sick, the hungry, and the murmuring, she felt it good to be inspired by something more than her pity — by the belief in a heroism struggling for sublime ends, towards which the daily action of her pity could only tend feebly, as the dews that freshen the weedy ground to-day tend to prepare an unseen harvest in the years to come. after all has been said that can be said about the widening influence of ideas, it remains true that they would hardly be such strong agents unless they were taken in a solvent of feeling. the great world-struggle of developing thought is continually foreshadowed in the struggle of the affections, seeking a justification for love and hope. to the common run of mankind it has always seemed a proof of mental vigor to find moral questions easy, and judge conduct according to concise alternatives. to have a mind well oiled with that sort of argument which prevents any claim from grasping it, seems emi- nently convenient sometimes; only the oil becomes objectionable when we find it anointing other minds on which we want to establish a hold. as a strong body struggles against fumes with the more violence when they begin to be stifling, a strong soul struggles against phantasies with all the more alarmel energy when they threaten to govern in the place of thought. romola. souls, that we prepare ourselves for sudden deeds by the reiterated choice of good or evil that gradually determines character. tito had an innate love of reticence - let us say a talent for it - which acted as other impulses do, with- ont any conscious motive, and, like all people to whom concealment is easy, he would now and then conceal something which had as little the nature of a secret as the fact that he had seen a flight of crows. when was the fatal coquetry inherent in superfluous authorship ever quite contented with the ready praise of friends? perfect scheming demands omniscience. tito felt for the first time, without defining it to him- self, that loving awe in the presence of noble woman- hood, which is perhaps something like ühe worship paid of old to a great nature-goddess, who was not all-knowing, but whose life and power were something deeper and more primordial than knowledge. perhaps of all sombre paths that on which we go back, after treading it with a strong resolution, is the one that most severely tests the ſervor of renuncia- tiol. life is so complicated a game that the devices of skill are liable to be defeated at every turn by air- romola. blown chances, incalculable as the descent of thistle- down. our lives make a moral tradition for our individual selves, as the life of mankind at large makes a moral tradition for the race; and to have once acted greatly seems a reason why we should always be noble. there is no kind of conscious obedience that is not an advance on lawlessness. a widow at fifty-five whose satisfaction has been largely drawn from what she thinks of her own person, and what she believes others think of it, requires a great fund of imagination to keep her spirits buoyant. in the career of a great public orator who yields himself to the inspiration of the moment, that conflict of selfish and unselfish emotion which in most men is hidden in the chamber of the soul, is brought into ter- rible evidence; the language of the inner voices is written out in letters of fire. romola felt that intensity of life which seems to transcend both grief and joy – in which the mind seems to itself akin to elder forces that wrought out existence before the birth of pleasure and pain. this was the tangled web that romola had in her mind as she sat weary in the darkness. no radiant angel came across the gloom with a clear message for romola. her. in those times, as now, there were human beings who never saw angels or heard perfectly clear mes. sages. such truth as came to them was brought con- fusedly in the voices and deeds of men not at all like the seraphs of unfailing wing and piercing vision- men who believed falsities as well as truths, and did the wrong as well as the right. the helping hands stretched out to them were the hands of men who stumbled and often saw dimly, so that these beings unvisited by angels had no other choice than to grasp that stumbling guidance along the path of reliance and action which is the path of life, or else to pause in loneliness and disbelief, which is no path, but the ar- rest of inaction and death. there was nothing transcendent in savonarola's face. it was not beautiful. it was strong-featured, and owed all its refinement to habits of mind and rigid discipline of the body. the source of the impression his glance produced on romola was the sense it conveyed to her of interest in her and care for her apart from any personal feeling. it was the first time she had en- countered a gaze in which simple human fellowship expressed itself as a strongly-felt bond. such a glance is half the vocation of the priest or spiritual guide of ên, there are men whose presence infuses trust and reverence; there are others to whom we have need to carry our trust and reverence ready-made. romola. the inspiring consciousness breathed into roinola by savonarola's influence that her lot was vitally united with the general lot had exalted even the minor details of obligation into religion. she was marching with a great army; she was feeling the stress of a common life. if victims were needed, and it was uncertain on whom the lot might fall, she would stand ready to answer to her name. she had stood long; she had striven hard to fulfil the bond, but she had seen all the conditions which made the fulfilment possible grad- ually forsaking her. the one effect of her marriage- tie seemed to be the stifling predominance over her of a nature that she despised. all her efforts at union had only made its impossibility more palpable, and the relation had become for her simply a degrading ser- vitude. the law was sacred. yes, but rebellion might be sacred too. it flashed upon her mind that the problem before her was essentially the same as that which had lain before savonarola — the problem where the sacredness of obedience ended, and where the sa- credness of rebellion began. to her, as to him, there had come one of those moments in life when the soul must dare to act on its own warrant, not only without external law to appeal to, but in the face of a law which is not unarmed with divine lightnings — light- nings that may yet fall if the warrant has been false. no soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence. romola's trust in savonarola was something like a rope sus- pended securely by her path, making her step elastic romola. while she grasped it; if it were suddenly removed, no firmness of the ground she trod could save her from staggering, or perhaps from falling. savonarola's nature was one of those in which op- posing tendencies coexist in almost equal strength : the passionate sensibility which, impatient of definite thought, floods every idea with emotion and tends towards contemplative ecstacy, alternated in him with a keen perception of outward facts and a vigorous practical judgment of men and things. it was the habit of savonarola's mind to conceive great things, and to feel that he was the man to do them. iniquity should be brought low; the cause of justice, purity, and love should triumph; and it should triumph by his voice, by his work, by his blood. in moments of ecstatic contemplation, doubtless the sense of self melted in the sense of the unspeakable, and in that part of his experience lay the elements of genuine self-abasement; but in the presence of his fellow-men for whom he was to act, preëminence seemed a nec- essary condition of his life. perhaps no man has ever had a mighty influence over his fellows without having the innate need to dominate, and this need usually becomes the more im- perious in proportion as the complications of life make self inseparable from a purpose which is not selfish. romola. impelled partly by the spiritual necessity that was laid upon him to guide the people, and partly by the prompting of public men who could get no measures carried without his aid, savonarola was rapidly pass- ing in his daily sermons from the general to the special — from telling his hearers that they must post- pone their private passions and interests to the public good, to telling them precisely what sort of govern- inent they must have in order to promote that good- from “ choose whatever is best for all ” to “ choose the great council,” and “the great council is the will of god.” to savonarola these were as good as identical prop- ositions. the great council was the only practicable plan for giving an expression to the public will large enough to counteract the vitiating influence of party interests: it was a plan that would make honest im- partial public action at least possible. and the purer the government of florence would become - the more secure from the designs of men who saw their own advantage in the moral debasement of their fellows --- the nearer would the florentine people approach the character of a pure community, worthy to lead the way in the renovation of the church and the world. and fra girolamo's mind never stopped short of that sublimest ond: the objects towards which he felt him- self working had always the same moral magnificence. he had no private malice — he sought no petty gratifi- cation. even in the last terrible days, when igno- miny, torture, and the fear of torture, had laid bare every hidden weakness of his soul, he could say to romola. his importunate judges: “do not wonder if it seems to you that i have told but few things; for my pur- poses were few and great." the real force of demonstration for girolamo savo- narola lay in his own burning indignation at the sight of wrong; in his fervent belief in an unseen justice that would put an end to the wrong, and in an unseen purity to which lying and uncleanness were an abomi- nation. to his ardent, power-loving soul, believing in great ends, and longing to achieve those ends hy the exertion of its own strong will, the faith in a supreme and righteous ruler became one with the faith in a speedy divine interposition that would punish and reclaim. · the worst drop of bitterness can never be wrung on to our lips from without: the lowest depth of resig- nation is not to be found in martyrdom; it is only to be found when we have covered our heads in silence and felt, “i am not worthy to be a martyr; the truth shall prosper, but not by me.” there is no jot of worthy evidence that from the time of his imprisonment to the supreme moment, savonarola thought or spoke of himself as a martyr. the idea of martyrdom had been to him a passion dividing the dream of the future with the triumph of beholding his work achieved. and now, in place of both, had come a resignatio, which he called by no glorifying name. romola. but therefore he may the more fitly be called a martyr by his fellow-men to all time. for power rose against him not because of his sius, but because of his greatness — not because he sought to deceive the world, but because he sought to make it noble. and through that greatness of his he endured a double agony: not only the reviling, and the torture, and the death-throe, but the agony of sinking from the vision of glorious achievement into that deep shadow where he could only say, “i count as nothing: darkness encompasses me: yet the light i saw was the true light.” perhaps, while no preacher ever had a more massive influence than savonarola, no preacher ever had more heterogeneous materials to work upon. and one secret of the massive influence lay in the highly mixed character of his preaching. baldassarre, wrought into an ecstasy of self-martyring revenge, was only an ex- treme case among the partial and narrow sympathies of that audience. in savonarola's preaching there were strains that appealed to the very finest susceptibil- ities of men's natures, and there were elements that gratified low egoism, tickled gossiping curiosity, and fascinated timorous superstition. his need of per- sonal predominance, his labyrinthine allegorical inter- prctations of the scriptures, his enigmatic visions, and his false certitude about the divine intentions, never ceased, in his own large soul, to be ennobled by that fervid piety, that passionate sense of the infinite, that active sympathy, that clear-sighted demand for the romola. be not offended, bel giovane ; i am but repeating what i hear in my shop: as you may perceive, my eloquence is simply the cream which i skim off my clients' talk. iieaven forbid i should fetter my im- partiality by entertaining an opinion.' ah, mind is an enemy to beauty! i myself was thought beautiful by the women at one time --- when i was in my swaddling-bands. but now-oimè! i carry my unwritten poems in cipher on my face!! we florentines have liberal ideas about speech, and consider that an instrument which can flatter and prom- ise so cleverly as the tongue, must have been partly made for those purposes; and that truth is a riddle for eyes and wit to discover, which it were a mere spoil ing of sport for the tongue to betray." the cat couldn't eat her mouse if she didn't catch it alive, and bratti couldn't relish gain if it had no taste of a bargain. the secret of oratory lies, not in saying new things, but in saying things with a certain power that moves the hearers - without which, as old filelfo has said, your speaker deserves to be called, “non oratorem, sed (ıratorem.” and, according to that test, fra girolamo is a great orator. i measure men's dulness by the devices they trust in for deceiving others. rovola. veracity is a plant of paradise, and the seeds have never flourished beyond the walls. many of these half-way severities are mere hot- hearled blundering. the only safe blows to be in- flicted on men and parties are the blows that are too heavy to be avenged. if a mai incurs odium by sanctioning a severity that is wvi thorough enough to be final, he commits & blunder. i think all lines of the human face have something either touching or grand, unless they seem to come from low passions, there is no killing the suspicion that deceit has once segotten. father, it is a great gift of the gods to be born with a hatred and contempt of all injustice and meanness. yours is a higher lot, never to have lied and truckled, than to have shared honors won by dishonor. it is strange this life of men possessed with fervid peliefs that seem like madness to their fellow-beings. you talk of substantial good, tito! are faithful- ness, and jɔve, and sweet grateful memories, no good? is it no good that we should keep our silent promises on which others build because they believe in our love rumola, and truth? is it uo good that a just lite should be justly honored? or, is it good that we should harden our hearts against all the wants and hopes of those who have depended on us? what good can belong to men who have such souls? to talk cleverly, perhaps, and find soft couches for themselves, and live and die with their base selves as their best companions.“ it is only a poor sort of happiness, my lillo, that could ever come by caring very much about our own narrow pleasures. we can only have the highest hap- piness, such as goes along with being a great man, by having wide thoughts, and much feeling for the rest of the world as well as ourselves; and this sort of happiness often brings so much pain with it, that we can only tell it from pain by its being what we would choose before everything else, because our souls see it is good. there are so many things wrong and diffi- cult in the world, that no man can be great -- he can hardly keep himself from wickedness- unless he gives up thinking much about pleasure or rewards, and gets strength to endure what is hard and painful. my father had the greatness that belongs to integrity; he chose poverty and obscurity rather than falsehood. and there was fra girolamo - you know why i keep to-morrow sacred; he had the greatness which belongs to a life spent in struggling against powerful wrong, and in trying to raise men to the highest deeds they are capable of. and so, my lillo, if you mean to act nobly and seek to know the best things god has put within reach of men, you must learn to fix your mind romola. on that end, and not on what will happen to you because of it. and remember, if you were to choose something lower, and make it the rule of your life to seek your own pleasure and escape from what is dis- agreeable, calamity might come just the same; and it would be calamity falling on a base mind, which is the one form of sorrow that has no balm in it, and tlat may well make a man say, “it would have been better for me if i had never been born." blindness acts like a dam, sending the streams of thought backward along the already-travelled channels and hindering the course onward. it is too often the "palma sine pulvere," the prize of glory without the dust of the race, that young ambition covets. but what says the greek? “in the morning of life, work; in the mid-day, give counsel; in the evening, pray.” in the vain laughter of folly wisdom hears half its applause. when the towers fall, you know it is an ill business for the small nest-builders. old men's eyes are like old men's memories; they are strongest for things a long way off.? i enter into no plots, but i never forsake my colors. romola. if i march abreast with obstinate men, who will rush on guns and pikes, i must share the consequences.? solco torto, sacco dritto – many a full sack comes from a crooked furrow; and he who will be captain of none but honest men will have small hire to pay.? my daughter, every bond of your life is a debt: the right lies in the payment of that debt; it can lie no- where else. you are flying from your debts: the debt of a flor- entine woman; the debt of a wife. you are turning your back on the lot that has been appointed for you - you are going to choose another. but can man or woman choose duties? no more than they can choose their birthplace or their father and mother. my daughter, you are fleeing from the presence of god into the wilderness. you are seeking your own will, my daughter. you are seeking some good other than the law you are bound to obey. but how will you find good? it is not a thing of choice: it is a river that flows from the foot of the invisible throne, and flows by the path of obedience. i say again, man cannot choose his duties. you may choose to forsake your duties, and choose not to have the sorrow they bring. but you will go forth; and what will you find, my daughter? sorrow without duty — bitter herbs, and no bread with them.' ronola. my daughter, it the cross comes to you as a wife, you must carry it as a wife. you may say, “i will forsake my husband,” but you cannot cease to be a wife. the higher life begins for us, my daughter, when we renounce our own will to bow before a divine law. that seems hard to you. it is the portal of wisdom, and freedom, and blessedness. and the symbol of it hangs before you. that wisdom is the religion of the cross. the cause of freedom, which is the cause of god's kingdom upon earth, is often most injured by the ene- mies who carry within them the power of certain hu- man virtues. the wickedest man is often not the most insurmountable obstacle to the triumph of good. romolo. - take care, father, lest your enemies have some reason when they say, that in your visions of what will further god's kingdom you see only what will strengthen your own party. savonarola. — and that is true! the cause of my party is the cause of god's kingdom. romola. – i do not believe it! god's kingdom is something wider --- else let me stand outside it with the beings that i love. eat eggs in lent and the snow will melt. that's what i say to our people when they get noisy over their cups at san gallo, and talk of raising a roma romola. (insurrection): i say, never do you plan a romor; you may as well try to fill arno with buckets. when there's water enough arno will be full, and that will not be till the torrent is ready.. a philosopher is the last sort of animal i should choose to resemble. i find it enough to live, without spinuing lies to account for life. a perfect traitor should have a face which vice caji write no marks on - lips that will lie with a dimpled smile - eyes of such agate-like brightness and depth that no infamy can dull them - cheeks that will rise from a murder and not look haggard. nello, thy tongue runs on as usual, like a mill when the arno's full — whether there's grist or not. holy madonna! it seems as if widows had nothing to do now but to buy their coffins and think it a thou- sand years till they get into them, instead of enjoying themselves a little when they've got their hands free for the first time. let romola muffle herself as she will, every one wants to see what there is under her veil, for she has that way of walking like a procession." what i say is, we've got to reverence the saints, and not to set ourselves up as if we could be like them, else life would be unbearable." romola. there has been no great people without processions, and the man who thinks himself too wise to be moved by them to anything but contempt, is like the puddle that was proud of standing alone while the river rushed by. no man is matriculated to the art of life til he has been well tempted. i remember our antonio getting bitter about his chiselling and enamelling of these metal things, and taking in a fury to painting, because, said he, “the artist who puts his work into gold and silver, puts his brains into the melting-pot. after all the talk of scholars, there are but two sorts of government: one where men show their teeth at each other, and one where men show their tongues and lick the feet of the strongest. to manage men one ought to have a sharp mind in a velvet sheath. end of "romola.' felix holt. ( ) felix holt. there is seldom any wrong-doing which does not carry along with it some downfall of blindly-climbing hopes, some hard entail of suffering, some quickly- satiated desire that survives, with the life in death of old paralytic vice, to see itself cursed by its woful progeny - solie tiagic mark of kinship in the one brief life to the far-stretching life that went before, and to the life that is to come after, such as has raised the pity and terror of men ever since they began to discern between will and destiny. but these things are often unknown to the world; for there is much pain that is quite noiseless; and vibrations that inake human agonies are often a mere whisper in the roar of hurry- ing existence. there are glances of hatred that stab and raise no cry of murder; robberies that leave man or woman forever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer - committed to no sound except that of low moans in the night, seen in no writing except that made on the face by the slow months of suppressed anguish and early morning tears. many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear. ( ) felix holt. far y what a game at chess would be if all the chessmen had passions and intellects, more or less small and cunning: if you were not only uncertain about your adversary's men, but a little uncertain also about your own; if your knight could shuffle himself on to a new square by the sly; if your bishop, in dis- gust at your castling, could wheedle your pawns out of their places; and if your pawns, hating you because they are pawns, could make away from their appointed posts that you might get checkmate on a sudden. you might be the longest-headed of deductive reasoners, and yet you might be beaten by your own pawns. you would be especially likely to be beaten, if you depended arrogantly on your mathematical imagina- tion, and regarded your passionate pieces with con- tempt. yet this imaginary chess is easy compared with the game a man has to play against his fellow-men with other fellow-men for his instruments. he thinks him- self sagacious, perhaps, because he trusts no bond except that of self-interest; but the only self-interest he can safely rely on is what seems to be such to the mind he would use or govern. can he ever be sure of knowing this? one way of getting an idea of our fellow-country- men's miseries is to go and look at their pleasures. a supreme love, a motive that gives a sublime l'hythm to a woman's life, and exalts habit into partner- ship with the soul's highest needs, is not to be had felix holt. sinners who cling to each other in the fiery whirlwind and never recriminate. running away, especially when spoken of as ab- sconding, seems at a distance to offer a good modern substitute for the right of sanctuary; but seen closely it is often found inconvenient and scarcely possible. we are all of us made more graceful by the inward presence of what we believe to be a generous purpose; our actions move to a hidden music - "a melody that's sweetly played in tune.” it is only in that freshness of our time (i. e. youth) that the choice is possible which gives unity to life, and makes the memory a temple where all relics and all votive offerings, all worship and all grateful joy, are an unbroken history sanctified by one religion. jealousy of all sorts – whether for our fortune or our love - is ready at combinations, and likely even to outstrip the fact. all of us — whether men or women - are liable to this weakness of liking to have our preference justified before others as well as ourselves. it is terrible — the keen bright eye of a woman when it nas once been turned with admiration on what is severely true; but then the severely true rarely comes within its range of visiou. felix holt. a woman's lot is made for hier by the love she ac- cepts. it comes in so many forms in this life of ours — the knowledge that there is something sweetest and no- blest of which we despair, and the sense of something present that solicits us with an immediate and easy indulgence. human beings in moments of passionate reproach and denunciation, especially when their anger is on their own account, are never so wholly in the righ! that the person who has to wince cannot possibly pro- test against some unreasonableness or unfairness in their outburst. in the ages since adam's marriage, it has been good for some men to be alone, and for some women also. perhaps some of the most terrible irony of the human got is this of a deep truth coming to be uttered by lips that have no right to it. there is hardly any mental misery worse than that of having our own serious phrases, our own rooted beliefs, caricatured by a charlatan or a hireling. there is no point on which young women are more casily piqued than this of their sufficiency to judge the men who make love to them. felix holt. a mind in the grasp of a terrible anxiety is not cred. ulous of easy solutions. the one stay that bears up our hopes is sure to appear frail, and if looked at long will seem to totter. a man with a definite will and an energetic person- ility acts as a sort of flag to draw and bind together che foolish units of a mob. in a mind of any nobleness, a lapse iuto transgres- sion against an object still regarded as supreme, issues in a new and purer (levotedness, chastised by humility and watched over by a passionate regret. so it was with that ardent spirit which animated the little body of rufus lyon. once in his life he had been blinded, deafened, hurried along by rebellious impulse; he had gone astray after his own desires, and had let the fire die out on the altar: and as the true penitent, hating his self-besotted error, asks from all coming life duty instead of joy, and service instead of ease, so rufus was perpetually on the watch lest he should ever again postpone to some private affection a great public opportunity which to him was equivalent to a cominand. to the end of inen's struggles a penalty will remain for those who sink from the ranks of the heroes into the crowd for whom the heroes fight and die. very slight words and deeds may have a sacra. mental eflicacy, if we can cast our self-love behind us, felix holt. in order to say or do them. and it has been well be- lieved through many ages that the beginning of com- punction is the beginning of a new life; that the mind which sees itself blameless may be called dead in tres- passes - in trespasses on the love of others, in tres- passes on their weakness, in trespasses on all those great claims which are the image of our own need. it is in the nature of exasperation gradually to con- centrate itself. the sincere antipathy of a dog towards cats in general, necessarily takes the form of indignant barking at the neighbor's black cat which makes daily trespass; the bark at imagined cats, though a fre- quent exercise of the canine mind, is yet comparatively feeble. perhaps the most delightful friendships are those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yet more personal liking. it is a fact perhaps kept a little too much in the back-ground, that mothers have a self larger than their maternity, and that when their sons have become taller than themselves, and are gone from them to college or into the world, there are wide spaces of their time which are not filled with praying for their boys, read. ing old letters, and envying yet blessing those who are attending to their shirt-buttons. the stronger will always rule, say some, with an air of confidence which is like a lawyer's flourish, forbid. felix iiolt. love -- that is, by much suppression of self, and power of living in the experience of another. what to one man is the virtue which he has sunk below the possibility of aspiring to, is to another the backsliding by which he forfeits his spiritual crown. we are very much indebted to such a linking of events as makes a doubtful action look wrong. harold was one of those people to whose presence in the room you could not be indifferent: if you do not hate or dread them, you must find the touch of their hands, nay, their very shadows, agreeable. our pet opinic ns are usually those which place us in a minority of a minority amongst our own party :- very happily, else those poor opinions, born with no silver spoon in their mouths - how would they get nourished and fed ? comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are not athirst for information, but to be quite fair we must admit that superior reticence is a good deal due to the lack of matter. speech is often barren; but silence also does not necessarily brood over a full nest. your still fowl, blinking at you without remark, may all the while be sitting on one addled nest-egg; and when it takes to cackling, will have nothing to announce but that addled delusion. felix holt. a diflident man likes the idea of doing soniething remarkable, which will create belief in him without any immediate display of brilliancy. celebrity may blush and be silent, and win a grace the more. that talkative maiden, rumor, though in the inter- est of art she is figured as a youthful winged beauty with flowing garments, soaring above the heads of inen, and breathing world-thrilling news through a gracefully-curved trumpet, is in fact a very old maid, who puckers her silly face by the fireside, and really does no more than chirp a wrong guess or a lame story into the ear of a fellow-gossip; all the rest of the work attributed to her is done by the ordinary working of those passions against which men pray in the litany, with the help of a plentiful stupidity against which we have never yet had any authorized form of prayer. quick souls have their intensest life in the first an- ticipatory sketch of what may or will be, and the pur- suit of their wish is the pursuit of that paradisiacal vision which only impelled them, and is left farther and farther behind, vanishing forever even out of hope in the moment which is called success. there is no private life which has not been deter- mined by a wider public life, from the time when the primeval milk-maid had to wander with the wanderings of her clan, because the cow she milked was one of a herd which had made the pastures bare. even in that conservatory existence where the fair camellia is felix holt. sighed for by the noble young pine-apple, neither of them needing to care about the frost or rain outside, there is a nether apparatus of hot-water pipes liable to cool down on a strike of the gardeners or a scarcity of coal. i have known persons who have been suspected of undervaluing gratitude, and excluding it from the list of virtues; but on closer observation it has been seen that, if they have never felt grateful, it has been for want of an opportunity; and that, far from despising gratitude, they regard it as the virtue most of all in- cumbent — on others towards them. at the last moment there is always a reason not existing before — namely, the impossibility of further vacillation. perhaps the moment of most diffusive pleasure from public speaking is that in which the speech ceases and the audience can turn to commenting on it. the one speech, sometimes uttered under great responsibility as to missiles and other consequences, has given a text to twenty speakers who are under no responsibility. even in the days of duelling a man was not challenged for being a bore, nor does this quality apparently hin- der him from being much invited to dinner, which is the great index of social responsibility in a less bar- barous age. we hardly allow enough in common life for the re felix holt. sults of that enkindled passionate enthusiasm which, under other conditions, makes world-famous deeds. non omnia grandior ætas que fugiamus habet, says the wise goddess: you have not the best of it in all things, o youngsters! the elderly man has his enviable memories, and not the least of them is the memory of a long journey in mid-spring or autumn on the outside of a stage-coach. posterity may be shot, like a bullet through a tube, by atinospheric pressure from win- chester to newcastle: that is a fine result to have among our hopes; but the slow old-fashioned way of getting from one end of our country to the other is the better thing to have in the memory. the tube- journey can never lend much to picture and narrative; it is as barren as an exclamatory ! whereas the happy outside passenger seated on the box from the dawn to the gloaming gathered enough stories of english life, enough of english labors, in town and country, enough aspects of earth and sky, to make episodes for a modern odyssey. when a woman feels purely and nobly, that ardor of hers which breaks through formulas too rigorously urged on men by daily practical needs, makes one of her most precious influences; she is the added im- pulse that shatters the stiffening crust of cautious experience. her inspired ignorance gives a sublimity to actions so incongruously simple, that otherwise they would make men smile. felix hol . the finest threads, such as no eye sees, iſ bound cunningly about the sensitive flesh, so that the move- ment to break them would bring torture, may make a worse bondage than any fetters. from the british point of view masculine beauty is regarded very much as it is in the drapery business : -- as good solely for the fancy department - for young noblemen, artists, poets, and the clergy. on the point of knowing when we are disagreeable, our human nature is fallible. our lavender-water, our smiles, our compliments, and other polite falsities, are constantly offensive, when in the very nature of them they can only be meant to attract admiration and regard. all knowledge which alters our lives penetrates us more when it comes in the early morning: the day that has to be travelled with something new and per- haps forever sad in its light, is an image of the life that spreads beyond. but at night the time of rest is near. blows are sarcasms turned stupid : wit is a form of force that leaves the limbs at rest. jermyn had “been the making of johnson "; and this seems to many men a reason for expecting devo- tion, in spite of the fact that they themselves, though felix holt. very fond of their own persons and lives, are not at all devoted to the maker they believe in. nature never makes men who are at once energet- ically sympathetic and minutely calculating. express confessions give definiteness to memories that might more easily melt away without them. questions of origination in stirring periods are no- toriousiy hard to settle. it is by no means ueces- sary in human things that there should be only one beginner. to be right in great memorable moments, is perhaps the thing we need most desire for ourselves. what we call illusions are often, in truth, a wider vision of past and present realities - a willing move- ment of a man's soul with the larger sweep of the world's forces — a movement towards a more assured end than the chances of a single life. we see human heroism broken into units and say, this unit did little – inight as well not have been. but in this way we might break up a great army into units; in this way we might break the sunlight into fragments, and think that this and the other might be cheaply parted with. let us rather raise a monument to the soldiers whose brave hearts only kept the ranks unbroken, and met death- a monument to the faithful who were not famous, and who are precious as the continuity of the felix holt. sunbeams is precious, though some of them fall up seen and on barrenness. m.- it was but yesterday you spoke him well — you've changed your mind so soon? n.- not i-'tis he that, changing to my thought, has changed my mind. no man puts rotten apples in his pouch because their upper side looks fair to him. constancy in mistake is constant folly." oh, sir, 'twas that mixture of spite and over-fed merriment which passes for humor with the vulgar. in their fun they have much resemblance to a turkey- cock. it has a cruel beak, and a silly iteration of ugly sounds; it spreads its tail in self-glorification, but shows you the wrong side of that ornament- liking admiration, but knowing not what is admir- able. it is a good and soothfast saw; half roasted never will be raw; no dough is dried once more to meal, no crock new-shapen by the wheel; you can't turn curds to milk again, nor now, by wishing, back to then; and having tasted stolen honey, you can't buy innocence for money." tis grievous, that with all amplification of travel felix colt. both by sea and land, a man can never separate him. self from his past history." no man believes that many-textured knowledge and skill — as a just idea of the solar system, or the power of painting flesh, or of reading written harmonies — can come late and of a sudden : yet many will not stick at believing that happiness can come at any day and hour solely by a new disposition of events; though there is nought less capable of a magical production than a mortal's happiness, which is mainly a complex of habitual relations and dispositions not to be wrought by news from foreign parts, or any whirling of for- tune's wheel for one on whose brow time has written legibly. the devil tempts us not — 'tis we tempt him, beckoning his skill with opportunity." l'll tell you what's the greatest power under heaven, and that is public opinion – the ruling belief in society about what is right and what is wrong, what is honor- able and what is shameful. . how can polit- ical freedom make us better, any more than a religion we don't believe in, if people laugh and wink when they see men abuse and defile it? and while public opinion is what it is — while men have no better beliefs about public duty — while corruption is not felt to be a damning disgrace — while men are not ashamed in parliament and out of it to make public questions which concern the welfare of millions a mere screen felix holt. for their own petty private ends, – i say no fresh scheme of voting will much mend our condition. for, take us working men of all sorts. suppose out of every hundred who had a vote there were thirty who had some soberness, some sense to choose with, some good feeling to make them wish the right thing for all. and suppose there were seventy out of the hundred who were, half of them, not sober, who had no sense to choose one thing in politics more than another, and who had so little good feeling in them that they wasted on their own drinking the money that should have helped to feed and clothe their wives and children; and another half of them who, if they didn't drink, were too ignorant or mean or stupid to see any good for thrinselves better than pocketing a five-shilling piece when it was offered them. where would be the political power of the thirty sober men? the power would lie with the seventy drunken and stupid votes.' where's the good of pulling at such a tangled skein as this electioneering trickery? as long as three- fourths of the men in this country see nothing in an election but self-interest, and nothing in self-interest but some form of greed, one might as well try to purify the proceedings of the fishes, and say to a hungry cod- fish — "my good friend, abstain; don't goggle your eyes so, or show such a stupid gluttonous mouth, or think the little fishes are worth nothing except in rela- tion to your own inside.” he'd be open to no argu- ment short of crimping him.' felix holi. this world is not a very fine place for a good many of the people in it. but i've made up my mind it sha'n't be the worse for me, if i can help it. they may tell me i can't alter the world - that there must be a certain number of sneaks and robbers in it, and if i don't lie and filch somebody else will. well, then, somebody else shall, for i won't.' the fact is, there are not many easy lots to be drawn in the world at present; and such as they are i am not envious of them. i don't say life is not worth having: it is worth having to a man who has some sparks of sense and feeling and bravery in him. and the finest fellow of all would be the one who could be glad to have lived because the world was chiefly mis- erable, and his life had come to help some one whu needed it. he would be the man who had the most powers and the fewest selfish wants. but i'm not up to the level of what i see to be best.' i would never choose to withdraw myself from the labor and common burden of the world; but i do choose to withdraw myself from the push and the scramble for money and position. any man is at liberty to call me a fool, and say that mankind are benefited by the push and the scramble in the long- run. but i care for the people who live now and will not be living when the long-run comes. as it is, i pre- fer going shares with the unlucky.' 'i housands of men have wedded poverty because they felix holt. ] expect to go to heaven for it; i don't expect to go to heaven for it, but i wed it because it enables me to do what i most want to do on earth. whatever the hopes for the world may be — whether great or small - i am a man of this generation; i will try to make life less bitter for a few within my reach. it is held reasonable enough to toil for the fortunes of a family, though it may turn to imbecility in the third genera- tion. i choose a family with more chances in it.' it is just because i'm a very ambitious feliow, with very hungry passions, wanting a great deal to satisfy me, that i have chosen to give up what people call worldly good. at least that has been one determining reason. it all depends on what a man gets into his consciousness – what life thrusts into his mind, so that it becomes present to him as remorse is present to the guilty, or a mechanical problem to an inventive genius. there are two things i've got present in that way: one of them is the picture of what i should hate to be. i'm determined never to go about making my face sim- pering or solemn, and telling professional lies for profit; or to get tangled in affairs where i must wink at dishonesty and pocket the proceeds, and justify that knavery as part of a system that i can't alter. if i once went into that sort of struggle for success, i should want to win-i should defend the wrong that i had once identified myself with. i should beco:ne everything that i see now beforehand to be detestable. and what's more, i should do this, as men are doing it every day, for a ridicilously small prize - perhaps for felix iiolt. none at all — perhaps for the sake of two parlors, a rank eligible for the church-wardenship, a discontented wife, and several unhopeful children.' i'm proof against that word failure. i've seen behind it. the only failure a man ought to fear is failure in cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best. as to just the amount of result he may see from his particular work — that's a tremendous uncertainty: the unive se has not been arranged for the gratitication of his feel- ings. as long as a man sees and believes in some great good, he'll prefer working towards that in the way he's best fit for, come what may. i put effects at their minimum, but i'd rather have the minimum of effect, if it's of the sort i care for, than the maximum of effect i don't care for - a lot of fine things that are not to my taste — and if they were, the conditions of holding them while the world is what it is, are such as would jar on me like grating metal. ignorance is not so damnable as humbug, but when it prescribes pills it may happen to do more harm.' i should say, teach any truth you can, whether it's in the testament or out of it. it's little enough any. body can get hold of, and still less what he can drive into the skulls of a pence-counting, parcel-tying gen- eration, such as mostly fill your chapels. there are some people one must wish to judge one truly. not to wish it would be mere hardness." felix holt. a bachelor's children are always young: they're im- mortal children — always lisping, waddling, helpless, and with a chance of turning out good.' a fine lady is a squirrel-headed thing, with small airs, and small notions, about as applicable to the business of life as a pair of tweezers to the clearing of a forest." i can't bear to see you going the way of the foolish women who spoil men's lives. men can't help loving them, and so they make themselves slaves to the petty desires of petty creatures. that's the way those who might do better spend their lives for nought- get checked in every great effort - toil with brain and limb for things that have no more to do with a manly life than tarts and confectionery. that's what makes women a curse; all life is stunted to suit their little- ness. that's while i'll never love, if i can help it; and if i love, i'll bear it, and never marry.' i wonder whether the subtle measuring of forces will ever come to measuring the force there would be in one beautiful woman whose mind was as noble as her face was beautiful — who made a man's passion for her rush in one current, with all the great aims of his life.' felix. — i don't measure my force by the negations in me, and think my soul must be a mighty one be. cause it is more given to idle suffering than to benef. felix holt. icent activity. that's what your favorite gentlemen do, of the byronic-bilious style. esther. – i don't admit that those are my favorite gentlemen. felix. — i've heard you defend them-gentlemen like your rénés, who have no particular talent for the finite, but a general sense that the infinite is the right thing for them. they might as well boast of nausea as a proof of a strong inside.' i reverence the law, but not where it is a pretext foi wrong, which it should be the very object of law to hinder. ... i hold it blasphemy to say that a man ought not to fight against authority: there is no great religion and no great freedom that has not done it, in the beginning.' i have had much puerile blame cast upon me, be- cause i have uttered such names as brougham and wellington in the pulpit. why not wellington as well as rabshakeh? and why not brougham as well as balaam? does god know less of men than he did in the days of hezekiah and moses? — is his arm shortened, and is the world become too wide for his providence?? “and all the people said, amen.” ... my brethren, do you think that great shout was raised in israel by each man's waiting to say “amen” till his neighbors had said amen? do you think there will ever be a great shout for the right - the shout of a nation as of felix holt. one man, rounded and whole, like the voice of the archangel that bound together all the listeners of earth and heaven - if every christian of you peeps round to see what his neighbors in good coats are doing, or else puts his hat before his face that he may shout and never be heard? but this is what you do: when the servant of god stands up to deliver his message, do you lay your souls beneath the word as you set out your plants beneath the falling rain? no; one of you sends his eyes to all corners, he smothers his soul with small questions, “what does brother y. think?” “is this doctrine high enough for brother z.?” will the church members be pleased?” ? play not with paradoxes. that caustic which you handle in order to scorch others, may happen to sear your own fingers, and make them dead to the quality of things. 'tis difficult enough to see our way and keep our torch steady in this dim labyrinth : to whirl the torch and dazzle the eyes of our fellow-seekers is a poor daring, and may end in total darkness.? esther. – this will not be a grief to you, i hope, father? you think it is better that i should go? rufus. – nay, child, i am weak. but i would fain be capable of a joy quite apart from the accidents of my aged earthly existence, which, indeed, is a petty and almost dried-up fountain — whereas to the recep- tive soul the river of life pauseth not, nor is dimin- ished. felix holt. truly, the uncertainty of things is a text rather tou wide and obvious for fruitful application; and to dis- course of it is, as one may say, to bottle up the air, and make a present of it to those who are already standing out of doors.? the lord knoweth them that are his; but we — we are left to judge by uncertain signs, that so we may learn to exercise hope and faith towards one another; and in this uncertainty i cling with awful hope to those whom the world loves not because their con- science, albeit mistakenly, is at war with the habits of the world. our great faith, my esther, is the faith of martyrs : i will not lightly turn away from any man who endures harshness because he will not lie; nay, though i would not wantonly grasp at ease of mind through an arbitrary choice of doctrine, i cannot but believe that the merits of the divine sacrifice are wider than our utmost charity. i once believed other- wise – but not now, not now.? i say not that compromise is unnecessary, but it is an evil attendant on our imperfection; and i would pray everyone to mark that, where compromise broadens, intellect and conscience are thrust into nar- rower room. esther. – but that must be the best life, father. that must be the best life. rufus. - what life, my dear child? esther. – why, that where one bears and does every. felix holt. thing because of some great and strong feeling -- so that this and that in one's circumstances don't signify. rufus. — yea, verily: but the feeling that should be thus supreme is devotedness to the divine will. even as in music, where all obey and concur to one end, so that each has the joy of contributing to a whole whereby he is ravished and lifted up into the courts of heaven, so will it be in that crowning time of the mil. lennial reign, when our daily prayer will be fulfilled, and one law shall be written on all hearts, and be the very structure of all thought, and be the principle of all action. the very truth hath a color from the disposition of the utterer. where a great weight has to be moved, we require not so much selected instruments as abundant horse- power.” there are many who have helped to draw the car of reform, whose ends are but partial, and who forsake not the ungodly principle of selfish alliances, but would only substitute syria for egypt — thinking chiefly of their own share in peacocks, gold, and ivory.? the right to rebellion is the right to seek a higher rule, and not to wander in mere lawlessness. the mind that is too ready at contempt and repro- felix holt. bation is, i may say, as a clenched fist that can give blows, but is shut up from receiving and holding aught that is precious – though it were heaven-sent manna.? 'tis a great and mysterious giſt, this clinging of the heart, my esther, whereby it hath often seemed to me that even in the very moment of suffering our souls have the keenest foretaste of heaven. i speak not lightly, but as one who hath endured. and 'tis a strange truth that only in the agony of parting we look into the depths of love. as for being saved without works, there's a many, i daresay, can't do without that doctrine; but i thank the lord i never needed to put myself on a level with the thief on the cross. i've done my duty, and more, if anybody comes to that; for i've gone without my bit of meat to make broth for a sick neighbor: and if there's any of the church members say they've done the same, i'd ask them if they had the sinking at the stomach as i have; for i've ever strove to do the right thing, and more, for good-natured i always was.) your trouble's easy borne when everybody gives it a lift for you. when you've been used to doing things, and they've been taken away from you, it's as if your hands had been cut off, and you felt the fingers as are of no use to you." felix holt. i look upon it, life is like our game at whist, when banks and his wife come to the still-room of an even- ing. i don't enjoy the game much, but i like to play niy cards well, and see what will be the end of it. why, if i've only got some orange flowers to candy, i shouldn't like to die till i see them all right. i would change with nobody, madam. and if troubles were put up to market, i'd sooner buy old than new. it's something to have seen the worst.“ well," madam, put a good face on it, and don't seem to be on the look-out for crows, else you'll set other people watching. when i awake at cock-crow, i'd sooner have one real grief on my mind than twenty false. it's better to know one's robbed than to think one's going to be murdered. there's a fine presence about mr. harold. i re- member you used to say, madam, there were some people you would always know were in the room though they stood round a corner, and others you might never see till you ran against them. that's as true as truth. if a man's got a bit of property, a stake in the coun- try, he'll want to keep things square. where jack isn't sai?, tom's in danger. felix holt. if a nag is to throw me, i say let him have some blood. i've seen it again and again. if a man takes to tongue-work it's all over with him. “everything's wrong,” says he. that's a big text. but does he want to make everything right? not he. he'd lose his text. “we want every man's good,” say they. why, they never knew yet what a man's good is. how should they? it's working for his victual — not get- ting a slice of other people's. putty has said to me, “ johnson, bear in mind there are two ways of speaking an audience will always like: one is, to tell them what they don't understand; and the other is, to tell them what they're used to.” i shall never be the man to deny that i owe a great deal to putty. a man who puts a non-natural strained sense on a promise is no better than a robber.? i'm no fool myself: i'm forced to wink a good deal, for fear of seeing too much, for a neighborly man must let himself be cheated a little. none o' your shooting for me – it's two to one you'll miss. snaring's more fishing-like. you bait your hook, and if it isna the fishes' good-will to come, that's nothing again the sporting genelman. and that's what i say by snaring.' felix holt. i think half those priggish maxims about human nature in the lump are no more to be relied on than universal remedies. there are different sorts of hu- man nature. some are given to discontent and long- ing, others to securing and enjoying. and let me tell you, the discontented longing style is unpleasant to live with. it is difficult for a woman ever to try to be anything good when she is not believed in — when it is always supposed that she must be contemptible. one likes a “beyond” everywhere. end of “felix holt." middlemarch. ( ) middlem arch. manners must be very marked indeed before they cease to be interpreted by pre-conceptions either cou- fident or distrustful. a man's mind — what there is of it- has always the advantage of being masculine, as the smallest birch- tree is of a higher kind than the most soaring palm, and even his ignorance is of a sounder quality. sir james might not have originated this estimate; but a kind providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition. sometimes, indeed, celia had reflected that dodo would perhaps not make a husband happy who had not her way of looking at things; and stifled in the depths of her heart was the feeling that her sister was too re- ligious for family comfort. notions and scruples were like spilled needles, making one afraid of treading, or sitting down, or even eating. here was a man whose learning almost amounted to a proof of whatever he believed ! dorothra's inferences may seem large; but really life could never have gone on at any period but for ( ) middlemarci. this liberal allowance of conclusions, which has facil. itated marriage under the difficulties of civilization. has any one ever pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of pre-matrimonial acquaintanceship? dorothea by this time had looked deep into the un. gauged reservoir of mr. casaubon's mind, seeing re- fiected there in vague labyrinthine extension every quality she herself brought. signs are small, measurable things, but interpreta- tions are illimitable, and in girls of sweet, ardent nature, every sign is apt to conjure up wonder, hope, belief, vast as a sky, and colored by a diffused thimble- ful of matter in the shape of knowledge. they are not always too grossly deceived; for sindbad himself may have fallen by good luck on a true description, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor mortals in right conclusions: starting a long way off the true point, and proceeding by loops and zigzags, we now and then arrive just where we ought to be. with some endowment of stupidity and conceit,- dorothea might have thought that a christian young lady of fortune should should find her ideal of life in village charities, patronage of the humbler clergy, the perusal of “female scripture characters,” unfolding the private experience of sara under the old dispen- sation, and dorcas under the new, and the care of her soul over her embroidery in her own boudoir — with a background of prospective marriage to a man who, if middlewarcii. less strict than herself, as being involved in affairs re. ligiously inexplicable, might be prayed for and sea- sonably exhorted. on safe opportunities celia had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon dorothea, and calling her down from her rhapsodic mood hy remind- ing her that people were staring, not listening. mr. casaubon seemed even unconscious that triv- ialities existed, and never handed around that small- talk of heavy men which is as acceptable as stale bride- cake brought forth with an odor of cupboard. she pinched celia's chin, being in the mood now to think her very winning and lovely - fit hereafter to be an eternal cherub, and if it were not doctrinally wrong to say so, hardly more in need of salvation than a squirrel. mr brooke wondered, and felt that women were an inexhaustible subject of study, since even he, at his - age, was not in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them. all dorothea's passion was transfused through a inind struggling toward an ideal life; the radiance of her transfigured girlhood fell on the first object that came within its level. it had been celia's nature when a child never to middlewarch. quarrel with any one — only to observe with wouder that they quarrelled with her, and looked like turkey- cocks; whereupon she was ready to play at cat’s-cradle with them whenever they recovered themselves. mr. casaubon was being unconsciously wrought upon by the charms of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations either for immediate ef fects or for remoter ends. such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. a much more exemplary character with an in- fusion of sour dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the thirty-nine articles, and would have been less socially uniting. even with a microscope directed on a water-drop we find ourselves making interpretations which turn out to be rather coarse; for whereas under a weak lens you may seem to see a creature exhibiting an active voracity into which other smaller creatures actively play as if they were so many animated tax-pennies, a stronger lens reveals to you certain tiniest hairlets which make vortices for these victims while the swal- lower waits passively at his receipt of custom. in this way, metaphorically speaking, a strong lens applied to mrs. cadwallader's match-making will show a play of minute causes producing what may be called thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort of food she needed. middlemarci. her feeling toward the vulgar rich was a sort of re- ligious hatred: they had probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and mrs. cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid in kind at the rectory : such people were no part of god's de- sign in making the world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. a town where such monsters abounded was hardly more than a sort of low comedy, which could not be taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the universe. let any lady who is inclined to be hard on mrs. cadwallader inquire into the com- prehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers. she was the diplomatist of tipton and freshitt, and for anything to happen in spite of her was an offensive irregularity. we mortals, men and women, devour many a disap- pointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, “oh, nothing!” pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts - not to hurt others. to have in general but little feeling seems to be the ouly security against feeling too much on any partic- ular occasion. middlemarci. pride only helps us to be generous; it never makes us so, any more than vanity will help us to be witty. toe building, of greenish stone, was in the old eng. lish style, not ugly, but small-windowed and melan. choly looking: the sort of house that must have children, many flowers, open windows, and little vistas of bright things to make it seem a joyous home. certainly the mistakes that we male and female mor cals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we are so fond of it. dorothea filled up all blanks with unmanifested per- ſections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works of providence, and accounting for secming discords by her own deafness to the higher harmonies. and there are many blanks left in the weeks of courtship, which a loving faith fills with happy assurance. we know what a masquerade all development is, and what effective shapes may be disguised in helpless embryos. in fact, the world is full of hopeful anal- ogies and handsome, dubious eggs, called possibilities. among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous. i am not sure that the greatest man of his age, if ever that solitary superlative existed, could escape unfavorable reflections of himself in various small mirrors; and even milton, looking for his portrait in a middlemircii. spoon, must submit to have thr, ficial angle of a pumpkin. suppose we turn from outside estimates of a man, to wonder, with keener interest, what is the report of his own consciousness about his doings or capacity with what hindrances he is carrying on his daily labors; what fading of hopes, or what deeper fixity of self-delusion the years are marking off within him; and with what spirit he wrestles against universal pres- sure, which will one day be too heavy for him, and bring his heart to its final pause. doubtless his lot is important in his own eyes; and the chief reason that we think he asks too large a place in our consideration must be our want of room for him, since we refer him to the divine regard with perfect confidence; nay, it is even held sublime for our neighbor to expect the utmost there, however little he may have got from us. mr. casaubon, too, was the centre of his own world; if he was liable to think that others were providentially made for him, and especially to consider them in the light of their fitness for the author of a “key to all mythologies,” this trait is not quite alien to us, and, like the other mendicant hopes of mortals, claims some of our pity. all dorothea's eagerness for acquirement lay within that full current of sympathetic motive in which her ideas and impulses were habitually swept along. she did not want to deck herself with knowledge – to wear it loose from the nerves and blood that fed her action; middlemarch. and if she had written a book she must have done it as saint theresa did, under the command of an authority that constrained her conscience. mr. lydgate had the medical accomplishment of looking perfectly grave whatever nonsense was talked to him, and his dark, steady eyes gave him impressive- pess as a listener. plain women he regarded as he did the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and investi- gated by science. when a man has seen the woman whom he would have chosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor will usually depend on her reso- lution rather than on his. mr. casaubon took a wife to adorn the remaining quadrant of his course, and be a little moon that would cause hardly a calculable perturbation. dorothea did not look at things from the proper feminine angle. the society of such women was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the sec- ond form, instead of reclining in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes, and blue eyes for a heaven. any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a calculated irony middlemarcii. on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced neighbor. destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personce folded in her hand. even those neighbors who had called peter feather- stone an old fox had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his sister was quite used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he marked his sense of blood-relationship. indeed, she herself was accustomed to think that entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the almighty's intentions about families. every nerve and muscle in rosamond was adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at. she was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique : she even acted her own character, and so well, that she did not know it to be precisely her own. strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native merit has urged it, self in vain. the difficult task of knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes. middlemarca. one can begin so many things with a new person!-- even begin to be a better man. loud men called his subdued tone an under-tone, and sometimes implied that it was inconsistent with open- ness; though there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not be given to concealment of anything except his own voice, unless it can be shown that holy writ has placed the seat of candor in the lungs. mr. bulstrode had also a deferential bending attitude in listening, and an apparently fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons who thought them- selves worth hearing infer that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse. others, who expected to make no great figure, disliked this kind of moral lantern turned on them. if you are not proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and look judicial. such joys are reserved for con- scious merit. the mother's eyes are not always deceived in their partiality: she at least can best judge who is the ten- der, filial-hearted child. everybody's family doctor was remarkably clever, and was understood to have immeasurable skill in the management and training of the most skittish or vic- icus diseases. the evidence of his cleverness was of the higher intuitive o‘der, lying in his lady patients' immovable conviction, and was unassailable by any middlemarci. objection except that their intuitions were opposed by others equally strong. ldygate was but seven-and-twenty, an age at which many men are not quite common — at which they are hopeful of achievement, resolute in avoidance, think- ing that mammon shall never put a bit in their mouths and get astride their backs, but rather that mammon, if they have anything to do with him, shall draw their chariot. he was one of the rarer lads who early get a decided bent, and make up their minds that there is something particular in life which they would like to do for its own sake, and not because their fathers did it. our vanities differ as our noses do: all conceit is not the same conceit, but varies in correspondence with the minutiæ of mental make in which one of us differs from another. does it seem incongruous to you that a middlemarch surgeon should dream of himself as a discoverer? most of us, indeed, know little of the great originators until they have been lifted up among the constellations, and already rule our fates. but that herschel, for ex- ample, who “broke the barriers of the heavens” – did he not once play a provincial church organ, and give music-lessons to stumbling pianists? each of those shining ones had to walk on the earth among neighbors who perhaps thought much more of his gait middlemarch. and his garments than of anything which was to give him a title to everlasting fame : each of them had his little local personal history sprinkled with small temp- tations and sordid cares, which made the retarding friction of his course toward final companionship with the immortals. one's self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is very unpleasant to find depreciated. we are not afraid of telling over and over again how a man comes to fall in love with a woman and be wed- ded to her, or else be fatally parted from her. is it due to excess of poetry or of stupidity that we are never weary of describing what king james called a woman's “ makdom and her fairnesse,” never weary of listening to the twanging of the old troubadour strings, and are comparatively uninterested in that other kind of “makdom and fairnesse” which must be wooed with industrious thought and patient renunciation of small desires? in the story of this passion, too, the development varies : sometimes it is the glorious mar- riage, sometimes frustration and final parting. and not seldom the catastrophe is wound up with the other passion, sung by the troubadours. for in the mul- titude of middle-aged men who go about their vo- cations in a daily course determined for them much in the same way as the tie of their cravats, there is always a good number who once meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little. the story of their coming to be shapen after the average, and fit to be middlewarci. packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardor for generous, anpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardor of other youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly. nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their gradual change! in the be- ginning they inhaled it unknowingly: you and i may have sent some of our breath toward infecting them, when we uttered our conforming falsities or drew our silly conclusions; or perhaps it came with the vibra- tions from a woman's glance. strange that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain where our per- sistent self pauses and awaits us. in these matters he was conscious that his life would bear the closest scrutiny; and perhaps the conscious- ness encouraged a little defiance toward the critical strictness of persons whose celestial intimacies seemed not to improve their domestic manners, and whose lofty aims were not needed to account for their actions. the character of the publican and sinner is not al- ways practically incompatible with that of the modern pharisee, for the majority of us scarcely see more dis- tinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the fault- iness of our own arguments, or the dulness of our own jokes. middlemarch. many men have been praised as vividly imaginative on the strength of their profuseness in indifferent drawing or cheap narration : reports of very poor talk going on in distant orbs; or portraits of lucifer com- ing down on his bad errands as a large, ugly man with bat's wings and spurts of phosphorescence; or ex- aggerations of wantonness that seemed to reflect life in a diseased dream. but these kinds of inspiration lydgate regarded as rather vulgar and vinous com- pared with the imagination that reveals subtile actions inaccessible by any sort of lens, but tracked in that outer darkness through long pathways of necessary sequence by the inward light which is the last refine- ment of energy, capable of bathing even the ethereal atoms in its ideally illuminated space. he, for his part, had tossed away all cheap inventions where ig- norance finds itself able and at ease: he was enamored of that arduous invention which is the very eye of re- search, provisionally framing its object and correcting it to more and more exactness of relation; he wanted to pierce the obscurity of those minute processes which prepare human misery and joy, those invisible thoroughfares which are the first lurking-places of anguish, mania, and crime, that delicate poise and transition which determine the growth of happy or unhappy consciousness. one must be poor to know the luxury of giving! the vicar himself seemed to wear rather a changed aspect, as most men do when acquaintynes made else- middlemarch. where see them for the first time in their own homes; some indeed showing like an actor of genial parts dis- advantageously cast for the curmudgeon in a new piece. the rector was a likeable man: sweet-tempered, ready-witted, frank, without grins of suppressed bit- terness or other conversational flavors which make half of us an affliction to our friends. many souls in their young nudity are tumbled out among incongruities and left to "find their feet” among them, while their elders go about their business. the fact is unalterable, that a fellow-mortal with whose nature you are acquainted solely through the brief entrances and exits of a few imaginative weeks called courtship, may, when seen in the continuity of married companionship, be disclosed as something better or worse than what you have preconceived, but will certainly not appear altogether the same. and it would be astonishing to find how soon the change is felt if we had no kindred changes to compare with it. to share lodgings with a brilliant dinner com- panion, or to see your favorite politician in the min- istry, may bring about changes quite as rapid: in these cases too we begin by knowing little and believ- ing much, and we sometimes end by inverting the quantities. in courtship everything is regarded as provisional middlewarch. and preliminary, and the smallest sample of virtue or accomplishment is taken to guarantee delightful stores which the broad leisure of marriage will reveal. but the door-sill of marriage once crossed, expectation is concentrated on the present. having once embarked on your marital voyage, it is impossible not to be aware that you make no way, and that the sea is not within sight — that, in fact, you are exploring an en- closed basin. there is hardly any contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to have issued in a blank absence of interest or sympathy. “i am very glad that my presence has made any dif- ference to you,” said dorothea, who had a vivid mem- ory of evenings in which she had supposed that mr. casaubon's mind had gone too deep during the day to be able to get to the surface again. how far the judicious hooker or any other hero of erudition would have been the same at mr. casaubon's time of life, she had no means of knowing, so that he could not have the advantage of comparison; but her husband's way of commenting on the strangely impres- sive objects around them had begun to affect her with a sort of mental shiver: he had perhaps the best inten- tion of acquitting himself worthily, but only of acquit- ting himself. what was fresh to her mind was worn out to his; and such capacity of thought and feeling middlewarci. as had ever been stimulated in him by the general life of mankind had long shrunk to a sort of dried prepar- ation, a lifeless embalmment of knowledge. on a wedding journey, the express object of which is to isolate two people on the ground that they are all the world to each other, the sense of disagreement is, to say the least, confounding and stultifying. to have changed your longitude extensively, and placed your- selves in a moral solitude in order to have small explo- sions, to find conversation difficult, and to hand a glass of water without looking, can hardly be regarded as satisfactory fulfilment even to the toughest minds. caleb garth often shook his head in meditation on the yalue, the indispensable might of that myriad- headed, myriad-handed labor by which the social body is fed, clothed, and housed. it had laid hold of his imagination in boyhood. the echoes of the great hammer where roof or keel were a-making, the signal- shouts of the workmen, the roar of the furnace, the thunder and plash of the engine, were a sublime music to him; the felling and lading of timber, and the huge trunk vibrating star-like in the distance along the high- way, the crane at work on the wharf, the piled-up produce in warehouses, the precision and variety of inuscular effort wherever exact work had to be turned out -- all these sights of his youth had acted on him as poetry, without the aid of the poets, had made a philosophy for him without the aid of philosophers, a kiligion without the aid of theology. his early ambi. middlemarch. tion had been to have as effective a share as possible in this sublime labor, which was peculiarly dignified by him with the name of “ business”; and though he had only been a short time under a surveyor, and had been chiefly his own teacher, he knew more of land, build- ing, and mining than most of the special men in the county. his classification of human employments was rather crude, and like the categories of more celebrated men, would not be acceptable in these advanced times. he divided them into “ business, politics, preaching, learn- ing, and amusement.” he had nothing to say against the last four; but he regarded them as a reverential pagan regarded other gods than his own. in the same way he thought very well of all ranks, but he would not himself have liked to be of any rank in which he had not such close contact with “business ” as to get often honorably decorated with marks of dust and mortar, the damp of the engine, or the sweet soil of the woods and fields. though he had never regarded himself as other than an orthodox christian, and would argue on prevenient grace if the subject were proposed to him, i think his virtual divinities were good prac- tical schemes, accurate work, and the faithful comple- tion of undertakings: his prince of darkness was a slack workman. but there was no spirit of denial in caleb, and the world seemed so wondrous to him that he was ready to accept any number of systems, like any number of firmaments, if they did not obviously interfere with the best land drainage, solid building, correct measuring, and judicious boring (for coal). in middlemarch. to know intense joy without a strong bodily frame. one must have an enthusiastic soul. society never made the preposterous demand that a man should think as much about his own qualifications for making a charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for making himself happy. as if a man coulil choose not only his wife, but his wife's husband! or as if he were bound to provide charms for his posterity in his own person! it is an uneasy lot at best to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self — never to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardor of a passion, the energy of an action, but al. ways to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. there are answers which, in turning away wrath, only send it to the other end of the room; and to have a discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice is all on your own side is even more exasperating in marriage than in philosophy. the end of mr. brooke's pen was a thinking organ, evolving sentences, especially of a benevolent kind, before the rest of his mind could well overtake them. it expressed regrets and proposed remedies, which, middlemarcii. when mr. brooke read them, seemed felicitously worded — surprisingly the right thing, and determined a sequel which he had never before thought of. the right word is always a power, and communi. cates its definiteness to our action. there was a general sense running in the feather. stone blood that everybody must watch everybody else, and that it would be well for everybody else to reficct that the almighty was watching him. he was a large-cheeked man, nearly seventy, with small, furtive eyes, and was not only of much blander temper, but thought himself much deeper than his brother peter; indeed, not likely to be deceived in any of his fellow-men, inasmuch as they could not well be more greedy and deceitful than he suspected them of being. he was an amateur of superior phrases, and never used poor language without immediately correcting himself — which was fortunate, as he was rather loud, and given to predominate, standing or walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat with the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion, trimming limself rapidly with his forefinger, and marking each new series in these movements by a busy play with his large seals. there was occasionally a little fierce- ness in his demeanor, but it was directed chiefly against false opinion, of which there is so much to correct iu middlemarcii. our furniture, our dinner-giving, and preference for armorial bearings in our own case link us indissolubly with the established order. if dorothea spoke with any keenness of interest to mr. casaubon, he heard her with an air of patience as if she had given a quotation from the delectus familiar to him from his tender years, and sometimes men- tioned curtly what ancient sects or personages had held similar ideas, as if there were too much of that sort in stock already; at other times he would inform her that she was mistaken, and reassert what her re- mark had questioned. however slight the terrestrial intercourse between dante and beatrice or petrarch and laura, time changes the proportion of things, and in later days it is prefer- able to have fewer sonnets and more conversation. will was not without his intentions to be always generous; but our tongues are little triggers which have usually been pulled before general intentions can be brought to bear. when gratitude has become a matter of reasoning, there are many ways of escaping from its bonds. any private hours in her day were usually spent in her blue-green boudoir, and she had come to be very fond of its pallid quaintness. nothing had been nut- wardly altered there; but while the summer had grad: middlewarch. ually advanced over the western fields beyond the avenue of elms, the bare room had gathered within it those memories of an inward life whiclı fill the air as with a cloud of good or bad angels, the invisible yet active forms of our spiritual triumplis or our spiritual falls. dorothea had been so used to struggle for and to find resolve in looking along the avenue toward the arc! of western light that the vision itself had gained a coinmunicating power. even the pale stag seemed to have reminding glances, and to mean mutely, “yes, we know.” she was blind, you see, to many things obvious to others — likely to tread in the wrong places, as celia had warned her; yet her blindness to whatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried her safely by the side of precipices where vision would have been peril- ous with fear. when young ardor is set brooding over the concep- tion of a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with independent life, mastering ideal obstacles. even our own persons in the glass are apt to change their aspect for us after we have heard some frank remark on their less admirable points; and on the other hand it is astonishing how pleasantly conscience takes our encroachments on those who never complain or have nobody to complain for them. 'the energy that would animate a crime is not more middlewarcii. than is wanted to inspire a resolved submission, when the noble habit of the soul reasserts itself. a hidden soul seemed to be flowing forth from ros. amond's fingers; and so indeed it was, since souls live on in perpetual echoes, and to all fine expression there goes somewhere an originating activity, if it be only that of an interpreter. who shall tell what may be the effect of writing? if it happens to have been cut in stone, though it lie face downmost for ages on a forsaken beach, or “rest quietly under the drums and tramplings of many con- quests,” it may end by letting us into the secret of usurpations and other scandals gossiped about long empires ago; this world being apparently a huge whis- pering-gallery. such conditions are often minutely represented in our petty lifetimes. as the stone which has been kicked by generations of clowns may come by curious little links of effect under the eyes of a scholar, through whose labors it may at last fix the date of in- vasions and unlock religions, so a bit of ink and paper which has long been an innocent wrapping or stop-gap may at last be laid open under the one pair of eyes which have knowledge enough to turn it into the open- ing of a catastrophe. to uriel, watching the progress of planetary history from the sun, the one result would be just as much of a coincidence as the other. mr. casaubon had never put any question concerning the nature of his illness to lydgate, nor had he even to middlemarch. dorothea betrayed any anxiety as to how far it might be likely to cut short his labors or his life. (in this point, as on all others, he shrank from pity; and if the suspicion of being pitied for anything in his lot sur- mised or known in spite of himself was embittering, the idea of calling forth a show of compassion by frankly admitting an alarm or a sorrow was neces sarily intolerable to him. every proud mind knows something of this experience, and perhaps it is only to be overcome by a sense of fellowship deep enough to make all efforts at isolation seem mean and petty in- stead of exalting. when the commonplace “we must all die ” trans- forms itself suddenly into the acute consciousness, “i must die — and soon,” then death grapples us, and his fingers are cruel; afterward he may come to fold us in his arms as our mother did, and our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be like the first. irregularities of judgment, i imagine, are found even in riper minds than mary garth's; our impartiality is kept for abstact merit and demerit, which none of us evei saw. looking at the mother, you might hope that the daughter would become like her, which is a prospec- tive advantage equal to a dowry - the mother too often standing behind the daughter like a malignant proph. ecy "such as i am she will shortly be.” middlemar 'n. where women love each other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. mr. horrock looked before him with as complete a neu. trality as if he had been a portrait by a great master. costume, at a glance, gave horrock a thrilling as- sociation with horses (enough to specify the hat-brim, which took the slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of bending downward), and nature had given him a face which by dint of mongolian eyes, and a nose, mouth, and chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a moderate inclination upward, gave the effect of a subdued unchangeable sceptical smile, of all expres- sions the most tyrannous over a susceptible mind, and, when accompanied by adequate silence, likely to create the reputation of an invincible understanding, an in- finite fund of humor- too dry to flow, and probably in a state of immovable crust — and a critical judgment which, if you could ever be fortunate enough to know it, would be the thing and no other. it is a physiog- nomy seen in all vocations, but perhaps it has never been more powerful over the youth of england than in a judge of horses. scepticism, as we know, can never be thoroughly applied, else life would come to a stand-still: some- thing we must believe in and do, and whatever that something may be called, it is virtually our own judg. inent, even when it seems like the most slavish reliance on another. middlemarca. with the superfluous securities of hope at his com: mand, there was no reason why fred should not have increased other people's liabilities to any extent but for the fact that men whose names were good for any- thing were usually pessimists, indisposed to believe that the universal order of things would necessarily be agreeable to an agreeable young gentleman. with a favor to ask we review our list of friends, do justice to their more amiable qualities, forgive their little offences, and concerning each in turn try to ar- rive at the conclusion that he will be eager to oblige us, our own eagerness to be obliged being as communi- cable as other warmth. there is a sort of jealousy which needs very little tire: it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism. mrs. garth, like more celebrated educators, had her favorite ancient paths, and in a general wreck of society would have tried to hold her lindley murray above the waves. the remote worship of a woman throned out of their reach plays a great part in men's lives, but in most cases the worshipper longs for some queenly recogni- tion, some approving sign by which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her high place. middlewarch. lydgate had not been long in the town before there were particulars enough reported of him to breed much more specific expectations and to intensify dif- ferences into partisanship; some of the particulars being of that impressive order of which the significance is entirely hidden, like a statistical amount without a standard of comparison, but with a note of exclamation at the end. the cubic feet of oxygen yearly swallowed by a full-grown man - what a shudder they might have created in some middlemarch circles! “oxygen! no- body knows what that may be -- is it any wonder the cholera has got to dantzic? and yet there are people who say quarantine is no good!” having to meet a man whom you dislike is not ob- served always to end in a mutual attachment. it is a little too trying to human flesh to be con- scious of expressing one's self better than others, and never to have it noticed, and in the general dearth of admiration for the right thing, even a chance bray of applause falling exactly in time is rather fortifying. do we not shun the street version of a tine melody? or shrink from the news that the rarity — some bit of chiselling or engraving perhaps -- which we have dwelt on even with exultation in the trouble it has cost us to snatch glimpses of it, is really not an uncommon thing, and may be obtained as an every-day possession? our good depends on the quality and breadth of our emo- tion; and to will, a creature who cared little for what middlemarcii. are called the solid things of life and greatly for its subtler influences, to have within him such a feeling as he had toward dorothea, was like the inheritance of a fortune. what others might have called the futility of his passion made an additional delight for his imag- ination: he was conscious of a generous movement, and of verifying in his own experience that higher love-poetry which had charmed his fancy. to collect documents is one mode of serving your country, and to remember the contents of a document is another. with regard to critical occasions, it often happens that all moments seem comfortably remote until the last. it was not about the beginning of his speech that mr. brooke was at all anxious: this, he felt sure, would be all right; he should have it quite pat, cut out as neatly as a set of couplets from pope. embarking would be easy, but the vision of open sea that might come after was alarming. the egoism which enters into our theories does not affect their sincerity ; rather, the more our egoism is satisfied, the more robust is our belief. bulstrode was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of merit in himself, but that doctrinal conviction may be held without pain when the sense of middlemarci. demerit does not take a distinct shape in memory, and revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. nay, it may be held with intense satisfaction when th: depth of our sinning is but a measure for the depth of forgiveness, and a clinching proof that we are peculiar instruments of the divine intention. the memory has as many moods as the temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama. if youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the sense that our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so apt as youth to think its emotions, partings, and resolves are the last of their kind. each crisis seems final, simply because it is new. we are told that the oldest inhabitants in peru do not cease to be agitated by the earthquakes, but they probably see be- yond each shock, and reflect that there are plenty more to come. when a tender affection has been storing itself in us through many of our years, the idea that we could ac- cept any exchange for it seems to be a cheapening of our lives. and we can set a watch over our affections and our constancy as we can over other treasures. . lydgate was constantly visiting the homes of the poor, and adjusting his prescriptions of diet to their small means; but, dear me! has it not by this time ceased to be remarkable - is it not rather what we expect in men— that they should have numerous strands of experience lying side by side, and never middlemarca. compare them with cach other? expenditure - liko ugliness and errors — becomes a totally new thing when we attach our own personality to it, and meas- ure it by that wide difference which is manifest (in our own sensations) between ourselves and others. lydgate was bowing his neck under the yoke like a creature who had talons, but who had reason too, which often reduces us to meekness. at that time the opinion existed that it was beneath a gentleman to write legibly, or with a hand in the least suitable to a clerk. fred wrote the lines de- manded in a hand as gentlemanly as that of any vis- count or bishop of the day : the vowels were all alike and the consonants only distinguishable as turning up or down, the strokes had a blotty solidity, and the let- ters disdained to keep the line : in short, it was a man- uscript of that venerable kind easy to interpret when you know beforehand what the writer means. as caleh looked on, his visage showed a growing depression, but when fred handed him the paper he gave something like a snarl, and rapped the paper pas- sionately with the back of his hand. bad work like this dispelled all caleb's mildness. "the deuce!” he exclaimed, snarlingly. “to think that this is a country where a man's education may cost hundreds and hundreds, and it turns you out this !” then in a more pathetic tone, pushing up his spectacles and looking at the unfortunate scribe, “tho middlemarca. sublime, though not in the least knowing why. but his endurance was mingled with a self-discontent which, if we know how to be candid, we shall confess to make more than half our bitterness under griev- ances, wife or husband included. it always remains true that if we had been greater, circumstances would have been less strong against us. rosamond was oppressed by ennui, and by that dis- satisfaction which in women's minds is continually turning into a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims, springing from no deeper passion than the vague exactingness of egoism, and yet capable of im- pelling action as well as speech. indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve when we secretly long that it may turn out to be un- necessary. in such states of mind the most incred. ulous person has a private leaning toward miracle : impossible to conceive how our wish could be fulfilled; still — very wonderful things have happened! the terror of being judged sharpens the memory : it sends au inevitable glare over that long-unvisited past which has been habitually recalled only in general phrases. even without memory, the life is bound into one by a zone of dependence in growth and decay; but intense memory forces a man to own his blameworthy past. with memory set smarting like a reopened middlemarca. wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a re- pented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame. into this second life bulstrode's past had now risen, only the pleasures of it seeming to have lost their quality. night and day, without interruption save of brief sleep which only wove retrospect and fear into a fantastic present, he felt the scenes of his carlier life coming between him and everything else, as obsti- nately as, when we look through the window from a lighted room, the objects we turn our backs on are still before us, instead of the grass and the trees. there is no general doctrine which is not capable of eating out our morality if unchecked by the deep- seated habit of direct fellow-feeling with individua. fellow-men. it is certainly trying to a man's dignity to reappear when he is not expected to do so: a first farewell has pathos in it, but to come back for a second lends an opening to comedy. some one highly susceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said that it produces a sort of regener- ating shudder through the frame, and makes one feel ready to begin a new life. lydgate talked persistently when they were in his middlemarch. work-room, putting arguments for and against tho probability of certain biological views, but he had none of those definite things to say or to show which give the way-marks of a patient uninterrupted pursuit such as he used himself to insist on, saying that there must be a systole and diastole in all inquiry,” and that "a man's mind must be continually expanding and shrinking between the whole human horizon and the horizon of an object-glass.” he was not an ill-tempered man; his intellectual ac- tivity, the ardent kindness of his heart, as well as his strong frame, would always, under tolerably easy con- ditions, have kept him above the petty uncontrollca susceptibilities which make bad temper. but he was now a prey to that worst irritation which arises not simply from annoyances, but from the second con- sciousness underlying those annoyances, of wasted energy and a degrading preoccupation, which was the reverse of all his former purposes. “this is what i am thinking of; and that is what i might have been thinking of,” was the bitter incessant murmur within him, making every difficulty a double goad to im- patience. some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in literature by general discontent with the universe as a trap of dulness into which their great souls have fallen by mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self and an insignificant world may have its consolatlons. lyd- gate's discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that there was a grand existence in thought and middle march. effective action lying around him, while his self was being narrowed into the miserable isolation of egoistic fears, and vulgar anxieties for events that might allay such fears. his troubles will perhaps appear miserably sordid, and beneath the attention of lofty persons who can know nothing of debt except on a magnificent scale. doubtless they were sordid; and for the majority, who are not lofty, there is no escape from sordidness but by being free from money-craving, with all its base hopes and temptations, its watching for death, its hinted requests, its horse-dealer's desire to make bad work pass for good, its seeking for function which ought to be another's, its compulsion often to long for luck in the shape of a wide calamity. the shallowness of a water-nixie's soul may have a charm until she becomes didactic. in inarriage, the certainty, “she will never love me much,” is easier to bear, than the fear, “ i shall love her no more.” it is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love's bond has turned to the power of galling. lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the service his practice did him in counteracting his per- sonal cares. he had no longer free energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking, but by the bedside of patients the direct external cails on his middlemarch. judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw him out of himself. it was not sim- ply that beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to live calmly – it was a perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application of thought, and on the consideration of another's need and trial. many of us looking back through life would say that the kindest man we have ever known has been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine tact, directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in our need with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. when a man is at the foot of the hill in his fortunes, he may stay a long while there in spite of professional accomplishment. in the british climate there is no incompatibility between scientific insight and furnished lodgings: the incompatibility is chiefly between scien- tific ambition and a wife who objects to that kind of residence. bulstrode shrank from a direct lie with an intensity disproportionate to the number of his more indirect misdeeds. but many of these misdeeds were like the subtle muscular movements which are not taken ac- count of in the consciousness, though they bring about the end that we fix our mind on and desire. and it is only what we are vividly conscious of that we can vividly imagine to be seen by omniscience. a man vows, and yet will not cast away the means middlemarci. of breaking his vow. is it that he distinctly means to break it? not at all : but the desires which tend to break it are at work in him dimly, and make their way into his imagination, and relax his muscles in the very moments when he is telling himself over again the reasons for his vow. this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt, which was enough to keep up much head-shaking and biting innuendo even among substantial professional seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power of mystery over fact. everybody liked better to conjecture how the thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon became more confident than knowledge, and had a more liberal allowance for the incompatible. even the more definite scandal con- cerning bulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such fantastic shapes as ileaven pleased. hopefulness has a pleasure in making a throw of any kind, because the prospect of success is certain; and only a more generous pleasure.in offering as many as possible a share in the stake. there are episodes in most men's lives in which their highest qualities can only cast a deterring shadow over the objects that fill their inward vision : lyd- gate's tender-hearteduess was present just then only as a dread lest he should offend against it, not as an middlejarca, emotion that swayed him to tenderness. for he was very miserable. only those who know the suprem- acy of the intellectual life — the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within it - can un- derstand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances. what we call the “just possible” is sometimes true, and the thing we find it easier to believe is grossly false. again and again, in his time of freedom, lydgate had denounced the perversion of pathological doubt into moral doubt, and had said, “ the purest experi- ment in treatment may still be conscientious: my bus- iness is to take care of life, and to do the best i can think of for it. science is properly more scrupulous than dogma. dogma gives a charter to mistake, but the very breath of science is a contest with mistake, and must keep the conscience alive.” ardent souls, ready to construct their coming lives, are apt to commit themselves to the fulfilment of their own visions. in middlemarch a wife could not long remain igno- rant that the town held a bad opinion of her husband. no feminine intimate might carry her friendship so far as to make a plain statement to the wife of the un. pleasant fact known or believed about her husband; middlemarca. but when a woman with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on something grievously disadvantageous to her neighbors, various moral im- pulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. candor was one. to be candid, in middle- march phraseology, meant, to use an early opportunity of letting your friends know that you did not take a cheerful view of their capacity, their conduct, or their position; and a robust candor never waited to be asked for its opinion. then, again, there was the love of truth - a wide phrase, but meaning, in this relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than her husband's character warranted, or manifest too much satisfaction in her lot; the poor thing should have some hint given her that if she knew the truth she would have less complacency in her bonnet, and in light dishes for a supper-party. stronger than all, there was the regard for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul, which was likely to be ben- efited by remarks tending to gloom, uttered with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the furniture, and a manner implying that the speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from regard to the feelings of her hearer. on the whole, one might say that an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a neighbor unhappy for her good. an old friend is not always the person whom it is easiest to make a confidant of: there is the barrier of remembered communication under other circum. stances, middlemarca. rosamond's discontent in her marriage was due to the conditions of marriage itself, to its demand for self-suppression and tolerance, and not to the nature of her lusband; but the easy conception of an unreal better had a sentimental charm which diverted her ennui. men and women make sad mistakes about their own symptoms, taking their vague, uneasy longings, some- times for genius, sometimes for religion, and oftener still for a mighty love. there are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious of having a sort of baptism and consecra- tion: they bind us over to rectitude and purity by their pure belief about us : and our sins become that worst kind of sacrilege which tears down the invisible altar of trust. “if you are not good, none is good ”- those little words may give a terrific meaning to responsi- bility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for remorse. dorothea's nature was of that kind : her own pas- sionate faults lay along the easily counted open chan- nels of her ardent character; and while she was full of pity for the visible mistakes of others, she had not yet any material within her experience for subtle con- structions and suspicions of hidden wrong. but that simplicity of hers, holding up an ideal for others in her believing conception of them, was one of the great powers of her womanhood. it swemed to will as if he were beholding in a magic middlemarcii. and eve, who kept their honeymoon in eden, but hau their first little one among the thorns and thistles of the wilderness. it is still the beginning of the home epic - the gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which makes the advancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet memories in common. some set out, like crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment of hope and enthusiasm, and get broken by the way, wanting patience with each other and the world. lydgate once called rosamond his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a mur- dered man's brains. the determining acts of dorothea's life were not ideally beautiful. they were the mixed result of young and noble impulse struggling under prosaic conditions. among the many remarks passed on her mistakes, it was never said in the neighborhood of middlemarch that such mistakes could not have happened if the so- ciety into which she was born had not smiled on prop- ositions of marriage from a sickly man to a girl less than half his own age-on modes of education which make a woman's knowledge another name for motley ignorance - on rules of conduct which are in flat con- tradiction with its own loudly-asserted beliefs. while this is the social air in which mortals begin to breathe, there will be collisions such as those in dorothea's middlejarch. life, where great feelings will take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion. for there is no creature whose inward being is so strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it. a new theresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual life, any more than a ņew antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the sake of a brother's burial : the medium in which their ardent deeds took shape is forever gone. but we insignificant people, with our daily words and acts, are preparing the lives of many dorotheas, some of which may pre- sent a far sadder sacrifice than that of the dorothea whose story we know. her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. her full nature, like that river of which alexander broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. but the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. after three months freshitt had become rather op- pressive: to sit like a model for saint catherine look- ing rapturously at celia's baby would not do for many hours in the day, and to remain in that momentous babe's presence with persistent disregard was a course that could not have been tolerated in a childless sister middlemarci. an exclusive optical selection. these things are a par- able. the scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now absent. mr. brooke's conclusions were as difficult to predict as the weather: it was only safe to say that he would act with benevolent intentions, and that he would spend as little money as possible in carrying them out. for the most glutinously indefinite minds enclose some hard grains of habit; and a man has been seen lax about all his own interests except the retention of his snuff-box, concerning which he was watchful, sus- picious, and greedy of clutch. even while we are talking and meditating about the earth's orbit and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is the stable earth and the changing day. piobabilities are as various as the faces to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there, from jupiter to judy, if you only look with creative inclination. who can tell what just criticisms murr the cat may be passing on us beings of wider speculation? doubtless some ancient greek has observed that behind the big mask and the speaking-trumpet there must always be our poor little eyes peeping as usual, middleyarch, and our timorous lips more or less under anxious con- trol. it was a festival with mrs. garth, for ber eldest son, christy, her peculiar joy and pride, had come home for a short holiday – christy, who held it the most desir- able thing in the world to be a tutor, to study all it- eratures and be a regenerate porson, and who was an incorporate criticism on poor fred, a sort of object- lesson given him by the educational mother. christy himself, a square-browed, broad-shouldered masculine edition of his mother, not much higher than fred's shoulder - which made it the harder that he should be held superior - was always as simple as possible, and thought no more of fred's disinclination to schol- arship than of a giraffe's, wishing that he himself were more of the same height. it seemed clear that where there was a baby things were right enough, and that error, in general, was a mere lack of that central poising force. a man likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally, what he could do in the way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains from making himself ill or beggaring himself, or talking with the utmost looseness which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is not because he is a spooney. unwonted circumstances may make us all rather onlike ourselves : there are conditions under which middlewarcii. the most majestic person is obliged to sneeze, and our emotions are liable to be acted on in the same incon- gruous manner. to see how an effect may be produced is often to see possible missings and checks; but to see nothing ex. cept the desirable cause, and close upon it the desirable effect, rids us of doubt, and makes our minds strongly intuitive. few things hold the perceptions more thoroughly captive than anxiety about what we have got to say. it is so painful in you, celia, that you will look at human beings as if they were merely animals with a toilet, and never see the great soul in a man's face." of course people need not be always talking well. only one tells the quality of their minds when they try to talk well." souls have complexions too: what will suit one will not suit another." it is very difficult to be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way to great thoughts, and can never enjoy them because they are too tired.' there is no sorrow i have thought more about than that – to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail. middlewarch. power of giving or getting any blessedness in that sort of love. i know it may be very dear – but it murders our marriage — and then the marriage stays with us like a murder – and everything else is gone.' a. man always makes a fool of himself speechifying: there's no excuse but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing on your humming and hawing.' young people should think of their families in mar- rying. i set a bad example - married a poor clergy- man, and made myself a pitiable object among the de bracys - obliged to get my coals by stratagem, and pray to heaven for my salad oil. however, casau- bon has money enough; i must do him that justice. as to his blood, i suppose the family quarterings are three cuttle-fish sable, and a commentator rampant. ? miserliness is a capital quality to run in families; it's the safe side for madness to dip on. when a woman is not contradicted she has no mo- tive for obstinacy in her absurdities.? you will certainly go mad in that house alone, my dear. you will see visions. we have all got to exert ourselves a little to keep sane, and call things by the same naines as other people call them by. to be sure, for younger sons and women who have no money, it is a sort of provision to go mad : they are taken care of then. but you must not run into that. i daresay you middleiarcii. are a little bored here with our good dowager; but think what a bore you might become yourself to your fellow-creatures if you were always playing tragedy queen and taking things sublimely. sitting alone in that library at lowick, you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must get a few people round you who wouldn't believe you if you told them. that is a good lowering medicine.? we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it is unpleasant to us. it would be nonsensical to expect that i could con- vince brooke, and make him act accordingly. brooke is a very good fellow, but pulpy; he will run into any mould, but he won't keep shape. she is a good creature – that fine girl — but a lit- tle too earnest. it is troublesome to talk to such women. they are always wanting reasons, yet they are too ignorant to understand the merits of any ques- tion, and usually fall back on their moral sense to settle things after their own taste. i don't pretend to say that farebrother is apostolic. ilis position is not quite like that of the apostles : he is only a parson among parishioners whose lives he has to try and make better. practically i find that what is called being apostolic now is an impatience of everything in which the parson doesn't cut the prin. cipal figure. middlemarch. different with me. i thought i had more strength and mastery. but the most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except one's self.“ when a man gets a good berth, half the deserving must come after. by being contemptible we set men's mind to the tune of contempt." personal feeling is not always in the wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make it simply an opinion. to think of the part one little woman can play in the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitation of heroism, and to win her may be a discipline ! young women are severe; they don't feel the stress of action as men do. men outlive their love, but they don't outlive the consequences of their recklessness. mr. farebrother. — there is the terrible nemesis fol. lowing on some errors, that it is always possible for those who like it to interpret them into a crime: there is no proof in favor of the man outside his own con- sciousness and assertion. dorothea. -oh, how cruel! and would you not like middlewarcu. to be the one person who believed in that man's inno- cence, if the rest of the world belied him? besides, there is a man's character beforehand to speak for him. mr. farebrother. - but, my dear mrs. casaubon, character is not cut in marble - it is not something solid and unalterable. it is something living and changing, and may become diseased as our bodies do. there is a great deal in the feeling for art which must be acquired. art is an old language with a great many artificial affected styles, and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing. motives are points of honor, i suppose – nobody can prove them. fred. - i am so miserable, mary - if you knew how miserable i am you would be sorry for me. mary. — there are other things to be more sorry for than that. but selfish people always think their own discomfort of more importance than anything else in the world. you must be sure of two things: you must love your work, and not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting your play to begin. and the other is, you must not be ashamed of your work, and think it would be more honorable to you to be doing something else. you must have a pride in your own work, and in learn. middlejarch. ing to do it well, and not be always saying, there's this and there's that - if i had this or that to do, i might make something of it. no matter what a man is - wouldn't give two-pence for him, whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if he didn't do well what he undertook to do. a woman, let her be as good as she may, has got to put up with the life her husband makes for her. the lad loves mary, and a true love for a good woman is a great thing, susan. it shapes many a rough fel- low. what i'm thinking of is — what it must be for a wife when she's never sure of her husbaud, when he hasn't got a principle in him to make him more afraid of doing the wrong thing by others than of getting his own toes pinched. that's the long and the short of it. young folks may get fond of each other before they know what life is, and they may think it all holiday if they can only get together; but it soon turns into working-day, my dcar. a man may do wrong, and his will may rise clear out of it, though he can't get his life clear. that's a bad punishment. mrs. cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a long journey when they are married. she says they middlemarch. get tired to death of each other, and can't quarrel com- fortably, as they would at home.' well, it lies a little in our family. i had it myself - that love of knowledge, and going into everything - a little too much; it took me too far: though that sort of thing doesn't often run in the female line; or it runs under-ground like the rivers in greece, you know - it comes out in the sons. clever sons, clever mothers. people say what they like to say, not what they have chapter and verse for. and of “middlemarch." daniel deronda. the general conviction that we are admirable does not easily give way before a single negative ; rather, when any of vanity's large family, male or female, find their performance received coldly, they are apt to believe that a little more of it will win over the unac- countable dissident. it is possible to have a strong self-love without any self-satisfaction, rather with a self-discontent which is the more intense because one's own little core of ego- istic sensibility is a supreme care. a human life, i think, should be well rooted in some spot of a native land, where it may get the love of tender kinship for the face of earth, for the labors men go forth to, for the sounds and accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that early home a familiar, unmistakable difference amidst the future widening of knowledge ; a spot where the definiteness of early knowledge may be inwrought with affection, and kindly acquaintance with all neighbors, even to the daniel deronda. your ideas ingenious and forestall you in applying them, or he may have other views on acids and fixer! stars, and think ill of you in consequence. we are often unable to act on our certainties; our objection to a contrary issue (were it possible) is so strong that it rises like a spectral illusion between and our certainty: we are rationally sure that the blind-worm cannot bite us mortally, but it would be so intolerable to be bitten, and the creature has a bit ing look - we decline to handle it. it is to be believed that attendance at the opéra bouffe in the present day would not leave men's minds entirely without shock, if the manners observed there with some applause were suddenly to start up in their own families. perspective, as its inventor remarked, is a beautiful thing. what horrors of damp huts, where human beings languish, may not become pict- uresque through aerial distance! what hymning of cancerous vices may we not languish over as sublimest art in the safe remoteness of a strange language and artificial phrase! children demand that their heroes should be fleck- less, and easily believe them so; perhaps a first dis- covery to the contrary is hardly a less revolutionary shock to a passionate child, than the threatened down- fall of habitual beliefs which makes the world seem to totter for is in maturer life. daniel deronda. there had sprung up in him (deronda) a medita- tive yearning after wide knowledge, which is likely always to abate ardor in the fight for prize-acquire- ment in narrow tracks. happily, he was modest, and took any second-rateness in himself simply as a fact, not as a marvel necessarily to be accounted for by a superiority. in many of our neighbors' lives there is much not only of error and lapse, but of a certain exquisite goodness which can never be written or even spoken; only divined by each of us, according to the inward instruction of our own privacy. the emptiness of all things, from politics to pas- times, is never so striking to us as when we fail in them. perhaps poetry and romance are as plentiful as ever in the world, except for those phlegmatic natures who, i suspect, would in any age have regarded them as a dull form of erroneous thinking. they exist very easily in the same room with the microscope, and even in railway carriages; what banishes them is the vac- uum in gentlemen and lady passengers. how should all the apparatus of heaven and earth, from the far- thest firmament to the tender bosom of the mother who nourished us, make poetry for a mind that has no movements of awe and tenderness, no sense of fellow- daniel deronda. ship which thrills from the near to the distant, and back again from the distant to the near ? whatever one does with a strong unhesitating out- flow of will has a store of motive that it would be hard to put into words. some deeds seem little more than interjections, which give vent to the long passion of a life. in general, mortals have a great power of being astonished at the presence of an effect toward which they have done every thing, and at the absence of an effect toward which they have done nothing but desire it. parents are astonished at the ignorance of their sons, though they have used the most time-honored and expensive means of securing it; husbands and wives are mutually astonished at the loss of affection which they have taken no pains to keep; and all of us in our turn are apt to be astonished that our neighbors do not admire us. in this way it happens that the truth seems highly improbable. there is a charm of eye and lip which comes with every little phrase that certifies delicate perception or fine judgment, with every unostentatious word or smile that shows a heart awake to others; and no sweep of garment or turn of figure is more satisfying than that which enters as a restoration of confidence that one person is present on whom no intention will daniel deronda. and on the mere denial of their fantastic desires raged as if under the sting of wasps, which reduced the universe for them to an unjust infliction of pain. the word of all work, love, will no more express the myriad modes of mutual attraction, than the word thought can inform you what is passing through your ueighbor's mind. superstitions carry consequences which often verify their hope or their foreboding. a blush is no language: only a dubious flag-signal which may mean either of two contradictories. those who trust us educate us. the power of being quiet carries a man well through moments of embarrassment. deronda was conscious of that peculiar irritation which will sometimes befall the man whom others are inclined to trust as mentor, – the irritation of perceiv- ing that he is supposed to be entirely off the same plane of desire and temptation as those who confess to hiin. our guides, we pretend, must be sinless: as if those were not often the best teachers who only yester- day got corrected for their mistakes. daniel deronda liking and disliking can grow in meditation as fast as in the more immediate kind of presence. grandcourt had no idea of a moral repulsion, and could not have believed, if he had been told it, that there may be a resentment and disgust which will gradually make beauty more detestable than ugliuess, through exasperation at that outward virtue in which hateful things can flaunt themselves, or find a supercil- ious advantage. the beings closest to us, whether in love or hate, are often virtually our interpreters of the world; and some feather-headed gentleman or lady, whom in pas- sing we regret to take as legal tender for a human being, may be acting as a melancholy theory of life in the minds of those who live with them, - like a piece of yellow and wavy glass that distorts form and makes color an affliction. their trivial sentences, their petty standards, their low suspicions, their loveless ennui, may be making somebody else's life no better than a promenade through a pantheon of ugly idols. our consciences are not all of the same pattern, an inner deliverance of fixed laws ; they are the voice of sensibilities as various as our memories (which also have their kinship and likeness). there is a sort of human paste that when it comes daniel deronda. near the fire of enthusiasm is only baked into harder shape. what we see exclusively we are apt to see with some mistake of proportions. day followed day with that want of perceived lei- sure which belongs to lives where there is no work to mark off intervals; and the continual liability to grandcourt's presence and surveillance seemed to flatten every effort to the level of the boredom which his manner expressed: his negative mind was as diffu- sive as fog, clinging to all objects, and spoiling all contact. there are some persons so gifted in relation to us that their “how do you do?" seems charged with offence. it is as possible to be rigid in principle and tender in blame, as it is to suffer from the sight of things hung awry, and yet to be patient with the hanger who sees amiss. those who have been indulged by fortune, and have always thought of calamity as what happens to others, feel a blind, incredulous rage at the reversal of their lot, and half believe that their wild cries will alter the couise of the storm. daniel deronda. it is hard to say how much we could forgive our. selves if we were secure from judgment by another whose opinion is the breathing-medium of all our joy; who brings to us with close pressure and immediate sequence that judgment of the invisible and universal which self-flattery and the world's tolerance would easily melt and disperse. in this way our brother may be in the stead of god to us, and his opinion, which has pierced even to the joints and marrow, may be our virtue in the making. much of our lives is spent in marring our own influ- ence, and turning others' belief in us into a widely concluding unbelief which they call knowledge of the world, while it is really disappointment in you or me. the gambling appetite is more absolutely dominant than bodily hunger, which can be neutralized by an emotional or intellectual excitation; but the passion for watching chances — the habitual suspensive poise of the mind in actual or imaginary play- nullifies the susceptibility to other excitation. in its final, im- perious stage, it seems the unjoyous dissipation of demons, seeking diversion on the burning marl of perdition. what duty is made of a single difficult resolve ? the difficulty lies in the daily unflinching support of consequences that mar the blessed return of morning daniel deronda. with the prospect of irritation to be suppressed or shame to be endured. i make it a virtue to be content with my miduling- ness; it is always pardonable, so that one does not ask others to take it for superiority. to delight in doing things because our fathers did thein is good, if it shuts out nothing better. it en- larges the range of affection; and affection is the broadest basis of good in life.' · excellence encourages one about life generally; it shows the spiritual wealth of the world. the refuge you are needing from personal trouble is the higher, the religious life, which holds an enthu- siasm for something more than our own appetites and vanities. the few may find themselves in it simply by an elevation of feeling; but for us who have to struggle for our wisdom, the higher life must be a region in which the affections are clad with knowl- edge. whether happiness may come or not, one should try and prepare one's self to do without it. one who has committed irremediable errors may be scourged by that consciousness into a higher course daniel deronda. than is common. there are many examples. feeling what it is to have spoiled one life may well make us long to save other lives from being spoiled. within ourselves our evil will is momentous, and sooner or later it works its way outside us: it may be in the vitiation that breeds evil acts, but also it may be in the self-abhorrence that stings us into better striving. anxiety is good for nothing if we can't turn it into a defence." those who would be comparatively uninteresting beforehand may become worthier of sympathy when they do something that awakens in them a keen re- morse. lives are enlarged in different ways. i dare say some would never get their eyes opened if it were not for a violent shock from the consequences of their own actions. and when they are suffering in that way one must care for them more than for the com- fortably self-satisfied. turn your fear into a safeguard. keep your dread fixed on the idea of increasing your remorse. take your fear as a safeguard. it is like quickness of hear- ing. it may make consequences passionately present to you. daniel deronda. no evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from. suppose the stolen offspring of some mountain tribe brought up in a city of the plain, or one with an inherited genius for painting, and born blind: the ancestral life would lie within them as a dim longing for unknown objects and sensations; and the spell- bound habit of their inherited frames would be like a cunningly wrought musical instrument, never played on, but quivering throughout in uneasy, mysterious moanings of its structure that, under the right touch, gives music. what makes life dreary is the want of motive. whenever an artist has been able to say, “i came, i saw, i conquered,” it has been as the end of patient practice. genius at first is little more than a great capacity for receiving discipline.? in fact, it's a nicety of conversation which i would have you attend to — much quotation of any sort, even in english, is bad. one couldn't carry on life com- fortably without a little blindness to the fact that every thing has been said better than we can put it ourselves. daniel deronda. - - - - -- even a wise man generally lets some folly ooze out of him in his will; . . . and if a fellow has any spite or tyranny in him, he's likely to bottle off a good dea] for keeping in that sort of document." let us bind love with duty: for duty is the love of law; and law is the nature of the eternal." better a wrong will than a wavering; better a stead- fast enemy than an uncertain friend; better a false belief than no belief at all. when i am frightened, i find it a good thing to have somebody to be angry with for not being brave. it warms the blood. friendships begin with liking or gratitude, — roots that can be pulled up. mother's love begins deeper down. i have a knack of hoping, which is as good as an estate in reversion, if one can keep from the tempta- tion of turning it into certainty, which may spoil all.e the jeward of one duty is the power to fulfil an: other - so faid ben azai. theophrastus sucii. theophrastus such. for a man to wail that he was not the son of another age and another nation, of which also he knows noth- ing except through the easy process of an imperfect imagination and a flattering fancy. there has been plenty of insistence on the evil of swearing by the words of a master, and having the judgment uniformly controlled by a “ he said it ;" but a much worse woe to befall a man is to have every judgment controlled by an “i said it," - to make a divinity of his own short-sightedness or passion-led aberration and explain the world in its honor. it is a familiar example of irony in the degradation of words that “what a man is worth” has come to mean how much money he possesses ; but there seems a deeper and more melancholy irony in the shrunken meaning that popular or polite speech assigns to “ morality” and “morals.” the poor part these words are made to play recalls the fate of those pagan divinities who, after being understood to rule the powers of the air and the destinies of men, came down to the level of insignificant demons, or were even made a farcical show for the amusement of the multitude. one best part of educational training is that which comes through special knowledge and manipulative or theophrastus such. other skill, with its usual accompaniment of delight, in relation to work which is the daily bread-winning occupation, — which is a man's contribution to the effective wealth of society in return for what he takes as his own share. but this duty of doing one's proper work well, and taking care that every product of one's labor shall be genuinely what it pretends to be, is not only left out of morals in popular speech, it is very little insisted on by public teachers, at least in the only effective way, — by tracing the continuous effects of ill-done work. some of them seem to be still hopeful that it will follow as a necessary consequence from week-day services, ecclesiastical decoration, and improved hymn-books ; others apparently trust to descanting on self-culture in general, or to raising a general sense of faulty circumstances ; and mean- while lax, make-shift work, from the high conspicuous kind to the average and obscure, is allowed to pass unstamped with the disgrace of immorality, though there is not a member of society who is not daily suffering from it materially and spiritually, and though it is the fatal cause that must degrade our national rank and our commerce in spite of all open markets and discovery of available coal-seams. until we have altered our dictionaries and have found some other word than morality to stand in pop- ular use for the duties of man to man, let us refuse to theophrastus such. which commands us to bury its lowest fatalities, its invincible remnants of the brute, its most agonizing struggles with temptation, in unbroken silence. it is undeniable that a too intense consciousness of one's kinship with all frailties and vices undermines the active heroism which battles against wrong. on the whole, and in the vast majority of instances, the action by which we can do the best for future ages is of the sort which has a certain beneficence and grace for contemporaries. a sour father may reform prisons, but considered in his sourness he does harm. the deed of judas has been attributed to far-reaching views, and the wish to hasten his master's declaration of himself as the messiah. perhaps – i will not maintain the contrary -- judas represented his motive in this way, and felt justified in his traitorous kiss ; but my belief that he deserved, metaphorically speak- ing, to be where dante saw him, at the bottom of the malebolge, would not be the less strong because he was not convinced that his action was detestable. i refuse to accept a man who has the stomach for such treachery, as a hero impatient for the redemption of mankind and for the beginning of a reign when the kisses shall be those of peace and righteousness. examining the world in order to find consolation is very much like looking carefully over the pages of a theophrastus such, great book in order to find our own name, if not in the text, at least in a laudatory note : whether we find what we want or not, our preoccupation has hindered us from a true knowledge of the contents. but an attention fixed on the main theme or various matter of the book would deliver us from that slavish subjection to our own self-importance. i am really at the point of finding that this world would be worth living in without any lot of one's own. is it not possible for me to enjoy the scenery of the earth without saying to myself, i have a cabbage- garden in it ? a man who uses his balmorals to tread on your toes with much frequency and an unmistakable emphasis may prove a fast friend in adversity, but meanwhile your adversity has not arrived and your toes are ten- der. . . . i cannot submit to a chronic state of blue and green bruise as a form of insurance against an accident. is there any country which shows at once as much stability and as much susceptibility to change as ours ? our national life is like that scenery which i early learned to love, not subject to great convulsions, but easily showing more or less delicate (sometimes melan- choly) effects from minor changes. hence our midland theophrastus such. plains have never lost their familiar expression and conservative spirit for me ; yet at every other mile, since i first looked on them, some sign of world-wide change, some new direction of human labor, has wrought itself into what one may call the speech of the landscape, — in contrast with those grander and vaster regions of the earth which keep an indifferent aspect in the presence of men's toil and devices. what does it signify that a liliputian train passes over a viaduct amidst the abysses of the apennines, or that a caravan laden with a nation's offerings creeps across the unresting sameness of the desert, or that a petty cloud of steam sweeps for an instant over the face of an egyptian colossus immovably submitting to its slow burial beneath the sand ? but our wood- lands and pastures, our hedge-parted cornfields and meadows, our bits of high common where we used to plant the windmills, our quiet little rivers here and there fit to turn a mill-wheel, our villages along the old coach-roads, are all easily alterable lineaments that seem to make the face of our motherland sympathetic with the laborious lives of her children. she does not take their ploughs and wagons contemptuously, but rather makes every hovel and every sheepfold, every railed bridge or fallen tree-trunk, an agreeably notice- able incident; not a mere speck in the midst of un- measured vastness, but a piece of our social history in pictorial writing. theophrastus such. the world seems to me well supplied with what is genuinely ridiculous : wit and humor may play as harmlessly or beneficently round the changing facets of egoism, absurdity, and vice, as the sunshine over the rippling sea or the dewy meadows. why should we make our delicious sense of the ludicrous, with its invigorating shocks of laughter and its irrepressible smiles which are the outglow of an inward radiation as gentle and cheering as the warmth of morning, flourish like a brigand on the robbery of our mental wealth ?- or let it take its exercise as a madman might, if allowed a free nightly promenade, by draw- ing the populace with bonfires which leave some vener- able structure a blackened ruin or send a scorching smoke across the portraits of the past, at which we once looked with a loving recognition of fellowship, and disfigure them into butts of mockery? — nay, worse, — use it to degrade the healthy appetites and affections of our nature as they are seen to be degraded in insane patients whose systein, all out of joint, finds matter for screaming laughter in mere topsy-turvy, makes every passion preposterous or obscene, and turns the hard-won order of life into a second chaos hideous enough to make one wail that the first was ever thrilled with light? this is what i call debasing the moral currency. an early, deep-seated love to which we become faithless has its unfailing nemesis, if only in that theophrastus such. division of soul which narrows all newer joys by the intrusion of regret and the established presentiment of change. . . . in this sort of love it is the forsaker who has the melancholy lot; for an abandoned belief may be more effectively vengeful than dido. we mortals should chiefly like to talk to each other out of good-will and fellowship, not for the sake of hearing revelations or being stimulated by witticisms ; and i have usually found that it is the rather dull person who appears to be disgusted with his contem- poraries because they are not always strikingly origi- nal, and to satisfy whom the party at a country house should have included the prophet isaiah, plato, fran- cis bacon, and voltaire. well, well, the illusions that began for us when we were less acquainted with evil have not lost their value when we discern them to be illusions. they feed the ideal better, and in loving them still, we strengthen the precious habit of loving something not visibly, tangibly existent, but a spiritual product of our vis- ible, tangible selves. i cherish my childish loves, – the memory of that warm little nest where my affections were fledged. it is worth repeating that powerful imagination is not false outward vision, but intense inward repre- theophrastus such. sentation, and a creative energy constantly fed by susceptibility to the veriest minutiæ of experience, which it reproduces and constructs in fresh and fresh wholes ; not the habitual confusion of provable fact with the fictions of fancy and transient inclination, but a breadth of ideal association which informs every material object, every incidental fact with far-reaching memories and stored residues of passion, bringing into new light the less obvious relations of human existence. the illusion to which it is liable is not that of habitually taking duck-ponds for lilied pools, but of being more or less transiently arid in varying degrees so absorbed in ideal vision as to lose the con- sciousness of surrounding objects or occurrences; and when that rapt condition is past, the sane genius discriminates clearly between what has been given in this parenthetic state of excitement, and what he has known, and may count on, in the ordinary world of experience. . . . isaiah gives us the date of his vision in the temple, — “the year that king uzziah died,” — and if afterwards the mighty-winged seraphim were present with him as he trod the street, he doubtless knew them for images of memory, and did not cry “look!” to the passers-by. even if my researches had shown me that some of my father's yearly sermons had been copied out from the works of elder divines, this would only have been another proof of his good judgment. one may pre- theophrastus such. fer fresh eggs though laid by a fowl of the meanest understanding, but why fresh sermons ? take a large enough area of human life, and all comedy melts into tragedy, like the fool's part by the side of lear. the chief scenes get filled with erring heroes, guileful usurpers, persecuted discov- erers, dying deliverers : everywhere the protagonist has a part pregnant with doom. the comedy sinks to an accessory, and if there are loud laughs they seem a convulsive transition from sobs ; or if the comedy is touched with a gentle lovingness, the panoramic scene is one where “sadness is a kind of mirth so mingled as if mirth did make us sad and sadness merry." we have been severely enough taught (if we were willing to learn) that our civilization, considered as a splendid material fabric, is helplessly in peril without the spiritual police of sentiments or ideal feelings. and it is this invisible police which we had need, as a community, strive to maintain in efficient force. the eminence, the nobleness of a people depends on its capability of being stirred by memories, and of striving for what we call spiritual ends, — ends which consist not in immediate material possession, but in theophrastus such. doubtless there are many sorts of transfiguration, and a man who has come to be worthy of all grati- tude and reverence may have had his swinish period, wallowing in ugly places ; but suppose it had been handed down to us that sophocles or virgil had at one time made himself scandalous in this way : the works which have consecrated their memory for our admira- tion and gratitude are not a glorifying of swinishness, but an artistic incorporation of the highest sentiment known to their age. all reverence and gratitude for the worthy dead on whose labors we have entered, all care for the future generations whose lot we are preparing ; but some affection and fairness for those who are doing the actual work of the world, some attempt to regard them with the same freedom from ill-temper, whether on private or public grounds, as we may hope will be felt by those who will call us ancient! otherwise, the looking before and after, which is our grand human privilege, is in danger of turning to a sort of other-worldliness, breeding a more illogical indiffer- ence or bitterness than was ever bred by the ascetic's contemplation of heaven. escept on the ground of a primitive golden age and continuous degeneracy, i see no rational footing for scorning the whole present population of the globe, unless i scorn every previous generation from whom they have inherited their diseases of mind and body, and by consequence scorn theophrastus such. my own scorn, which is equally an inheritance of mised ideas and feelings concocted for me in the boil- ing caldron of this universally contemptible life, and so on — scorning to infinity. much of our waking experience is but a dream in the daylight. that a gratified sense of superiority is at the root of barbarous laughter may be at least half the truth. but there is a loving laughter in which the only recognized superiority is that of the ideal self, the god within, holding the mirror and the scourge for our own pettiness as well as our neighbors'. we cannot command veracity at will : the power of seeing and reporting truly is a form of health that has to be delicately guarded, and as an ancient rabbi has solemnly said, “ the penalty of untruth is un- truth.” the tendency of things is towards the quicker or slower fusion of races. it is impossible to arrest this tendency : all we can do is to moderate its course so as to hinder it from degrading the moral status of societies by a too rapid effacement of those national traditions and customs which are the language of the national genius, – the deep suckers of healthy sentiment. theophrastus such. a common humanity is not yet enough to feed the rich blood of various activity which makes a complete man. the time is not come for cosmopolitanism to be highly virtuous, any more than for communism to suf- fice for social energy. i am not bound to feel for a chinaman as i feel for my fellow-countryman. ... affection, intelligence, duty, radiate from a centre, and nature has decided that for us english folk that centre can be neither china nor peru. for my part i can call mo age absolutely unpoetic : how should it be so, since there are always children to whom the acorns and the swallow's eggs are a wonder, always those human passions and fatalities through which garrick as hamlet in bob-wig and knee-breeches moved his audience more than some have since done in velvet tunic and plume ? but every age since the golden may be made more or less prosaic by minds that attend only to its vulgar and sordid elements, of which there was always an abun- dance even in greece and italy, the favorite realms of the retrospective optimists. to be quite fair towards the ages, a little ugliness as well as beauty must be allowed to each of them, a little implicit poetry even to those which echoed loudest with servile, pompous, and trivial prose. the spanish gypsy. the spanish gypsy. 'tis the warm south, where europe spreads her lands like fretted leaflets, breathing on the deep : broad-breasted spain, leaning with equal love on the mid sea that moans with memories, and on the untravelled ocean's restless tides. within bedmár has come the time of sweet serenity when color glows unglittering, and the soul of visible things shows silent happiness, as that of lovers trusting though apart. the ripe-cheeked fruits, the crimson-petalled flowers ; the winged life that pausing seems a gem cunningly carven on the dark green leaf ; the face of man with hues supremely blent to difference fine as of a voice ’mid sounds: — each lovely light-dipped thing seems to emerge flushed gravely from baptismal sacrament. all beauteous existence rests, yet wakes, lies still, yet conscious, with clear open eyes the spanish gypsy. . wings half open, like a flower inly deeper flushing, neck and breast as virgin's pure — virgin proudly blushing. day is dying! float, o swan, down the ruby river; follow, song, in requiem to the mighty giver. infant awe, that unborn breathing thing, dies with what nourished it, can never rise from the dead womb and walk and seek new pasture. even images of stone look living with reproach on him who maims, profanes, defiles them. the fond present that with mother-prayers and mother-fancies looks for championship of all her loved beliefs and old-world ways from that young time she bears within her womb. it has been so with rulers, emperors, nay, sages who held secrets of great time, sharing his hoary and beneficent life- men who sate throned among the multitudes — they have sore sickened at the loss of one. the spanish gypsy. pablo's song. the world is great: the birds all fly from me, the stars are golden fruit upon a tree all out of reach: my little sister went, and i am lonely. the world is great: i tried to mount the hill above the pines, where the light lies so still, but it rose higher: little lisa went, and i am lonely. the world is great: the wind comes rushing by, i wonder where it comes from; sea-birds cry and hurt my heart: my little sister went, and i am lonely. the world is great: the people laugh and talk, and make loud holiday: how fast they walk ! i’m lame, they push me: little lisa went, and i am lonely. on solitary souls, the universe looks down inhospitable; the human heart finds nowhere shelter but in human kind. in the screening time of purple blossoms, when the petals crowd and softly crush like cherub cheeks in heaven, the spanish gypsy. castilian gentlemen choose not their task — they choose to do it well. life itself may not express us all, may leave the worst and the best too, like tunes in mechanism never awaked. great love has many attributes, and shrines for varied worshippers, but his force divine shows most its many-named fulness in the man whose nature multitudinously mixed — each ardent impulse grappling with a thought - resists all easy gladness, all content save mystic rapture, where the questioning soul flooded with consciousness of good that is finds life one bounteous answer. pablo's song. i'r was in the prime of the sweet spring-time. in the linnet's throat trembled the love-note, and the love-ştirred air thrilled the blossoms there. little shadows danced each a tiny elf, happy in large light and the thinnest self. the spanish gypsy. in moments high space widens in the soul. faith, the stronger for extremity, becomes prophetic. can we believe that the dear dead are gone? love in sad weeds forgets the funeral-day, opens the chamber door and almost smiles — then sees the sunbeams pierce athwart the bed where the pale face is not. spirits seem buried and their epitaph is writ in latin by severest pens, yet still they flit above the trodden grave and find new bodies, animating them in quaint and ghostly way with antique souls. so juan was a troubadour revived, freshening life’s dusty road with babbling rills of wit and song, living 'mid harnessed men with limbs ungalled by armor, ready so to soothe them weary, and to cheer them sad. guest at the board, companion in the camp, a crystal mirror to the life around, flashing the comment keen of simple fact defined in words; lending brief lyric voice to grief and sadness ; hardly taking note the spanish gypsy. of difference betwixt his own and others'; but rather singing as a listener to the deep moans, the cries, the wild strong joys of universal nature, old yet young. juan's song. push off the boat, quit, quit the shore, the stars will guide us back: - o gathering cloud, o wide, wide sea, o waves that keep no track! on through the pines ! the pillared woods, where silence breathes sweet breath:- o labyrinth, o sunless gloom, the other side of death! so soft a night was never made for sleep, but for the waking of the finer sense to every murmuring and gentle sound, to subtlest odors, pulses, visitings that touch our frames with wings too delicate to be discerned amid the blare of day. (she pauses near the window to gather some jasmine : then walks again.) the spanish gyps y. of poor unwed fedalma. oh, they are sweet, and none will come just like them. perhaps the wind wails so in winter for the summers dead, and all sad sounds are nature's funeral cries for what has been and is not. are they, silva ? these rubies greet me duchess. how they glow! their prisoned souls are throbbing like my own. perchance they loved once, were ambitious, proud ; or do they only dream of wider life, ache from intenseness, yearn to burst the wall compact of crystal splendor, and to flood some wider space with glory? poor, poor gems! we must be patient in our prison-house, and find our space in loving. fedalma. — these gems have life in them : their col- ors speak, say what words fail of. so do many things -- the scent of jasmine, and the fountain's plash, the moving shadows on the far-off hills, the slanting moonlight, and our clasping hands. ( silva, there's an ocean round our words that overflows and drowns them. do you know sometimes when we sit silent, and the air breathes gently on us from the orange-trees, it seems that with the whisper of a word the spanish gypsy. no! on the close-thronged spaces of the earth a battle rages: fate has carried me 'mid the thick arrows : i will keep my stand- not shrink and let the shaft pass by my breast to pierce another. oh, 't is written large the thing i have to do. the saints were cowards who stood by to see christ crucified: they should have flung themselves upon the roman spears, and died in vain the grandest death, to die in vain — for love greater than sways the forces of the world father, my soul is weak, the mist of tears still rises to my eyes, and hides the goal which to your undimmed sight is clear and changeless. but if i cannot plant resolve on hope it will stand firm on certainty of woe. i choose the ill that is most like to end with my poor being. hopes have precarious life. they are oft blighted, withered, snapped sheer off in vigorous growth and turned to rottenness. but faithfulness can feed on suffering, and knows no disappointment. trust in me ! if it were needed, this poor trembling hand should grasp the torch — strive not to let it fall though it were burning down close to my flesh, no beacon lighted yet: through the damp dark the spanish gypsy. i should still hear the cry of gasping swimmers. father, i will be true ! don silva. – what am i but a miserable brand lit by mysterious wrath ? i lie cast down a blackened branch upon the desolate ground where once i kindled ruin. i shall drink no cup of purest water but will taste bitter with thy lone hopelessness, fedalma. fedalma. — nay, silva, think of me as one who sees a light serene and strong on one sole path which she will tread till death ... he trusted me, and i will keep his trust : my life shall be its temple. i will plant his sacred hope within the sanctuary and die its priestess — though i die alone, a hoary woman on the altar step, cold ’mid cold ashes. that is my chief good. the deepest hunger of a faithful heart is faithfulness. wish me nought else. calamity comes like a deluge and o’erfloods our crimes, till sin is hidden in woe. you -i- we two, grasping we knew not what, that seemed delight, opened the sluices of that deep.' don silva. dear! you share the woe.-- nay, the worst dart of vengeance fell on you. the spanish gypsy. fedalma. — vengeance! she does but sweep us with her skirts — she takes large space, and lies a baleful light revolving with long years — sees children's children, blights them in their prime . . . oh, if two lovers leaned to breathe one air and spread a pestilence, they would but lie two livid victims dead amid the city of the dying. we with our poor petty lives have strangled one that ages watch for vainly. oh, i am sick at heart. the eye of day, the insistent summer sun, seems pitiless, shining in all the barren crevices of weary life, leaving no shade, no dark, where i may dream that hidden waters lie; as pitiless as to some shipwrecked man, who, gazing from his narrow shoal of sand on the wide unspecked round of blue and blue, sees that full light is errorless despair. the insects' hum that slurs the silent dark startles, and seems to cheat me, as the tread of coming footsteps cheats the midnight watcher who holds her heart and waits to hear them pause, and hears them never pause, but pass and die. music sweeps by me as a messenger · carrying a message that is not for me. the spanish gypsy. the very sameness of the hills and sky is obduracy, and the lingering hours wait round me dumbly, like superfluous slaves, of whom i want nought but the secret news they are forbid to tell. (to silva.) – we may not make this world a paradise by walking it together hand in hand, with eyes that meeting feed a double strength. we must be only joined by pains divine of spirits blent in mutual memories. silva, our joy is dead. ... we must walk apart unto the end. our marriage rite is our resolve that we will each be true to high allegiance, higher than our love. our dear young love — its breath was happiness ! but it had grown upon a larger life which tore its roots asunder. we rebelled - the larger life subdued us. yet we are wed ; for we shall carry each the pressure deep of the other's soul.? silva. juan, cease thy song. our whimpering poesy and small-paced tunes have no more utterance than the cricket’s chirp for souls that carry heaven and hell within. the spanish gypsy. men who are sour at missing larger game may wing a chattering sparrow for revenge. there's more of odd than even in this world. else pretty sinners would not be let off sooner than ugly ; for if honeycombs are to be got by stealing, they should go where life is bitterest on the tongue. 'tis but a toilsome game to bet upon that feather policy, and guess where after twice a hundred puffs ’t will catch another feather crossing it : guess how the pope will blow and how the king ; what force my lady's fan has ; how a cough seizing the padre's throat may raise a gust, and how the queen may sigh the feather down. such catching at imaginary threads, such spinning twisted air, is not for me. if i should want a game, i'll rather bet on racing snails, two large, slow, lingering snails - no spurring, equal weights — a chance sublime, nothing to guess at, pure uncertainty. your teaching orthodoxy with fagots may only bring up a fashion of roasting. knightly love is blent with reverence as heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.? the spanish gyps y. the scanty water : the fidelity of men whose pulses leap with kindred fire, who in the flash of eyes, the clasp of hands, the speech that even in lying tells the truth of heritage inevitable as past deeds, nay, in the silent bodily presence feel the mystic stirring of a common life which makes the many one : fidelity to the deep consecrating oath our sponsor fate made through our infant breath when we were born, the fellow-heirs of that small island, life, where we must dig and sow and reap with brothers. fear thou that oath, my daughter — nay, not fear, but love it ; for the sanctity of oaths lies not in lightning that avenges them, but in the injury wrought by broken bonds and in the garnered good of human trust. let men contemn us : 't is such blind contempt that leaves the winged broods to thrive in warmth unheeded, till they fill the air like storms. so we shall thrive - still darkly shall draw force into a new and multitudinous life that likeness fashions to community, mother divine of customs, faith, and laws. 't is ripeness, 't is fame's zenith that kills hope. huge oaks are dying, forests yet to come lie in the twigs and rotten-seeming seeds. the spanish gypsy. because our race has no great memories, i will so live, it shall remember me for deeds of such divine beneficence as rivers have, that teach men what is good by blessing them. the rich heritage, the milder life, of nations fathered by a mighty past “ life and more life unto the chosen, death to all things living that would stifle them!” so speaks each god that makes a nation strong. royal deeds may make long destinies for multitudes. strong souls live like fire-hearted suns to spend their strength in farthest striving action ; breathe more free in mighty anguish than in trivial ease. 't is a vile life that like a garden pool lies stagnant in the round of personal loves; that has no ear save for the tickling lute set to small measures -- deaf to all the beats of that large music rolling o'er the world : a miserable, petty, low-roofed life, the spanish gypsy. that knows the mighty orbits of the skies through nought save light or dark in its own cabin. the very brutes will feel the force of kind and move together, gathering a new soul — the soul of multitudes. in vain, my daughter ! lay the young eagle in what nest you will, the cry and swoop of eagles overhead vibrate prophetic in its kindred frame, and make it spread its wings and poise itself for the eagle's flight. (t. fedalma.) - nay, never falter: no great deed is done by falterers who ask for certainty. no good is certain, but the steadfast mind, the undivided will to seek the good: 'tis that compels the elements, and wrings a human music from the indifferent air. the greatest gift the hero leaves his race is to have been a hero. say we fail ! - we feed the high tradition of the world, and leave our spirit in our children's breasts. is there a choice for strong souls to be weak ? for men erect to crawl like hissing snakes ? the spanish gypsy. i choose not-i am zarca. let him choose who halts and wavers, having appetite to feed on garbage. to my inward vision things are achieved when they are well begun. the perfect archer calls the deer his own while yet the shaft is whistling. his keen eye never sees failure, sees the mark alone. fighting for dear life men choose their swords for cutting only, not for ornament. what nought but nature gives, man takes perforce where she bestows it, though in vilest place. can he compress invention out of pride, make heirship do the work of muscle, sail towards great discoveries with a pedigree? sick men ask cures, and nature serves not hers daintily as a feast. a blacksmith once founded a dynasty, and raised on high the leathern apron over armies spread between the mountains like a lake of steel. he who rules must humor full as much as he commands; must let men vow impossibilities; grant folly's prayers that hinder folly's wish and serve the ends of wisdom. the spanish gypsy. a light divine and searching on the earth, compelling eyes and footsteps. memory yields, yet clings with loving check, and shines anew reflecting all the rays of that bright lamp our angel reason holds. we had not walked but for tradition; we walk evermore to higher paths, by brightening reason's lamp. storms will lay the fairest trees and leave the withered stumps. thought has joys apart, even in blackest woe, and seizing some fine thread of verity knows momentary godhead. prediction is contingent, of effects where causes and concomitants are mixed to seeming wealth of possibilities beyond our reckoning. who will pretend to tell the adventures of each single fish within the syrian sea? show me a fish, i'll weigh him, tell his kind, what he devoured, what would have devoured hiin – but for one blas who netted him instead; nay, could i tell that had blas missed him, he would not have died of poisonous mud, and so made carrion, swept off at last by some sea-scavenger? the spanish gypsy. wise books for half the truths they hold are honored tombs. man thinks brutes have no wisdom, since they know not his: can we divine their world? – the hidden life that mirrors us as hideous shapeless power, cruel supremacy of sharp-edged death, or fate that leaves a bleeding mother robbed? oh, they have long tradition and swift speech, can tell with touches and sharp darting cries whole histories of timid races taught to breathe in terror by red-handed man. my lord, i will be frank; there's no such thing as naked manhood. if the stars look down on any mortal of our shape, whose strength is to judge all things without preference, he is a monster, not a faithful man. while my heart beats, it shall wear livery. nay, they are virtues for you warriors - hawking and hunting! you are merciful when you leave killing men to kill the brutes. but, for the point of wisdom, i would choose to know the mind that stirs between the wings of bees and building wasps, or fills the woods the spanish gypsy. with myriad murmurs of responsive sense and true-aimed impulse, rather than to know the thoughts of warriors. if conscience has two courts with differing verdicts, where shall lie the appeal ? our law must be without us or within. the highest speaks through all our people's voice, custom, tradition, and old sanctities; or he reveals himself by new decrees of inward certitude. though death were king, and cruelty his right-hand minister, pity insurgent in some human breasts makes spiritual empire, reigns supreme as persecuted faith in faithful hearts. your small physician, weighing ninety pounds, a petty morsel for a healthy shark, will worship mercy throned within his soul though all the luminous angels of the stars burst into cruel chorus on his ear, singing, “ we know no mercy.” he would cry- " i know it,” still, and soothe the frightened bird and feed the child a-hungered, walk abreast of persecuted men, and keep most hate for rational torturers. there i stand firm. the spanish gypsy. i read a record deeper than the skin. what! shall the trick of nostrils and of lips descend through generations, and the soul that moves within our frame like god in worlds - convulsing, urging, melting, withering - imprint no record, leave no documents, of her great history? shall men bequeath the fancies of their palate to their sons, and shall the shudder of restraining awe, the slow-wept tears of contrite memory, faith's prayerful labor, and the food divine of fasts ecstatic - shall these pass away like wind upon the waters, tracklessly? shall the mere curl of eyelashes remain, and god-enshrining symbols leave no trace of tremors reverent? the fence of rules is for the purblind crowd; they walk by averaged precepts: sovereign men, seeing by god's light, see the general by seeing all the special — own no rule but their full vision of the moment's worth. 'tis so god governs, using wicked men - nay, scheming fiends, to work his purposes. particular lies may speak a general truth. in god's war slackness is infamy. the spanish gypsy, a man 's a man; but when you see a king, you see the work of many thousand men.? they talk of vermin; but, sirs, vermin large were made to eat the small, or else to eat the noxious rubbish. next to a missing thrust, what irks me most is a neat well-aimed stroke that kills your man, yet ends in mischief. pooh, thou ’rt a poet, crazed with finding words may stick to things and seem like qualities. no pebble is a pebble in thy hands: 't is a moon out of work, a barren egg, or twenty things that no man sees but thee. the legend of jubal. jubal, lamech's son, that mortal frame wherein was first begun the immortal life of song. . to the far woods he wandered, listening, and heard the birds their little stories sing in notes whose rise and fall seem melted speech - melted with tears, smiles, glances — that can reach more quickly through our frame's deep-winding night, and without thought raise thought's best fruit, delight. ce . it was at evening, when shadows lengthen from each westward thing, when imminence of change makes sense more fine and light seems holier in its grand decline. the fruit-trees wore their studded coronal, earth and her children were at festival, glowing as with one heart and one consent - thought, love, trees, rocks, in sweet warm radiance blent. the legend of jubal. the sun had sunk, but music still was there, and when this ceased, still triumph filled the air: it seemed the stars were shining with delight and that no night was ever like this night. all clung with praise to jubal: some besought that he would teach them his new skill; some caught, swiftly as smiles are caught in looks that meet, the tone's melodic change and rhythmic beat: ’t was easy following where invention trod — all eyes can see when light flows out from god. and thus did jubal to his race reveal music their larger soul, where woe and weal filling the resonant chords, the song, the dance, moved with a wider-winged utterance. now many a lyre was fashioned, many a song raised echoes new, old echoes to prolong. that true heaven, the recovered past, the dear small known amid the unknown vast. the future, that bright land which swims in western glory, isles and streams and bays, where hidden pleasures float in golden haze. man's life was spacious in the early world : it paused, like some slow ship with sail unfurled waiting in seas by scarce a wavelet curled; the legend of jubal. and work grew eager, and device was born. it seemed the light was never loved before, now each man said, “’t will go and come no more." no budding branch, no pebble from the brook, no form, no shadow, but new dearness took from the one thought that life must have an end; and the last parting now began to send diffusive dread through love and wedded bliss, thrilling them into finer tenderness. . then memory disclosed her face divine, that like the calm nocturnal lights doth shine within the soul, and shows the sacred graves, and shows the presence that no sunlight craves, no space, no warmth, but moves among them all; gone and yet here, and coming at each call, with ready voice and eyes that understand, and lips that ask a kiss, and dear responsive hand. thus to cain's race death was tear-watered seed of various life and action-shaping need. but chief the sons of lamech felt the stings of new ambition, and the force that springs in passion beating on the shores of fate. they said, “ there comes a night when all too late the mind shall long to prompt the achieving hand. the eager thought behind closed portals stand, and the last wishes to the mute lips press buried ere death in silent helplessness. then while the soul its way with sound can cleave, and while the arm is strong to strike and heave, the legend of jubal. let soul and arm give shape that will abide and rule above our graves, and power divide with that great god of day, whose rays must bend as we shall make the moving shadows tend. come, let us fashion acts that are to be, when we shall lie in darkness silently.” armgart. armgart. armg. – how old are you? leo. threescore and five. armg. that's old. i never thought till now how you have lived. they hardly ever play your music? leo (raising his eyebrows and throwing out his lip). - no! schubert too wrote for silence: half his work lay like frozen rhine till a summer came that warmed the grass above him. even so! his music lives now with a mighty youth. armg. -- do you think yours will live when you are dead? leo. — pfui! the time was, i drank that home- brewed wine and found it heady, while my blood was young: now it scarce warms me. tipple it as i may, i am sober still, and say: “my old friend leo, much grain is wasted in the world and rots; why not thy handful?". armgart. armg. strange! since i have known you till now i never wondered how you lived. when i sang well — that was your jubilee. but you were old already. leo. yes, child, yes: youth thinks itself the goal of each old life; age has but travelled from a far-off time just to be ready for youth's service. well ! it was my chief delight to perfect you. armg. - good leo! you have lived on little joys. but your delight in me is crushed for ever. your pains, where are they now? they shaped intent which action frustrates; shaped an inward sense which is but keen despair, the agony of highest vision in the lowest pit. the best intent grasps but a living present which may grow like any unfledged bird. sacraments are not to feed the paupers of the world. what is fame but the benignant strength of one, transformed to joy of many? tributes, plaudits, come as necessary breathing of such joy, and may they come to me ! armgart. this moment near me, suffering what i feel, and needing me for comfort in her pang- then it were worth the while to live; not else. walp. - one — near you — why, they throng! you hardly stir but your act touches them. we touch afar. for did not swarthy slaves of yesterday leap in their bondage at the hebrews' flight, which touched them through the thrice millennial dark? but you can find the sufferer you need with touch less subtle. armg. who has need of me? walp. — love finds the need it fills. leo. ay, my lady, that moment will not come again: applause may come and plenty; but the first, first draught! music has sounds for it - i know no words. i felt it once myself when they performed my overture to sintram. well! 'tis strange, we know not pain from pleasure in such joy. armg. — oh, pleasure has cramped dwelling in our souls, and when full being comes must call on pain to lend it liberal space. your blessed public had never any judgment in cold blood -- various poems. various poems. in minds made better by their presence: live in pulses stirred to generosity, in deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn for miserable aims that end with self, in thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, and with their mild persistence urge man's search to vaster issues. so to live is heaven. oh, may i join. . two lovers by a moss-grown spring: they leaned soft cheeks together there, mingled the dark and sunny hair, and heard the wooing thrushes sing. o budding-time! o love's blest prime! two wedded from the portal stept: the bells made happy carollings, the air was soft as fanning wings, white petals on the pathway slept. o pure-eyed bride! o tender pride! two faces o’er a cradle bent, two hands above the head were locked; these pressed each other while they rocked, those watched a life that love had sent. o solemn hour! o hidden power! various poems. two parents by the evening fire: the red light fell about their knees on heads that rose by slow degrees like buds upon the lily spire. o patient life! o tender strife! the two still sat together there, the red light shone about their knees; but all the heads by slow degrees had gone and left that lonely pair. o voyage fast! o vanished past! the red light shone upon the floor and made the space between them wide; they drew their chairs up side by side, their pale cheeks joined, and said, “ once more!" o memories! o past that is ! two lovers. index. exile, effects of, . experience leads to sympathy, ; spiritual, not to be explained, ; often but a dream, . face, of women we love, ; adornment needless to a beautiful, ; lines of the human, touching, ; of a traitor, ; of a beau- tiful woman, . faces, sharpened by consumption, ; few uncontrolled by self- consciousness, ; expressions of, ; of boys, inexpressive, . failure to realize plans of early life, . faith, effect of loss of, in fellow-men, , . faithless love, the nemesis of, . falsehood, becoming unconscious, ; easy in society, . fame, . family likeness, strangeness of, . farming, unprofitableness of, . fear, use of, ; a safeguard, ; ever present, . fedalma, , , , , , , , , , . feeling, more effective than opinion, ; needful solvent of ideas, . fixed residence, advantage of, in early life, . fond present, the, . force not measured by negations, . forgiveness, meaning of, . frailty, self-consciousness of, a preventive of active antagonism to evil, . friendship, delightful, described, . friendships, how they begin, . future, the, . gambling, its effects, . good, substantial, . good thoughts, . goodness, easily discouraged, ; of our neighbors' lives often not to be described, . gossip in middlemarch, . graf, the, . index. openness, not practicable, . opéra bouffe, . opinion, manner of expressing, ; public, a great power, . oratory, conflict of emotions in, ; two kinds, popular, . pablo's songs, , , . pain, release from acute, ; effect of witnessing, . particular lies, . parting at the root of all joy, . passion, moments of, ; difficulty of deciding between passion and duty, ; the inspiration of crime, ; the nature of, ; people in passion never wholly right, . patient effort necessary even to genius, . people, commonplace, worthy of interest, ; effect of agreeable, ; severity of mild, ; susceptible, affected by tone, ; of the country less impressible than those of the town, . pity, divine and human, ; its power for good, . plans, useless to form, . pleasure, wearisome days of, . pluck to fight, though sure of losing, . poetry, no age entirely devoid of, . poets, . politeness sometimes an exasperation, . possibilities, uncertainty of, . power, intellectual, measure of, ; insatiableness of, . poyser, mrs., character of, . prayer, power of, . prediction, . prejudice, natural to some minds, . present discomfort no insurance against future misfortune, . present, the, its proper relation to the past and the future, . pride, it helps to bear disappointment, . prior, the, . prosperity, why felix holt renounced it, , . prudence, . public judgment, . punishment of fellow-creatures, no cause for satisfaction, . index. self-importance a hindrance to self-improvement, . self-love possible without self-satisfaction, . self-questioning a morbid habit, . sentiments the spiritual police of civilization, . sephardo, , , , . servants, want of faithfulness in, . severities, half-way, blunders, . sick-room a refuge from the restlessness of intellectual doubt, . silence, the blessedness of, . silva, don, , , , , , , . sin, shame for, ; of prosperous people, ; cherished, prevents pardon, ; effects of, widely felt, ; leads often to greater watchfulness, . slackness, the infamy of, . sorrow, wounds of, permanent, ; associations of nature with, ; an indestructible force, ; despair in first, ; confusion of mind in, ; benumbing influence of, ; willingness to bear, ; aris- ing from false ideas, ; of women, caused by hasty speech, . soul, the, without and within, . spain, “ broad-breasted,” . speech, haste in, ; hard, sad to remember, .. speech-making, secret of, ; mr. brooke's, ; difficulties of, . stelling, mrs., character of, . storms, . strangers, interesting, . strength often shown in homage to weakness, . strong, duty of the, . strong passion’s daring, . strong souls, . submission, energy needful to, . successful worldliness apparently the most selfish, . suffering, a regeneration, . superstitions, consequences of, . supreme love, . surprise at our troubles absurd, . sympathy, a key to knowledge of others, ; a help to patience and charity, ; an essential basis of just criticism, ; universal need of, . index. talk, pleasure in, ; possibility of abstaining from, ; useless- ness of, ; shows mental qualities of speaker, . thought, . time changes aspect of things, . tom and maggie, character of, . tongues, unmanageableness of, . trouble, common to all, ; work gives help in, . trust, of youth in good fortune, ; gives strength, ; best placed in bachelors, ; need of, . truth, every, valuable, , , . truthfulness a rare quality, . tulliver, mr., character of, ; mrs., character of, . tunes, scotch, comparison of, . two lovers, . uncertainty of things, obvious, . vanities, our, differ, . vanity, one of its effects, . veracity, a plant of paradise, ; absolute, difficult to attain, . vermin, . vile life, a, . waking, sensations of, . walking, romola's way of, . walpurga, , . watching in a sick-room, . wedding journeys, disagreements on, ; mrs. cadwallader's opinion of, . welfare, efforts for immediate, best tended to promote future, . wills, evidence of folly in, . wise books, . wit and humor, their proper limits, . woman's dream, a, . women, complaining, described, ; foolishness of, ; unreason- ableness of, ; quickness of, ; not a blessing, ; difference between delicate and coarse, ; timidity of, ; fondness for help the borrower must return this item on or before the last date stamped below. if another user places a recall for this item, the borrower will be notified of the need for an earlier return. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fines. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma - - mayun . book due please handle with care. thank y (ve librar goyangan ngon ennen harvard college library pna ngganunggesegenugar verd tase coccodicnicodicciciocno from the library of mrs. ellen haven ross of boston received june , . .&. .&c span (escoccodiscotc) harvard college library veri . . &.c. . .c tas! wiesosicjuicsomo) nanananasenens from the library of mrs. ellen haven ross of boston received june , . wit and wisdom of don quixote. patch grief with proverbs.-shakespeare. new york: d. appleton & co., and broadway. . preface. as the priest, the friend of don quixote, when endeavoring to cure the mental malady of the knight (as he thought it) by destroying all his books of chivalry, in now and then saving one from condemnation, said of one of the contributors to the “ mirror of chivalry : ” “if i find him here speaking in any other language than his own, i will show him no respect; but if he talks in his own tongue, i will place him on my head in token of regard.” “i have got him at home,” said the barber, “ in italian, but i don't understand that language.” “nor is it necessary you should,” replied the curate. “and here let us pray heaven to forgive the captain, who has impoverished him so much, by translating him into spanish, and making him a castilian. and, indeed, the same thing will preface. v it came, and if this was not from books but from life, an indication of the name, the rank, and the condition in life of the person from whom it was derived. according to trench, having a right to take cervantes as the truest exponent of the span- ish character, "we should be prepared to trace in the proverbs of spain a grave thoughtfulness, a stately humor; to find them breathing the very spirit of chivalry and honor, and indeed of freedom too." wit and wisdom of don quixote. down in a village of la mancha, the name of which i have no desire to recollect, there lived, not long ago, one of those gentlemen who usually keep a lance upon a rack, an old buckler, a lean horse, and a coursing greyhound. soup, composed of somewhat more mutton than beef, the fragments served up cold on most nights, lentils on fridays, pains and breakings on saturdays, and a pigeon, by way of addition, on sundays, consumed three-fourths of his income; the remainder of it supplied him with a cloak of fine cloth, velvet breeches, with slippers of the same for holidays, and a suit of the best homespun, in which he adorned himself on week-days. his family consisted of a housekeeper above forty, a niece not quite twenty, and a lad who served him both in the field and at home, who could saddle the horse or handle the pruning-hook. ' wit and wisdom the age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years; he was of a strong constitution, spare-bodied, of a meagre visage, a very early riser, and a lover of the chase. some pretend to say that his surname was quixada, or quesada, for on this point his his- torians differ; though, from very probable conjec- tures, we may conclude that his name was quixana. this is, however, of little importance to our his- tory; let it suffice that, in relating it, we do not swerve a jot from the truth. in fine, his judgment being completely obscured, he was seized with one of the strangest fancies that ever entered the head of any madman: this was, a belief that it behooved him, as well for the advance- ment of his glory as the service of his country, to become a knight-errant, and traverse the world, armed and mounted, in quest of adventures, and to practise all that had been performed by knights- errant, of whom he had read; redressing every species of grievance, and exposing himself to dan- gers which, being surmounted, might secure to him eternal glory and renown. the poor gentleman imagined himself at least crowned emperor of treb- isond, by the valor of his arm; and thus wrapped in these agreeable delusions, and borne away by the extraordinary pleasure he found in them, he hast- ened to put his designs into execution. the first thing he did was to scour up some rusty armor, which had been his great-grandfather's, and had lain many years neglected in a corner. of don quixote. this he cleaned and adjusted as well as he could, but he found one grand defect; the helmet was in- complete, having only the morion; this deficiency, however, he ingeniously supplied, by making a kind of visor of pasteboard, which, being fixed to the morion, gave the appearance of an entire helmet. it is true indeed that, in order to prove its strength, he drew his sword, and gave it two strokes, the first of which instantly demolished the labor of a week; but not altogether approving of the facility with which it was destroyed, and in order to secure him- self against a similar misfortune, he made another visor, which, having fenced in the inside with small bars of iron, he felt assured of its strength, and, without making any more experiments, held it to be a most excellent helmet. in the next place he visited his steed; and al- though this animal had more blemishes than the horse of gonela, which "tantum pellis et ossa fuit," yet, in his eyes, neither the bucephalus of alexan- der, nor the cid's babieca, could be compared with him. four days was he deliberating upon what name he should give him; for, as he said to him- self, it would be very improper that a horse so ex- cellent, appertaining to a knight so famous, should be without an appropriate name; he therefore en- deavored to find one that should express what he had been before he belonged to a knight-errant, and also what he now was: nothing could, indeed, be more reasonable than that, when the master changed of don quixote. names, he found nothing wanting but a lady to be in love with, as he said— a knight-errant without a mistress was a tree without either fruit or leaves, and a body without a soul! in the mean time don quixote tampered with a laborer, a neighbor of his, and an honest man (if such an epithet can be given to one that is poor), but shallow-brained ; in short, he said so much, used so many arguments, and made so many promises, that the poor fellow resolved to sally out with him and serve him in the capacity of a squire. among other things, don quixote told him that he ought to be very glad to accompany him, for such an ad- venture might some time or the other occur, that by one stroke an island might be won, where he might leave him governor. with this and other promises, sancho panza (for that was the laborer's name) left his wife and children, and engaged himself as squire to his neighbor. , modesty well becomes beauty, and excessive laughter proceeding from slight cause is folly. keep your mouth shut, and your eyes open. the brave man carves out his own fortune. u where art thou, mistress of my heart, unconscious of thy lover's smart? wit and wisdom ah me! thou know'st not my distress, or thou art false and pitiless." "if i find him here uttering any other language than his own, i will show no respect; but if he speaks in his own tongue, i will put him upon my head." "i have him in italian," said the barber, "but do not understand him." "neither is it any great matter, whether you understand him or not," answered the priest; "and we would willingly have excused the good captain from bringing him into spain and making him a castilian; for he has deprived him of a great deal of his native value; which, indeed, is the misfor- tune of all those who undertake the translation of poetry into other languages; for, with all their care and skill, they can never bring them on a level with the original production." "the devil lurks behind the cross." "there cannot be too much of a good thing." "what is lost to-day may be won to-morrow." "a saint may sometimes suffer for a sinner." "many go out for wool and return shorn." matters of war are most subject to continual change. wit and wisdom cent abundance, their delicious and transparent waters. in the clefts of rocks, and in hollow trees, the industrious and provident bees formed their commonwealths, offering to every hand, without interest, the fertile produce of their most delicious toil. the stately cork-trees, impelled by their own courtesy alone, divested themselves of their light and expanded bark, with which men began to cover their houses, supported by rough poles, only as a de- fence against the inclemency of the heavens. all then was peace, all amity, all concord. the heavy colter of the crooked plough had not yet dared to force open and search into the tender bowels of our first mother, who, unconstrained, offered, from every part of her fertile and spacious bosom, what- ever might feed, sustain, and delight those, her chil- dren, by whom she was then possessed." antonio. yes, lovely nymph, thou art my prize; i boast the conquest of thy heart, though nor the tongue, nor speaking eyes, have yet revealed the latent smart. thy wit and sense assure my fate, in them my love's success i see; nor can he be unfortunate who dares avow his flame for thee. of don quixote. yet sometimes hast thou frowned, alas ! and given my hopes a cruel shock; then did thy soul seem formed of brass, thy snowy bosom of the rock. but in the midst of thy disdain, thy sharp reproaches, cold delays, hope from behind, to ease my pain, the border of her robe displays. ah! lovely maid ! in equal scale weigh well thy shepherd's truth and love, which ne'er, but with his breath, can fail, which neither frowns nor smiles can move. if love, as shepherds wont to say, be gentleness and courtesy, so courteous is olalia, my passion will rewarded be. and if obsequious duty paid, the grateful heart can never move, mine sure, my fair, may well persuade a due return, and claim thy love. for, to seem pleasing in thy sight, i dress myself with studious care, and, in my best apparel dight, my sunday clothes on monday wear. and shepherds say i'm not to blame ; for cleanly dress and spruce attire of don quixote. i] the church hath silken cords, that tie consenting hearts in mutual bands: if thou, my fair, its yoke will try, thy swain its ready captive stands. if not, by all the saints i swear on these bleak mountains still to dwell, nor ever quit my toilsome care, but for the cloister and the cell. a clergyman must be over and above good, who makes all his parishioners speak well of him. parents ought not to settle their children against their will. for never sure was any knight so served by damsel, or by dame, as lancelot, that man of might, when he at first from britain came. the soldier who executes his captain's com- mand is no less valuable than the captain who gave the order. * one swallow does not make a summer. it is neither just nor wise to fulfil the will of him who commands what is utterly unreasonable. showing also his familiarity with jesop. wit and wisdom chrysostom's song. i. since, cruel maid, you force me to proclaim from clime to clime the triumph of your scorn, let hell itself inspire my tortured breast with mournful numbers, and untune my voice; whilst the sad pieces of my broken heart mix with the doleful accents of my tongue, at once to tell my griefs and thy exploits. hear, then, and listen with attentive ear— not to harmonious sounds, but echoing groans, fetched from the bottom of my lab'ring breast, to ease, in spite of thee, my raging smart. ii. the lion's roar, the howl of midnight wolves, the scaly serpent's hiss, the raven's croak, the burst of fighting winds that vex the main, the widowed owl and turtle's plaintive moan, with all the din of hell's infernal crew, from my grieved soul forth issue in one sound— leaving my senses all confused and lost. for ah! no common language can express the cruel pains that torture my sad heart. m. yet let not echo bear the mournful sounds to where old tagus rolls his yellow sands, or betis, crowned with olives, pours his flood of don quixote. but here, 'midst rocks and precipices deep, or to obscure and silent vales removed, on shores by human footsteps never trod, where the gay sun ne'er lifts his radiant orb, or with the envenomed face of savage beasts that range the howling wilderness for food, will i proclaim the story of my woes— poor privilege of grief!—while echoes hoarse catch the sad tale, and spread it round the world. iv. disdain gives death; suspicions, true or false, o'erturn the impatient mind: with surer stroke fell jealousy destroys; the pangs of absence no lover can support; nor firmest hope can dissipate the dread of cold neglect; yet i, strange fate! though jealous, though dis- dained, absent, and sure of cold neglect, still live. and amidst the various torments i endure, no ray of hope e'er darted on my soul, nor would i hope; rather in deep despair will i sit down, and, brooding o'er my griefs, vow everlasting absence from her sight. can hope and fear at once the soul possess, or hope subsist with surer cause of fear? shall i, to shut out frightful jealousy, close my sad eyes, when every pang i feel ' wit and wisdom presents the hideous phantom to my view? what wretch so credulous but must embrace distrust with open arms, when he beholds disdain avowed, suspicions realized, and truth itself converted to a lie? oh, cruel tyrant of the realm of love, fierce jealousy, arm with a sword this hand, or thou, disdain, a twisted cord bestow! vi. let me not blame my fate; but, dying, think the man most blest who loves, the soul most free that love has most enthralled. still to my thoughts let fancy paint the tyrant of my heart beauteous in mind as face, and in myself still let me find the source of her disdain content to suffer, since imperial love by lover's woes maintains his sovereign state. with this persuasion, and the fatal noose, i hasten to the doom her scorn demands, and, dying, offer up my breathless corse, uncrowned with garlands, to the whistling winds. vii. oh thou, whose unrelenting rigor's force first drove me to despair, and now to death; when the sad tale of my untimely fall shall reach thy ear, though it deserve a sigh, veil not the heaven of those bright eyes in grief, nor drop one pitying tear, to tell the world of don quixote. i at length my death has triumphed o'er thy scorn: but dress thy face in smiles, and celebrate with laughter and each circumstance of joy the festival of my disastrous end. ah! need i bid thee smile? too well i know my death's thy utmost glory and thy pride. viii. come, all ye phantoms of the dark abyss: bring, tantalus, thy unextinguished thirst, and sisyphus, thy still returning stone; come tityus, with the vulture at thy heart; and thou, ixion, bring thy giddy wheel; nor let the toiling sisters stay behind. pour your united griefs into this breast, and in low murmurs sing sad obsequies (if a despairing wretch such rites may claim) o'er my cold limbs, denied a winding-sheet. and let the triple porter of the shades, the sister furies and chimeras dire, with notes of woe the mournful chorus join. such funeral pomp alone befits the wretch by beauty sent untimely to the grave. ix. and thou, my song, sad child of my despair, complain no more; but since thy wretched fate improves her happier lot who gave thee birth, be all thy sorrows buried in my tomb. wit and wisdom all beauty does not inspire love; some please the sight without captivating the affections. if all beauties were to enamour and captivate, the hearts of mankind would be in a continual state of per- plexity and confusion—for beautiful objects being infinite, the sentiments they inspire should also be infinite. true love cannot be divided, and must be vol- untary and unconstrained. the viper deserves no blame for its sting, al- though it be mortal—because it is the gift of na- ture. beauty in a modest woman is like fire or a sharp sword at a distance; neither doth the one burn nor the other wound those that come not too near them. honor and virtue are ornaments of the soul, without which the body, though it be really beauti- ful, ought not to be thought so. let him who is deceived complain. let him to whom faith is broken despair. she who loves none can make none jealous, and sincerity ought not to pass for disdain. the body of a wretched swain, killed by a cruel maid's disdain, in this cold bed neglected lies. wit and wisdom he that seeketh danger perisheth therein. fear hath many eyes. evil to him that evil seeks. everybody has not discretion to take things by the right handle. he loves thee well who makes thee weep. shut one door, and another will soon open. be brief in thy discourse, for what is prolix cannot be pleasing. never stand begging for that which you have the power to take. a snatch from behind a bush is better than the prayer of good men. customs come not altogether, neither were they all invented at once. who sings in grief procures relief. to be grateful for benefits received is the duty of honest men—one of the sins that most offendeth god is ingratitude. benefits conferred on base-minded people are like drops of water thrown into the sea. of don quixote. ig retreating is not running away, nor is staying wisdom when the danger overbalances the hope ; and it is the part of wise men to secure themselves to- day for to-morrow, and not to venture all upon one throw. the wicked are always ungrateful. necessity urges desperate measures. i. love either cruel is or blind; or still unequal to the cause, is this distemper of the mind, that with infernal torture gnaws. ii. but love's a god, and cruelty in heavenly breasts can never dwell: then say by what authority i'm doomed to feel the pains of hell? m. of all my sufferings and my woe, is chloe then the fatal source? sure ill from good can never flow, nor so much beauty gild a curse. wit and wisdom iv. with hopeless misery weighed down, i'll seek for quiet in the grave; for when the malady's unknown, a miracle alone can save. the devil is subtle, and lays stumbling-blocks in our way, over which we fall without knowing how. in all misfortunes the greatest consolation is a sympathizing friend. riches are but of little avail against the ills inflicted by the hand of heaven. he that buys and denies, his own purse belies. till you hedge in the sky, the starlings will fly. if a painter would be famous in his art, he must endeavor to copy after the originals of the most ex- cellent masters; the same rule is also applicable to all the other arts and sciences which adorn the com- monwealth; thus, whoever aspires to a reputation for prudence and patience, must imitate ulysses, in whose person and toils homer draws a lively pic- ture of those qualities; so also virgil, in the char- acter of ./eneas, delineates filial piety, courage, and martial skill, being representations of not what they really were, but of what they ought to be, in order of don quixote. to serve as models of virtue to succeeding genera- tions. the absent feel and fear every ill. from hell there is no retention. one should not talk of halters in the house of the hanged. don quixote's letter to dulcinea del toboso. high and sovereign lady :—he who is stabbed by the point of absence, and pierced by the arrows of love, o sweetest dulcinea del toboso, greets thee with wishes for that health which he en- joys not himself. if thy beauty despise me, if thy worth favor me not, and if thy disdain still pursue me, although inured to suffering i shall ill support an affliction which is not only severe but lasting. my good squire sancho will tell thee, o ungrateful fair, and most beloved foe, to what a state i am re- duced on thy account. if it be thy pleasure to re- lieve me, i am thine; if not, do what seemeth good to thee: for by my death i shall at once appease thy cruelty and my own passion. until death thine, the knight of the sorrowful figure. wit and wisdom lines discovered on the bark of a tree, ad- dressed to dulcinea del toboso. ye lofty trees, with spreading arms, the pride and shelter of the plain; ye humble shrubs and flowery charms, which here in springing glory reign! if my complaints may pity move, hear the sad story of my love! while with me here you pass your hours, should you grow faded with my cares, i'll bribe you with refreshing showers; you shall be watered with my tears. distant, though present in idea, i mourn my absent dulcinea del toboso. love's truest slave, despairing, chose this lonely wild, this desert plain, this silent witness of the woes which he, though guiltless, must sustain. unknowing why these pains he bears, he groans, he raves, and he despairs. with lingering fires love racks my soul: in vain i grieve, in vain lament; like tortured fiends i weep, i howl, and burn, yet never can repent. distant, though present in idea, i mourn my absent dulcinea del toboso. of don quesote. while i through bodor's thoror wars, in search of distant glory rore, malignant fate my toil repars with endless woes and bopeless lore. thus i on barren rocks despair, and curse my stars, yet bless my fair. love, armed with snakes, has left his dart, and now does like a fury rave; and scourge and sting on every part, and into madness lash his slave. distant, though present in idea, i mourn my absent dulcinea del toboso. let every man's fate kill him, or god who made him. . ah! what inspires my woful strain ? unkind disdain ! ah! what augments my misery? fell jealousy! or, say, what hath my patience worn ? an absent lover's scorn! the torments then that i endure no mortal remedy can cure; for every languid hope is slain by absence, jealousy, disdain! ii. from love, my unrelenting foe, these sorrows flow! wit and wisdom my infant glory is overthrown, by fortune's frown; confirmed in this my wretched state by the decrees of fate, in death alone, i hope release from this compounded dire disease; whose cruel pangs to aggravate, fortune and love conspire with fate! m. ah! what will mitigate my doom? the silent tomb! ah! what retrieve departed joy? inconstancy! or say, can aught but frenzy bear this tempest of despair? all other efforts, then, are vain, to cure this foul tormenting pain, that owns no other remedy than madness, death, inconstancy. p'riendship, thou hast with nimble flight exulting gained the empyreal height, in heaven to dwell, while here below thy semblance reigns in mimic show; from thence to earth, at thy behest, descends fair peace, celestial guest! beneath whose veil of shining hue deceit oft lurks, concealed from view. wit and wisdom flagrant an injury, i may strive, if not to avenge it, at least to end this life of pain? for no grievance can harass or drive the afflicted to such extremity, while life remains, as to make them shut their ears against that counsel which is given with the most humane and benevolent inten- tion. what is sudden death, to a protracted life of an- guish? music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the dejected spirits. all women, let them be never so homely, are pleased to hear themselves celebrated for beauty. the eyes of love or of idleness are like those of a lynx. one mischance invites another, and the end of one misfortune is often the beginning of a worse. among friends we ought not to stand upon trifles. no man can command the first emotions of his passions. every new fault deserves a new penance. where is the wonder one devil should be like another? ^ wit and wisdom if from equal parts we take equal parts, those that remain are equal. to attempt voluntarily that which must be pro- ductive of evil rather than good, is madness and folly. difficult works are undertaken for the sake of heaven, or of the world, or both: the first are such as are performed by the saints, while they endeavor to live the life of angels in their human frames; such as are performed for love of the world are en- countered by those who navigate the boundless ocean, traverse different countries and various cli- mates to acquire what are called the goods of fortune. those who assail hazardous enterprises for the sake of both god and man are brave soldiers, who no sooner perceive in the enemy's wall a breach made by a single cannon-ball, than, regardless of danger and full of zeal in the defence of their faith, their country, and their king, they rush where death in a thousand shapes awaits them. these are diffi- culties commonly attempted, and, though perilous, are glorious and profitable. when peter saw the approach of rosy morn, his soul with sorrow and remorse was torn; for, though from every mortal eye concealed, the guilt to his own bosom stood revealed: the candid breast will, self-accusing, own each conscious fault, though to the world unknown: nor will th' offender 'scape internal shame, though unimpeached by justice or by fame. of don quixote. , expect not, therefore, by concealment, to banish sorrow; for, even though you weep not openly, tears of blood will flow from your heart. so wept that simple doctor, who, according to the poet, would venture to make a trial of the cup which the more prudent rinaldo wisely declined doing; and although this be a poetical fiction, there is a concealed moral in it worthy to be observed and followed. there is no jewel in the world so valuable as a chaste and virtuous woman. the honor of women consists in the good opinion of the world; and since that of your wife is eminently good, why would you have it questioned? woman, my friend, is an im- perfect creature; and, instead of laying stumbling- blocks in her way, we should clear the path before her, that she may readily attain that virtue which is essential in her. naturalists inform us that the ermine is a little creature with extremely white fur. and that when the hunters are in pursuit of it, they spread with mire all the passes leading to its haunts, to which they then drive it, knowing that it will submit to be taken rather than defile itself. the virtuous and modest woman is an ermine, and her character whiter than snow; and in order to pre- serve it, a very different method must be taken from that which is used with the ermine. the reputation of a woman may also be com- pared to a mirror of crystal, shining and bright, but liable to be sullied by every breath that comes near ' wit and wisdom it. the virtuous woman must be treated like a relic—adored, but not handled; she should be guard- ed and prized, like a fine flower-garden, the beauty and fragrance of which the owner allows others to enjoy only at a distance, and through iron rails. i. woman is formed of brittle ware; then, wherefore rashly seek to know what force, unbroken, she will bear, and strike perhaps some fatal blow? ii. though easily to fragments tore, 'twere equally absurd and vain, to dash in pieces on the floor, what never can be joined again, in. this maxim, then, by facts assured, should henceforth be espoused by all; where'er a danae lies immured, the tempting shower of gold will fall. the devil, when he would entrap a cautious per- son, assumes an angel form till he carries his point, when the cloven foot appears. he who builds on impossibilities, should be de- nied the privilege of any other foundation. hope is ever born with love. of don quixote. in death alone i life would find, and health in racking pain; fair honor in a traitor's mind, or freedom in a chain. but since i ask what ne'er can be, the fates, alas! decide, what they would else have granted me, shall ever be denied. castles should not be left without governors, nor armies without generals. the passion of love is to be conquered by flight alone; it is vain to contend with a power which, though human, requires more than human strength to subdue. sonnet. in the dead silence of the peaceful night, when others' cares are hushed in soft repose, the sad account of my neglected woes to conscious heaven and chloris i recite. and when the sun, with his returning light, forth from the east his radiant journey goes, with accents such as sorrow only knows, my griefs to tell is all my poor delight. and when bright phol-bus from his starry throne sends rays direct upon the parched soil, still in the mournful tale i persevere; returning night renews my sorrow's toil; ' wit and wisdom and though from morn to night i weep and moan, nor heaven nor chloris my complainings hear. are we to take all that enamoured poets sing, for truth? sonnet. believe me, nymph, i feel th' impending blow, and glory in the near approach of death; for when thou see'st my corse devoid of breath, my constancy and truth thou sure wilt know. welcome to me oblivion's shade obscure! welcome the loss of fortune, life, and fame! but thy loved features, and thy honored name, deep graven on my heart, shall still endure. and these, as sacred relics, will i keep till that sad moment when to endless night my long-tormented soul shall take her flight. alas for him who on the darkened deep floats idly, sport of the tempestuous tide, no port to shield him, and no star to guide! he who gives freely gives twice. that which is lightly gained is little valued. for love sometimes flies and sometimes walks —runs with one person, and goes leisurely with an- other: some he warms, and some he burns; some he wounds, and others he kills: in one and the same instant he forms and accomplishes his projects. he often in the morning lays siege to a fortress of don quixote. which in the evening surrenders to him—for no force is able to resist him. the nearer the prospect of possession, the more eager we are for the enjoyment. heaven always favors the honest purpose. rank is not essential in a wife. true nobility consists in virtue. it is no derogation to rank to elevate beauty adorned with virtue. time will discover. "certainly, gentlemen, if we rightly consider it, those who make knight-errantry their profession often meet with surprising and most stupendous ad- ventures. for what mortal in the world, at this time entering within this castle, and seeing us sit together as we do, will imagine and believe us to be the same persons which in reality we are? who is there that can judge that this lady by my side is the great queen we all know her to be, and that i am that knight of the sorrowful figure so universally made known by fame? it is, then, no longer to be doubted but that this exercise and profession sur- passes all others that have been invented by man, and is so much the more honorable as it is more ex- posed to dangers. let none presume to tell me r wit and wisdom that the pen is preferable to the sword. this may be ascertained by regarding the end and object each of them aims at; for that intention is to be most valued which makes the noblest end its object. the scope and end of learning, i mean human learning (in this place i speak not of divinity, whose aim is to guide souls to heaven, for no other can equal a design so infinite as that), is to give a perfection to distributive justice, bestowing upone very one his due, and to procure and cause good laws to be observed; an end really generous, great, and worthy of high commendation, but yet not equal to that which knight-errantry tends to, whose object and end is peace, which is the greatest blessing man can wish for in this life. and, therefore, the first good news that the world received was that which the angels brought in the night—the beginning of our day— when they sang in the air, 'glory to god on high, peace on earth, and to men good-will.' and the only manner of salutation taught by our great mas- ter to his friends and favorites was, that entering any house they should say, 'peace be to this house.' and at other times he said to them, ' my peace i give to you,' ' my peace i leave to you,' ' peace be among you.' a jewel and legacy worthy of such a donor, a jewel so precious that without it there can be no happiness either in earth or heaven. this peace is the true end of war; for arms and war are one and the same thing. allowing, then, this truth, that the end of war is peace, and that in this it ex- of don quixote. ceis the end of learning, let us now weigh the bodily labors the scholar undergoes against those the war- rior suffers, and then see which are the greatest." the method and language don quixote used in delivering himself were such, that none of his hear- ers at that time looked upon him as a madman; but, on the contrary, most of them being gentlemen to whom the use of arms properly appertains, they gave him a willing attention; and he proceeded in this manner: "these, then, i say, are the sufferings and hardships a scholar endures. first poverty (not that they are all poor, but to urge the worst that may be in this case); and having said he endures poverty, methinks nothing more need be urged to express his misery; for he that is poor enjoys no happiness, but labors under this poverty in all its parts, at one time in hunger, at another in cold, another in nakedness, and sometimes in all of them together; yet his poverty is not so great, but still he eats, though it be later than the usual hour, and of the scraps of the rich; neither can the scholar miss of somebody's stove or fireside to sit by; where, though he be not thoroughly heated, yet he may gather warmth, and at last sleep away the night under a roof. i will not touch upon other less ma- terial circumstances, as the want of linen, and scarcity of shoes, thinness and baldness of their clothes, and their surfeiting when good fortune throws a feast in their way; this is the difficult and uncouth path thev tread, often stumbling and fall- ^ wit and. wisdom ing, yet rising again and pushing on, till they attain the preferment they aim at; whither being arrived, we have seen many of them, who, having been car- ried by a fortunate gale through all these quicksands, from a chair govern the world; their hunger being changed into satiety, their cold into comfortable warmth, their nakedness into magnificence of ap- parel, and the mats they used to lie upon, into stately beds of costly silks and softest linen, a reward due to their virtue. but yet their sufferings being com- pared to those the soldier endures, appear much inferior, as i shall in the next place make out." don quixote, after a short pause, continued his discourse thus: "since, in speaking of the scholar, we began with his poverty and its several branches, let us see whether the soldier be richer. we shall find that poverty itself is not more poor: for he de- pends on his wretched pay, which comes late, and sometimes never; or upon what he can pillage, at the imminent risk of his life and conscience. such often is his nakedness that his slashed buff-doublet serves him both for finery and shirt; and in the midst of winter, on the open plain, he has nothing to warm him but the breath of his mouth, which, issuing from an empty place, must needs be cold. but let us wait, and see whether night will make amends for these inconveniences: if his bed be too narrow it is his own fault, for he may measure out as many feet of earth as he pleases, and roll himself thereon at pleasure without fear of rumpling the of don quixote. sheets. suppose the moment arrived of taking his degree—i mean, suppose the day of battle come: his doctoral cap may then be of lint, to cover some gun-shot wound, which perhaps has gone through his temples, or deprived him of an arm or leg. "and evens uppose that heaven in its mercy should preserve him alive and unhurt, he will prob- ably remain as poor as ever; for he must be en- gaged and victorious in many battles before he can ex- pect high promotion; and such good fortune happens only by a miracle: for you will allow, gentlemen, that few are the number of those that have reaped the reward of their services, compared with those who have perished in war. the dead are countless; whereas those who survived to be rewarded may be numbered with three figures. not so with scholars, who by their salaries (i will not say their perqui- sites) are generally handsomely provided for. thus the labors of the soldier are greater, although his reward is less. it may be said in answer to this, that it is easier to reward two thousand scholars than thirty thousand soldiers: for scholars are re- warded by employments which must of course be given to men of their profession; whereas the sol- dier can only be rewarded by the property of the master whom he serves; and this defence serves to strengthen my argument. "but, waiving this point, let us consider the com- parative claims to pre-eminence: for the partisans of each can bring powerful arguments in support of r wit and wisdom their own cause. it is said in favor of letters that without them arms could not subsist; for war must have its laws, and laws come within the province of the learned. but it may be alleged in reply, that arms are necessaiy to the maintenance of law; by arms the public roads are protected, cities guarded, states defended, kingdoms preserved, and the seas cleared of corsairs and pirates. in short, without arms there would be no safety for cities, common- wealths, or kingdoms. besides, it is just to estimate a pursuit in proportion to the cost of its attainment. now it is true that eminence in learning is pur- chased by time, watching, hunger, nakedness, ver- tigo, indigestion, and many other inconveniences already mentioned: but a man who rises gradually to be a good soldier endures all these, and far more. what is the hunger and poverty which menace the man of letters compared to the situation of the sol- dier, who, besieged in some fortress, and placed as sentinel in some ravelin or cavalier, perceives that the enemy is mining toward the place where he stands, and yet he must on no account stir from his post or shun the imminent danger that threatens him? all that he can do in such a case is to give notice to his officer of what passes, that he may en- deavor to counteract it; in the mean time he must stand his ground, in momentary expectation of being mounted to the clouds without wings, and then dashed headlong to the earth. and if this be thought but a trifling danger, let us see whether it be of don quixote. equalled or exceeded by the encounter of two galleys, prow to prow, in the midst of the white sea, locked and grappled together, so that there is no more room left for the soldier than the two-foot plank at the break-head; and though he sees as many threat- ening ministers of death before him as there are pieces of artillery pointed at him from the opposite side, not the length of a lance from his body; though he knows that the first slip of his foot sends him to the bottom of the sea; yet, with an undaunted heart, inspired by honor, he exposes himself as a mark to all their fire, and endeavors by that narrow pass to force his way into the enemy's vessel! and, what is most worthy of admiration, no sooner is one fallen, never to rise again in this world, than an- other takes his place; and if he also fall into the sea, which lies in wait to devour him, another and another succeeds without intermission! in all the extremities of war there is no example of courage and intrepidity to exceed this. happy those ages which knew not the dreadful fury of artillery!— those instruments of hell (where, i verily believe, the inventor is now receiving the reward of his dia- bolical ingenuity), by means of which the cowardly and the base can deprive the bravest soldier of life. while a gallant spirit animated with heroic ardor is pressing to glory, comes a chance ball, sent by one who perhaps fled in alarm at the flash of his own accursed weapon, and in an instant cuts short the life of him who deserved to live for ages! when i wit and wisdom iii. on afric's coast, as records tell, the scene of past and present woes, more valiant bodies never fell, more spotless spirits never rose. how seldom promises made in slavery are re- membered after a release from bondage! good fortune seldom comes pure and single un- attended by some troublesome or unexpected cir- cumstance. tossed in a sea of doubts and fears, love's hapless mariner, i sail, where no inviting port appears, to screen me from the stormy gale. ii. at distance viewed, a cheering star conducts me through the swelling tide; a brighter luminary, far, than palinurus e'er descried. in. my soul attracted by its blaze, still follows where it points the way, and while attentively i gaze, considers not how far i stray. of don quixote. iv. but female pride, reserved and shy, like clouds that deepen on the day, oft shroud it from my longing eye, when most i need the genial ray. o lovely star, so pure and bright! whose splendor feeds my vital fire, the moment thou deny'st thy light, thy lost adorer will expire! song. unconquered hope, thou bane of fear, and last deserter of the brave, thou soothing ease of mortal care, thou traveller beyond the grave; thou soul of patience, airy food, bold warrant of a distant good, reviving cordial, kind decoy; though fortune frowns and friends depart, though silvia flies me, flattering joy, nor thou, nor love, shall leave my doting heart. no slave, to lazy ease resigned, e'er triumphed over noble foes; the monarch fortune most is kind to him who bravely dares oppose. they say, love rates his blessing high, but who would prize an easy joy? r wit and wisdom consider this, i could almost repent having under- taken this profession of knight-errantry in so detest- able an age; for though no danger can daunt me, still it gives me some concern to think that powder and lead may suddenly cut short my career of glory. but heaven's will be done! i have this satisfac- tion, that i shall acquire the greater fame if i suc- ceed, inasmuch as the perils by which i am beset are greater than those to which the knights-errant of past ages were exposed." the army is a school in which the miser be- comes generous, and the generous prodigal. a covetous soldier is a monster which is rarelv seen. liberality may be carried too far in those who have children to inherit from them. we have a saying in spain, which, i believe, is very true, as indeed all proverbs are, because they are short sentences dictated by long and sage expe- rience: that which i mean, contains no more than these words: "the church, the court, or the sea ;" as if it more fully expressed the following advice, he that would make his fortune, ought either to dedicate his time to the church, go to sea as a mer- chant, or attach himself to the court: for it is com- monly observed, that "the king's crumb is worth the baron's batch." * * the king's morsel is better than the lord's bounty. wit and wisdom my scornful fair then i'll pursue, though the coy beauty still denies; i grovel now on earth, 'tis true, but, raised by her, the humble slave may rise. might overcomes. him to whom god giveth, may st. peter bless. it is a common proverb that diligence is the mother of success, and in many important causes experience hath shown that the assiduity of the so- licitor hath brought a very doubtful suit to a very fortunate issue; but the truth of this maxim is no- where more evinced than in war, where activity and dispatch anticipate the designs of the enemy, and obtain the victory before he has time to put himself in a posture of defence. the common adage that delays are dangerous acts as spurs upon the resolution. there are more tricks in the town than are dreamt of. virtue is so powerful that of herself she will, in spite of all the necromancy possessed by the first inventor zoroaster, come off" conqueror in every severe trial, and shine refulgent in the world, as the sun shines in the heavens. virtue is always more persecuted by the wicked than beloved by the righteous. of don quixote. just are virtue's fears where envy domineers! bounty will not stay where niggards bear the sway. fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and those who were yesterday at top, may find them- selves at bottom to-day. every one is the son of his own works. the mind receives pleasure from the beauty and consistency of what is presented to the imagination, not from that which is incongruous and unnatural. fiction is always the better the nearer it resem- bles truth, and agreeable in proportion to the prob- ability it bears and the doubtful credit which it in- spires. wherefore, all such fables ought to be suited to the understanding of those who read them, and written so, as that by softening impossibilities, smoothing what is rough, and keeping the mind in suspense, they may surprise, agreeably perplex, and entertain, creating equal admiration and delight; and these never can be excited by authors who for- sake probability and imitation, in which the perfec- tion of writing consists. epics may be written in prose as well as verse. to assert that there never was an amadis in the world, nor any other of the knights-adventurers of wit and wisdom whom so many records remain, is to say that the sun does not enlighten, the frost produce cold, nor the earth yield sustenance. the approbation of the judicious few should far outweigh the censure of the ignorant. an author had better be applauded by the few that are wise than laughed at by the many that are foolish. our modern plays, not only those which are formed upon fiction, but likewise such as are founded on the truth of history, are all, or the greatest part, universally known to be monstrous productions, without either head or tail, and yet received with pleasure by the multitude, who approve and esteem them as excellent performances, though they are far from deserving that title; and if the authors who compose, and the actors who represent them, affirm that this and no other method is to be prac- tised, because the multitude must be pleased; that those which bear the marks of contrivance, and produce a fable digested according to the rules of art, serve only for entertainment to four or five peo- ple of taste, who discern the beauties of the plan, which utterly escape the rest of the audience; and that it is better for them to gain a comfortable live- lihood by the many, than starve upon reputation with the few; at this rate, said i, if i should fin- ish my book, after having scorched every hair in my x of don quixote. whiskers in poring over it, to preserve those rules and precepts already mentioned, i might fare at last like the sagacious botcher, who sewed for nothing and found his customers in thread. it is not a sufficient excuse to say that the object in permitting theatrical exhibitions being chiefly to provide innocent recreation for the people, it is un- necessary to limit and restrain the dramatic author within strict rules of composition; for i affirm that the same object is, beyond all comparison, more ef- fectually attained by legitimate works. the spec- tator of a good drama is amused, admonished, and improved, by what is diverting, affecting, and moral in the representation; he is cautioned against deceit, corrected by example, incensed against vice, stimu- lated to the love of virtue. comedy, according to tully, ought to be the mirror of life, the exemplar of manners, and picture of truth; whereas those that are represented in this age are mirrors of absurdity, exemplars of folly, and pictures of lewdness; for sure nothing can be more absurd in a dramatic performance, than to see the person, who, in the first scene of the first act, was produced a child in swaddling-clothes, appear a full- grown man with a beard in the second; or to repre- sent an old man active and valiant, a young soldier cowardly, a footman eloquent, a page a counsellor, a king a porter, and a princess a scullion. then what shall we say concerning their management of wit and wisdom the time and place in which the actions have, or may be supposed to have happened? i have seen a comedy, the first act of which was laid in europe, the second in asia, and the third was finished in africa; nay, had there been a fourth, the scene would have shifted to america, so that the fable would have travelled through all the four divisions of the globe. if imitation be the chief aim of comedy, how can any ordinary understanding be satisfied with seeing an action that passed in the time of king pepin and charlemagne, ascribed to the emperor heraclius, who, being the principal personage, is represented, like godfrey of boulogne, carrying the cross into jerusalem, and making him- self master of the holy sepulchre, an infinite num- ber of years having passed between the one and the other? or, when a comedy is founded upon fiction, to see scraps of real history introduced, and facts misrepresented both with regard to persons and times, not with any ingenuity of contrivance, but with the most manifest and inexcusable errors and stupidity; and what is worst of all, there is a set of ignorant pretenders who call this the perfection of writing, and that every attempt to succeed by a con- trary method is no other than a wild-goose chase. the bow cannot remain always bent, and re- laxation, both of body and mind, is indispensable to all. can you deny what is in everybody's mouth, of don quixote. when a person is in the dumps? it is always then said, " i know not what such a one ails—he neither eats, nor drinks, nor sleeps, nor answers to the pur- pose, like other men—surely he is enchanted." wherefore, it is clear that such, and such only, are enchanted who neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, and not they who eat and drink when they can get it, and answer properly to all that is asked them. "the poor man is unable to exercise the virtue of liberality, and the gratitude which consists only in inclination is a dead thing, even as faith without works is dead. i shall, therefore, rejoice when for- tune presents me with an opportunity of exalting myself, that i may show my heart in conferring benefits on my friends, especially on poor sancho panza here, my squire, who is one of the best men in the world; and i would fain bestow on him an earldom, as i have long since promised; although i am somewhat in doubt of his ability in the govern- ment of his estate." sancho, overhearing his master's last words, said, "take you the trouble, signor don quixote, to procure me that same earldom, which your wor- ship has so often promised, and i have been so long waiting for, and you shall see that i shall not want ability to govern it. but even if i should, there are people, i have heard say, who farm these lord- ships; and, paying the owners so much a year, take upon themselves the government of the whole, of don quixote. , but worth, in these ungrateful times, to envied honor seldom climbs. vain mortals! give your wishes o'er, and trust the flatterer hope no more, whose promises, whate'er they seem, end in a shadow or a dream. cachidiablo, academician of argamasilla, on the sepulture op don ojjixote. epitaph. here lies an evil-errant knight, well bruised in many a fray, whose courser, rozinante hight,. long bore him many a way. close by his loving master's side lies booby sancho panza, a trusty squire of courage tried, and true as ever man saw. tiojj toc, academician or argamasilla, on the sepulture op dulcinea del toboso. here lies dulcinea, once so plump, but now her fat all melts away j for death, with an inhuman thump, has turned her into dust and clay. of a true breed she surely sprung, and wanted not external grace; don quixote's heart with love she stung, and shone the glory of her race. these were all the verses which could be read; wit and wisdom the rest being worm-eaten, were delivered to an academician, that he might attempt to unravel their meaning by conjecture. this task, we understand, he has performed with infinite pains and study, in- tending to publish them to the world, in expectation of the third sally of don quixote. "forse altri camera con miglior plet,tro." with god nothing is impossible. despair added to misfortune impairs the health and hastens death. mountains produce learned men, and philoso- phers are to be found within the shepherd's cot. no padlocks, bolts, or bars can secure a maiden so well as her own reserve. honey is not for the mouth of an ass. he must be blind, indeed, who cannot see through a sieve. comparisons, whether as to sense, courage, beauty, or rank, are always offensive. scruples of conscience afford no peace. you have reckoned without your host. when the head aches, all the members ache also. when virtue exists in an eminent degree, it is always persecuted. ... of don quixote. to be represented otherwise than with approba- tion is worse than the worst of deaths. there are as many different opinions as there are different tastes. pedir cotufas en el golfo, signifies to look for truffles in the sea, a proverb applicable to those who are too sanguine in their expectations and unreason- able in their desires. "there is no necessity for recording actions which are prejudicial to the hero, without being es- sential to the history. it is not to be supposed that ./eneas was in all his actions so pure as virgil rep- resents him, nor ulysses so uniformly prudent as he is described by homer." "true," replied samp- son; "but it is one thing to write as a poet, and another to write as an historian. the poet may say or sing, not as things were, but as they ought to have been; but the historian must pen them not as they ought to have been, but as they really were, without adding to or diminishing aught from the truth." there is no human history that does not contain reverses of fortune. while thou art advancing in years, age will bring experience. let every man take care how he speaks or wit and wisdom writes of honest people, and not set down at a ven- ture the first thing that comes uppermost. with hay or with straw it is all the same. much knowledge and a mature understanding are requisite for an historian. wit and humor belong to genius alone. the wittiest person in the comedy is he that plays the fool. history is a sacred subject, because the soul of it is truth; and where truth is, there the divinity will reside; yet there are some who compose and cast off books as if they were tossing up a dish of pancakes. there is no book so bad but something good may be found in it. printed works may be read leisurely, their de- fects easily seen, so they are scrutinized more or less strictly in proportion to the celebrity of the author. "men of great talents, whether poets or histo- rians, seldom escape the attacks of those who, with- out ever favoring the world with any production of their own, take delight in criticising the works of others." "nor can we wonder at that," said don quixote, "when we observe the same practice among divines, who, though dull enough in the pul- x ! of don quixote. pit themselves, are wonderfully sharp-sighted in dis- covering the defects of other preachers." "true, indeed, signor don quixote," said carrasco; "i wish critics would be less fastidious, nor dwell so much upon the motes which may be discerned even in the brightest works; for, though aliquando bonus dormitat homerus, they ought to consider how much he was awake to produce a work with so much light and so little shade; nay, perhaps even his seeming blemishes are like moles, which are sometimes thought to be rather an improvement to beauty. but it cannot be denied that whoever publishes a book to the world, exposes himself to imminent peril, since, of all things, nothing is more impossi- ble than to satisfy everybody." me pondra en la espina de santa lucia; i. e., will put me on st. lucia's thorn ; applicable to any uneasy situation. let every man lay his hand upon his heart, and not take white for black, nor black for white; for we are all as god made us, and oftentimes a great deal worse. works done in haste are never finished with perfection. there must be a time to attack and a time to retreat, and it must not be always, "st. jago!" and, " charge, spain!" ' of don quixote. sorrow for leaving you; so that i was right in say- ing that i should be glad if it pleased heaven i were not so well pleased." "look you, sancho," replied teresa, "ever since you have been a knight- errant man, you talk in such a roundabout manner that nobody can understand you." "it is enough, wife," said sancho, "that god understands me. for he is the understander of all things; and so much for that. and do you hear, wife, it behooves you to take special care of dapple for these three or four days to come, that he may be in a condition to bear arms; so double his allowance, and get the pack-saddle in order, and the rest of his tackling; for we are not going to a wedding, but to roam about the world, and to give and take with giants, fiery dragons, and goblins, and to hear hissings, roarings, bellowings, and bleatings, all which would be but flowers of lavender, if we had not to do with yangueses and enchanted moors." "i be- lieve, indeed, husband," replied teresa, "that your squires-errant do not eat their bread for nothing, and therefore i shall not fail to beseech heaven to deliver you speedily from so much evil hap." "i tell you, wife," answered sancho, "that did i not expect, ere long, to see myself governor of an island, i vow i should drop down dead upon the spot." "not so, good husband," quoth teresa; "let the hen live, though it be with the pip. do you live, and the devil take all the governments in the world! without a government you came into wit and wisdom the world, without a government you have lived till now, and without it you can be carried to your grave, whenever it shall please god. how many folks are there in the world that have no govern- ment! and yet they live, and are reckoned among the people. the best sauce in the world is hunger, and as that is never wanting to the poor, they al- ways eat with a relish. but if perchance, sancho, you should get a government, do not forget me and your children. consider that your son sancho is just fifteen years old, and it is fit he should go to school, if his uncle the abbot means to breed him up to the church. consider, also, that mary san- cha, your daughter, will not break her heart if we marry her; for i am mistaken if she has not as much mind to a husband as you have to a govern- ment; and verily say i, better a daughter but hum- bly married than highly kept." "in good faith, dear wife," said sancho, "if heaven be so good to me that i get any thing like a government, i will match mary sancha so highly that there will be no coming near her without calling her your ladyship." "not so, sancho," answered teresa; "the best way is to marry her to her equal; for if you lift her from clouted shoes to high heels, and, instead of her russet coat of fourteenpenny stuff, give her a farthingale and petticoats of silk; and instead of plain molly and thou, she be called madam and your ladyship, the girl will not know where she is, and will fall into a thousand mistakes at every step, of don quixote. showing her home-spun country stuff." "peace, fool!" quoth sancho, " she has only to practise two or three years, and the gravity will set upon her as if it were made for her; and if not, what matters it? let her be a lady, and come of it what will." "measure yourself by your condition, sancho," answered teresa; "and do not seek to raise your- self higher, but remember the proverb, 'wipe your neighbor's son's nose and take him into your house.' it would be a pretty business, truly, to marry our mary to some great count or knight, who, when the fancy takes him, would look upon her as some strange thing, and be calling her country-wench, clod-breaker's brat, and i know not what else. no, not while i live, husband; i have not brought up my child to be so used; do you provide money, sancho, and leave the matching of her to my care; for there is lope tocho, john tocho's son, a lusty, hale young man, whom we know, and i am sure he has a sneaking kindness for the girl; to him she will be very well married, considering he is our equal, and will be always under our eye; and we shall be all as one, parents and children, grandsons and sons-in-law, and so the peace and blessing of heaven will be among us all; and do not you be for marrying her at your courts and great palaces, where they will neither understand her, nor she understand herself." "hark you, beast, and wife for barabbas," replied sancho, "why would you now, without rhyme or reason, hinder me from of don quixote. without the addition, garniture, and embroidery of don or donna; my father's name is cascajo, and mine, as being your spouse, teresa panza, though by rights i should be called teresa cascajo; but as the king minds, the law binds; and with that name am i contented, though it be not burdened with a don, which weighs so heavy, that i should not be able to bear it. neither will i put it in the power of those who see me dressed like a count- ess or governor's lady, to say, ' mind mrs. pork- feeder, how proud she looks! it was but yesterday she toiled hard at the distaff, and went to mass with the tail of her gown about her head, instead of a veil; but now, forsooth, she has got her fine far- thingales and jewels, and holds up her head as if we did not know her.' if god preserve me in my seven or five senses, or as many as they be, i shall never bring myself into such a quandary. as for your part, spouse, you may go to your governments and islands, and be as proud as a peacock; but as for my daughter and me, by the life of my father! we will not stir one step from the village; for, the wife that deserves a good name, stays at home as if she were lame; and the maid must be still adoing, that hopes to see the men come a-wooing." he that covers, discovers. the poor man is scarcely looked at, while every eye is turned upon the rich: and if the poor man grows rich and great, then i warrant you there is wit and wisdom work enough for your grumblers and backbiters, who swarm everywhere like bees. all object present to the view, exist, and are impressed upon the imagination, with much greater energy and force, than those which we only re- member to have seen. when we see any person finely dressed, and set off with rich apparel and with a train of ser- vants, we are moved to show him respect; for, though we cannot but remember certain scurvy matters either of poverty or parentage, that for- merly belonged to him, but which being long gone by are almost forgotten, we only think of what we see before our eyes. and if, as the preacher said, the person so raised by good luck, from nothing, as it were, to the tip-top of prosperity, be well-be- haved, generous, and civil, and gives himself no ridiculous airs, pretending to vie with the old no- bility, take my word for it, teresa, nobody will twit him with what he was, but will respect him for what he is, except, indeed, the envious, who hate every man's good luck. people are always ready enough to lend their money to governors. clothe the boy so that he may look not like what he is, but what he may be. to this burden women are born: they must of don quixote. obey their husbands if they are ever such block- heads. he that's coy when fortune's kind, may after seek but never find. all knights cannot be courtiers, neither can all courtiers be knights. the courtier knight travels only on a map, without fatigue or expense; he neither suffers heat nor cold, hunger nor thirst. while the true knight- errant explores every quarter of the habitable world, and is by night and day on foot or on horseback, exposed to all the vicissitudes of the weather. all are not affable and well-bred; on the con- trary, some there are extremely brutal and impolite. all those who call themselves knights, are not en- titled to that distinction; some being of pure gold, and others of baser metal, notwithstanding the de- nomination they assume. but these last cannot stand the touchstone of truth; there are mean ple- beians, who sweat and struggle to maintain the ap- pearance of gentlemen; and, on the other hand, there are gentlemen of rank who seem industrious to appear mean and degenerate; the one sort raise themselves either by ambition or virtue, while the other abase themselves by viciousness or sloth; so that we must avail ourselves of our understanding and discernment in distinguishing those persons, who, though they bear the same appellation, are yet wit and wisdom so different in point of character. all the genealo- gies in the world may be reduced to four kinds. the first are those families who from a low begin- ning have raised and extended themselves, until they have reached the highest pinnacle of human greatness; the second are those of high extraction, who have preserved their original dignity; the third sort are those who, from a great foundation, have gradually dwindled, until, like a pyramid, they ter- minate in a small point. the last, which are the most numerous class, are those who have begun and continued low, and who must end the same. genealogies are involved in endless confusion, and those only are illustrious and great who are distinguished by their virtue and liberality, as well as their riches; for the great man who is vicious is only a great sinner; and the rich man who wants liberality is but a miserly pauper. the gratification which wealth can bestow is not in mere possession, nor in lavishing it with prodigality, but in the wise application of it. the poor knight can only manifest his rank by his virtues and general conduct. he must be well- bred, courteous, kind, and obliging; not proud, nor arrogant, no murmurer; above all, he must be charitable, and by two maravedis given cheerfully to the poor he shall display as much generosity as the rich man who bestows large alms by sound of bell. of such a man no one would doubt his hon- ^ of don quixote. orable descent, and general applause will be the sure reward of his virtue. there are two roads by which men may attain riches and honor: the one by letters, the other by arms. the path of virtue is narrow, that of vice is spacious and broad, as the great castilian poet ex- presses it: by these rough paths of toil and pain, the immortal seats of bliss we gain, denied to those who heedless stray in tempting pleasure's flowery way. fast bind, fast find. he who shuffles is not he who cuts. a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. though there is little in a woman's advice, yet he that won't take it is not over-wise. we are all mortal; here to-day and gone to- morrow. the lamb goes to the spit as soon as the sheep. no man in this world can promise himself more hours of life than god is pleased to grant him; be- cause death is deaf, and when he knocks at the door of life is always in a hurry, and will not be detained either by fair means or force, by sceptres of don quixote. there is a time for jesting, and a time when jokes are unseasonable. truth may bend but never break, and will ever rise above falsehood, like oil above water. with lovers the external actions and gestures are couriers, which bear authentic tidings of what is passing in the exterior of the soul. a stout heart flings misfortune. where you meet with no books you need ex- pect no bacon. the hare often starts where the hunter least expects her. there is a remedy for every thing but death, who will take us in his clutches spite of our teeth. show me who thou art with, and i will tell thee what thou art. not with whom thou wert bred, but with whom thou art fed. sorrow was made for man, not for beasts, yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they be- come no better than beasts. it is not courage, but rashness, for one man singly to encounter an army, where death is pres- ent, and where emperors fight in person, assisted by good and bad angels. s wit and wisdom good christians should never revenge injuries. a sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the wing. at the conclusion of this drama of life, death strips us of the robes which make the difference between man and man, and leaves us all on one level in the grave. from a friend to a friend,* etc. nor let it be taken amiss that any comparison should be made between the mutual cordiality of animals and that of men; for much useful knowl- edge and many salutary precepts have been taught by the brute creation. out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.f we may learn gratitude as well as vigilance from cranes, foresight from ants, modesty from ele- phants, and loyalty from horses. sonnet. bright authoress of my good or ill, prescribe the law i must observe; my heart, obedient to thy will, shall never from its duty swerve. * "from a friend to a friend, a bug in the eye," is a proverb ap- plied to the false professions of friendship. | cervantes makes frequent use of bible quotations. n of don quixote. if you refuse my griefs to know, the stifled anguish seals my fate -, but if your ears would drink my woe, love shall himself the tale relate. though contraries my heart compose, hard as the diamond's solid frame, and soft as yielding wax that flows, to thee, my fair, 'tis still the same. take it, for every stamp prepared; imprint what characters you choose; the faithful tablet, soft or hard, the dear impression ne'er shall lose. the sorrows that may arise from well-placed affections, ought rather to be accounted blessings than calamities. good fare lessens care. covetousness bursts the bag. other folks' burdens break the ass's back. there is no road so smooth but it has its stum- bling-places. madness will have more followers than discre- tion. comparisons in grief lessen its weight. if the blind lead the blind, both may fall into the ditch. wit and wisdom if we have a good loaf, let us not look for cheese-cakes. a good paymaster needs no pledge. nobody knows the heart of his neighbor; some go out for wool and come home shorn. the conquered must be at the discretion of the conqueror. it is easy to undertake, but more difficult to finish a thing. heaven knows the truth of all things. the ancient sages, who were not enlightened with the knowledge of the true god, reckoned the gifts of fortune and nature, abundance of friends, and increase of dutiful children, as constituting part of the supreme happiness. letters without virtue are like pearls on a dung- hill. poetry i regard as a tender virgin, young and extremely beautiful, whom divers other virgins— namely, all the other sciences—are assiduous to en- rich, to polish, and adorn. she is to be served by them, and they are to be ennobled through her. but this same virgin is not to be rudely handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed in the market-place, nor posted on the corners of gates of of don quixote. palaces. she is of so exquisite a nature that he who knows how to treat her will convert her into gold of the most inestimable value. he who possesses her should guard her with vigilance; neither suffer- ing her to be polluted by obscene, nor degraded by dull and frivolous works. although she must be in no wise venal, she is not, therefore, to despise the fair reward of honorable labors, either in heroic or dramatic composition. buffoons must not come near her, neither must she be approached by the ignorant vulgar, who have no sense of her charms; and this term is equally applicable to all ranks, for whoever is ignorant is vulgar. he, therefore, who, with the qualifications i have named, devotes him- self to poetry, will be honored and esteemed by all nations distinguished for intellectual cultivation. indeed, it is generally said that the gift of poesy is innate—that is, a poet is born a poet, and thus endowed by heaven, apparently without study or art, composes things which verify the saying, est deus in nobis, etc. thus the poet of nature, who improves himself by art, rises far above him who is merely the creature of study. art may improve, but cannot surpass nature; and, therefore, it is the union of both which produces the perfect poet. let him direct the shafts of satire against vice, in all its various forms, but not level them at indi- viduals, like some who, rather than not indulge their mischievous wit, will hazard a disgraceful ban- "] wit and wisdom ishment to the isles of pontus. if the poet be cor- rect in his morals, his verse will partake of the same purity: the pen is the tongue of the mind, and what his conceptions are, such will be his productions. the wise and virtuous subject who is gifted with a poetic genius is ever honored and enriched by his sovereign, and crowned with the leaves of the tree which the thunderbolt hurts not, as a token that all should respect those brows which are so honorably adorned. forewarned, fore-armed; to be prepared is half the victory. it is a nobler sight to behold a knight-errant assisting a widow in solitude than a courtier-knight complimenting a damsel in the city. well i know that fortitude is a virtue placed between the two extremes of cowardice and rash- ness: but it is better the valiant should rise to the extreme of temerity than sink to that of cowardice: for, as it is easier for the prodigal than the miser to become liberal, so it is much easier for the rash than the cowardly to become truly brave. in enterprises of every kind, it is better to lose the game by a card too much than one too little; for it sounds better to be called rash and daring than timorous and cowardly. "signor don diego de miranda, your father, sir, has informed me of the rare talents you possess, wit and wisdom of all thy gifts i beg but this; glut all mankind with more, transport them with redoubled bliss, but only mine restore. with thought of pleasure once possessed, i'm now as cursed as i was blessed: oh, would the charming hours return, how pleased i'd live, how free from pain, i ne'er would pine, i ne'er would mourn, though barred the hopes of greater gain. but oh, the blessing i implore not fate itself can give! since time elapsed exists no more, no power can bid it live. our days soon vanish into naught, and have no being but in thought. whate'er began must end at last, in vain we twice would youth enjoy, in vain would we recall the past, or now the future hours employ. deceived by hope, and racked by fear, no longer life can please; i'll then no more its torments bear, since death so soon can ease. this hour i'll die—but, let me pause— a rising doubt my courage awes. assist, ye powers that rule my fate, alarm my thoughts, my rage restrain, convince my soul there's yet a state that must succeed my present pain. of don quixote. tion of thine own person: a burden imposed on the master by nature and custom. the servant sleeps, and the master lies awake, considering how he is to maintain, assist, and do him kindness. the pain of seeing the heavens obdurate in withholding the moisture necessary to refresh the earth, touches only the master, who is bound to provide in times of sterility and famine, for those who served him in the season of fertility and abundance. if he is poor he cannot think to wed quiteria. a pleasant fancy, forsooth, for a fellow who has not a groat in his pocket to look for a yoke-mate above the clouds. faith, sir, in my opinion a poor man should be contented with what he finds, and not be seeking for truffles at the bottom of the sea. cupid's address. i am the god whose power extends through the wide ocean, earth, and sky; to my soft sway all nature bends, compelled by beauty to comply. fearless i rule, in calm and storm, indulge my pleasure to the full; things deemed impossible perform, bestow, resume, ordain, annul. cupid, having finished his address, shot an ar- row over the castle, and retired to his station ; upon which interest stepped forth, and after two similar movements, the music ceasing, he said: wit and wisdom my power exceeds the might of love, for cupid bows to me alone; of all things framed by heaven above, the most respected, sought, and known. my name is interest; mine aid but few obtain, though all desire: yet shall thy virtue, beauteous maid, my constant services acquire. interest then withdrew, and poetry advanced; and, fixing her eyes on the damsel of the castle, she said: let poetry, whose strain divine the wondrous power of song displays, her heart to thee, fair nymph, consign, transported in melodious lays: if haply thou wilt not refuse to grant my supplicated boon, thy fame shall, wafted by the muse, surmount the circle of the moon. poetry having retired from the side of interest, liberality advanced; and, after making her move- ments, said: my name is liberality, alike beneficent and wise, to shun wild prodigality, and sordid avarice despise. yet, for thy favor lavish grown, a prodigal i mean to prove, of don quixote. an honorable vice, i own, but giving is the test of love. so much thou art worth as thou hast, and so much thou hast as thou art worth. there are only two families in the world: the have somethings and the have nothings. nowa- days we are apt to feel more often the pulse of property than of wisdom. sancho panza on death. "in good sooth, signor," said the squire, "there is no trusting to mrs. ghostly, i mean death, who gobbles up the goslin as well as the goose; and, as i have heard our curate observe, tramples down the lofty turrets of the prince as well as the lowly cottage of the swain. that same lady, who is more powerful than coy, knows not what it is to be dainty and squeamish; but eats of every thing, and crams her wallet with people of all nations, degrees, and conditions; she is none of your laborers that take their afternoon's nap, but mows at all hours, cutting down the dry stubble as well as the green grass; nor does she seem to chew, but rather swallows and devours every thing that falls in her way; for she is gnawed by a dog's hunger that is never satis- fied; and though she has no belly, plainly shows herself dropsical, and so thirsty as to drink up the lives of all the people upon earth, just as one would swallow a draught of cool water." "enough, wit and wisdom friend sancho," cried the knight, interrupting him in this place; "keep thyself well, now thou art in order, and beware of stumbling again; for really a good preacher could not speak more to the purpose than thou hast spoken upon death, in thy rustic manner of expression: i say unto thee, sancho, if thy discretion was equal to thy natural parts, thou mightest ascend the pulpit, and go about teaching and preaching to admiration." "he is a good preacher who is a good liver," answered panza, "and that is all the divinity i know." "and that is sufficient," said the knight; "yet i shall never understand or comprehend, as the fear of god is the beginning of wisdom, how thou, who art more afraid of a lizard than of thy maker, should be so wise?" "signor," replied sancho, "i desire your worship would determine in your own affairs of chiv- alry, without taking the trouble to judge of other people's valor or fears; for my own part, i am as pretty a fearer of god as one would desire to see in any neighbor's child; wherefore, i beseech your worship, let me discuss this same scum; for every thing else is idle chat, of which we shall be able to give a bad account in the other world." an ass with golden trappings makes a better appearance than a horse with a pack-saddle. "that ought not to be called deception which aims at a virtuous end," said don quixote; "and no end is more excellent than the marriage of true of don quixote. lovers; though love," added he, "has its enemies, and none greater than hunger and poverty, for love is all gayety, joy, and content." "the poor man of honor (if a poor man can de- serve that title) possesses, in a beautiful wife, a jewel; and when that is taken away, he is deprived of his honor, which is murdered: a beautiful and chaste woman, whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with laurel and palms of triumph; for beauty alone attracts the inclinations of those who behold it; just as the royal eagle and soaring hawk stoop to the savory lure; but if that beauty is in- cumbered by poverty and want, it is likewise at- tacked by ravens, kites, and other birds of prey; and if she who possesses it firmly withstands all these assaults, she well deserves to be called the crown of her husband. take notice, dearest basilius," added the knight, " it was the opinion of a certain sage, that there was but one good wife in the whole world; and he advised every husband to believe she had fallen to his share, and accordingly be satisfied with his lot. i myself am not married, nor hitherto have i entertained the least thought of changing my condition; nevertheless, i will venture to advise him who asks my advice, in such a manner, that he may find a woman to his wish: in the first place, i would exhort him to pay more regard to reputation than to fortune; for a virtuous woman does not acquire a good name, merely by being vir- wit and wisdom tuous; she must likewise maintain the exteriors of deportment, for the honor of the sex suffers much more from levity and freedom of behavior in public, than from any private misdeeds. if thou bringest a good woman to thy house, it will be an easy task to preserve and even improve her virtue; but, shouldst thou choose a wife of a different character, it will cost thee abundance of pains to mend her; for it is not very practicable to pass from one ex- treme to another: i do not say it is altogether im- possible, though i hold it for a matter of much dif- ficulty." the ox that is loose is best licked. sancho, who had been attentive to the student's discourse, said: "tell me, sir—so may heaven send you good luck with your books—can you re- solve me—but i know you can, since you know every thing—who was the first man that scratched his head? i, for my part, am of opinion, it must have been our father adam." "certainly," an- swered the scholar; "for there is no doubt but adam had a head and hair; and, this being granted, he, being the first man in the world, must needs have been the first who scratched his head." "that is what i think," said sancho; "but tell me now, who was the first tumbler in the world?" "truly, brother," answered the scholar, "i cannot deter- mine that point till i have given it some considera- tion, which i will surely do when i return to my wit and wisdom there is nothing more honorable, next to the service which you owe to god, than to serve your king and natural lord, especially in the profession of arms, which, if less profitable than learning, far exceeds it in glory. more great families, it is true, have been established by learning, yet there is in the martial character a certain splendor, which seems to exalt it far above all other pursuits. but allow me, sir, to offer you a piece of advice, which, believe me, you will find worth your attention. never suffer your mind to dwell on the adverse events of your life; for the worst that can befall you is death, and when attended with honor there is no event so glorious. julius cassar, that val- orous roman, being asked which was the kind of death to be preferred, "that," said he, "which is sudden and unforeseen!" though he answered like a heathen, who knew not the true god, yet considering human infirmity, it was well said. for, supposing you should be cut off in the very first encounter, either by cannon-shot or the springing of a mine, what does it signify? it is but dying, which is inevitable, and, being over, there it ends. terence observes that the corpse of the man who is slain in battle looks better than the living soldier who has saved himself by flight; and the good sol- dier rises in estimation according to the measure of his obedience to those who command him. ob- serve, moreover, my son, that a soldier had better smell of gunpowder than of musk; and if old age wit and wisdom affectation is the devil. heaven help every one to what is their just due, but let us have plain dealing. wnen choler once is born, the tongue all curb doth scorn. when a brave man flies, he must have discov- ered foul play. to retire is not to fly. other men's pains are easily borne. he who errs and mends, himself to heaven commends. those who sin and kiss the rod, find favor in the sight of god. if you obey the commands of your lord, you may sit as a guest at his board. in this world there is nothing but plots and counterplots, mines, and countermines. where there is plenty, dinner is soon made ready. often the hare starts where she is least ex- pected. i have heard it said, that the power called na- ture is like a potter, who, if he can make one beau- wit and wisdom one must live long to see much. he who lives long must suffer much. to deprive a knight-errant of his mistress, is to rob him of the eyes with which he sees, the sun by which he is enlightened, and the support by which he is maintained: i have many times said, and now i repeat the observation, that a knight-errant with- out a mistress, is like a tree without leaves, a build- ing without cement, and a shadow without the sub- stance by which it is produced. possessing beauty without blemish, dignity with- out pride, love with modesty, politeness springing from courtesy, and courtesy from good-breeding, and, finally, of illustrious descent; for the beauty that is of a noble race, shines with more splendor than that which is meanly born. virtue ennobles blood, and a virtuous person of humble birth is more estimable than a vicious per- son of rank. i must inform your graces, that sancho panza is one of the most pleasant squires that ever served a knight-errant: sometimes his simplicity is so arch, that to consider whether he is more fool or wag, yields abundance of pleasure; he has roguery enough to pass for a knave, and absurdities sufficient to confirm him a fool; he doubts every thing, and be- lieves every thing; and often, when i think he is going to discharge nonsense, he will utter apo- wit and wisdom by night all cats are gray. sure the man his lot may rue, who has not broke his fast by two. - • . .' * of the birds in the air god himself takes the care. . -; and four yards of coarse cloth of cuenza are warmer than as many of fine segovia serge; and in travelling from this world to the next, the road is no wider for the prince than the peasant. . the pope's body takes up no more room than that of the sexton, though a loftier person; for in the grave we must pack close together, whether we like it or not. i have heard say the devil lurks behind the cross; all is not gold that glitters. from the ploughtail bamba was raised to the throne of spain, and from his riches and revels was roderigo cast down to be devoured by serpents—if ancient bal- lads tell the truth. none shall dare the loaf to steal from him that sifts and kneads the meal. an old dog is not to be coaxed with a crust. no man is ever a scholar at his birth, and bish- ops are made of men, not of stones. there is a judge in heaven who knows the heart. -- a good name is better than tons of gold. - wit and wisdom from high-born beauty in a palace graced, to the loathed features of a cottage wench. with sympathizing grief i straight revolved the numerous tomes of my detested art, and in the hollow of this skeleton my soul enclosing, hither am i come, to tell the cure of such uncommon ills. o glory thou of all that case their limbs in polished steel and fenceful adamant! light, beacon, polar star, and glorious guide of all who, starting from the lazy down, banish ignoble sleep for the rude toil and hardy exercise of errant arms! spain's boasted pride, la mancha's matchless knight, whose valiant deeds outstrip pursuing fame! wouldst thou to beauty's pristine state restore the enchanted dame, sancho, thy faithful squire, must to his brawny buttocks, bare exposed, three thousand and three hundred stripes apply, such as may sting and give him smarting pain: the authors of her change have thus decreed, and this is merlin's errand from the shades. the golden load is a light burden. gifts will make their way through stone walls. pray devoutly and hammer on stoutly. one take is worth two i'll give thee's. let the devil fetch the devil. of don quixote. ioi ing too extravagant for the credulity of the knight and squire. the necessary orders were accordingly issued to their servants and vassals with regard to their behavior toward sancho in his government of the promised island. the day after the flight of clavileno, the duke bade sancho prepare, and get himself in readiness to assume his office, for his islanders were already wishing for him as for rain in may. sancho made a low bow, and said, "ever since my journey to heaven, when i looked down and saw the earth so very small, my desire to be a governor has partly cooled: for what mighty matter is it to command on a spot no bigger than a grain of mustard-seed: where is the majesty and pomp of governing half a dozen creatures no bigger than hazel-nuts? if your lordship will be pleased to offer me some small portion of heaven, though it be but half a league, i would jump at it sooner than for the largest island in the world." "look you, friend sancho," answered the duke, "i can give away no part of heaven, not even a nail's breadth; for god has reserved to himself the disposal of such favors; but what it is in my power to give, i give you with all my heart; and the island i now present to you is ready made, round and sound, well-proportioned, and above measure fruitful, and where, by good management, you may yourself, with the riches of the earth, purchase an inheritance in heaven." "well, then," answered sancho, "let this island be forthcoming, and it shall of don quixote. io "i have not much of that, for i hardly know my abc; but to be a good governor, it will be enough that i am able to make my christ-cross: and as to arms, i shall handle such as are given me till i fall, and so god help me." "with so good an intention," quoth the duke, "sancho cannot do wrong." here they were joined by don quixote, who understanding the subject of their conversation, and the short space allotted to sancho to prepare for his departure, took the squire by the hand, with the duke's permission, and led him to his apartment, in order to instruct him how to behave in his office. having entered the chamber he locked the door, and obliging sancho to sit down by him, spoke to this effect, in a grave and solemn tone: "i return infinite thanks to heaven, friend sancho, for having ordained that, before i myself have met with the least success, good fortune hath gone forth to bid thee welcome. i, who had bal- anced the remuneration of thy service in my own prosperity, find myself in the very rudiments of promotion; while thou, before thy time, and con- trary to all the laws of reasonable progression, find- est thy desire accomplished: other people bribe, solicit, importune, attend levees, entreat, and per- severe, without obtaining their suit; and another comes, who, without knowing why or wherefore, finds himself in possession of that office to which so many people laid claim: and here the old saying is r wit and wisdom aptly introduced, 'a pound of good luck is worth a ton of merit.' thou, who, in comparison to me, art doubtless an ignorant dunce, without rising early or sitting up late, or, indeed, exerting the least industry; without any pretension more or less than that of being breathed upon by knight-errantry, seest thyself created governor of an island as if it was a matter of moonshine. all this i observe, o sancho, that thou mayst not attribute thy success to thy own deserts: but give thanks to heaven for having disposed matters so beneficially in thy be- half, and then make thy acknowledgments to that grandeur which centres in the profession of knight- errantry. thy heart being thus predisposed to be- lieve what i have said, be attentive, o my son, to me who am thy cato, thy counsellor, thy north- pole and guide, to conduct thee into a secure harbor from the tempestuous sea into which thou art going to be engulfed; for great posts and offices of state are no other than a profound gulf of confusion. "in the first place, o my son, you are to fear god: the fear of god is the beginning of wisdom and if you are wise you cannot err. ., "secondly, you must always remember who you are, and endeavor to know yourself; a study of all others, the most difficult. ;this self-knowledge will hinder you from blowing yourself up like the frog in order to rival the size of the ox: if, therefore, you succeed in this learning, the consideration of thy having been a swineherd will,' like the pea- of don quixote. io cock's ugly feet, be a check upon thy folly and pride." "i own i once took care of hogs, when i was a boy," said sancho; "but, after i grew up, i quitted that employment, and took care of geese: but i apprehend that matter is not of great conse- quence, for all governors are not descended from the kingly race." "no, sure," answered the knight; "and, for that reason, those who are not of noble extraction ought to sweeten the gravity of their function with mildness and affability; which, being prudently conducted, will screen them from those malicious murmurs that no station can escape. "conceal not the meanness of thy family, nor think it disgraceful to be descended from peasants: for, when it is seen that thou art not thyself ashamed, none will endeavor to make thee so; and deem it more meritorious to be a virtuous humble man than a lofty sinner. infinite is the number of those who, born of low extraction, have risen to the highest dignities, both in church and state; and of this truth i could tire thee with examples. "if thou takest virtue for the rule of life, and valuest thyself upon acting in all things conformably thereto, thou wilt have no cause to envy lords and princes; for blood is inherited, but virtue is a com- mon property, and may be acquired by all; it has, moreover, an intrinsic worth which blood has not. this being so, if, peradventure, any one of thy kin- dred visit thee in thy government, do not slight nor affront him; but receive, cherish, and make much of don quixote-. at variance. but, in these second instructions given to sancho, which showed much ingenuity, his wis- dom and frenzy are both singularly conspicuous. during the whole of this private conference, sancho listened to his master with great attention, and endeavored so to register his counsel in his mind that he might thereby be enabled to bear the burden of government and acquit himself honorably. don quixote now proceeded: "as to the regulation of thine own person and domestic concerns," said he, "in the first place, sancho, i enjoin thee to be cleanly in all things. keep the nails of thy fingers constantly and neatly pared, nor suffer them to grow as some do, who ignorantly imagine that long nails beautify the hand, and account the excess of. that excrement simply a finger-nail, whereas it is rather the talon of the lizard-hunting kestrel—a foul and unsightly object. a slovenly dress betokens a careless mind; or, as in the case of julius caesar, it may be attributed to cunning. "examine prudently the income of thy office, and if it will afford thee to give liveries to thy ser- vants, give them such as are decent and lasting, rather than gaudy and modish; and what thou shalt thus save in thy servants bestow on the poor; so shalt thou have attendants both in heaven and earth —a provision which our vain-glorious great never think of. "eat neither garlic nor onions, lest the smell of don quixote. ill here are none to oppose you. my mother whips me, and i whip the top. here am i exhorting thee to suppress thy proverbs, and in an instant thou hast spewed forth a whole litany of them, which are as foreign from the subject as an old ballad. remem- ber, sancho, i do not say that a proverb properly applied is amiss; but, to throw in, and string to- gether old saws helter-skelter, renders conversation altogether mean and despicable. "when you appear on horseback, do not lean backward over the saddle, nor stretch out your legs stiffly from the horse's belly, nor let them hang dangling in a slovenly manner, as if you were upon the back of dapple; for some ride like jockeys, and some like gentlemen. "be very moderate in sleeping; for he who does not rise with the sun cannot enjoy the day; and observe, o sancho, industry is the mother of prosperity; and laziness, her opposite, never saw the accomplishment of a good wish. "this is all the advice, friend sancho, that occurs to me at present; hereafter, as occasions offer, my instructions will be ready, provided thou art mindful to inform me of the state of thy af- fairs." "sir," answered sancho, " i see very well that all your worship has told me is wholesome and profitable; but what shall i be the better for it if i cannot keep it in my head? it is true, i shall not easily forget what you have said about paring my of don quixote. "not so, sancho," answered don quixote; "the fool knows nothing, either in his own or any other house; for knowledge is not to be erected upon so bad a foundation as folly. but here let it rest, sancho, for, if thou governest ill, though the fault will be thine, the shame will be mine. how- ever, i am comforted in having given thee the best counsel in my power; and therein having done my duty, i am acquitted both of my obligation and promise: so god speed thee, sancho, and govern thee in thy government, and deliver me from the fears i entertain that thou wilt turn the whole island topsy-turvy !—which, indeed, i might pre- vent by letting the duke know what thou art, and telling him that all that paunch-gut and little car- cass of thine is nothing but a sack full of proverbs and impertinence." "signor," replied sancho, "if your worship really thinks i am not qualified for that govern- ment, i renounce it from henceforward forever, amen. i have a greater regard for a nail's breadth of my soul than my whole body; and i can sub- sist, as bare sancho, upon a crust of bread and an onion, as well as governor on capons and par- tridges; for, while we sleep, great and small, rich and poor, are equal all. if your worship will con- sider, your worship will find that you yourself put this scheme of government into my head: as for my own part, i know no more of the matter than a bustard; and, if you think the governorship will be of don quixote. ll"j them to cobble their shoes, and wear upon their coats one button of silk, another of hair, and a third of glass? why must their ruffs be generally yellow and ill-starched?" (by the by, from this circumstance we learn the antiquity of ruffs and starch.) but, thus he proceeds: "o wretched man of noble pedigree! who is obliged to admin- ister cordials to his honor, in the midst of hunger and solitude, by playing the hypocrite with a tooth- pick, which he affects to use in the street, though he has eat nothing to require that act of cleanli- ness: wretched he, i say, whose honor is ever apt to be startled, and thinks that everybody at a league's distance observes the patch upon his shoe, his greasy hat, and his threadbare cloak, and even the hunger that consumes him." better a blush on the face than a stain in the heart. look not in last year's nests for this year's birds. a serenade. and he forthwith imagined that some damsel belonging to the duchess had become enamoured of him: though somewhat fearful of the beautiful foe, he resolved to fortify his heart, and on no account to yield; so, commending himself with fervent de- votion to his mistress, dulcinea del toboso, he determined to listen to the music; and, to let the damsel know he was there, he gave a feigned sneeze, wit and wisdom at which they were not a little pleased, as they de- sired above all things that he should hear them. the harp being now tuned, altisidora began the following song : jarvis's translation. wake, sir knight, now love's invading, sleep in holland sheets no more ; when a nymph is serenading, 'tis an arrant shame to snore. hear a damsel tall and tender, moaning in most rueful guise, with heart almost burned to cinder by the sunbeams of thine eyes. to free damsels from disaster is, they say, your daily care: can you then deny a plaster to a wounded virgin here? tell me, doughty youth, who cursed thee with such humors and ill-luck ? was't some sullen bear dry-nursed thee, or she-dragon gave thee suck? dulcinea, that virago, well may brag of such a cid, now her fame is up, and may go from toledo to madrid. would she but her prize surrender, (judge how on thy face i dote !) wit and wisdom i've a bob nose has no fellow, and a sparrow's mouth as rare: teeth like bright topazes, yellow; yet i'm deemed a beauty here. you know what a rare musician (if you hearken) courts your choice; i dare say my disposition is as taking as my voice. here ended the song of the amorous altisidora, and began the alarm of the courted don quixote; who, fetching a deep sigh, said within himself: "why am i so unhappy a knight-errant that no damsel can see but she must presently fall in love with me? why is the peerless dulcinea so un- lucky that she must not be suffered singly to enjoy this my incomparable constancy? queens, what would ye have with her? empresses, why do ye persecute her? damsels from fourteen to fifteen, why do ye plague her? leave, leave the poor creature; let her triumph and glory in the lot which love bestowed upon her in the conquest of my heart, and the surrender of my soul. take notice, enamoured multitude, that to dulcinea alone i am paste and sugar, and to all others flint. to her i am honey, and to the rest of ye, aloes. to me, dulcinea alone is beautiful, discreet, lively, modest, and well-born; all the rest of her sex foul, foolish, fickle, and base-born. to be hers, and hers alone, nature sent me into the world. let altisidora i wit and wisdom if you're idle, you're destroyed, all his art on you he tries; but be watchful and employed," straight the baffled tempter flies. maids for modest grace admired, if they would their fortunes raise, must in silence live retired: 'tis their virtue speaks their praise. the divine tobosan fair, dulcinea, claims me whole; nothing can her image tear; 'tis one substance with my soul. then let fortune smile or frown, nothing shall my faith remove; constant truth, the lover's crown, can work miracles in love. the same as translated by smollett. love, with idleness combined, will unhinge the tender mind: but to few, to work and move, will exclude the force of love. blooming maids that would be married, must in virtue be unwearied: modesty a dower will raise, and be a trumpet of their praise. a cavalier will sport and play with a damsel frank and gay; of don quixote. ^ but, when wedlock is his aim, choose a maid of sober fame. passion kindled in the breast, by a stranger or a guest, enters with the rising sun, and fleets before his race be run: love that comes so suddenly, ever on the wing to fly, neither can nor will impart strong impressions to the heart. pictures drawn on pictures, show strange confusion to the view: second beauty finds no base, where a first has taken place: then dulcinea still shall reign without a rival or a stain; nor shall fate itself control her sway, or blot her from my soul: constancy, the lover's boast, i'll maintain whate'er it cost: this, my virtue will refine; this will stamp my joys divine. the same as translated by jarvis. love, with idleness is friend, o'er a maiden gains its end: but let business and employment fill up every careful moment; these an antidote will prove 'gainst the pois'nous arts of love. wit and wisdom maidens that aspire to marry, in their looks reserve should carry: modesty their price should raise, and be the herald of their praise. knights, whom toils of arms employ, with the free may laugh and toy; but the modest only choose when they tie the nuptial noose. love that rises with the sun, with his setting beams is gone: love that guest-like visits hearts, when the banquet's o'er, departs: and the love that comes to-day, and to-morrow wings its way, leaves no traces on the soul, its affections to control. where a sovereign beauty reigns, fruitless are a rival's pains— o'er a finished picture who , e'er a second picture drew? fair dulcinea, queen of beauty, rules my heart, and claims its duty, nothing there can take her place, naught her image can erase. whether fortune smile or frown, constancy's the lover's crown; and, its force divine to prove, miracles performs in love. copious drinking consumes the radical moist- ure which is the essence of life. of don quixote. simple medicines are more esteemed than those that are compound: in the simple, there can be no mistake; in the compound, all is hazard and un- certainty. if we must be prepared for battles that threaten us, at least let us be well fed: for the stomach sup- ports the heart, and the heart supports the man. the devil will never give you a high nose if a flat nose will serve your turn. all is not gold that glitters. walls have ears. i am fully convinced that judges and governors are, or ought to be, made of brass, so as that they may not feel the importunity of people of business, who expect to be heard and dispatched at all hours and at all seasons, come what will, attending only to their own affairs; and if the poor devil of a judge does not hear and dispatch them, either because it is not in his power, or it happens to be an unsea- sonable time for giving audience, then they grumble and backbite, gnaw him to the very bones, and even bespatter his whole generation. ignorant man of business! foolish man of business! be not in such a violent hurry; wait for the proper season and con- juncture, and come not at meals and sleeping-time; for judges are made of flesh and blood, and must give to nature that which nature requires. wit and wisdom good physicians deserve palms and laurels. either we are, or we are not. let us all live and eat together in harmony and good friendship. when god sends the morning, the light shines upon all. make yourselves honey, and the flies will de- vour you. your idle and lazy people in a commonwealth, are like drones in a beehive, which only devour the honey the laboring bees gather. every day produces something new in the world: jests turn into earnest, and the biters are bit. they who expect snacks should be modest, and take cheerfully whatever is given them, and not haggle with the winners; unless they know them to be sharpers, and their gains unfairly gotten. cheats are always at the mercy of their accom- plices. the maid that would keep her good name, stays at home as if she were lame. a hen and a housewife, whatever they cost, if once they go gad- ding will surely be lost. and she that longs to see, i ween, is as desirous to be seen. seeing is believing. good fortune wants only a beginning. wit and wisdom agreeably disappointed with news of thy wise be- havior; for which i return thanks to heaven, that can raise the lowest from their poverty, and turn the fool into a man of sense. i hear thou governest with all discretion; and that, nevertheless, thou retainest the humility of the meanest creature. but i would observe to thee, sancho, that it is often expedient and necessary, for the due support of authority, to act in contradiction to the humility of the heart. the personal adornments of one that is raised to a high situation must correspond with his present greatness, and not with his former low- liness: let thy apparel, therefore, be good and be- coming; for the hedgestake, when decorated no longer, appears what it really is. i do not mean that thou shouldst wear jewels, or finery; nor, being a judge, would i have thee dress like a soldier; but adorn thyself in a manner suitable to thy employ- ment. to gain the good-will of thy people, two things, among others, thou must not fail to ob- serve: one is, to be courteous to all—that, indeed, i have already told thee; the other is, to take especial care that the people be exposed to no scarcity of food; for, with the poor, hunger is, of all afflictions, the most insupportable. publish few edicts, but let those be good; and, above all, see that they are well observed; for edicts that are not kept are the same as not made, and serve only to show that the prince, though he had wisdom and authority to make them, had not the courage to of don quixote. , insist upon their execution. laws that threaten, and are not enforced, become like king log, whose croaking subjects first feared, then despised him. be a father to virtue, and a step-father to vice. be not always severe, nor always mild; but choose the happy mean between them, which is the true point of discretion. visit the prisons, the shambles, and the markets; for there the presence of the governor is highly necessary: such attention is a comfort to the prisoner hoping for release; it is a terror to the butchers, who then dare not make use of false weights; and the same effect is produced on all other dealers. shouldst thou unhappily be secretly inclined to avarice, to gluttony, or women, which i hope thou art not, avoid showing thyself guilty of these vices: for, when those who are concerned with thee discover thy ruling passion, they will assault thee on that quarter, nor leave thee till they have effected thy destruction. view and review, consider and reconsider, the counsels and docu- ments i gave thee in writing before thy departure hence to thy government; and in them thou wilt find a choice supply to sustain thee through the toils and difficulties which governors must continually encounter. write to thy patrons, the duke and duchess, and show thyself grateful; for ingratitude is the daughter of pride, and one of the greatest sins; whereas he who is grateful to those that have done him service, thereby testifies that he will be grateful also to god, his constant benefactor. of don quixote. i i rose from table, and calling the secretary, went without any further delay, and locked himself up with him in his chamber, to write an answer to his master, don quixote, which was as follows: sancho panza to don quixote de la mancha. "i am so taken up with business that i have not yet had time to let you know whether it goes well or ill with me in this same government, where i am more hunger-starved than when you and i wandered through woods and wildernesses. "my lord duke wrote to me the other day to inform me of some spies that were got into this island to kill me; but as yet i have discovered none but a certain doctor, hired by the islanders to kill all the governors that come near it. they call him dr. pedro rezio de anguero, and he was born at tirteafuera. his name is enough to make me fear he will be the death of me. this same doctor says of himself, that he does cure diseases when you have them; but when you have them not, he only pretends to keep them from coming. the physic he uses, is fasting upon fasting, till he turns a body to a mere skeleton; as if to be wasted to skin and bones were not as bad as a fever. in short, he starves me to death; so that, when i thought, as being a governor, to have plenty of good hot vict- uals and cool liquor, and to repose on a soft feather- bed, i am come to do penance like a hermit. "i have not yet so much as fingered the least of don quixote. my service to her; and tell her from me, she has not cast her gift in a broken sack, as something more than words shall show. "if i might advise you, and had my wish, there should be no falling out between your worship and my lord and lady; for, if you quarrel with them, it is i must come by the worst for it. and, since you mind me of being grateful, it will not look well in you not to be so to those who have made so much of you at their castle. "if my wife, teresa panza, writes to me, pray pay the postage and send me the letter; for i have a mighty desire to know how fares it with her, and my house and children. so heaven protect your worship from evil-minded enchanters, and bring me safe and sound out of this government; which i very much doubt, seeing how i am treated by doc- tor pedro rezio. "your worship's servant, "sancho panza, the governor." teresa panza''s letter to her husband, sancho panza. "i received thy letter, dear sancho of my soul, and i promise and swear to thee, on the faith of a catholic christian, i was within two finger-breadths of running mad with joy; and take notice, brother, when i heard thou wast a governor, i had like to have dropped down dead with pure pleasure; for thou knowest they say sudden joy kills as well as deadly sorrow: thy daughter sanchica scattered her i wit and wisdom dried up. a thunderbolt fell upon the pillory, and there may they all alight! i expect an answer to this, and about my going to court. and so god grant thee more years than myself, or as many, for i would not willingly leave thee behind me. "thy wife, "teresa panza." to think that the affairs of this life are always to remain in the same state is an erroneous fancy. the face of things rather seems continually to change and roll with circular motion; summer succeeds the spring, autumn the summer, winter the autumn, and then spring again. so time proceeds in this per- petual round; only the life of man is ever hastening to its end, swifter than time itself, without hopes to be renewed, unless in the next, that is unlimited and infinite. for even by the light of nature, and with- out that of faith, many have discovered the swift- ness and instability of this present being, and the duration of the eternal life which is expected. "i know st. peter is well at rome," meaning every one does well to follow the employment to which he was bred. let no one stretch his feet beyond the length of his sheet. when thou art in rome follow the fashions of rome. sweet is our love of native land. of don quixote. the prudent man who is expecting to be de- prived of his habitation looks out for another before he is turned out of doors. well-got wealth may meet disaster, but ill-got wealth destroys its master. bread is relief for all kind of grief. we can bear with patience the ill-luck that comes alone. man projects in vain, for god doth still ordain. as is the reason, • such is the season. let no man presume to think, of this cup i will not drink: where the flitch we hoped to find, not even a hook is left behind. keep a safe conscience, and let people say what they will. it is as impracticable to tie up the tongue of malice, as to erect barricades in the open fields. "if a governor resign his office in good circum- stances, people say he must have been an oppressor and a knave; and if poverty attends him in his re- treat, they set him down as an idiot and fool." "for this time," answered sancho, "i am certain they will think me more fool than knave." ' i wit and wisdom a law neglected is the same as if it had never been enacted. give always to the cat what was kept for the rat, and let it be thy. view all mischief to eschew. it is fitting that all who receive a benefit should show themselves grateful, though it be only a trifle. song of altisidora. stay, cruel knight, take not thy flight, nor spur thy battered jade; thy haste restrain, . draw in the rein, and hear a love-sick maid. why dost thou fly? no snake am i, that poison those i love: gentle i am as any lamb, and harmless as a dove. thy cruel scorn has left forlorn a nymph whose charms may vie with theirs who sport in cynthia's court, though venus' self were by. since, fugitive knight, to no purpose i woo thee, barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee! of don quixote. like ravenous kite that takes its flight soon as't has stoln a chicken, thou bear'st away my heart, thy prey, and leav’st me here to sicken. three night-caps, too, and garters blue, that did to legs belong smooth to the sight as marble white, and faith, almost as strong. two thousand groans, as many moans, and sighs enough to fire old priam's town, and burn it down, did it again aspire. since, fugitive knight, to no purpose i woo thee, barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee ! may sancho ne'er his buttocks bare fly-fap, as is his duty; and thou still want to disenchant dulcinea's injured beauty. may still transformed, and still deformed, toboso's nymph remain, wit and wisdom in recompense of thy offence, thy scorn and cold disdain. when thou dost wield thy sword in field, in combat, or in quarrel, ill-luck and harms attend thy arms, instead of fame and laurel. since, fugitive knight, to no purpose i woo thee, barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee! may thy disgrace fill every place, thy falsehood ne'er be hid, but round the world be tossed and hurled, from seville to madrid. if, brisk and gay, thou sitt'st to play at ombre or at chess, may ne'er spadille attend thy will, nor luck thy movements bless. though thou with care thy corns dost pare, may blood the penknife follow; may thy gums rage, and naught assuage the pain of tooth that's hollow. of don quixote. modesty, liberality, and courtesy; and all these qualities may be found in one who has no per- sonal attractions; and when that species of beauty captivates, it produces a vehement and superior passion. i well know, sancho, that i am not hand- some; but i know also that i am not deformed; and a man of worth, if he be not hideous, may in- spire love, provided he has those qualities of the mind which i have mentioned." of all the sins that men commit, though some say pride, in my opinion, ingratitude is the worst; it is truly said that hell -is full of the ungrateful. from that foul crime i have endeavored to abstain ever since i enjoyed the use of reason; and if i cannot return the good offices done me by equal benefits, i substitute my desire to repay them; and if this be not enough, i publish them: for he who proclaims the favors he has received, would return them if he could: and generally the power of the receiver is unequal to that of the giver: like the bounty of heaven, to which no man can make an equal return. but, though utterly unable to repay the unspeakable beneficence of god, gratitude af- fords a humble compensation suited to our limited powers. lay a bridge of silver for a flying enemy. let martha die, so that she be well fed. he that has skill should handle the quill. wit and wisdom there is no greater folly than to give way to despair. patience often falls to the ground when it is overloaded with injuries. alexander the great ventured to cut the gordian knot, on the supposition that cutting would be as effectual as untying it: and, notwithstanding this violence, became sole master of all asia. "be not concerned," said roque, addressing himself to don quixote, "nor tax fortune with unkindness; by thus stumbling, you may chance to stand more firmly than ever: for heaven, by strange and circuitous ways, incomprehensible to men, is wont to raise the fallen, and enrich the needy." oh, maddening sting of jealousy, how deadly thy effects! justice must needs be a good thing, for it is necessary even among thieves. "signor roque," said he, "the beginning of a cure consists in the knowledge of the distemper, and in the patient's willingness to take the medi- cines prescribed to him by his physician. you are sick; you know your malady, and god, our physi- cian, is ready with medicines that, in time, will cer- tainly effect a cure. eesides, sinners of good un- derstanding are nearer to amendment than those i wit and wisdom progress you have made, signor, in the tuscan lan- guage! i would venture a good wager that where the tuscan says piace, you say, in castilian, plaze; and where he says piu, you say mas; and su you translate by the word arriba; and giu by abaxo." "i do so, most certainly," quoth the author; "for such are the corresponding words." "and yet, i dare say, sir," quoth don quix- ote, "that you are scarcely known in the world— but it is the fate of all ingenious men. what abili- ties are lost, what genius obscured, and what talents despised! nevertheless, i cannot but think that translation from one language into another, unless it be from the noblest of all languages, greek and latin, is like presenting the back of a piece of tapestry, where, though the figures are seen, they are obscured by innumerable knots and ends of thread; very different from the smooth and agree- able texture of the proper face of the work; and to translate easy languages of a similar construction requires no more talent than transcribing one paper from another. but i would not hence infer that translating is not a laudable exercise: for a man may be worse and more unprofitably employed. nor can my observation apply to the two cele- brated translators, doctor christopher de figueroa, in his 'pastor fido,' and don john de xaurigui, in his 'aminta ;' who, with singular felicity, have made it difficult to decide which is the translation and which is the original. but tell me, signor, is i wit and wisdom don quixote de la mancha, written by such a one, of tordesillas. "i know something of that book," quoth don quixote; "and, on my conscience, i thought it had been burnt long before now for its stupidity; but its martinmas will come, as it does to every hog. works of invention are only so far good as they come nea/ ^o- truth and probability: as general history is valuable in proportion as it is authentic." / rashness is not valor: doubtful hopes ought to make men resolute, not rash. there is a remedy for all things except death. between said and done a long race may be run. he whom heaven favors, may st. peter bless. they that give must take. where there are hooks, we do not always find bacon. good expectation is better than bad possession. to-day for you, and to-morrow for me. he that falls to day may rise to-morrow. great hearts should be patient under misfor- tunes as well as joyful when all goes well. i have heard say, she they call fortune is a drunken, freakish dame, and withal so blind that of don quixote. i she does not see what she is about; neither whom she raises, nor whom she pulls down. one thing i must tell thee, there is no such thing in the world as fortune; nor do the events which fall out, whether good or evil, proceed from chance, but from the particular appointment of heaven—and hence comes the usual saying, that every man is the maker of his own fortune. the faults of the ass should not be laid on the pack-saddle. when it rains, let the shower fall upon my cloak. "observe, sancho," said don quixote, "there is a great deal of difference between love and grati- tude. it is very possible for a gentleman not to be in love; but, strictly speaking, it is impossible he should be ungrateful." the sin will cease when the temptation is re- moved. the heart will not grieve for what the eye doth not perceive. what prayers can ne'er gain, a leap from a hedge may obtain. proverbs are short maxims of human wisdom, the result of experience and observation, and are the gifts of ancient sages: yet the proverb which is wit and wisdom keep aloof, and leave her mind tranquil and happy. this, madam, is my opinion and advice." "and mine, too," added sancho, "for i never in my life heard of a lacemaker that died for love; for your damsels that bestir themselves at some honest labor, think more of their work than of their sweethearts. i know it by myself; when i am digging, i never think of my teresa, though, god bless her! i love her more than my. very eyelids." railing among lovers is the next neighbor to forgiveness. the ass will carry the load, but not a double load. when money's paid before it's due, a broken limb will straight ensue. delay breeds danger. pray to god devoutly, and hammer away stoutly. "i will give thee," is good; but "here, take it," is better. a sparrow in the hand is worth an eagle on the wing. "no more proverbs, for god's sake," quoth don quixote; "for, methinks, sancho, thou art losing ground, and returning to sicut erat. speak plainly, as i have often told thee, and thou wilt find it worth a loaf per cent, to thee." of don quixote. i "i know not how i came by this unlucky trick," replied sancho; "i cannot bring you in three words to the purpose without a proverb, nor give you a proverb which, to my thinking, is not to the pur- pose—but i will try to mend." the straw is too hard to make pipes of. the knight and squire ascended a little emi- nence, whence they discovered their village; which sancho no sooner beheld than, kneeling down, he said: "open thine eyes, o my beloved country! and behold thy son, sancho panza, returning to thee again, if not rich, yet well whipped! open thine arms, and receive thy son don quixote too! who, though worsted by another, has conquered himself, which, as i have heard say, is the best kind of vic- tory! money i have gotten, and though i have been soundly banged, i have come off like a gentle- man." "leave these fooleries, sancho," quoth don quixote, "and let us go directly to our homes, where we will give full scope to our imagination, and settle our intended scheme of a pastoral life." it must here be mentioned that sancho panza, by way of sumpter-cloth, had thrown the buckram robe painted with flames, which he had worn on the night of altisidora's revival, upon his ass. he like- wise clapped the mitre on dapple's head—in short, never was an ass so honored and bedizened. the priest and bachelor, immediately recognizing their r of don quixote. "gentlemen," said don quixote, "let us pro- ceed fair and softly: i was mad, i am now sane; i was don quixote de la mancha; i am now, as formerly styled, alonzo quixano the good. and may my repentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you once had for me. now let the notary proceed. "item: i bequeath to antonia quixano, my niece, here present, all my estate, real and per- sonal, after the payment of all my debts and lega- cies; and the first to be discharged shall be the wages due to my housekeeper for the time she has been in my service, and twenty ducats besides for a suit of mourning. "i appoint for my executors signor the priest and signor bachelor sampson carrasco, here pres- ent. "item: it is also my will that, if antonia quixano, my niece, should be inclined to marry, it shall be only with a man who, upon the strictest inquiry, shall be found to know nothing of books of chivalry; and, in case it appear that he is ac- quainted with such books, and that my niece, not- withstanding, will and doth marry him, then shall she forfeit all i have bequeathed her, which my ex- ecutors may dispose of in pious uses as they think proper. "and, finally, i beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that if haply they should come to the knowledge of the author of a certain history dis- l o wit and wisdom persed abroad, entitled 'the second part of the achievements of don quixote de la mancha,' that they will, in my name, most earnestly entreat him to forgive me for having been the innocent cause of his writing such a number of absurdities as that performance contains; for i quit this life with some scruples of conscience arising from that considera- tion." the will being thus concluded, he was seized with a fainting-fit, and stretched himself at full length in the bed; so that all the company were alarmed, and ran to his assistance: during three days which he lived after the will was signed and sealed, he frequently fainted, and the whole family was in confusion. nevertheless, the niece ate her victuals, the housekeeper drank to the repose of his soul, and even sancho cherished his little carcass; for the prospect of succession either dispels or mod- erates that affliction which an heir ought to feel at the death of the testator. at last don quixote expired, after having re- ceived all the sacraments, and, in the strongest terms, pathetically enforced, expressed his abomi- nation against all books of chivalry; and the notary observed, that in all the books of that kind which he had perused, he had never read of any knight- errant who died quietly in his bed, as a good chris- tian, like don quixote; who, amidst the tears and lamentations of all present, gave up the ghost, or in other words, departed this life. the curate was ' this book should be returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. a fine of five cents a day is incurred by retaining it beyond the specified time. please return promptly. — wvwv> j. d yo/, /?, harvard college library c yo/. /?, aa harvard college library 'n ubc tofebom of tbe east series edited by l. cranmer-byng dr. s. a. kapadia. the sayings of confucius . s harvard college libpary fpom tilt estate of charlie rockwell lanmam march , contents introduction .... list of the principal disciples government and public affairs individual virtue confucius, estimate of others confucius on himself miscellaneous sayings personalia .... confucius as seen by others sayings of the disciples . piok editorial note ^"^he object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of goodwill and understanding between east and west—the old world of thought and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper know- ledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. finally, in thanking press and public for the very cordial reception given to the "wisdom of the east" series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects at hand. l. cranmer-byng. s. a. kapadia. northbrook society, , piccadilly, w. introduction itself beneath the accidents of custom and en- vironment. but the process will always be slow. the name of confucius may be deemed sufficiently familiar in the west to render unnecessary any revision of the popular verdict which has already been passed on-him. but are his judges equally familiar with the teaching which his name re- presents? the name of shakespeare was well enough known to frenchmen in the time of voltaire. yet how many generations had to pass ere they began to recognise his true great- ness? the parallel between dramatist and social reformer may seem strained, but it is not drawn at random. in both cases, wide differences of language and the inadequacy of translations to bridge the gap, lie at the root of the trouble. no great man has suffered more than confucius from the stupidity, the misstatements and the misrepresentations, from the lack of sympathy and generosity, and, in some points, from the pure ignorance of his critics. early travellers arriving from the west, amongst a people utterly alien to themselves in almost every detail— language, dress, habits, modes of thought, ethical ideals and general view of life—would have done well to walk very warily and, in the confucian phrase, "to reserve their judgment" on what they saw and heard around them. but patience and discrimination were the very last virtues which these inquisitive newcomers had a mind introduction to practise; and, unluckily, the extraordinary fame of the national sage marked him out as one of the earliest victims to their thirst for the marvellous. on the strength of chinese evidence, readily forthcoming and eagerly swallowed, the most exaggerated accounts of this new luminary were poured into the ears of europe, and it may well be imagined that these enthusiastic reports suffered no diminution in the telling. confucius was the prince of philosophers, the wisest and most consummate of sages, the loftiest moralist, the most subtle and penetrating intellect that the world had ever seen. he was a statesman, a bard, an historian and an antiquary rolled into one. his sagacity put the most illustrious of ancient and modern philosophers to shame. he was the greatest and noblest representative of the greatest, happiest, and most highly civilised people on the face of the earth. such extravagant eulogy could only pave the way for disillusionment. when, after the lapse of a hundred years or so, foreigners had painfully acquired sufficient knowledge of the language to enable them to begin translating, after a fashion, parts of the classics said to have been composed by this glorious sage, or at least containing the choicest pearls of his wisdom still extant, it is not altogether surprising that the results did not come up to the general expectation. reac- tion set in, and it soon became the fashion to introduction decry the once much-lauded philosopher. his sayings, which had been extolled as the very epitome of wisdom, were now voted jejune and commonplace. his teaching was found to be shallow, disjointed, unsatisfying. he was blamed for his materialistic bias, for his rigid formalism, for his poverty of ideas, for his lack of spiritual elevation. comparisons, much in his disfavour, were drawn between him and the founders of other world-systems of religion and ethics. all this before the circumstances of lis career had been studied, before the surface of contemporary chinese history had been so much as scratched, before the host of native commentators and critics had been consulted, or their existence even become known; above all, before the very book which contained his authentic sayings had been translated with anything approaching to exactness or understanding, or with a faint realisation of its numerous difficulties and pit- falls. such was still the deplorable state of things when legge set to work on his translation of the confucian canon, which when completed many years later, with its exhaustive prolegomena, notes and appendices, formed a truly wonderful monument of research and erudition. with its publication, chinese scholarship was carried at once to a higher plane, and foreign study of confucian doctrine began in earnest. the heavy introduction accumulations of ignorance and error were in large part removed, and the figure of the great teacher began at last to emerge from the "ob- literating sands of time." his sayings were no longer read as interesting but desultory fragments of conversation, but studied in relation to the events of his life. from various chinese sources, the chief of which were the analects themselves and ssii-ma ch'ien's biography, legge managed to compile a good and coherent account of the sage's life, work and wanderings, which was an enormous advance on anything that had been done before, and is not likely, even in the future, to undergo any considerable addition or amend- ment. there are many minor points which may be disputed, and many long blanks which may never be filled up, but taken as a whole, the chronology and the leading events of the life of confucius must now be considered as finally settled. if legge is on firm ground where hard facts are concerned, it is far otherwise when he comes to draw inferences from these facts, to sum up the salient principles of confucian ethics, and to pass judgment on the character of confucius himself. his pronouncements on these points, too hastily accepted as final, need to be carefully re-examined and, as i shall hope to show, largely modified if not totally reversed. his opinion, of course, was based chiefly on his own inter- introduction pretation of the more important sayings in the analects, in translating which he had the oral help of native scholars, besides the benefit of voluminous standard commentaries. thus equipped for his task, it cannot but appear strange that he, admittedly a great sinologue, should have gone so far astray as to miss the very core and essence of the doctrines to the elucidation of which he devoted most of his life. the ex- planation may lie in the fact that he was a chris- tian missionary in the first place, and only secondly a scientific student; he had come to teach and convert the heathen, not to be taught or converted by them. this preconceived idea acted as a drag on the free use of his under- standing, and prevented him from entering whole-heartedly into his subject. we are told that the master himself had "no foregone con- clusions," but legge's whole attitude to con- fucianism bespoke one comprehensive and fatal foregone conclusion—the conviction that it must at every point prove inferior to christianity. a certain inelasticity of mind showed itself also in the way in which he approached the work of translation. he was too apt to look upon a chinese word as something rigid and unchanging in its content, which might be uniformly rendered by a single english equivalent. delicate shades of meaning he too often ruthlessly ignored. now there is a certain number of chinese terms which introduction mirror chinese ideas, but have really no absolute equivalent in english at all, and must therefore be translated with the aid of circumlocution, and in such a way as to suit the context and the general spirit of the passage. it is in such terms, unfor- tunately, that the very essence and inner sig- nificance of the confucian teaching are contained. obviously, if proper equivalents are not given, the whole sense of the passages in which they occur will be lost or violently distorted. worse still, the judgments laboriously built up on such rotten foundations will be hopelessly vitiated. here, indeed, we have an object-lesson of the importance, clearly recognised by confucius himself, of " defining terms " and making " words harmonise with things." indispensable as such a process is for any investigation in which lan- guage plays a part, it is doubly so when words have to be transplanted, as it were, from their native soil to one differing from it in almost every conceivable quality. such an operation can only be successful if carried out with the utmost delicacy and care, and no amount of erudition can supply the want of that instinctive feeling for the right word which is the translator's choicest gift. the scope of the present work forbids my entering into details, but some broad examples of failure in this respect will be noted later on. of the life of confucius only the barest sketch introduction can be given here, but stress may be laid on one or two points which it is important to bear in mind. confucius was born at a time when the feudal system, established several centuries earlier by the founder of the chou dynasty, was showing unmistakable signs of disruption and decay. it is almost certain that china had been feudally governed from the very earliest times, but wu wang placed the whole system on a seemingly firmer basis than ever. he divided his realm into a large number of vassal states, which he bestowed upon his own kith and kin who had helped him to the throne. thus the empire really came to resemble the huge united family which chinese political theorists declare it to be, and for a short time all seems to have worked smoothly. but as the bonds of kinship grew looser, the central government gradually lost all effective control over its unruly children, and the various states were soon embroiled in perpetual feuds and struggles among themselves, besides being usually at loggerheads with the parent dynasty. the state of things that ensued may be likened (though on a far larger scale) to several wars of the roses going on at the same time, or better still, to the turbulence of the later days of the holy roman empire, when the fealty of its mem- bers had become merely nominal. matters were further complicated in many of the states by the upgrowth of large and powerful families which introduction often attempted either by insidious methods or by open violence to wrest the supreme authority into their own hands. thus in lu, the com- paratively small state to which confucius belonged, there were three such families, the chi, the meng, and the shu; the heads of these clans, of whom we hear a good deal in the analects, had already, by the time of confucius, reduced their lawful prince (or duke, as he is generally called) to a condition of virtual dependency. on the other hand, they themselves were some- times threatened by the lawless behaviour of their own officers, such as the ambitious chariot- driver, yang huo, who thought nothing of seizing towns or even the person of his own chief, in order to hold him to ransom. thus, though the period of the " warring states " is not usually reckoned as beginning until after the death of confucius, the date is a purely arbitrary one, inasmuch as his whole life long disturbances were rife and military operations well-nigh incessant throughout the length and breadth of china. in the midst of the prevailing disorder, confucius comported himself with an admirable mixture of dignity, tact and outspoken courage. wisely opposing the dangerous tendency to decentralisa- tion, and upholding the supreme authority of the emperor as against his too powerful vassals, he heartily disapproved of the illegal usurpations see p. . introduction of the dukes, the great families and the soldiers of fortune that preyed one upon the other, and did not shrink on occasion from expressing his disgust in unequivocal terms. but knowing the futility of protests unbacked by force, he kept himself aloof for the most part, and devoted himself to a long course of study and teaching, gathering, it is said, as many as three thousand disciples around him. this is a palpable ex- aggeration, but there can be no doubt that he had become a marked man and gained great fame as a moralist and teacher many years before he actually took office. in b.c., at the age of fifty, he at last made his entry on the political stage by accepting the governorship of a small town in lu. here he is said to have been eminently successful in the work of reform, and he rapidly rose to be the most trusted adviser of duke ting, who on one occasion at least owed his life to the courage and address of his minister. but it was not long ere the weak and fickle character of the ruler, carefully manipu- lated by rivals to confucius, brought about a catastrophe. the neighbouring state of ch'i, jealous of the new prosperity of lu under the regime of the sage, cunningly sent as a gift to the prince a band of beautiful women, trained in song and dance, and a number of magnificent horses^ in order to distract his mind from the serious cares of state. the plotters had evidently taken introduction the measure of their victim, for the artifice succeeded, and confucius felt compelled to resign. then began the weary years of wandering from state to state, in which we cannot follow him here, except to note a sagacious prophecy uttered by a friendly official on the frontier of wei. coming out from an interview with confucius, he comforted the woebegone disciples by telling them that their master's divine mission was now only just beginning. it may, indeed, be that the ensuing period of homeless exile, hardships and danger, did more to spread the fame of the great reformer than either the few brilliant years of office or those spent as a teacher in the com- parative seclusion of lu. for one thing, it could not but inspire and fortify his followers to ob- serve that the lofty principles which a sudden accession to power had failed to corrupt, were equally capable of standing the test of adversity. his serene and courageous bearing in many a strange and perilous situation proved that the conception of a "higher type of man" was for him no empty ideal, but the worthy object of practical endeavour. it is sad, however, to reflect that the best years of his life had passed before the call came which resulted in his return. had it not been so long delayed, he would doubtless have thrown himself once more into the arena of public affairs, and begun rebuilding the fabric seep. . introduction of good government which had been so rudely shattered thirteen years before. his patience would have been equal to the task; but he was now an old man, worn out by years of travel, privation and anxiety, at a time of life when the physical frame begins to demand a certain measure of quiet and repose. hence, though he may be said to have returned to his native state with flying colours, he took no further active part in its administration, but devoted the rest of his life to literary labours which have added materi- ally to his fame. such were the collecting and editing of certain old national ballads known to us as the odes, and the penning of the spring and autumn annals of lu, which may be regarded as the first real record of authentic facts, as opposed to the mere string of speeches and eulogies which we find in the miscalled book of history. to this closing period, too, are to be referred most of the sayings given in the present volume. these, together with the invaluable biography by ssu-ma ch'ien, which is largely built upon them, form the only really reliable source of information about confucius and his doctrines. the chinese title lun yil may be rendered "conversations" or "discussions," but neither is a very apt description of the work, which contains very little discussion in the ordinary sense. it consists in fact almost wholly of introduction detached obiter dicta, or replies to questions put by various disciples on subjects chiefly moral or personal. these sayings were once supposed to have been collected and committed to writing by the immediate disciples of confucius, but legge has shown sufficient reason to believe that they were transmitted orally at first, and did not take the form in which we have them until at least two generations after the master's death. nor must it be imagined that they represent the ipsissima verba of confucius. no man could have made offhand remarks in such a crisp, concise and epigrammatic style. a translation, in which brevity has again and again to be sacrificed to smoothness and lucidity, hardly allows the european reader to form any idea of the glittering compactness of these sayings in the original. so far from having been uttered im- promptu, they appear to have been repeatedly ground and polished, and shorn of every redun- dancy, until they shone like diamonds fresh from the hands of the cutter. at the same time, as expressing the essence of what the master thought and the substance of what he said, it is with good reason that they are to be found inscribed on hundreds of thousands of scrolls and tablets in every corner of the empire. these gems, how- ever, are unsorted. as in most chinese philo- sophical works, there is very little attempt at orderly arrangement; even such a rough classi- introduction read there, was uniformly cheerful in demeanour, and he evidently unbent to quite an unusual extent with his disciples, considering the respect and deference universally shown to age and learning in china. is it at all conceivable that a man of cold and unlovable temper should have attracted round him hundreds of disciples, with many of whom he was on terms of most intimate intercourse, meeting them not only in the lecture- room, as modern professors meet their classes, but living with them, eating, drinking, sleeping and conversing with them, until all their idiosyn- crasies, good or bad, were better known to him than to their own parents? is it explicable, except on the ground of deep personal affection, that he should have been followed into exile by a faithful band of disciples, not one of whom is known ever to have deserted or turned against him? is coldness to be predicated of the man who in his old age, for once losing something of his habitual self-control, wept passionately for the death of his dearly loved disciple yen hui, and would not be comforted? but it has been reserved for the latest english translator of the analects, the rev. mr. jennings, to level some of the worst charges at his head. to begin with, he approvingly quotes, as legge's final opinion on confucius, words occurring in the earliest edition of the chinese classics to the effect that he is " unable to regard him as a great -; introduction great and important matters, while professing to teach men, he is perhaps most to blame, and in his holding back what was best in the religion of the ancients." what these great and important matters were, is not made very clear, but if, as seems probable, the phrase is simply another way of referring to " the religion of the ancients," it can only be repeated that religion was a subject which he disliked to discuss and certainly did not profess to teach, as is plainly indicated in the analects. and the reason why he refrained from descanting on such matters was that, knowing nothing of them himself, he felt that he would have been guilty of hypocrisy and fraud had he made a show of instructing others therein. would that a like candour dis- tinguished some of our own professed teachers of religion! t - the last accusation against confucius is the most reckless of all. "there is," according to mr. jennings, "a certain selfishness in his teaching, which had the effect of making those who came under his influence soon feel them- selves great and self-satisfied." as only the feeblest of evidence is produced to support this wild statement, it will not be necessary to con- sider it at any length, though we may ask in passing whether yen hui, the disciple who profited most from his master's teaching and best exemplified it, is depicted as exhibiting introduction a standing miracle that confucianism, which makes no promise of blessings to be enjoyed in this life or the next, should have succeeded without the adjunct of other supernatural elements than that of ancestor-worship. even this was ac- cepted by confucius as a harmless prevailing custom rather than enjoined by him as an essential part of his doctrine. unlike christianity and ma- nometanism, the way preached by the chinese sage knows neither the sanction of punishment nor the stimulus of reward in an after-life. even buddhism holds out the hope of nirvana to the pure of heart, and preaches the long torment of successive rebirths to those who fall short of perfect goodness. no great religion is devoid of elevated precepts, or has ever failed to mould numbers of beautiful characters to attest the presence of something good and great within it. but in every case the element of supernatural- ism, which is of course inseparable from a religion properly so called, introduces a new motive for men's actions and makes it no longer possible for virtue to be followed purely for its own sake, without thought of a hereafter. thus, if we assent to comte's famous law of the three states, confucianism really represents a more advanced stage of civilisation than biblical christianity. indeed, as mr. carey hall has recently pointed out in an article on the subject, confucius may be regarded as the true fore- introduction runner of comte in his positivist mode of thought. his whole system is based on nothing more nor less than the knowledge of human nature. the instincts of man are social and therefore fundamentally good, while egoism is at bottom an artificial product and evil. hence the insist- ence on altruism which we find in the sayings of confucius, the injunction to "act socially," to live for others in living for oneself. the most important word in the confucian vocabulary is jen, which in the following extracts is trans- lated "virtue" only for want of a better term. our english word " virtue " has so many different shades of meaning and is withal so vague, that in using it, the idea of altruism is often hardly present to our mind. but in jen the implication of " social good " emerges much more distinctly. its connotation has no doubt extended gradually until it seems often to be rather a compendium of all goodness than any one virtue in particular. but this development only means that tne word is following in the track of the thing itself. for let a man be but thoroughly imbued with the altruistic spirit, and he may be termed " good" without qualification, since all other virtues tend to flow from unselfishness. the confucian theory of man,s social obliga- tions rests first and foremost on the fact that he forms part of a great social machine—an_aggre- introduction gation of units, each of which is called a family. the family, in chinese eyes, is a microcosm of the empire, or rather, since the family is chrono- logically prior to the state, it is the pattern on which the greater organism has moulded itself. the feudal system under which confucius lived naturally accentuated the likeness. the emperor had, in theory at least, paternal authority over his feudal princes, who in turn, standing to one another in the relation of elder and younger brothers, were regarded as the fathers of their respective peoples. now, the way to ensure that a machine as a whole may run smoothly and well, is to see that each part shall fulfil its own function in proper subordination to the rest. how is this result achieved in the family? obviously through the controlling will of the father, who has supreme authority over all the other members. but this authority is not by any means the mere brute force of a tyrant. it is based firstly on the natural order of things, whereby the father is clearly intended to be the protector of his children; and secondly, as a consequence of this, on the love and respect which will normally spring up in the minds of the children for their protector. such is the genesis of filial piety, which plays so large a part in chinese ethics. it is quite untrue, however, to say with mr. jennings, that no corresponding parental duties are recognised by confucius, as the following introduction anecdote may serve to show. during the sage's short period of office as minister of crime, a father came to him bringing some serious charge against his son. confucius kept them both in prison for three months, without making any difference in favour of the father, and then let them go. the minister chi huan remonstrated with him for this, and reminded him of his saying, that filial duty was the first thing to be insisted on. "what hinders you now from putting this unfilial son to death as an example to all the people?" confucius' reply was, that the father had never taught his son to be filial, and that therefore the guilt really rested with him. for the harmonious working of a family, then, we need respect for authority on one side, and self-sacrifice on the other. the father,s object must be entirely altruistic—the good of his family. then only will he be doing his duty as a father, just as a son is not doing his duty unless he shows honour and obedience to his parents. the all-important element which makes possible the working of the family machine, the lubricating oil that eases the bearings, is not merely filial piety without any corresponding feeling on the part of the parent, but rather a certain subtle principle of harmony and self- control permeating every member of the family group, which restrains egoistic propensities and promotes the common good. this is the chinese introduction term li, which in this sense of a quality of the soul is hardly translatable by any single word or combination of words, but is certainly not to be rendered by any such atrocious phrase as "the rules of propriety."' now confucius saw that the same general principles which govern the family are applicable also to that greatest of families, the state. here we have the emperor, in whose hands the supreme authority must lie, exercising functions exactly analogous to those of the father of a family. but if his is the supreme authority, his must also be the supreme responsibility. veneration and respect are his due, but only because he identifies himself with the good of the people. in public affairs, just as in the home, there must be that same principle of harmony to regulate the relations of governor and governed, otherwise the machine will not work. there must be li here as well, but as it is not possible for the sovereign to maintain with his subjects the per- sonal intimacy which unites a father and his sons, it is necessary to fall back upon symbols, and to give outward and visible expression to the inward sentiments of loyalty and respect which should animate the breast of each member of the nation. these symbols are the rites and ceremonies of which confucius was considered such a past-master. he saw indeed their full see note on p. . introduction importance as symbols, but he also knew that, divorced from the inward feeling, they were mean- ingless and without value. in this way it is easy to see how the word ft, as a human attribute, acquired its various shades of meaning, from the harmony in the soul which prompts action in accordance with true natural instincts, down to ordinary politeness and good manners—also an indispensable lubricant in the lesser dealings of life between man and man. it was in the family again that confucius found a natural force at work which he thought might be utilised as an immense incentive to virtue. this was the universal human proneness to imitation. knowing that personal example is the most effective way in which a father can teach his sons what is right, he unhesitatingly attributed the same powerful influence to the personal conduct of the sovereign, and went so far as to declare that if the ruler was personally upright, his subjects would do their duty un- bidden; if he was not upright, they would not obey, whatever his bidding. "the virtue of the prince," he said, "is like unto wind; that of the people, like unto grass. for it is the nature of grass to bend when the wind blows upon it." it must be admitted that confucius has in this particular somewhat overshot the mark and formed too sanguine an estimate of the force of example. it would be unfair, however, introduction to base our argument on the analogy of modern democratic states, where the controlling power is split up into several branches, and the con- spicuousness of the monarch is much diminished. not that even the constitutional sovereign of to-day may not wield a very decided influence in morals. but this influence was much greater while the king retained full despotic power, and greatest of all in feudal times, when the successive gradations of rank and the nice ar- rangement of a hierarchy of officials, each ac- countable to the one above him, were specially designed to convey and filter it among all classes of the community. had confucius been able to find a prince who would have acted consistently on confucian principles, the results might have been almost as grand as he anticipated. the experiment was tried, we must remember, on a small scale, when confucius himself became governor of a town in the state of lu. and although one must be chary of accepting all the extravagant tales- which gathered round his brief official career, it seems indisputable that this political theory, unlike many others, proved reasonably successful in actual practice. of course the weak point is that every king cannot be a confucius, and unless some practical method can be devised of electing rulers on the ground of merit alone, it is impossible to ensure that their conduct shall serve as a pattern to their introduction people. "rotten wood cannot be carved," the master himself once remarked, and he found bitter confirmation of his saying in duke ting of lu. nothing could ever have been made out of such utterly weak and worthless material. and he afterwards spent thirteen years of his life in the fruitless search for a sovereign who would correspond even faintly to his ideal. such un- swerving devotion to the abstract cause of right and justice and good government cannot but puzzle those who have been taught to regard confucius as the very type and embodiment of materialistic wisdom and practical utilitarianism. but in truth, strange though it may sound, he was a great idealist who gained his hold on his countrymen by virtue rather of his noble imaginings and lofty aspirations than of any immediate results or tangible achievements. by the men of his own day he was more often than not considered a charlatan and an impostor. it is remarkable that even the two taoist recluses and the eccentric chieh yii (p. ) should have condemned him as a visionary and a " crank." similar was the impression he made on the gate-keeper who asked a disciple if his master was the man " who was always trying to do what he knew to be impossible." this playful sarcasm is really the best commentary on bis career, and one that pays him unintentionally the greatest honour. though often disheartened introduction he had striven so earnestly to remove. and so it came about that his belief in the political value of personal goodness was in some sort justified after all; for the great and inspiriting pattern which he sought in vain among the princes of his time was to be afforded in the end by no other than himself—the "throneless king," who is for ever enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen. it is absurd, then, to speak of his life as a failure. measured by results—the almost incalculably great and far-reaching consequences which fol- lowed tardily but irresistibly after he was gone— his life was one of the most successful ever lived by man. three others, and only three, are com- parable to it in world-wide influence: gautama's self-sacrificing sojourn among men, the stormy career of the arab prophet, and the "sinless years " which found their close on golgotha. list of the principal disciples the proper names occurring in the analects present some difficulty to the european reader, as one and the same person is often referred to in several different ways—by his surname and personal name, by his "style," or by a com- bination of the two, while among intimates the personal name only is employed. mr. ku has on this account eliminated almost all proper names from his translation, using a periphrasis instead. but by this method one misses much of the characterisation which is such an attrac- tive feature of the analects. i have judged it better to give the names of the principal disciples exactly as they appear in the chinese, and to provide a table of their various appellations for easy reference. an asterisk denotes the name most frequently used. surname and personal name. style. mixed appellation. yenhui tzii yuan tzil ch'ien yen yuan.* mintzu-ch'ien,* minsun ) (min tzu)j list of principal disciples surname and mixed personal name. style. appellation. jan keng po niu* jan po-niu. jan yung chung kung* jan ch'iu tzu yu jan yu.* cliung yu tzu lu*) chi lu / tsai yii tzil wo tsai wo* tuan-mu tz'a tzu kung* yen yen tzu yu* yen yu. pu shang tzu hsia* chuan-sun shih tzu chang* tseng shen | (tseng tzu*)j tzu yii fan hsu tztt ch'ih fan ch'ih* ssti-ma keng tzfl niu ssu-ma niu.* kung-hsi ch'ih tzii hua kung-hsi hua.* yu jo ) (yu tzu*) tzu jo government and public affairs mote the evil-doers and dismiss the upright, and the people will be discontented. chi k'ang tzu ' asked by what means he might cause his people to be respectful and loyal, and encourage them in the path of virtue. the master replied: conduct yourself towards them with dignity, and you will earn their respect; be a good son and a kind prince, and you will find them loyal; promote the deserving and instruct those who fall short, and they will be encouraged to follow the path of virtue. some one, addressing confucius, said: why, sir, do you take no part in the government ?—the master replied: what does the book of history say about filial piety ?—do your duty as a son and as a brother, and these qualities will make themselves felt in the government. this, then, really amounts to taking part in the government. holding office need not be considered essential. the people can be made to follow a certain path, but they cannot be made to know the reason why. tzu kung asked for a definition of good govern- ment. the master replied: it consists in pro- viding enough food to eat, in keeping enough chi k'ang tzil succeeded to the headship of the great chi family in , when chi huan died, by whom he was advised to recall confucius from his long wanderings. the sage, however, did not return until eight years later. government and public affairs soldiers to guard the state, and in winning the confidence of the people.—and if one of these three things had to be sacrificed, which should go first ?—the master replied: sacrifice the soldiers.—and if of the two remaining things one had to be sacrificed, which should it be ?—the master said: let it be the food. from the beginning, men have always had to die. but without the confidence of the people no govern- ment can stand at all. ching, duke of the ch'i state, questioned confucius on the art of government. confucius replied: let the sovereign do his duty as a sovereign, the subject his duty as a subject, the father his duty as a father, and the son his duty as a son.—a good answer! said the duke; for unless sovereign and subject, father and son do their respective duties, however much grain there may be in the land, i could obtain none to eat. tzu chang put a question about the art of governing. the master said: devote yourself patiently to the theory, and conscientiously to the practice, of government. chi k'ang tzu asked confucius for advice on the subject of government. confucius replied: to govern is to keep straight. if you, sir, lead the point of the original lies partly in the fact that the chinese words for "govern" and "straight" are similar in form and identical in sound- government and public affairs the people straight, which of your subjects will venture to fall out of line? chi k'ang tzu, being vexed by robbers, asked confucius for his advice. confucius replied, saying: if you, sir, can check your own cupidity, there will be no stealing, even though rewards should be offered for theft. chi k'ang tzu questioned confucius on a point of government, saying: ought not i to cut off the lawless in order to establish law and order? what do you think ?—confucius re- plied: sir, what need is there of the death penalty in your system of government? if you showed a sincere desire to be good, your people would likewise be good. the virtue of the prince is like unto wind; that of the people, like unto grass. for it is the nature of grass to bend when the wind blows upon it. tzii lu asked for a hint on the art of governing. the master replied: take the lead and set the example of diligent toil.—asked for a further hint, he said: be patient and untiring. chung kung, being prime minister to the head of the chi clan, asked for advice on governing. the master said: make a point of employing your subordinates, overlook trifling mistakes, raise to office worthy and able men.—but, said chung kung, how am i to discover these government and public affairs worthy men and single them out for promotion ?— promote those that you know, was the reply. as for those that you do not know, will not their claims be brought before you by others? tzu lu said: the prince of wei is waiting, sir, for you to take up the reins of government. pray what is the first reform you would intro- duce ?—the master replied: i would begin by defining terms and making them exact. —oh, indeed! exclaimed tzu lu. but how can you possibly put things straight by such a circuitous route ?—the master said: how unmannerly you are, yu! in matters which he does not understand, the wise man will always reserve his judgment. if terms are not correctly defined, words will not harmonise with things. if words the hidden meaning of this saying is made clear by the context to be found in ssu-ma ch'ien,s biography of con- fucius. the prince of wei at this time was the young man mentioned on p. as holding the throne against his own father. by so doing ho had in some sort inverted the relation- ship which should have subsisted between them, and each was in a false position, the father being deprived of his proper parental dignity, and the son no longer 'doing his duty as a son" (see p. ). confucius then is administering a veiled rebuke to the young ruler, for in saying that the first reform necessary is the correct definition of names, he implies in effect that the terms "father" and "son," among others, should be made to resume their proper significance. an alternative rendering of cheng ming as "rectification of the written character," though backed by the great authority of m. chavannes, can only be described as feeble and far- fetched, and has been ably confuted by herr franke in the f'oung pao for july, , government and public affairs do not harmonise with things, public business will remain undone. if public business remains undone, order and harmony will not flourish. if order and harmony do not nourish, law and justice will not attain their ends. if law and justice do not attain their ends, the people will be unable to move hand or foot. the wise man, therefore, frames his definitions to regulate his speech, and his speech to regulate his actions. he is never reckless in his choice of words. fan ch'ih asked to be taught the art of husbandry. the master said: any farmer can teach you that better than i can. he then asked to be taught gardening. the master said: any gardener will teach you that better than i can. fan ch'ih having gone out, the master said: what a small-minded man is fan hsu! if the ruler is addicted to modesty and self- control, his people will not permit themselves to be irreverent. if the ruler loves justice and duty, his people will not venture to be unruly. if the ruler loves sincerity and good faith, the people will not be slow to respond. such being his qualities, the people will flock to him from all quarters, with their babes strapped to their backs. what need for him to know the art of husbandry?' confucius is of course merely insisting on the principle of division of labour, and not by any means depreciating the value of husbandry or other useful arts.. it is not the ruler,s government and public affairs the master said: if the ruler is personally upright, his subjects will do their duty unbidden; if he is not personally upright, they will not obey, whatever his bidding. when the master went to wei, jan yu drove his carriage. the master said: what an abundant population !—jan yu said: now that the people are so abundant, what is the next thing to be done ?—enrich them, said confucius.—and having enriched them, what then ?—teach them, was the reply. the master said: if a country had none but good rulers for a hundred years, crime might be stamped out and the death-penalty abolished. how true this saying is! if a kingly sovereign were to appear, by the end of one generation natural goodness would prevail. if a man can reform his own heart, what should hinder him from taking part in government? but if he cannot reform his own heart, what has he to do with reforming others? duke ting a asked if there was a single sentence business to make himself proficient in these, because the task of governing and setting an example to the governed will claim all his attention. compare plato,s disapproval of iroxwirpaynoaivr), and confucius, remarks on his own skill in various arts (p. ). the weak ruler of the lu state ( - b.c.), who lost the services of confucius by his infatuation in accepting the government and public affairs in serving your prince, make the actual servic e your first care, and only put the emolument second. the head of the chi clan was on the point oc attacking the small principality of chuan-yii. jan yu and chi lu came to see confucius, and said: our lord is going to have trouble with chuan-yii.—confucius said: is it not you, ch'iu, who are to blame in this? the ancient kings long ago made chuan-yii the centre of the worship of the eastern meng mountain, and moreover it is situated within the territory of lu. its ruler has independent priestly functions. what right have you to attack it ?—jan yu replied: it is the will of our master; we, his ministers, have neither of us any wish to act thus.—ch'iu, said confucius, chou jen had a saying: "if you are capable of displaying energy, hold office; if not, resign." of what use is that minister likely to be, who does not sustain his master in the presence of danger, or support him when about to fall? besides, what you say is wrong. if a tiger or a wild buffalo escapes from its cage, if a tortoise-shell or jade ornament is smashed in its casket, whose fault is it, pray ?— jan yu replied: but chuan-yii is strongly fortified, and close to our own town of pi. if^we literally, "a minister of the altars to the spirits of the land and grain"; i.e. a direct vassal of the emperor, and responsible only to him. * an ancient historiographer, of whom very little is known. government and public affairs do not take it now, it will cause trouble to our descendants in a later generation.—confucius rejoined: ch'iu, an honest man hates your hypocrite who will not openly avow his greed, but tries instead to excuse it. i have heard that the ruler of a state or of a clan is troubled not by the smallness of its numbers but by the absence of even-handed justice; not by poverty but by the presence of discontent; for where there is justice there will be no poverty; where there is harmony there will be no lack in numbers; where there is content there will be no revolution. this being the case then, if outlying communities resist your authority, cultivate the arts of refine- ment and goodness in order to attract them; and when you have attracted them, make them happy and contented. now you two, yu and ch'iu, are aiding and abetting your master; here is an outlying community which resists your authority, and you are unable to attract it. partition and collapse are imminent in your own state, and you are unable to preserve it intact. and yet you are planning military aggression within the borders of your country! verily i fear that chi-sun's ' troubles will come, not from chuan-yii, but from the interior of his own palace. when the master came to wu-ch'eng, he heard the sound of singing and stringed instru- the head of the chi clan mentioned above. government and public affairs ments. he was pleased, but said with a smile: is it necessary to take a pole-axe to kill a fowl ?— tzu yu replied: some time ago, sir, i heard you say that the study of true principles made the ruler beneficent and men of the lower class easy to govern.—my children, said the master, yen is right. what i said was only in jest. tzu chang asked confucius, saying: what are the essentials of good government ?—the master said: esteem the five excellent, and banish the four evil things; then you will become fit to govern.—tzu chang asked: what are the five excellent things ?—the master replied: the wise and good ruler is benevolent without ex- pending treasure; he lays burdens on the people without causing them to grumble; he has desires without being covetous; he is serene without being proud; he is awe-inspiring without being ferocious.—he is benevolent without ex- pending treasure: what does that mean ?—the master replied: he simply follows the course which naturally brings benefit to the people. is wu-ch,eng means " martial city," so called from its impreg- nable position. tzfi yu, when appointed governor, had suc- ceeded in weaning the people from their warlike propensities, and in introducing the milder arts of peace. this is what made the master glad, though he could not help being amused at the application of the loftiest principles to such a tiny com- munity. about ancient chinese music we know unfortunately next to nothing, but it seems to have played as important a part under the chou dynasty as in plato,s ideal state. that is to say, the ruler will always keep the welfare government and public affairs he not thus benevolent without expending treasure? in imposing burdens, he chooses the right time and the right means, and nobody can grumble. his desire is for goodness, and he achieves it; how should he be covetous? the wise and good ruler never allows himself to be negligent, whether he is dealing with many men or with few, with small matters or with great. is this not serenity without pride? he has his cap and robe properly adjusted, and throws a noble dignity into his looks, so that his gravity inspires onlookers with respect. is he not thus awe-inspiring without being ferocious ?—tzu chang then asked: what are the four evil things ?—the master said: cruelty :—leaving the people in their native ignorance, yet punishing their wrong-doing with death. oppression :— requiring the immediate completion of tasks imposed without previous warning. ruthless- ness :—giving vague orders, and then insisting on punctual fulfilment. peddling husbandry :— stinginess in conferring the proper rewards on deserving men. of his people in view, but without indulging in indiscriminate largess. the ever-increasing doles of money and corn with which the roman emperors were obliged to buy the favour of the populace would thus have fallen under the condemnation of confucius. the "four evil things" really turn out to be reducible to two, namely ( ) cruelty—covering the first three; and ( ) meanness. individual virtue at home, a young man should show the qualities of a son; abroad, those of a younger brother. he should be circumspect but truthful. he should have charity in his heart for all men, but associate only with the virtuous. after thus regulating his conduct, his surplus energy should be de- voted to literary culture. in the matter of food and lodging, the nobler type of man does not seek mere repletion and comfort. he is earnest in his affairs and cautious in his speech, and frequents virtuous company for his own improvement. he may be called one truly bent on the study of virtue. meng i tzu asked for a definition of filial piety. the master said: it consists in there being no falling off.'—fan ch'ih was driving the master's carriage some time after, when the latter told him, saying: meng i tzu asked me about filial literally, "he may be called a lover of learning." but "learning" in the mouth of confucius is generally to be understood as study of the rules of right conduct with a view to their practical application. the object of all learning was to enable a man to develop the natural goodness within him, so as to lead a life of virtuous culture. it was not pursued solely for its own sake, nor had it become, as with us, divorced from all ethical significance. the chief of the house of meng, one of the three great families of lu, and (according to ssti-ma ch'ien) a disciple of confucius. the reply is enigmatical, but it is clear from what follows that this, and not, as legge translates, "disobedience," is the true meaning. individual virtue piety, and i answered that it consisted in there being no falling off.—fan ch'ih said: what did you mean ?—the master replied: that parents should be served in the proper spirit while living, buried with the proper rites after death, and worshipped thereafter with the proper sacrifices. meng wu po ' asked for a definition of filial piety. the master said: there is filial piety when parents are spared all anxiety about their children except when they happen to fall sick. tzii yu put a question on the subject of filial piety. the master said: the filial piety of to-day reduces itself to the mere question of maintenance. yet this is something in which even our dogs and horses have a share. without the feeling of reverence, what is there to distin- guish the two cases'? the eldest son of meng i tzfi. a it is astonishing that chu hsi should have tried to improve on the old commentators here, and almost equally astonishing that legge should have followed him, with this result: "the master said, parents are anxious lest their children should be sick" (and therefore children should take care of their persons)! here again it is almost incredible that legge should have adopted such a ridiculous interpretation as the follow- ing—without the authority, this time, of chu hsi: "the filial piety of nowadays means the support of one's parents. but dogs and horses likewise are able to do something in the way of support." the image conjured up by this sentence is grotesque, to say the least. individual virtue tzu hsia also asked about filial piety. the master said: it can hardly be gauged from mere outward acts. when there is work to be done, to relieve one's elders of the toil; or when there is wine and food, to cause them to partake thereof—is this to be reckoned filial piety ? tzu kung inquired about the higher type of man. the master replied: the higher type of man is one who acts before he speaks, and pro- fesses only what he practises. the master said: the higher type of man is catholic in his sympathy and free from party bias; the lower type of man is biassed and un- sympathetic. a man without charity in his heart—what has literally, "colour difficult." this famous sentence, a stumbling-block to native and foreigner alike, surely marks the extreme limit to which conciseness can be carried in chinese. "the difficulty is with the countenance" is the lame translation offered by legge, and later scholars have mostly followed in his footsteps, even mr. ku hung-ming fail- ing badly for once. where all have gone astray is in taking the " difficulty" to exist in the mind of the would-be filial son, instead of being that felt by the onlooker who wishes to gauge the genuineness of the quality in others. only a few months ago, a new and ingenious interpretation was suggested by my father, professor h. a. giles, namely: "to define it is difficult"; but after much consideration i am led to prefer the rendering in the text, inasmuch as the word ae is quite commonly used to denote the external as opposed to the internal, form as opposed to essence. the answer of course is—no; outward acts do not constitute filial piety, unless prompted by a genuine duteous feeling in the heart. individual virtue he to do with ceremonies? a man without chanty in his heart—what has he to do with music?' lin fang inquired as to the prime essential in ceremonial observances. the master said: ah, that is a great question indeed! in all rites, simplicity is better than extravagance; in mourning for the dead, heartfelt sorrow is better than punctiliousness. the master said: the true gentleman is never contentious. if a spirit of rivalry is anywhere unavoidable, it is at a shooting-match. yet even here he courteously salutes his opponents before taking up his position, and again when, having lost, he retires to drink the forfeit-cup. so that even when competing he remains a true gentleman. it is the spirit of charity which makes a locality good to dwell in. he who selects a neighbour- hood without regard to this quality cannot be considered wise. only he who has the spirit of goodness within him is really able either to love or to hate. the princely man never for a single instant quits the path of virtue; in times of storm and stress he remains in it as fast as ever. a notable utterance, which may be commended to those who have been taught to regard confucius as a man of ceremonies and outward show. individual virtue the nobler sort of man in his progress through the world has neither narrow predilections nor obstinate antipathies. what he follows is the line of duty. the nobler sort of man is proficient in the know- ledge of his duty; the inferior man is proficient only in money-making. in serving his father and mother, a son may use gentle remonstrance; if he sees that they pay no heed, he should not desist, but merely increase in deference; if his pains are thrown away, he must show no resentment while one's parents are alive, one should not travel to a distance; if one must travel, it should be in a fixed direction. the age of one's parents should always be kept in mind—on the one hand, as a subject for re- joicing; on the other, as a cause for alarm. the wise man will be slow to speak but quick to act. tzu chang asked, saying: the prime minister tzii wen j held office three times, but showed no joy; he lost it three times, but testified no concern. when he ceased to be prime minister, he was careful to explain the political situation to his successor.^, what is your opinion of him ?— in order that the parents may know where their son is. » of the ch'u state. individual virtue all men are born good. he who loses his good- ness and yet lives is lucky to escape. better than one who knows what is right is one who is fond of what is right; and better than one who is fond of what is right is one who delights in what is right. fan ch'ih asked in what wisdom consisted. the master said: make righteousness in human affairs your aim, treat all supernatural beings with respect, but keep aloof from them—then you may be called wise. asked about moral virtue, he replied: the virtuous man thinks of the difficult thing' first, and makes material advantage only a secondary consideration. this may be said to constitute moral virtue. the master said: the man of knowledge finds pleasure in the sea, the man of virtue finds pleasure in the mountains. for the man of knowledge is restless and the man of virtue is calm. the man of knowledge is happy, and the man of virtue is long-lived. the higher type of man, having gathered wide objective knowledge from the branches of polite learning, will regulate the whole by the inner that is to say, the virtuous act, which ho will perform for its own sake, regardless of consequences. a each finds pleasure in that part of nature which~re- sembles himself. individual virtue himself to be illuminated, he will illuminate others. to be able to do to others as we would be done by '—this is the true domain of moral virtue. it has not been my lot to see a divine man; could i see a princely man, that would satisfy me. it has not been my lot to see a thoroughly virtuous man; could i see a man possessing honesty of soul, that would satisfy me. is it possible there should be honesty of soul in one who pretends to have what he has not; who, when empty, pretends to be overflowing; who, when in want, pretends to be in affluence? the higher type of man is calm and serene ; the inferior man is constantly agitated and worried. with sincerity and truth unite a desire for self- culture. lay down your life rather than quit the path of virtue. enter not the state which is tottering to its fall. abide not in the state where sedition is rampant. when law obtains in the empire, let yourself be seen; when lawlessness reigns, retire into obscurity. in a state governed on right principles, poverty and low station are things to be ashamed of; in an ill-governed state, riches and rank are things to be ashamed of. the man of wisdom does not vacillate; the it is only fair to mention that the above is not an exact translation of the words in the chinese text, though i believe their import to be what i have set down. the point is too technical and abstruse to be discussed here. individual virtue man of natural goodness does not fret; the man of valour does not fear. yen yuan inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. the master said: the subdual of self, and reversion to the natural laws governing conduct—this is true goodness. if a man can for the space of one day subdue his selfishness and revert to natural laws, the whole world will call him good. true goodness springs from a man,s own heart. how can it depend on other men ?— yen yuan said: kindly tell me the practical rule to be deduced from this.—the master replied: do not use your eyes, your ears, your power of speech or your faculty of movement without obeying the inner law of self-control. —yen yuan said: though i am not quick in thought or act, i will make it my business to carry out this precept. chung kung inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. the master said: when out of doors, behave as though you were entertaining a dis- tinguished guest; in ruling the people, behave as though you were officiating at a solemn sacri- fice; what you would not wish done to yourself, do not unto others. then in public as in see note on p. . this is the solemn nonsense dished up by legge: "look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; make no movement which is contrary to propriety." a confucius here, as in general, suits his reply to the individual virtue private life you will excite no ill-will. chung kung said: though i am not quick in thought or act, i will make it my business to carry out this precept. ssii-ma niu inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. the master said: the truly good man is slow of speech. —slowness of speech! is this what goodness consists in ?—the master said: does not the difficulty of deciding what it is right to do necessarily imply slowness to speak? ssii-ma niu asked for a definition of the princely man. the master said: the princely man is one who knows neither grief nor fear.— absence of grief and fear! is this the mark of a princely man ?—the master said: if on searching his heart he finds no guilt, why should he grieve? of what should he be afraid? tzu chang asked how to attain exalted virtue. . . . the master said: make conscientiousness and truth your guiding principles, and thus pass on to the cultivation of duty to your neighbour. this is exalted virtue. questioner. in answering yen yuan, the model disciple, he had gone to the very root of the matter, making it clear that the essence of true goodness has little or nothing to do with externals. to chung kung, who was less advanced and doubtless somewhat lacking in grace or dignity of de- meanour, he gives more superficial advice, but winds up by enunciating the golden rule, which is the best practical manner of manifesting inward goodness of heart. there seems to be a play on this word which cannot be brought out in translation. s individual virtue the master said: the nobler sort of man emphasises the good qualities in others, and does not accentuate the bad. the inferior sort does the reverse. tzu chang asked: what must a man do in order to be considered distinguished ?—the master said: what do you mean by the term "distinguished " ?—tzu chang replied: i mean one whose fame fills both his own private circle and the state at large.—the master said: that is notoriety, not distinction. the man of true distinction is simple, honest, and a lover of justice and duty. he weighs men's words, and observes the expression of their faces. he is anxious to put himself below others. such a one is truly distinguished in his private and his public life. as to the man who is merely much talked about, he puts on an appearance of charity and bene- volence, but his actions belie it. he is self- satisfied and has no misgivings. neither in private nor in public life does he achieve more than notoriety. tzu kung asked a question about friendship. the master said: be conscientious in speaking to your friend, but tactful in your efforts to guide him aright. if these fail, stop. do not court a personal rebuff. this probably means that he will not rely on words alone in judging of character. individual virtue the duke of she addressed confucius, saying: we have an upright man in our country. his father stole a sheep, and the son bore witness against him.—in our country, confucius replied, uprightness is something different from this. a father hides the guilt of his son, and a son hides the guilt of his father. it is in such conduct that true uprightness is to be found. fan ch'ih asked a question about moral virtue. the master said : in private life, show self-respect; in the management of affairs, be attentive and thorough; in your dealings with others, be honest and conscientious. never abandon these prin- ciples, even among savages. the master said: the nobler sort of man is accommodating but not obsequious; the inferior sort is obsequious but not accommodating. the nobler sort of man is easy to serve yet difficult to please. who seeks to please him in wrongful ways will not succeed. in exacting service from others, he takes account of aptitudes and limitations. the baser sort of man is difficult to serve yet easy to please. who seeks to please him in any wrongful way will assuredly succeed. and he requires absolute perfection in those from whom he exacts service. the nobler sort of man is dignified but not proud; the inferior man is proud but not dignified. individual virtue hsien said: to refrain from self-glorification, to subdue feelings of resentment, to control selfish desire—may this be held to constitute perfect virtue ?—the master said: these things may certainly be considered hard to achieve, but i am not so sure that they constitute perfect virtue. the master said: a man of inward virtue' will have virtuous words on his lips, but a man of virtuous words is not always a virtuous man. the man of perfect goodness is sure to possess courage, but the courageous man is not necessarily good. can true love be anything but exacting? how can our sense of duty allow us to abstain from admonition? the nobler sort of man tends upwards; the baser sort tends downwards. the princely type of man is modest in his speech, but liberal in his performance. the princely man has three great virtues, being too purely negative. it is almost impossible, hero and in other passages, to make any real distinction of meaning between te, the mani- festation of eternal principles in the soul of man, and jen, natural goodness of heart, though the former, being more universal and abstract, may be said to include oie latter, which generally implies a certain relation to one,s fellow- men. individual virtue spect you;' be magnanimous, and you will win all hearts; be sincere, and men will trust you; be earnest, and you will achieve great things; be benevolent, and you will be fit to impose your will on others. tzii lu asked: does not the princely man value courage ?—the master said: he puts righteousness first. the man of high station who has courage without righteousness is a menace to the state; the common man who has courage without righteousness is nothing more than a brigand. tzii kung asked: has the nobler sort of man any hatreds ?—the master replied: he has. he hates those who publish the faults of others; he hates men of low condition who vilify those above them; he hates those whose courage is unaccompanied by self-restraint; he hates those who are audacious but narrow-minded. and you, tz'u, he added, have you also your hatreds? —i hate, replied the disciple, those who think that wisdom consists in prying and meddling; courage, in showing no compliance ; and honesty, in denouncing other men. the chinese have a proverb: "a man must insult himself before others will." a good example of the fluctuating content of the term chiln tzii, which in the disciple's question implies morality without reference to rank, and in the master's reply rank and authority without definite moral qualities. confucius' estimate of others the master said: i may talk all day to hui without his putting in a word of criticism or dissent—just as though he were deficient in understanding. but after he has left me, i find, on examining his private conduct, that he knows for all that how to exemplify my teaching. no! hui is not deficient in understanding. tzu kung asked, saying: what, sir, is your opinion of me ?—i would liken you, tz'u, replied the master, to a vessel limited in its function.— what sort of vessel? asked tzu kung.—a richly ornamented sacrificial vessel, was the reply. some one remarked that yung had goodness of heart but no cleverness of speech.—the master said: of what use is cleverness of speech? those it is said elsewhere in the analects (see p. ) that " the higher type of man is unlike a vessel designed for some special use," which means that his moral capacity is not narrow and limited. tzu kung, then, it seems, had not fully grasped the higher principles of morality, was wanting in breadth of mind and the larger outlook on life. his aptitudes, however, were excellent so far as they went, and the master compliments him here on his proficiency in things relating to religious ceremonial. confucius, estimate op others who are always ready to assail others with their tongue are sure to make themselves disliked. as to yung,s goodness of heart i have no certain knowledge; but how would he benefit by having cleverness of speech? the master said: my teaching makes no head- way. how and if i were to board a raft and float away over the sea? my friend yu would come with me, i feel sure.—tzii lu, hearing this, was glad. the master continued: yu surpasses me in his love of daring, but he lacks discretion and judgment. meng wu po asked whether tzii lu had true moral virtue. the master replied: i do not know.—asked a second time, the master said: yu might be trusted to organise the military levies of a large and powerful state, but whether he is possessed of true virtue i cannot say.—and what is your opinion with regard to ch'iu ?—the master said: ch'iu might be entrusted with the government of a district numbering a thousand households or a hundred war-chariots, but whether he has true virtue i cannot say.—and ch'ih, what of him ?—the master said: ch'ih might be employed to stand in his official dress at a royal levee and converse with the visitors and guests; whether he has true virtue i cannot say. confucius probably wished to impress upon his questioner that true moral virtue (jen) was deeply implanted in the soul, confucius, estimate of others the master addressing tzu kung said: which of the two is the better man, you or hui ?—tzu kung replied: how can i venture to compare myself with hui? hui hears one point and promptly masters the whole. i hear one point and am only able to feel my way to a second.— the master agreed: no, you are not equal to hui; neither of us two ' is equal to hui. tsai yii used to sleep during the day. the master said: rotten wood cannot be carved, walls made of dirt and mud cannot be plastered: —what is the good of reprimanding yii? at first, he continued, my way of dealing with others was to listen to their words and to take their actions upon trust. now, my way is to listen to what they say and then to watch what they do. this change in me is owing to yii. the master said: i have never yet met a really strong character.—some one suggested shen ch'eng.—the master said: ch'eng is a slave to his passions. how can he possess strength of character? tzu kung said: i am anxious to avoid doing and not to be gauged offhand from the presence or absence of certain superficial signs. it is passing strange that the clumsy "i grant you" for wu yii ju (i and you) should have found favour with translators. wade even goes one better, by translating: "i award you this praise, hui does not equal you "! confucius' estimate of others to others that which i would not have them do to me. the master said: tz'u, you have not got as far as that. the master said of tzii ch'an ' that he had four of the qualities of the princely man :—in his personal demeanour he was grave, in serving those above him he was attentive, in his care for the people he was kind, in his ordering of the people he was just. the master said: yen p'ing knows the art of associating with his friends: however old the acquaintance may be, he always treats them with the same respect. ning wu tzii,s s behaviour was wise so long as his country was well governed; when revo- lution came, his behaviour was stupid. his wisdom may be equalled by others, but his stupidity is beyond all imitation. po i and shu ch'i never remembered old prime minister of the chsng state in the sixth century b.c. when he had ruled for three years, so great was the change effected that "doors were not locked at night, and lost articles were not picked up on the highway." confucius wept when he heard of his death. a minister in the neighbouring state of ch'i. a minister of the wei state in the seventh century b.c. in the revolution referred to the prince was driven from his throne, but afterwards reinstated through the "stupidity," that is to say, the unwavering loyalty and devotion of ning. these were brothers, celebrated for their protest against confucius' estimate of others injuries, and therefore their enemies were few. who will say that wei-sheng kao' was an upright man? when asked by somebody for some vinegar, he went and begged it of a neighbour, and gave this to the man who had asked him. for the space of three months together hui would not deviate in spirit from the path of perfect virtue. my other disciples may attain this height once in a day or in a month, but that is all. po niu ' lying sick unto death, the master went to visit him. he clasped his hand through the window and said: he is dying. such is fate. alas! that such a man should have such an illness, that such a man should have such an ill- ness! the overthrow of the yin dynasty. rather than live under the rule of the new sovereign, the great and virtuous wu wang, they wandered away inu the mountains to perish of cold and hunger. this fidelity to tho cause of chou hsin, one of the bloodiest and most infamous tyrants in history, seems a shade more quixotic than the conduct of those who espoused for so long the fallen fortunes of the house of stuart. this was a young man who, if legend may be trusted, died more heroically than he lived. he agreed to meet a girl under a bridge, but, woman-like, she failed to keep her appointment. though the water was rising rapidly, her lover waited on, unwilling to quit his post, and finally clung to a pillar until he was drowned. this is the man whom confucius, according to wade (see p. ), ranked below tzil kung! po niu is said to have been suffering from leprosy, and therefore he would not allow visitors to enter his room. confucius, estimate of others the master said: hui was indeed a philo- sopher! other men living as he did, in a miser- able alley, with a single dish of food and a single bowl of drink, could not have endured the distress. but hui was invariably cheerful. he was a philosopher indeed! jan ch'iu said: it is not that i have no joy in my master,s teaching, it is my strength that fails me.—the master replied: those whose strength fails them fall fainting by the way. what you do is to set up bounds which you will not attempt to pass. the master said: meng chih-fan is no braggart. once after a defeat, when he was bringing up the rear, he whipped his horse as he was about to enter the city gate, and cried: it is not courage that makes me last, it is my horse that won't gallop fast enough. the master addressing yen yuan said: it is only you and i who would be content to accept few will see anything harmful in this anecdote as told by confucius. yet it is actually made to figure in the general charge of insincerity and untruthfulness brought against him by legge. "the action was gallant," he says, "but the apology for it was weak and unnecessary. and yet confucius saw nothing in the whole but matter for praise." in the first place, legge entirely ignores the possibility that meng chih- fan was really speaking the truth. but even if it were other- wise, confucius, only comment is that he was " no braggart." surely it is an overstrained morality that could be offended by this. confucius' estimate of others public employment when it was offered to us, and to retire into obscurity when we were dis- missed.—tzu lu then said: if you, sir, had the conduct of three legions, whom would you associate with yourself in the command ?—i would not, replied the master, choose a man who would attack a tiger unarmed, cross a river without a boat, or sacrifice his fife without a moment's regret. rather should it be one who would not embark on an enterprise without anxiety, and who was accustomed to lay his plans well before putting them into execution. the master said: t'ai po may be said to have reached the summit of virtue. having reso- lutely renounced the imperial throne, he put it out of the people's power to glorify his act of renunciation ! compare moltke's motto: "erst wagen, dann wagen." tzu lu was noted for his reckless bravery. evidently jealous of the praise bestowed on yen yuan, he makes a delightfully artless attempt to secure some recognition for himself, but only draws down a reproof. the master's relations with this vain, impulsive, good-hearted disciple often remind one of thoso subsisting between dr. johnson and ooldsmith. t'ai po was tho direct heir to his father's throne, but knowing that tho latter wishod to bo succeeded by his youngest son (the father of the future wen wang, the virtual founder of the chou dynasty), he went into voluntary exile among the barbarous tribes of the south, but kept the motives of his conduct to himself, and thus obtained no credit for his self- sacrifice. confucius' estimate of others the master said: none of those who accom- panied me on the journey to the states of ch'en and ts'ai come to learn from me now.' dis- tinguished for their virtuous conduct were yen yuan, min tzii-ch'ien, jan po-niu and chung kung; for their skill in speaking, tsai wo and tzu kung; for their administrative powers, jan yu and chi lu; for their literary attain- ments, tzu yu and tzu hsia. hui does not help me —he takes such delight in everything i say. what noble piety' is that of min tzu-ch'ien! other men speak of him in exactly the same terms as his own parents and his own brethren. when yen yuan died, the master wept with this must have been said by confucius after his return from exile, when many of his followers were dead or in other parts of the empire. ch'en and ts'ai are particularly men- tioned because it was on the road between these two small states that he met with the most perilous adventure of his life, being surrounded by hostile troops and cut off from all supplies for the space of seven days (see p. ). it is not quite clear whether the next sentence should not be taken as a note added by the compiler, giving tho names of those who were with the master on this journey. a by criticism or questioning. cf. p. . on hsiao, occurring in another treatise, mr. ku hung- ming has the following note: "the word in the text does not mean merely a filial son, but has the meaning of the latin 'pius'—pious in its full sense, reverential to god, dutiful to parents, good, faithful and orderly in all the relations of life." confucius' estimate of others the head of the chi clan was already richer than chou kung, yet ch'iu kept levying taxes for him and adding to his wealth.—he is no disciple of mine, said the master. my children, you may beat the drum and attack him.' the master said: hui reaches the verge of perfection, yet he is often in great want. tz'u does not resign himself to the will of heaven, yet his worldly goods continue to increase. his judgments, however, frequently hit the mark. tzu lu asked if he should at once put the pre- cepts which he heard into practice.—the master said: there are your father and elder brothers to consult first; why should you be so impatient to act on what you hear ?—jan yu asked the same question, and the master said: yes, act at once according to the instruction that is given to you.—kung-hsi hua then said: when yu asked if he should put the precepts which he heard into practice, you replied, sir, that he had his father and elder brothers to consult first. when ch'iu asked the same question, you said: this was the disciple by whose agency confucius was finally restored to lu. but confucius was the last man to lot private considerations stand in the way when public interests were involved and a crying evil had to be redressed. "beating the drum" has no reference, as legge thinks, to "the practice of executing criminals in the market-place." it was simply the recognised signal in warfare for advancing to the attack, gongs being used to sound the retreat. confucius' estimate of others "act at once according to the instruction that is given to you." now i am puzzled, and beg for an explanation.—the master replied: ch'iu is apt to hang back, therefore i press him on. yu has eagerness enoughfor two, therefore i hold him back. chi tzii-jan' asked if chung yu and jan ch'iu could be termed great ministers. the master said: i thought you had something extraordinary to ask about, and now it turns out to be a question about yu and ch'iu. what men call a great minister is one who serves his prince according to the principles of truth and virtue, and when that is impossible, resigns. yu and ch'iu, however, can only be termed ordinary officials.—which is as much as to say that they will always obediently follow their master's will ?—the master replied : they would not follow him so far as to commit parricide or regicide. the master said: yu is the man to settle a long litigation in a few words. tzu kung was fond of weighing other men's merits and defects. the master said: surely tz'u must be a very great sage! personally, i have no time for this. a member of the ambitious family which was schoming to get the whole power of the dukedom into its own hands. the two disciples here mentioned had recently been enlisted in its service, and chi tzii-jan is anxious to find out how far they can be relied upon in caso of need. confucius sees through his nefarious designs. confucius on himself the master: i will not be grieved that other men do not know me: i will be grieved that i do not know other men. at fifteen, my mind was bent on learning. at thirty, i stood firm. at forty, i was free from delusions. at fifty, i understood the laws of providence. at sixty, my ears were attentive to the truth. at seventy, i could follow the prompt- ings of my heart without overstepping the mean. tzii kung was for doing away with the cus- tomary sacrifice of a sheep on the first day of the month. the master said : ah, tz'u, you grudge the loss of a sheep, but i grudge the loss of a ceremony. the master said: in any hamlet of a dozen houses you will surely find men as honest and conscientious as myself, though they may not be so devoted to ethical study. the master having gone to visit nan tzii, tho wife of the duke of wei, notorious for her intrigues, and even accused of incest. needless to say, chinese com- mentators are at great pains to explain away this incident in the life of the sage. s confucius on himself tzu lu was displeased. thereupon confucius swore a solemn oath, saying: in whatsoever i have sinned, may i be abominable in the sight of god! the master said: my function is to indicate rather than to originate. regarding antiquity as i do with trust and affection, i would venture to compare myself with our ancient patriarch p'eng tsu. the unpretentious hiving of wisdom, patient self-cultivation, and untiring instruction of others —to which of these can i make any claim? the failure to cultivate virtue, the failure to examine and analyse what i have learnt, the inability to move towards righteousness after being shown the way, the inability to correct my faults—these are the causes of my grief. alas! what a falling-off is here! long is it since i dreamt of chou kung. a grandson of the legondary emperor chunn hsu. he is said to have been over years old when ho disappeared into the west in the eleventh century n.c. the last words in the text are taken by some to mean " our patriarchs lao tzu and p'cng tsu "—lao tzu being the founder of taoism, who is also, by the way, alleged to have disappeared at an advanced age into the west. one of the most revered names in chinese history. the younger brother of wu wang, he helped materially by his wise counsels to establish the dynasty of chou. he drew up a legal code, purifiod the morals of the people, and devoted confucius on himself / is such that he forgets to eat; whose happiness in this pursuit is so great that he forgets his troubles and does not perceive old age stealing upon him "? the master said: in me, knowledge is not innate. i am but one who loves antiquity and is earnest in the study of it. if i am walking with two other men, each of them will serve as my teacher. i will pick out the good points of the one and imitate them, and the bad points of the other and correct them in myself. my disciples, do you think that i have any secrets? i have no secrets from you. it is my way to do nothing without communicating it to you, my disciples. there are men, i daresay, who act rightly without knowing the reason why, but i am not one of them. having heard much, i sift out the good and practise it; having seen much, i retain it in my memory. this is the second order of wisdom.' that is to say, the wisest men are those who act intuitively, without having to find their way by any con- scious mental process. confucius disclaims any such in- tuitive perception of right and wrong in his own case, and confesses that he is obliged to rely largely on objective experience, as acted upon by the critical and receptive powers of his mind. the saying has a distinctly taoist flavour. confucius on himself learning, he has nothing which can bring him fame.—on hearing this, the master turned to his disciples and said: what shall i take up? shall i take up charioteering or shall i take up archery? i will take up charioteering! the master said: the ancient rites prescribe linen as the material for a ceremonial cap, but nowadays silk is used as being more economical. in this matter i fall in with the general custom. according to the ancient rites, the prince is to be saluted from below the dais, but nowadays the salutation takes place above. this is pre- sumptuous, and therefore, though infringing thereby the general custom, i adopt the humbler position. a high officer asked tzii kung, saying: surely your master is a divine prophet? what a variety of accomplishments he seems to possess !— tzii kung replied: truly he must be a prophet, so richly has he been endowed by god. and he has also perfected himself in various arts.—the master, being told of this, said: does his ex- this saying well illustrates the master,s attitude in regard to ceremonies. he was no stickler for mere outward conformity to rule, so long as the inner meaning of the ceremony was not affected. now the salutation of the prince was simply intended to be a way of expressing heart- felt loyalty and respect, and it was only because the new position seemed less respectful that confucius opposed the change. confucius on himself cellency really know me now for what i am? being of low condition as a boy, i did become skilled in various arts—but these are base accom- plishments after all. if asked whether the higher type of man has many such accomplish- ments, i should say, not many. the master said: am i possessed of true knowledge? not so. but if an ignorant fellow from the lower class comes to me with a question, i will discuss the subject from end to end, and set it fully before him. tzii kung said to confucius: if you had a lovely jewel, would you hide it away in a casket, or would you try to sell it for a good price ?— the master replied: oh, certainly i would sell it, but i would wait until a price was offered. the master said: out of doors, to tender faithful service to prince and ministers; at home, to be duteous towards father and elder brothers; to observe the rites of mourning with see note on p. . question and answer are of course parabolical. the enthusiastic young disciple thinks that his master, in taking no steps to obtain official employment, is guilty of "hiding his jewel in a casket," or, as we should say, " his light under a bushel." confucius, however, had a great sense of the responsibility of office, and was loth to thrust himself forward uninvited. his chance came at last after fifteen years of waiting, when duke ting appointed him governor of the town of chung-tu. confucius on himself me for what i am.—tzu kung said: how is it, sir, that none know you ?—the master replied: i make no complaint against heaven, neither do i blame my fellow-men. in the study of virtue i begin at the bottom and tend upwards. surely heaven knows mo for what i am. tz'u, do you look upon me as a man who has studied and retained a mass of various knowledge? —i do, he replied. am i wrong ?—you are wrong, said the master. all my knowledge is strung on one connecting thread. i used to spend whole days without food and whole nights without sleep, in order to meditate. this accounts for men taking no notice of him. most so-called sagos start with grandiose ideals and high-flown utterances, in order to attract attention. this is rightly considered to be one of the most important of the master,s sayings, because it gives the clue to his whole philosophy and view of life. the "connecting thread," as we learn from another passage (see p. ), is simply the moral life, which consists in being true to oneself and good to one,s neighbour. confucius wished to impress upon his disciple that he was no mere amasser of knowledge nor lover of learning for learning,s sake. the one thing necessary, in his eyes, was to be able to lead, in the highest sense of the word, a moral life, and this was the real object of all learning, the end and aim of all knowledge. throughout the analects, as we have already seen, the usual word for " learning " always means or implies the study of virtue, the striving after self- improvement. like socrates, confucius was purely a moral philosopher, and would certainly have rejected the sharp distinction we draw nowadays between mental and moral science. confucius on himself but i made no progress. study, i found, was better. pi hsi sent an invitation to confucius, and the master wished to go. tzii lu, however, said: once upon a time, sir, i heard you say that the nobler sort of man would not enter into intimacy with one who laid himself out to do wrong. now pi hsi has raised the standard of rebellion in chung-mou. how can you think of going thither ?—true, replied the master. those were my words. but is there not a saying: "the hard may be rubbed without losing its substance; the white may be steeped without losing its purity "? am i then a bitter gourd—fit only to be hung up and not eaten? a rebellious official in the chin state. on more than one occasion in his career, confucius made it plain that he de- clined to be bound by narrow convention or hampered by the fear of what poople might say of him. to keep clear of bad associates was no doubt an excellent principle, but confucius may have seen some justification for pi hsi,s course of action, and in any case he was no longer of an age to be easily cor- rupted by evil communications. knowing that rules were never meant to be so rigid as to admit of no exceptions, he felt it his primary duty to go where he could do good. cf. the visit to nan tzii (p. ), the more idea of which would have horrified an ordinary teacher of morality. miscellaneous sayings observe a man's actions; scrutinise his motives; take note of the things that give him pleasure. how then can he hide from you what he really is? acquire new knowledge whilst thinking over the old, and you may become a teacher of others. the higher type of man is not like a vessel which is designed for some special use. study without thought is vain; thought with- out study is perilous. absorption in the study of the supernatural is most harmful. yu, shall i tell you what true knowledge is? when you know, to know that you know, and when you do not know, to know that you do not know—that is true knowledge. tzii chang was studying with a view to official preferment. the master said to him: among the various things you hear said, reserve your judgment on those which seem doubtful, and give cautious utterance to the rest: then you will seldom fall into error. among the various things you see done, set aside those which seem dangerous, and cautiously put the others into that is to say, he is not limited in his functions like a vessel or implement, not "borne" or a man of one idoa. cf. note on p. . miscellaneous sayings give her then a bushel.—but jan ch'iu eventually gave her as much as five hundredweight of grain. then the master rebuked him, saying: when ch'ih went to the ch'i state, he was conveyed by a team of sleek horses and was wearing costly fur garments. now i have heard that the princely man succours the distressed, but will not add to the opulence of the wealthy. yuan ssu, having been made governor of a district, was presented with nine hundred measures of grain. he declined them. the master said: do not decline them. may they not be distributed among the villages and town- ships of your neighbourhood? the master said: who can go out of a house except by the door? in life, why not pass likewise through the door of virtue?' you may speak of higher subjects to those who rise above the average level of mankind, but not to those who fall below it. with coarse food to eat, water to drink, and the bended arm as a pillow, happiness may still exist. wealth and rank unrighteously obtained seem to me as insubstantial as floating clouds. the inhabitants of hu-hsiang were uncon- the proper allowance for an officer in his station. as being, in the end, the most natural and least trouble- some route to take. miscellaneous sayings sedition. the man without natural virtue, if pursued by the hatred of society, will become a desperado. if a man is proud and avaricious, though his other qualities may embrace all that was fine in the character of chou kung, they are not worth taking into account. it is not easy to find a man who after three years of self-cultivation' has not reached happiness. he who is out of office should not meddle in the government. hot-headedness without honesty; ignorance without ingenuousness; simplicity without sin- cerity :—such characters i do not understand. pursue the study of virtue as though you could never reach your goal, and were afraid of losing the ground already gained. the master said: i have not met one whose love of virtue was equal to his love of sensual beauty. though in making a mound i should stop when but one more basketful of earth would complete it, the fact remains that i have stopped. on the other hand, if in levelling it to the ground i literally, "learning." see notos on pp. and . the commentators soem right in their explanation, that a man's defects are usually redeemed by certain corresponding qualities; when even these are absent, the case is hopeless. miscellaneous sayings act boldly. in a country where lawlessness prevails, let your actions be bold but your speech tactful. it is harder to be poor without murmuring, than to be rich without arrogance. the men of olden times who studied virtue had only their own improvement in view; those who study it now have an eye to the applause of others. refusal to instruct one who is competent to learn entails the waste of a man. instruction of one who is incompetent to learn entails waste of words. the wise man is he who wastes neither men nor words. those whose care extends not far ahead will find their troubles near at hand. he who requires much from himself and little from others will be secure from hatred. if a man is not in the habit of asking, "what do you make of this? what do you make of that?" i can make nothing of him. hopeless indeed is the case of those who can herd together all day long without once letting their conversation reach a higher plane, but are content to bandy smart and shallow wit. literally, "reach righteousness." personalia in his moments of leisure, the master,s manner was uniformly cheerful and smiling. if the master happened to be dining beside one who was in mourning for his parents, he never ate a full meal. he never sang on any day in the course of which he had been bewailing a death. the master would never talk about prodigies, feats of strength, crime, or supernatural beings. the master made four things the subject of his teaching: a knowledge of literature and the arts, conduct, conscientiousness and truthfulness. the master fished with a line but not with a net. when he went out with bow and arrow, he only shot at birds on the wing. if the master happened to be with singers, and they sang a piece well, he would get them to under those circumstances, it is easy to imagine how edified he would be by the modern daily press, which subsists almost entirely on these very topics. i am unable to improve on this rendering, which is borrowed from mr. ku hung-ming. personalia change, and his legs seemed to bend under him. standing in the presence of the visitors, he saluted them with clasped hands, turning about from right to left, and keeping the skirt of his robe properly adjusted, back and front. he then hastened forward with arms extended like the wings of a bird. when a visitor departed, he would report in that sense to the prince, saying: "the visitor is not looking back."' when he entered the gate of the palace, he seemed to bend his body as though the gate were not large enough to let him pass. he did not stand in the middle of the doorway, nor in passing through did he set foot on the threshold. when he passed the prince's throne, his expression seemed to change, his legs seemed to bend under him, and words seemed to fail him. holding up his robe with both hands, he ascended the dais, his body slightly bent, and holding his breath as though he dared not breathe. when he came out from his audience and had descended tho first step, his countenance lost its anxious expres- sion, and he looked serene and happy. when he reached the bottom of the steps, he hastened away with his arms outstretched like wings ; but when he got back to his place, he still seemed full of awe. "the ways of china, it appears, were much the same anciently as now. a guest turns round and bows repeatedly in leaving, and the host cannot return to his place till these salutations are ended."—legge. personalia he carried the prince's regalia with body slightly bent, as though he could hardly support its weight; he raised it to the height of his head, and lowered it again to the height of his chest. his countenance indicated nervousness, and he dragged his feet as though something held them to the ground. in offering presents as an ambassador, his appearance was sedate. at a private audience, he wore a pleased look. he would not eat meat that was clumsily cut, or served without its proper sauce. although there might be an abundance of meat, he never let it exceed in quantity the vegetable food. in wine alone he laid down for himself no particular limit, but he never reached the stage of intoxica- tion. he took ginger at every meal. he did not eat much. when eating, he did not converse; when in bed, he did not speak. even though he had nothing but coarse rice and vegetable soup, he would always reverently offer some to the ancestral spirits. he would not sit on a mat' that was placed awry. on one occasion, chi k'ang tzu having sent him some medicine, he bowed as he received it, the chinese of that date dispensed with chairs, as the japanese have done up to the present time. personalia saying: not being familiar with this drug, i would not venture to try it. his stables having been burnt down, the master on his return from the court said: has any one been hurt ?—he did not ask about the horses. if the prince sent him a present of cooked meat, he would sit down to taste it on a properly placed mat. if the prince sent him a present of raw meat, he would have it cooked and offer it in sacrifice. if the prince sent him a live animal, he would keep it alive. when the prince summoned him to his presence, he would go on foot without waiting for his carriage. if any of his friends died who was without a home or relations, he would say: i will see to the funeral. in bed, he did not lie like a corpse. in his home life, his manner was not too formal. at the sight of a person in mourning, though it might be an intimate acquaintance, he would always look grave. on meeting an official in uniform, or a blind man, however ragged, he would always show him some mark of respect. the point is, that in his solicitude for others confucius never thought of his own loss, not that he was indifferent to the suffering of animals. confucius as seen by others have never failed to obtain an audience of any sage who has visited these parts.—he was thereupon introduced by the master's followers, and on coming out he said: my sons, why grieve at your master's fall from power? the empire has long been lying in evil ways, but now god is going to make confucius his herald to rouse the land. the master said: shen, a single principle runs through all my teaching. —tseng tzu answered, yes.—when the master had gone out, the dis- ciples asked, saying: what principle does he mean ?—tseng tzu said: our master's teaching simply amounts to this: loyalty to oneself and charity to one's neighbour.' literally, "is going to use him as a bell with a wooden clapper''—this being the instrument used in making announce- ments or to call the people together. the friendly prefect's prophecy was to be fulfilled more wonderfully than ever he could have imagined. never, perhaps, in the history of the human race has one man exerted such an enormous influence for good on after generations. legge's rendering, "my doctrine is that of an all-per- vading unity," is quite untenable, and no other translator has followed him here. the logic of the passage obviously re- quires the meaning given above. this saying should be compared with those on pp. and . it is generally acclaimed as the best epitome of confucian teaching, yet it was reserved for mr. ku hung-ming, a chinaman,to give the first correct translation of it in english. the two important words are chung and ehu, "conscientious- ness " and " charity," for which see notes on pp. and . legge's version, " to be true to the principles of our nature and the benevolent exercise of them to others," though ponderous, would seem to have hit the true meaning, had he not spoilt confucius as seen by others yen yuan heaved a deep sigh and said: the more i look at our master's teaching, the higher it seems. the more i test it, the more reliable it appears. i am gazing at it in front of me, when lo! it is suddenly behind me. our master knows how to draw men after him by regular steps. he broadens our outlook by means of polite learning, and restrains our impulses by means of inward self-control. even if i wished to stop, i could not do so; yet after i have exhausted all my efforts in pursuit of the goal, there still remains something inaccessible rising up beyond; and though i would fain make towards it, i cannot find the way. tzu lu once passed the night in shih-men, where the gate-keeper said to him: where do you come from ?—tzu lu replied: from the school of confucius.—oh, is he not the man, said the other, who is trying to do what he knows to be impossible ? it by a note to the effect that shu is "duty-doing on the principle of reciprocity." it has nothing on earth to do with reciprocity, being in fact that disinterested love of one,s neighbour which was preached five hundred years later in palestine. the other precept, embodied in the word chung, is exactly shakespeare,s "to thine own self be true "—a noble moral conception for which, obscured as it has been by bungling translators, confucius has never yet received full credit. the age in which confucius lived was so given over to the forces of disorder, militarism and intrigue, and the chances of a moral reformer were regarded as so hopeless, that it was confucius as seen by others ch'en k'ang asked po yii, saying: have you ever received any secret teaching from your father ?—he replied: no. but once, when i was passing hurriedly through our hall, i met my father standing alone, and he said: have you studied the odes ?—i replied, not yet.—he said: if you do not study the odes, you will have no conversation.—thereupon i withdrew and studied the odes. another day i met him again standing alone as i hastened through the hall, and he said: have you studied the book of rites ? —i replied: not yet.—he said: if you do not study the book of rites, you will have no stability of character.—i withdrew and studied the book of rites. these are the two pieces of instruction i have received.—ch'en k'ang went away rejoicing and said: i asked about one thing and have learned three—some- a common thing for men of principle to retire from public affairs altogether, and either lead the sequestered life of a hermit or take to some mean employment for a living. the gate-keeper here is said to have been one of this class. con- fucius, however, was made of sterner stuff, and it may be claimed that he did ultimately, through sheer force of char- acter, succeed in achieving the "impossible." the " style " or familiar name of k'ung li, the only son of confucius. a li here is obviously the name of a book, and not " the rules of propriety" or even "the arts," as legge and mr. ku hung-ming respectively take it. at the same time, we must be careful not to identify it with the now existing li chi or book of rites, which did not take shape until a much later period. confucius as seen by others man who withdraws from prince after prince in succession, would it not be better to follow a man who has withdrawn from the world alto- gether ?—and he went on hoeing without a pause. tzu lu went back and reported these remarks, whereupon the master looked surprised and said: we cannot join the company of birds and beasts. if i am not to associate with these men of the ruling class, with whom am i to associate?' if right principles prevailed in the empire, then indeed there would be no need for me to reform it. shu-sun wu-shu, speaking to the ministers at court, said: tzu kung is a greater sage than confucius.—tzu-fu ching-po' repeated this to tzii kung, who said: let me use the simile of a house surrounded by a wall. my wall rises only to the height of a man's shoulders, so that any one can look over and see the excellence of the idea is, " every man to his own trade. why should i not then busy myself with government—the subject to which i have devoted my life?" i do not agree with legge that the compiler of this chapter could not have been a disciple of the sage. confucius successfully refutes the laisser- faire argument of the hermit, who would dissuade him from reform on the strange and unsatisfactory ground that the world's affairs were in a thoroughly bad state. to any one but a taoist it would be evident that this was the very time for reform. a leading member of one of the three great families in the lu state. s a high official. sayings op the disciples princely type? of the princely type he is indeed! the authorities of lu were proposing to re- \y construct the long treasury. min tzu-ch'ien said : why not restore it, rather, in the ancient style? why is it necessary to renovate it al- together ?—the master said: this man is no talker, but when he does speak, he speaks to the purpose. ssu-ma niu lamenting said: all other men have brothers; i alone have none.—tzu hsia said to him: i have heard it said that life and death are divine dispensations, that wealth and rank depend on the will of god. the higher type of man is unfailingly attentive to his own conduct, and shows respect and true courtesy to others. thus all within the four seas' are his brethren. how then should he grieve at having no brothers? chi tzu-ch'eng said: the higher type of man is possessed of solid qualities, and that is all. what has he to do with the ornamental ?—tzu kung replied: i am sorry, sir, to hear you say such a thing about the higher type of man; for a four-horse chariot cannot overtake the spoken word. the value of the ornament and the value believed to constitute the boundaries of the habitable earth, like homer's ocean-river. hence the phrase is used as a synonym for the chinese empire. a a minister in the wei state. a proverb. = . #arbarb (college librarg ". shakespeare collection from the gift of walter wehle naumburg (class of ) of new york the fools of shakespeare t h e foo ls of shakespeare an interpretation of their wit, wisdom and persona/ities by frederick warde mcbride, nast & company rolls house, breams buildings london | h & , & - &n ard couſ, °oct ° library ºf * // ???? law, **** - copyright, , in the united states of america by mcbride, nast & co. arinted in the united states of america by vail-ballou co., new york, to the memory of that gallant gentle- man, loyal friend and splendid actor, louis james, in close association with whom were spent the happiest years of my profes- sional life, is dedicated all that may be found worthy in the following pages. *, * - º faeae! –---- preface foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. - how far the above epigram may apply to the compiler of this work, may be a mattes of opinion. among the legion of books dealing with the characters of shakespeare, i have found the ma- jority to be devoted to his tragic and serious crea- tions, a few to his humorous types, but none to his fools. in the course of a lengthy career upon the stage, which has been chiefly devoted to the plays of shakespeare, i have witnessed the performance of these fools by accomplished actors whose skill has illuminated the text, and whose abilities have vitalized the poet's creations till they lived in my mind, not as imaginary beings, but as real men who walked, talked, and gamboled before me. i have listened to their words, laughed at their wit, pondered on their wisdom, and have marveled i ii preface that their point and significance have apparently escaped the notice of so many readers and students. this must be my excuse, if not my justification, for the book. the matter was the subject of one of my lec- tures, under the title, “the wit and wisdom of shakespeare's fools” and included in my series “shakespeare and his plays.” i found, however, the material so abundant i could not include it in the limited time at my command on the platform. i have therefore elaborated the theme, enlarged the scope of the design, and divided it into chapters, which i hope will enter- tain the reader, instruct the student, and prove of some interest generally. i make no claim to originality, and have en- deavored in all instances to credit the author with the thoughts i have quoted. i have found occasion in several instances, to differ with some of the well known shakespearean scholars; but it must always be remembered that i speak from the view-point of the actor, for whom, and for whom alone the plays were written. preface iii i have not entered the literary dissecting room, nor invaded the realm of psychology. the line of demarcation between humor and imbecility, folly and insanity, i leave to the professional alienist. i have taken the characters as they appear in the plays and as i conceive the author intended them, with due reference to their relation to the other characters. i proceed upon the fact that shakespeare, being an actor, wrote these plays to be acted. that his purpose was to create or draw the characters as he saw or imagined them for dramatic presenta- tion. i believe their literary quality was a mat- ter of comparative indifference to him, the cre- ation of the plot, the conception of the charac- ters, and the arrangements of the incidents being his first, if not his only consideration. the beauty of diction, the delicate imagery, the exquisite poetry, and the sublime philosophy, were the spontaneous expression of his transcendent but unconscious genius the fools of shakespeare frederick warde as “cecco” in “the duke's jester” t h e f o o l s of shakes pear e an interpretation of their wit, wisdom and person a /ities by frederick warde †: & <--> * * mcbride, nast & company rolls house, breams buildings london | - * h & , & - § ard º oct library & ſº- * * r ), ; ) lawłºwº, copyright, , in the united states of america by mcbride, wast & co. arinted in the united states of america by vail-ballou co., awew york, to the memory of that gallant gentle- man, loyal friend and splendid actor, louis james, in close association with whom were spent the happiest years of my profes- sional life, is dedicated all that may be found worthy in the following pages. * * ±± • preface foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun; it shines everywhere. - how far the above epigram may apply to the compiler of this work, may be a mattes of opinion. among the legion of books dealing with the characters of shakespeare, i have found the ma- jority to be devoted to his tragic and serious crea- tions, a few to his humorous types, but none to his fools. in the course of a lengthy career upon the stage, which has been chiefly devoted to the plays of shakespeare, i have witnessed the performance of these fools by accomplished actors whose skill has illuminated the text, and whose abilities have vitalized the poet's creations till they lived in my mind, not as imaginary beings, but as real men who walked, talked, and gamboled before me. i have listened to their words, laughed at their wit, pondered on their wisdom, and have marveled i preface iii i have not entered the literary dissecting room, nor invaded the realm of psychology. the line of demarcation between humor and imbecility, folly and insanity, i leave to the professional alienist. i have taken the characters as they appear in the plays and as i conceive the author intended them, with due reference to their relation to the other characters. i proceed upon the fact that shakespeare, being an actor, wrote these plays to be acted. that his purpose was to create or draw the characters as he saw or imagined them for dramatic presenta- tion. i believe their literary quality was a mat- ter of comparative indifference to him, the cre- ation of the plot, the conception of the charac- ters, and the arrangements of the incidents being his first, if not his only consideration. the beauty of diction, the delicate imagery, the exquisite poetry, and the sublime philosophy, were the spontaneous expression of his transcendent but unconscious genius scan the records of the thoughts of men, on graven stone, or papyrus leaf; on parchment scroll or printed page, through all the eons of the ages past to the high noontide of the passing day: then add the sum, and its grand total will be beggared by the genius of one name, alone. shakespeare! frederick warde. contents introduction . . . . . . . . . . i the fool in life and literature . . . . - vyonick • . . . . . . . . . . . - touchstone . . . . . . . . . . . & *trinculo in “the tempest" . . . . . . * este in welfth night" . . . . . . f “t n lº launcelot gobbo in “the merchant of venice” . . . . . . . . . . . io .citizen in “julius caesar” . . . . . . i i the clown in “antony and cleopatra” . . the grave-diggers in “hamlet" . . . . launce and speed in “the two gentlemen of verona” . . . . . . . . . . i - the fool in “king lear”. . . . . . . contents introduction . . . . . . . . . . the fool in life and literature . . . . yorick . . . . . . . . . . . . touchstone . . . . . . . . . . . ‘ſkinculo in “the tempest" . . . . . . feste in “twelfth night” . . . . . . launcelot gobbo in “the merchant of venice" . . . . . . . . . . . .citizen in “julius caesar” . . . . . . the clown in “antony and cleopatra” . . the grave-diggers in “hamlet’’ . . . . launce and speed in “the two gentlemen of verona” . . . . . . . . . . the fool in “king lear” . . . . . . . page io i i i i ----- - - - ~- ------- - illustrations , frederick warde as “cecco” in “the duke's jester” . . . . . . frontispiece facing page * edwin booth as “bertuccio” in “the fool's revenge” . . . . - - - - james lewis as “touchstone” in “as you like it" . . . . . . . . . . . . ^t. c. cooke as “trinculo” in “the tempest” . y e. y. backus as “feste” in “twelfth night” . . (charles charters as “launcelot gobbo” in “the merchant of venice” . . . . . . . ii * louis james as “pepé” in “francesco da rimini” . james lewis and sidney herbert as “launce” and “speed” in “the two gentlemen of verona” o i the fools of shakespeare introduction the somewhat trite old adage, “it takes a wise man to make a fool,” is familiar to us all, but the full point and significance of the proverb is only comprehended by those who are familiar with mediaeval history, romance, or poetry. its apparent inconsistency, however, is founded upon a substantial basis of reason, and a brief relation of mediaeval conditions will show the truth of the adage, and the point of its application. in the early and middle ages it was customary for a monarch, prince, or a powerful noble to have in his retinue or household a fool or jester, whose office was to entertain and amuse his master and his friends. he was quite an important person- age; enjoyed privileges, and was permitted liber- ties that were denied the greatest nobles, the closest friends, or the nearest kindred of his mas- ter. nor birth nor rank were immune from the jests i introduction and pranks of “the jester,” the monarch himself often bearing with good humor the jibes that would have cost the life of one less privileged. the fool was, however, exempt, upon the prin- ciple that “there is no slander in an allowed fool.” usually a favorite with his master, his influence was sought in many a state and court intrigue, for under the cloak of folly he could by tale or parable, tell his patron truths that others could not or would not speak, and approve or ridicule any scheme or project that his interest or wishes might desire. however plain his truths or bitter his satire few were rash enough to retali- ate, and woe to that noble or courtier who might incur the enmity or displeasure of the fool, for he would become the target of his wit and the butt of his jests, with little hope of redress, or oppor- tunity for revenge. the life of a jester was a lonely one: he was subject to the caprices of his master, contemned above the board, hated below it, yet feared by all. to play such a part successfully required a man introduction of more than ordinary wisdom. he could not be without learning. he must be a man of great observation, judgment, and understanding; quick to take advantage of every occasion for the exer- cise of his wit, with judgment of the time, and discretion as to what to say as well as what to leave unsaid. times have changed. progress and evolution have brought new conditions; folly no longer carries a bauble, and the man who was wise enough to wear the motley of the mediaeval fool might don to-day the robe of the justice, or the toga of the statesman with dignity to the office and honor to himself. the requirements of a court fool are well de- scribed by viola in “twelfth night,” act , sc. . vº this fellow's wise enough to play the fool, and to do that well craves a kind of wit: he must observe their mood on whom he jests, the quality of persons, and the time, and, like the haggard, check at every feather that comes before his eye. this is a practice as full of labor as a wise man’s art; for folly that he wisely shows is fit, but wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. . introduction the dress of the fool was a motley or parti- colored doublet and hose, with the arms of the house to which he belonged embroidered on the breast or thigh; his head-dress, a hood parti- colored like his coat, and surmounted by a cocks- comb; his emblem, which he always carried, was a lath or short staff, headed by a miniature hood and cockscomb similar to his own called a bauble, and was as sacred to the fool as the sword to the soldier, or the crest to the knight. the bauble also served as a protection, and rendered him immune from the anger of those whom he might offend—for, to strike the fool was considered the act of a coward. the cap, bauble, and points of the jester's dress were adorned with small bells that jingled as he moved, and gave warning of his approach. y jaques, in “as you like it,” thus enumerates the privileges of a fool: o, that i were a fool! i am ambitious for a motley coat. i must have liberty withal, as large a charter as the wind, introduction to blow on whom i please: for so fools have: and they that are most galled with my folly, they must most laugh. and why, sir, must they so? the “why” is plain as way to parish church: he, that a fool doth very wisely hit, doth very foolishly, although he smart, not to seem senseless of the bob; if not the wise man's folly is anatomis'd even by the squandering glances of the fool. invest me in my motley: give me leave to speak my mind, and i will through and through cleanse the foul body of the infected world, if they will patiently receive my medicine. the jester was not usually a gentleman, but history records several instances where men of gentle birth and breeding have filled the office: sometimes from design or policy, and sometimes because of physical infirmities which rendered them incapable of bearing arms, or prevented them from taking part in feats of chivalry in field or tourney. not infrequently the jester was a dwarf or cripple, his deformity giving a grotesque- ness to his appearance and grim point to his satire. dr. doran, in his “history of court fools,” " gives us the following legend, as the origin of the character, and the office: \ * * | - introduction once upon a time, it happened that all olympus was dull and the gods were moping about, simply bored to death. it was a warm summer day and in a distant valley below they could see a group of greek peasants disporting on the green turf in gala attire. the happy rustics were dancing and singing, enjoying the bright sunshine, and the sounds of their mirth floated up faintly to the gods in a manner that was altogether offensive to them. “omnipotent father,” cried mercury, ill-natur- edly, “it would be rare sport, o king of gods and men, to scatter all these gaily-robed revelers, and by a shower spoil their finery and their fun.” the suggestion was enthusiastically received by the assembled deities. “i propose an amendment,” exclaimed juno, with feminine sympathy. “before you send the rain, let your priest from the shrine below an- nounce to the people that a shower is about to descend, but it shall wet only fools.” zeus, approving, a slight sound of thunder was heard, and the priest stood in front of the altar and made the requisite announcement to the peo- ----+---+--~~~~). --~~~~ ~~~~ ------ - ~~~~==---------- ----------- - the fools of shakespeare the fools of shake- speare the fool in life and in literature istory records the names of a number of men who in the character of court fool have made themselves famous both in word and deed. of these one of the most distinguished was triboulet, court jester to king francis i, of * france. triboulet was a nickname, but we know no other. he was deformed in body, ludicrous in appearance, but of a very brilliant mind. his wisdom was equal to his wit, and he was, at times, both fool and adviser to the king. francis was deeply attached to him and he returned the af- fection loyally. much of his wit is recorded, and his pranks at the meeting of his master with king henry viii, of england, at the “field of the cloth of gold,” are related in the chronicles in life and in literature abeth. heywood, however, was also a drama- tist of some distinction, and tarleton, a very pop- ular comic actor of the period. later we find archie armstrong, at the court of james i; and tom killigrew, who besides being jester was “master of the revels,” to charles i. the lat- ter is described by pepys as “a merry droll, but a gentleman of great esteem with the king.” killigrew was probably the last of the licensed court fools, and the office of household jester ceased to exist, the character subsequently degen- erating into the itinerant merry-andrew, a buffoon who appeared at country fairs and village festi- vals, and is now seen only at christmas time with the mummers that accompany the waits and carol singers in old-fashioned english villages. in romance the fool has prominently figured, always with picturesque and frequently with dra- matic effect. sir walter scott, in his romantic novel “ivan- hoe,” has described with much detail and fidelity the character of “wamba,” and has given us a very accurate and impressive picture of the life the fools of shakespeare and characteristics of the jester-minstrel of the time of richard coeur-de-lion. we are indebted to victor hugo, in “le roi s’ammuse,” for a striking and powerful picture of the italian court fool. the character is more familiar, perhaps, in a dramatic version of the same story, called “the fool’s revenge,” by tom taylor, in which the late edwin booth gave such a wonderfully effective presentation of the poor deformed jester bertuccio, concealing under the motley garb and mocking tones of the fool the intensity of a father's love. the french court fool is most picturesquely presented in “la dame de monsereau,” in which the elder dumas has woven a very interesting and exciting romance around the character of “chicot,” jester to king henry iii. chicot is represented as a gallant soul, full of honor and chivalry, as ready with his sword as with his wit, both being equally effective. the romance was dramatized for me recently, under the title of “the duke's jester,” by mr. espey williams, who transferred the scene of action from the court from an etching by h. j. hennessy in possession of "the players,” new york edwin booth as “bertuccio” in “the fool's revenge” ! ±± --Æ æ! =!= ) --★ → −e § –= -x=è=ī - º----ae; ~--~ … ." - . / ... }, ... " * * * : * > . ’ º * y new york d. a p p l e to n a n d c o m p a n y , , and bond street i i cº. r q o. i. -o ſ | < * , */ . / , ſhwº * , + - * * * (...i. c t : * e g f * - a * f : . . . . ~ pr e fa c e. —º-o-e - as “good wine needs no bush, so words of wit and wisdom, whether falling from the lips, or flowing from the pen, of a great man, do not call for a preface—and no one will gainsay the fact that benjamin dis- raeli, earl of beaconsfield, was one of the greatest men of the century—probably the greatest, when the difficulties which he had to overcome are taken into consideration. it is not given to many to excel either in action or in thought; to very few indeed to be facile princeps in both, as was lord beaconsfield—a janus of litera- ture and politics, in the study a thackeray, a boling- broke in the senate. but this is neither the time nor the place for panegyric. the air is still ringing with the voice of unanimous england, proclaiming the patience and the patriotism of the great statesman, extolling the eloquence of the brilliant debater, the sparkling phrases of the witty writer, who has just passed away. vi preface. this selection does not purport to be exhaustive— very far from it. it would be easy to compile other volumes equally wise and witty. the gold nearest the surface has been extracted from the rich lode, but an ample store of nuggets remains to reward the seeker; and the object of the present work will be more than accomplished if it induces others to look for further treasure in the writings and speeches of the earl of beaconsfield. it only remains to add that the present work was begun before lord beaconsfield's last illness, and that, though the manuscript was never in his hands, he expressed his approval and looked forward to its publication with interest. \ ability . . . absence . e e abuse . - action adoption . - - advantage adventure adversity advice age. - agitation - alhambra - alliteration ambition e america . - e americans . - anecdote. anglo-french alliance . anonymous anxiety . • pologies º archery . • º architecture . aristocracy . - armine (ferdinand art. º - - ashantee. assassination . association austria . authors . autumn . c o n t e n t s. •-e oe- page || badinage i | balaclava i | bar. - - - || baronetcy e | baths beauty . - || bellair (lady) - || bentinck (lord george) | bishop . • - | blue-stocking . | blush . | bolingbroke | books | bow - • | breakfast - io brecon (duke of) io bribery . - io brougham (lord) | buckinghamshire | byron || cab. | cabal | cabinet . - || cadurcis (captain). || calamities . - | calculation . - | canning. || capital . - i || cards || casualties - || catesby (monsignore) cause - - page viii contents. page page celibacy . corisande (lady) . chance corporations change country houses chapel credit . character creed charity . crimean war christianity critics . - - church . cyprus . - - circuit dacre (may) circumstances. id.ance - city dawn . - - . civilisation - - • day • clergyman of the old school . death club - - - idebate coalition ix-baters . cobden debt coercion . idelicacy . coffee o democracy colonies . - o departures combination . - o deputations commerce - o derby (earl of) commercial distress o derby race (the) commercial word o despair . commission .i desperation committee .i destiny . common sense .i de trop . complain development composition .i digestion conceit dinner conciliation diplomacy ios conduct . diplomatists ios conference dissolution ios coningsby divinity. . io conscience divorce . . ioff conservatism . bon quixote - iog conservatism in downing street . . io conservative . idress . - - io/ consol's puel - - io/ constancy iduke and duchess . . io/ constantinople | duke of st. james . io constituencies o dynasties - • iio constitution aast - - • i io conversation east india company ... i io coquette . economy. - - ... i iq – contents. x page pace education - ... iio formality . i egyptian ornament ... iii fortune . . i flection . - ... ii frankfort fair . i eloquence • ii a rankness . i emigration ... ii-e freedom . . i empire . ... ii free trade . i fms . ii french . • i endowment • . ii friendship . - . endymion and myra . ii frill (count) . . i endymion - ... ii future . . i energy . gambling • i england. . i garden . i english . ... i gardener - . enterprise . ii gay (lucian). - . i anthusiasm . i genius . - - - . equality . i o gentlemen . i estate . i o geology - . i eternity. . i gerard (walter) . aºton . i i girl of the period . i ava . i i g/adstone - - . evening . . i glastonbury (adrian) . i events - - . i government - . i o everingham (lady) . i grandison (cardinal) . i exaggeration . . i granted . - . i expediency . i gratitude . i experience . i greatness . i explain . . i grecian . . i axtreme . . i greece - . i faith . grey (vivian) . i fame . - . grief . - - - . i fane (violet) . . guy flouncey (mr. and mrs.). farewell. . half-measures - - . afashion . - • . hampshire (marquis and mar- fate: - - - . chioness of) . . feebleness, . aſand . feeling . Æansard. . i aenians . - . i aappiness . i ferrol (count of) . i Æeart - - . i figures . . i herbert (marmion). . i finance . . i beroes - . firmness . i history . . flattery . . i holidays. . flirtation . i płome - - - . florence . - - . i hope - - - - . x contents. pſorse exercise house of commons . house of lords hume (mr.) idea ignorance imagination imogene . imprudence impudence impulse . inheritance india institutions . - intellect . intrigue . invention ireland . irish isandula. italian lakes . jacobin . jerusalem jesuits jews jobs justice aitchen . knowledge iland law lawyers . learning lebanon . legislators leman, lake . aletters - lewis (sir george). aliberalism - life lineage . aliterature ilocal insignificant beginnings page . . . . . . . . . . . . o . o . o . . i i . i i . i . . i . i . i . i . i . . . . . i&i . . . . . . . . . . i . . i . i . i . page ilocalities . i london . i dong-sight . iord mayor - . dord mayor's day . . alouis xiv. . ilove - - - - . iowe, robert (lord sherbrooke) duck - - - . lyle (eustace) . machine . - - . majority - - - . man - - . manners . manufacturer. . marriage • ui ameasures. . i mediterranean . melbourne (lord) . memory . . metaphysics . . millbank (mr.) - . millbank (oswald). • millbank (edith) . minister. . ministry. . amission . - - . monastics . money . - . i monmouth (lord) . i montfort (lord) . i montfort (lady) . moon - - . morality. - . morley (stephen) . morning. . mountain air . mountain valleys . music . myra - - - . mystery . - - - . mation . - - - . awational petition • o nationality . - - . contents. x pace page mature . o petrarch . . mecessity. - - - . philosophy . a/euchatel (adrian, lord phaebus (mr.). • hainault) . - - . phaebus (madame) . . meuchatel, mrs. (lady hai- ahysician - . nault). - - - . piety - . meuchatel (adriana) . pigeon-shooting . meutrality . pinto (mr.) . mezws . - . anºtt . might . • - plato . avon-intervention . pleasure . . monsense. - • . poet . movel (receipt for writing a). poetry . . movelty . - - - . policy . . . oblivion . . . politics . - . obscure . . political economy . . . offer - - . popular gratitude . - . old gentleman • population . - - . opportunity . post office . opposition - - - . power . orator (job thornberry) . practical . oratory . - - - . prayer . . originality . . . | precedent . ortolans. - - . press . oxford . . - - . pretenders . oxford (a professor at). . pride of ancestry . palmerston (lord). . princess alice. . parents . - . prince consort . paris . princes . - . Æarliament . private secretaries. . party . processions . -- . parvenies . profound . past - . | property. - . patience . . | prophecy ( ) . patriotism . . prophet . . peace • protection . pearls . - . | proverbs. . peel (sir robert) . | prudence - - - . peerage . . | public . - - - . people . . | publicity - - - . perseverance . . purpose . - - . . personal. - . | queen . - - - . . personality of creator . question . - - - . . personality of devil - • Æace - - - - . xii contents. page page radical . - . sensible . • raglan (lord) . sentimental • railway mania . sergius (baron) . a’ank . . services . - - • a'eaction . - . servility - - • recess . seville . . . reciprocity . shower - - . . reform . sidney (lord henry) . . religion . . sidonia . - - . a’emorse . . silence - o republican . sleep . - . o a’esolution . smile - . a'etirement . social . . a’etrenchmen? . . society . retrogression . . sorrow . . a'evolution . - . southey . - • a’idicule . . sovereignty . - • rigby (mr.) . || spaniards . - • a'itualism . spanish bullfight . . a’zzers - . spanish fan . rodney (mrs.) . oo | special correspondent • rodney (mr.). . oi speech - . roehampton (lord), . oi speed . a’ome - - . o spirits . . a'outine . . o spring - - . royalty . st. aldegonde (lord) . aºurnour . . . o statesmanship . russell (lord john) || statesmen • aºussia - station . - - • russian . st. jerome (lady) . • sacerdotal stock exchange • sanitas . strength • satiety sublimity • scepticism success • school summer evening • schoolboy || sun • science . sunday . scotch - io sunrise . . scrope (sir fraunceys) . ro superannuation . sea. e - - . superior persons . season . - • i suspense . . .sedition . p . switzerland . self-complacency . sybil • self-respect • sympathy . contents. xiii pace page system . - - • unobtrusiveness . - . tact - - - - , vacation - . tancred (lord montacute) o variety . - - - . taste - - - i vegetarian view of animal taxation - . i food - . temper . - - i vehemence . temple (henrietta). venetia . testimonial venice . thames . - - vice . theodora (mrs. campian victoria . . theology. - - - . || vigo (mr.) . thug - - virtue . time . - voice . ' times' (the) voltaire . . tobacco . volunteers . toil waldershare . . tongue war . - - . tory - wealth . - - . town houses . wellington, duke of . trade . whigs . - - . travel - - whisper. • tremaine, mr. bertie will - - - - • truth williams (fenwick) of kars . tu quoque woman . - - - • turf wordsworth . tutor working classes . unconstitutional world . unfortunate | youth . o unhappiness . - wit and wisdom of the earl of beaconsfield. abilitp. i pride myself upon recognising and upholding ability in every party and wherever i meet it.—speech at newport pagnell (general election), february , . absence. i believe absence is often a great element of charm.— (‘lord roehampton’) endymion. a buse. it isn't calling your neighbours names that settles a question.—(‘widow carey') sybil. action. action may not always bring happiness ; but there is no happiness without action.—(‘the general') lothair. the standing committee of the holy alliance of peoples all rose, although they were extreme republicans, when the general entered. such is the magical influence of a man of action over men of the pen and the tongue.—lothair. action must be founded on knowledge.—contarini aleming. - wit and wisdom of the adoption. the principle of adoption was the secret and endurance of rome. it gave rome alike the scipios and the anto- nines.—(“bertie tremaine’) endymion. a dvantage. next to knowing when to scize an opportunity, the most important thing in life is to know when to forego an advan- tage.—(‘tiresias') the infernal marriage. a dventure. how full of adventure is life it is monotonous only to the monotonous.--tancred. adventure and contemplation share our being like day and night.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. the fruit of my tree of knowledge is plucked, and it is this, “adventures are to the adventurous.”—alroy. a dversitp. there is no education like adversity.—(‘sidney wilton') endymion. i suppose it is adversity that develops the kindly quali- ties of our nature. i believe the sense of common degrada- tion has a tendency to make the degraded amiable—at least among themselves. i am told it is found so in the planta- tions in slave-gangs.-(“st. barbe’) endymion. adversity is necessarily not a sanguine season, and in this respect a political party is no exception to all other human combinations.—life of lord george bentinck. a dvice, advice is not a popular thing to give. —(“miss arundel') dothair. i do not like giving advice, because it is an unnecessary responsibility under any circumstances.—speech at ayles- earl of beaconsfield. bury (royal and central bucks agricultural association), september , . be patient : cherish hope. read more : ponder less. nature is more powerful than education: time will develop everything. trust not overmuch to the blessed magdalen : learn to protect yourself—contarini fleming. a father’s advice to his son.—“but to enter society with pleasure, contarini, you must be qualified for it. i think it quite time for you to make yourself master of some ºdecidedly you should make yourself a good dancer. ithout dancing you can never attain a perfectly graceful carriage, which is of the highest import- ance in life, and should be every man's ambition. you are yet too young fully to comprehend how much in life depends upon manner. whenever you see a man who is successful in society, try to discover what makes him pleasing, and if possible adopt his ºny you should learn to fence. for languages at present, french will be sufficient. you speak it fairly ; º to speak it elegantly. read french authors. read rochefoucault. the french writers are the finest in the world, for they clear our heads of all ridiculous ideas. study precision. n “do not talk too much at present ; do not try to talk. “ but whenever you speak, speak with self-possession. speak in a subdued tone, and always look at the person whom you are addressing. before one can engage in general conver- sation with any effect, there is a certain acquaintance with trifling but amusing subjects which must be first attained. you will soon pick up sufficient by listening and observing. never argue. in society nothing must be discussed ; give only results. if any person differ from you, bow and turn the conversation. in society never think; always be on the watch, or you will miss many opportunities and say many disagreeable things. - ‘talk to women, #twomen as much as you can this is the best school. this is the way to gain fluency . wit and wisdom of the because you need, not care what you say, and had better not be sensibley/they, too, will rally you on many points, and as they are women you will not be offended. nothing is of so much importance and of so much use to a young man entering life as to be well criticised by women. it is impossible to get rid of those thousand bad habits which we pick up in boyhood, without this supervision. unfortu- nately you have no sisters. but never be offended if a woman rally you ; encourage her, otherwise you will never be free from your awkwardness or any little oddities, and certainly never learn to dress. ‘you ride pretty well, but you had better go through the manège. every gentleman should be a perfect cavalier. you shall have your own groom and horses, and i wish you to ride regularly every day. “as you are to be at home for so short a time, and for other reasons, i think it better that you should not have a tutor in the house. parcel out your morning then for your separate masters. rise early and regularly and read for three hours. read the memoirs of the cardinal de retz, the life of richelieu, everything about napoleon : read works of that kind. strelamb shall prepare you a list. read no history, nothing but biography, for that is life without theory. then fence. take an hour with your french master, but do not throw the burden of the conver- sation upon him. give him an account of something. describe to him the events of yesterday, or give him a detailed account of the constitution. you will have then sufficiently rested yourself for your dancing. and after that ride and amuse yourself as much as you can. amuse- ment to an observing mind is study.”—(“mr. grey') vivian grey. advice to a boy going to school.—you will find eton a great change; you will experience many trials and tempta- tions; but you will triumph over and withstand them all, if you will attend to these few directions. fear god; morning earl of beaconsfield. and night let nothing induce you ever to omit your prayers to him; you will find that praying will make you happy. obey your superiors; always treat your masters with respect. ever speak the truth. so long as you adhere to this rule, you never can be involved in any serious misfortune. a deviation from truth is, in general, the foundation of all misery. be kind to your companions, but be firm. do not be laughed into doing that which you know to be wrong. be modest and humble, but ever respect yourself. re- member who you are, and also that it is your duty to excel. providence has given you a great lot. think ever that you are born to perform great duties.—(‘lady annabel') venetia. age. age was frequently beautiful, wisdom appeared like an aftermath, and the heart which seemed dry and deadened suddenly put forth shoots of sympathy.—(“mr. phoebus') a.othair. the disappointment of manhood succeeds to the delu- sion of youth : let us hope that the heritage of age is not despair.— vivian grey. i hold that the characteristic of the present age is craving credulity.—speech at meeting of society for increasing en- dowments of small livings in the diocess of oxford, movember , . ‘the spirit of the age is the verything that a great man changes,’ said sidonia. “does he not rather avail himself of it?’ asked con- ingsby. ‘parvenus do, but not prophets, great legislators, great conquerors. they destroy and they create.”—coningsby. i look upon the spirit of the age as a spirit hostile to kings and gods.-(“saturn') the infernal marriage. it appears to me that i should not greatly err were i to describe the spirit of this age as the spirit of equality.— speech at glasgow university, wovember , . wit and wisdom of the i would say a knowledge of the spirit of the age is neces- sary for every public man. but it does not follow, because the spirit of the age is perceived and recognised, it should be embraced and followed, or even that success in life depends upon adopting it. what i wish to impress upon you is that success in life depends on comprehending it.— speech at glasgow university, movember , . agitation. we may visit on the laches of the liverpool ministry the introduction of that principle and power into our con- stitution, which ultimately may absorb all: agitation.— coningsby. demagogues and agitators are very unpleasant, and leagues and registers may be very unpleasant, but they are incidents to a free and constitutional country, and you must put up with these inconveniences or do without many im- portant advantages.—speech in house of commons (repre- sentation of the people bill), april , . there is one feature about the present agitation in ireland which is most repulsive and i think most dangerous. agitation in ireland is not a novel subject. it has taken many forms. it has been led by men of different characters and idiosyncrasies. it has taken the form of repeal, it has taken the form of home rule, and you may observe that all these movements had over them a varnish, no doubt a mere varnish, of what may be called generous feeling. even a fenian was a patriot, or thought he was. but if the present agitation is fostered in ireland by the government, it is one which will not easily terminate, because it is an agitation addressed to the most sordid character of the irish people, not to the romantic and imaginative. an agitation conducted by men who have been taught to believe that the property of others ought to belong to them—an agitation conducted in such a spirit and for such a result is one which her majesty's government will find more diffi- earl of beaconsfield. cult to deal with than the agitation of previous years.- speech in house of zords (compensation for disturbance bill), august , . alhambra. let us enter alhambra ! see here is the court of myrtles, and i gather you a sprig. mark how exquisitely everything is proportioned ; mark how slight, and small, and delicate and now we are in the court of columns, the far-famed court of columns. let us enter the chambers that open round this quadrangle. how beautiful are their deeply-carved and purple roofs, studded with gold, and the walls entirely covered with the most fanciful fret-work, relieved with that violet tint which must have been copied from their andalu- sian skies. here you may sit in the coolest shade, reclining on your divan, with your beads or pipe, and view the dazzling sunlight in the court, which assuredly must scorch the flowers, if the faithful lions ever ceased from pouring forth that element, which you must travel in spain or africa to honour. how many chambers! the hall of the ambassa- dors ever the most sumptuous. how fanciful its mosaic ceiling of ivory and tortoiseshell, mother-of-pearl and gold ! and then the hall of justice with its cedar roof, and the harem, and the baths: all perfect. not a single roof has yielded, thanks to those elegant horse-shoe arches and those crowds of marble columns, with their oriental capitals. what a scene ! is it beautiful ? oh! conceive it in the time of the boabdils; conceive it with all its costly decora- tions, all the gilding, all the imperial purple, all the violet relief, all the scarlet borders, all the glittering inscriptions and precious mosaics, burnished, bright, and fresh. con- ceive it full of still greater ornaments, the living groups, with their splendid and vivid and picturesque costume, and, above all, their rich and shining arms, some standing in conversing groups, some smoking in sedate silence, some - wit and wisdom of the telling their beads, some squatting round a storier. then the bustle and the rush, and the coming horsemen, all in motion, and all glancing in the most brilliant sun. alhambra is a strong illustration of what i have long thought, that however there may be a standard of taste, there is no standard of style. i must place alhambra with the parthenon, the pantheon, the cathedral of seville, the temple of dendera. they are different combinations of the same principles of taste. thus we may equally admire aeschylus, virgil, calderon, and ferdousi. there never could have been a controversy on such a point, if mankind had not confused the ideas of taste and style. the saracenic architecture is the most inventive and fanciful, but at the same time the most fitting and delicate that can be conceived. there would be no doubt about its title to be considered among the finest inventions of man, if it were better known. it is only to be found, in any degree of european perfection, in spain. some of the tombs of the mamlouk sultans in the desert round cairo, wrongly styled by the french “the tombs of the caliphs,” are equal, i think, to alhambra. when a person sneers at the saracenic, ask him what he has seen. perhaps a barbarous, although picturesque, building, called the ducal palace, at venice. what should we think of a man who decided on the architecture of agrippa by the buildings of justinian, or judged the age of pericles by the restorations of hadrian? yet he would not commit so great a blunder. there is a moorish palace, the alcazar, at seville, a huge mosque at cordova turned into a cathedral, with partial alteration, alhambra at granada; these are the great speci- mens in europe, and sufficient for all study. there is a shrine and a chapel of a moorish saint at cordova, quite untouched, with the blue mosaic and the golden honey- comb roof, as vivid and as brilliant as when the santon was worshipped. i have never seen any work of art so exqui- site. the materials are the richest, the ornaments the most earl of beaconsfield. costly, and in detail the most elegant and the most novel, the most fanciful and the most flowing, that i ever contem- plated. and yet nothing at the same time can be conceived more just than the proportion of the whole, and more mellowed than the blending of the parts, which indeed palladio could not excel.—contarini fleming. alliteration. “fancy franchises,'—alliteration tickles the ear, and is a very popular form of language among savages. it is, i believe, the characteristic of rude and barbarous poetry : but it is not an argument in legislation.—speech in the aouse of commons (representation of the people bill), march , . ambition. it was that noble ambition, the highest and the best, that must be born in the heart, and organised in the brain, which will not let a man be content unless his intellectual power is recognised by his race, and desires that it should contribute to their welfare. it is the heroic feeling ; the feeling that in old days produced demi-gods; without which no state is safe ; without which political institutions are meat without salt, the crown, a bauble, the church an establishment, parliaments debating clubs, and civilisation itself but a fitful and transient dream.—coningsby. america. the enterprise of america generally precedes that of europe, as the industry of england precedes that of the rest of europe, and i look forward with confidence that the industry and enterprise of america will be productive of beneficial results upon this country.—speech in house of commons (address in answer to her majesty's most gracious ..speech), december , . io wit and wisdom of the americans. american ladies—i can never make out what they believe, or what they disbelieve. it is a sort of confusion between mrs. beecher stowe and the fifth avenue congre- gation and barnum.—(‘the bishop’) lothair. i have not been influenced by that sort of rowdy rhetoric which is expressed in public meetings and public journals, from which, i fear, in this country is formed too rapidly our opinion of the character and possible conduct of the american people. i look upon such expressions as something like those strong and fantastic drinks, that we hear of as such favourites on the other side of the atlantic ; and i should as soon suppose that this rowdy rhetoric is a symbol of the real character of the american people as that those potations are symbols of the aliment and nutrition of their bodies.—speech in house of commons (defences of canada), march , . a necdote. an after-dinner anecdote ought to be as piquant as anchovy toast.—(‘von konigstein') vivian grey. mr. pinto would sometimes remark that when a man fell into his anecdotage, it was a sign for him to retire from the world.—lothair. anglo-frevch alliance. it is the essence of english policy, and not only of english policy, but of french policy also, that there should be an alliance between england and france. it is an alliance founded upon a principle totally independent of forms of government, totally independent of dynasties, totally independent of the character of the rulers of that country. it does, indeed, so happen that the present ruler of france is a man eminently gifted, who from a variety of circumstances naturally exercises a great influence over earl of beaconsfield. i i events. the emperor napoleon is not only a prince, but he is a statesman. the emperor of france is a man who has not only a great knowledge of human nature generally, but he is a man who has a great knowledge of english human nature ; and it is clear that when the ruler of france is not only a statesman, but one intimately acquainted with the character, the laws, the customs, and the whole condition of england, we have a security for the cultivation and maintenance of that alliance which under other and less favourable circumstances we might not have enjoyed.— address from hustings to buckinghamshire electors, . a monpmous. an anonymous writer should at least display power. when jupiter hurls a thunderbolt, it may be mercy in the god to veil his glory with a cloud; but we can only view with contemptuous lenity the mischievous varlet who pelts us with mud as we are riding along, and then hides behind a dust-bin-attack on ‘globe,’ . anonymous writing is not the exception, but it is the rule of the literature of this country. who wrote “thomas à kempis’? nobody knows. who wrote “the whole duty of man’? now there is a book which every one of us ought to have studied—which for generations our prede- cessors have studied—which has had more editions than any book in the world, and which is not a scandalous book, a libellous book, or a political book, but an anonymous book. who was the author of “waverley'? an anonymous writer. who was the author of “robinson crusoe’? an anonymous writer. who was the author of ‘a vindication of natural society’? why—one who became afterwards one of the most brilliant ornaments of this house—mr. burke. what are the most brilliant performances of political literature? what are those works that were written by one who in this house occupied the highest post, whose name will ever be remembered, and whose oratory, though a tradition, lives in i wit and wisdom of the the memory of the nation? i mean lord bolingbroke. what are lord bolingbroke's works p all those works which we are continually quoting are anonymous.-speech in house of commons (mewspaper stamp duties bill), april , . a nxietp. nothing in life is more remarkable than the unnecessary anxiety which we endure and generally occasion ourselves. lothair. nobody should ever look anxious, except those who have no anxiety.—endymion. people without cares do not require so much food as those whose life entails anxieties.—(“mr. st. lys’) sybil. apologies. apologies only account for that which they do not alter. speech in house of commons (order of business), july , . archer p. we are yet to learn the sight that is more dangerous for your bachelor to witness, or the ceremony which more per- fectly develops all that the sex would wish us to remark, than this old english custom.— young duke. architecture. what is wanted in architecture, as in so many things, is a man. one suggestion might be made—no profession in england has done its duty until it has furnished a victim ; even our boasted navy never achieved a great victory until we shot an admiral. suppose an architect were hanged. terror has its inspiration, as well as competition.—tancred. aristocracy. there is no longer, in fact, an aristocracy in england, for the superiority of the animal man is an essential quality of aristocracy.—sybil. earl of beaconsfield. i i do not understand how an aristocracy can exist, unless it be distinguished by some quality which no other class of the community possesses. distinction is the basis of aristo- cracy. if you permit only one class of the population, for example, to bear arms, they are an aristocracy ; not one much to my taste ; but still a great fact. that, however, is not the characteristic of the english peerage. i have yet to learn they are richer than we are, better informed, wiser, or more distinguished for public or private virtue.—(“mr. millbank’) coningsby. armine (ferdinawd). at ten years of age he was one of those spirited and at the same time docile boys, who seem to combine with the wild and careless grace of childhood the thoughtfulness and self-discipline of maturer age. it was the constant and truthful boast of his parents, that, in spite of all his liveliness, he had never in the whole course of his life disobeyed them. in the village, where he was idolised, they called him “the little prince ;’ he was so gentle and so generous, so kind and yet so dignified in his demeanour. his education was remarkable ; for though he never quitted home, and lived in such extreme seclusion, so richly gifted were those few persons with whom he passed his life, that it would have been difficult to have fixed upon a youth, however favoured by fortune, who enjoyed greater advantages for the cultivation of his mind and manners. from the first dawn of the intellect of the young armine, glastonbury had devoted himself to its culture; and the kind scholar, who had not shrunk from the painful and patient task of impregnating a young mind with the seeds of knowledge, had bedeved its budding promise with all the fertilising influence of his learning and his taste. as ferdinand advanced in years, he had participated in the accomplish- ments of his mother; from her he derived not only a taste for the fine arts, but no unskilful practice. she, too, had earl of beaconsfield. i to the high powers of that mysterious and imaginative people. the origin of doric and ionic invention must be traced amid the palaces of carnac and the temples of luxoor. for myself, i confess i ever gaze upon the marvels of art with a feeling of despair. with horror i remember that, through some mysterious necessity, civilisation seems to have deserted the most favoured regions and the choicest intellects. the persian whose very being is poetry, the arab whose subtle mind could penetrate into the very secret shrine of nature, the greek whose acute perceptions seemed granted only for the creation of the beautiful, these are now unlettered slaves in barbarous lands. the arts are yielded to the flat-nosed franks. and they toil, and study, and invent theories to account for their own incom- petence. now it is the climate, now the religion, now the government; everything but the truth, everything but the mortifying suspicion that their organisation may be different, and that they may be as distinct a race from their models as they undoubtedly are from the kalmuck and the negro. contarini fleming. in the study of the fine arts, they mutually assist each other.—contarini fleming. ashantee. i am mistaken if these are not feats of arms which will not easily be forgotten in this country. i know it has always been a vulgar error to associate military glory only with armies of magnitude. but that is not a just view to take. some of the greatest military feats have been per- formed by small armies. in modern history, nothing per- haps is more illustrative of this truth than the conquest of mexico by cortes. so great a result effected by such slight means is not easily matched in the history of man.— speech in house of commons (ashantee war—vote of zhanks), march , . i wit and wisdom of the assass/nation. assassination has never changed the history of the world.—speech in the house of commons (assassination of the president of the united states, may ). association. the principle of association is the want of the age.— (“stephen morley') sybil. a ustria. poor austria | two things made her a nation : she was german and she was catholic, and now she is neither. (“monsignore berwick’) lothair. a uthors. the creators of opinion.—speech in the house of com- mons (copyright), april , . these scribblers are at present the fashion, and are very well to ask to dinner; but i confess a more intimate con- nection with them is not at all to my taste.—(‘jove') the infernal marriage. - i think the author who speaks about his own books is almost as bad as a mother who talks about her own chil- dren.—speech at banquet to lord rector, glasgow, movem- ber , . the author is, as we must ever remember, of peculiar organisation. he is a being born with a predisposition which with him is irresistible, the bent of which he cannot in any way avoid, whether it directs him to the abstruse researches of erudition or induces him to mount into the fervid and turbulent atmosphere of imagination.—speech at aoyal literary fund dinner, may , . a utumn. the woods were beginning to assume the first fai: livery of autumn, when it is beautiful without decay. the earl of beaconsfield. i lime and the larch had not yet dropped a golden leaf, and the burnished beeches flamed in the sun. every now and then an occasional oak or elm rose, still as full of deep green foliage as if it were midsummer; while the dark verdure of the pines sprang up with effective contrast amid the gleaming and resplendent chestnuts.-endymion. badinage. men destined to the highest places should beware of badinage.—(“bertie tremaine’) endymion. bazaclava. the fight of balaclava–that was a feat of chivalry, fiery with consummate courage and bright with flashing valour.— speech in the house of commons (vote of thanks to the allied armies), december , . bar. the bar—pooh law and bad jokes till we are forty ; and then, with the most brilliant success, the prospect of gout and a coronet.—vivian grey. baronetcp. a baronetcy has become a distinction of the middle class : our physician, for example, is a baronet, and i dare say some of our tradesmen—brewers or people of that sort. (‘lady joan fitz-warene') sybil. baths. baths should only be used to drown the enemies of the people. i always was against washing, it takes the marrow out of a man.—(‘the liberator hatton’) sybil. beautp. beauty can inspire miracles.— young duke. his eyes fell upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty, like hope of paradise.— young duke. i wit and wisdom of the bel l.a./r (ladp). lady bellair was of child-like stature, and quite erect, though ninety years of age ; the tasteful simplicity of her costume, her little plain white silk bonnet, her grey silk dress, her apron, her grey mittens, and her cinderella shoes, all admirably contrasted with the vast and flaunting splen- dour of her companion, not less than her ladyship's small yet exquisitely proportioned form, her highly finished extre- mities, and her keen sarcastic grey eye. the expression of her countenance now, however, was somewhat serious. the viscountess dowager bellair was the last remaining link between the two centuries. herself born of a noble family, and distinguished both for her beauty and her wit, she had reigned for a quarter of a century the favourite subject of sir joshua ; had flirted with lord carlyle, and chatted with dr. johnson. but the most remarkable quality of her ladyship's destiny was her preservation. time, that had rolled on nearly a century since her birth, had spared alike her physical and mental powers. she was almost as active in body, and quite as lively in mind, as when seventy years before she skipped in marylebone gardens, or puzzled the gentlemen of the tuesday night club at mrs. cornely's masquerades. those wonderful seventy years indeed had passed to lady bellair like one of those very masked balls in which she had formerly sparkled ; she had lived in a perpetual crowd of strange and brilliant characters. all that had been famous for beauty, rank, fashion, wit, genius, had been gathered round her throne; and at this very hour a fresh and admiring generation, distinguished for these qualities, cheerfully ac- knowledged her supremacy, and paid to her their homage. the heroes and heroines of her youth, her middle life, even of her old age, had vanished ; brilliant orators, profound statesmen, inspired bards, ripe scholars, illustrious warriors; beauties whose dazzling charms had turned the world mad; earl of beaconsfield. i choice spirits, whose flying words or whose fanciful manners made every saloon smile or wonder, all had disappeared. she had witnessed revolutions in every country in the world ; she remembered brighton a fishing-town, and manchester a village ; she had shared the pomp of nabobs and the profusion of loan-mongers ; she had stimulated the early ambition of charles fox, and had sympathised with the last aspirations of george canning; she had been the confidant of the loves alike of byron and alfieri; had worn mourning for general wolfe, and given a festival to the duke of wellington ; had laughed with george selwyn, and smiled at lord alvanley; had known the first macaroni and the last dandy; remembered the gunnings, and intro- duced the sheridans ! but she herself was unchanged ; still restless for novelty, still eager for amusement; still anxiously watching the entrance on the stage of some new stream of characters, and indefatigable in attracting the notice of everyone whose talents might contribute to her entertainment, or whose attention might gratify her vanity. and, really, when one recollected lady bellair's long career, and witnessed at the same time her diminutive form and her unrivalled vitality, he might almost be tempted to believe, that if not absolutely immortal, it was at least her strange destiny not so much vulgarly to die, as to grow like the heroine of the fairy tale, each year smaller and smaller, / “fine by degrees, and beautifully less, until her ladyship might at length subside into airy nothing- ness, and so rather vanish than expire. it was the fashion to say that her ladyship had no heart; in most instances an unmeaning phrase; in her case cer- tainly an unjust one. ninety years of experience had assuredly not been thrown away on a mind of remarkable acuteness; but lady bellair's feelings were still quick and warm, and could be even profound. her fancy was so lively, that her attention was soon engaged ; her taste so o wit and wisdom of the refined, that her affection was not so easily obtained. hence she acquired a character for caprice, because she repented at leisure those first impressions which with her were irresistible; for, in truth, lady bellair, though she had nearly completed her century, and had passed her whole life in the most artificial circles, was the very creature of impulse. her first homage she always declared was paid to talent, her second to beauty, her third to blood. the favoured individual who might combine these three splendid qualifications, was, with lady bellair, a nymph or a demi-god. as for mere wealth, she really despised it, though she liked her favourites to be rich. her knowledge of human nature, which was consider- able, her acquaintance with human weaknesses, which was unrivalled, were not thrown away upon lady bellair. her ladyship's perception of character was fine and quick, and nothing delighted her so much as making a person a tool. capable, where her heart was touched, of the finest sym- pathy and the most generous actions, where her feelings were not engaged she experienced no compunction in turn- ing her companions to account, or, indeed, sometimes in honouring them with her intimacy for that purpose. but if you had the skill to detect her plots, and the courage to make her aware of your consciousness of them, you never displeased her, and often gained her friendship. for lady bellair had a fine taste for humour, and when she chose to be candid, an indulgence which was not rare with her, she could dissect her own character and conduct with equal spirit and impartiality. in her own instance it cannot be denied that she comprised the three great qualifications she so much prized : for she was very witty; had blood in her veins, to use her own expression ; and was the prettiest woman in the world, for her years. for the rest, though no person was more highly bred, she could be very imper- tinent; but if you treated her with servility, she absolutely loathed you.-henrietta temple. farl of beaconsfield. i bentinck (lord george). his eager and energetic disposition ; his quick percep- tion, clear judgment, and prompt decision ; the tenacity with which he clung to his opinions; his frankness and love of truth ; his daring and speculative spirit ; his lofty bearing, blended as it was with a simplicity of manner very remark- able; the ardour of his friendships, even the fierceness of his hates and prejudices; all combined to form one of those strong characters who, whatever may be their pursuit, must always direct and lead. nature had clothed his vehement spirit with a material form which was in perfect harmony with its noble and commanding character. he was tall and remarkable for his presence ; his countenance almost a model of manly beauty; the face oval, the complexion clear and mantling; the forehead lofty and white; the nose aquiline and delicately moulded ; the upper lip short. but it was in the dark-brown eye, that flashed with piercing scrutiny, that all the character of the man came forth ; a brilliant glance, not soft, but ardent, acute, imperious, in- capable of deception or of being deceived.—life of lord george bentinck. bishop. when the duchess found that the interview with the bishop had been fruitless of the anticipated results, she was staggered, disheartened; but she was a woman of too high a spirit to succumb under a first defeat. she was of opinion that his lordship had misunderstood the case, or had mis- managed it ; her confidence in him, too, was not so illimit- able since he had permitted the puseyites to have candles on their altars, although he had forbidden their being lighted, as when he had declared, twenty years before, that the finger of god was about to protestantise ireland. his lordship had said and had done many things since that time which had occasioned the duchess many misgivings, wit and wisdom of the although she had chosen that they should not occur to her recollection until he failed in convincing her son that religious truth was to be found in the parish of st. james, and political justice in the happy haunts of montacute forest. the bishop had voted for the church temporalities bill in , which at one swoop had suppressed ten irish episcopates. this was a queer suffrage for the apostle of the second reformation. true it is that whiggism was then in the ascendant, and two years afterwards, when whiggism had received a heavy blow and great discourage- ment ; when we had been blessed in the interval with a decided though feeble conservative administration, and were blessed at the moment with a strong though undecided conservative opposition ; his lordship, with characteristic activity, had galloped across country into the right line again, denounced the appropriation clause in a spirit worthy of his earlier days, and, quite forgetting the ten irish bishoprics, that only four and twenty months before he had doomed to destruction, was all for proselytising ireland again by the efficacious means of irish protestant bishops.--tancred. the bishop was high church, and would not himself have made a bad cardinal, being polished and plausible, well- lettered, yet quite a man of the world. he was fond of society, and justified his taste in this respect by the flatter- ing belief that by his presence he was extending the power of the church ; certainly favouring an ambition which could not be described as being moderate. the bishop had no abstract prejudice against gentlemen who wore red hats, and under ordinary circumstances would have welcomed his brother churchman with unaffected cordiality, not to say sympathy; but in the present instance, however gracious his mien and honeyed his expressions, he only looked upon the cardinal as a dangerous rival, intent upon clutching from his fold the most precious of his flock, and he had long earl of beaconsfield. looked to this occasion as the one which might decide the spiritual welfare and career of lothair. the odds were not to be despised. there were two monsignores in the room besides the cardinal, but the bishop was a man of con- trivance and resolution, not easily disheartened or defeated. nor was he without allies. he did not count much on the university don, who was to arrive on the morrow in the shape of the head of an oxford house, though he was a don of magnitude. this eminent personage had already let lothair slip from his influence. but the bishop had a subtle counsellor in his chaplain, who wore as good a cassock as any monsignore, and he brought with him also a trusty archdeacon in a purple coat, whose countenance was quite entitled to a place in the acta sanctorum. it was amusing to observe the elaborate courtesy and more than christian kindness which the rival prelates and their official followers extended to each other. but under all this unction on both sides were unceasing observation, and a vigilance that never flagged ; and on both sides there was an uneasy but irresistible conviction that they were on the eve of one of the decisive battles of the social world.—/othair. he combined a great talent for action with very limited powers of thought. bustling, energetic, versatile, gifted with an indomitable perseverance, and stimulated by an ambition that knew no repose, with a capacity for mastering details and an inordinate passion for affairs, he could permit nothing to be done without his interference, and con- sequently was perpetually involved in transactions which were either failures or blunders. he was one of those leaders who are not guides. having little real knowledge, and not endowed with those high qualities of intellect which permit their possessor to generalise the details afforded by study and experience, and so deduce rules of conduct, his lordship, when he received those frequent appeals which were the necessary consequence of his officious life, became obscure, confused, contradictory, inconsistent, illogical. the wit and wisl)om of the oracle was always dark. placed in a high post in an age of political analysis, the bustling intermeddler was unable to supply society with a single solution. enunciating second- hand, with characteristic precipitation, some big principle in vogue, as if he were a discoverer, he invariably shrank from its subsequent application, the moment that he found it might be unpopular and inconvenient. all his quanda- ries terminated in the same catastrophe-a compromise. abstract principles with him ever ended in concrete ex- pediency. the aggregate of circumstances outweighed the isolated cause. the primordial tenet, which had been advocated with uncompromising arrogance, gently subsided into some second-rate measure recommended with all the artifice of an impenetrable ambiguity. beginning with the second reformation, which was a little rash but dashing, the bishop, always ready, had in the course of his episcopal career placed himself at the head of every movement in the church which others had originated, and had as regularly withdrawn at the right moment, when the heat was over, or had become, on the contrary, excessive. furiously evangelical, soberly high and dry, and fervently puseyite, each phasis of his faith concludes with what the spaniards term a ‘transaction.” the saints are to have their new churches, but they are also to have their rubrics and their canons; the universities may supply successors to the apostles, but they are also presented with a church com- mission ; even the puseyites may have candles on their altars, but they must not be lighted. it will be seen, therefore, that his lordship was one of those characters not ill-adapted to an eminent station in an age like the present, and in a country like our own ; an age of movement, but of confused ideas; a country of progress, but too rich to risk much change. under these circum- stances, the spirit of a period and a people seek a safety- valve in bustle.—fndymion. earl of beaconsfield. blue-stocking. lady joan fitz-warene only required a listener; she did not make inquiries like lady maud, or impart her own im- pressions by suggesting them as your own. lady joan gave egremont an account of the aztec cities, of which she had been reading that morning, and of the several historical theories which their discovery had suggested ; then she imparted her own, which differed from all, but which seemed clearly the right one. mexico led to egypt. lady joan was as familiar with the pharaohs as with the caciques of the new world. the phonetic system was despatched by the way. then came champollion; then paris ; then all its celebrities, literary and especially scientific; then came the letter from arago received that morning; and the letter from dr. buckland expected to-morrow. she was delighted that one had written ; wondered why the other had not. finally, before the ladies had retired, she had invited egre- mont to join lady marney in a visit to her observatory, where they were to behold a comet which she had been the first to detect.—sybil. blush. blushing like a worcestershire orchard before harvest.— endymion. bolingbroke. no one was better qualified to be the minister of a free and powerful nation than henry st. john, and destiny at first appeared to combine with nature in the elevation of his fortunes. opposed to the whigs from principle, for an oligarchy is hostile to genius, and recoiling from the tory tenets, which his unprejudiced and vigorous mind taught him at the same time to dread and contemn, lord boling- broke at the outset of his career incurred the commonplace imputation of insincerity and inconsistency because in an age of unsettled parties with principles contradictory of their wit and wisdom of the conduct, he maintained that vigilant and meditative in- dependence which is the privilege of an original and deter- mined spirit. in the earlier years of his career he meditated over the formation of a new party, that dream of youthful ambition in a perplexed and discordant age, but destined in english politics to be never more substantial than a vision. more experienced in political life, he became aware that he had.only to choose between the whigs and the tories, and his sagacious intellect, not satisfied with the superficial character of these celebrated divisions, penetrated their interior and essential qualities, and discovered, in spite of all the affectation of popular sympathy on one side, and of admiration of arbitrary power on the other, that this choice was in fact a choice between oligarchy and democracy. from the moment that lord bolingbroke, in becoming a tory, embraced the national cause, he devoted himself absolutely to his party; all the energies of his protean mind were lavished in their service ; and although the equitable prudence of the whig minister restrained him from advo- cating the cause of the nation in the senate, it was his in- spiring pen that made walpole tremble in the recesses of the treasury, and in a series of writings unequalled in english literature for their spirited patriotism, their just and profound views, and the golden eloquence in which they were expressed, eradicated from toryism all those absurd and odious doctrines which toryism had adventitiously adopted, clearly developed its essential and permanent character, discarded jure divino, demolished passive obe- dience, threw to the winds the doctrine of non-resistance, placed the abolition of james and the accession of george on their right bases, and in the complete re-organisation of the public mind laid the foundation for the future acces- sion of the tory party to power, and to that popular and triumphant career which must ever await the policy of an administration inspired by the spirit of our free and ancient institutions.—vindication of the constitution, . earl of beaconsfield. books. bookworms do not make chancellors of state.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. - without books the discoveries of science, the inventions of art, the grand pedigrees and noble precedents of the intel- lectual development of man, would have no record ; none of those maxims and household words which illustrate, animate, adorn, and cheer life, would exist. those imaginary charac- ters as they are called, but which are really much more vital and substantial than half our acquaintance, would no longer exist. there would be no hamlets, no don quixotes, no falstaffs. and therefore can easily conceive that mankind has instinctively felt how much even those who are un- lettered owe to the cultivated record of the impulses of invention and the discoveries of truth.-speech at royal iiterary fund dinner, may , . consols at a hundred were the origin of all book societies.—(‘cleveland') vivian grey. those that cannot themselves observe, can at least acquire the observation of others.-(“de winter') contarini aleming. it is difficult to decide which is the most valuable com- panion to a country eremite at his nightly studies, the volume that keeps him awake, or the one that sets him slumbering—lothair. books are fatal : they are the curse of the human race. nine-tenths of existing books are nonsense, and the clever books are the refutation of that nonsense. the greatest misfortune that ever befel man was the invention of print- ing—(“mr. phoebus') lothair. a remarkable book, ‘the revelations of chaos.’—it explains everything, and is written in a very agreeable style. everything is explained by geology and astronomy, and in that way. it shows you exactly how a star is formed. nothing can be so pretty: a cluster of vapour, the cream of wit and wisdom of the the milky way, a sort of celestial cheese. but what is most interesting is the way in which man has been developed. you know, all is development. the principle is perpetually going on. first, there was nothing, then there was some- thing; then, i forget the next, i think there were shells, then fishes ; then we came, let me see, did we come next never mind that ; we came at last. and the next change there will be something very superior to us, something with wings. ah that's it: we were fishes, and i believe we shall be crows. but you must read it. —(‘lady constance’) tancred. book-making, a composition which requires no ordinary qualities of character and intelligence—method, judgment, self-restraint, not too much imagination, perception of character, and powers of calculation.—endymion. bow. waldershare's bow was a study. its grace and ceremony must have been organic, for there was no traditionary type in existence from which he could have derived or inherited it.—endymion. breakfast. breakfast at brentham was served on half a dozen or more round tables, which vied with each other in grace and merriment, brilliant as a cluster of greek or italian re- publics, instead of a great metropolitan table, like a central government absorbing all the genius and resources of society.—lothair. brecow (duke of). the duke of brecon was rather below the middle size, but he had a singularly athletic frame not devoid of sym- metry. his head was well placed on his broad shoulders, and his mien was commanding. he was narrow-minded and prejudiced, but acute, and endowed with an unbending will. he was an eminent sportsman, and brave even to earl of beaconsfield. -- op: tual omē hts next lāſ; e w: nºt mem. n mom) ſº nſ : aſ: nº (. siſ. sym deſ, id: diſ; n (v º brutality. his boast was that he had succeeded in every- thing he had attempted, and he would not admit the possibility of future failure. though still a very young man he had won the derby, training his own horse ; and he successfully managed a fine stud in defiance of the ring, whom it was one of the secret objects of his life to extirpate. though his manner to men was peremptory, cold, and hard, he might be described as popular, for there existed a superstitious belief in his judgment, and it was known that in some instances when he had been consulted he had given more than advice. it could not be said that he was beloved, but he was feared and highly considered. para- sites were necessary to him, though he despised them. the duke of brecon was an avowed admirer of lady corisande, and was intimate with her family. the duchess liked him much, and was often seen at ball or assembly on his arm. he had such excellent principles, she said ; was so straightforward, so true and firm. it was whispered that even lady corisande had remarked that the duke of brecon was the only young man of the time who had “character.” the truth is the duke, though absolute and hard to men, could be soft and deferential to women, and such an exception to a general disposition has a charm. it was said also that he had, when requisite, a bewitching smile.—lothair. briber p. the more i see of these things—and, like many others in this house, i have witnessed the results of many general elections—the more i am convinced that bribery and corrup- tion, although they may be very convenient for gratifying the ambition or the vanity of individuals, have very little effect on the fortunes or the power of parties ; and it is a great mistake to suppose that bribery and corruption are means by which power can either be obtained or retained. in all periods which have been characterised by very great o wit and wisdom of the corruption, it will always be found to have been caused by some new class forcing itself into a position in society, and that it was not due to the effects of rival parties. of this i am convinced myself, that bribery and corruption affect very little the course of public affairs.-speech in house of commons (representation of people bill), may , . whenever a very powerful and wealthy class arises in this country, nothing can prevent it asserting a claim to the possession of political power ; and whenever a new class of that kind arises, you always find that bribery is rife when an election is held. it was so in the time of sir robert walpole, when there were the turkey merchants, men who had made great fortunes; they attacked all the boroughs and turned the country gentlemen out. then followed the nabobs, and after them came the west indian planters, and, in the time of the war, the government loan merchants. but i believe that at no period has this country ever been more free in its parliamentary affairs from bribery, than it was in the years that immediately preceded the reform bill of lord grey. it happened to be a time of tranquillity, when no great changes were occurring, and when no new class was treading upon the heels of those in power, and when the elections of members to this house were purer than usual.—speech in house of commons (elections bill), june , . brough am (lok d). it may truly be said of lord brougham, that none more completely represented his age, and no one more contributed to the progress of the times in which he lived. he had two qualities, almost in excess, which are rarely combined in the same person—one was energy, and the other versa- tility. the influence which creative power gave him, combined with strength of character, alone sustained him in a career which for its duration, as well as for its dazzling feats, has rarely been equalled in europe.—speech in house of commons (the late lord brougham), july , . earl of beaconsfield. i mºſt t int rs . im. hiſ ſin: brougham is a man who would say anything; and of one thing you may be quite certain, that there is no subject which lord brougham knows thoroughly.—(“mr. ferrars') endymion. buckinghamshire. since our constitution has been settled, since the acces- sion of the house of hanover, there have been, i think, not more than thirty prime ministers, and four of these have been supplied by the county of buckingham. i believe there is something in the air favourable to political know- ledge and vigour.—speech at buckingham (general election), jebruary io, . bpron. if one thing were more characteristic of byron's mind than another, it was his strong, shrewd common sense ; his pure, unalloyed sagacity. the loss of byron can never be retrieved. he was indeed a real man; and when i say this, i award him the most splendid character which human nature need aspire to. at least, i, for my part, have no ambition to be con- sidered either a divinity or an angel ; and truly, when i look round upon the creatures alike effeminate in mind and body of which the world is, in general, composed, i fear that even my ambition is too exalted. byron's mind was, like his own ocean, sublime in its yesty madness, beautiful in its glittering summer brightness, mighty in the lone magnificence of its waste of waters, gazed upon from the magic of its own nature, yet capable of representing, but as in a glass darkly, the natures of all others.”—(‘cleveland') vivian grey. cab. a hansom cab–’tis the gondola of london.—lothair. wit and wisidom of the | -: º * ca bal." the motion was brought forward in the house of commons by a gentleman of unimpeachable reputation (mr. cardwell). the cabal—which has rather a tainted character—chose its instrument with pharisaical accuracy, and i assure you that when mr. cardwell rose to impeach me, i was terrified at my own shortcomings as i listened to a nisi prius narrative, ending with a resolution which i think must have been drawn up by a conveyancer. in the other house of parliament a still greater reputation (lord shaftes- bury) condescended to appear on the human stage. gama- liel himself, with the broad phylacteries of faction on his forehead, called god to witness in pious terms of majestic adoration, that he was not like other men, and was never influenced by party motives. well, gentlemen, what hap- pened under these circumstances? something i am sure quite unprecedented in the parliamentary history of eng- land ; and when i hear of faction, when i hear of the acts and manoeuvres of parties, when i hear sometimes that party spirit will be the ruin of this country, let us take a calm view of what has occurred during the past fortnight, and i think we shall come to the conclusion that in a country free and enlightened as england, there are limits to party feeling which the most dexterous managers of the passions of mankind cannot overpass, and that in the great bulk of parliament, as i am sure, whatever may be their opinions, in the great bulk of the people of this country, there is a genuine spirit of patriotism which will always right itself—speech at a dinner at slough, may , . cabinet. he (lord marney) might have found his way into the cabinet, and like the rest have assisted in registering the decrees of one too powerful individual.—tancred. of opposition on action of government in condemning lord canning's proclamation after rebellion in oude. earl of beaconsfield. on; jš ; itſ tº m s. he . st tak: tnig. mis f : g. unſ ; : w cadurc s (captain). there was about captain cadurcis a natural cheerfulness which animated everyone in his society; a gay simplicity, difficult to define, but very charming, and which, without effort, often produced deeper impressions than more brilliant and subtle qualities. left alone in the world, and without a single advantage save those that nature had conferred upon him, it had often been remarked, that in whatever circle he moved george cadurcis always became the fa- vourite and everywhere made friends. his sweet and engaging temper had perhaps as much contributed to his professional success as his distinguished gallantry and skill. other officers, no doubt, were as brave and able as captain cadurcis, but his commanders always signalled him out for favourable notice ; and, strange to say, his success, instead of exciting envy and ill-will, pleased even his less fortunate competitors. however hard another might feel his own lot, it was soothed by the reflection that george cadurcis was at least more fortunate. his popularity, however, was not confined to his profession. his cousin's noble guardian, whom george had never seen until he ventured to call upon his lordship on his return to england, now looked upon him almost as a son, and omitted no opportunity of advancing his interests in the world. of all the members of the house of commons he was perhaps the only one that everybody praised, and his success in the world of fashion had been as remarkable as in his profession. these great revolutions in his life and future prospects had, however, not produced the slightest change in his mind and manners; and this was perhaps the secret spell of his prosperity. though we are most of us the creatures of affectation, simplicity has a great charm, especially when attended, as in the present instance, with many agreeable and some noble qualities. wit and wisdom of the in spite of the rough fortunes of his youth, the breeding of captain cadurcis was high ; the recollection of the race to which he belonged had never been forgotten by him. he was proud of his family. he had one of those light hearts, too, which enable their possessors to acquire accomplish- ments with facility: he had a sweet voice, a quick ear, a rapid eye. he acquired a language as some men learn an air. then his temper was imperturbable, and although the most obliging and kindest-hearted creature that ever lived, there was a native dignity about him which prevented his goodnature from being abused. no sense of interest either could ever induce him to act contrary to the dictates of his judgment and his heart.—venetia. calamities. what appear to be calamities are often the sources of fortune.—(“mr. ferrars’) endymion. calculation, everything in this world is calculation.—(‘lord marney') sybil. canning. i never saw mr. canning but once, but i can recollect it but as yesterday, when i listened to almost the last accents —i may say the dying words—of that great man. i can recall the lightning flash of that eye, and the tumult of that ethereal brow; still lingers in my ear the melody of that voice. but when shall we see another canning—a man who ruled this house as a man rules a high-bred steed, as alexander ruled bucephalus, of whom it was said that the horse and the rider were equally proud p-speech in house of commons (protection of life [ireland] bill), june , . - we all deplore his untimely end ; and we all sympathise with him in his fierce struggle with supreme prejudice and sublime mediocrity—with inveterate foes, and with candid earl of beaconsfiei.d. ti, m th: m; ſit riº teji tº lić; ; rc&i friends.--speech in house of commons (opening letters at post office), february , . capital. in these days a great capitalist has deeper roots than a sovereign prince, unless he is very legitimate.—tancred. cards. to a mind like that of tiresias a pack of cards was full of human nature. a rubber was a microcosm.—the infernal marriage. casual ties. great things spring from casualties.--(‘gerard') sybil. catesby (mows/cwore). catesby was a youthful member of an ancient english house, which for many generations had without a murmur, rather in a spirit of triumph, made every worldly sacrifice for the church and court of rome. for that cause they had forfeited their lives, broad estates, and all the honours of a lofty station in their own land. reginald catesby, with considerable abilities, trained with consummate skill, inherited their determined will, and the traditionary beauty of their form and countenance. his manners were win- ning, and he was as well informed in the ways of the world as he was in the works of the great casuists. - lothair could not have a better adviser on the subject of the influence of architecture on religion than monsignore catesby. monsignore catesby had been a pupil of pugin; his knowledge of ecclesiastical architecture was only equalled by his exquisite taste. to hear him expound the mysteries of symbolical art, and expatiate on the hidden revelations of its beauteous forms, reached even to ecstasy. lothair hung upon his accents like a neophyte. conferences with father coleman on those points of faith on which they did not differ, followed up by desultory remarks on those points wit and wisdom of the of faith on which they ought not to differ; critical discus- sions with monsignore catesby on cathedrals, their forms, their purposes, and the instances in several countries in which those forms were most perfect and those purposes best secured, occupied a good deal of time ; and yet these engaging pursuits were secondary in real emotion to his fre- quent conversations with miss arundel, in whose society every day he took a strange and deeper interest.—lothair. cause. it is always when the game is played that we discover the cause of the result.— tancred. celibacp. melancholy, which, after a day of action, is the doom of energetic celibacy.—sybil. chance. if you mean by chance an absence of accountable cause, i do not believe such a quality as chance exists. every incident that happens must be a link in a chain.—(‘herbert') venetia. change. we all know, especially in free and popular communities, that the few are sensible of the necessity of change before the multitude are convinced of that necessity, and that it is extremely difficult to bring the great body of a community to agree to a change of the necessity of which they are not convinced.—speech in house of commons (relations with france), february , . change, in the abstract, is what is required by a people who are at the same time inquiring and wealthy.—tancred. change is inevitable in a progressive country. change is constant.—speech at conservative banquet, edinburgh, october , , earl of beaconsfield. is: ºr º * ºffſ ; c ; rºſ nº at: muſ reſ. jeſ ºrd haſ: huſ; chapel. at vauxe.—although the chapel at vauxe was, of course, a private chapel, it was open to the surrounding public, who eagerly availed themselves of a permission alike politic and gracious. nor was that remarkable. manifold art had combined to create this exquisite temple, and to guide all its minis- trations. but to-night it was not the radiant altar and the splendour of stately priests, the processions and the incense, the divine choir and the celestial harmonies resounding and lingering in arched roofs, that attracted many a neighbour. the altar was desolate, the choir was dumb ; and while the services proceeded in hushed tones of subdued sorrow, and sometimes even of suppressed anguish, gradually, with each psalm and canticle, a light of the altar was extinguished, till at length the miserere was muttered, and all became darkness. a sound as of a distant and rising wind was heard, and a crash, as it were the fall of trees in a storm. the earth is covered with darkness, and the vail of the temple is rent. but just at this moment of extreme woe, when all human voices are silent, and when it is forbidden even to breathe “amen ; ” when everything is symbolical of the confusion and despair of the church at the loss of her expiring lord, a priest brings forth a concealed light of silvery flame from a corner of the altar. this is the light of the world, and announces the resurrection, and then all rise up and depart in silence.—cothair. at st. genevieve.—but what interested them more than the gallery, or the rich saloons, or even the baronial hall, was the chapel, in which art had exhausted all its invention, and wealth offered all its resources. the walls and vaulted roofs entirely painted in encaustic by the first artists of germany, and representing the principal events of the second testa- ment, the splendour of the mosaic pavement, the richness of wit and wisdom of the the painted windows, the sumptuousness of the altar, crowned by a masterpiece of carlo dolce and surrounded by a silver rail, the tone of rich and solemn light that per- vaded all, and blended all the various sources of beauty into one absorbing and harmonious whole : all combined to produce an effect which stilled them into a silence that lasted for some minutes, until the ladies breathed their feelings in an almost inarticulate murmur of reverence and admiration ; while a tear stole to the eye of the enthusiastic henry sydney.—coningsby. - character. in all lives there is a crisis in the formation of character. it comes from many causes, and from some which on the surface are apparently even trivial. but the result is the same ; a sudden revelation to ourselves of our secret pur- pose, and a recognition of our perhaps long-shadowed, but now masterful convictions.—fndymion. - mational character.—a character is an assemblage of qualities; the character of england should be an assemblage of great qualities.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. charitp. i speak in the capital of an ancient nation, remarkable above all the nations of the world for its rich endowments. charity in its most gracious, most learned, and most human form has established institutions in this country to soften the asperities of existence.—speech in house of commons (irish- church bill), march , . christianitp. christians may continue to persecute jews, and jews may persist in disbelieving christianity, but who can deny that jesus of nazareth, the incarnate son of the most high god, is the eternal glory of the jewish race p-lie of zord george bentinck. earl of beaconsfield. : it out: hat; bº. mtº ſº luſ!' ' ent (ſ. christianity is completed judaism, or it is nothing— (‘egremont’) sybil. church. the church has no fear of just reasoners.-(‘brother anthony’) contarini fleming. the church is cosmopolitan—the only practical means by which you can attain to identity of motive and action.— (‘nigel penruddock') endymion. the doctrine of evolution affords no instance so striking as those of sacerdotal development.—lothair. what the soul is to the man, the church is to the world. (‘cardinal grandison’) lothair. the church is a sacred corporation for the promulgation and maintenance in europe of certain asian principles which, although local in their birth, are of divine origin and eternal application.— preface to fifth edition of coningsby.’ the church comes forward, and without equivocation offers to establish direct relations between god and man. philosophy denies its title, and disputes its power. why? because they are founded on the supernatural. what is the supernatural? can there be anything more miraculous than the existence of man and the world p anything more literally supernatural than the origin of things p. the church explains what no one else pretends to explain, and which, everyone agrees, it is of first moment should be made clear—zothair. i look upon the existence of parties in the church as a necessary and beneficial consequence. they have always existed, even from apostolic times. they are a natural development of the religious sentiment in man; and they represent fairly the different conclusions at which, upon subjects that are most precious to him, the mind of man arrives. ceremony, enthusiasm, and free speculation are the characteristics of the three great parties in the church, some of which have now modern names, and which the o wit and wisdom of the world is too apt to imagine in their character are original. the truth is, that they have always existed in different forms or under different titles. whether they are called high church, or low church, or broad church, they bear witness, in their legitimate bounds, to the activity of the religious mind of the nation, and in the course of our history this country is deeply indebted to the exertions and the energy of all these parties.—speech in house of commons (public worship regulation bill), july , . there is only one church and only one religion ; all other forms and phrases are mere phantasms, without root, - or substance, or coherency. look at that unhappy ger- many, once so proud of its reformation. what they call the leading journal tells us to-day, that it is a question there whether four-fifths or three-fourths of the population believe in christianity. some portion of it has already gone back, i understand, to number nip. look at this unfortunate land, divided, sub-divided, parcelled out in infinite schism, with new oracles every day, and each more distinguished for the narrowness of his intellect or the loudness of his lungs; once the land of saints and scholars, and people in pious pilgrimages, and finding always solace and support in the divine offices of an ever-present church, which were a true though a faint type of the beautiful future that awaited man. why, only three centuries of this rebellion against the most high have produced throughout the world, on the subject the most important that man should possess a clear, firm faith, an anarchy of opinion throwing out every monstrous and fantastic form, from a caricature of the greek philosophy to a revival of fetishism.—(‘car- dinal grandison’) lothair. church of england—the strength of the church of england is this : that not being a stipendiary of the state, it was not afraid of being just, and, while professing to be en- tirely in theory, and actually being very greatly in practice, the church of the nation, it could still favour the complete earl of beaconsfield. i development of the principle of religious liberty.—speech in house of commons (prison ministers bill), may , . parliament made the church of england, and parlia- ment will unmake the church of england.—(‘cardinal grandison’) lothair. the church of england, mainly from its deficiency of oriental knowledge, and from a misconception of the priestly character, which has been the consequence of that want, has fallen of late years into straits.--tancred. the church of england is not a mere depositary of doctrine. the church of england is a part of england— it is a part of our strength and a part of our liberties, a part of our national character. it is a chief security for the local government, which a radical reformer has thought fit to-day to designate as “an archaeological curiosity.’ it is a principal barrier against that centralising supremacy, which has been in other countries so fatal to liberty.—speech in aouse of commons (church rates abolition bill), february , . it is because there is an established church that we have achieved religious liberty, and enjoy religious tolera- tion ; and without the union of the church with the state i do not see what security there would be either for religious liberty or toleration. no error could be greater than to suppose that the advantage of the church of england is limited to those who are in communion with it. take the case of the roman catholic priest. he will refuse the offices of the church to anyone not in communion with it. the same with dissenters. it is just possible—it has happened and might happen frequently—that a roman catholic may be excommunicated by his church, or a sec- tarian may be denounced and expelled by his congregation ; but if that happen in this country, the individual in question is not a forlorn being. there is the church, of which the sovereign is the head, which does not acknowledge the principle of dissent, and which dares not refuse to that wit and wisdom of the individual those religious rites which are his privilege and consolation. i therefore hold that the connection between church and state is really a guarantee for religious liberty and toleration ; that it maintains, as it were, the standard of religious liberty and toleration just as much as we by other means sustain the standard of value. if you wish to break up a state, and destroy and disturb a country, you can never adopt a more effectual method than by destroying at the same time the standards of value and of toleration.—irish church bill, march , . broad church.-i do perfect justice to the great talent, the great energy, and the considerable information, which the new party command; but i believe that the new party in the church will fail for two reasons. having examined all their writings, i believe, without an exception, whether they consist of fascinating eloquence, diversified learning, and picturesque sensibility—i speak seriously what i feel—all these exercised too by one honoured in the great university and whom to know is to admire and regard—or whether i find them in the cruder conclusions of prelates, who appear to me to have commenced their theological studies after they grasped the crozier, and who introduce to society their obsolete discoveries with startling wonder and the frank ingenuous- ness of their own savages; or whether i read the lucubrations of nebulous professors, who appear in their style to have revived chaos, and who, if they would only succeed in obtaining a perpetual study of their writings, would go far to realise that eternity of punishment which they object to ; or lastly, whether it be the provincial arrogance and precipitate self-complacency which flash and glare in an essay and review—i find the common characteristic of all their writings, that their learning is always second-hand.—speech at oxford (meeting of society for increasing endowments of small zivings in the diocess of oxford), movember , . man is a being born to believe, and if no church comes forward with all the title-deeds of truth, and sustained by earl of beaconsfield. |b| the tradition of sacred ages, and the conviction of countless generations to guide him, he will find altars and idols in his own heart, and his own imagination. but observe what must be the relations of a powerful church without distinc- tive creeds with a being of that nature. where there is a great demand, there will be a proportionate supply, and commencing, as the new school may, by rejecting the prin- ciple of inspiration, they may end by every priest being a prophet ; and beginning as they do by repudiating the practice of miracles, before long we shall see a flitting scene of spiritual phantasmagoria. there are no tenets however extravagant, and no practice however objectionable, we may not in time develop under such a state of affairs—opinions the most absurd and ceremonies the most revolting— qualia demens aegyptus portenta colit, - perhaps to be relieved by the incantations of canidia and the corybantian howl.—speech at oxford (meeting of society for increasing endowments of small livings in the diocess of oxford), movember , . we live in decent times, frigid, latitudinarian, alarmed, decorous. a priest is scarcely deemed in our days a fit successor to the authors of the gospels if he be not the editor of a greek play; and he who follows st. paul must now at least have been private tutor of some young noble- man who has taken a good degree and then you are all astonished that the church is not universal why i no- thing but the indestructibleness of its principles, however feebly pursued, could have maintained even the disorganised body that still survives.—(‘mr. millbank') coningsby. church and state.—as good things as strawberries and cream, and like them always best together.—(“dr. masham') venetia. the character of a church is universality. once the church in this country was universal in principle and prac- wit and wisdom of the tice ; when wedded to the state, it continued at least universal in principle, if not in practice. what is it now p all ties between the state and the church are abolished, except those which tend to its danger and degradation. what can be more anomalous than the present connec- tion between state and church every condition on which it was originally consented to has been cancelled. that original alliance was, in my view, an equal calamity for the nation and the church ; but, at least, it was an intelligible compact. parliament, then consisting only of members of the established church, was, on ecclesiastical matters, a lay synod, and might, in some points of view, be esteemed a necessary portion of church government. but you have effaced this exclusive character of parliament; you have determined that a communion with the established church shall no longer be part of the qualification for sitting in the house of commons. there is no reason, so far as the con- stitution avails, why every member of the house of com- mons should not be a dissenter. but the whole power of the country is concentrated in the house of commons. the house of lords, even the monarch himself, has openly announced and confessed, within these ten years, that the will of the house of commons is supreme. a single vote of the house of commons, in , made the duke of wellington declare, in the house of lords, that he was obliged to abandon his sovereign in ‘the most difficult and distressing circumstances.’ the house of commons is absolute. it is the state. “l’etat c'est moi.” the house of commons virtually appoints the bishops. a sectarian assembly appoints the bishops of the established church. they may appoint twenty hoadlys. james ii. was ex- pelled the throne because he appointed a roman catholic to an anglican see. a parliament might do this to-morrow with impunity. and this is the constitution in church and state which conservative dinners toast ! the only conse- quences of the present union of church and state are, that, earl of beaconsfield. it tº it now olish: n whº . tº for it. eligi. ers rs, alº emed yu haſ yu haſ chuſ: in tº he cº. f cot )wer mmóſ; ope: hat tº !e wº uke v he wº lt aſ: ons : hols ctariº hurd as e athé morſ” chaº consº e, tº comſ: on the side of the state, there is perpetual interference in ecclesiastical government, and on the side of the church a sedulous avoidance of all those principles on which alone church government can be established, and by the influence of which alone can the church of england again become universal.—(“mr. millbank’) coningsby. what i understand by the union of church and state is an arrangement which renders the state religious by invest- ing authority with the highest sanctions that can influence the sentiments and convictions, and consequently the con- duct of the subject; whilst, on the other hand, that union renders the church—using that epithet in its noblest and purest sense—political ; that is to say, it blends civil authority with ecclesiastical influence: it defines and defends the rights of the laity, and prevents the church from subsiding into a sacerdotal corporation. if you divest the state of this connection, it appears to me that you necessarily reduce both the quantity and the quality of its duties. the state will still be the protector of our persons and our property, and no doubt these are most important duties for the state to perform. but these are duties, which in a community rather excite a spirit of criticism than a sentiment of enthusiasm and veneration. all or most of the higher functions of government—take education for example, the formation of the character of the people, and consequently the guidance of their future conduct—depart from the state and become the appanage of religious societies, of the religious organisation of the country—you may call them the various churches if you please—when they are established on what is called independent principles. now the question which necessarily arises in this altered state of affairs is : are we quite certain that in making this severance between political and religious influence we may not be establishing in a country a power greater than the acknowledged government itself?—speech in house of com- mons (irish church bill), march , . wit and wisdom of the church of rome.—the church of rome is to be re- spected as the only hebræo-christian church extant.—(“mr. st. lys'). sybil. i look upon our nobility joining the church of rome as the greatest national calamity that has ever happened to england. irrespective of all religious considerations, it is an abnegation of patriotism ; and in this age, where all things are questioned, a love of our country seems to me the one thing to cling to.—(‘lady corisande’) lothair. if popery were only just the sign of the cross, and music, and censer-pots, though i think them all superstitious, i’d be free to leave them alone if they would leave me. but popery is a much deeper thing than that, lothair, and our fathers found it out. they could not stand it, and we should be a craven crew to stand it now. a man should be master in his own house. you will be taking a wife some day; at least it is to be hoped so ; and how will you like one of these monsignores to be walking into her bed- room, eh; and talking to her alone when he pleases, and where he pleases; and when you want to consult your wife, which a wise man should often do, to find there is an- other mind between hers and yours?—(‘lord culloden ) jothair. circuit. this circuit is a cold and mercantile adventure, and i am disappointed in it. not so either, for i looked for but little to enjoy. take one day of my life as a specimen ; the rest are mostly alike. the sheriff's trumpets are playing ; one, some tune of which i know nothing, and the other no tune at all. i am obliged to turn out at eight. it is the first day of the assize, so there is some chance of a brief, being a new place. i push my way into court through files of attorneys, as civil to the rogues as possible, assuring them there is plenty of room, though i am at the very moment gasping for breath wedged in in a lane of well-lined waist- coats. i get into court, take my place in the quietest wit and wisdom of the -**** … • * -sº it is civilisation that makes us awkward, for it gives us an uncertain position; perplexed we take refuge in pretence, and embarrassed we seek a resource in affectation.—sybil. i have always felt that the best security for civilisation is the dwelling, and that upon properly appointed and becom- ing dwellings depends more than anything else the improve- ment of mankind. such dwellings are the nursery of all domestic virtues, and without a becoming home the exer. cise of those virtues is impossible.—speech at opening of the shaftesbury park estate, july , . increased means and increased leisure are the two civilisers of man.—speech at manchester, april , . clergyman of the old school. the doctor was a regular orthodox divine of the eighteenth century; with a large cauliflower wig, shovel-hat, and huge knee-buckles, barely covered by his top-boots; learned, jovial, humorous, and somewhat courtly ; truly pious, but not enthusiastic; not forgetful of his tithes, but generous and charitable when they were once paid ; never neglecting the sick, yet occasionally following a fox ; a fine scholar, an active magistrate, and a good shot ; dreading the pope, and hating the presbyterians.—venetia. club. this club was hatton's only relaxation. he had never entered society; and now his habits were so formed, that the effort would have been a painful one ; though, with a first-rate reputation in his calling, and supposed to be rich, the openings were numerous to a familiar intercourse with those middle-aged nameless gentlemen of easy circumstances who haunt clubs, and dine a great deal at each other's houses and chambers ; men who travel regularly a little, and gossip regularly a great deal ; who lead a sort of facile, slipshod existence, doing nothing, yet mightily interested in what others do ; great critics of little things, profuse in earl of beaconsfield. minor luxuries, and inclined to the respectable practice of a decorous profligacy; peering through the window of a club-house as if they were discovering a planet ; and usually much excited about things with which they have no concern, and personages who never heard of them.—sybil. coalition. coalitions, although successful, have always this: their triumph has been brief. this i know, that england does not love coalitions.—speech in house of commons (budget), joecember , . when the coalition government was formed, i was asked how long it would last, and iventured to reply, “until every member of it is, as a public character, irretrievably injured.’—speech in house of commons (law of landlord and tenant and leasing [ireland] bill), july , . cobden. what the qualities of mr. cobden were in the house all present are aware ; yet, perhaps, i may be permitted to say that as a debater he had few equals. as a logician he was close and complete ; adroit, perhaps even subtle ; yet at the same time he was gifted with such a degree of imagi- nation that he never lost sight of the sympathies of those whom he addressed, and so, generally avoiding to drive his arguments to extremity he became as a speaker both practical and persuasive. i believe that when the verdict of posterity shall be recorded on his life and conduct, it will be said of him that he was, without doubt, the greatest political character the pure middle class of this country has yet produced—an ornament to the house of commons, and an honour to england—speech in house of commons (the late mr. cobden), april , . coercion. men are apt to believe that crime and coercion are inevitably associated.—life of zord george bentinck. o wit and wisdom of the coffee. a good cup of coffee is the most delicious and the rarest beverage in the world.—endymion. colonies. colonies do not cease to be colonies because they are independent.—speech in house of commons (address to her majesty on the lords commissioners’ speech), february , . what is colonial necessarily lacks originality.—(‘lord roehampton’) endymion. combination. there is a combination for every case.—(‘hatton') sybil. commerce. more pernicious nonsense was never devised by man than treaties of commerce.—(‘job thornberry’) endymion. commercial distress. commercial distress—its disappearance was always sudden. it was like a long and desperate calm—a breeze suddenly arises, when all are disheartened, and in a moment the character of the sky is changed.—speech in house of commons (distress of country), february , commercial world. it was impossible to deny that she was interested and amused by the world, which she now witnessed—so energetic, so restless, so various; so full of urgent and pressing life; never thinking of the past, and quite heedless of the future, but worshipping an almighty present, that sometimes seemed to roll on like the car of juggernaut.—endymion. earl of beaconsfield. i commission. nowadays public robbery is out of fashion, and takes the milder title of a commission of inquiry.—sybil. committee. our statesmen never read, and are only converted by parliamentary committees.—speech in house of commons (sugar duties), july , . common sense. there is an extreme protestant party, who persist in believing that every roman catholic is a jesuit. there is, on the other hand, an extreme roman catholic party who, the moment their aggressive indiscretion excites comment, and perhaps a little distrust, immediately raise a howl that their protestant fellow-countrymen wish to revive all the roman catholic disabilities. fortunately, although noisy and bustling, they are limited in their influence, and the general sentiment of the country controls their violence and extravagance. what may be called the gulf-stream of common sense softens and subdues their violence and asperity.—speech in house of commons (roman catholic oaths bill), june , . complain. i make it a point never to complain.—speech in house of commons. composition. i have observed that, after writing a book, my mind always makes a great spring. i believe that the act of com- position produces the same invigorating effect upon the mind which some exertion does upon the body. even the writing of ‘manstein’ produced a revolution in my nature, which cannot be traced by any metaphysical analysis. in the course of a few days, i was converted from a worldling into a philosopher. i was indeed ignorant, but i had lost wit and wisdom of the the double ignorance of the platonists; i was no longer ignorant that i was ignorant. no one could be influenced by a greater desire of knowledge, a greater passion for the beautiful, or a deeper regard for his fellow-creatures. and i well remember when, on the evening that i wrote the last sentence of this more intellectual effort, i walked out upon the terrace with that feeling of satisfaction which accompa- nies the idea of a task completed. so far was i from being excited by the hope of having written a great work, that i even meditated its destruction ; for the moment it was ter- minated, it seemed to me that i had become suddenly acquainted with the long-concealed principles of my art, which, without doubt, had been slenderly practised in this production. my taste, as it were in an instant, became formed; and i felt convinced i could now produce some lasting creation. i thought no more of criticism. the breath of man has never influenced me much, for i depend more upon myself than upon others. i want no false fame. it would be no delight to me to be considered a prophet, were i conscious of being an impostor. i ever wish to be undeceived; but if i possess the organisation of a poet, no one can prevent me from exercising my faculty, any more than he can rob the courser of his fleetness, or the nightingale of her-song. the profound thinker always suspects that he is super- ficial. patience is a necessary ingredient of genius. no- thing is more fatal than to be seduced into composition by the first flutter of the imagination. this is the cause of so many weak and unequal works, of so many worthy ideas thrown away, and so many good purposes marred. yet there is a bound to meditation ; there is a moment when further judgment is useless. there is a moment when a heavenly light rises over the dim world you have been so long creating, and bathes it with life and beauty. accept this omen that your work is good, and revel in the sun- shine of composition.—contarini fleming. earl of beaconsfield. conceit. nothing depresses a man's spirits more completely than a self-conviction of self-conceit.—popanilla. concilia tion. one should always conciliate.—(“putney giles') lothair. if you are not very clever, you should be conciliatory.— (‘the premier’) endymion. conduct. the conduct of men depends upon the temperament, not upon a bunch of musty maxims.-henrietta temple. conference. the conference lasted six weeks. it wasted six weeks. it lasted as long as a carnival, and like a carnival it was an affair of masks and mystification. our ministers went to it, as men in distressed circumstances go to a place of amuse- ment—to while away the time, with a consciousness of im- pending failure.—speech in house of commons (denmark and germany—vote of censure), july , . coningsbp. his countenance, radiant with health and the lustre of innocence, was at the same time thoughtful and resolute. the expression of his deep blue eye was serious. without cxtreme regularity of features, the face was one that would never have passed unobserved. his short upper lip indi- cated a good breed : and his chestnut curls clustered over his open brow, while his shirt-collar thrown over his shoulders was unrestrained by handkerchief or ribbon. add to this, a limber and graceful figure, which the jacket of his boyish dress exhibited to great advantage. there ran through coningsby's character, as we have before mentioned, a vein of simplicity which was not its least charm. it resulted, no doubt, in a great degree from wit and wisdom of the the earnestness of his nature. there never was a boy so totally devoid of affectation, which was remarkable, for he had a brilliant imagination, a quality that, from its fantasies, and the vague and indefinite desires it engenders, generally makes those whose characters are not formed affected. . . . as he bowed lowly before the duchess and her daughter, it would have been difficult to image a youth of a mien more prepossessing and a manner more finished. a manner that was spontaneous ; nature's pure gift, the reflex of his feeling. no artifice prompted that profound and polished homage. not one of those influences, the aggregate of whose sway produces, as they tell us, the finished gentleman, had ever exercised its beneficent power on our orphan, and not rarely forlorn, coningsby. no clever and refined woman, with her quick perception, and nice criticism that never offends our self-love, had ever given him that education that is more precious than uni- versities. the mild suggestions of a sister, the gentle raillery of some laughing cousin, are also advantages nôt always appreciated at the time, but which boys, when they have become men, often think over with gratitude, and a little remorse at the ungracious spirit in which they were received. not even the dancing-master had afforded his mechanical aid to coningsby, who, like all eton boys of this generation, viewed that professor of accomplishments with frank repugnance. but even in the boisterous life of school, coningsby, though his style was free and flowing, was always well-bred. his spirit recoiled from that gross familiarity that is the characteristic of modern manners, and which would destroy all forms and ceremonies merely because they curb and control their own coarse convenience and ill-disguised selfishness. to women, however, con- ingsby instinctively bowed, as to beings set apart for reverence and delicate treatment. little as his experience was of them, his spirit had been fed with chivalrous fancies, earl of beaconsfield. as sº tablº its ſiſ. its ºf jetić, triº: of jure; at ſº luentë tell is ficeſtſ gº epiº º, hi: tº: the ſº intag㺠wid: jde, it * ſº in bº; isiſ: º # d ſº that ſº maſſ: es md. nveſić vēſ, (.. apº spie s ſiſ. and he entertained for them all the ideal devotion of a surrey or a sydney. . . . - our young coningsby reached beaumanoir in a state of meditation. he also desired to be great. not from the restless vanity that sometimes impels youth to momentary exertion, by which they sometimes obtain a distinction as evanescent as their energy. the ambition of our hero was altogether of a different character. it was, indeed, at present not a little vague, indefinite, hesitating, inquiring, sometimes desponding. what were his powers? what should be his aim were often to him, as to all young aspirants, questions infinitely perplexing and full of pain. but, on the whole, there ran through his character, notwith- standing his many dazzling qualities and accomplishments, and his juvenile celebrity, which has spoiled so much promise, a vein of grave simplicity that was the consequence of an earnest temper, and of an intellect that would be content with nothing short of the profound. his was a mind that loved to pursue every question to the centre. but it was not a spirit of scepticism that impelled this habit ; on the contrary, it was the spirit of faith. coningsby found that he was born in an age of , infidelity in all things, and his heart assured him that a want of faith was a want of nature. but his vigorous in- tellect could not take refuge in that maudlin substitute for belief which consists in a patronage of fantastic theories. he needed that deep and enduring conviction that the heart and the intellect, feeling and reason united, can alone supply.—coningsby. - conscience. a pure conscience may defy city gossips.-(‘eva’) tancred. conserva tism. the queen's fancy ball—peel as louvois? no, sir robert would be content with nothing less than le grand earl of beaconsfield. by: he cº d : s: a tº mi of j ccu tº ceſ ty - nt ‘it is the great constitutional cause,” said lord vere, ‘that refuses everything to opposition ; yields everything to agitation ; conservative in parliament, destructive out of doors; that has no objection to any change provided only it be effected by unauthorised means.” “the first public association of men,” said coningsby, who have worked for an avowed end without enunciating a single principle.’ “and who have established political infidelity throughout the land,’ said lord henry.—coningsby. conservative. conservative policy.—i am told sometimes that our policy is not sufficiently startling and melodramatic for the temper of the people of england. i cannot say that i agree with that opinion. i believe that a policy that diminishes the death-rate of a great nation is a feat as considerable as any of those decisive battles of the world that generally decide nothing—speech at guildhall, movember , . throughout my public life i have aimed at two chief results. not insensible to the principle-of progress, i have endeavoured to reconcile change with that respect for tra- dition, which is one of the main elements of our social strength ; and in external affairs i have endeavoured to develop and strengthen our empire, believing that the com- bination of achievement and responsibility elevates the character and condition of a people.—letter to electors of buckinghamshire, august , . i find that the only charge lord hartington makes against the government is that it makes every class com- fortable. i remember—i think i have heard of a time when a government was accused of harassing every class.- speech at mansion house, movember , . conservative principles.—i believe i am right in saying that it is a conservative principle, which holds that the due influence of property in the exercise of the suffrage is a wit and wisdom of the salutary influence. i think it is a conservative principle that in any representative scheme the influence of landed property should be sensibly felt. hold it to be a conser- vative principle that we maintain the union between church and state—that we should not only maintain but expand the ecclesiastical institutions of this country. i hold it to be a conservative principle that the estate of the church should be respected, and that the church itself should not be a stipendiary of the civil power. i hold it to be a conser- vative principle that we maintain the church in ireland, believing that maintenance perfectly reconcilable with the rights and privileges of all classes of her majesty's subjects in that kingdom. i hold it to be a conservative principle to cherish and protect all traditionary influences, because they are opposed to a crude centralisation, and because they are the source of an authority at once beneficent and economical. i hold it to be a conservative principle that would respect existing corporations. if i go to another great branch of public life—i mean foreign affairs—i find in the country that there are opinions on all great questions of foreign politics perfectly opposed to each other. i have always considered that there were three great questions upon which it becomes any man who aspires to be a statesman, as well as any parliamentary party which incurs the responsi- bility of supporting particular individuals, to have clear and precise ideas. these three subjects are: the russian em- pire, the austrian empire, and our relations with the united states of america. for my own part, i have always been of opinion that the dismembering of the russian empire is not an object which any statesman ought to propose to him- self, and even if the dismemberment took place we should find that the ultimate result would be that the balance of power in europe would be distributed in a manner prejudicial to our interests. take, again, the case of the austrian em- pire. i hold that it is the conservative opinion that the maintenance of the austrian empire is necessary to the in- earl of beaconsfield. dependence, and, if necessary to the independence, necessary to the civilisation and even to the liberties of europe. let us look to our relations with the united states. what is our policy? there are those who view with the utmost jealousy, and regard in a litigious spirit, the progress of the united states of america—who think that any advance in their power, any expansion of their territory is opposed to the commercial interest, and perhaps also to the political in- fluence of england. but i am not of that opinion. i apprehend with respect to these three subjects of foreign policy there are distinctive opinions, and therefore it is idle to pretend that parties have ceased to exist.—speech in house of commons (a'eview of session), july , . a sound conservative government, i understand : tory men and whig measures.—(“taper’) coningsby. consols. the sweet simplicity of the three per cents.-endymion. there is nothing like a fall in consols to bring the blood of our good people of england into cool order.—(‘cleve- land') vivian grey. constancp. constancy is human nature.—(“contarini’) contarini aºleming. constantinople. no picture can ever convey a just idea of constantinople. i have seen several that are faithful, as far as they extend ; but the most comprehensive can exhibit only a small por- tion of this extraordinary city. by land or by water, in every direction, passing up the golden horn to the valley of fresh waters, or proceeding, on the other hand, down the famous bosphorus to buyukdere and terapia, to the euxine, what infinite novelty | new kiosks, new hills, new - - o wit and wisdom of the windings, new groves of cypress, and new forests of chest- nut, open on all sides. conceive the ocean a stream not broader than the rhine, with shores presenting all the beauty and variety of that river, running between gentle slopes covered with rich woods, gardens, and summer-palaces, cemeteries and mosques, and villages, and bounded by sublime mountains. the view of the euxine from the heights of terapia, just seen through the end of the straits, is like gazing upon eternity.—contarini fleming. constituencies. you may talk of tampering with the currency, and there are few things worse ; but that which is worse is tampering with the constituency of england. if there is to be a change, lei it be a change called for by clear necessity, and one which is calculated to give general—i will not say final— but general and permanent satisfaction.—speech in house of commons (elective franchise), march , . i have always thought the ideal of the constituent body in england should be this—it should be numerous enough to be independent, and select enough to be responsible.— speech in house of commons (representation of the people), february , . i think it would be well on both sides of the house, if we were for a moment to consider the tone in which we are accustomed to speak of the constituencies of this country. i do not arrogate for those whom i represent, or for the great body of whom they are a portion, any superiority over any other body in this country; but i think the house will agree with me, that those interested in the cultivation of land in this country form a class highly respectable for their private virtues and public spirit. but if an agricultural constituency after a sharp contest happen to elect a member of parliament—what do we hear? they are described as serfs, they are denounced as the instruments of feudal earl of beaconsfield. i ess it jer tº: ! and ſ: coſtſ: meltſ: e moſt teſ; gaziſ; tyranny, and the most inventive and skilful cultivators of the soil are described as illiterate boobies. again, if the con- duct of the electors who live in towns and cities is the question, you would suppose from the conversation you hear, that whilst the farmers of england are mere serfs, the dwellers in cities and towns are absolute and arrant traitors, disaffected to all the institutions of the country. i need say nothing about the freemen—they are the pariahs of politics. if this be the true character of the great body of the constituency of england, what must we be who are their choice l—speech in house of commons (government of india, avo. bill), april , . constitution, during the last twenty years you have introduced a sentimental instead of a political principle into the conduct of your foreign affairs. you looked upon the english con- stitution as a model farm.—speech in house of commons (expulsion of british ambassador from madrid), june , . we shall never make the constitution of england a strictly logical one, and i do not think that it is desirable that we should try. but i am not at all ashamed of the principle to which i have often given expression in this house, and which is, i believe, a very sound one, that it is just that a person should vote when his qualification is found.—speech in house of commons (representation of the aeople bill), . the constitution of england is not a paper constitution. it is an aggregate of institutions, many of them founded merely upon prescription, some of them fortified by muni- ments, but all of them the fruit and experience of an ancient and illustrious people.—speech at merchant taylors' hall, june , . there is a school of politics who looks at the english constitution as valetudinarian. they are always looking at its tongue and feeling its pulse, and devising means by which wit and wisdom of the they may give it a tonic.—speech at glasgow (preedom of city), wovember , . cowpersation. it was a lively dinner; lord st. jerome loved conversa- tion, though he never conversed. “there must be an audience,’ he would say, ‘and i am the audience.’—lothair. it was some time since they had met—not since the end of last season—so there was a great deal to talk about. there had been deaths and births and marriages, which required a flying comment—all important events: deaths, which solved many difficulties, heirs to estates that were not expected, and weddings which surprised everybody.— iothair. the conversation of lovers is inexhaustible.—benrietta temple. alfred mountchesney hovered round lady joan fitz- warene: he uttered inconceivable nothings, and she replied to him in incomprehensible somethings.-sybil. ‘he was a great talker,’ said lady bellair, “but then he was the tyrant of conversation. now men were made to listen as well as talk.” “without doubt, for nature has given us two ears, but only one mouth,” said count mirabel.— benrietta temple. ‘you must come and dine with me, count mirabel, because you talk well across a table. so few can do it without bellowing.”—(‘lady bellair') henrietta temple. the art of conversation is to be prompt without being stubborn, to refute without argument, and to clothe great matters in a motley garb.-(“waldershare’) endymion. lord roehampton was the soul of the feast, and yet it is difficult to describe his conversation: it was a medley of whim, interspersed now and then with a very short anecdote of a very famous person, or some deeply interesting reminis- cence of some critical event.—endymion. lady everingham thoroughly understood the art of con- earl of beaconsfield. rº : : t # tº: k iſ st : dà haſ ſº hºn. |al ſ eſ: thiſ m: s g ſilk miſſ fl. it #. leg y: ! ed: néſ' ofſ, versation, which, indeed, consists of the exercise of two fine qualities. you must originate, and you must sympathise ; you must possess at the same time the habit of communicat- ing and the habit of listening. the union is rather rare, but irresistible.—coningsby. compared with their converse, the tattle of our saloons has in it something humiliating. it is not merely that it is deficient in warmth, and depth, and breadth ; that it is always discussing persons instead of principles, and cloaking its want of thought in mimetic dogmas, and its want of feeling in superficial raillery; it is not merely that it has neither imagination, nor fancy, nor sentiment, nor feeling, nor knowledge to recommend it ; but it appears to me, even as regards manner and expression, inferior in refine- ment and phraseology; in short, trivial, uninteresting, stupid, really vulgar.—(‘egremont') sybil. one of the principal causes of our renowned dulness in conversation is our extreme intellectual jealousy. it must be admitted that in this respect authors, but especially poets, bear the palm. they never think they are sufficiently appreciated, and live in tremor lest a brother should dis- tinguish himself—coningsby. a great thing is a great book ; but a greater thing than all is the talk of a great man.—coningsby. hereupon a conversation took place, principally sus- tained by the earl and the baronet, which developed all the resources of the great parochial mind. dietaries, bastardy, gaol regulations, game laws, were amply discussed ; and lord marney wound up with a declaration of the means by which the country might be saved, and which seemed prin- cipally to consist of high prices and low church.-sybil. waldershare talked the whole way. it was a rhapsody of fun, knowledge, anecdote, brilliant badinage and pas- sionate seriousness. sometimes he recited poetry, and his voice was musical, and then when he had attuned his com- panions to a sentimental pitch, he would break into mockery * wit and wisdom of the __= = = = and touch with delicate satire every mood of human feeling. endymion. do not think, as many young gentlemen are apt to believe, that talking will serve your purpose. that is the quicksand of your young beginners. all can talkin a public assembly : that is to say, all can give us exhortations which do not move, and arguments which do not convince ; but to converse in a private assembly is a different affair, and rare are the characters who can be endured if they exceed a whisper to their neighbours. but though mild and silent, be ever ready with the rapier of repartee, and be ever armed with the breastplate of good temper, for such infallibly gather laurels if you add to these the spear of sarcasm and the shield of nonchalance. the high style of conversation where eloquence and philosophy emulate each other, where principles are pro- foundly expounded and felicitously illustrated, all this has ceased. it ceased in this country with johnson and burke, and it requires a johnson and a burke for its maintenance. there is no mediocrity in such discourse, no intermediate character between the sage and the bore. the second style, where men, not things, are the staple, but where wit, and refinement, and sensibility invest even personal details with intellectual interest, does flourish at present, as it always must in a highly civilised society. s. is, or rather was, a fine specimen of this school, and m. and l. are his worthy rivals. this style is indeed, for the moment, very interesting. then comes your conversation man, who, we confess, is our aversion. his talk is a thing apart, got up before he enters the company from whose conduct it should grow out. he sits in the middle of a large table, and, with a brazen voice, bawls out his anecdotes about sir thomas or sir humphry, lord blank, or my lady blue. he is incessant, yet not interesting ; ever varying, yet always monotonous. even if we are amused, we are no more grateful for the entertainment than we are to the lamp over earl of beaconsfield. g ts. aſ: sº ce; ài. xc: sk in ſili sm: cel bº the table for the light which it universally sheds, and to yield which it was obtained on purpose. we are more gratified by the slight conversation of one who is often silent, but who speaks from his momentary feelings, than by all this hullaballoo. yet this machine is generally a favourite piece of furniture with the hostess. you may catch her eye, as he recounts some adventure of the morn- ing, which proves that he not only belongs to every club, but goes to them, light up with approbation ; and then, when the ladies withdraw, and the female senate deliver their criticism upon the late actors, she will observe, with a gratified smile, to her confidante, that the dinner went off well, and that mr. bellow was very strong to-day.—the young duke. in his mood lothair found it easier to talk to men than to women. male conversation is of a coarser grain, and does not require so much play of thought and manner : discourse about the suez canal, and arab horses, and pipes and pachas, can be carried on without much psychological effort, and by degrees banishes all sensibility.—lothair. there are men whose phrases are oracles ; who con- dense in a sentence the secrets of a life; who blurt out an aphorism that forms a character or illustrates an existence. coningsby. coquette. a coquette is a being who wishes to please. amiable being ! if you do not like her, you will have no difficulty in finding a female companion of a different mood. alas ! coquettes are but too rare. 'tis a career that requires great abilities, infinite pains, a gay and airy spirit. 'tis the coquette that provides all amusement; suggests the riding party, plans the pic-nic, gives and guesses charades, acts them. she is the stirring element amid the heavy congeries of social atoms ; the soul of the house, the salt of the banquet. let anyone pass a very agreeable week, or it may be ten days, under any roof, and analyse the cause of his wit and wisdom of the satisfaction, and one might safely make a gentle wager that his solution would present him with the frolic phantom of a coquette.—coningsby. cor/sande (ladp). there was one daughter unmarried, and she was to be presented next season. though the family likeness was still apparent in lady corisande, in general expression she dif. fered from her sisters. they were all alike with their delicate aquiline noses, bright complexions, short upper lips, and eyes of sunny light. the beauty of lady corisande was even more distinguished and more regular, but whether it were the effect of her dark-brown hair or darker eyes, her countenance had not the lustre of the rest, and its expression was grave and perhaps pensive. . . . “her character is not yet formed, and its future is per- plexing, at least to me,’ murmured her mother. “she has not the simple nature of her sisters. it is a deeper and more complicated mind, and i watch its development with fond but anxious interest.”—lothair. corporations. i would now ask permission to state why i am, on the whole, entirely opposed to confiscating the property of cor- porations; why i view it alike with dislike and suspicion. the reason is that, in the first place, whatever may have been the origin of corporate property—whether the gift of the nation, which was rarely the case, or the donation of individuals, as was generally its source—one thing is clear, that it is from its use and purpose essentially popular property, the property of the nation, though not of the state. the second reason why i dislike all confiscation of corporate property is that i find no great act of confiscation was ever carried into effect without injurious consequences to the state in which it took place; either, generally speak- earl of beaconsfield. º |||ſ. wis. st: # # in: hº tº. es! sh: pºſ: intº of . jº jº ; cf. opº f t ca: eſſ: ing, it has led to civil war, or established, what in the long run is worse, a chronic disaffection for ages amongst the subjects of the crown. but if there be any corporate property the confiscation of which i most dislike, it is church property, and for these reasons:—church property is to a certain degree an intellectual tenure; in a greater degree, a moral and spiritual tenure. it is the fluctuating patrimony of the great body of the people. it is, i will not say the only, but it is the easiest method by which the sons of the middle, and even of the working classes, can become landed proprietors, and, what is more, can become resident landed proprietors, and fulfil all the elevating duties incident to this position. but there is another reason why i am greatly opposed to the confiscation of church property, and that is because i invariably observe, that when church property is confiscated, it is always given to the landed proprietors.— speech in house of commons (irish church bill), march , . countrp. houses. a visit to a country-house, as pinto says, is a series of meals mitigated by the new dresses of the ladies.—bothair. armine place.—in one of the largest parks in england there yet remained a fragment of a vast elizabethan pile, that in old days bore the name of armine place. long lines of turreted and many-windowed walls, tall towers, and lofty arches, now rose in picturesque confusion on the green ascent where heretofore old sir walsingham had raised the fair and convenient dwelling, which he justly deemed might have served the purpose of a long posterity. the hall and chief staircase of the castle and a gallery alone were finished; and many a day had sir ferdinand passed in arranging the pictures, the armour, and choice rarities of these magnifi- cent apartments. the rest of the building was a mere shell; nor was it in all parts even roofed in. time, how- ever, that had stained the neglected towers with an antique wit and wisdom of the tint, and had permitted many a generation of summer birds to build their sunny nests on all the coigns of vantage of the unfinished walls, had exercised a mellowing influence even on these rude accessories, and in the course of years they had been so drenched by the rain, and so buffeted by the wind, and had become so covered with moss and ivy, that they rather added to than detracted from the pictu- resque character of the whole mass. a few hundred yards from the castle, but situate on the same verdant rising ground, and commanding, although well sheltered, an extensive view over the wide park, was the fragment of the old place that we have noticed. the rough and undulating rent which marked the severance of the building was now thickly covered with ivy, which in its gamesome luxuriance had contrived also to climb up a remaining stack of tall chimneys, and to spread over the covering of the large oriel window. this fragment contained a set of pleasant chambers, which, having been occupied by the late baronet, were of course furnished with great taste and comfort ; and there was, moreover, accommodation sufficient for a small establishment. the principal chamber of armine place was a large irregular room, with a low but richly-carved oaken roof, studded with achievements. this apartment was lighted by the oriel window we have mentioned, the upper panes of which contained some ancient specimens of painted glass, and, having been fitted up by sir ferdinand as a library, contained a collection of valuable books. from the library you entered through an arched door of glass into a small room, of which, it being much out of repair when the family arrived, lady armine had seized the opportunity of gratifying her taste in the adornment. she had hung it with some old-fashioned pea-green damask, that exhibited to advantage several copies of spanish paintings by her- self, for she was a skilful artist. the third and remaining chamber was the dining-room, a somewhat gloomy chamber, earl of beaconsfield. neri ntag: influêſ. of jū jetti; and iſ lè pº e oſº ugh * was herſ, : oft h in nb () yeſ t ontain. piciº iodº en ſº ligº paſs d gº jibſº elitſ: her uniº huſ: shibº by maiſº lamº being shadowed by a neighbouring chestnut. a portrait of sir ferdinand, when a youth, in a venetian dress, was sus- pended over the old-fashioned fireplace; and opposite hung a fine hunting-piece by schneiders.-henrietta temple. aeaumanoir.—beaumanoir was one of those palladian palaces, vast and ornate, such as the genius of kent and campbell delighted in at the beginning of the eighteenth century. placed on a noble elevation, yet screened from the northern blast, its sumptuous front, connected with its far- spreading wings by corinthian colonnades, was the boast and pride of the midland counties. the surrounding gardens, equalling in extent the size of ordinary parks, were crowded with temples dedicated to abstract virtues and to departed friends. occasionally a triumphal arch celebrated a general whom the family still esteemed a hero ; and sometimes a votive column commemorated the great statesman who had advanced the family a step in the peerage. beyond the limits of this pleasance the hart and hind wandered in a wilderness abounding in ferny coverts and green and stately trees.—coningsby. - belmont—there is something very pleasant in a sum- mer suburban ride in the valley of the thames. london transforms itself into bustling knightsbridge and airy bromp- ton brightly and gracefully, lingers cheerfully in the long, miscellaneous, well-watered king's road, and only says farewell when you come to an abounding river and a pic- turesque bridge. the boats were bright upon the waters when lothair crossed it, and his dark chestnut barb, proud of its resplendent form, curvetted with joy when it reached a green common, studded occasionally with a group of pines and well bedecked with gorse. after this he pursued the public road for a couple of miles until he observed on his left hand a gate on which was written “private road,' and here he stopped. the gate was locked, but when lothair assured the keeper that he was about to visit belmont, he was permitted to enter. o wit and wisd om of the he entered a green and winding lane, fringed with tall elms and dim with fragrant shade, and after proceeding about half a mile came to a long low-built lodge with a thatched and shelving roof and surrounded by a rustic colonnade covered with honeysuckle. passing through the gate at hand, he found himself in a road winding through gently undulating banks of exquisite turf studded with rare shrubs and occasionally rarer trees. suddenly the confined scene expanded : wide lawns spread out before him, shadowed with the dark forms of many huge cedars and blazing with flower-beds of every hue. the house was also apparent, a stately mansion of hewn stone, with wings and a portico of corinthian columns, and backed by deep woods. this was belmont, built by a favourite minister of state to whom a grateful and gracious sovereign had granted a slice of a royal park whereon to raise a palace and a garden and find occasionally tusculan repose. the inner hall was of noble proportion, and there were ranged in it many roman busts and some ancient slabs and altars of marble. these had been collected some century ago by the minister; but what immediately struck the eye of lothair were two statues by an american artist, and both of fame, the sibyl and the cleopatra. he had heard of these, but had never seen them, and could not refrain from lingering a moment to gaze upon their mystical and fascinating beauty. he proceeded through two spacious and lofty chambers, of which it was evident the furniture was new. it was luxurious and rich and full of taste, but there was no at- tempt to recall the past in the details: no cabinets and clocks of french kings or tables of french queens, no chairs of venetian senators, no candelabra that had illumined doges of genoa, no ancient porcelain of rare schools and ivory carvings and choice enamels. the walls were hung earl of beaconsfield. i with masterpieces of modern art, chiefly of the french school, ingres and delaroche and scheffer. the last saloon led into a room of smaller dimensions opening on the garden, and which lothair at first thought must be a fernery, it seemed so full of choice and expand- ing specimens of that beautiful and multiform plant ; but when his eye had become a little accustomed to the scene and to the order of the groups, he perceived they were only the refreshing and profuse ornaments of a regularly furnished and inhabited apartment. there was a table covered with writing materials and books and some music. a chair before the table was so placed as if some one had only recently quitted it, a book being open but turned upon its face with an ivory cutter by its side. it would seem that the dweller in the chamber might not be far distant. the room opened on a terrace adorned with statues and orange trees, and descending gently into a garden in the italian style, in the centre of which was a marble foun- tain of many figures. the grounds were not extensive, but they were only separated from the royal park by a wire fence, so that the scene seemed alike rich and illimitable. on the boundary was a summer-house in the shape of a classic temple, one of those pavilions of pleasure which nobles loved to raise in the last century.—lothair. arentham.—it would be difficult to find a fairer scene than brentham offered, especially in the lustrous effulgence of a glorious english summer. it was an italian palace of free- stone; vast, ornate, and in scrupulous condition; its spacious and graceful chambers filled with treasures of art, and rising itself from statued and stately terraces. at their foot spread a gardened domain of considerable extent, bright with flowers, dim with coverts of rare shrubs, and musical with fountains. its limit reached a park, with timber such as the midland counties only can produce. the fallow deer trooped among its ferny solitudes and gigantic oaks ; but wit and wisdom of thie beyond the waters of the broad and winding lake the scene became more savage, and the eye caught the dark form of the red deer on some jutting mount, shrinking with scorn from communion with his gentler brethren.—lothair. cadurcis abbey.—when they emerged from the wood, they found themselves on the brow of the hill, a small down, over which venetia ran, exulting in the healthy breeze which, at this exposed height, was strong and fresh. as they advanced to the opposite declivity to that which they had ascended, a wide and peculiar landscape opened before them. the extreme distance was formed by an undulating ridge of lofty and savage hills; nearer than these were gentler eleva- tions, partially wooded ; and at their base was a rich valley, its green meads fed by a clear and rapid stream, which glit- tered in the sun as it coursed on, losing itself at length in a wild and sedgy lake that formed the furthest limit of a widely-spreading park. in the centre of this park, and not very remote from the banks of the rivulet, was an ancient gothic building, that had once been an abbey of great re- pute and wealth, and had not much suffered in its external character by having served for nearly two centuries and a half as the principal dwelling of an old baronial family. descending the downy hill, that here and there was studded with fine old trees, enriching by their presence the view from the abbey, lady annabel and her party entered the meads, and, skirting the lake, approached the venerable walls without crossing the stream. it was difficult to conceive a scene more silent and more desolate. there was no sign of life, and not a sound save the occasional cawing of a rook. advancing towards the abbey, they passed a pile of buildings that, in the summer, might be screened from sight by the foliage of a group of elms, too scanty at present to veil their desolation. wide gaps in the roof proved that the vast and dreary stables were no longer used ; there were empty granaries, whose doors had fallen from their hinges ; the gate of the court- earl of beaconsfield. yard was prostrate on the ground ; and the silent clock that once adorned the cupola over the noble entrance arch, had long lost its index. even the litter of the yard appeared dusty and grey with age. you felt sure no human foot could have disturbed it for years. at the back of these buildings were nailed the trophies of the gamekeeper : hundreds of wild cats, dried to blackness, stretched their downward heads and legs from the mouldering wall ; hawks, magpies, and jays hung in tattered remnants; but all grey, and even green, with age ; and the heads of birds in plenteous rows, nailed beak upward, and so dried and shrivelled by the suns and winds and frosts of many seasons, that their distinctive characters were lost. the interior of the abbey formed a quadrangle, sur- rounded by the cloisters, and in this inner court was a curious fountain, carved with exquisite skill by some gothic artist in one of those capricious moods of sportive invention that produced those grotesque medleys for which the feudal sculptor was celebrated. not a sound was heard except the fall of the fountain and the light echoes that its voice called up. the staircase led lady annabel and her party through several small rooms, scantily garnished with ancient furni- ture, in some of which were portraits of the family, until they at length entered a noble saloon, once the refectory of the abbey, and not deficient in splendour, though sadly soiled and worm-eaten. it was hung with tapestry repre- senting the cartoons of raffael, and their still vivid colours contrasted with the faded hangings and the dingy damask of the chairs and sofas. a mass of cromwellian armour was huddled together in a corner of a long monkish gallery, with a standard, encrusted with dust, and a couple of old drums, one broken. from one of the windows they had a good view of the old walled garden, which did not tempt them to enter it ; it was a wilderness, the walks no longer distinguishable from the rank vegetation of the once culti wit and wisdom of the vated lawns; the terraces choked up with the unchecked shrubberies; and here and there a leaden statue, a goddess or a satyr, prostrate, and covered with moss and lichen.— venetia. castle dacre.—castle dacre was the erection of van- brugh, an imaginative artist, whose critics we wish no bitterer fate than not to live in his splendid creations. a spacious centre, richly ornamented, though broken, perhaps, into rather too much detail, was joined to wings of a corresponding mag- nificence by fanciful colonnades. a terrace, extending the whole front, was covered with orange trees, and many a statue, and many an obelisk, and many a temple, and many a foun- tain, were tinted with the warm twilight. the duke did not view the forgotten scene of youth without emotion. it was a palace worthy of the heroine on whom he had been musing. the carriage gained the lofty portal. luigi and spiridion, who had preceded their master, were ready to receive the duke, who was immediately ushered to the rooms prepared for his reception. he was later than he had intended, and no time was to be unnecessarily lost in his preparation for his appearance.— the young duke. the cedars-the villa of mr. vigo was on the banks of the thames, and had once belonged to a noble customer. the palladian mansion contained a suite of chambers of majestic dimension—lofty ceilings, rich cornices, and vast windows of plate glass ; the gardens were rich with the pro- ducts of conservatories which mr. vigo had raised with every modern improvement, and a growth of stately cedars sup- ported the dignity of the scene and gave to it a name. beyond, a winding walk encircled a large field which mr. vigo called the park, and which sparkled with gold and silver pheasants, and the keeper lived in a newly raised habitation at the extreme end, which took the form of a swiss cottage. endymion. château desir.—how shall we describe château desir, that place fit for all princes? in the midst of a park of great earl of beaconsfield, extent, and eminent for scenery, as varied as might please nature's most capricious lover ; in the midst of green lawns, and deep winding glens, and cooling streams, and wild forest, and soft woodland, there was gradually formed an elevation, on which was situate a mansion of great size, and of that bastard, but picturesque style of architecture, called the italian gothic. the date of its erection was about the middle of the sixteenth century. you entered by a noble gateway, in which the pointed style still predominated, but in various parts of which the ionic column, and the promi- nent keystone, and other creations of roman architecture, intermingled with the expiring gothic, into a large quad- rangle, to which the square casement windows, and the triangular pediments or gable-ends supplying the place of battlements, gave a varied and italian feature. in the centre of the court, from a vast marble basin, the rim of which was enriched by a splendidly sculptured lotus border, rose a marble group representing amphitrite with her marine attendants, whose sounding shells and coral sceptres sent forth their subject element in sparkling showers. this work, the chef d'oeuvre of a celebrated artist of vicenza, had been purchased by valerian, first lord carabas, who having spent the greater part of his life as the representative of his monarch at the ducal court of venice, at length returned to his native country; and in the creation of château desir endeavoured to find some consolation for the loss of his beautiful villa on the banks of the adige. over the gateway there rose a turreted tower, the small square window of which, notwithstanding its stout stanchions, illumined the muniment room of the house of carabas. in the spandrils of the gateway and in many other parts of the building might be seen the arms of the family; while the tall twisted stacks of chimneys, which appeared to spring from all parts of the roof, were carved and built in such curious and quaint devices that they were rather an orna- ment than an excrescence. when you entered the quad- wit and wisdom of thie langle, you found one side solely occupied by the old hall, the huge carved rafters of whose oak roof rested on corbels of the family supporters against the walls. these walls were of stone, but covered half-way from the ground with a panelling of curiously-carved oak ; whence were suspended, in massy frames, the family portraits, painted by dutch and italian artists. near the dais, or upper part of the hall, there projected an oriel window, which as you beheld, you scarcely knew what most to admire, the radiancy of its painted panes or the fantastic richness of gothic ornament, which was profusely lavished in every part of its masonry. here too the gothic pendant and the gothic fan-work were intermingled with the italian arabesques, which, at the time of the building of the château, had been recently in- troduced into england by hans holbein and john of padua. how wild and fanciful are those ancient arabesques | here at château desir, in the panelling of the old hall, might you see fantastic scrolls, separated by bodies ending in termini, and whose heads supported the ionic volute, while the arch, which appeared to spring from these capitals, had, for a keystone, heads more monstrous than those of the fabled animals of ctesias; or so ludicrous, that you forgot the classic griffin in the grotesque conception of the italian artist. here was a gibbering monkey, there a grinning pul- cinello; now you viewed a chattering devil, which might have figured in the ‘temptation of st. anthony;’ and now a mournful, mystic, bearded countenance, which might have flitted in the back scene of a “witches' sabbath.” a long gallery wound through the upper story of two other sides of the quadrangle, and beneath were the show suite of apartments, with a sight of which the admiring eyes of curious tourists were occasionally delighted. the grey stone walls of this antique edifice were, in many places, thickly covered with ivy and other parasitical plants, the deep green of whose verdure beautifully con- trasted with the scarlet glories of the pyrus japonica, which earl of beaconsfield. gracefully clustered round the windows of the lower chambers. the mansion itself was immediately surrounded by numerous ancient forest trees. there was the elm with its rich branches bending down like clustering grapes; there was the wide-spreading oak with its roots fantastically gnarled ; there was the ash, with its smooth bark and elegant leaf; and the silver beech, and the gracile birch ; and the dark fir, affording with its rough foliage a contrast to the trunks of its more beautiful companions, or shooting far above their branches, with the spirit of freedom worthy of a rough child of the mountains.— vivian grey. cherbury.—some ten years before the revolt of our american colonies, there was situate in one of our midland counties, on the borders of an extensive forest, an ancient hall that belonged to the herberts, but which, though ever well preserved, had not until that period been visited by any mem- ber of the family since the exile of the stuarts. it was an edifice of considerable size, built of grey stone, much covered with ivy, and placed upon the last gentle elevation of a long ridge of hills, in the centre of a crescent of woods, that far overtopped its clusters of tall chimneys and turreted gables. although the principal chambers were on the first story, you could nevertheless step forth from their windows on a broad terrace, whence you descended into the gardens by a double flight of stone steps, exactly in the middle of its length. these gardens were of some extent, and filled with evergreen shrubberies of remarkable overgrowth, while occasionally turfy vistas, cut in the distant woods, came sloping down to the south, as if they opened to receive the sunbeam that greeted the genial aspect of the mansion. the ground-floor was principally occupied by the hall itself, which was of great dimensions, hung round with many a family portrait and rural picture, furnished with long oaken seats covered with scarlet cushions, and ornamented with a parti-coloured floor of alternate diamonds of black and white marble. from the centre of the roof of the mansion, wit and wisdom of the which was always covered with pigeons, rose the clock- tower of the chapel, surmounted by a vane ; and before the mansion itself was a large plot of grass, with a fountain in the centre, surrounded by a hedge of honeysuckle. this plot of grass was separated from an extensive park, that opened in front of the hall, by tall iron gates, on each of the pillars of which was a lion rampant supporting the escutcheon of the family. the deer wandered in this en- closed and well-wooded demesne, and about a mile from the mansion, in a direct line with the iron gates, was an old- fashioned lodge, which marked the limit of the park, and from which you emerged into a fine avenue of limes bounded on both sides by fields. at the termination of this avenue was a strong but simple gate, and a woodman's cottage; and then spread before you a vast landscape of open, wild lands, which seemed on one side interminable, while on the other the eye rested on the dark heights of the neighbour- ing forest.— venetia. coningsby castle.—it was not without emotion that coningsby beheld for the first time the castle that bore his name. it was visible for several miles before he even entered the park, so proud and prominent was its position, on the richly-wooded steep of a considerable eminence. it was a castellated building, immense and magnificent, in a faulty and incongruous style of architecture, indeed, but compensating in some degree for these deficiencies of external taste and beauty by the splendour and accommodation of its interior, and which a gothic castle, raised according to the strict rules of art, could scarcely have afforded. the declining sun threw over the pile a rich colour as coningsby approached it, and lit up with fleeting and fanciful tints the delicate foliage of the rare shrubs and tall thin trees that clothed the acclivity on which it stood.—coningsby. ducie bower.—it was scarcely noon when he reached ducie bower. this was a palladian pavilion, situated in the midst of beautiful gardens, and surrounded by green hills. earl of beaconsfield. the sun shone brightly, the sky was without a cloud; it ap- peared to him that he had never beheld a more graceful scene. it was a temple worthy of the divinity it enshrined. a façade of four ionic columns fronted an octagon hall, adorned with statues, which led into a saloon of considerable size and fine proportion. ferdinand thought that he had never in his life entered so brilliant a chamber. the lofty walls were covered with an indian paper of vivid fancy, and adorned with several pictures which his practised eye assured him were of great merit. the room, without being inconve- niently crowded, was amply stored with furniture, every article of which bespoke a refined and luxurious taste: easy chairs of all descriptions, most inviting couches, cabinets of choice inlay, and grotesque tables covered with articles of vertu; all those charming infinite nothings, which a person of taste might some time back have easily collected during a long residence on the continent. a large lamp of dresden china was suspended from the painted and gilded ceiling. the three tall windows opened on the gardens, and admitted a perfume so rich and various, that ferdinand could easily believe the fair mistress, as she told him, was indeed a lover of flowers. a light bridge in the distant wood, that bounded the furthest lawn, indicated that a stream was at hand. what with the beauty of the chamber, the richness of the exterior scene, and the bright sun that painted every object with its magical colouring, and made everything appear even more fair and brilliant, ferdi- nand stood for some moments quite entranced. a door opened, and mr. temple came forward and welcomed him with cordiality. after they had passed a half-hour in looking at the pictures and in conversation to which they gave rise, mr. temple, proposing an adjournment to luncheon, conducted ferdinand into a dining-room, of which the suitable decora- tions wonderfully pleased his taste. a subdued tint pervaded every part of the chamber: the ceiling was painted in grey o wit and wisidom of the tinted frescoes of a classical and festive character, and the side table, which stood in a recess supported by four mag- nificent columns, was adorned with choice etruscan vases. the air of repose and stillness which distinguished this apartment was heightened by the vast conservatory into which it led, blazing with light and beauty, groups of exotic trees, plants of radiant tint, the sound of a fountain, and gorgeous forms of tropic birds.—henrietta temple. hainault house—hainault house had been raised by a british peer in the days when nobles were fond of building palladian palaces. it was a chief work of sir william cham- bers, and in its style, its beauty, and almost in its dimensions, was a rival of stowe or wanstead. it stood in a deer park, and was surrounded by a royal forest. the family that had raised it wore out in the earlier part of this century. it was supposed that the place must be destroyed and dismantled. it was too vast for a citizen, and the locality was no longer sufficiently refined for a conscript father. in this dilemma neuchatel stepped in and purchased the whole affair—palace, and park, and deer, and pictures, and halls, and galleries of statue and bust, and furniture, and even wines, and all the farms that remained, and all the seigneurial rights in the royal forest.—endymion. hauteville castle.—the castle, unlike most yorkshire castles, was a gothic edifice, ancient, vast, and strong ; but it had received numerous additions in various styles of architecture, which were at the same time great sources of convenience and great violations of taste.—the young duke. hellingsley.—the beautiful light of summer had never shone on a scene and surrounding landscape which recalled happier images of english nature, and better recollections of english manners, than that to which we would now introduce our readers. one of those true old english halls, now un- happily so rare, built in the time of the tudors, and in its elaborate timber-framing and decorative woodwork indi- cating, perhaps, the scarcity of brick and stone at the eari, of beaconsfield. i period of its structure, as much as the grotesque genius of its fabricator, rose on a terrace surrounded by ancient and very formal gardens. the hall itself, during many generations, had been vigilantly and tastefully preserved by its proprietors. there was not a point which was not as fresh as if it had been renovated but yesterday. it stood a huge and strange blending of grecian, gothic, and italian architecture, with a wild dash of the fantastic in addition. the lantern watch-towers of a baronial castle were placed in juxtaposition with doric columns employed for chim- neys, while under oriel windows might be observed italian doorways with grecian pediments. beyond the extensive gardens an avenue of spanish chestnuts at each point of the compass approached the mansion, or led into a small park which was table-land, its limits opening on all sides to beautiful and extensive valleys, sparkling with cultivation, except at one point, where the river darl formed the boundary of the domain, and then spread in many a winding through the rich country beyond.—coningsby. aurstley.—at the foot of the berkshire downs, and itself on a gentle elevation, there is an old hall with gable-ends and lattice windows, standing in grounds which once were stately, and where there are yet glade-like terraces of yew-trees, which give an air of dignity to a neglected scene. in the front of the hall huge gates of iron, highly wrought, and bearing an ancient date as well as the shield of a noble house, opened on a village green, round which were clustered the cottages of the parish with only one exception, and that was the vicarage. behind the hall and its enclosure the country was common land, but picturesque. it had once been a beech forest, and though the timber had been greatly cleared, the green land was still occasionally dotted, some- times with groups and sometimes with single trees, while the juniper, which here abounded and rose to a great height, gave a rich wildness to the scene and sustained its forest character. the house contained an immense hall, which wit and wisl)om of the reached the roof, and which would have become a baronial mansion, and a vast staircase in keeping; but the living rooms were moderate, even small in dimensions and not numerous.--endymion. marney abbey.—the building which was still called mar- ney abbey, though remote from the site of the ancient mon- astery, was an extensive structure raised at the latter end of the reign of james i., and in the stately and picturesque style of that age. placed on a noble elevation in the centre of an ex- tensive and well-wooded park, it presented a front with two projecting wings of equal dimensions with the centre, so that the form of the building was that of a quadrangle, less one of its sides. its ancient lattices had been removed, and the present windows, though convenient, accorded little with the structure; the old entrance door in the centre of the building, however, still remained, a wondrous specimen of fantastic carving: ionic columns of black oak, with a pro- fusion of fruits and flowers, and heads of stags, and sylvans. the whole of the building was crowned with a considerable pediment of what seemed at the first glance fanciful open work, but which, examined more nearly, offered in gigantic letters the motto of the house of marney. the portal opened to a hall, such as is now rarely found; with the dais, the screen, the gallery, and the buttery-hatch all perfect, and all of carved black oak. modern luxury, and the refined taste of the lady of the late lord, had made marney abbey as remarkable for its comfort and pleasantness of accommodation as for its ancient state and splendour. the apartments were in general furnished with all the cheerful ease and brilliancy of the modern mansion of a noble, but the grand gallery of the seventeenth century was still pre- served, and was used on great occasions as the chief recep- tion-room. you ascended the principal staircase to reach it through a long corridor. it occupied the whole length of one of the wings; was one hundred feet long, and forty-five feet broad, its walls hung with a collection of choice pictures earl of beaconsfield. . rich in history; while the axminster carpets, the cabinets, carved tables, and variety of easy chairs, ingeniously grouped, imparted even to this palatial chamber a lively and habit- able air.—sybil. marringhurst rectory.—marringhurst was only five miles from cherbury by a cross-road which was scarcely passable for carriages. the rectory house was a substantial, square- built, red brick mansion, shaded by gigantic elms, but the southern front covered with a famous vine, trained over it with elaborate care, and of which, and his espaliers, the doctor was very proud. the garden was thickly stocked with choice fruit-trees; there was not the slightest pretence to pleasure grounds; but there was a capital bowling-green, and, above all, a grotto, where the doctor smoked his evening pipe, and moralised in the midst of his cucumbers and cabbages. on each side extended the meadows of his glebe, where his kine ruminated at will. it was altogether a scene as devoid of the picturesque as any that could well be imagined; flat, but not low, and rich, and green, and still.—venetia. montacute castle.—at the extremity of the town, the ground rises, and on a woody steep, which is in fact the termination of a long range of table-land, may be seen the towers of the outer court of montacute castle. the principal building, which is vast and of various ages, from the planta- genets to the guelphs, rises on a terrace, from which, on the side opposite to the town, you descend into a well-timbered enclosure, called the home park. further on, the forest again appears; the deer again crouch in their fern, or glance along the vistas ; nor does this green domain terminate till it touches the vast and purple moors that divide the kingdoms of great britain.—tancred. montfort castle.—montfort castle was the stronghold of england against the scotch invader. it stood on a high and vast table-land, with the town of montfort on one side at its feet, and on the other a wide-spreading and sylvan domain, herded with deer of various races and terminating in pine wit and wisdom of the forests; beyond them moors and mountains. the donjon- keep, tall and grey, that had arrested the douglas, still re- mained intact, and many an ancient battlement; but the long list of the lords of montfort had successively added to the great structure according to the genius of the times, so that still with the external appearance generally of a feudal castle, it combined, in its various courts and quadrangles, all the splendour and convenience of a modern palace.—endymion. muriel towers.-muriel towers crowned a wooded steep, part of a wild and winding and sylvan valley at the bottom of which rushed a foaming stream. on the other side of the castle the scene, though extensive, was not less striking, and was essentially romantic. a vast park spread in all direc- tions beyond the limit of the eye, and with much variety of character, ornate near the mansion, and choicely timbered ; in other parts glens and spreading dells, masses of black pines and savage woods; everywhere, sometimes glittering and sometimes sullen, glimpses of the largest natural lake that inland england boasts, muriel mere, and in the extreme distance moors, and the first crest of mountains. the park, too, was full of life, for there were not only herds of red and fallow deer, but, in its more secret haunts, wandered a race of wild cattle, extremely savage, white and dove-coloured, and said to be of the time of the romans.— mothair. pen bronnock chase.—it was a pile which the immortal inigo had raised in sympathy with the taste of a noble employer, who had passed his earliest years in lombardy. of stone, and sometimes even of marble, with pediments and balustrades, and ornamental windows, and richly-chased keystones, and flights of steps, and here and there a statue, the structure was quite palladian, though a little dingy, and, on the whole, very imposing. there were suites of rooms which had no end, and stair- cases which had no beginning. in this vast pile, nothing was more natural than to lose your way, an agreeable amuse- earl of beaconsfield. ment on a rainy morning. there was a collection of pictures, very various, by which phrase we understand not select. yet they were amusing ; and the canalettis were unrivalled. there was a regular ball-room, and a theatre ; so resources were at hand. the scenes, though dusty, were numerous ; and the duke had provided new dresses. the park was not a park ; by which we mean, that it was rather a chase than the highly-finished enclosure which we associate with the first title. in fact, pen bronnock chase was the right name of the settlement ; but some monarch travelling, having been seized with a spasm, recruited his strength under the roof of his loyal subject, then the chief seat of the house of hauteville, and having in his urgency been obliged to hold a privy council there, the supreme title of palace was assumed by right. the domain was bounded on one side by the sea; and here a yacht and some slight craft rode at anchor in a small green bay, and offered an opportunity for the adventurous, and a refuge for the wearied.—the young duke. princedown.—princedown was situate in a southern county, hardly on a southern coast, for it was ten miles from the sea, though enchanting views of the channel were frequent and exquisite. it was a palace built in old days upon the downs, but sheltered and screened from every hostile wind. the full warmth of the south fell upon the vast but fantastic pile of the renaissance style, said to have been built by that gifted but mysterious individual, john of padua. the gardens were wonderful, terrace upon terrace, and on each terrace a tall fountain. but the most peculiar feature was the park, which was undulating and extensive, but its timber entirely ilex : single trees of an age and size not common in that tree, and groups and clumps of ilex, but always ilex. beyond the park, and extending far into the horizon, was princedown forest, the dominion of the red deer.—endymion. st. genevieve.—in a valley, not far from the margin of a beautiful river, raised on a lofty and artificial terrace at the wit and wisdom of the base of a range of wooded heights, was a pile of modern building in the finest style of christian architecture. it was of great extent and richly decorated. built of a white and glittering stone, it sparkled with its pinnacles in the sunshine as it rose in strong relief against its verdant background. the winding valley, which was studded, but not too closely studded, with clumps of old trees, formed for a great extent on either side of the mansion a grassy demesne, which was called the lower park; but it was a region bearing the name of the upper park, that was the peculiar and most picturesque feature of this splendid residence. the wooded heights that formed the valley were not, as they appeared, a range of hills. their crest was only the abrupt termination of a vast and enclosed table-land, abounding in all the qualities of the ancient chase: turf and trees, a wilderness of under- wood, and a vast spread of gorse and fern. the deer, that abounded, lived here in a world as savage as themselves: trooping down in the evening to the river. some of them, indeed, were ever in sight of those who were in the valley, and you might often observe various groups clustered on the green heights above the mansion, the effect of which was most inspiriting and graceful. sometimes in the twilight, a solitary form, magnified by the illusive hour, might be seen standing on the brink of the steep, large and black against the clear sky.—coningsby. vauxe.—vauxe, the seat of the st. jeromes, was the finest specimen of the old english residence extant. it was the perfection of the style which had gradually arisen after the wars of the roses had alike destroyed all the castles and the purpose of those stern erections. people said vauxe looked like a college : the truth is, colleges looked like vauxe; for when those fair and civil buildings rose, the wise and liberal spirits who endowed them intended that they should resemble as much as possible the residence of a great noble. there were two quadrangles at vauxe of grey stone ; * a a. j earl of beaconsfield. the outer one of larger dimensions and much covered with ivy ; the inner one not so extensive but more ornate, with a loſty tower, a hall, and a chapel. the house was full of galleries, and they were full of portraits. indeed there was scarcely a chamber in this vast edifice of which the walls were not breathing with english history in this inter- esting form. sometimes more ideal art asserted a trium- phant claim : transcendental holy families, seraphic saints, and gorgeous scenes by tintoret and paul of verona. the furniture of the house seemed never to have been changed. it was very old, somewhat scanty, but very rich ; tapestry and velvet hangings, marvellous cabinets, and crystal girandoles. here and there a group of ancient plate ; ewers and flagons and tall saltcellars a foot high and richly chiselled ; sometimes a state bed shadowed with a huge pomp of stiff brocade and borne by silver poles. vauxe stood in a large park studded with stately trees; here and there an avenue of spanish chestnuts or a grove of oaks; sometimes a gorsy dell and sometimes a great spread of antlered fern, taller than the tallest man,—lothair. credit. i see before me the statue of a celebrated minister, who said that confidence was a plant of slow growth. but i believe, however gradual may be the growth of confidence, that of credit requires still more time to arrive at maturity. speech at mansion house, november , . creed. a creed is imagination.—contarini fleming. the athanasian creed is the most splendid ecclesiastical lyric ever poured forth by the genius of man.—(‘nigel penruddock') endymion. crimean war. we may draw at least this conclusion from the war which has broken out. i think what has occurred has shown that wit and wisdom of the the arts of peace, practised by a free people, are not enervating. i think that the deeds which have been referred to, both of the commanders and the common soldiers, have shown that education has not a tendency to diminish, but to refine and raise the standard of the martial character. in these we may proudly recognise the might and prowess of a free and ancient people. these are all circumstances and conditions which are favourable to our confidence in the progress of civilisation and flattering to the consciousness of every englishman.—speech in house of commons (vote of thanks to allied armies), december , . critics. it is much easier to be critical than to be correct.— speech in house of commons (address in answer to her majesty's speech), january , . you know who critics are p the men who have failed in literature and art.—(“mr. phoebus') lothair. there are critics, who, abstractedly, do not approve of successful books, particularly if they have failed in the same style.—preface to lothair. - there is always, both in politics and literature, the race, the dennises, the oldmixons, and curls, who flatter them- selves that by systematically libelling some eminent person of their times, they have a chance of descending to pos- terity.—preface to zothair. cpprus. in taking cyprus—the movement is not mediterranean; it is indian. i only hope the house will not misunderstand our motives in occupying cyprus and in encouraging those intimate relations between ourselves and the government and population of turkey. they are not movements of war: they are movements of peace and civilisation.— speech in house of commons (congress correspondence and protocols), july , . | earl of beaconsfield. there is no doubt that the administration of cyprus by england will exercise the most beneficial and moral influence upon the contiguous dominions of the sultan. this was a secondary consideration in inducing us to take the step which we have done. it was as a strong place of arms, for which it is admirably calculated by its geographical position and the variety of its resources, that we fixed on cyprus, after having examined all the other islands of the mediter- ranean.—speech at mansion house, movember , . dacre (map). she was very young ; that is to say, she had, perhaps, added a year or two to sweet seventeen, an addition which, while it does not deprive the sex of the early grace of girl- hood, adorns them with that indefinable dignity which is necessary to constitute a perfect woman. she was not tall, but as she moved forward displayed a figure so exquisitely symmetrical that for a moment the duke forgot to look at her face, and then her head was turned away; yet he was consoled a moment for his disappointment by watching the movements of a neck so white, and round, and long, and delicate, that it would have become psyche, and might have inspired praxiteles. her face is again turning towards him. it stops too soon ; yet his eye feeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty, like hope of paradise. she turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams of liquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. it was a rapid, graceful movement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a moment withdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorable counte- nance. her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, and her high pure forehead like a parian dome. the clear blood coursed under her transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzling eyes. his never left her. there was an expression of decision about her small mouth, wit and wisdom of the an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, though in themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with all the beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of her countenance. there was something, too, in the graceful but rather decided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken her self-consciousness of her beauty or her rank ; perhaps it might be her wit; for the duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversed with lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidently inti- mate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, al- though, as he never spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.—the young duke. dance. a waltz of spiriting grace, or a mazy cotillon of jocund bouquets.-endymion. dawn. eve has its spell of calmness and consolation, but dawn brings hope and joy.—lothair. it was just that single hour of the twenty-four, when crime ceases, debauchery is exhausted, and even desolation finds a shelter.—sybil. pa. p. twilight makes us pensive : aurora is the goddess of activity: despair curses at midnight: hope blesses at noon. the young duke. death. the first conviction that there is death in the house is perhaps the most awful moment of youth. when we are young, we think not only ourselves, but that all about us, are immortal. until the arrow has struck a victim round our own hearth, death is merely an unmeaning word; until then, its casual mention has stamped no idea upon our brain. there are few, even among those least susceptible of thought and emotion, in whose hearts and minds the earl of beaconsfield. i first death in the family does not act as a powerful revela- tion of the mysteries of life, and of their own being ; there are few who, after such a catastrophe, do not look upon the world and the world's ways, at least for a time, with changed and tempered feelings. it recalls the past ; it makes us ponder over the future; and youth, gay and light-hearted youth, is taught, for the first time, to regret and to fear.— venetia. the heavens darken : a new character enters upon the scene. °n dvare, ávare, viv u' étuorkéjai uoxáv. they say that when great men arise they have a mission to accomplish, and do not disappear until it is fulfilled. yet this is not always true. after all his deep study and his daring action, mr. hampden died on an obscure field, almost before the commencement of that mighty struggle which he seemed born to direct.—life of lord george aentinck. ah, death ! that is a botherer. what can you make of death p there are those poor fishermen now ; there will be a white squall some day, and they will go down with those lateen sails of theirs, and be food for the very prey they were going to catch ; and if you continue living here, you may eat one of your neighbours in the shape of a shoal of red mullets, when it is the season. the great secret, we cannot penetrate that with all our philosophy, my dear herbert. “all that we know is, nothing can be known.” barren, barren, barren | and yet what a grand world it is look at this bay, these blue waters, the mountains, and these chestnuts, devilish fine ! the fact is, truth is veiled, but, like the shekinah over the tabernacle, the veil is of dazzling light !—(‘lord cadurcis') venetia. debate. a dull debate, when the facts are only a refutation of the blue-books, and the fancy an ingenious appeal to the recri- mination of hansard.—sybil. wit and wisdom of the wishy is down, and washy is up.–(‘spencer may ’) sybil. the debate was opened by a young man with a singu- larly sunny face and a voice of music. his statement was clear and calm. though nothing could be more uncom- promising than his opinions, it seemed that nothing could be fairer than his facts. . . . the debate was concluded after another hour by hortensius, and endymion was struck by the contrast between his first and second manner. safe from reply, and reckless in his security, it is not easy to describe the audacity of his retorts, or the tumult of his eloquence. rapid, sarcastic, humorous, picturesque, im- passioned, he seemed to carry everything before him, and to resemble his former self in nothing but the music of his voice, which lent melody to scorn and sometimes reached the depth of pathos.-endymion. debaters. the most commanding speaker that i ever listened to is, i think, sir francis burdett. i never heard him in the house, but at an election. he was full of music, grace, and dignity, even amid all the vulgar tumult; and, unlike all mob orators, raised the taste of the populace to him, instead of lowering his own to theirs. his colleague, mr. hobhouse, seemed to me ill qualified for a demagogue, though he spoke with power. he is rather too elaborate, and a little heavy, but fluent, and never weak. his thought- ful and highly-cultivated mind maintains him under all cir- cumstances; and his breeding never deserts him. sound sense comes recommended from his lips by the language of a scholar and the urbanity of a gentleman. mr. brougham, at present, reigns paramount in the house of commons. i think the lawyer has spoiled the statesman. he is said to have great powers of sarcasm. from what i have observed there, i should think very little ones would be quite sufficient. many a sneer withers in | earl of beaconsfield. those walls, which would scarcely, i think, blight a currant- bush out of them ; and i have seen the house convulsed with raillery which, in other society, would infallibly settle the railler to be a bore beyond all tolerance. even an idiot can raise a smile. they are so good-natured, or find it so dull. mr. canning's badinage was the most successful, though i-confess i have listened to few things more calcu- lated to make a man gloomy. but the house always ran riot, taking everything for granted, and cracked their universal sides before he opened his mouth. the fault of mr. brougham is, that he holds no intellect at present in great dread, and, consequently, allows himself on all occasions to run wild. few men hazard more unphiloso- phical observations ; but he is safe, because there is no one to notice them. on all great occasions, mr. brougham has come up to the mark ; an infallible test of a man of genius. i hear that mr. macaulay is to be returned. if he speaks half as well as he writes, the house will be in fashion again. i fear that he is one of those who, like the individual whom he has most studied, will “give up to party what was meant for mankind.” at any rate, he must get rid of his rabidity. he writes now on all subjects as if he certainly intended to be a renegade, and was determined to make the contrast com- plete. mr. peel is the model of a minister, and improves as a speaker; though, like most of the rest, he is fluent without the least style. he should not get so often in a passion either, or, if he do, should not get out of one so easily. his sweet apologies are cloying. his candour; he will do well to get rid of that. he can make a present of it to mr. huskisson, who is a memorable instance of the value of knowledge, which maintains a man under all circum- stances and all disadvantages, and will. in the lords, i admire the duke. the readiness with wit and wisdom of the which he has adopted the air of a debater, shows the man of genius. there is a gruff, husky sort of a downright montaignish naïveté about him, which is quaint, unusual, and tells. you plainly perceive that he is determined to be a civilian ; and he is as offended if you drop a hint that he occasionally wears a uniform, as a servant on a holiday if you mention the word livery. - lord grey speaks with feeling, and is better to hear than to read, though ever strong and impressive. lord holland's speeches are like a rifaccimento of all the suppressed pas- sages in clarendon, and the notes in the new edition of bishop burnet's memoirs: but taste throws a delicate hue over the curious medley, and the candour of a philosophic mind shows that in the library at holland house he can sometimes cease to be a partisan. one thing is clear, that a man may speak very well in the house of commons, and fail very completely in the house of lords. there are two distinct styles requisite: i intend, in the course of my career, if i have time, to give a specimen of both. in the lower house ‘don juan’ may perhaps be our model; in the upper house, “paradise lost.” the young duke. d.e.b.t. to be harassed about money is one of the most dis- agreeable incidents of life. it ruffles the temper, lowers the spirits, disturbs the rest, and finally breaks up the health.- (‘lord marney’) sybil. - debt is the prolific mother of folly and crime; it taints the course of life in all its dreams. hence so many un- happy marriages, so many prostituted pens, and venal poli- ticians ! it hath a small beginning, but a giant's growth and strength. when we make the monster we make our master, who haunts us at all hours, and shakes his whip of scorpions for ever in our sight. the slave hath no overseer so severe. faustus, when he signed the bond with blood, earl of beaconsfield. did not secure a doom more terrific. but when we are young we must enjoy ourselves.—henrietta temple. * . . - - - & belicacp. in my opinion there is no quality in business more danger- ous than delicacy. in my limited experience, i can certainly say that whenever delicacy has been admitted in the trans- action of business, i have always considerably suffered. now i do not think a minister ought to be allowed to shrink from the performance of a public duty by telling us he considered it indelicate.—speech in house of commons (official salaries), april , . democracp. popular privileges are consistent with a state of society in which there is great inequality of position. democratic rights, on the contrary, demand that there should be equality of condition as the fundamental basis of the society they regulate.—speech in house of commons (representation of the people bill), march , . if you establish a democracy, you must in due time reap the fruits of a democracy. you will in due season have great impatience of the public burdens, combined in due season with great increase of the public expenditure. you will in due season have wars entered into from passion and not from reason ; and you will in due season submit to peace ignominiously sought and ignominiously obtained, which will diminish your authority and perhaps endanger your independence. you will in due season find your property is less valuable, and your freedom less complete.— speech in house of commons (representation of the people aill), march , . - there is more true democracy in the roman catholic church than in all the secret societies of europe.—(‘wal- dershare’) endymion, wit and wisdom of the idepartures. departures should be sudden.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. deputations. and now for these deputations; of all things in the world i dislike a deputation. i do not care how much i labour in the closet or the house ; that's real work; the machine is advanced. but receiving a deputation is like sham marching : an immense dust and no progress. to listen to their views | as if i did not know what their views were before they stated them and to put on a countenance of re- spectful candour while they are developing their exploded or their impracticable systems i were it not that, at a practised crisis, i permit them to see conviction slowly stealing over my conscience, i believe the fellows would never stop.–(“a gentleman in downing street’) sybil. derbp (earl of). i do not know that there is anything that excites en- thusiasm in him except when he contemplates the surrender of some national policy.—speech in house of zords, march , . - derby race (the). it is the blue ribbon of the turf–life of lord george bentinck. despair. despair is the conclusion of fools.-(‘alroy’) sybil. desperation. desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius.-endymion. destinp. destiny is our will, and our will is our nature.—con- tarini fleming. earl of beaconsfield. destiny bears us to our lot, and destiny is perhaps our own will.—contarini fleming. tastes differ about destinies, as about manners.-(‘lady montfort’) endymion. destiny for its fulfilment ordains action.—(‘prince florestan’) endymion. - if we cannot shape our destiny, there is no such thing as witchcraft.—(“iady montfort’) endymion. de trop, endymion felt all that embarrassment mingled with a certain portion of self-contempt, which attends the convic- tion that we are what is delicately called de trop.–endy- mton. development. development is the discovery of utility.—popanilla. pigestion. a good eater must be a good man ; for a good eater must have a good digestion, and a good digestion depends upon a good conscience.—the young duke. dinner. turtle makes all men equal—(“adriana neuchatel') endymion. tradesmen nowadays console themselves for not get- ting their bills paid by asking their customers to dinner.— the young duke. o london dinners empty artificial nothings and that beings can be found, and those too the flower of the land, who, day after day, can act the same part in the same dull, dreamy farce l—vivian grey. the glare, and heat, and noise, this congeries of indi- viduals without sympathy, and dishes without flavour ; this is society.—the young duke. two things which are necessary to a perfect dinner are wit and wisdom of the noiseless attendants and a precision in serving the various dishes of each course.—tancred. a dinner of wits is proverbially a palace of silence.— endymion. - at lord st. jerome's.--it was a lively dinner. lord st. jerome loved conversation, though he never conversed. “there must be an audience,’ he would say, ‘and i am the audience.’ the partner of his life, whom he never ceased admiring, had originally fascinated him by her conversational talents; and even if nature had not impelled her, lady st. jerome was too wise a woman to relinquish the spell. the monsignore could always, when necessary, sparkle with anecdote or blaze with repartee; and all the chaplains, who abounded in this house, were men of bright abilities, not merely men of reading but of the world, learned in the world's ways, and trained to govern mankind by the versatility of their sympathies. it was a dinner where there could not be two conversations going on, and where even the silent take their share in the talk by their sympathy.—lothair. at mr. pinto's.-his (st. aldegonde's) keen though listless glance revealed to him that he was, as he described it to hugo bohun, in a social jungle, in which there was a great herd of animals that he particularly disliked, namely what he entitled “swells.’—zothair. this was mr. brancepeth, celebrated for his dinners and still more for his guests. mr. brancepeth was a grave young man. it was supposed that he was always meditating over the arrangement of his menus, or the skilful means by which he could assemble together the right persons to par- take of them. mr. brancepeth had attained the highest celebrity in his peculiar career. to dine with mr. brance- peth was a social incident that was mentioned. royalty had consecrated his banquets, and "a youth of note was scarcely a graduate of society who had not been his guest. there was one person, however, who, in this respect, had not taken his degree, and, as always happens under such cir- earl of beaconsfield. cumstances, he was the individual on whom mr. brance- peth was most desirous to confer it; and this was st. alde- gonde. in vain mr. brancepeth had approached him with vast cards of invitation to hecatombs, and with insinuating little notes to dinners sans façon ; proposals which the presence of princes might almost construe into a command, or the presence of some one even more attractive than princes must invest with irresistible charm. it was all in vain. “not that i dislike brancepeth,' said st. aldegonde; “i rather like him : i like a man who can do only one thing, but does that well. but then i hate dinners.”— aothair. lord monmouth's dinners at paris were celebrated. it was generally agreed that they had no rivals; yet there were others who had as skilful cooks, others who, for such a purpose, were equally profuse in their expenditure. what, then, was the secret spell of his success? the simplest in the world, though no one seemed aware of it. his lord- ship's plates were always hot : whereas at paris, in the best appointed houses, and at dinners which, for costly materials and admirable art in their preparation, cannot be surpassed, the effect is always considerably lessened, and by a mode the most mortifying : by the mere circumstance that every one at a french dinner is served on a cold plate. the reason of a custom, or rather a necessity, which one would think a nation so celebrated for their gastronomical taste would recoil from, is really, it is believed, that the ordinary french porcelain is so very inferior that it cannot endure the preparatory heat for dinner. the common white pot- tery, for example, which is in general use, and always found at the cafés, will not bear vicinage to a brisk kitchen fire for half an hour. now, if we only had that treaty of com- merce with france which has been so often on the point of completion, the fabrics of our unrivalled potteries, in ex- change for their capital wines, would be found throughout france. the dinners of both nations would be improved : ioo wit and wisdom of the the english would gain a delightful beverage, and the french, for the first time in their lives, would dine off hot plates. an unanswerable instance of the advantages of commercial reciprocity —coningsby. ' dinner at mr. vigo's.-the dinner was a banquet, a choice bouquet before every guest, turtle and venison and piles of whitebait, and pineapples of prodigious size, and bunches of grapes that had gained prizes. the champagne seemed to flow in fountains, and was only interrupted that the guest might quaff burgundy or taste tokay. but what was more delightful than all was the enjoyment of all present, and especially of the host. that is a rare sight. banquets are not rare, nor choice guests, nor gracious hosts ; but when do we ever see a person enjoy anything? but these gay chil- dren of art and whim, and successful labour and happy speculation, some of them very rich, and some without a sou, seemed only to think of the festive hour and all its joys. neither wealth nor poverty brought them cares. every face sparkled, every word seemed witty, and every sound seemed sweet. a band played upon the lawn during the dinner, and were succeeded, when the dessert commenced, by strange choruses from singers of some foreign land, who for the first time aired their picturesque costumes on the banks of the thames.—endymion. the banquet of the neuchatels to the premier, and some of the principal ambassadors and their wives, and to those of the premier's colleagues who were fashionable enough to be asked, and to some of the dukes and duchesses and other ethereal beings who supported the ministry, was the first event of the season. the table blazed with rare flowers and rarer porcelain and precious candelabra of sculptured beauty glittering with light; the gold plate was less remarkable than the delicate ware that had been alike moulded and adorned for a du barri or a marie antoi- nette, and which now found a permanent and peaceful home in the proverbial land of purity and order; and amid earl of beaconsfield. ioi the stars and ribbons not the least remarkable feature of the whole was mr. neuchatel himself, seated at the centre of his table, alike free from ostentation or over-deference, talking to the great ladies on each side of him as if he had nothing to do in life but whisper in gentle ears, and partak- ing of his own dainties as if he were eating bread and cheese at a country inn.—endymion. w a little dinner not more than the muses, with all the guests clever, and some pretty, offers human life and human nature under very favourable circumstances.— coningsby. lady fitz-pompey determined that the young duke should make his début at once, and at her house. although it was yet january, she did not despair of collecting a select band of guests, brahmins of the highest caste. some choice spirits were in office, like her lord, and therefore in town; others were only passing through ; but no one caught a flying-fish with more dexterity than the countess. the notice was short, the whole was unstudied. it was a felicitous impromptu, and twenty guests were assembled, who were the corinthian capitals of the temple of fashion. there was the premier, who was invited, not because he was a minister, but because he was a hero. there was another duke not less celebrated, whose palace was a breathing shrine which sent forth the oracles of mode. true, he had ceased to be a young duke; but he might be consoled for the vanished lustre of youth by the recollection that he had enjoyed it, and by the present inspiration of an accomplished manhood. there were the prince and the princess protocoli: his highness a first-rate diplomatist, unrivalled for his management of an opera ; and his con- sort, with a countenance like cleopatra and a tiara like a constellation, famed alike for her shawls and her snuff. there were lord and lady bloomerly, who were the best friends on earth: my lord a sportsman, but soft withal, his talk the jockey club, filtered through white's ; my lady a i o wit and wisdom of the little blue, and very beautiful. their daughter, lady char- lotte, rose by her mother's side like a tall bud by a full- blown flower. there were the viscountess blaze, a peeress in her own right, and her daughter, miss blaze dashaway, who, besides the glory of the future coronet, moved in all the confidence of independent thousands. there was the marquess of macaroni, who was at the same time a general, an ambassador, and a dandy; and who, if he had liked, could have worn twelve orders; but this day, being modest, only wore six. there, too, was the marchioness, with a stomacher stiff with brilliants extracted from the snuff-boxes presented to her husband at a congress. there were lord sunium, who was not only a peer but a poet; and his lady, a greek, who looked just finished by phidias. there, too, was pococurante, the epicurean and triple millionnaire, who in a political country dared to despise politics, in the most aristocratic of kingdoms had refused nobility, and in a land which showers all its honours upon its cultivators invested his whole fortune in the funds. he lived in a retreat like the villa of hadrian, and maintained himself in an elevated position chiefly by his wit and a little by his wealth. there, too, were his noble wife, thoroughbred to her fingers' tips, and beaming like the evening star ; and his son, who was an m.p., and thought his father a fool. in short, our party was no common party, but a band who formed the very core of civilisation; a high court of last appeal, whose word was a fiat, whose sign was a hint, whose stare was death, and sneer— damnation l—the young duke. the unfortunate, who had no contest, had to dine with another principal citizen, with real turtle soup and gigantic turbots, entrees in the shape of volcanic curries, and rigid venison sent as a compliment by a neighbouring peer.— endymion. the dinner was refined, for mr. bertie tremaine com- earl of beaconsfield. io bined the sybarite with the utilitarian sage, and it secretly delighted him to astonish or embarrass an austere brother re- publican by the splendour of his family plate or the polished appointments of his household.—endymion. a sporting dinner.—it is doubtful whether it ever occurs to anyone present, that there is any other existing combination of atoms than odds and handicaps.—endymion. a fish dinner—tancred was going to give them a fish dinner! a what? a sort of banquet which might have served for the marriage feast of neptune and amphitrite, and be commemorated by a constellation ; and which ought to have been administered by the nereids and the naiads; terrines of turtle, pools of water souchee, flounders of every hue, and eels in every shape, cutlets of salmon, salmis of carp, orto- lans represented by whitebait, and huge roasts carved out of the sturgeon. the appetite is distracted by the variety of objects, and tantalised by the restlessness of perpetual solicitation ; not a moment of repose, no pause for enjoy- ment ; eventually, a feeling of satiety without satisfaction, and of repletion without sustenance; till, at night, gradually recovering from the whirl of the anomalous repast, famished yet incapable of flavour, the tortured memory can only recall with an effort, that it has dined off pink champagne and brown bread and butter l—tancred. a parliamentary dinner—i think a course of parlia- mentary dinners would produce a good effect. it gives a tone to a political party. the science of political gastronomy has never keen sufficiently studied.—vivian grey. a dinner in coaching days.-‘the coach stops here half an hour, gentlemen: dinner quite ready l’ 'tis a delightful sound. and what a dinner | what a profusion of substantial delicacies what mighty and iris- tinted rounds of beef! what vast and marble-veined ribs - what gelatinous veal pies | what colossal hams those are evidently prize cheeses and how invigorating is the io wit and wisdom of the perfume of those various and variegated pickles | then the bustle emulating the plenty; the ringing of bells, the clash of thoroughfare, the summoning of ubiquitous waiters, and the all-pervading feeling of omnipotence, from the guests, who order what they please, to the landlord, who can produce and execute everything they can desire. 'tis a wondrous sight. why should a man go and see the pyramids and cross the desert, when he has not beheld york minster or travelled on the road –henrietta temple. an old-fashioned dinner.—simple as was the usual diet at cherbury, the cook was permitted on sunday full play to her art, which, in the eighteenth century, indulged in the production of dishes more numerous and substantial than our refined tastes could at present tolerate. the doctor appreciated a good dinner, and his countenance glistened with approbation as he surveyed the ample tureen of potage royal, with a boned duck swimming in its centre. before him still scowled in death the grim countenance of a huge roast pike, flanked on one side by a leg of mutton d-la-daube, and on the other by the tempting delicacies of bombarded veal. to these succeeded that masterpiece of culinary art, a grand battalia pie, in which the bodies of chickens, pigeons, and rabbits were embalmed in spices, cocks' combs, and savoury balls, and well bedeved with one of those rich sauces of claret, anchovy, and sweet herbs, in which our great-grandfathers delighted, and which was technically termed a lear. but the grand essay of skill was the cover of this pasty, whereon the curious cook had con- trived to represent all the once-living forms that were now entombed in that gorgeous sepulchre. a florentine tourte, or tansy, an old english custard, a more refined blamango, and a riband jelly of many colours, offered a pleasant relief after these vaster inventions, and the repast closed with a dish of oyster loaves and a pompetone of larks.-venetia. after dinner—the entrance of the gentlemen produced earl of beaconsfield. io the same effect on the saloon as sunrise on the world, universal animation, a general though gentle stir.—coningsby. a very great personage in a foreign but not remote country once mentioned to the writer of these pages that he ascribed the superiority of the english in political life, in their conduct of public business, and practical views of affairs to that little half-hour that separates, after dinner, the dark from the fair sex.-coningsby. diplomacp. all diplomacy since the treaty of utrecht seems to me to be fiddle-faddle, and the country rewarded the great man who made that treaty by an attainder—(“waldershare’) fºndymion. diplomacy is hospitable.—aendymion. idiplomatists. i always look upon diplomatists as the hebrews of politics.-(‘sidonia') coningsby. dissolution. our opponents, indeed, have settled everything. they have exhausted all the arts of unanimous audacity. but i think i have read somewhere that it is the custom of undisciplined hosts on the eve of a battle to anticipate and celebrate their triumph by horrid sounds and hideous yells, the sounding of cymbals, the beating of drums, the shrieks and springs of barbaric hordes. but it is sometimes found that the victory is not to them, but to those who are calm and collected ; the victory is to those who have arms of precision, though they made no noise; to those who have the breech-loaders, the rocket brigade, and the armstrong artillery. the fight will soon commence.—speech at mansion aouse, november , . divinitp. human wit ought to be exhausted before we presume to invoke divine interposition.—(“eva”) tancred. io wit and wisdom of thie the divine majesty has never thought fit to communi- cate except with human beings of the very highest powers.- tancred. - there is but one god—is it allah or jehovah? the palm-tree is sometimes called a date-tree, but there is only one tree.—(‘amalek’) tancred. divorce lady gaverslock was pure as snow; but her mother having been divorced, she ever fancied she was paying a kind of homage to her parent by visiting those who might some day be in the same predicament.—coningsby. dow quixo te. “there,” said herbert, as he closed the book. “in my opinion, don quixote was the best man that ever lived.” “but he did not ever live,” said lady annabel, smiling. ‘he lives to us,” said herbert. ‘he is the same to this age as if he had absolutely wandered over the plains of castile and watched in the sierra morena. we cannot, indeed, find his tomb ; but he has left us his great example. in his hero, cervantes has given us the picture of a great and benevolent philosopher, and in his sancho, a complete personification of the world, selfish and cunning, and yet overawed by the genius that he cannot comprehend : alive to all the material interests of existence, yet sighing after the ideal; securing his four young foals of the she-ass, yet indulging in dreams of empire.” “but what do you think of the assault on the windmills, marmion?” said lady annabel. “in the outset of his adventures, as in the outset of our lives, he was misled by his enthusiasm,” replied herbert, ‘without which, after all, we can do nothing. but the result is, don quixote was a redresser of wrongs, and there. fore the world esteemed him mad.’— venetia. earl of beaconsfield. io ixcivning street. happy spot, where they draw up constitutions for syria and treaties for china with the same self-complacency and the same success.-tancred. - dress. you must dress according to your age, your pursuits, your object in life. you must dress in some cases accord- ing to your set. in youth a little fancy is rather expected, but if political life be your object, it should be avoided, at least after one-and-twenty. what all men should avoid is the shabby genteel. no man gets over it. you had better be in rags.-(“vigo’) endymion. the sisters were in demi-toilette, which seemed artless, though in fact it was profoundly devised. sylvia was the only person who really understood the meaning of ‘simplex munditiis,’ and this was one of the secrets of her success.- andymion. duel. a political duel, in which recourse was had to the secure arbitrament of blank cartridges.—maiden speech in house of commons (irish election petition), december , . duke and duchess. the noble proprietor of this demesne had many of the virtues of his class ; a few of their failings. he had that public spirit which became his station. he was not one of those who avoided the exertions and the sacrifices which should be inseparable from high position, by the hollow pre- text of a taste for privacy, and a devotion to domestic joys he was munificent, tender, and bounteous to the poor, and loved a flowing hospitality. a keen sportsman, he was not untinctured by letters, and had indeed a cultivated taste for the fine arts. though an ardent politician, he was tolerant to adverse opinions, and full of amenity to his opponents. io wit and wisdom of the a firm supporter of the corn-laws, he never refused a lease. notwithstanding there ran through his whole demeanour and the habit of his mind, a vein of native simplicity that was full of charm, his manner was finished. he never offended anyone's self-love. his good breeding, indeed, sprang from the only source of gentle manners, a kind heart. to have pained others would have pained himself. per- haps, too, this noble sympathy may have been in some degree prompted by the ancient blood in his veins, an accident of lineage rather rare with the english nobility. one could hardly praise him for the strong affections that bound him to his hearth, for fortune had given him the most pleasing family in the world ; but, above all, a peerless wife. the duchess was one of those women who are the de- light of existence. she was sprung from a house not inferior to that with which she had blended, and was gifted with that rare beauty which time ever spares, so that she seemed now only the elder sister of her own beautiful daughters. she, too, was distinguished by that perfect good breed- ing which is the result of nature and not of education : for it may be found in a cottage, and may be missed in a palace. 'tis a genial regard for the feelings of others that springs from an absence of selfishness. the duchess, indeed, was in every sense a fine lady; her manners were refined and full of dignity; but nothing in the world could have in- duced her to appear bored when another was addressing or attempting to amuse her. she was not one of those vulgar fine ladies who meet you one day with a vacant stare, as if unconscious of your existence, and address you on another in a tone of impertinent familiarity. her temper, perhaps, was somewhat quick, which made this consideration for the feelings of others still more admirable, for it was the result of a strict moral discipline acting on a good heart. although the best of wives and mothers, she had some charity for her neighbours, needing herself no indulgence, she could be indulgent; and would by no means favour earl of beaconsfield. io that strait-laced morality that would constrain the innocent play of the social body. she was accomplished, well read, and had a lively fancy. add to this that sunbeam of a happy home, a gay and cheerful spirit in its mistress, and one might form some faint idea of this gracious personage. the duke had a good heart, and not a bad head. if he had not made in his youth so many latin and english verses, he might have acquired considerable information, for he had a natural love of letters, though his pack were the pride of england, his barrel seldom missed, and his for- tune on the turf, where he never betted, was a proverb. he was good, and he wished to do good ; but his views were confused from want of knowledge, and his conduct often inconsistent because a sense of duty made him imme- diately active; and he often acquired in the consequent experience a conviction exactly contrary to that which had prompted his activity.—coningsby. ijuke of st. ames. his grace moved towards them, tall and elegant in figure, and with that air of affable dignity which becomes a noble, and which adorns a court; none of that affected indifference which seems to imply that nothing can com- pensate for the exertion of moving, and ‘which makes the dandy, while it mars the man.’ his large and somewhat sleepy grey eye, his clear complexion, his small mouth, his aquiline nose, his transparent forehead, his rich brown hair, and the delicacy of his extremities, presented, when combined, a very excellent specimen of that style of beauty for which the nobility of england are remarkable. gentle, for he felt the importance of the tribunal, never loud, ready, yet a little reserved, he neither courted nor shunned examination. his finished manner, his experience of so- ciety, his pretensions to taste, the gaiety of his temper, and the liveliness of his imagination, gradually developed them- selves with the developing hours.-the young duke. i [o wit and wisdom of the dj’nasties. dynasties are unpopular, especially new ones; the pre sent age is monarchical, but not dynastic.—(“bertie tre- maine’) endymion. east. the east is a career.—(“coningsby') tancred. east india companp. the east india company has fallen very much like that great italian republic which i have always thought it rivalled and resembled. it has fallen in possession of a gallant army, a powerful fleet, and a considerable territory. it has fallen with all the semblance of authority, and it has met its end in the august fulfilment of its duties. like venice, the east india company has left a legacy of glory to mankind, and in treating of a form of government which has become extinct i hope the house will allow me to express my own feelings and to speak of that company with that respect which i think every englishman will extend to its memory.—speech in house of commons (government of india [no. ) bill), march , . econom.p. economy does not consist in the reckless reduction of estimates. on the contrary such a course almost necessarily tends to increased expenditure. there can be no economy where there is no efficiency.—letter to constituents, october , . education. the essence of education is the education of the body. beauty and health are the chief sources of happiness.-(‘mr. phoebus') lothair. those costly ceremonies which, under the name of eton and christchurch, in his time fascinated and dazzled man- kind.—endymion. + | | earl of beaconsfield. i i i i have found life very gloomy, but i think it arises from our faulty education : we are taught words, not ideas.-con- tarini fleming. wherever was found what was called a paternal govern- ment, was found a state education. it had been discovered that the best way to insure implicit obedience was to com- mence tyranny in the nursery.—speech in house of commons (minister of education), june , . upon the education of the people of this country the fate of this country depends. there is no period in the history of the world in which i believe it has been more important that the disposition and mind of the people should be considered by the state than it is at present.—speech in house of commons (minister of education), june , . although it is humiliating to confess, yet i do confess, that cleanliness and order are not matters of instinct ; they are matters of education, and like most great things—mathe- matics and classics—you must cultivate a taste for them.— speech at aylesbury (royal and central bucks agricultural association), september , . egpptian ornament. there is a charm about cairo, and it is this, that it is a capital in a desert. in one moment you are in the stream of existence, and in another in boundless solitude, or, which is still more awful, the silence of tombs. i speak of the sepulchres of the mamlouk sultans without the city. they form what may indeed be styled a city of the dead, an immense necropolis, full of exquisite buildings, domes covered with fretwork, and minarets carved and moulded with rich and elegant fancy. to me they proved much more interesting than the far-famed pyramids, although their cones in a distance are indeed sublime, their grey cones soaring in the light blue sky. the genius that has raised the tombs of the sultans may also be traced in many of the mosques of the city, splendid i i wit and wisdom of the specimens of saracenic architecture. in gazing upon these brilliant creations, and also upon those of ancient egypt, i have often been struck by the felicitous system which they display, of ever forming the external ornaments by inscrip- tions. how far excelling the grecian and gothic method | instead of a cornice of flowers, or an entablature of unmean- ing fancy, how superior to be reminded of the power of the creator, or the necessity of government, the deeds of con- querors, or the discoveries of arts —contarini fleming. election. we have had a riot, a little riot, just to show that we are freemen. we have had, as we had in , violent opinions expressed—but in they were expressed by men of mark. by whom are they expressed now p by the nincom- poops of politics—by men more absurd than hudibras.- speech at conservative banquet, edinburgh, october , . eloquence. knowledge is the foundation of eloquence.—endymion. emigration. when i observe year after year the vast emigration from ireland, i feel that it is impossible to conceal the fact that we are experiencing a great social and political calamity. i acknowledge that under some conditions, and even under general conditions, emigration is the safety-valve of a people. but there is a difference between blood-letting and haemor- rhage.—aelection speech on acceptance of office of chancellor of exchequer, july , . empire, it is not on our fleets and armies, however necessary they may be for the maintenance of our imperial strength, that i alone or mainly depend in that enterprise on which this country is about to enter. it is on what i most highly earl of beaconsfield. ii value—the consciousness that in the eastern nations there is a confidence in this country, and that while they know we can enforce our policy, at the same time they know that our empire is an empire of liberty, of truth, and of justice. speech in house of commons (congress correspondence and protocols), july , . this empire was formed by the enterprise and energy of our ancestors, and it is one of remarkable character. i know no example of it either in ancient or modern history. no caesar or charlemagne ever presided over a dominion so peculiar. its flag floats on many waters: it has provinces in every zone: they are inhabited by persons of different races, with different religions, different laws, manners, customs. some of them are bound to us by the tie of liberty, fully conscious that without their connection with the metropolis they would have no security for public freedom and self-government. others united to us by faith and blood are influenced by maternal as well as moral con- siderations. there are millions who are bound to us by military sway, and they bow to that sway because they know that they are indebted to it for order and justice. but all these communities agree in recognising the commanding spirit of these islands that has formed and fashioned in such a manner so great a portion of the globe. that empire is no mean heritage, but it is not a heritage that can only be en- joyed, it must be maintained ; and it can only be maintained by discipline, by patience, by determination, and by a reverence for public law and respect for national rights.- speech in house of commons (message from the queen, army a'eserve forces), april , . ems. the situation of ems is delightful. the mountains which form the valley are not, as in switzerland, so elevated that they confine the air or seem to impede the facility of breathing. in their fantastic forms the picturesque is not i i wit and wisdom of the lost in the monotonous, and in the rich covering of their various woods the admiring eye finds at the same time beauty and repose. opposite the ancient palace, on the banks of the lahn, are the gardens. in these, in a pavilion, a band of musicians seldom cease from enchanting the visitors by their execution of the most favourite speci- mens of german and italian music. numberless acacia arbours and retired sylvan seats are here to be found, where the student or the contemplative may seek refuge from the noise of his more gay companions, and the tedium of eternal conversation. in these gardens, also, are the billiard-room, and another saloon, in which each night meet not merely those who are interested in the mysteries of rouge-et-noir, and the chances of roulette, but, in general, the whole of the company, male and female, who are fre- quenting the baths. in quitting the gardens for a moment, we must not omit mentioning the interesting booth of our friend the restaurateur, where coffee, clear and hot, and ex- quisite confectionery, are never wanting. nor should we forget the glittering pennons of the gay boats which glide along the lahn; nor the handsome donkeys, who, with their white saddles and red bridles, seem not unworthy of the princesses whom they sometimes bear. the gardens, with an alley of limetrees, which are farther on, near the banks of the river, afford easy promenades to the sick and debili- tated ; but the more robust and active need not fear mono- tony in the valley of the lahn. if they sigh for the cham- paign country, they can climb the wild passes of the encircling mountains, and from their tops enjoy the most magnificent views of the rhineland. there they may gaze on that mighty river, flowing through the prolific plain which at the same time it nourishes and adorns, bounded on each side by mountains of every form, clothed with wood or crowned with castles. or, if they fear the fatigues of the ascent, they may wander farther up the valley, and in the wild dells, romantic forests, and grey ruins of stein and nassau, con- * earl of beaconsfield. - i i jure up the old times of feudal tyranny when the forest was the only free land, and he who outraged the laws the only one who did not suffer from their authority. such is a slight description of ems, a place almost of unique character; for it is a watering-place with every con- venience, luxury, and accommodation; and yet without shops, streets, or houses.— vivian grey. evdowmevt. i have observed that it is a characteristic, a happy characteristic, of the age in which we live, men become their own executors, and i should be delighted to hear of some magnificent endowment, which would place our uni- versity in the position which it deserves.—speech at glasgow (presentation of freedom of city), movember , . e.wdpmion and mpra. they were twins; children of most singular beauty. they resembled each other, and had the same brilliant com- plexions, rich chestnut hair, delicately arched brows, and dark blue eyes. the expression of their countenances was haughty, disdainful, and supercilious. their beautiful features seemed quite unimpassioned, and they moved as if they expected everything to yield to them. endpmion. he was gentle and docile; but he did not acquire knowledge with facility, and was remarkably deficient in that previous information on which his father counted. three years later. —though apparently so uneventful, the period had not been unimportant in the formation, doubtless yet partial, of his character. and all its influences had been beneficial to him. the crust of pride and selfishness with which large prosperity and illimitable indulgence had en- cased a kind, and far from presumptuous, disposition had been removed ; the domestic sentiments in their sweetnes; i ig wit and wisdom of the and purity had been developed ; he had acquired some skill in scholarship and no inconsiderable fund of sound in- formation; and the routine of religious thought had been superseded in his instance by an amount of knowledge and feeling on matters theological, unusual at his time of life. though apparently not gifted with any dangerous vivacity, or fatal facility of acquisition, his mind seemed clear and painstaking, and distinguished by common sense. he was brave and accurate. . . three quarters of a year had elapsed since the twins had parted, and they were at that period of life when such an interval often produces no slight changes in personal appearance. endymion, always late for his years, had considerably grown; his air and manner and dress were distinguished. . . . with all circles endymion was a favourite. no doubt his good looks, his mien—which was both cheerful and pensive—his graceful and quiet manners, all told in his favour, and gave him a good start, but further acquaintance always sustained the first impression. he was intelligent and well informed without any alarming originality, or too positive convictions. he listened not only with patience, but with interest to all, and ever avoided controversy. here are some of the elements of a man's popularity : what was his intellectual reach, and what his real character, it was difficult at this time to decide. he was still very young, only on the verge of his twentieth year; and his character had no doubt been influenced, it might be suppressed, by the crushing misfortunes of his family. the influence of his sister was supreme over him ; she had never omitted an occasion to impress upon him that he had a great mission, and that, aided by her devotion, he would fulfil it. what his own conviction on that subject was may be obscure. perhaps he was organically of that cheerful and easy nature which is content to enjoy the present and not brood over the past. the future may throw light upon all these points; at present it may be admitted that the three years of seem- earl of beaconsfield. i ingly bitter and mortifying adversity have not been alto- gether wanting in beneficial elements in the formation of his character and the fashioning of his future life. . . . endymion had now one of those rare opportunities which, if men be equal to them, greatly affect their future career. as the session advanced, debates on foreign affairs became frequent and deeply interesting. so far as the ministry was concerned, the burthen of these fell on the under-secretary of state. he was never wanting. the house felt that he had not only the adequate knowledge, but that it was knowledge perfectly digested ; that his remarks and conduct were those of a man who had given constant thought to his duties, and was master of his subject. the power and melody of his voice had been before re- marked, and that is a gift which much contributes to success in a popular assembly. he was ready without being too fluent. there was light and shade in his delivery. he repressed his power of sarcasm : but if unjustly and in- accurately attacked, he would be keen. over his temper he had complete control ; if, indeed, his entire insensibility to violent language on the part of an opponent was not organic. all acknowledged his courtesy, and both sides sympathised with a young man who proved himself equal to no ordinary difficulties. in a word, endymion was popular, and that popularity was not diminished by the fact of his being the brother of lady roehampton, who exercised great influence in society, and was much beloved. energy. no conjunction can possibly occur, however fearful, how- ever tremendous, it may appear, from which a man by his own energy may not extricate himself, as a mariner by the rattling of his cannon can dissipate the impending water- spout.—(‘beckendorf’) vivian grey. ii wit and wisdom of the england. england is a domestic country. here the home is revered and the hearth sacred. the nation is represented by a family—the royal family—and if that family is edu- cated with a sense of responsibility and a sentiment of public duty, it is difficult to exaggerate the salutary influence it may exercise over a nation.—speech at manchester, april , . there is no sovereignty of any first-rate state which costs so little to the people as the sovereignty of england.— speech at manchester, april , . the people of england are the most enthusiastic in the world. there are others more excitable, but there are none so enthusiastic.—speech at royal and central bucks agri- cultural association, september , . the continent will not suffer england to be the work- shop of the world.—speech in house of commons (abolition of corn laws), march , . the mind of england is the mind of the rising race.— (‘egremont') sybil. english. fnglish is an expressive language, but not difficult to master. its range is limited. it consists, as far as i can observe, of four words, “nice,” “jolly,’ ‘charming,' and ‘bore,” and some grammarians add 'fond.”—(‘pinto') mothair. english climate.—“oh the damned climate ſ” ‘on the contrary, it is the only good climate there is. in england you can go out every day, and at all hours; and then, to those who love variety, like myself, you are not sure of seeing the same sky every morning you rise, which, for my part, i think the greatest of all existing sources of ennui.’—(‘count mirabel') henrietta temple. english government.—insurrections and riots strengthen an english government.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. earl of beaconsfield. i english history.—if the history of england be ever written by one who has the knowledge and the courage, and both qualities are equally requisite for the undertaking, the world would be more astonished than when reading the roman annals by niebuhr. generally speaking, all the great events have been distorted, most of the important causes concealed, some of the principal characters never appear, and all who figure are so misunderstood and misrepresented, that the result is a complete mystification, and the perusal of the narrative about as profitable to an englishman as reading the republic of plato or the utopia of more, the pages of gaudentio di lucca or the adventures of peter wilkins. english mation.—i think there is no mistake so grave on the part of a minister as to undervalue public peril. the english nation is never so great as in adversity. in prosperity it may be accused, and perhaps justly, of being somewhat ostentatious, and, it may be, even insolent: in middle for- tunes it may often prove itself unreasonable, but there never has been a time when a great sense of responsibility has been thrown upon the people of this country, when they have not answered the occasion and shown that matchless energy which has made and will maintain their position as the leading nation of the world.—speech in house of commons (troops for india), august , . what he said was very well said, and it was addressed to a people who, though the shyest in the world, have a passion for public speaking, than which no achievement more tests reserve.—a offiair. enterprise. the enterprising are often fortunate.—tancred. enth usiasm. that youthful fervour, which is sometimes called enthu- siasm, but which is a heat of imagination subsequently dis- covered to be inconsistent with the experience of actual life.—endymion. i wit and wisdom of tiie equality. civil equality prevails in britain, social equality prevails in france. the essence of civil equality is to abolish privilege ; the essence of social equality is to destroy class. speech at glasgow university, november , . the equality which is now sought by vast multitudes of men in many countries is physical and material equality. this is the disturbing spirit which is now rising like a moan- ing wind in europe, and which, when you enter the world, may possibly be a raging storm. the leading principle of the new school is that there is no happiness which is not material, and that every living being has a right to share in that physical welfare. the first obstacle which they find to this object is found in the rights of property. therefore they must be abolished. but the social system must be established on some principle ; and therefore for the rights of property they would establish the rights of labour. the great limit to employment, to the rights of labour, and to the physical and material equality of man, is found in the division of the world into states and nations. thus a civil equality would abolish privilege, social equality would destroy classes; so material and physical equality strikes at the principle of patriotism and is prepared to abrogate countries. the new philosophy strikes further than at the existence of patriotism. it strikes at the home ; it strikes at the individuality of man. it would reduce civilised society to human flocks and herds.-speech at glasgow oniversity, wovember , . the equality of man can only be accomplished by the sovereignty of god.—(‘the angel of arabia') tancred. fstate. if you want to understand the ups and downs of life, there is nothing like the parchments of an estate.—(‘gerard’) sybil. earl of beaconsfield. i i eteravitp. the doom of eternity and the fortunes of life cannot be placed in competition.—(‘cardinal grandison’) lothair. eton, that delicious plain, studded with every creation of graceful culture ; hamlet, and hall, and grange ; garden, and grove, and park; that castle-palace, grey with glorious ages; those antique spires, hoar with faith and wisdom, the chapel and the college ; the river winding through the shady meads; the sunny glade and the solemn avenue ; the room in the dame's house where we first order our own breakfast and first feel we are free; the stirring multitude, the energetic groups, the individual mind that leads, conquers, controls; the emulation and the affection ; the noble strife and the tender sentiment ; the daring exploit and the dashing scrape ; the passion that pervades our life, and breathes in everything, from the aspiring study to the inspiring sport: oh what hereafter can spur the brain and touch the heart like this ; can give us a world so deeply and variously interesting; a life so full of quick and bright excitement, passed in a scene so fair p-comingsby. eva. she was young, even for the east ; her stature rather above the ordinary height, and clothed in the rich dress usual among the syrian ladies. she wore an amber vest of gold-embroidered silk, fitting closely to her shape, and fastening with buttons of precious stones from the bosom to the waist, there opening like a tunic, so that her limbs were free to range in her huge mamlouk trousers, made of that white cashmere, a shawl of which can be drawn through a ring. these, fastened round her ankles with clasps of rubies, fell again over her small slippered feet. over her amber earl of beaconsfield. i fascination, had not the depth of the curve in which it re- posed softened the spell and modified irresistible power by ineffable tenderness. this supreme organisation is always accompanied, as in the present instance, by a noble fore- head, and by an eyebrow of perfect form, spanning its space with undeviating beauty; very narrow, though its roots are invisible. the nose was small, slightly elevated, with long oval nos- trils fully developed. the small mouth, the short upper lip, the teeth like the neighbouring pearls of ormuz, the round chin, polished as a statue, were in perfect harmony with the delicate ears, and the hands with nails shaped like almonds. –tancred. evening. a rosy light hung over the rare shrubs, and tall fantastic trees ; while a rich yet darker tint suffused the distant woods. this euthanasia of the day exercises a strange influence over those who love. who has not felt it? magical emotions that touch the immortal part.—coningsby. the last beam of the sun flashed across the flaming horizon as they gained the terrace ; the hills, well wooded, or presenting a bare and acute outline to the sky, rose sharply defined in form ; while in another direction some more distant elevations were pervaded with a rich purple tint, touched sometimes with a rosy blaze of soft and flicker- ing light. the whole scene, indeed, from the humble pasture-land that was soon to creep into darkness, to the proud hills whose sparkling crests were yet touched by the living beam, was bathed with lucid beauty and luminous softness, and blended with the glowing canopy of the lustrous sky. but on the terrace, and the groves that rose beyond it, and the glades and vistas into which they opened, fell the full glory of the sunset. each moment a new shadow, now rosy, now golden, now blending in its shifting tints all the glory of the iris, fell over the rich i wit and wisdom of the pleasure-grounds, their groups of rare and noble trees, and their dim or glittering avenues. the vespers of the birds were faintly dying away, the last low of the returning kine sounded over the lea, the tinkle of the sheep-bell was heard no more, the thin white moon began to gleam, and hesperus glittered in the fading sky. it was the twilight hour ! that delicious hour that softens the heart of man, what is its magic? not merely its beauty; it is not more beau- tiful than the sunrise. it is its repose. our tumultuous passions sink with the sun, there is a fine sympathy between us and our world, and the stillness of nature is responded to by the serenity of the soul—henrietta temple. it was the twilight hour; the hour at which in southern climes the peasant kneels before the sunset image of the blessed hebrew.maiden ; when caravans halt in their long course over vast deserts, and the turbaned traveller, bending in the sand, pays his homage to the sacred stone and the sacred city ; the hour, not less holy, that announces the cessation of english toil, and sends forth the miner and the collier to breathe the air of earth, and gaze on the light of heaven.—sybil. hesperus rises from the sunset like the fountain of fresh water from the sea. the sky and the ocean have two natures like ourselves.—(‘herbert') venetia. epents. what wonderful things are events the least are of greater importance than the most sublime and comprehen- sive speculations.—coningsby. - life is not dated merely by years. events are some- times the best calendar. there are epochs in our existence which cannot be ascertained by a formal appeal to the registry.— venetia. - if you want to be a leader of the people, you must learn to watch events.-(“devilsdust’) sybil. t earl of beaconsfield. i everingham (ladp). lady everingham was not a celebrated beauty, but she was something infinitely more delightful, a captivating woman. there were combined in her, qualities not commonly met to gether, great vivacity of mind with great grace of manner. her words sparkled and her movements charmed. there was indeed, in all she said and did, that congruity that indicates a complete and harmonious organisation. it was the same just proportion which characterised her form : a shape slight and undulating with grace ; the most beautifully shaped ear; a small, soft hand ; a foot that would have fitted the glass slipper ; and which, by the bye, she lost no opportunity of displaying ; and she was right, for it was a model.—con- ingsby. exaggeration. there is no greater sin than to be trop prononcé. — the young duke. expediency, expediency is a law of nature. the camel is a wonder ful animal, but the desert made the camel.—(‘baroni’) tancred. experience. experience is a thing that all men praise.—the young jduke. great men never want experience.—(‘sidonia') con- ingsby. the sum of our experience is but a dim dream of the conduct of past generations—generations that lived in a total ignorance of their nature.—contarini fleming. experience, whose result is felt by all, whose nature is described by none.—vivian grey. explain. he had lived long enough to know that it is unwise to wish everything explained.—coningsby. i wit and wisdom of the extreme. extreme views are never just ; something always turns up which disturbs the calculations formed upon their data.- (‘baroni’) tancred. faith. to revive faith is more difficult than to create it.— lothair. faith flourishes in solitude.—alroy. - his was a mind that loved to pursue every question to the centre. but it was not a spirit of scepticism that im- pelled this habit ; on the contrary, it was the spirit of faith. coningsby found that he was born in an age of infidelity in all things, and his heart assured him that a want of faith was a want of nature. but his vigorous intellect could not take refuge in that maudlin substitute for belief which consists in a patronage of fantastic theories. he needed that deep and enduring conviction that the heart and the intellect, feeling and reason united, can alone supply. — coningsby. fame. fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts not so high as man's desires.—the young duke. all we poor fellows can do is to wake the hellenistic raptures of mayfair; and that they call fame ; as much like fame as a toadstool is like a truffle.—(‘cadurcis') venetia. - to be famous when you are young is the fortune of the gods,-tancred. fawe (violez). her companion was much younger, not so tall, and of slender form. the long tresses of her chestnut hair shaded her oval face. her small, aquiline nose, bright hazel eyes, delicate mouth, and the deep colour of her lips, were as remarkable as the transparency of her complexion. the earl of beaconsfield. flush of her cheek was singular; it was of a brilliant pink : you may find it in the lip of an indian shell. the blue veins played beneath her arched forehead, like lightning beneath a rainbow. she was dressed in white, and a damask rose, half hid in her clustering hair, was her only ornament. this lovely creature glided by vivian grey almost unnoticed, so fixed was his gaze on her companion. yet, magnificent as was the style of lady madeleine trevor, there were few who preferred even her commanding graces to the softer beauties of violet fane.— vivian grey. farewell. i never like to say farewell even for four-and twenty hours: one should vanish like a spirit.—(‘theodora’) lothair. aashion. all hurried to pay their devoirs to the king of fashion; and each who succeeded in becoming a member of the court felt as proud as a peer with a new title or a baronet with an old one.—the young duke. the duke of st. james passed the examination with unqualified approval, and having been stamped at the mint of fashion as a sovereign of the brightest die, he was flung forth, like the rest of his golden brethren, to corrupt the society of which he was the brightest ornament.—the young duke. the high mode for a real swell is to have a theatre. brecon has the frolic; kate simmons is his manager, who calls herself athalie de montfort. you ought to have a theatre, lothair; and if there is not one to hire, you should build one. it would show that you were alive again and had the spirit of an english noble, and atone for some of your eccentricities.—(“hugo bohun') lothair. a man of fashion.—dandy has been voted vulgar, and beau is now the word. it may be doubted whether the revival will stand ; and as for the exploded title, though it had its i wit and wisdom of the faults at first, the muse of byron has made it not only english, but classical. charles annesley could hardly be called a dandy or a beau. there was nothing in his dress, though some mysterious arrangement in his costume, some rare sim- plicity, some curious happiness, always made it distinguished ; there was nothing, however, in his dress which could account for the influence which he exercised over the manners of his contemporaries. charles annesley was about thirty. he had inherited from his father, a younger brother, a small estate; and, though heir to a wealthy earldom, he had never abused what the world called ‘his prospects.” yet his establishment, his little house in mayfair, his horses, his moderate stud at melton, were all unique, and everything connected with him was unparalleled for its elegance, its invention, and its refine- ment. but his manner was his magic. his natural and subdued nonchalance, so different from the assumed non- emotion of a mere dandy; his coldness of heart, which was hereditary, not acquired ; his cautious courage, and his unadulterated self-love, had permitted him to mingle much with mankind without being too deeply involved in the play of their passions; while his exquisite sense of the ridiculous quickly revealed those weaknesses to him which his delicate satire did not spare, even while it refrained from wounding. all feared, many admired, and none hated him. he was too powerful not to dread, too dexterous not to admire, too superior to hate. perhaps the great secret of his manner was his exquisite superciliousness, a quality which, of all, is the most difficult to manage. even with his intimates he was never confidential, and perpetually assumed his public character with the private coterie which he loved to rule. on the whole, he was unlike any of the leading men of modern days, and rather reminded one of the fine gentle- men of our old brilliant comedy, the dorimants, the bellairs, and the mirabels.—the young duke. fate. we make our fortunes, and we call them fate.--alroy. earl of beaconsfield. i i'eebleness. it may be that words are vain to save us, but feeble deeds are vainer than words.—sybil. feeling. feeling without sufficient cause is weakness.-(‘lady corisande’) lothair. there is nothing that makes one so thirsty as listening to a song (at a music hall), particularly if it touches the feelings.-(“dandy dick”) sybil. all feeling which has no object to attain is morbid and maudlin.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. never apologise for showing feeling. my friend, remem- ber that when you do so, you apologise for truth—(winter') contarini fleming. our feelings affect even scenery.—(‘job thornberry') endymion. fenians. what the fenian movement is i do not at this moment understand. i believe it is rather to be accounted for by phy- sical than political causes. i know that in the middle ages there was a dancing mania, and whole nations fell into fits of dancing and passed the borders of contiguous countries till they accomplished a distance of , leagues. there is no doubt that there is an epileptic feeling which affects nations like individuals, and i can only account for the fenian movement on the epileptic principle.—speech in house of commons (ireland, railways), march , . ferroz (cov.vt of). the count of ferrol was a young man and yet inclined to be bald. he was chief of a not inconsiderable mission at our court. though not to be described as a handsome man, his countenance was striking ; a brow of much intel- lectual development, and a massive jaw. he was tall, i o wit and wisdom of the broad-shouldered, with a slender waist. he greeted endy- mion with a penetrating glance, and then with a winning smile. the count of ferrol was the representative of a kingdom which, if not exactly created, had been moulded into a certain form of apparent strength by the congress of vienna. he was a noble of considerable estate in a country where possessions were not extensive or fortunes large, though it was ruled by an ancient and haughty and warlike aristocracy. like his class, the count had received a military education; but when that education was completed he found but a feeble prospect of his acquirements being called into action. it was believed that the age of great wars had ceased, and that even revolutions were for the future to be controlled by diplomacy. as he was a man of an original, not to say eccentric turn of mind, the count was not contented with the resources and distraction of his second-rate capital. he was an eminent sportsman, and for some time took refuge and found excitement in the breadth of his dark forests, and in the formation of a stud. but all this time, even in the excitement of the chase, and in the raising of his rare-bred steeds, the count of ferrol might be said to have been brooding over the position of what he could hardly call his country, but rather an aggregation of lands baptized by protocols, and christened and consolidated by treaties, which he looked upon as eminently untrustworthy. one day he surprised his sovereign by requesting to be appointed to the legation at london, which was vacant. the appoint- ment was at once made, and the count of ferrol had now been two years at the court of st. james's. the count was a favourite in english society, for he possessed every quality which there conduces to success. he was of great family and of distinguished appearance, munificent and singularly frank ; was a dead shot, and the boldest of riders, with horses which were the admiration alike of melton and newmarket. the ladies also approved earl of beaconsfield. i i of him, for he was a consummate waltzer, and mixed, with a badinage gaily cynical, a tone that could be tender with a bewitching smile.—endymion. z- figures. figures are not party men. you may cross the house, yet you cannot convert , tons into , tons.— speech in house of commons (sugar duties), july , . finance. the noble lord (palmerston) seems to think that pos- terity is a packhorse, always ready to be loaded.—speech in house of commons (fortifications and works), june , . i have in the course of my life been in communi- cation with some of the most eminent statesmen of various countries, and i have always heard them use this language with regard to the influence of england—that the real cause of the influence of england may be found in this circum- stance, that england is the only country which, when it enters into a quarrel that it believes to be just, never ceases its efforts until it has accomplished its aim. whereas it was always felt in old times that, with scarcely any excep- tion, there was not a state in europe, not even the proudest and most powerful, that could enter into a third campaign. what then gave us this power of continuing any war on which we entered p. it was the financial reserve of england. speech in house of commons (avational expenditure), june , . william introduced into england the system of dutch finance. the principle of that system was to mortgage industry in order to protect property.—sybil. firmness. one of the results of my attending the congress of berlin has been to prove, what i always suspected before to i wit and wisdom of the be an absolute fact—that neither the crimean war, nor this horrible devastating war, which has just terminated, would have taken place, if england had spoken with the necessary firmness.-banquet at duke of wellington's riding school, july , . it came at last, as everything does if men are firm and calm.—sybil. flatterp. mrs. guy flouncey was an adroit flatterer, with a temper imperturbable, and gifted with a ceaseless energy of con- ferring slight obligations. she lent them patterns for new fashions, in all which mysteries she was versant ; and what with some gentle glozing and some gay gossip—sugar for their tongues, and salt for their tails—she contrived pretty well to catch them.—coningsby. flattery is the destruction of all good fellowship : it is like a qualmish liqueur in the midst of a bottle of wine.— (“hunsdrick') vivian grey. flirtation. the soul-subduing sentiment, harshly called flirtation, which is the spell of a country house.—coningsby. florence. i was at length at florence. the fair city, so much vaunted by poets, at first greatly disappointed me. i could not reconcile myself to those unfinished churches like barns, and those gloomy palaces like prisons. the muddy arno was not poetical, and the site of the whole place, and the appearance of the surrounding hills, in spite of their white villas, seemed to me confined, monotonous, and dull. yet there is a charm in florence, which, although difficult precisely to define, is in its influence great and growing, and i scarcely know a place that i would prefer for a residence. i think it is the character of art which, both from ancient . associations and its present possessions, is forcibly impressed * earl of beaconsfield. i upon this city. it is full of invention. you cannot stroll fifty yards, you cannot enter a church or palace, without being favourably reminded of the power of human thought. it is a famous memorial of the genius of the italian middle ages, when the mind of man was in one of its spring tides, and in which we mark so frequently what at the present day we too much underrate, the influence of individual cha- racter in florence the monuments are not only of great men, but of the greatest. you do not gaze upon the tomb of an author who is merely a great master of composition, but of one who formed the language. the illustrious astronomer is not the discoverer of a planet, but the revealer of the whole celestial machinery. the artist and the politician are not merely the first sculptors and statesmen of their time, but the inventors of the very art and the very craft in which they excelled.—contarini fleming. formalitp. governments, like individuals, sometimes shrink from formality.—(‘prince florestan’) endymion. fortune. it is a great thing to make a fortune. there is only one thing greater, and that is to keep it when made.—(‘mr. bond sharpe’) henrietta temple. - good wishes do not always bring good fortunes.— (“alcesté') contarini fleming. frankfort fair. it was frankfort fair; and all countenances were ex- pressive of that excitement which we always experience at great meetings of our fellow-creatures; whether the assemblies be for slaughter, pleasure, or profit, and whether or not we ourselves join in the banquet, the battle, or the fair. at the top of the hill is an old roman tower, and i wit and wisdom of the from this point the flourishing city of frankfort, with its picturesque cathedral, its numerous villas, and beautiful gardens in the middle of the fertile valley of the maine, burst upon vivian's sight. on crossing the bridge over the river, the crowd became almost impassable, and it was with the greatest difficulty that vivian steered his way through the old narrow winding streets, full of tall ancient houses, with heavy casements and notched gable-ends. these structures did not, however, at the present moment, greet the traveller with their usual sombre and antique appearance : their out- side walls were, in most instances, covered with pieces of broad cloth of the most showy colours, red, blue, and yel- low predominating. these standards of trade were not merely used for the purpose of exhibiting the quality of the articles sold in the interior, but also of informing the curious traveller of the name and nation of their adventurous owners. inscriptions in german, french, russian, english, italian, and even hebrew, appeared in striking characters on each woollen specimen; and, as if these were not sufficient to attract the attention of the passenger, an active appren- tice, or assistant, commented in eloquent terms on the peculiar fairness and honesty of his master. the public squares and other open spaces, and indeed every spot which was secure from the hurrying wheels of the heavy old- fashioned coaches of the frankfort aristocracy and the spirited pawings of their sleek and long-tailed coach-horses, were covered with large and showy booths, which groaned under the accumulated treasures of all countries. french silks and french clocks rivalled manchester cottons and sheffield cutlery, and assisted to attract or entrap the gazer, in company with venetian chains, neapolitan coral, and vienna pipeheads: here was the booth of a great bookseller, who looked to the approaching leipsic fair for some con- solation for his slow sale and the bad taste of the people of frankfort; and there was a dealer in bologna sausages, who felt quite convinced that in some things the taste of the earl of beaconsfield. i frankfort public was by no means to be lightly spoken of all was bustle, bargaining, and business : there were quarrels and conversation in all languages; and vivian grey, although he had no chance either of winning or losing money, was amused.— vivian grey. frankness. candour is a great virtue. there is a charm, a healthy charm, in frankness.-venetia. there is no wisdom-like frankness.-sybil. be frank and explicit. that is the right line to take, when you wish to conceal your own mind and to confuse the minds of others.-(‘the gentleman in downing street.') sybil. - freedom. freedom, says the sage, will lead to prosperity, and despotism to destruction.—contarini fleming. pree trade. there was obviously some analogy between civil and commercial freedom. a man was not less free because he was subject to some regulations and taxes. but gentlemen opposite meant by free-trade an absence from all restriction. a peculiar characteristic of the free-trade school was their total neglect of circumstances. they never took any cir- cumstances into consideration.—speech in house of commons (import duties), april , . french. coningsby would find some day that there were two educations, one which his position required, and another which was demanded by the world. french is the keystone to this second education.—comingsby. french society.—the art of society is, without doubt, per- fectly comprehended and completely practised in the bright metropolis of france. an englishman cannot enter a saloon without instantly feeling he is among a race more social than wit and wisdom of the his compatriots. what, for example, is more consummate than the manner in which a french lady receives her guests? she unites graceful repose and unaffected dignity with the most amiable regard for others. she sees everyone ; she speaks to everyone; she sees them at the right moment; she says the right thing ; it is utterly impossible to detect any difference in the position of her guests by the spirit in which she welcomes them. there is, indeed, throughout every circle of parisian society, from the château to the cabaret, a sincere homage to intellect ; and this without any maudlin sentiment. none sooner than the parisians can draw the line between factitious notoriety and honest fame, or sooner distinguish between the counterfeit celebrity and the standard reputation. in england, we too often alternate between a supercilious neglect of genius and a rhapsodical pursuit of quacks. in england, when a new character appears in our circles, the first question always is, ‘who is he?” in france it is, “what is he?” in england, how much a year p’ in france, ‘what has he done?’—coningsby. - ‘i have already seen many remarkable things,’ said coningsby; “and met many celebrated persons. nothing strikes me more in this brilliant city than the tone of its society, so much higher than our own. what an absence of petty personalities! how much conversation, and how little gossip ! yet nowhere is there less pedantry. here all women are as agreeable as is the remarkable privilege in london of some half-dozen. men too, and great men, develope their minds. a great man in england, on the contrary, is generally the dullest.—coningsby. friendship. female friendships are of rapid growth.-the young duke. perhaps there is nothing more lovely than the love of two beautiful women, who are not jealous of each other's charms.-the young duke. earl of beaconsfield. i the friendships of the world are wind.—(‘lord cadurcis') venetia. sidonia has no friends. no wise man has. what are friends p. traitors.-coningsby. there have been many instances of friends and friend- ship. friendship is the gift of the gods, and the most precious boon to man. it has long occupied the thought and consideration of essayists and philosophers; there has been more analysis of the elements of the different degrees of friendship than of any other quality granted to sustain and solace humanity. there, for instance, is the devoted friend who stands or falls by you. but there is another kind of friend, immortalised by an epithet which should not be mentioned to ‘ears polite.” we all know that friend. speech in house of commons (ministerial explanation, a'esignation of lord john russell), july , . as for modern friendship, it will be found in clubs. it is violent at a house dinner, fervent in a cigar shop, full of devotion at a cricket or a pigeon match, or in the gathering of a steeple-chase. the nineteenth century is not entirely sceptical on the head of friendship, but fears 'tis rare. a man may have friends, but then, are they sincere ones? do not they abuse you behind your back, and blackball you at societies where they have had the honour to propose you? it might philosophically be suggested, that it is more agree- able to be abused behind one's back than to one's face ; and, as for the second catastrophe, it should not be for- gotten that, if the sincere friend may occasionally put a successful veto on your election, he is always ready to pro- pose you again. generally speaking, among sensible per- sons, it would seem that a rich man deems that friend a sincere one who does not want to borrow his money; while, among the less favoured with fortune's gifts, the sincere friend is generally esteemed to be the individual who is ready to lend it.—tancred. in short, vivian and he became what the world calls i wit and wisdom of the friends; that is to say, they were men who had no objection to dine in each other's company, provided the dinner were good ; assist each other in any scrape, provided no parti- cular personal responsibility were incurred by the assistant ; and live under the same roof, provided each were master of his own time.— vivian grey. - i wear my old bonnets at bath and use my new friends; but in town i have old friends and new dresses.—(‘lady bellair') henrietta temple. it is seldom the lot of husbands, that their confidential friends gain the regards of their brides.—coningsby. schoolboy friendships.-at school, friendship is a passion. it entrances the being; it tears the soul. all loves of after- life can never bring its rapture, or its wretchedness; no bliss so absorbing, no pangs of jealousy or despair so crushing and so keen | what tenderness and what devotion ; what illimit- able confidence ; infinite revelations of inmost thoughts; what ecstatic present and romantic future ; what bitter estrangements and what melting reconciliations; what scenes of wild recrimination, agitating explanations, pas- sionate correspondence; what insane sensitiveness, and what frantic sensibility; what earthquakes of the heart and whirlwinds of the soul are confined in that simple phrase, a schoolboy's friendship ! 'tis some indefinite recol- lection of these mystic passages of their young emotion that makes grey-haired men mourn over the memory of their schoolboy days. it is a spell that can soften the acerbity of political warfare, and with its witchery can call forth a sigh even amid the callous bustle of fashionable saloons.— coningsby. there is a magic in the memory of schoolboy friendships: it softens the heart, and even affects the nervous system of those who have no hearts.—endymion. thiſ §§ war. with blº slſº earl of beaconsfield. i frill (covyz). count frill was a different sort of personage. he was all rings and ringlets, ruffles, and a little rouge. much older than his companion, short in stature, plump in figure, but with a most defined waist, fair, blooming, with a multi- plicity of long light curls, and a perpetual smile playing upon his round countenance, he looked like the cupid of an opera olympus.-the young duke. future. he was famous for discovering the future, when it has taken place.—contarini fleming. the past is for wisdom, the present for action, but for joy the future.—alroy. gambling. in a brilliantly-illuminated saloon, adorned with corin- thian columns and casts from some of the most famous antique statues, assembled, between nine and ten o'clock in the evening, many of the visitors at ems. on each side of the room was placed a long narrow table, one of which was covered with green baize, and unattended ; while the variously-coloured leathern surface of the other was closely surrounded by an interested crowd. behind this table stood two individuals of different appearance. the first was a short, thick man, whose only business was dealing certain portions of playing cards with quick suc- cession one after the other : and as the fate of the table was decided by this process, did his companion, a very tall, thin man, throw various pieces of money upon certain stakes, which were deposited by the bystanders on different parts of the table ; or, which was much oftener the case, with a silver rake with a long ebony handle, sweep into a large enclosure near him the scattered sums. this enclo- sure was called the bank, and the mysterious ceremony in i o wit and wisdom of the which these persons were assisting was the celebrated game of rouge-et-noir. a deep silence was strictly pre- served by those who immediately surrounded the table ; no voice was heard save that of the little, short, stout dealer, when, without an expression of the least interest, he seemed mechanically to announce the fate of the dif- ferent colours. no other sound was heard, except the jingle of the dollars and napoleons, and the ominous rake of the tall, thin banker. the countenances of those who were hazarding their money were grave and gloomy: their eyes were fixed, their brows contracted, and their lips pro- jected ; and yet there was an evident effort visible to show that they were both easy and unconcerned. each player held in his hand a small piece of pasteboard, on which, with a steel pricker, he marked the run of the cards, in order, from his observations, to regulate his own play. the rouge-et-noir player imagines that chance is not capricious. those who were not interested in the game promenaded in two lines within the tables, or, seated in recesses between the pillars, formed small parties for conversation.— vivian grey. we know that we are broaching a doctrine which many will start at, and which some will protest against, when we declare our belief that no person, whatever his apparent wealth, ever yet gamed except from the prospect of imme- diate gain. we hear much of want of excitement, of ennui, of satiety ; and then the gaming-table is announced as a sort of substitute for opium, wine, or any other mode of obtaining a more intense vitality at the cost of reason. gaming is too active, too anxious, too complicated, too troublesome; in a word, too sensible an affair for such spirits, who fly only to a sort of dreamy and indefinite distraction. the fact is, gaming is a matter of business. its object is tangible, clear, and evident. there is nothing high, or inflammatory, or exciting; no false magnificence, no visionary elevation, in the affair at all. it is the very antipodes to earl of beaconsfield. i i enthusiasm of any kind. it presupposes in its votary a mind essentially mercantile. all the feelings that are in its train are the most mean, the most commonplace, and the most annoying of daily life, and nothing would tempt the gamester to experience them except the great object which, as a matter of calculation, he is willing to aim at on such terms. no man flies to the gaming-table in a paroxysm. the first visit requires the courage of a forlorn hope. the first stake will make the lightest mind anxious, the firmest hand tremble, and the stoutest heart falter. after the first stake, it is all a matter of calculation and management, even in games of chance. night after night will men play at rouge-et-noir, upon what they call a system, and for hours their attention never ceases, any more than it would if they were in the shop or on the wharf. no manual labour is more fatiguing, and more degrading to the labourer, than gaming. every gamester feels ashamed. and this vice, this worst vice, from whose embrace, moralists daily inform us, man can never escape, is just the one from which the majority of men most completely, and most often, emancipate themselves. infinite are the men who have lost thousands in their youth, and never dream of chance again. it is this pursuit which, oftener than any other, leads man to self-knowledge. appalled by the absolute destruction on the verge of which he finds his early youth just stepping; aghast at the shadowy crimes which, under the influence of this life, seem, as it were, to rise upon his soul ; often he hurries to emancipate himself from this fatal thraldom, and with a ruined fortune, and marred prospects, yet thanks his creator that his soul is still white, his conscience clear, and that, once more, he breathes the sweet air of heaven.— the young duke. by shutting up gaming-houses, we brought the gaming- table into the streets.—endymion. i wit and wisdom of the gardew. at armine place.—armine place, before sir ferdinand, unfortunately for his descendants, determined in the eigh- teenth century on building a feudal castle, had been situate in famous pleasure-grounds, which extended at the back of the mansion over a space of some hundred acres. the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the buildings had of course suf- fered severely, but the far greater portion had only been neg- lected ; and there were some indeed who deemed, as they wandered through the arbour-walks of this enchanting wilder- ness, that its beauty had been enhanced even by this very neg- lect. it seemed like a forest in a beautiful romance ; a green and bowery wilderness where boccaccio would have loved to woo, and watteau to paint. so artfully had the walks been planned, that they seemed interminable, nor was there a single point in the whole pleasaunce where the keenest eye could have detected a limit. sometimes you wandered in those arched and winding walks dear to pensive spirits; sometimes you emerged on a plot of turf blazing in the sunshine, a small and bright savannah, and gazed with wonder on the group of black and mighty cedars that rose from its centre, with their sharp and spreading foliage. the beautiful and the vast blended together; and the moment after you had beheld with delight a bed of geraniums or of myrtles, found yourself in an amphitheatre of italian pines. a strange exotic per- fume filled the air; you trod on the flowers of other lands; and shrubs and plants, that usually are only trusted from their conservatories, like sultanas from their jalousies, to sniff the air and recall their bloom, here learning from hard- ship the philosophy of endurance, had struggled successfully even against northern winters and wantoned now in native and unpruned luxuriance. sir ferdinand, when he resided at armine, was accustomed to fill these pleasure-grounds with macaws and other birds of gorgeous plumage; but earl of beaconsfield. i , these had fled away with their master, all but some swans which still floated on the surface of a lake which marked the centre of this paradise.—henrietta temple. at brentham.—in the pleasure-grounds of brentham were the remains of an ancient garden of the ancient house that had long ago been pulled down. when the modern pleasure-grounds were planned and created, notwithstand- ing the protests of the artists in landscape, the father of the present duke would not allow this ancient garden to be en- tirely destroyed, and you came upon its quaint appearance in the dissimilar world in which it was placed, as you might in some festival of romantic costume upon a person habited in the courtly dress of the last century. it was formed upon a gentle southern slope, with turfen terraces walled in on three sides, the fourth consisting of arches of golden yew. the duke had given this garden to lady corisande, in order that she might practise her theory, that flower-gardens should be sweet and luxuriant, and not hard and scentless imitations of works of art. here, in their season, flourished abundantly all those productions of nature which are now banished from our once delighted senses : huge bushes of honeysuckle, and bowers of sweet-pea and sweetbriar and jessamine clustering over the walls, and gillyflowers scenting with their sweet breath the ancient bricks from which they seemed to spring. there were banks of violets which the southern breeze always stirred, and mignonette filled every vacant nook. as they entered now, it seemed a blaze of roses and carnations, though one recognised in a moment the presence of the lily, the heliotrope, and the stock. some white peacocks were basking on the southern wall, and one of them, as their visitors entered, moved and dis- played its plumage with scornful pride. the bees were busy in the air, but their homes were near, and you might watch them labouring in their glassy hives.—aeothair. at château desir.—the mansion itself was immediately surrounded by numerous ancient forest trees. there was earl of beaconsfield. i from the conservatory they stepped into the garden. it was a delicious afternoon ; the sun had sunk behind the grove, and the air, which had been throughout the day somewhat oppressive, was now warm, but mild. at ducie there was a fine old terrace facing the western hills, that bound the valley in which the bower was situate. these hills, a ridge of moderate elevation, but of picturesque form, parted just opposite the terrace, as if on purpose to admit the setting sun, like inferior existences that had, as it were, made way before the splendour of some mighty lord or conqueror. the lofty and sloping bank which this terrace crowned was covered with rare shrubs, and occasionally a group of tall trees sprang up among them, and broke the view with an interference which was far from ungraceful, while plants spreading forth from large marble vases, had extended over their trunks, and sometimes, in their play, had touched even their topmost branches. between the terrace and the distant hills extended a tract of pasture land, green and well wooded by its rich hedgerows ; not a roof was visible, though many farms and hamlets were at hand; and, in the heart of a rich and populous land, here was a region where the shepherd or the herdsman was the only evidence of human existence.—henrietta temple. in germany.—it was a beautiful garden,full of terraces and arched walks of bowery trees. a tall fountain sprang up from a marble basin, and its glittering column broke in its fall into a thousand coloured drops, and woke the gleaming fish that would have slept in the dim water. and i wandered about, and the enchanted garden seemed illimitable, and each turn more magical and more bright. now a white vase shining in the light, now a dim statue shadowed in a cool grot. i would have lingered a moment at the mossy hermitage, but the distant bridge seemed to invite me to new adventures.— contarini fleming. at muriel towers.-after luncheon they visited the gar- dens, which had been formed in a sylvan valley enclosed with i wit and wisdom of the gilded gates. the creator of this paradise had been favoured by nature, and had availed himself of this opportunity. the contrast between the parterres blazing with colour and the sylvan background, the undulating paths over romantic. heights, the fanes and the fountains, the glittering statues, and the babylonian terraces, formed a whole much of which was beautiful, and all of which was striking and singular. ‘perhaps too many temples,’ said lothair, “but this an- cestor of mine had some imagination.’—lothair. what i admire most in your country are your gravel walks.—(“colonel campion') lothair. gardener. the gardener, like all head gardeners, was opinionated. lothair. gap (luciam). nature had intended lucian gay for a scholar and a wit ; necessity had made him a scribbler and a buffoon. he had distinguished himself at the university; but he had no patrimony, nor those powers of perseverance which success in any learned profession requires. he was good- looking, had great animal spirits, and a keen sense of en- joyment, and could not drudge. moreover he had a fine voice, and sang his own songs with considerable taste ; accomplishments which made his fortune in society and completed his ruin.—comingsby. ' genius. nemesis favours genius.-sybil. he (sievers) was one of those prudent geniuses who always leave off with a point.— vivian grey. gentlemen. they say no artist can draw a camel, and i say no author ever drew a gentleman. how can they, with no opportunity of ever seeing one?—(‘st. barbe’) endymion. - i earl of beaconsfield. i geologp. “are you fond of geology p’ ‘i am not in the least acquainted with the science.” “naturally so; at your age, if, in fact, we study at all, we are fond of fancying ourselves moral philosophers, and our study is mankind. trust me, my dear sir, it is a branch of research soon exhausted; and in a few years you will be ºvery glad, for want of something else to do, to meditate upon stones. see now,” said mr. sievers, picking up a stone, ‘to what associations does this little piece of quartz give rise ! i am already an antediluvian, and instead of a stag bounding by that wood i witness the moving mass of a mammoth. i live in other worlds, which, at the same time, i have the advantage of comparing with the present. geology is indeed a magnificent study what excites more the imagi- nation? what exercises more the reason p can you con- ceive anything sublimer than the gigantic shadows and the grim wreck of an antediluvian world? can you devise any plan which will more brace our powers, and develop our mental energies, than the formation of a perfect chain of inductive reasoning to account for these phenomena? what is the boasted communion which the vain poet holds with nature compared with conversation which the geologist per- petually carries on with the elemental world? gazing on the strata of the earth, he reads the fate of his species. in the undulations of the mountains is revealed to him the history of the past; and in the strength of rivers and the powers of the air he discovers the fortunes of the future. to him, indeed, that future, as well as the past and the present, are alike matter for meditation: for the geologist is the most satisfactory of antiquarians, the most interesting of philosophers, and the most inspired of prophets ; demon- strating that which is past by discovery, that which is occurring by observation, and that which is to come by induction.”—sybil. i wit and wisdom of the gerard (walter). the first was of lofty stature, and, though dressed with simplicity, had nothing sordid in his appearance. his garments gave no clue to his position in life: they might have been worn by a squire or by his gamekeeper ; a dark velveteen dress and leathern gaiters. as egremont caught his form, he threw his broad-brimmed country hat upon the ground, and showed a frank and manly countenance. his complexion might in youth have been ruddy, but time and time's attendants, thought and passion, had paled it; his chestnut hair, faded, but not grey, still clustered over a noble brow ; his features were regular and handsome, a well-formed nose, the square mouth and its white teeth, and the clear grey eye, which befitted such an idiosyncrasy. his time of vigorous manhood, for he was nearer forty than fifty years of age, perhaps better suited his athletic form than the more supple and graceful season of youth. –sybil. girl of the period. she sets up to be natural and is only rude ; mistakes insolence for innocence ; says everything that comes first to her lips, and thinks she is gay when she is only giddy.— sybil. gladstone. although the prime minister of england is always writing letters and making speeches, he seems ever to send forth an ‘uncertain sound.' if a member of parliament announces himself a republican, mr. gladstone takes the earliest opportunity of describing him as a ‘fellow-worker' in public life. if an inconsiderate multitude calls for the abolition or reform of the house of lords, mr. gladstone says that is no easy task, and that he must think once or twice, or perhaps even thrice, before he can undertake it. if your neighbour, the member for bradford, mr. miall, brings forward a motion in the house of commons for the sever- earl of beaconsfield. i ance of church and state, mr. gladstone assures mr. miall with the utmost courtesy that he believes the opinion of the house of commons is against him; but that if mr. miall wishes to influence the house of commons he must address the public out of doors.-speech at manchester, april , . a sophistical rhetorician, inebriated with the exuberance of his own verbosity, and gifted with an egotistical imagi- nation that can at all times command an interminable and inconsistent series of arguments to malign an opponent and to glorify himself—banquet at duke of wellington's riding school, july , . glastonburp (adrian). adrian glastonbury was a younger son of an old but decayed english family. he had been educated at a college of jesuits in france, and had entered at an early period of life the service of the romish church, whose communion his family had never quitted. at college young glastonbury had been alike distinguished for his assiduous talents and for the extreme benevolence of his disposition. his was one of those minds to which refinement is natural, and which learning and experience never deprive of simplicity. apparently his passions were not violent ; perhaps they were restrained by his profound piety. next to his devotion, glastonbury was most remarkable for his taste. if ever there were a man who deserved a serene and happy life, it was adrian glastonbury. he had pursued a long career without injuring or offending a human being ; his character and conduct were alike spotless ; he was void of guile; he had never told a falsehood, never been en- tangled in the slightest deceit ; he was easy in his circum- stances; he had no relations to prey upon his purse or his feelings; and, though alone in the world, was blessed with such a sweet and benignant temper, gifted with so many resources, and adorned with so many accomplishments, earl of beaconsfield. i i so confused, and absurd, and unphilosophical. what busi- ness had we, for instance, to adopt the roman law, a law foreign to our manners, and consequently disadvantageous p he who profoundly meditates upon the situation of modern europe will also discover how productive of misery has been the senseless adoption of oriental customs by northern people. whence came that divine right of kings, which has deluged so many countries with blood? that pastoral and syrian law of tithes, which may yet shake the founda- tion of so many ancient institutions?—contarini fleming. the divine right of kings may have been a plea for feeble tyrants, but the divine right of government is the key-stone of human progress, and without it government sinks into police, and a nation is degraded into a mob.---preſace to * zothair.’ - grandisow (cardinal). the master of the library had risen from his seat when the chief secretary entered, and was receiving an.obeisance. above the middle height, his stature seemed magnified by the attenuation of his form. it seemed that the soul never had so frail and fragile a tenement. he was dressed in a dark cassock with a red border, and wore scarlet stockings; and over his cassock a purple tippet, and on his breast a small golden cross, his countenance was naturally of an extreme pallor, though at this moment slightly flushed with the animation of a deeply interesting conference. his cheeks were hollow, and his grey eyes seemed sunk into his clear and noble brow, but they flashed with irresistible pene- tration. such was cardinal grandison. the cardinal was an entire believer in female influence, and a considerable believer in his influence over females ; and he had good cause for his convictions. the catalogue of his proselytes was numerous and distinguished. he had not only converted a duchess and several countesses, but he had gathered into his fold a real mary magdalen. in the i wit and wisdom of the height of her beauty and her fame, the most distinguished member of the demi-monde had suddenly thrown up her golden whip and jingling reins, and cast herself at the feet of the cardinal. he had a right, therefore, to be confident; and while his exquisite taste and consummate cultivation rendered it impossible that he should not have been deeply gratified by the performance of theodora, he was really the whole time considering the best means by which such charms and powers could be enlisted in the cause of the church.- lothair. granted. i have learnt again what i have often learnt before, that you should never take anything for granted.—speech at salthill, royal south buckinghamshire agricultural associa- tion, october , . gratitude. they (the neuchatels) deserve their wealth; nobody grudges it them. i declare, when i was eating that trifle, i felt a glow about my heart, which, if it were not indigestion, i think must have been gratitude.—(‘st. barbe’) endymion. bitter thought ! that gratitude should cease the moment we become men.— vivian grey. greatness. greatness no longer depends on rentals, the world is too rich; nor on pedigrees, the world is too knowing.— coningsby. all the great things have been done by little nations.— tancred. a great man is one who affects his generation.— coningsby. the age does not believe in great men, because it does not possess any.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. earl of beaconsfield. i grecia w. a grecian sunset ! the sky is like the neck of a dove; the rocks and waters are bathed with a violet light. each moment it changes; each moment it shifts into more grace- ful and more gleaming shadows. and the thin white moon is above all : the thin white moon, followed by a single star, like a lady by a page.—contarini fleming. greece. a country of promontories, and gulfs, and islands clustering in an azure sea; a country of wooded vales and purple mountains, wherein the cities are built on plains covered with olive woods, and at the base of an acropolis, crowned with a temple or a tower. and there are quarries of white marble, and vines, and much wild honey. and wherever you move is some fair and elegant memorial of the poetic past; a lone pillar on the green and silent plain, once echoing with the triumphant shouts of sacred games, the tomb of a hero, or the fane of a god. clear is the sky and fragrant is the air, and at all seasons the magical scenery of this land is coloured with that mellow tint, and invested with that pensive character, which in other countries we conceive to be peculiar to autumn, and which beautifully associate with the recollections of the past. enchanting greece —contarini fleming. grey (vivian). although busied with his studies, and professing ‘not to visit,” vivian could not avoid occasionally finding himself in company in which boys should never be seen ; and, what was still worse, from a certain social spirit, an indefinable tact with which nature had endowed him, this boy of nine- teen began to think this society delightful. most persons of his age would have passed through the ordeal with perfect safety; they would have entered certain rooms, at certain i wit and wisdom of the hours, with stiff cravats, and nugee coats, and black velvet waistcoats ; and after having annoyed all those who con- descended to know of their existence, with their red hands and their white gloves, they would have retired to a corner of the room, and conversationised with any stray four-year- older not yet sent to bed. but vivian grey was a graceful, lively lad, with just enough of dandyism to preserve him from committing gaucheries, and with a devil of a tongue. all men will agree with me that the only rival to be feared by a man of spirit is a clever boy. what makes them so popular with women it is difficult to explain ; however, lady julia knighton, and mrs. frank delmington, and half a score of dames of fashion, were always patronising our hero, who found an evening spent in their society not altogether dull, for there is no fascination so irresistible to a boy as the smile of a married woman. vivian had passed such a recluse life for the last two years and a half, that he had quite forgotten that he was once considered an agreeable fellow ; and so, determined to discover what right he ever had to such a reputation, he dashed into all these amourettes in beautiful style. - but vivian grey was a young and tender plant in a moral hothouse. his character was developing itself too soon. although his evenings were now generally passed in the manner we have alluded to, this boy was, during the rest of the day, a hard and indefatigable student ; and having now got through an immense series of historical reading, he had stumbled upon a branch of study certainly the most delightful in the world; but, for a boy, as certainly the most perilous, the study of politics. . . . it was a rule with vivian grey never to advance any opinion as his own. he had been too deep a student of human nature not to be aware that the opinions of a boy of twenty, however sound, and however correct, stand but a poor chance of being adopted by his elder, though feebler, earl of beaconsfield. i fellow-creatures. in attaining any end, it was therefore his system always to advance his opinion as that of some eminent and considered personage ; and when, under the sanction of this name, the opinion or advice was entertained and listened to, vivian grey had no fear that he could prove its correctness and its expediency. he possessed also the singular faculty of being able to improvise quotations, that is, he could unpremeditatedly clothe his conceptions in language characteristic of the style of any particular author; and vivian grey was reputed in the world as having the most astonishing memory that ever existed ; for there was scarcely a subject of discussion in which he did not gain the victory, by the great names he enlisted on his side of the argument. but it must not be supposed that vivian was to all the world the fascinating creature that he was to the marquis of carabas. many complained that he was reserved, silent, satirical, and haughty. but the truth was, vivian grey often asked himself, ‘who is to be my enemy to-morrow p’ he was too cunning a master of the human mind not to be aware of the quicksands upon which all greenhorns strike ; he knew too well the danger of unnecessary intimacy. a smile for a friend, and a sneer for the world, is the way to govern mankind, and such was the motto of vivian grey. vivian grey. grief. what is grief? if it be excited by the fear of some con- tingency, instead of grieving, a man should exert his ener- gies and prevent its occurrence. if, on the contrary, it be caused by an event, that which has been occasioned by any- thing human, by the co-operation of human circumstances, can be, and invariably is, removed by the same means. grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.—(‘beckendorff') vivian grey. - wit and wisdom of the want of love, or want of money, lies at the bottom of all our griefs.-venetia. those who have known grief seldom seem sad.- (“agrip- pina’) endymion. gup fºovycey (mr. awd mrs.). lord monmouth had picked up the guy flounceys during a roman winter. they were people of some posi tion in society. mr. guy flouncey was a man of good estate, a sportsman, proud of his pretty wife. mrs. guy flouncey was even very pretty, dressed in a style of ultra fashion. however, she could sing, dance, act, ride, and talk, and all well ; and was mistress of the art of flirtation. she had amused the marquis abroad, and had taken care to call at monmouth house the instant the morning post apprised her he had arrived in england; the consequence was an invitation to coningsby. she came with a wardrobe which, in point of variety, fancy, and fashion, never was surpassed. morning and evening, every day a new dress equally striking ; and a riding habit that was the talk and wonder of the whole neighbourhood. mrs. guy flouncey created far more sensation in the borough when she rode down the high street, than what the good people called the real princesses. at first the fine ladies never noticed her, or only stared at her over their shoulders; everywhere sounded, in sup- pressed whispers, the fatal question, ‘who is she?' after dinner they formed always into polite groups, from which mrs. guy flouncey was invariably excluded; and if ever the princess colonna, impelled partly by goodnature, and partly from having known her on the continent, did kindly sit by her, lady st. julians, or some dame equally benevo- lent, was sure, by an adroit appeal to her highness on some point which could not be decided without moving, to with- draw her from her pretty and persecuted companion. it was, indeed, rather difficult work the first few days - earl of beaconsfield.’ i ^ for mrs. guy flouncey, especially immediately after dinner. it is not soothing to one's self-love to find oneself sitting alone, pretending to look at prints, in a fine drawing-room, full of fine people who don't speak to you. but mrs. guy flouncey, after having taken coningsby castle by storm, was not to be driven out of its drawing-room by the tactics even of a lady st. julians. experience convinced her that all that was required was a little patience. mrs. guy had confidence in herself, her quickness, her ever ready accomplishments, and her practised powers of attraction. and she was right. she was always sure of an ally the moment the gentlemen appeared. the cavalier who had sat next to her at dinner was only too happy to meet her again. more than once, too, she had caught her noble host, though a whole garrison was ever on the watch to prevent her, and he was greatly amused, and showed that he was greatly amused, by her society. then she suggested plans to him to divert his guests. in a country-house the sug- gestive mind is inestimable. somehow or other, before a week was passed, mrs. guy flouncey seemed the soul of everything, was always surrounded by a cluster of admirers, and with what are called ‘the best men’ ever ready to ride with her, dance with her, act with her, or fall at her feet. the fine ladies found it absolutely necessary to thaw : they began to ask her questions after dinner. mrs. guy flouncey only wanted an opening. she was an adroit flatterer, with a temper imperturbable, and gifted with a ceaseless energy of conferring slight obligations. she lent them patterns for new fashions, in all which mysteries she was very versant ; and what with some gentle glozing and some gay gossip, sugar for their tongues and salt for their tails, she contrived pretty well to catch them all.—coningsby. half-measures. d—n all half-measures — ſºcion. i wit and wisdom of the t-- hampshire (marqui. amd marchiowess of). it was hardly to be expected that her ladyship would find any relief in the society of the marquis and marchioness of hampshire; for his lordship passed his life in being the president of scientific and literary societies, and was ready for anything, from the royal, if his turn ever arrived, to opening a mechanics' institute in his neighbouring town. lady hampshire was an invalid; but her ailment was one of those mysteries which still remained insoluble, although, in the most liberal manner, she delighted to afford her friends all the information in her power. never was a votary endowed with a faith at once so lively and so capri- cious. each year she believed in some new remedy, and announced herself on the eve of some miraculous cure. but the saint was scarcely canonised before his claims to beatitude were impugned. one year lady hampshire never quitted leamington ; another, she contrived to com- bine the infinitesimal doses of hahnemann with the colossal distractions of the metropolis. now her sole conversation was the water cure. lady hampshire was to begin imme- diately after her visit to montacute, and she spoke in her sawney voice of factitious enthusiasm, as if she pitied the lot of all those who were not about to sleep in wet sheets. – tancred. aiawd. it was a beautiful hand that was extended to him ; a beautiful hand is an excellent thing in woman ; it is a charm that never palls, and better than all, it is a means of fascination that never disappears. women carry a beauti- ful hand with them to the grave, when a beautiful face has long ago vanished, or ceased to enchant. the expression of the hand, too, is inexhaustible ; and when the eyes we may have worshipped no longer flash or sparkle, the ringlets with which we may have played are covered with a cap, or earl of beaconsfield. i worse, a turban, and the symmetrical presence which in our sonnets has reminded us so oft of antelopes and wild gazelles, have all, all vanished ; the hand, the immortal hand, de- fying alike time and care, still vanquishes, and still triumphs ; and small, soft, and fair, by an airy attitude, a gentle pres- sure, or a new ring, renews with untiring grace the spell that bound our enamoured and adoring youth !—henrietta temple. aiawsa.r.d. why hansard, instead of being the delphi of downing street, is but the dunciad of politics.—speech in house of commons (maynooth college), april , . aappiness. the sense of existence is the greatest happiness.-con- tarini fleming. happiness is only to be found in a recurrence to the principles of human nature, and these will prompt very simple measures.—contarini fleming fieart. what we call the heart is a nervous sensation, like shy. ness, which gradually disappears in society. it is fervent in the nursery, strong in the domestic circle, tumultuous at school. the affections are the children of ignorance ; when the horizon of our experience expands, and models multiply, love and admiration imperceptibly vanish.-(‘sidonia') coningsby. herbert (marmiow). marmion herbert, sprung from one of the most illustrious families in england, became at an early age the inheritor of a great estate, to which, however, he did not succeed with the prejudices or opinions usually imbibed or professed by the class to which he belonged. while yet a boy, marmion herbert afforded many indications of possessing a mind alike visionary and inquisitive, and both, although not in an i o wit and wisdom of the equal degree, sceptical and creative. nature had gifted him with precocious talents; and with a temperament essentially poetic, he was nevertheless a great student. his early read- ing, originally by accident and afterwards by an irresistible inclination, had fallen among the works of the english free- thinkers : with all their errors, a profound and vigorous race, and much superior to the french philosophers, who were after all only their pupils and their imitators. while his juvenile studies, and in some degree the predisposition of his mind, had thus prepared him to doubt and finally to challenge the propriety of all that was established and re- ceived, the poetical and stronger bias of his mind enabled him quickly to supply the place of everything he would re- move and destroy ; and, far from being the victim of those frigid and indifferent feelings which must ever be the portion of the mere doubter, herbert, on the contrary, looked for- ward with ardent and sanguine enthusiasm to a glorious and ameliorating future, which should amply compensate and console a misguided and unhappy race for the miserable past and the painful and dreary present. to those, there- fore, who could not sympathise with his views, it will be seen that herbert, in attempting to fulfil them, became not merely passively noxious from his example, but actively mis- chievous from his exertions. a mere sceptic, he would have been perhaps merely pitied ; a sceptic with a peculiar faith of his own, which he was resolved to promulgate, herbert became odious. a solitary votary of obnoxious opinions, herbert would have been looked upon only as a madman ; but the moment he attempted to make proselytes he rose into a conspirator against society. young, irresistibly prepossessing in his appearance, with great eloquence, crude but considerable knowledge, an ardent imagination and a subtle mind, and a generous and passionate soul, under any circumstances he must have obtained and exercised influence, even if his creator had not also bestowed upon him a spirit of indomitable courage; earl of beaconsfield. i but these great gifts of nature being combined with acci- dents of fortune scarcely less qualified to move mankind, high rank, vast wealth, and a name of traditionary glory, it will not be esteemed surprising that marmion herbert, at an early period, should have attracted around him many enthu- siastic disciples. . . . herbert quitted oxford in his nineteenth year, yet in- ferior to few that he left there, even among the most emi- nent, in classical attainments, and with a mind naturally profound, practised in all the arts of ratiocination. his general knowledge also was considerable, and he was a proficient in those scientific pursuits which were then rare. notwithstanding his great fortune and position, his de- parture from the university was not a signal with him for that abandonment to the world, and that unbounded self- enjoyment naturally so tempting to youth. on the con- trary, herbert shut himself up in his magnificent castle, devoted to solitude and study. in his splendid library he consulted the sages of antiquity, and conferred with them on the nature of existence and of the social duties ; while in his laboratory or his dissecting-room he occasionally flattered himself he might discover the great secret which had per- plexed generations. the consequence of a year passed in this severe discipline was unfortunately a complete recur- rence to those opinions that he had early imbibed, and which now seemed fixed in his conviction beyond the hope or chance of again faltering. in politics a violent republican, and an advocate, certainly a disinterested one, of a complete equality of property and conditions, utterly objecting to the very foundation of our moral system, and especially a strenuous antagonist of marriage, which he taught himself to esteem not only as an unnatural tie, but as eminently un- just towards that softer sex, who had been so long the victims of man ; discarding as a mockery the received reve- lation of the divine will ; and, if no longer an atheist, sub- stituting merely for such an outrageous dogma a subtle and tº wit and wisdom of thie º shadowy platonism ; doctrines, however, which herbert at least had acquired by a profound study of the works of their great founder ; the pupil of doctor masham at length deemed himself qualified to enter that world which he was resolved to regenerate ; prepared for persecution, and steeled even to martyrdom. but while the doctrines of the philosopher had been forming, the spirit of the poet had not been inactive. loneliness, after all, the best of muses, had stimulated the creative faculty of his being. wandering amid his solitary woods and glades at all hours and seasons, the wild and beautiful apparitions of nature had appealed to a sympa- thetic soul. the stars and winds, the pensive sunset and the sanguine break of morn, the sweet solemnity of night, the ancient trees and the light and evanescent flowers, all signs and sights and sounds of loveliness and power, fell on a ready eye and a responsive ear. gazing on the beau- tiful, he longed to create it. then it was that the two passions which seemed to share the being of herbert ap- peared simultaneously to assert their sway, and he resolved to call in his muse to the assistance of his philosophy. herbert celebrated that fond world of his imagination, which he wished to teach men to love. in stanzas glitter- ing with refined images, and resonant with subtle symphony, he called into creation that society of immaculate purity and unbounded enjoyment which he believed was the na- tural inheritance of unshackled man. in the hero he pic- tured a philosopher, young and gifted as himself; in the heroine, his idea of a perfect woman. although all those peculiar doctrines of herbert, which, undisguised, must have excited so much odium, were more or less developed and inculcated in this work ; nevertheless they were neces- sarily so veiled by the highly spiritual and metaphorical language of the poet, that it required some previous ac- quaintance with the system enforced, to be able to detect and recognise the esoteric spirit of his muse. the public earl of beaconsfield. read only the history of an ideal world and of creatures of exquisite beauty, told in language that alike dazzled their fancy and captivated their ear. they were lost in a delicious maze of metaphor and music, and were proud to acknow- ledge an addition to the glorious catalogue of their poets in a young and interesting member of their aristocracy.— venetia. ~ heroes. the legacy of heroes—the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example.—speech in house of commons (address in answer to the queen's speech), february , . to believe in the heroic makes heroes.—coningsby. phistorp. to study man from the past is to suppose that man is ever the same animal. those who studied the career of napoleon had ever a dogs-eared analyst to refer to.— con- tarini fleming. płoſ. ida ps. i have a great confidence in the revelations which holidays bring forth-speech in house of commons, febru. ary , . fiom.e. if kindness make a home, believe it such.—alroy. the inn is a common home.—coningsby. home is a barbarous idea ; the method of a rude age: home is isolation, therefore antisocial—what we want is community.—(“stephen morley') sybil. aiope. hope and consolation are not the companions of solitude, which are of a darker nature.—(‘lady madeleine trevor') vivian grey. º wit and wisdom of the " the iris pencil of hope.— venetia. the ministry only expresses “a confident hope,” which is, at the best, but the language of amiable despair.—speech in house of commons (address in answer to queen's speech), february , . fiorse exercise. a canter is the cure for every evil—the young duke. fiouse of commons. all the best speakers in the house of commons are after-dinner speakers.-speech in house of commons (bud. get), april , . i look upon the house of commons as a mere vestry. reform has dished it. there are no men, and naturally, because the constituencies elect themselves, and the con- stituencies are the most mediocre of the nation.—(‘walder- share’) endymion. nothing is more singular than the various success of men in the house of commons. fellows who have been the oracles of coteries from their birth, who have gone through the regular process of gold medals, senior wrangler- ships, and double firsts, who have nightly sat down amid tumultuous cheering in debating societies, and can harangue with unruffled forehead and unfaltering voice, from one end of a dinner-table to the other, who, on all occasions, have something to say, and can speak with fluency on what they know nothing about, no sooner rise in the house than their spell deserts them. all their effrontery vanishes. commonplace ideas are rendered even more uninteresting by monotonous delivery ; and keenly alive as even boobies are in those sacred walls to the ridiculous, no one appears more thoroughly aware of his unexpected and astounding deficiencies than the orator himself. he regains his seat hot and hard, sultry and stiff, with a burning cheek and an icy hand, repressing his breath lest it should give evidence earl of beaconsfield. i of an existence of which he is ashamed, and clenching his fist, that the pressure may secretly convince him that he has not as completely annihilated his stupid body as his false reputation.—the young duke. płous e of lords. one thing is clear—a man may speak very well in the house of commons and fail completely in the house of lords. there are two distinct styles requisite. in the lower house, ‘don juan’ may perhaps be our model; in the upper house, “paradise lost.”—the young duke. the lords do not encourage wit, and so are obliged to put up with pertness.—the young duke. the duke of st. james took the oaths and his seat. he heard a debate. we laugh at such a thing, especially in the upper house ; but on the whole the affair is imposing, particularly if we take part in it.—the young duke. divisions in the house of lords are nowadays so thinly scattered, that, when one occurs, the peers cackle as if they had laid an egg—tancred. some made a note, some made a bet; some consulted a book, some their ease ; some yawned, some slept ; yet on the whole there was an air about the assembly which can be witnessed in no other in europe. even the most indifferent looked as if he could come forward, should occasion demand him, and the most imbecile as if he could serve his country, if it required him. when a man raises his eye from his bench, and sees his ancestors in the tapestry, he begins to understand the pride of blood.—the young duke. i sit now in a house where our opponents never un- sheath their swords, a house where, although the two chief plenipotentiaries sit, they are met only by innuendo.—speech at banquet at duke of wellington's riding school, july , . lord ex-chamberlain thought the nation going wrong, farl of beaconsfield. who possesses all these great qualifications would find him- self an immensely more important personage in what, by way of jest, they call the lower house.—(‘mr. millbank') coningsby. hume (mr.). future parliaments will do justice to the eminent services of this remarkable man, then the most hard-working member of the house, of which he was the father. his labours on public committees will be often referred to hereafter, and then, perhaps, it will be remembered that, during a career of forty years, and often under circumstances of great provocation, he never once lost his temper.—life of lord george bentinck. idea. one should conquer the world, not to enthrone a man, but an idea, for ideas exist for ever.—tancred. ignorance. ignorance never settles a question.—speech in house of commons (redistribution of seats), may , . imagination. you have a great enemy, contarini, a great enemy in yourself. you have a great enemy in your imagination. i think if you could control your imagination you might be a great man. it is a fatal gift ; for when possessed in its highest quality and strength what has it ever done for its votaries? what were all those great poets of whom we now talk so much, what were they in their lifetime p the most miser- able of their species. depressed, doubtful, obscure, or involved in petty quarrels and petty persecutions; often unappreciated, utterly uninfluential, beggars, flatterers of men unworthy even of their recognition ; what a train of disgustful incidents, what a record of degrading circum- i w t and wisdom of the stances, is the life of a great poet ! a man of greatenergies aspires that they should be felt in his lifetime, that his existence should be rendered more intensely vital by the constant consciousness of his multiplied and multiplying power. is posthumous fame a substitute for all this? viewed in every light, and under every feeling, it is alike a mockery. nay, even try the greatest by this test, and what is the result? would you rather have been homer or julius caesar, shakespeare or napoleon? no one doubts. moralists may cloud truth with every possible adumbration of cant, but the nature of our being gives the lie to all their assertions. we are active beings, and our sympathy, above all other sympathies, is with great actions. remember, contarini, that all this time i am taking for granted that you may be a homer. let us now recollect that it is perhaps the most improbable incident that can occur. the high poetic talent (as if to prove that a poet is only, at the best, a wild although beautiful error of nature), the high poetic talent is the rarest in creation. what you have felt is what i have felt myself, is what all men have felt : it is the consequence of our native and inviolate susceptibility. as you advance in life and become more callous, more acquainted with man and with yourself, you will find it even daily decrease. mix in society and i will answer that you lose your poetic feeling ; for in you, as in the great majority, it is not a creative faculty originating in a peculiar organisation, but simply the consequence of a nervous susceptibility that is common to all.—(‘baron fleming') contarini fleming. the irish are an imaginative race, and it is said that imagination is too often accompanied by somewhat irregular logic.—speech at guildhall, november , . mogene. there was also a sister, a girl not older than endymion, the very image of mrs. rodney, except that she was a bru- earl of beaconsfield. nette—a brilliant brunette. imogene was only a child when waldershare first became a lodger. he fell in love with her name, and wrote a series of sonnets, idealising her past, panegyrising her present, and prophetic of her future life. imogene, who was neither shy nor obtrusive, was calm .amid all his vagaries, humoured his fancies, even when she did not understand them, and read his verses as she would a foreign language which she was determined to master. her culture, according to waldershare, was to be carried on chiefly by conversation. as waldershare was eloquent, brilliant, and witty, imogene listened to him with wonder- ing interest and amusement, even when she found some difficulty in following him ; but her appreciation was so quick and her tact so fine, that her progress, though she was almost unconscious of it, was remarkable. . . . lady beaumaris was different from her sister almost in all respects, except in beauty, though her beauty even was of a higher style than that of mrs. rodney. imogene was quite natural, though refined. she had a fine disposition. all her impulses were good and naturally noble. she had a greater intellectual range than sylvia and was much more cultivated. this she owed to her friendship with mr. waldershare.—endymion. imprudewce. all men have their imprudent days.-(‘prince of lilliput') vivian grey. impopewce. it is better to be impudent than servile.—(‘lady bellair') henrietta temple. impulse. it is not the fever of superficial impulse that can remove the deep fixed barriers of centuries of ignorance and crime (‘egremont’) sybil. o wit and wisdom of the . inheritance. to dream of inheritance is the most enervating of visions.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. india. no difference of opinion can possibly prevail among us as to the unprecedented lustre of the actions of our country- men generally in india. i do not think there has ever been an instance in which the vigour of personal character has been so remarkably exhibited, and in which individual character has shone with so much splendour. indeed the story is quite epical. the narrative reads like the homeric poems. every scene produces a hero. in these remarkable events there are two incidents, which by their importance immedi- ately attract our attention, and it is curious that in these two instances our countrymen were placed in exactly opposite positions. in one they were besiegers, in the other besieged ; and in both cases they achieved complete success and immortal glory. between the siege of delhi and that of lucknow there was, however, one passage which ought not to be forgotten on this occasion—the con- necting link between them—the march of greathed— worthy, i think, of caesar.—speech in house of commons (indian mutiny—vote of thanks to the army and navy in india), february , . the key of india is not at candahar. the key of india is in london. the majesty and sovereignty, the spirit and vigour of your parliament, the inexhaustible resources, the ingenuity and determination of your people, these are the keys of india.--speech in house of zords, march , . iwsigwifican't beginnings. it is remarkable how insignificant incidents at the first blush have appeared, which have proved to be pregnant with momentous consequences. a street riot at boston fairl of beaconsfield. i and at paris turned out to be the two great revolutions of modern times. i have always thought if mankind could bring themselves to ponder in time on the commencement of those events that greatly affect their fortunes, it is possible that we might bring to the transaction of affairs more prudence and more energy than are generally exercised, and that probably we might prevent many public disasters. speech in house of commons (state of india), july , . iwstitutions. individuals may form communities, but it is institutions alone that can create a nation.—speech at manchester, i . intellect. the only human quality that interested sidonia was intellect. he cared not whence it came ; where it was to be found: creed, country, class, character, in this respect, were alike indifferent to him. the author, the artist, the man of science, never appealed to him in vain. often he anticipated their wants and wishes. he encouraged their society; was as frank in his conversation as he was generous in his contributions; but the instant they ceased to be authors, artists, or philosophers, and their communications arose from anything but the intellectual quality which had originally interested him, the moment they were rash enough to approach intimacy and appealed to the sympathising man, instead of the congenial intelligence, he saw them no more.—coningsby. iwtrigue. he (fakredeen) became habituated to the idea that everything could be achieved by dexterity, and that there was no test of conduct except success.-tancred. intrigue ! it is life . it is the only thing ! how do you think guizot and aberdeen got to be ministers without intrigue? or riza pacha himself? how do you think wit and wisdom of the mehemet ali got on? do you believe sir canning never intrigues p. he would be recalled in a week if he did not. why, i have got one of his spies in my castle at this moment, and i make him write home for the english all that i wish them not to believe. intrigue ! why, england won india by intrigue. do you think they are not in- triguing in the punjaub at this moment? intrigue has gained half the thrones of europe: greece, france, belgium, portugal, spain, russia. if you wish to produce a result, you must make combinations : and you call combinations, eva, intrigue !—(“fakredeen') tancred. i do not believe that anything great is ever effected by - management.—tancred. he was just the animal that lord monmouth wanted, for lord monmouth always looked upon human nature with the - callgäs eyes of a jockey. he surveyed rigby, and he deter- ‘mined to buy him. he bought him.—coningsby. iwvention. a nation has a fixed quantity of invention, and it will make itself felt.—(‘prince florestan’) endymion. ireland. he hoped the time would come, when a party, framed on true principles, would do justice to ireland, not by satisfying agitators, not by adopting in despair the first quack remedy that was offered from eitherside of the house, but by really penetrating into the mystery of this great mis- management.—speech in house of commons (arms [ireland] bill), august , . there was only one principle for governing such a country, and that was the principle of centralisation.— speech in house of commons (municipal corporations [ireland] bill), june , . there is this remarkable characteristic of the agrarian anarchy of ireland which marks it out from all other similar k.| | earl of beaconsfifld. i conditions of other countries : it is a war of the poor against the poor.—life of lord george bentinck. ireland is in a state of social decomposition.—speech in house of commons (state of the nation), july , . the commercial principle does not work in ireland : all men agree that ireland has been misgoverned. and who has misgoverned her? the state. it is the conduct of the state, past or present, that prevents the free action of the commercial principle in ireland.—speech in house of com- mons (railways [ireland) february , . irish. their treason is a fairy tale, and their sedition a child talking in its sleep.–(‘captain bruges') zothair. an irish business is a thing to be turned over several times.—(‘captain bruges') lothair. i must say that i think that the general expression of feeling on the part of the irish members appears to be genuine and good-natured—for i cannot believe the opposi- tion which they have shown arises from anything else than a desire to exhibit that power of speech and eloquence which characterises them, and in which i candidly confess they excel both englishmen and scotchmen.—speech in house of commons (budget), april , . whatever may be said, and however plausible things may look, in an irish business there is always a priest at the bottom of it—(‘captain bruges') lothair. * irish protestant clergy.—men who seldom stepped out of the sphere of their private virtues.—maiden speech in house of commons (irish election petition), december , . isandula. a great nation can endure the loss of a pitched battle with dignity and self-control. they may even find.consola- tion under such circumstances, in the consciousness of a good cause, and in the heroic acts of their countrymen. i wit and wisdom of the though defeated. but calamities that commence with treachery, and are consummated by assassination and massacre—when the victims are youth and genius, unrivalled courage, and the highest patriotism—these are the incidents that rend the heart of a nation.—speech in guildhall, movember , . italiam lakes. there are few spots more favoured by nature than the italian lakes and their vicinity, combining, as they do, the most sublime features of mountainous scenery with all the softer beauties and the varied luxuriance of the plain. as the still, bright lake is to the rushing and troubled cataract, is italy to switzerland and savoy. emerging from the chaotic ravines and the wild gorges of the alps, the happy land breaks upon us like a beautiful vision. we revel in the sunny light, after the unearthly glare of eternal snow. our sight seems renovated as we throw our eager glance over those golden plains, clothed with such picturesque trees, sparkling with such graceful villages, watered by such noble rivers, and crowned with such magnificent cities; and all bathed and beaming in an atmosphere so soft and radiant every isolated object charms us with its beautiful novelty : for the first time we gaze on palaces; the garden, the terrace, and the statue, recall our dreams beneath a colder sky; and we turn from these to catch the hallowed form of some cupolaed convent, crowning the gentle eleva- tion of some green hill, and flanked by the cypress or the pine.—venetia. }acob/w, i know nothing more vile than an english jacobin. it is the feeblest and worst imitation of the most odious of characters.—speech at buckingham (general election), feb. ruary io, . earl of beaconsfield. } erusalem. the broad moon lingers on the summit of mount olivet, but its beam has long left the garden of gethsemane and the tomb of absalom, the waters of kedron, and the dark abyss of jehoshaphat. full falls its splendour, however, on the opposite city, vivid and defined in its silver blaze. a lofty wall, with turrets and towers and frequent gates, undulates with the unequal ground which it covers, as it encircles the lost capital of jehovah. it is a city of hills, far more famous than those of rome : for all europe has heard of sion and of calvary, while the arab and the assyrian, and the tribes and nations beyond, are as ignorant of the capitolian and aventine mounts as they are of the malvern or the chiltern hills. the broad steep of sion crowned with the tower of david ; nearer still, mount moriah, with the gorgeous temple of the god of abraham, but built, alas ! by the child of hagar, and not by sarah's chosen one ; close to its cedars and its cypresses, its lofty spires and airy arches, the moonlight falls upon bethesda's pool; further on, entered by the gate of st. stephen, the eye, though 'tis the noon of night, traces with ease the street of grief, a long winding ascent to a vast cupolaed pile that now covers calvary, called the street of grief, because there the most illustrious of the human, as well as of the hebrew race, the descendant of king david, and the divine son of the most favoured of women, twice sank under that burden of suffering and shame which is now throughout all christendom the emblem of triumph and of honour; passing over groups and masses of houses built of stone, with terraced roofs, or surmounted with small domes, we reach the hill of salem, where mel- chisedek built his mystic citadel; and still remains the hill of scopas, where titus gazed upon jerusalem on the eve of his final assault. titus destroyed the temple. the religion of judaea has in turn subverted the fanes which were raised wit and wisdom of the -- to his father and to himself in their imperial capital ; and the god of abraham, of isaac, and of jacob is now wor- shipped before every altar in rome. jerusalem by moonlight ! 'tis a fine spectacle, apart from all its indissoluble associations of awe and beauty. the mitigating hour softens the austerity of a mountain landscape magnificent in outline, however harsh and severe in detail ; and, while it retains all its sublimity, removes much of the savage sternness of the strange and unrivalled scene. a fortified city, almost surrounded by ravines, and rising in the centre of chains of far-spreading hills, occa- sionally offering, through their rocky glens, the gleams of a distant and richer land * what need for nature to be fair in a scene like this, where not a spot is visible that is not heroic or sacred, consecrated or memorable ; not a rock that is not the cave of prophets; not a valley that is not the valley of heaven- anointed kings; not a mountain that is not the mountain of god | before him is a living, a yet breathing and existing city, which assyrian monarchs came down to besiege, which the chariots of pharaohs encompassed, which roman emperors have personally assailed, for which saladin and coeur de lion, the desert and christendom, asia and europe, strug- gled in rival chivalry; a city which mahomet sighed to rule, and over which the creator alike of assyrian kings and egyptian pharaohs and roman caesars, the framer alike of the desert and of christendom, poured forth the full effusion of his divinely human sorrow.—tancred. the christian convents form one of the most remarkable. features of modern jerusalem. there are three principal ones : the latin convent of terra santa, founded, it is believed, during the last crusade, and richly endowed by the kings of christendom ; the armenian and the greek convents, whose revenues are also considerable, but derived from the numerous pilgrims of their different churches, who earl of beaconsfield. annually visit the holy sepulchre, and generally during their sojourn reside within the walls of their respective religious houses. to be competent to supply such accom- modation, it will easily be apprehended that they are of considerable size. they are in truth monastic establish- ments of the first class, as large as citadels, and almost as strong. lofty stone walls enclose an area of acres, in the centre of which rises an irregular mass of buildings and enclosures; courts of all shapes, galleries of cells, roofs, terraces, gardens, corridors, churches, houses, and even streets. sometimes as many as five thousand pilgrims have been lodged, fed, and tended during easter in one of these convents.—tancred. the view of jerusalem is the history of the world ; it is more, it is the history of earth and of heaven.—tancred. jerusalem at mid-day in midsummer is a city of stone in a land of iron with a sky of brass.-(‘baroni’) tancred. jesuits. the jesuits are wise men, they never lose their temper. jothair. the influence of the jesuits is the influence of divine truth. the jesuits never fell except from conspiracy against them. it is never the public will against them. it is never the public voice that demands their expulsion, or the public effort that accomplishes it.—(‘archbishop pen- ruddock') endymion. jews. they are not a new people, who have just got into notice, and who, if you do not recognise their claims, may disap- pear. they are an ancient people, a famous people, an en- during people, and a people who in the end have generally attained their objects. i hope parliament may endure for ever, and sometimes i think it will ; but i cannot help remem- bering that the jews have outlived assyrian kings, egyptian ." *. wit and wisdom of the pharaohs, roman caesars, and arabian caliphs.—speech in house of commons (oaths bill), may , . “the jews, coningsby, are essentially tories. toryism, indeed, is but copied from the mighty prototype which has fashioned europe. and every generation they must be- come more powerful and more dangerous to the society which is hostile to them. do you think that the quiet humdrum persecution of a decorous representative of an english university can crush those who have successively baffled the pharaohs, nebuchadnezzar, rome, and the feudal ages? the fact is, you cannot destroy a pure race of the caucasian organisation. it is a physiological fact : a simple law of nature, which has baffled egyptian and assyrian kings, roman emperors, and christian inquisitors. no penal laws, no physical tortures, can effect that a superior ºrace should be absorbed in an inferior, or be destroyed by it. the mixed persecuting races disappear ; the pure per- secuted race remains. and at this moment, in spite of centuries, of tens of centuries, of degradation, the jewish mind exercises a vast influence on the affairs of europe. i speak not of their laws, which you still obey ; of their literature, with which your minds are saturated ; but of the living hebrew intellect. ‘you never observe a great intellectual movement in europe in which the jews do not greatly participate. the first jesuits were jews; that mysterious russian diplomacy which so alarms western europe is organised and princi- pally carried on by jews; that mighty revolution which is at this moment preparing in germany, and which will be, in fact, a second and greater reformation, and of which so little is as yet known in england, is entirely developing under the auspices of jews, who almost monopolise the professorial chairs of germany. neander, the founder of spiritual christianity, , and who is regius professor of divinity in the university of berlin, is a jew. benary, equally famous, and in the same university, is a jew. *- earl of beaconsfield. i wehl, the arabic professor of heidelberg, is a jew. years ago, when i was in palestine, i met a german student who was accumulating materials for the history of christianity, and studying the genius of the place ; a modest and learned man. it was wehl ; then unknown, since become the first arabic scholar of the day, and the author of the life of mahomet. but for the german professors of this race, their name is legion. i think there are more than ten at berlin alone. ‘i hear of peace and war in newspapers, but i am never alarmed, except when i am informed that the sovereigns want treasure ; then i know that monarchs are serious. ‘a few years back we were applied to by russia. now, there has been no friendship between the court of st. petersburg and my family. it has dutch connections, which have generally supplied it ; and our representations in favour of the polish hebrews, a numerous race, but the most suffering and degraded of all the tribes, have not been very agreeable to the czar. however, circumstances drew to an approximation between the romanoffs and the sido- nias. i resolved to go myself to st. petersburg. i had, on my arrival, an interview with the russian minister of finance, count cancrin : i beheld the son of a lithuanian jew. the loan was connected with the affairs of spain; i resolved on repairing to spain from russia. i travelled without intermission. i had an audience immediately on my arrival with the spanish minister, señor mendizabel: i beheld one like myself, the son of a nuevo christiano, a jew of arragon. in consequence of what transpired at madrid, i went straight to paris to consult the president of the french council: i beheld the son of a french jew, a hero, an imperial marshal, and very properly so, for who should be military heroes if not those who worship the lord of hosts p’ “and is soult a hebrew p’ o wit and wisdom of the ‘yes, and others of the french marshals, and the most famous—massena for example ; his real name was man- asseh : but to my anecdote. the consequence of our consultations was, that some northern power should be applied to in a friendly and mediative capacity. we fixed on prussia ; and the president of the council made an application to the prussian minister, who attended a few days after our conference. count arnim entered the cabinet, and i beheld a prussian jew. so you see, my dear coningsby, that the world is governed by very different personages from what is imagined by those who are not behind the scenes.’ they record our triumphs ; they solace our affliction. great orators are the creatures of popular assemblies ; we were permitted only by stealth to meet even in our temples. and as for great writers, the catalogue is not blank. what are all the schoolmen, aquinas himself, to maimonides? and as for modern philosophy, all springs from spinoza. but the passionate and creative genius, that is the nearest link to divinity, and which no human tyranny can destroy, though it can divert it ; that should have stirred the hearts of nations by its inspired sympathy, or governed senates by its burning eloquence ; has found a medium for its expression, to which, in spite of your prejudices and your evil passions, you have been obliged to bow. the ear, the voice, the fancy teeming with combinations, the imagination fervent with picture and emotion, that came from caucasus, and which we have preserved unpolluted, have endowed us with almost the exclusive privilege of music ; that science of harmonious sounds, which the ancients recognised as most divine, and deified in the per- son of their most beautiful creation. i speak not of the past; though, were i to enter into the history of the lords of melody, you would find it the annals of hebrew genius. but at this moment even, musical europe is ours. there is not a company of singers, not an orchestra in a single earl of bfaconsfield. i i capital, that is not crowded with our children under the feigned names which they adopt to conciliate the dark aversion which your posterity will some day disclaim with shame and disgust. almost every great composer, skilled musician, almost every voice that ravishes you with its transporting strains, springs from our tribes. the cata- logue is too vast to enumerate; too illustrious to dwell for a moment on secondary names, however eminent. enough for us that the three great creative minds to whose ex- quisite inventions all nations at this moment yield, rossini, meyerbeer, mendelssohn, are of hebrew race; and little do your men of fashion, your muscadins of paris, and your dandies of london, as they thrill into raptures at the notes of a pasta or a grisi, little do they suspect that they are offering their homage to ‘the sweet singers of israel.’— coningsby. jobs. my own impression is not very strong in that direction, because the experience of a long political life has taught me that nothing is more exaggerated than those mutual imputa- tions which we make against each other to the effect that we take advantage of whatever circumstances may be under our control in our party arrangements.--speech in house of commons (representation of people bill), june , . }:ustice. a great writer has said that “grace was beauty in action.’ i say that justice is truth in action.—speech in house of commons (agricultural distress), february , . a itchen. at montacute.—everywhere, rich materials and silent artists; business without bustle; and the all-pervading magic of method.—tancred. - if artists were sure of being appreciated ; if we were wit and wisdom of the but understood, a dinner would become a sacrifice to the gods, and a kitchen would be paradise.—(“leander') tancred. a wowledge. the tree of knowledge is the tree of death.-(‘egremont') sybil. she is calm, because she is the mistress of her subject; 'tis the secret of self-possession.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. a man can know nothing of mankind without knowing something of himself. self-knowledge is the property of that man whose passions have their full play, but who ponders over their results.—the young duke. - to be conscious that you are ignorant is a great step to knowledge.—vivian grey. eloquence is the child of knowledge. when a mind is full, like a wholesome river, it is also clear. confusion and obscurity are much oftener the results of ignorance than of inefficiency.—the young duke. knowledge of mankind is a knowledge of their passions. travel is not, as is imagined, the best school for that sort of science.—the young duke. knowledge must be gained by ourselves. mankind may supply us with facts ; but the results, even if they agree with previous ones, must be the work of our own minds.-the young duke. land. he would support that system which maintained the preponderance of the landed interest. he believed that preponderance to be essential to the welfare of the country; he attributed to that preponderance the stability of our institutions. he upheld that preponderance not for the advantage of a class, but for the benefit of the nation.— speech in house of commons (distress of country), february , . the manufacturer aspires to be “large-acred,’ and always earl of beaconsfield. will, so long as we have a territorial constitution ; a better security for the preponderance of the landed interest than any corn-law fixed or fluctuating.—sybil. law. when men are pure, laws are useless ; when men are corrupt, laws are broken.—(‘the sheikh') contarini fle- ming. aa ivpers. all lawyers are loose in their youth ; but an insular country, subject to fogs and with a powerful middle class, requires grave statesmen.—(“bertie tremaine’) endymion. learning. learning is better than house and land.—(‘mrs. carey') sybil. lebanon. º there are regions more lofty than the glaciered crests of lebanon; mountain scenery more sublime, perhaps even more beautiful: its peaks are not lost in the clouds like the mysterious ararat; its forests are not as vast and strange as the towering himalaya; it has not the volcanic splendour of the glowing andes; in lake and in cataract it must yield to the european alps; but for life, vigorous, varied, and picturesque, there is no highland territory in the globe that can for a moment compare with the great chain of syria.- tancred. eegislators. the most successful legislators are those who have con- sulted the genius of the people.—contarini fleming. leman, lake. in these moments, rather of humility than despondence, would fly for consolation to the blue waters of that beauti. i wit and wisdom of the ful lake, whose shores have ever been the favourite haunt of genius, the fair and gentle leman. nor is there indeed in nature a sight more lovely than to watch, at decline of day, the last embrace of the sun lin- gering on the rosy glaciers of the white mountain. soon, too soon, the great luminary dies; the warm peaks subside into purple and then die into a ghostly white; but soon, ah! not too soon, the moon springs up from behind a mountain, flings over the lake a stream of light, and the sharp glaciers glitter like silver. i have often passed the whole night upon these en- chanted waters, contemplating their beautiful variety; and, indeed, if anything can console one for the absence of the moon and stars, it would be to watch the lightning, on a dark night, on this superb lake. it is incessant, and some- times in four or five different places at the same time. in the morning leman loses its ultramarine tint, and is covered with the shadows of mountains and chateaux.-contarini fleming. letters. mrs. neuchatel was a fine penwoman: her feelings were her facts, and her ingenious observations of art and nature were her news.-endymion. long letters.-perfect epistolary boa-constrictors—i have suffered under their voluminous windings.-vivian grey. - lewis (sir george c.). i do not know the man who combined in so eminent a degree as sir george lewis, both from acquirement and from nature, power of thought, the faculty upon all public matters of arriving at a sound and thorough opinion. although he was a man most remarkably free from prejudice and passion, that exemption from sentiments which are supposed in general to be necessary to the possession of active power had not upon him that effect which they earl of beaconsfield, i generally exercise; and he was a man who, in all the trans- actions of life, brought a great organising faculty and a great power of sustained perseverance to the transaction of public affairs.—speech in house of commons (death of sir g. c. mewis), april , . iiberalism. my objection to liberalism is this—that it is the intro- duction into the practical business of life of the highest kind —namely, politics—of philosophical ideas instead of political principles.—speech in house of commons (expulsion of aritish ambassador from madrid), june , . an attempt to govern the country by the assertion of abstract principles, which it was now beginning to be the fashion to call liberalism.—endymion. we know what liberalism means on the continent. it means the abolition of property and religion.—(“great personage’) endymion. the tone and tendency of liberalism cannot be con- cealed. it is to attack the institutions of the country under the name of reform and to make war on the manners and customs of the people under the pretext of progress.-speech at crystal palace (banquet of the national union of con- servative and constitutional associations), june , . i have seen in my time several monopolies terminated, and recently i have seen the termination of the monopoly of liberalism. nor are we surprised when we see that ceitain persons who believed that they had an hereditary right whenever it was necessary to renovate the institutions of their country, should be somewhat displeased that any other person should presume to interfere with those changes which i hope, in the spirit of true patriotism, they believed the requirements of the state rendered necessary. but i am sure that when the hubbub has subsided—when the shrieks and screams which were heard some time ago, and which have already subsided into sobs and sighs, shall be wit and wisdom of the thoroughly appeased—nothing more terrible will be dis- covered to have occurred than that the tory party has re- sumed its natural functions in the government of the country. for what is the tory party unless it represents national feeling?—speech at mansion house, august . ‘the principle of the exclusive constitution of england having been conceded by the acts of – – ,’ said con- ingsby, “a party has arisen in the state who demand that the principle of political liberalism shall consequently be carried to its extent; which it appears to them is impossible without getting rid of the fragments of the old constitution that remain. this is the destructive party; a party with distinct and intelligible principles. they seek a specific for the evils of our social system in the general suffrage of the population.—coningsby. patriotism was a false idea and entirely repugnant to the principles of the new philosophy.—(“bertie tremaine') endymion. - the tory system had degenerated into a policy which formed its basis on the principles of exclusiveness and restriction. a body of public men distinguished by their capacity took advantage of these circumstances. they seized the helm of affairs in a manner, the honour of which i do not for a moment question, but they introduced a new system into our political life. influenced in a great degree by the philosophy and the politics of the continent, they endeavoured to substitute cosmopolitan for national princi- ples, and they baptised the new scheme of politics with the plausible name of liberalism.—speech at crystal palace (banquet of the national union of conservative and con- stitutional associations), june , . the noble lord (lord john russell) called every section of the liberal party to his house in chesham place. there was the school of manchester with its vigilant and justifiable ambition ; there were all the administrative reformers in the shell ; there were the inexorable assertors earl of beaconsfield. of pure radical principles, men of spartan virtue, who only sought for power to assert a principle, and would never take office except to carry it into successful execution.—speech in house of commons (administrative reform), june , . what would they say (to their constituencies) when the only result of their nine months’ sitting, the ordinary period of gestation, had produced nothing but this abortion, this strangled offspring of the noble lord (lord j. russell)?— speech in house of commons (municipal corporations [ireland] bill), august , . for my part i consider it a great homage to public opinion to find every scoundrel nowadays professing him. self a liberal.—(“saturn') infernal marriage. the liberals of darlford were looking for a candidate. but they never could hit on the right man. if principles were right, there was no money; and if money were ready, money would not take pledges. in fact they wanted a phoenix—a very rich man who would do exactly as they liked, with very low opinions and with very high connec- tions.—coningsby. - as time advanced it was not difficult to perceive that extravagance was being substituted for energy by the govern- ment. their paroxysms ended in prostration. some took refuge in melancholy, and their eminent chief alternated between menace and a sigh. as i sat opposite the treasury bench the ministers re- minded me of one of those marine landscapes not very un- usual on the coasts of south america. you behold a range of exhausted volcanoes—not a flame flickers on a single pallid crest. but the situation is still dangerous. there are occasional earthquakes, and ever and anon the dark rumbling of the sea.—speech in free trade hall at man- chester, april , . for nearly five years the present ministers have harassed every trade, worried every profession, and assailed or menaced every class, institution, and species of property in i wit and wisdom of the the country. occasionally they have varied this state of civil warfare by perpetrating some job which outraged public opinion, or by stumbling into mistakes, which have always been discreditable, and sometimes ruinous. all this they call a policy, and seem quite proud of it; but the country has, i think, made up its mind to close this career of plundering and blundering.—letter to zord grey de wilton before bath election, october , . life. life's a tumble-about thing of ups and downs.—(‘widow carey') sybil. for life in general there is but one decree. youth is a blunder, manhood a struggle, old age a regret.—(‘sidonia’) coningsby. be like me, live in the present, and when you dream, dream of the future.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. it is a drear life to do the same thing the same day at the same hour.—sybil. my life was not monotonous, for my life was only love. contarini fleming. life is adventurous. events are perpetually occurring, even in the calmness of domestic existence, which change in an instant the whole train and tenor of our thoughts and feelings, and often materially influence our fortunes and our character. it is strange, and sometimes as profitable as it is singular, to recall our state on the eve of some acquaint- ance which transfigures our being ; with some man whose philosophy revolutionises our mind ; with some woman whose charms metamorphose our career. these retro- spective meditations are fruitful of self-knowledge.—benri- etta temple. mankind are constantly starting at events which they consider extraordinary. but a philosopher acknowledges only one miracle, and that is life. political revolutions, changes of empire, wrecks of dynasties and the opinions earl of beaconsfield. that support them, these are the marvels of the vulgar, but these are only transient modifications of life. the origin of existence is, therefore, the first object which a true philosopher proposes to himself. unable to discover it, he accepts certain results from his unbiassed observation of its obvious nature, and on them he establishes certain prin- ciples to be our guides in all social relations, whether they take the shape of laws or customs. nevertheless, until the principle of life be discovered, all theories and all systems of conduct founded on theory must be considered provi- sional—(‘herbert') venetia. o life what a heart-breaking thing is life and our affections, our sweet and pure affections, fountains of such joy and solace, that nourish all things, and make the most barren and rigid soil teem with life and beauty, oh why do we disturb the flow of their sweet waters, and pollute their immaculate and salutary source?—henrietta temple. lord montfort was a man of deep emotions, and of a very fastidious taste. he was a man of as romantic a temperament as ferdinand armine; but with lord mont- fort, life was the romance of reason ; with ferdinand, the romance of imagination. the first was keenly alive to all the imperfections of our nature, but he also gave that nature credit for all its excellencies. he observed finely, he calcu- lated nicely, and his result was generally happiness. ferdi- nand, on the contrary, neither observed nor calculated. his imagination created fantasies, and his impetuous passions struggled to realise them.—henrietta temple. ‘life would be perfect if it would only last.” but it will not last; and what then? he could not reconcile interest in this life with the conviction of another, and an eternal one. it seemed to him that, with such a conviction, man could only have one thought and one occupation, the future, and preparation for it. with such a conviction, what they called reality appeared to him more vain and nebulous than the scenes and sights of sleep. and he wit and wisdom of the had that conviction ; at least he had it once. had he it now p yes; he had it now, but modified perhaps ; in detail. he was not so confident as he was a few months ago, that he could be ushered by a jesuit from his deathbed to the society of st. michael and all the angels. there might be long processes of initiation, intermediate states of higher probation and refinement. there might be a horrible and apathetic pause. when millions of ages appeared to be necessary to mature the crust of a rather insignificant planet, it might be presumption in man to assume that his soul, though immortal, was to reach its final destination, regardless of all the influences of space and time.—lothair. iimeage. what is the use of belonging to an old family unless to have the authority of an ancestor ready for any prejudice, religious or political, which your combinations may require p (“fakredeen') tancred. how those rooks bore i i hate staying with ancient families, you are always cawed to death.—vivian grey. ‘ancient lineage | i never heard of a peer with an ancient lineage. the real old families of this country are to be found among the peasantry; the gentry, too, may lay some claim to oki blood. i can point you out saxon families in this county who can trace their pedigrees beyond the conquest; i know of some norman gentlemen whose fathers undoubtedly came over with the conqueror. but a peer with an ancient lineage is to me quite a novelty. no, no ; the thirty years of the wars of the roses freed us from those gentlemen. i take it, after the battle of tewkesbury, a norman baron was almost as rare a being in england as a wolf is now.’ ‘i have always understood,” said coningsby, “that our peerage was the finest in europe.” “from themselves,’ said millbank, ‘and the heralds they pay to paint their carriages. but i go to facts. when earl of beaconsfield. i i henry vii. called his first parliament, there were only twenty-nine temporal peers to be found, and even some of them took their seats illegally, for they had been attainted. of those twenty-nine not five remain, and they, as the howards for instance, are not norman nobility. we owe the english peerage to three sources: the spoliation of the church ; the open and flagrant sale of its honours by the elder stuarts; and the boroughmongering of our own times. those are the three main sources of the existing peerage of england, and in my opinion disgraceful ones. but i must apologise for my frankness in thus speaking to an aris- tocrat.” ‘oh, by no means, sir; i like discussion.’ ‘and where will you find your natural aristocracy p’ asked coningsby. “among those men whom a nation recognises as the most eminent for virtue, talents, and property, and, if you please, birth and standing in the land. they guide opinion ; and, therefore, they govern. i am no leveller; i look upon an artificial equality as equally pernicious with a factitious aristocracy; both depressing the energies, and checking the enterprise of a nation. i like man to be free, really free : free in his industry as well as his body. what is the use of habeas corpus, if a man may not use his hands when he is out of prison p’—coningsby. a/teratura. i may say of our literature that it has one characteristic which distinguishes it from almost all the other literatures of modern europe, and that is its exuberant reproductiveness.- speech at royal literary fund dinner, may , . local. the local sentiment in man is the strongest passion in his nature. this local sentiment is the parent of most of i wit and wisdom of the our virtues.—speech at royal south buckinghamshire agri- cultural association dinner at salthill, november , . localities. one should generally mention localities, because very often they indicate character.—tancred. iondon. what i miss here are the cafés. now in paris you can dine every day exactly as it suits your means and mood: you may dine for a couple of francs in a quiet unknown street, and very well, or you may dine for a couple of napoleons in a flaming saloon with windows opening on a crowded boulevard. london is deficient in dining capabili- ties.—(“st. barbe’) endymion. a city of cities, an aggregation of humanity, that proba- bly has never been equalled in any period of the history of the world, ancient or modern.—speech in house of commons (direct and indirect taxation), may , . there never was such a great city with such small houses.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. london is a roost for every bird.—(“felix drolin') lothair. mr. glastonbury hailed a coach, into which, having safely deposited their portmanteaus, he and ferdinand armine entered ; but our young friend was so entirely over- come by his feelings and the genius of the place, that he was quite unable to make an observation. each minute the streets seemed to grow more spacious and more brilliant, and the multitude more dense and more excited. beauti- ful buildings, too, rose before him, palaces, and churches, and streets, and squares of imposing architecture; to his inex- perienced eye and unsophisticated spirit their route appeared a never-ending triumph. to the hackney-coachman, how- ever, who had no imagination, and who was quite satiated with metropolitan experience, it only appeared that he had earl of beaconsfield. i had an exceeding good fare, and that he was jogging up from bishopsgate street to charing cross.-aenrietta temple. what is most striking in london is its vastness. it is the illimitable feeling that gives it a special character. london is not grand. it possesses only one of the qualifi- cations of a great city, size ; but it wants the equally im- portant one, beauty. it is the union of these two qualities that produced the grand cities, the romes, the babylons, the hundred portals of the pharaohs ; multitudes and magnificence; the millions influenced by art. grand cities are unknown since the beautiful has ceased to be the principle of invention. paris, of modern capitals, has aspired to this character; but if paris be a beautiful city, it certainly is not a grand one ; its population is too limited, and, from the nature of their dwellings, they cover a comparatively small space. constantinople is picturesque ; nature has furnished a sublime site, but it has little architectural splendour, and you reach the environs with a fatal facility. london over- powers us with its vastness. though london is vast, it is very monotonous. all those new districts that have sprung up within the last half-century, the creatures of our com- mercial and colonial wealth, it is impossible to conceive anything more tame, more insipid, more uniform pancras is like marylebone, marylebone is like paddington ; all the streets resemble each other, you must read the names of the squares before you venture to knock at a door. this amount of building capital ought to have produced a greatcity. what an opportunity for architecture suddenly summoned to furnish habitations for a population equal to that of the city of bruxelles, and a population, too, of great wealth ! marylebone alone ought to have produced a revolution in our domestic architecture. it did nothing. it was built by act of parliament. parliament prescribed even a façade. it is parlia- ment to whom we are indebted for your gloucester places, and baker streets, and harley streets, and wimpole streets, i wit and wisi)om of the and all those flat, dull, spiritless streets, resembling each other like a large family of plain children, with portman place and portman square for their respectable parents. the influence of our parliamentary government upon the fine arts is a subject worth pursuing. the power that produced baker street as a model for street architecture in its celebrated building act, is the power that prevented whitehall from being completed, and which sold to foreigners all the pictures which the king of england had collected to civilise his people.—tancred. social london.—that is to say, a park or so, two or three squares, and a dozen streets, where society lives, where it dines and dances and blackballs and bets and spouts.- endymion. belgrave square.—in our own days we have witnessed the rapid creation of a new metropolitan quarter, built solely for the aristocracy by an aristocrat. the belgrave district is as monotonous as marylebone, and is so contrived as to be at the same time both insipid and tawdry.—tancred. the only quarter which lady bardolf thought worthy of her new coronet, and mrs. guy florence of her new visit- ing list.—tancred. bond street.—there is no street in the world that can furnish such a collection, filled with so many objects of beauty, curiosity, and interest.—lothair. charing cross.--where london becomes more interest- ing is charing cross. looking to northumberland house, and turning your back upon trafalgar square, the strand is perhaps the finest street in europe, blending the architecture of many periods; and its river ways are a peculiar feature and rich with associations. fleet street with its temple is not unworthy of being contiguous to the strand. the fire of london has deprived us of the delight of a real old quarter of the city; but some bits remain, and everywhere there is a stirring multitude, and a great crush and crash of carts and º af. ! earl of beaconsfield. i wains. the inns of court, and the quarters in the vicinity of the port, thames street, tower hill, billingsgate, wapping, rotherhithe, are the best parts of london; they are full of character: the buildings bear a nearer relation to what the people are doing than in the more polished quarters.- tancred. the city.—the old merchants of the times of the first georges were a fine race. they knew their position, and built up to it. while the territorial aristocracy, pulling down their family hotels, were raising vulgar streets and squares upon their site, and occupying themselves one of the new tenements, the old merchants filled the straggling lanes which connected the royal exchange with the port of london with man- sions which, if not exactly equal to the palaces of stately venice, might at least vie with many of the hotels of old paris. some of these, though the great majority have been broken up into chambers and counting-houses, still remain intact.—tancred. pſyde park.-hyde park has still about it something of arcadia. there are woods and waters, and the occasional illusion of an illimitable distance of sylvanjoyance.—tancred. rensington gardens.—so ferdinand entered kensington gardens, and walked in those rich glades and stately avenues. it seems to the writer of this history that the inhabitants of london are scarcely sufficiently sensible of the beauty of its environs. on every side the most charm- ing retreats open to them, nor is there a metropolis in the world surrounded by so many rural villages, picturesque parks, and elegant casinos. with the exception of con- stantinople, there is no city in the world that can for a moment enter into competition with it. for himself, though in his time something of a rambler, he is not ashamed in this respect to confess to a legitimate cockney taste; and for his part he does not know where life can flow on more pleasantly than in sight of kensington gardens, viewing the i wit and wisdom of the tº silver thames winding by the bowers of rosebank, or inhal- ing from its terraces the refined air of graceful richmond. in exactly ten minutes it is in the power of every man to free himself from all the tumult of the world; the pangs of love, the throbs of ambition, the wear and tear of play, the recriminating boudoir, the conspiring club, the rattling hell ; and find himself in a sublime sylvan solitude superior to the cedars of lebanon, and inferior only in extent to the chestnut forests of anatolia. it is kensington gardens that is almost the only place that has realised his idea of the forests of spenser and ariosto. what a pity, that instead of a princess in distress we meet only a nursery-maid | but here is the fitting and convenient locality to brood over our thoughts ; to project the great and to achieve the happy. it is here that we should get our speeches by heart, invent our impromptus ; muse over the caprices of our mistresses, destroy a cabinet, and save a nation.—henrietta temple. aegent's park.—the duke of st. james took his way to the regent's park, a wild sequestered spot, whither he invariably repaired when he did not wish to be noticed ; for the inhabitants of this pretty suburb are a distinct race, and although their eyes are not unobserving, from their inability to speak the language of london they are unable to com- municate their observations. the spring sun was setting, and flung a crimson flush over the blue waters and the white houses.—the young axuke. st. james's park.-it was a real summer day; large, round, glossy, fleecy clouds, as white and shining as glaciers, studded with their immense and immovable forms the deep blue sky. there was not even a summer breeze, though the air was mellow, balmy, and exhilarating. there was a bloom upon the trees, the waters glittered, the prismatic wild-fowl dived, breathed again, and again disappeared. beautiful children, fresh and sweet as the new-born rose, glanced about with the gestures and sometimes the voices earl of beaconsfield. of paradise. and in the distance rose the sacred towers of the great western minster. how fair is a garden amid the toils and passions of existence a curse upon those who vulgarise and desecrate these holy haunts ; breaking the hearts of nursery-maids, and smoking tobacco in the palace of the rose l—sybil. st. james's place.—st. james's place, that is always my idea of solitude.—(“ferrars’) endymion. st. james's street.—that celebrated eminence the top of st. james's street.—endymion. westminster abbey.—the abbey of westminster rises amid the strife of factions. around its consecrated precinct some of the boldest and some of the worst deeds have been achieved or perpetrated ; sacrilege, rapine, murder, and treason. here robbery has been practised on the greatest scale known in modern ages; here ten thousand manors belonging to the order of the templars, without any proof, scarcely with a pretext, were forfeited in one day and divided among the monarchand his chief nobles; here the great estate of the church, which, whatever its articles of faith, belonged and still belongs to the people, was seized at various times under various pretences, by an assembly that continually changed the religion of their country and their own by a parliamentary majority, but which never refunded the booty. here too was brought forth that monstrous conception which even patrician rome in its most ruthless period. never equalled, the mortgaging of the industry of the country to enrich and to protect property; an act which is now bring- ing its retributive consequences in a degraded and alienated population. here too have the innocent been impeached and hunted to death ; and a virtuous and able monarch martyred, because, among other benefits projected for his people, he was of opinion that it was more for their advan- tage that the economic service of the state should be supplied by direct taxation levied by an individual known to all, than by indirect taxation, raised by an irresponsible and fluctua- wit and wisdom of the ting assembly. but, thanks to parliamentary patriotism, the people of england were saved from ship money, which money the wealthy paid, and only got in its stead the customs and excise, which the poor mainly supply. rightly was king charles surnamed the martyr; for he was the holocaust of direct taxation. never yet did man lay down his life for so great a cause: the cause of the church and the cause of the poor—sybil. suburbs.—london transforms itself into bustling knights- bridge and airy brompton brightly and gracefully, lingers cheerfully in the long, miscellaneous, well-watered king's road, and only says farewell when you come to an abounding river and a picturesque bridge.—lothair. lowg-sight. i look upon a long-sighted man as a brute, who, not being able to see with his mind, is obliged to see with his body.—the young duke. a.o.r.d ma por. the associations of mysterious power and magnificence connected with the title and character of lord mayor.— endymion. lord ma por's dap. there is an air of enjoyment that pervades the whole city of london, in which all parties sympathise, and in which particularly the two parties in the state can meet together in the spirit of good-fellowship—opposed to each other like the two giant forms before me, but still meeting under the same roof–speech at mansion house, wovember , . a.ouis xyv. louis xiv., though a king, was one of the greatest ministers that ever lived ; for he personally conducted the most important correspondence and transacted the earl of beaconsfield. i most important affairs for a longer period than any minister who ever ruled.—speech in house of commons (cracow), march , . i.o.v.e. love is the may-day of the heart.—henrietta temple. a simple story, and yet there are so many ways of tell- ing it.—henrietta temple. the principle of every motion—that is of life—is desire or love.— venetia. there is no usury for love.—(‘herbert') venetia. those feelings which still echo in the heights of meille- rie, and compared with which all the glittering accidents of fortune sink into insignificance.—endymion. the magic of first love is the ignorance that it can ever end.—henrietta temple. to a man who is in love the thought of another woman is uninteresting if not repulsive.—contarini fleming. the affections of the heart are property, and the sympathy of the right person is often worth a good estate.— endymion. instead of love being the occasion of all the misery of this world, as is sung by fantastic bards, i believe that the misery of this world is occasioned by there not being love enough.-contarini fleming. experience is the best security for enduring love.— tancred. what a mystery is love all the necessities and habits of our life sink before it. food and sleep, that seem to divide our being as day and night divide time, lose all their influence over the lover. he is a spiritualised being, fit only to live upon ambrosia, and slumber in an imagi- nary paradise. the cares of the world do not touch him ; its most stirring events are to him but the dusty incidents of bygone annals. all the fortune of the world without his mistress is misery; and with her all its mischances a tran- oo wit and wisdom of the sient dream. revolutions, earthquakes, the change of governments, the fall of empires, are to him but childish games, distasteful to a manly spirit. men love in the plague, and forget the pest, though it rages about them. they bear a charmed life, and think not of destruction until it touches their idol, and then they die without a pang, like zealots for their persecuted creed. a man in love wanders in the world as a somnambulist, with eyes that seem open to those that watch him, yet in fact view nothing but their own inward fancies.—henrietta temple. love at first sight is often a genial and genuine senti- ment, but first love at first sight is ever eventually branded as spurious.--tancred. there is no love but love at first sight. this is the transcendent and surpassing offspring of sheer and un- polluted sympathy. all other is the illegitimate result of observation, of reflection, of compromise, of comparison, of expediency. the passions that endure flash like the lightning: they scorch the soul, but it is warmed for ever. miserable man whose love rises by degrees upon the frigid morning of his mind | some hours indeed of warmth and lustre may perchance fall to his lot ; some moments of meridian splendour, in which he basks in what he deems eternal sunshine. but then how often overcast by the clouds of care, how often dusked by the blight of misery and misfortune and certain as the gradual rise of such affection is its gradual decline, and melancholy set. then, in the chill dim twilight of his soul, he execrates custom ; because he has madly expected that feelings could be habitual that were not homogeneous, and because he has been guided by the observation of sense, and not by the inspiration of sympathy. amid the gloom and travail of existence suddenly to behold a beautiful being, and as instantaneously to feel an overwhelming conviction that with that fair form for ever our destiny must be entwined ; that there is no more joy earl of beaconsfiell) o i but in her joy, no sorrow but when she grieves ; that in her sigh of love, in her smile of fondness, hereafter is all bliss ; to feel our flaunty ambition fade away like a shrivelled gourd before her vision ; to feel fame a juggle and posterity a lie ; and to be prepared at once, for this great object, to forfeit and fling away all former hopes, ties, schemes, views ; to violate in her favour every duty of society; this is a lover, and this is love magnificent, sublime, divine senti- ment an immortal flame burns in the breast of that man who adores and is adored. he is an ethereal being. the accidents of earth touch him not. revolutions of empire, changes of creed, mutations of opinion, are to him but the clouds and meteors of a stormy sky. the schemes and struggles of mankind are, in his thinking, but the anxieties of pigmies and the fantastical achievements of apes. no- thing can subdue him. he laughs alike at loss of fortune, loss of friends, loss of character. the deeds and thoughts of men are to him equally indifferent. he does not mingle in their paths of callous bustle, or hold himself responsible to the airy impostures before which they bow down. he is a mariner, who, in the sea of life, keeps his gaze fixedly on a single star; and if that do not shine, he lets go the rudder, and glories when his barque descends into the bottomless gulf—henrietta temple. when a man is really in love, he is disposed to believe that, like himself, everyone is thinking of the person who engrosses his brain and heart.—endymion. the enamoured are always delighted with what is fanci- ful.-the young duke. - restless are the dreams of the lover that is young.— henrietta temple. i see no use of speaking to a man about love or reli- gion: they are both stronger than friendship.—(“bertram') lothair. - the lot the most precious to man, and which a bene- ficent providence has made not the least common : to find o wit and wisdom of the in another heart a perfect and profound sympathy; to unite his existence with one who would share all his joys, soften all his sorrows, aid him in all his projects, respond to all his fancies, counsel him in his cares, and support him in his perils; make life charming by her charms, interesting by her intelligence, and sweet by the vigilant variety of her tenderness; to find your life blessed by such an influence, and to feel that your influence can bless such a life : this lot, the most divine of divine gifts, that power and even fame can never rival in its delights, all this nature had denied to sidonia.-coningsby. where we do not respect, we soon cease to love ; where we cease to love, virtue weeps and flies.—the young duke. if it be agonising to be deserted, there is at least con- solation in being cherished.—henrietta temple. he had not yet learned the bitter lesson that unless we despise a woman when we cease to love her, we are still a slave, without the consolation of intoxication.—the young duke. lady aphrodite still trembled when she recalled the early's anguish of her broken sleep of love, and had not courage to hope that she might dream again. like the old hebrews she had been so chastened for her wild idolatry that she dared not raise an image to animate the wilderness of her existence.—the young duke. sweet is the voice of a sister in the season of sorrow, and wise is the counsel of those who love us.-alroy. a father's love.—beautiful venetia so fair, and yet so dutiful; with a bosom teeming with such exquisite sensibilities, and a mind bright with such acute and elevated intelligence an abstract conception of the sentiments that might subsist between a father and a daughter, height- ened by all the devices of a glowing imagination, had haunted indeed occasionally the solitary musing of marmion her- bert ; but what was this creation of his poetic brain com- pared with the reality that now had touched his human | | earl of beaconsfield. o heart? wainly had he believed that repose was the only solace that remained for his exhausted spirit. he found that a new passion now swayed his soul ; a passion, too, that he had never proved ; of a nature most peculiar ; pure, gentle, refined, yet ravishing and irresistible, compared with which all former transports, no matter how violent, tumultuous, and exciting, seemed evanescent and super- ficial: they were indeed the wind, the fire, and the tempest that had gone before, but this was the still small voice that followed, excelled, and survived their might and majesty, unearthly and eternal | his heart melted to his daughter, nor did he care to live without her love and presence. his philosophical theories all vanished. he felt how dependent we are in this world on our natural ties, and how limited, with all his arrogance, is the sphere of man. dreaming of philanthropy, he had broken his wife's heart, and bruised, perhaps irreparably, the spirit of his child ; he had rendered those miserable who depended on his love, and for whose affection his heart now yearned to that degree, that he could not contemplate existence without their active sympathy.— venetia. a mother's love.—it was the inspiration of this sacred love that hovered like a guardian angel over the life of venetia. it roused her from her morning slumbers with an embrace, it sanctified her evening pillow with a bless- ing ; it anticipated the difficulty of the student's page, and guided the faltering hand of the hesitating artist ; it refreshed her memory, it modulated her voice ; it accom- panied her in the cottage, and knelt by her at the altar. marvellous and beautiful is a mother's love. and when venetia, with her strong feelings and enthusiastic spirit, would look around and mark that a graceful form and a bright eye were for ever watching over her wants and wishes, instructing with sweetness, and soft even with ad- vice, her whole soul rose to her mother, all thoughts and feelings were concentrated in that sole existence, and she o wit and wisdom of the desired no happier destiny than to pass through life living in the light of her mother's smiles, and clinging with passionate trust to that beneficent and guardian form.— venetia. lowe, robert (lok d sherbrooke). he has no sympathy with the past, no respect for tra- dition ; he has confidence in his own individual infalli- bility. but from the first moment that he entered public life—and i would prophesy that it will be to the last—he has offended the english nation, who can have no sympathy with a man who is proud of having no heart.—general election speech at newport pagnell, february , . the right honourable member for calne is a very remark- able man. he is a very learned man, though he despises his- tory. he can chop logic like dean aldrich ; but what is more remarkable than his learning and his logic is that power of spontaneous aversion which particularly characterises him. there is nothing that he likes, and almost everything that he hates. he hates the working classes of england. he hates the roman catholics of ireland. he hates the pro- testants of ireland. he hates her majesty's ministers; and until the right honourable member for south lancashire placed his hand upon the ark, he seemed almost to hate that right honourable gentleman. but now all is changed. now we have the hour and the man. but i believe the clock goes wrong, and the man is mistaken.—speech in house of commons (established church [ireland), april , . iuck. - mrs. darlington vere was a most successful woman, lucky in everything—lucky even in her husband ; for he died.—the young duke. it was what is called a lucky family; that is to say, a family with a charm, that always attracted and absorbed heiresses.—aothair. earl of beaconsfield. o lucky is he who has neither creditors nor offspring, and who owes neither money, nor affection—after all the most difficult to pay of the two.—(‘cadurcis') venetia. lple (eustace). ‘by the bye,’ said coningsby, “what sort of fellow is eustace lyle? i rather like his look.’ “oh i i will tell you all about him,” said lord henry. ‘he is a great ally of mine, and i think you will like him very much. it is a roman catholic family, about the oldest we have in the county, and the wealthiest. you see, lyle's father was the most violent ultra whig, and so were all eustace's guardians ; but the moment he came of age, he announced that he should not mix himself up with either of the parties in the county, and that his tenantry might act exactly as they thought fit. my father thinks, of course, that lyle is a conservative, and that he only waits the occasion to come forward ; but he is quite wrong. i know lyle well, and he speaks to me without disguise. you see 'tis an old cavalier family, and lyle has all the opinions and feelings of his race. he will not ally himself with anti-monarchists, and democrats, and infidels, and secta- rians; at the same time, why should he support a party who pretend to oppose these, but who never lose an oppor- tunity of insulting his religion, and would deprive him, if possible, of the advantages of the very institutions which his family assisted in establishing?” “why, indeed? i am glad to have made his acquaint- ance,” said coningsby. “is he clever?” “i think so,” said lord henry. ‘he is the most shy fellow, especially among women, that i ever knew, but he is very popular in the county. he does an amazing deal of good, and is one of the best riders we have. my father says, the very best ; bold, but so very certain.”—coningsby. o wit and wisdom of the machine. a machine is a slave that neither brings nor bears degradation.—coningsby. the mystery of mysteries is to view machinery making machinery.—coningsby. ma or/tp. a majority is always better than the best repartee.— (“coningsby') tancred. the resolution has been carried by a very small majority —as it is in its ‘teens,’ it can hardly be called a majority at all—speech in house of commons (ways and means), may , . man. when a man is not speaking, or writing, from his own mind, he is as insipid company as a looking-glass.-the young duke. the man who anticipates his century is always persecuted when living, and is always pilfered when dead.—(“sievers’) vivian grey. no affections and a great brain—these are the men to command the world. no affections and a little brain—such is the stuff of which they make petty villains.—(‘baroni’) tancred. it is not at all impossible that a man, always studying one subject, will view the general affairs of the world through the coloured prism of his own atmosphere.—speech in house of commons (railways [ireland]), feb. , . to rule men we must be men; to prove that we are strong we must be weak; to prove that we are giants we must be dwarfs—our wisdom must be concealed under folly, and our constancy under caprice.— vivian grey. you cannot judge of a man by only knowing what his debts are; you must be acquainted with his resources. (“fakredeen') tancred. earl of beaconsfield. o men do not like to be baulked when they think they are doing a very kind and generous and magnanimous thing. tancred. man is an animal, and his nature must be studied as that of all other animals. the almighty creator has breathed his spirit into us; and we testify our gratitude for this choice boon by never deigning to consider what may be the nature of our intelligence. the philosopher, however, amid this darkness, will not despair. he will look forward to an age of rational laws and beneficent education. he will remember that all the truth he has attained has been by one process. he will also endeavour to become ac- quainted with himself by demonstration, and not by dogma. contarini fleming. man is born to observe, but if he falls into psychology he observes nothing.—(“mr. phoebus') lothair. a smile for a friend, and a sneer for the world, is the way to govern mankind.— vivian grey. man is mimetic: we repeat without thought the opinions of some third person, who has adopted them without inquiry.—tancred. man is only great when he acts from the passions; never irresistible, but when he appeals to the imagination. even mormon counts more votaries than bentham.— (‘sidonia') coningsby. man is made to adore and obey ; but if you do not command him, if you give him nothing to worship, he will fashion his own divinities and find a chieftain in his own passions.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. - when a man at the same time believes in and sneers at his destiny, we may be sure that he considers his condition past redemption.— vivian grey. men never congregate together for any beneficial purpose. (“violet fane') vivian grey. man is made to create, from the poet to the potter— (‘winter') contarini fleming. o wit and wisdom of the manners. nowadays manners are easy and life is hard. —sybil. manners change with time and circumstances; customs may be observed everywhere.—alroy. his spirit recoiled from that gross familiarity that is the characteristic of modern manners, and which would destroy all forms and ceremonies, merely because they curb and control their own coarse convenience and ill-disguised selfish- ness.-coningsby. lady armine's manners were graceful, for she had visited courts and mixed in polished circles, but she had fortu- nately not learnt to affect insensibility as a system, or to believe that the essence of good-breeding consists in show- ing your fellow-creatures that you despise them.—henrietta temple. a manner that was spontaneous; nature's pure gift, the reflex of her feelings.-coningsby. the haughty suavity of that sunny glance, which was not familiar enough for a smile or foolish enough for a simper. tancred. manufacturer. the factory was about a mile distant from their cottage, which belonged indeed to mr. trafford, and had been built by him. he was the younger son of a family that had for centuries been planted in the land, but who, not satisfied with the factitious consideration with which society com- pensates the junior members of a territorial house for their entailed poverty, had availed himself of some opportunities that offered themselves, and had devoted his energies to those new sources of wealth that were unknown to his ancestors. his operations at first had been extremely limited, like his fortunes; but with a small capital, though his profits were not considerable, he at least gained ex- perience. with gentle blood in his veins, and old english feelings, he imbibed, at an early period of his career, a earl of beaconsfield. correct conception of the relations which should subsist between the employer and the employed. he felt that between them there should be other ties than the payment and the receipt of wages. - a distant and childless relative, who made him a visit, pleased with his energy and enterprise, and touched by the development of his social views, left him a considerable sum, at a moment, too, when a great opening was offered to manufacturing capital and skill. trafford, schooled in rigid fortunes, and formed by struggle, if not by adversity, was ripe for the occasion, and equal to it. he became very opulent, and he lost no time in carrying into life and being the plans which he had brooded over in the years when his good thoughts were limited to dreams. on the banks of his native mowe he had built a factory, which was now one of the marvels of the district; one might almost say, of the country : a single room, spreading over nearly two acres, and holding more than two thousand workpeople. the roof of groined arches, lighted by ventilating domes at the height of eighteen feet, was supported by hollow cast-iron columns, through which the drainage of the roof was effected. the height of the ordinary rooms in which the workpeople in manufactories are engaged, is not more than from nine to eleven feet ; and these are built in stories, the heat and effluvia of the lower rooms communicated to those above, and the difficulty of ventilation insurmountable. at mr. trafford's, by an ingenious process, not unlike that which is practised in the house of commons, the ventilation was also carried on from below, so that the whole building was kept at a steady temperature, and little susceptible to atmospheric influence. the physical advantages of thus carrying on the whole work in one chamber are great : in the improved health of the people, the security against dangerous accidents to women and youth, and the reduced fatigue resulting from not having to ascend and descend, and carry materials to the higher rooms. but the moral io wit and wisdom of the advantages resulting from superior inspection and general observation are not less important : the child works under the eye of the parent, the parent under that of the superior workman ; the inspector or employer at a glance can behold all. when the workpeople of mr. trafford left his factory they were not forgotten. deeply had he pondered on the influence of the employer on the health and content of his workpeople. he knew well that the domestic virtues are dependent on the existence of a home, and one of his first efforts had been to build a village where every family might be well lodged. though he was the principal pro- prietor, and proud of that character, he nevertheless en- couraged his workmen to purchase the fee : there were some who had saved sufficient money to effect this ; proud of their house and their little garden, and of the horticul- tural society, where its produce permitted them to be annual competitors. in every street there was a well : behind the factory were the public baths; the schools were under the direction of the perpetual curate of the church, which mr. trafford, though a roman catholic, had raised and endowed. in the midst of this village, surrounded by beautiful gardens, which gave an impulse to the horticul- ture of the community, was the house of trafford himself, who comprehended his position too well to withdraw him- self with vulgar exclusiveness from his real dependents, but recognised the baronial principle, reviving in a new form, and adapted to the softer manners and more ingenious circumstances of the times. and what was the influence of such an employer and such a system of employment on the morals and manners of the employed p great ; infinitely beneficial. the con- nection of a labourer with his place of work, whether agri- cultural or manufacturing, is itself a vast advantage. proximity to the employer brings cleanliness and order, because it brings observation and encouragement. in the earl of beaconsfield. i i settlement of trafford crime was positively unknown, and offences were slight. there was not a single person in the village of a reprobate character. the men were well clad ; the women had a blooming cheek; drunkenness was un- known ; while the moral condition of the softer sex was proportionately elevated.—sybil. marriage. some experience of society before we settle is most desirable, and is one of the conditions, i cannot but believe, of that felicity which we seek.-(‘the duchess')—zothair. i respect the institution—i have always thought that every woman should marry, and no man,—(“hugo bohun') aothair. the day before marriage and the hour before death is when a man thinks least of his purse and most of his neigh- bour.— vivian grey. - it is very immoral and very unfair, that any man should marry for tin, who does not want it.—(‘lord milford’) tancred. it destroys one's nerves to be amiable every day to the same human being.—the young duke. the character of a woman rapidly develops after marriage, and sometimes seems to change, when in fact it is only com- plete.—tancred. the married life of a woman of the working class in the present condition of our country is a lease of woe.— (‘gerard') sybil. early marriages.—for myself, i believe that permanent unions of the sexes should be early encouraged ; nor do i conceive that general happiness can ever flourish but in societies where it is the custom for all males to marry at eighteen. this custom, i am informed, is not unusual in the united states of america, and its consequence is a simplicity of manners and a purity of conduct which euro- peans cannot comprehend, but to which they must ulti- i wit and wisdom of the mately have recourse. primeval barbarism and extreme civilisation must arrive at the same results. men, under these circumstances, are actuated by their structure ; in the first instance, instinctively; in the second, philosophi- cally. at present, we are all in the various gradations of the intermediate state of corruption.—contarini fleming. early marriages are to be deprecated, especially for men, because they are too frequently imprudent.—(‘lady roe- hampton’) endymion. measures. their leader had on more than one occasion given what he might call a pedigree of patriotism, proud of the great measures which in the last two hundred years his party had introduced and carried.—speeck in house of commons (arms [ireland] bill), august , , the noble lord called it an extraordinary measure, but i object to it, that it is not an extraordinary measure. it is an ordinary measure, a vulgar measure. the noble lord said, that when a man's house is on fire, you must have re- course to extraordinary measures to meet the calamity. sir, i deny it. you don't have recourse to extraordinary mea- sures when your house is on fire; you adopt ordinary measures—you send for the parish engine.—speech in house of commons (reliefoſ distress [ireland]), wovember , . i mediterra nean. “say what they like,' said herbert, “there is a spell in the shores of the mediterranean sea which no others can rival. never was such a union of natural loveliness and magical associations ! on these shores have risen all that interests us in the past: egypt and palestine, greece, rome, and carthage, moorish spain, and feodal italy. these shores have yielded us our religion, our arts, our literature, and our laws. if all that we have gained from the shores of i wit and wisdom of the them. matter is his great enemy. when you converse with him you lose all consciousness of this world. my dear sir, observe how exquisitely nature revenges herself upon those capricious and fantastic children. believeme, nature is the most brilliant of wits; and that no repartees that ever were inspired by hate, or wine, or beauty, ever equalled the calm effects of her indomitable power upon those who are reject- ing her authority. you understand me? methinks that the best answer to the idealism of m. fichte is to see his pupil devouring kalte schale.—(“sievers') vivian grey. mill bank (mr.). at length there was a general stir, and they all did come forth, mr. millbank among them, a well-proportioned, comely man, with a fair face inclining to ruddiness, a quick glancing, hazel eye, the whitest teeth, and short, curly, chestnut hair, here and there slightly tinged with grey. it was a visage of energy and decision.—coningsby. mill bank (oswald). • millbank was the son of one of the wealthiest manufac- turers in lancashire. his father, whose opinions were of a very democratic bent, sent his son to eton, though he disapproved of the system of education pursued there, to show that he had as much right to do so as any duke in the land. he had, however, brought up his only boy with a due prejudice against every sentiment or institution of an aristocratic character, and had especially impressed upon him, in his school career, to avoid the slightest semblance of courting the affections or society of any member of the falsely held superior class. the character of the son, as much as the influence of the father, tended to the fulfilment of these injunctions. oswald millbank was of a proud and independent nature ; reserved, a little stern. the early and constantly reiterated dogma of his father, that he belonged to a class debarred earl of beaconsfield. i from its just position in the social system, had aggravated the grave and somewhat discontented humour of his blood. his talents were considerable, though invested with no dazzling quality. he had not that quick and brilliant apprehension, which, combined with a memory of rare retentiveness, had already advanced coningsby far beyond his age, and made him already looked to as the future hero of the school. but millbank possessed one of those strong industrious volitions whose perseverance amounts almost to genius, and nearly attains its results. though coningsby was by a year. his junior, they were rivals. this circum- stance had no tendency to remove the prejudice which coningsby entertained against him, but its bias on the part of millbank had a contrary effect. the influence of the individual is nowhere so sensible as at school. there the personal qualities strike without any intervening and counteracting causes. a gracious presence, noble sentiments, or a happy talent, make their way there at once, without preliminary inquiries as to what set they are in, or what family they are of, how much they have a year, or where they live. now, on no spirit had the influence of coningsby, already the favourite, and soon probably to become the idol, of the school, fallen more effectually than on that of millbank, though it was an influence that no one could suspect except its votary or its victim. . the secret of millbank's life was a passionate admiration and affection for coningsby. pride, his natural reserve, and his father's injunctions, had, however, hitherto success- fully combined to restrain the slightest demonstration of these sentiments. indeed, coningsby and himself were never companions, except in school, or in some public game. the demeanour of coningsby gave no encourage- ment to intimacy to one, who, under any circumstances, would have required considerable invitation to open him- self. so millbank fed in silence on a cherished idea. it was his happiness to be in the same form, to join in the i wit and wisdom of the same sport, with coningsby; occasionally to be thrown in unusual contact with him, to exchange slight and not un- kind words. in their division they were rivals; millbank sometimes triumphed, but to be vanquished by coningsby was for him not without a degree of wild satisfaction. not a gesture, not a phrase from coningsby, that he did not watch and ponder over and treasure up. coningsby was his model, alike in studies, in manners, or in pastimes; the aptest scholar, the gayest wit, the most graceful associate, the most accomplished playmate : his standard of the ex- cellent. yet millbank was the very last boy in the school who would have had credit given him by his companions for profound and ardent feeling. he was not indeed unpopular. the favourite of the school like coningsby, he could, under no circumstances, ever have become ; nor was he qualified to obtain that general graciousness among the multitude, which the sweet disposition of henry sydney, or the gay profusion of buckhurst, acquired with- out an effort. millbank was not blessed with the charm of manner. he seemed close and cold ; but he was courageous, just, and inflexible ; never bullied, and to his utmost would prevent tyranny. the little boys looked up to him as a stern protector ; and his word, too, throughout the school was a proverb : and truth ranks a great quality among boys. in a word, millbank was respected by those among whom he lived ; and schoolboys scan character more nicely than men suppose.—coningsby. mill bank (edith). this daughter of his host was of tender years; apparently she could scarcely have counted sixteen summers. she was delicate and fragile, but as she raised her still blushing visage to her father's guest, coningsby felt that he had never beheld a countenance of such striking and such peculiar beauty. - earl of beaconsfield. “my only daughter, mr. coningsby, edith ; a saxon name, for she is the daughter of a saxon.' but the beauty of the countenance was not the beauty of the saxons. it was a radiant face, one of those that seem to have been touched in their cradle by a sunbeam, and to have retained all their brilliancy and suffused and mantling lustre. one marks sometimes such faces, diapha- nous with delicate splendour, in the southern regions of france. her eye, too, was the rare eye of aquitaine; soft and long, with lashes drooping over the cheek, dark as her clustering ringlets. minister. the minister of a free people, he (baron fleming) was the personal as well as the political pupil of metternich. yet he respected the institutions of his country, because they existed, and because experience proved that under their influence the natives had become more powerful machines. his practice of politics was compressed in two words, subtlety and force. the minister of an emperor, he would have maintained his system by armies; in the cabinet of a small kingdom, he compensated for his deficiency by in- trigue. his perfection of human nature was a practical man. he looked upon a theorist either with alarm or with con- tempt. proud in his own energies, and conscious that he owed everything to his own dexterity, he believed all to depend upon the influence of individual character. he required men not to think but to act, not to examine but to obey; and, animating their brute force with his own intelligence, he found the success, which he believed could never be attained by the rational conduct of an enlightened people. . out of the cabinet the change of his manner might perplex the superficial. the moment that he entered society his thoughtful face would break into a fascinating smile, i wit and wisdom of the and he listened with interest to the tales of levity, and joined with readiness in each frivolous pursuit. he was sumptuous in his habits, and was said to be even voluptuous. perhaps he affected gallantry, because he was deeply im- pressed with the influence of women both upon public and upon private opinion. with them he was a universal favourite ; and as you beheld him assenting with convic- tion to their gay or serious nonsense, and gracefully waving his handkerchief in his delicate and jewelled hand, you might have supposed him for a moment a consummate lord chamberlain ; but only for a moment, for had you caught his eye, you would have withdrawn your gaze with precipita- tion, and perhaps with awe. for the rest, he spoke all languages, never lost his self-possession, and never, in my recollection, had displayed a spark of strong feeling.—con- tarini fleming. who may be the ministers of the queen are the accidents of history—what will remain on that enduring page is the policy pursued, and its consequence on her realm.—conser- vative manifesto, may , . gentlemen, you have given me credit individually for possession and exercise of some happy arts in the carrying these measures (reform). if i have shown patience, it becomes my position; if i have listened to the opinions of my opponents with deference, i only fulfilled the duty of a british minister ; but, believe me, i am not entitled to those compliments. i will explain to you all to-night all the arts by which i contrived to achieve this great success : all the black devices which i applied were simply these—upon every question i took my own party into confidence, and when i had to appeal to an independent opposition, i re- membered at all times they were men of sense and gentle- ness.—speech in music hall, edinburgh, working men's address, october , . no minister ever yet fell but from his own inefficiency. if his downfall be occasioned, as it generally is, by the earl of beaconsfield. i intrigues of one of his own creatures, his downfall is merited for having been the dupe of a tool, which in all probability he should never have employed.—(‘beckendorf’) vivian grey. a prudent minister certainly would not enter recklessly into any responsibility; but a minister who is afraid to enter into responsibility is in my mind not a prudent minister. we do not wish to enter into any unnecessary responsibility; but there is one responsibility from which we certainly shrink—we shrink from the responsibility of handing to our successors a diminished or a weakened empire.—speech in house of commons (congress, correspondence and protocols), july , . there is a difference in the demeanour of the same individual, as leader of the opposition and as minister of the crown—you must not contrast too strongly the hours of courtship with the years of possession.—speech in house of commons (agricultural interest), march , . ministry. one of the greatest of romans, when asked what were his politics, replied: “imperium et libertas.” that would not make a bad programme for a british ministry.—speech in guildhall, movember , . mission. a special mission was at all times a delicate measure, and in general it was safest to make a special mission with some purpose really different from that which it was sent to fulfil.-speech in house of commons (distress of the country), september , . monastics. “a drone is one who does not labour ; whether he wear a cowl or a coronet, 'tis the same to me. somebody, i suppose, must own the land ; though i have heard say o wit and wislom of the that this individual tenure is not a necessity; but, how- ever this may be, i am not one who would object to the lord, provided he were a gentle one. all agree that the monastics were easy landlords; their rents were low ; they granted leases in those days. their tenants, too, might renew their term before their tenure ran out : so they were men of spirit and property. there were yeomen then, sir : the country was not divided into two classes, masters and slaves; there was some resting-place between luxury and misery. comfort was an english habit then, not merely an english word.” ‘and do you really think they were easier landlords than our present ones?” said egremont, inquiringly. “human nature would tell us that, even if history did not confess it. the monastics could possess no private property; they could save no money; they could bequeath nothing. they lived, received, and expended in common. the monastery, too, was a proprietor that never died and never wasted. the farmer had a deathless landlord then ; not a harsh guardian, or a grinding mortgagee, or a dilatory master in chancery: all was certain ; the manor had not to dread a change of lords, or the oaks to tremble at the axe of the squandering heir. how proud we are still in england of an old family, though, god knows, 'tis rare to see one now. yet the people like to say, we held under him, and his father and his grandfather before him : they know that such a tenure is a benefit. the abbot was ever the same. the monks were, in short, in every district a port of refuge for all who needed succour, counsel, and protection ; a body of individuals having no cares of their own, with wisdom to guide the inexperienced, with wealth to relieve the suffering, and often with power to protect the oppressed.’—(‘gerard') sybil. earl of beaconsfield. i ~ momep. monby is power, and rare are the heads that can with stand the possession of great power.—(‘bond sharpe’) iſenrietta temple. as men advance in life, all passions resolve themselves into money. love, ambition, even poetry, end in this.- henrietta temple. mowmouth (lok d). the lord of the house slowly rose, for he was suffering slightly from the gout, his left hand resting on an ivory stick. lord monmouth was in height above the middle size, but somewhat portly and corpulent. his countenance was strongly marked ; sagacity on the brow, sensuality in the mouth and jaw. his head was bald, but there were remains of the rich brown locks on which he once prided himself. his large deep blue eye, madid and yet piercing, showed that the secretions of his brain were apportioned, half to voluptuousness, half to common sense. but his general mien was truly grand ; full of a natural nobility, of which no one was more sensible than himself. mowtfort (lord). simon, earl of montfort, may be said to have been a minor in his cradle. under ordinary circumstances his inheritance would have been one of the most considerable in england. his castle in the north was one of the glories of the land, and becomingly crowned his vast domain. under the old parliamentary system he had the greatest number of nomination boroughs possessed by any whig noble. the character and conduct of an individual so qualified were naturally much speculated on and finely scanned. nothing very decided transpired about them in his boyhood, but certainly nothing adverse. he was good-looking and athletic, and was said to be generous and good-natured, and wit and wisdom of the when he went to harrow he became popular. in his eighteenth year, while he was in correspondence with his guardians about going to christchurch, he suddenly left his country without giving notice of his intentions, and entered into, and fulfilled, a vast scheme of adventure. he visited countries then rarely reached, and some of which were almost unknown. when he was of age, he returned, and communicated with his guardians, as if nothing remarkable had happened in his life. his hunters and his cooks were both first-rate. although he affected to take little interest in politics, the events of the time forced him to consider them and to act. lord grey wanted to carry his reform bill, and the sacrifice of lord montfort's numerous boroughs was a necessary ingredient in the spell. he was appealed to as the head of one of the greatest whig houses, and he was offered a dukedom. he relinquished his boroughs without hesitation, but he preferred to remain with one of the oldest earldoms of england for his chief title. all honours, however, clustered about him, though he never sought them, and in the same year he tumbled into the lord lieutenancy of his county, unexpectedly vacant, and became the youngest knight of the garter. society was looking forward with the keenest interest to the impending season, when lord montfort would formally enter its spell- bound ranks, and multiform were the speculations on his destiny. he attended an early levée in order that he might be presented, and then again quitted his country, and for years. he was heard of in every capital except his own. wonderful exploits at st. petersburg, and paris, and madrid, deeds of mark at vienna, and eccentric adventures at rome. at last it would appear that the restless lord montfort had found his place, and that place was paris. there he dwelt for years in sybarite seclusion. he built himself a palace, which he called a villa, and which was the most fanciful of structures, and full of every beautiful object which rare taste and boundless wealth could procure, from undoubted earl of beaconsfield. raffaelles to jewelled toys. it was said that lord montfort saw no one ; he certainly did not court or receive his own countrymen ; and this perhaps gave rise to, or at least caused to be exaggerated, the tales that were rife of his profusion, and even his profligacy. - lord montfort was the only living englishman who gave one an idea of the nobleman of the eighteenth century. he was totally devoid of the sense of responsibility, and he looked what he resembled. his manner, though simple and natural, was finished and refined, and, free from forbidding reserve, was yet characterised by an air of serious grace. there was no subject, divine or human, in which he took the slightest interest. he entertained for human nature generally, and without any exception, the most cynical appreciation. he had a sincere and profound conviction, that no man or woman ever acted except from selfish and interested motives. society was intolerable to him ; that of his own sex and station wearied him beyond expression. as for female society, if they were ladies, it was expected that, in some form or other, he should make love to them, and he had no sentiment. if he took refuge in the demi-monde, he encountered vulgarity, and that to lord montfort was insufferable. he had tried them in every capital, and vulgarity was the badge of the whole tribe. no one could say lord montfort was a bad-hearted man, for he had no heart. he was good-natured, provided it brought him no inconvenience; and as for temper, his was never disturbed, but this not from sweetness of disposi- tion, rather from a contemptuous fine taste, which assured him that a gentleman should never be deprived of tran- quillity in a world where nothing was of the slightest conse- quence.—endymion. mowtfort (ladp). she was then in her second season, but still unparagoned, for she was a fastidious, not to say disdainful lady. the wit and wisdom of the highest had been at her feet, and sued in vain. she was a stirring spirit, with great ambition and a daring will ; never content except in society, and influencing it, for which she was qualified by her grace and lively fancy, her ready though capricious sympathy, and her passion for admiration ; and lady berengaria was a first-rate horsewoman, and really in the saddle looked irresistible. there was one lady who much attracted the attention of myra, interested in all she observed. this lady was evidently a person of importance, for she sat between an ambassador and a knight of the garter, and they vied in homage to her. they watched her every word, and seemed delighted with all she said. without being strictly beautiful, there was an expression of sweet animation in her physiognomy which was highly attractive ; her eye was full of summer lightning, and there was an arch dimple in her smile which seemed to irradiate her whole countenance. she was quite a young woman, hardly older than myra. what most distinguished her was the harmony of her whole person; her graceful figure, her fair and finely moulded shoulders, her pretty teeth and her small extremities, seemed to blend with and become the soft vivacity of her winning glance.—endymion. moon. o thou bright moon i thou object of my first love thou shalt not escape an invocation, although perchance at this very moment some varlet sonnetteer is prating of ‘the boy endymion’ and ‘thy silver bow.” here to thee, queen of the night ! in whatever name thou most delightest or bendis, as they hailed thee in rugged thrace; or bubastis, as they howled to thee in mysterious egypt; or dian, as they sacrificed to thee in gorgeous rome; or artemis, as they sighed to thee on the bright plains of ever glorious greece | why is it that all men gaze on thee? why is it that all men love thee? why is it that all men worship thee p earl of beaconsfield - shine on, shine on, sultana of the soul | the passions are thy eunuch slaves. ambition gazes on thee, and his burning brow is cooled, and his fitful pulse is calm. grief wanders in her moonlit walk and sheds no tear; and when thy crescent smiles the lustre of joy's revelling eye is dusked. quick anger, in thy light, forgets revenge ; and even dove- eyed hope feeds on no future joys when gazing on the miracle of thy beauty. shine on, shine on although a pure virgin, thou art the mighty mother of all abstraction the eye of the weary peasant returning from his daily toil, and the rapt gaze of the inspired poet, are alike fixed on thee; thou stillest the roar of marching armies, and who can doubt thy influence o'er the waves who has witnessed the wide atlantic sleeping under thy silver beam p shine on, shine on they say thou art earth's satellite ; yet when i gaze on thee my thoughts are not of thy suzerain. they teach us that thy power is a fable, and that thy divinity is a dream. oh, thou bright queen i will be no traitor to thy sweet authority; and verily, i will not believe that thy influence o'er our hearts is, at this moment, less potent than when we worshipped in thy glittering fane of ephesus, or trembled at the dark horrors of thine arician rites. then, hail to thee, queen of the night !—vivian grey. it is impossible to conceive anything more brilliant than an andalusian summer moon. you lose nothing of the landscape, which is only softened, not obscured ; and absolutely the beams are warm.—contarini fleming. moralitp. lady st. julians knew no crime except a woman not living with her husband ; that was past pardon. so long as his presence sanctioned her conduct, however shameless, it did not signify ; but if the husband were a brute, neglected his wife first and then deserted her ; then if a breath but wit and wisdom of the sullies her name, she must be crushed ; unless, indeed, her own family were very powerful, which makes a differ- ence, and sometimes softens immorality into indiscretion.— coningsby. - morlep (stephew). it was a still voice that uttered these words, yet one of a peculiar character; one of those voices that instantly arrest attention : gentle and yet solemn, earnest yet unimpassioned. with a step as whispering as his tone, the man who had been kneeling by the tomb had unobserved joined his asso- ciate and egremont. he hardly reached the middle height; his form slender, but well proportioned ; his pale counte- nance, slightly marked with the small-pox, was redeemed from absolute ugliness by a highly intellectual brow, and large dark eyes that indicated deep sensibility and great quickness of apprehension. though young, he was already a little bald; he was dressed entirely in black; the fairness of his linen, the neatness of his beard, his gloves much worn, yet carefully mended, intimated that his faded garments were the result of necessity rather than of negligence.— sybil. morning. morning is not romantic. romance is the twilight spell; but morn is bright and joyous, prompt with action and full of sanguine hope.—endymion. a bloom was spread over the morning sky. a soft golden light bathed with its fresh beam the bosom of the valley, except where a delicate haze, rathe, than a mist, still partially lingered over the river, which yet occasionally gleamed and sparkled in the sunshine. a sort of shadowy lustre suffused the landscape, which, though distinct, was mitigated in all its features: the distant woods, the clumps of tall trees that rose about the old grey bridge, the cottage chimneys that sent their smoke into the blue still air, amid their clustering orchards and gardens of flowers and herbs. earl of beaconsfield. ah ! what is there so fresh and joyous as a summer morn that springtime of the day, when the brain is bright, and the heart is brave; the season of daring and of hope; the renovating hour !—sybil. there is something especially in the hour which precedes a syrian dawn, which invigorates the frame and elevates the spirits. one cannot help fancying that angels may have been resting on the mountain tops during the night, the air is so sweet, the earth so still.—tancred. mountain air. there is something magical in the mountain air. there my heart is light, my spirits cheerful, everything is exhila- rating; there i am in every respect a different being from what i am in lowlands. i cannot even speak; i dissolve into a delicious reverie, in which everything occurs to me without effort. whatever passes before me gives birth in my mind to a new character, a new image, a new train of fancies. i sing, i shout, i compose aloud, but without premeditation, without any attempt to guide my imagina- tion by my reason. how often, after journeying along the wild muletrack, how often, on a sunny day, have i suddenly thrown myself upon the turf, revelled in my existence, and then as hastily jumped up and raised the wild birds with a wilder scream | i think that these involuntary bursts must have been occasioned by the unconscious influence of extreme health. as for myself, when i succeed in faintly recalling the rapture which i have experienced in these solitary rambles, and muse over the flood of fancy which then seemed to pour itself over my whole being, and gush out of every feeling and every object, i contrast, with morti- fication, those warm and pregnant hours with this cold record of my maturer age.—contarini fleming. wit and wisdom of the mountain valleps. in mountain valleys it is beautiful to watch the effect of the rising and setting of the sun. the high peaks are first illumined, the soft yellow light then tips the lower eleva- tions, and the bright golden showers soon bathe the whole valley, excepting a dark streak at the bottom, which is not often visited by sunlight. the effect of sunset is perhaps still more lovely. the highest peaks are those which the sun loves most. one by one the mountains, according to their elevation, steal into darkness, and the rosy tint is often suffused over the peaks and glaciers of mont blanc, while the whole world below is enveloped in the darkest twilight. contarini fleming. music. the greatest advantage that a writer can derive from music is, that it teaches most exquisitely the art of develop- ment.—contarini fleming. o music miraculous art, that makes the poet's skill a jest, revealing to the soul inexpressible feelings by the aid of inexplicable sounds ! a blast of thy trumpet, and millions rush forward to die ; a peal of thy organ, and uncounted nations sink down to pray. mighty is thy three- fold power first, thou canst call up all elemental sounds, and scenes, and subjects, with the definiteness of reality. strike the lyre lol the voice of the winds, the flash of the lightning, the swell of the wave, the solitude of the valley then thou canst speak to the secrets of a man's heart as if by inspiration. strike the lyre l lo our early love, our treasured hate, our withered joy, our flattering hope i and, lastly, by thy mysterious melodies thou canst re- call man from all thought of this world and of himself, bringing back to his soul's memory dark but delightful recollections of the glorious heritage which he has lost, but which he may win again. strike the lyre | lo! paradise, earl of beaconsfield. with its palaces of inconceivable splendour and its gates of unimaginable glory !—contarini fleming. mpra. the young lady was now thirteen, and though her parents were careful to say nothing in her presence which would materially reveal their situation, the scrutinising powers with which nature had prodigally invested their daughter were not easily baffled. she asked no questions, but nothing seemed to escape the penetrative glance of that dark blue eye, calm amid all the mystery, and tolerating rather than sharing the frequent embrace of her parents. . . . she learned with a glance, and remembered with extra- ordinary tenacity everything she had acquired. but she was neither tender nor deferential, and to induce her to study you could not depend on the affections, but only on her intelligence. so she was often fitful, capricious, or provoking, and her mother was often annoyed and irritated. then there were scenes, or rather ebullitions on one side, for myra was always unmoved and enraging from her total want of sensibility.—(five years later) her beauty was not less striking, but it was now the beauty of a woman. her mien was radiant but commanding, and her brow, always remark- able, was singularly impressive. “she has more common sense than any woman i ever knew, and more,' mr. neu- chatel would add, ‘than most men. if she were not so handsome, people would find it out ; but they cannot under- stand that so beautiful a woman can have a headpiece that, i really believe, could manage the affairs in bishopsgate street !’—endymion. mpsterp. mystery too often presupposes the idea of guilt.— venetia. all is mystery; but he is a slave who will not struggle to penetrate the dark veil.—contarini fleming. o wit and wisdom of the mation. the fate of a nation will ultimately depend upon the strength and health of the population.—(“mr. phoebus') mothair. avational petition. the prayer of the national petition involved the fallacy of supposing that social evils would be cured by political rights.-speech , in house of commons (national petition), july , . mationalitp. there is a great difference between nationality and race. nationality is the miracle of political independence. race is the principle of physical analogy.—speech in house of commons (avavy estimates), august , . mature. nature is stronger than education.—contarini fleming. nature has her laws, and this is one,—a fair day's wage for a fair day's work.-(‘nixon') sybil. necessitp. the necessities of things are sterner stuff than the hopes of men.—(‘theodora') lothair. meuchatel (adrian, lord hainault). adrian had inherited something more, and something more precious, than his father's treasure—a not inferior capacity, united, in his case, with much culture, and with a worldly ambition to which his father was a stranger. so long as his father lived, adrian had been extremely circum- spect. he seemed only devoted to business, and to model his conduct on that of his eminent sire. . . . he was pas- sionately fond of horses, and even in his father's lifetime had run some at newmarket in another name. . . . . adrian h earl of beaconsfield. i neuchatel was, what very few people are—master in his own house. with a rich varnish of graciousness and favour, he never swerved from his purpose ; and though willing to effect all things by smiles and sweet temper, he had none of that morbid sensibility which allows some men to-fret over a phrase, to be tortured by a sigh, or to be subdued by a tear.—endymion. neuchatel, mrs. (lady hainault). she was the daughter of an eminent banker, and had herself, though that was of slight importance, a large portion. she was a woman of abilities, highly cultivated. nothing had ever been spared that she should possess every possible accomplishment, and acquire every information and grace that it was desirable to attain. she was a linguist, a fine musician, no mean artist, and she threw out, if she willed it, the treasures of her well-stored and not unimaginative mind with ease and sometimes eloquence. her person, without being absolutely beautiful, was interesting. there was even a degree of fascination in her brown velvet eyes. and yet mrs. neuchatel was not a contented spirit; and though she appreciated the great qualities of her husband and viewed him even with reverence as well as affection, she scarcely contributed to his happiness as much as became her. and for this reason. whether it were the result of physical organisation, or whether it were the satiety which was the consequence of having been born, and bred, and lived for ever, in a society in which wealth was the prime object of existence, and practically the test of excellence, mrs. neu- chatel had imbibed not merely a contempt for money, but absolutely a hatred for it. the prosperity of her house depressed her.—endymion. meuchatel (adriaaa). she was now about seventeen ; and had she not been en- dowed with the finest disposition and the sweetest temper wit and wisdom of the in the world, she must have been spoiled, for both her parents idolised her. all that was rare and beautiful in the world was at her command. there was no limit to the gratification of her wishes. but, alas ! this favoured maiden wished for nothing. her books interested her, and a beauti- ful nature ; but she liked to be alone, or with her mother. she was impressed with the horrible and humiliating con- viction, that she was courted and admired only for her wealth.-endymion. - meutrality. if neutrality depends on holding that the interests of the country are not to be maintained and vindicated, then i am no longer in favour of neutrality, but in favour of the interests of the army and the honour of the sovereign.— speech in house of commons (eastern question), jan. , . we declared at the same time that neutrality must cease if british interests were assailed or menaced. cosmopolitan critics, men who are the friends of every country save their own, have condemned this policy as a selfish policy. my lord mayor, it is as selfish as patriotism.—speech at mansion house, movember , . mews. news has been described by the initial letters of the four points of the compass. it is the initial letters of the four points of the compass that make the word n e w s, and it is to be understood that news is that which comes from the north, east, west, and south, and if it comes from only one point of the compass, then it is a class publication and not news.—speech in house of commons (newspaper stamp duties bill), march , . might. night brings rest; night brings solace; rest to the weary, solace to the sad ; and to the desperate night brings de- spair.—alroy. earl of beaconsfield. the summer twilight had faded into sweet night; the young and star-attended moon glittered like a sickle in the deep purple sky; of all the luminous host hesperus alone was visible; and a breeze, that bore the last embrace of the flowers by the sun, moved languidly and fitfully over the still and odorous earth. the moonbeam fell upon the roof and garden of gerard. it suffused the cottage with its brilliant light, except where the dark depth of the embowered porch defied its entry. all around the beds of flowers and herbs spread sparkling and defined. you could trace the minutest walk; almost distinguish every leaf. now and then there came a breath, and the sweet-peas murmured in their sleep; or the roses rustled, as if they were afraid they were about to be roused from their lightsome dreams. farther on the fruit trees caught the splendour of the night; and looked like a troop of sultanas taking their garden air, when the eye of man could not profane them, and laden with jewels. there were apples that rivalled rubies; pears of topaz tint; a whole paraphernalia of plums, some purple as the amethyst, others blue and brilliant as the sapphire; an emerald here, and now a golden-drop that gleamed like the yellow diamond of gengis khan.—sybil. awon-intervention. i am far from wishing to enforce a pedantic adherence to that passive policy which in the barbarous dialect of the day is called ‘non-intervention.” on the contrary, i am per- suaded that, in the settlement of the great affairs of europe, the presence of england is the best guarantee of peace. but it should be the presence of england with the law of nations and with the stipulations of treaties.—speech in aouse of commons (address in answer to the queen's speech), february , . the ineffable blessing of peace cannot be obtained by the passive principle of non-intervention. peace rests on the wit and wisdom of the presence, not to say ascendency of england in the counsels of europe.—dissolution of parliament (letter to lord lieu- tenant of ireland), march , . awowsense. nonsense when earnest is impressive and sometimes takes you in. if you are in a hurry, you occasionally mis- take it for sense.—contarini fleming. movel (receipt for writing a). take a pair of pistols and a pack of cards, a cookery- book and a set of new quadrilles; mix them up with half an intrigue and a whole marriage, and divide them into three equal portions.—the young duke. movelty. novelty is an essential attribute of the beautiful.— vivian grey. obl/whow. it is the lot of man to suffer, it is also his fortune to forget. oblivion and sorrow share our being, as darkness and light divide the course of time.—vivian grey. obscure. the obscure is a principal ingredient of the sublime.— contarini fleming. offer. a good offer should never be refused, unless we have a better one at the same time.—(‘essker') vivian grey. old gentlemaw. there is no affectation of juvenility about him (“the duke of burlington'). he involuntarily reminds you of youth, as an empty orchestra does of music.—the young duke. earl of beaconsfield. opportunity. opportunity is more powerful even than conquerors and prophets.--tancred. ~ great men should think of opportunity and not of time. time is the excuse of feeble and puzzled spirits.—(‘lady roehampton’) endymion. opposition. in opposition numbers often embarrass-(“bertie tre- maine’) endymion. - believe me, opposition has its charms; indeed i some- times think the principal reason why i have enjoyed our ministerial life so much is that it has been from the first a perpetual struggle for existence.—(‘lady montfort') endymion. - it is evident that the suicidal career of what was then styled the liberal party had been occasioned and stimulated by its unnatural excess of strength. the apoplectic ple- thora of was not less fatal than the paralytic tenuity of . it was not feasible to gratify so many ambitions or to satisfy so many expectations. every man had his double; the heels of every placeman were dogged by friendly rivals ready to trip them up. there were even two cabinets: the one that met in council, and the one that met in cabal. the consequence of destroying the legitimate opposition of the country was, that a moiety of the supporters of govern- ment had to discharge the duties of opposition. herein, then, we detect the real cause of all that irregular and unsettled carriage of public men which so perplexed the nation after the passing of the reform act. no government can be long secure without a formidable opposition. it reduces their supporters to that tractable number which can be managed by the joint influences of fruition and of hope. it offers vengeance to the discon- tented, and distinction to the ambitious; and employs the wit and wisdom of the energies of aspiring spirits, who otherwise may prove traitors in a division or assassins in a debate.—coningsby. orator ( thormberrp). endymion listened with interest, soon with delight, soon with a feeling of exciting and not unpleasing perplexity, to the orator; for he was an orator, though then unrecognised, and known only in his district. he was a pale and slender man, with a fine brow and an eye that occasionally flashed with the fire of a creative mind. his voice certainly was not like hollaballoo's. it was rather thin, but singularly clear. there was nothing clearer except his meaning. endymion never heard a case stated with such pellucid art ; facts marshalled with such vivid simplicity, and inferences so natural and spontaneous and irresistible, that they seemed, as it were, borrowed from his audience, though none of that audience had arrived at them before. the meeting was hushed, was rapt in intellectual delight, for they did not give the speaker the enthusiasm of their sympathy. that was not shared perhaps by the moiety of those who listened to him. when his case was fairly before them, the speaker dealt with his opponents—some in the press, some in parliament— with much power of sarcasm, but this power was evidently rather repressed than allowed to run riot. what impressed endymion as the chief quality of this remarkable speaker was his persuasiveness, and he had the air of being too prudent to offend even an opponent unnecessarily. his language, though natural and easy, was choice and refined. he was evidently a man who had read, and not a little; and there was no taint of vulgarity, scarcely a provincialism, in his pronunciation.—endymion. oratory. his (ferrars') corinthian style, in which the moenad of mr. burke was habited in the last mode of almack's.- endymion. earl of beaconsfield. originality. the originality of a subject is in its treatment.—(“mr. phoebus') lothair. or tolans. a pink carte succeeded to the satin play-bill. vitellius might have been pleased with the banquet. ah, how shall we describe those soups, which surely must have been the magical elixir how paint those ortolans dressed by the inimitable artist, a la st. james, for the occasion, and which look so beautiful in death that they must surely have pre- ferred such an euthanasia even to flying in the perfumed air of an ausonian heaven sweet bird i though thou hast lost thy plumage, thou shalt fly to my mistress is it not better to be nibbled by her than mumbled by a cardinal? i, too, will feed on thy delicate beauty. sweet bird thy companion has fled to my mistress; and now thou shalt thrill the nerves of her master oh ! doff, then, thy waistcoat of wine-leaves, pretty rover ! and show me that bosom more delicious even than woman's. what gushes of rapture | what a flavour ! how peculiar ! even how sacred heaven at once sends both manna and quails. another little wan- derer | pray follow my example ! allow me. all para- dise opens ! let me die eating ortolans to the sound of soft music | even the supper was brief, though brilliant.—the young jduke. oxford. it is a most interesting seat of learning. whether we consider its antiquity, its learning, the influence it has exercised upon the history of the country, its magnificent endowments, its splendid buildings, its great colleges, libraries, and museums, or that it is one of the principal head-quarters of all the hope of england, our youth, it is wit and wisdom of the not too much to affirm that there is scarcely a spot on the face of the globe of equal interest and importance.—(‘dr. masham') venetia. oxford (a professor at). the oxford professor, who was the guest of the american colonel, was quite a young man, of advanced opinions on all subjects, religious, social, and political. he was clever, extremely well-informed, so far as books can make a man knowing, but unable to profit even by that limited experi- ence of life from a restless vanity and overflowing conceit, which prevented him from ever observing or thinking of anything but himself. he was gifted with a great command of words, which took the form of endless exposition, varied by sarcasm and passages of ornate jargon. he was the last person one would have expected to recognise in an oxford professor; but we live in times of transition. a parisian man of science, who had passed his life in alternately fighting at barricades and discovering planets, had given colonel campian, who had lived much in the french capital, a letter of introduction to the professor, whose invectives against the principles of english society were hailed by foreigners as representative of the sentiments of venerable oxford. the professor, who was not satisfied with his home career, and, like many men of his order of mind, had dreams of wild vanity which the new world, they think, can alone realise, was very glad to make the colonel's acquaintance, which might facilitate his future movements. so he had lionised the distinguished visitors during the last few days over the university, and had availed himself of plenteous opportunities for exhibiting to them his celebrated powers of exposition, his talent for sarcasm, which he deemed peerless, and several highly finished picturesque passages, which were introduced with extemporary art—lothair. ! ! ‘. ! a- - |- º earl of beaconsfield. palmers toy (lord). the noble lord (palmerston) cannot bear coalitions. the noble lord has acted only with those amongst whom he was born and bred in politics | that infant hercules was taken out of a whig cradle ! and how consistent has been his private life looking back upon the past half-century, during which he has professed almost every principle, and connected himself with almost every party, the noble lord has raised a warning voice to-night against coalitions, be- cause he fears that a majority of the house of commons, ranking in its numbers some of the most eminent members of this house, may not approve a policy with respect to china, which has begun in outrage, and which, if pursued, will end in ruin. let the noble lord not only complain to the country—let him appeal to the country. i should like to see the programme of the proud leader of the liberal party. “no reform new taxes | canton blazing ! persia invaded !' that would be the programme of the statesman who appeals to a great nation as the worthy leader of the cause of progress and civilisation.—speech in house of commons (china war), february , . he is the tory chief of a radical cabinet. with no domestic policy, he is obliged to divert the attention of the people from the consideration of their own affairs to the distraction of foreign politics. his external system is turbu- lent and aggressive, that his rule at home may be tranquil and unassailed. hence arise excessive expenditure, heavy taxation, and the stoppage of all social improvement. his scheme of conduct is so devoid of all political principle, that when forced to appeal to the people, his only claim to their confidence is his name.—address to electors of buck- inghamshire, march , . a great apollo of aspiring understrappers, he has the smartness of an attorney's clerk, and the intrigues of a greek of the lower empire. o wit and wisdom of the a crimping lordship with a career as insignificant as his intellect. he reminds one of a favourite footman on easy terms with his mistress. he is the sporus of politics, cajoling france with an airy compliment, and menacing russia with a perfumed cane.—a'unnymede zetters, . parents. all was forgotten of his parent, except the intimate and natural tie, and her warm and genuine affection. he was now alone in the world ; for reflection impressed upon him at this moment what the course of existence too generally teaches to us all, that mournful truth, that, after all, we have no friends that we can depend upon in this life but our parents. all other intimacies, however ardent, are liable . to cool ; all other confidence, however unlimited, to be violated. in the phantasmagoria of life, the friend with whom we have cultivated mutual trust for years is often suddenly or gradually estranged from us, or becomes, from painful, yet irresistible circumstances, even our deadliest foe. as for women, as for the mistresses of our hearts, who has not learnt that the links of passion are fragile as they are glittering; and that the bosom on which we have reposed with idolatry all our secret sorrows and sanguine hopes, eventually becomes the very heart that exults in our misery and baffles our welfare p where is the enamoured face that smiled upon our early love, and was to shed tears over our grave? where are the choice companions of our youth, with whom we were to breast the difficulties and share the triumphs of existence? even in this inconstant world, what changes like the heart? love is a dream, and friendship a delusion. no wonder we grow callous; for how few have the opportunity of returning to the hearth which they quitted in levity or thoughtless weariness, yet which alone is faithful to them ; whose sweet affections | | wit and wisdom of the educate—if it be not arrogant to use such a phrase—to educate our party. it is a large party, and requires its attention to be called to questions of this kind (reform) with some pressure.—speech at banquet at edinburgh, october . the favour of courts and the applause of senates may have their moments of excitement and delight, but the inci- dent of deepest and most enduring gratification in public life is to possess the cordial confidence of a high-spirited party, for it touches the heart, and combines all the softer feelings of private life with the ennobling consciousness of public duty.—life of lord george bentinck. i do not depreciate party connection. i believe that so long as we have a parliamentary constitution, party connec- tion is absolutely necessary, and without it a parliamentary constitution would degenerate into a corrupt despotism. i want to see the action of two great parties in this house.— speech in house of commons (official salaries), april , . when a nation is thoroughly perplexed and dispirited, it soon ceases to make distinctions between political parties. the country is out of sorts, and the government is held responsible for the disorder.—endymion. the whigs are worn out, conservatism is a sham, and radicalism a pollution.—(‘lord vere') coningsby. whigs like tories are dependent on quarter sessions : on the judgment of a lord lieutenant and the statistics of a bench of magistrates.—(‘sidney wilton’) endymion. disputes of parties in parliament are very much like some of those traditionary misunderstandings between man and wife. they treat each other often with a freedom of recrimination, which probably has no great foundation : but however liberal may be their epithets under these circum- stances, both parties much question the right of anybody interfering between them, and adopting their opinions— speech at mansion house banquet, july , . . -{ •z º earl of beaconsfield. ſ s * a- - i i’arvenus. there is little doubt that parvenus as often owe their advancement in society to their perseverance as to their pelf. the young duke. past. there is so much to lament in the world in which we live that i can spare no pang for the past.—(“stephen morley') sybil. patience." i think if one is patient and watches, all will come of which one is capable ; but no one can be patient who is not independent.—endymion. patience is a necessary ingredient of genius.-contarini fleming. everything comes if a man will only wait.—(“fakre- deen') tancred. they waited with that patience, which insulted beings can alone endure.— vivian grey. greece has a future ; and i would say, if i might be per- mitted, to greece, what i would say to an individual who has a future—‘learn to be patient.”—speech in house of com- mons (congress: correspondence and protocols), july , . patriotism. patriotism depends as much on mutual suffering as on mutual success, and it is by that experience of all fortunes and all feelings that a great national character is created.— speech in house of commons (international maritime zaw), march , . peace. i believe there is no country in the world that benefits more by peace than england, though, materially speaking, peace is more necessary to every other country in europe wit and wisdom of the than to england.—speech in house of commons (financial policy of late government), july , . lord salisbury and myself have brought you back peace —but a peace i hope with honour, which may satisfy our sovereign and tend to the welfare of the country.—speech on return from congress, july , . the outcome has been a peace, which i believe will be enduring. and why do i believe that peace will be en- during? because i see that every one of the powers is benefited by that peace, and no one is humiliated.—banquet at mansion house (freedom of city), october , . pearls. pearls are like girls, they require quite as much attention. (‘mr. ruby’) lothair. peel. (sir rorert). if, instead of having recourse to obloquy, he would only stick to quotation, he may rely upon it it would be a safel weapon. i look upon him as a man who has tamed the shrew of liberalism by her own tactics. he is the political petruchio who has outbid you all.—opening zetters at post office, february , . i find that for between thirty and forty years that right honourable gentleman has traded on the ideas and intelligence of others. his life has been one great appropriation clause. he is a burglar of others' intellect. there is no statesman who has committed political petty larceny on so great a scale.—speech in house of commons (corn importation bill), may , . i care not what may be the position of a man who never originates an idea—a watcher of the atmosphere—a man, who, as he says, takes observations and when he finds the wind in a certain quarter, turns to suit it. such a person may be a powerful minister, but he is no more a great states- t .*-\ ;i i |• a ! earl of beaconsfield. man than the man who gets up behind a carriage is a good whip. both are disciples of progress—both may get a good place. but how far the original momentum is indebted to their power, and how far their guiding prudence regulates the lash or rein, it is not necessary for me to notice.— speech in house of commons (address in answer to queen's speech), january , . sir robert peel was a very good-looking man. he was tall, and though of later years he had become portly, had to the last a comely presence. thirty years ago, when he was young and lithe, with curling brown hair, he had a radiant expression of countenance. his brow was distinguished, not so much for its intellectual development, although that was of a high order, as for its remarkably frank expression, so different from his character in life. the expression of the brow might even be said to amount to beauty. the rest of the features did not however sustain this expression. the eye was not good; it was sly, and he had an awkward habit of looking askance. he had the fatal defect also, of a long upper lip, and his mouth was compressed.—life of zord george bentinck. sir robert peel had a peculiarity which is perhaps natural with men of great talents who have not the creative faculty: he had a dangerous sympathy with the creations of others.-zife of zord george bentinck. sir robert peel had a bad manner of which he was sensi- ble : he was by nature very shy, but forced early in life into eminent positions, he had formed an artificial manner, haughtily stiff, or exuberantly bland, of which generally he could not divest himself—life of lord george bentinck. as an orator.—as an orator, sir robert peel had perhaps the most available talent that has ever been brought to bear in the house of commons. we have mentioned that in exposi- tion and in reply he was equally eminent. his statements were perspicuous, complete, and dignified ; when he com- bated the objections or criticised the propositions of an wit and wisdom of the opponent, he was adroit and acute; no speaker ever sus- tained a process of argumentation in a public assembly more lucidly, and none as debaters have united in so conspicuous a degree prudence with promptness. in the higher efforts of oratory he was not successful. his vocabulary was ample, and never mean ; but it was neither rich nor rare. his speeches will afford no sentiment of surpassing grandeur or beauty that will linger in the ears of coming generations. he embalmed no great political truth in immortal words. his flights were ponderous : he soared with the wing of a vulture rather than the plume of the eagle ; and his perora- tions when most elaborate were most unwieldy. in pathos he was quite deficient : when he attempted to touch the tender passions, it was painful. his face became distorted, like that of a woman who wants to cry but cannot succeed. life of lord george bentinck. as a statesman.—one cannot say of sir robert peel, not- withstanding his unrivalled powers of despatching affairs, that he was the greatest minister that this country ever produced ; because, twice placed at the helm, and on the second occasion with the court and the parliament equally devoted to him, he never could maintain himself in power. nor, notwithstanding his consummate parliamentary tactics, can he be described as the greatest party leader that ever flou- rished amongst us, for he contrived to destroy the most compact, powerful, and devoted party that ever followed a british statesman. certainly, notwithstanding his great sway in debate, we cannot recognise him as our greatest orator, for in many of the supreme requisites of oratory he was singularly deficient. but what he really was, and what posterity will acknowledge him to have been, is the greatest member of parliament that ever lived. peace to his ashes | his name will be often appealed to in that scene which he loved so well, and never without homage of his opponents.-life of lord george bentinck. earl of beaconsfield. ! peera.g.e. we owe the english peerage to three sources: the spoliation of the church ; the open and flagrant sale of its honours by the elder stuarts; and the boroughmongering of our own times.—(‘mr. millbank') coningsby. people. who should sympathise with the poor but the poor? when the people support the people, the divine blessing will not be wanting—sybil. my sympathies and feelings have always been with the people, from whom i sprang; and when obliged to join a party, i joined that party with which i believed the people sympathised.—speech in house of commons (corn importa- tion bill), may , . the people do not want employment; it is the greatest mistake in the world—all this employment is a stimulus to population.—(‘lord marney’) sybil. we still remember in this country the tender and happy consequences of being governed by “the people.' we have not forgotten that “the people' established courts more infamous than the star chamber in every county in england with the power of fining, sequestrating, imprisoning, and corporally punishing all who opposed or even murmured against their decrees; that under the plea of malignancy, ‘the people’ avenged their private hatreds and seized for their private gain and gratification any estates or property to which they took a fancy ; that ‘the people’ consigned to bastilles and perpetual imprisonment all those who re- fused to answer their illegal inquiries, and bored red-hot irons through the tongues of the contumacious ; that not an appearance of law or liberty remained in the land ; that ‘the people’ enlarged the laws of high treason so that they comprehended verbal offences and even intentions ; that ‘the people’ practised decimation ; that “the people’ earl of beaconsfield. \ for them, even if i were not the daughter of their blood.— sybil. a year ago, i presumed to offer to the public some volumes that aimed at alling their attention to the state of our political parties; their origin, their history, their present position. in an age of political infidelity, of mean passions, and petty thoughts, i would have impressed upon the rising race not to despair, but to seek in a right understanding of the history of their country and in the energies of heroic youth, the elements of national welfare. the present work advances another step in the same emprise. from the state of parties it now would draw public thought to the state of | the people whom those parties for two centuries have governed. the comprehension and the cure of this greater theme depend upon the same agencies as the first : it is the past alone that can explain the present, and it is youth that alone can mould the remedial future. the written history of our country for the last ten reigns has been a mere phantasma ; giving to the origin and consequence of public transactions a character and colour in every respect dissimilar to their natural form and hue. in this mighty mystery all thoughts and things have assumed an aspect and title contrary to their real quality and style : oligarchy has been called liberty; an exclusive priesthood has been ! christened a national church ; sovereignty has been the l title of something that has had no dominion, while absolute | ! power has been wielded by those who profess themselves the servants of the people. in the selfish strife of factions, two great existences have been blotted out of the history of england, the monarch and the multitude; as the power of the crown has diminished, the privileges of the people have disappeared ; till at length the sceptre has become a pageant, and its subject has degenerated again into a serf it is nearly fourteen years ago, in the popular frenzy of a mean and selfish revolution which emancipated neither o wit and wisdom of the ... — — — ...--> *-ū the crown nor the people, that i first took the occasion to intimate, and then to develop, to the first assembly of my countrymen that i ever had the honour to address, these convictions. they have been misunderstood, as is ever for a season the fate of truth, and they have obtained for their promulgator much misrepresentation, as must ever be the lot of those who will not follow the beaten track of a falla- cious custom. but time, that brings all things, has brought also to the mind of england some suspicion that the idols they have so long worshipped, and the oracles that have so long deluded them, are not the true ones. there is a whisper rising in this country that loyalty is not a phrase, faith not a delusion, and popular liberty something more diffusive and substantial than the profane exercise of the sacred rights of sovereignty by political classes. that we may live to see england once more possess a free monarchy, and a privileged and prosperous people, is my prayer ; that these great consequences can only be brought about by the energy and devotion of our youth is my persuasion. we live in an age when to be young and to be indifferent can be no longer synonymous. we must prepare for the coming hour. the claims of the future are represented by suffering millions; and the youth of a nation are the trustees of posterity.—sybil. perseverance. the determined and persevering need never despair of gaining their object in this world.—lothair. personal. nothing is great but the personal.—coningsby. it is the personal that interests mankind, that frees their imagination, and wins their hearts. a cause is a great abstraction and fit only for students ; embodied in a party it stirs men to action; but place at the head of a party a d! earl of beaconsfield. i leader who can inspire enthusiasm, he commands the world. coningsby. personality of creator. is it more unphilosophical to believe in a personal god, omnipotent and omniscient, than in natural forces uncon- scious and irresistible? is it unphilosophical to combine power with intelligence? goethe, a spinozist who did not believe in spinoza, said that he could bring his mind to the conception that in the centre of space we might meet with a monad of pure intelligence. what may be the centre of space i leave to the daedal imagination of the author of “faust;' but a monad of pure intelligence, is that more philosophical than the truth, first revealed to man amid these everlasting hills, that god made man in his own image? (‘paraclete') lothair. personality of devil. it is not good taste to believe in the devil—give me a single argument against his personality which is not appli- cable to the personality of the deity. will you give that up? if so, where are you?—(‘nigel penruddock?’) endymion. petrarch. there is not perhaps in all the italian region, fertile as it is in interesting associations and picturesque beauty, a spot that tradition and nature have so completely combined to hallow, as the last residence of petrarch, arqua. it seems, indeed, to have been formed for the retirement of a pensive and poetic spirit. it recedes from the world by a succession of delicate acclivities clothed with vineyards and orchards, until, winding within these hills, the mountain hamlet is at length discovered, enclosed by two ridges that slope towards each other, and seem to shut out all the passions of a troubled race. the houses are scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these summits, and on a little knoll is the mansion of the poet, built by himself, and com- wit and wisdom of the be any longer acknowledged. they renounce in despair the possibility of bringing man into connection with that first cause which they can neither explain nor deny. but man requires that there shall be direct relations between the created and the creator; and that in those relations he should find a solution of the perplexities of existenče. the brain that teems with illimitable thought will never recog- nise as his creator any power of nature, however irresistible, that is not gifted with consciousness. atheism may be consistent with fine taste, and fine taste under certain con- ditions may for a time regulate a polished society; but ethics with atheism are impossible ; and without ethics no human order can be strong or permanent.—lothair. there is no pigotry so terrible as the bigotry of a country that flatters itself that it is philosophical.—contarini fle- mung. phoebus (mr.). this person was a young man, though more than ten years older than lothair. his appearance was striking. above the middle height, his form, athletic though lithe and symmetrical, was crowned by a countenance aquiline but delicate, and from many circumstances of a remarkable radiancy. the lustre of his complexion, the fire of his eye, and his chestnut hair in profuse curls, contributed much to this dazzling effect. a thick but small moustache did not conceal his curved lip or the scornful pride of his dis- tended nostril, and his beard, close but not long, did not veil the singular beauty of his mouth. it was an arrogant face, daring and vivacious, yet weighted with an expression of deep and haughty thought. the costume of this gentleman was rich and picturesque. such extravagance of form and colour is sometimes en- countered in the adventurous toilette of a country house, but rarely experienced in what might still be looked upon as a morning visit in the metropolis. * earl of beaconsfield. mr. phoebus was the most successful, not to say the most eminent, painter of the age. he was the descendant of a noble family of gascony that had emigrated to england from france in the reign of louis xiv. unquestionably they had mixed their blood frequently during the interval and the vicissitudes of their various life; but in gaston phoebus nature, as is sometimes her wont, had chosen to reproduce exactly the original type. he was the gascon noble of the sixteenth century, with all his brilliancy, bravery, and boastfulness, equally vain, arrogant, and eccentric, accomplished in all the daring or the graceful pursuits of man, yet nursed in the philosophy of our times.— lothair. - phoebus (madame). colonel campian was attending a lady to the piano where a celebrity presided, a gentleman with cropped head and a long black beard. the lady was of extraordinary beauty ; one of those faces one encounters in asia minor, rich, glowing, with dark fringed eyes of tremulous lustre ; a figure scarcely less striking, of voluptuous symmetry. her toilette was exquisite, perhaps a little too splendid for the occasion, but abstractedly of fine taste, and she held, as she sang, a vast bouquet entirely of white stove flowers. the voice was as sweet as the stephanotis, and the execution faultless. it seemed the perfection of chamber-singing : no shrieks and no screams, none of those agonising experi- ments which result from the fatal competition of rival. prima donnas.--lothair. phpsiciaw. what a wise physician was Æsculapius ! physic was his abhorrence. he never was known ever to have prescribed a drug. when he visited proserpine, he neither examined her tongue nor felt her pulse, but gave her an account of a fancy ball, which he had attended the last evening he passed on terra firma.-the infernal marriage. wit and wisdom of the a/etp. one should never think of death, one should think of life. that is real piety.—(“waldershare’) endymion. for the pious, paradise exists everywhere.—(‘lady annabel') venetia. pigeon-sahooting, a tournament of doves.—(‘lady corisande’) lothair. pinzo (mr.). mr. pinto was one of the marvels of english society; the most sought after of all its members, though no one could tell you exactly why. he was a little oily portu- guese, middle-aged, corpulent, and somewhat bald, with dark eyes of sympathy, not unmixed with humour. no one knew who he was, and in a country the most scruti- nising as to personal details, no one inquired or cared to know. a quarter of a century ago an english noble had caught him in his travels, and brought him young to england, where he had always remained. from the favourite of an individual he had become the oracle of a circle, and then the idol of society. all this time his manner remained unchanged. he was never at any time either humble or pretentious. instead of being a parasite, everybody flattered him ; and instead of being a hanger-on of society, society hung on pinto. it must have been the combination of many pleasing qualities rather than the possession of any commanding one, that created his influence. he certainly was not a wit, yet he was always gay, and always said things that made other people merry. his conversation was sparkling, interesting and fluent, yet it was observed he never gave an opinion on any subject and never told an anecdote. indeed he would sometimes remark, when a man fell into his anecdotage it was a sign for him to retire from the | wit and wisdom of the antitype is proportionately happy, the sympathy is feeble or strong, as it may be. if men were properly educated, and their faculties fully developed,” continued herbert, ‘the discovery of the antitype would be easy ; and, when the day arrives that it is a matter of course, the perfection of civilisation will be attained.”— venetia. pleasure. his (duke of st. james) life was an ocean of enjoyment, and each hour, like each wave, threw up its pearl.—the young duke. pleasure should follow business.-(‘wilton’) endymion. poet. poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.— (“marmion herbert') venetia. is not a poet an artist, and is not writing an art equally with painting?—words are but chalk and colour.—(‘winter') contarini fleming. but while the doctrines of the philosopher had been forming, the spirit of the poet had not been inactive. lone- liness, after all, the best of muses, had stimulated the creative faculty of his being. wandering amid his solitary woods and glades at all hours and seasons, the wild and beautiful apparitions of nature had appealed to a sympa- thetic soul. the stars and winds, the pensive sunset and the sanguine break of morn, the sweet solemnity of night, the ancient trees and the light and evanescent flowers, all signs and sights and sounds of loveliness and power, fell on a ready eye and a responsive ear. gazing on the beautiful, he longed to create it. then it was that the two passions which seemed to share the being of herbert appeared simultaneously to assert their sway, and he resolved to call in his muse to the assistance of his philosophy. herbert celebrated that fond world of his imagination, which he wished to teach men to love. in stanzas glitter- ing with refined images, and resonant with subtle symphony, earl of beaconsfield. he called into creation that society of immaculate purity and unbounded enjoyment which he believed was the natural inheritance of unshackled man. in the hero he pic- tured a philosopher, young and gifted as himself; in the heroine, his idea of a perfect woman. although all those peculiar doctrines of herbert, which, undisguised, must have excited so much odium, were more or less developed and inculcated in this work, nevertheless they were necessarily so veiled by the highly spiritual and metaphorical language of the poet, that it required some previous acquaint- ance with the system enforced, to be able to detect and re- cognise the esoteric spirit of his muse. the public read only the history of an ideal world and of creatures of exquisite beauty, told in language that alike dazzled their fancy and captivated their ear. they were lost in a delicious maze of metaphor and music, and were proud to acknowledge an addition to the glorious catalogue of their poets in a young and interesting member of their aristo- cracy.— venetia. - !...: ; til'." + k. a:º, ~~~ foetr+. ~~ to a beautiful mute (the eldest child of mr. fairlie). tell me the star from which she fell, oh ! name the flower from out whose wild and perfumed bell at witching hour, sprang forth this fair and fairy maiden like a bee with honey laden. they say that those sweet lips of thine breathe not to speak : thy very ears that seem so fine no sound can seek, and yet thy face beams with emotion, restless as the waves of ocean. o wit and wisdom of the 'tis well. thy face and form agree, and both are fair. i would not that this child should be as others are : i love to mark her indecision, smiling with seraphic vision at our poor gifts of vulgar sense that cannot stain nor mar her mystic innocence, nor cloud her brain with all the dreams of worldly folly, and its creature melancholy. to thee i dedicate these lines, yet read them not. cursed be the art that e'er refines thy natural lot : read the bright stars and read the flowers, and hold converse with the bowers. - /- /… aeſ:% life of countess of blessington. …” dreams come from jove, the poet says ; but as i watch the smile that on thy lips now softly plays, i can but deem the while, venus may also send a shade to whisper to a slumbering maid. what dark-eyed youth now culls the flower that radiant brow to grace, or whispers in the starry hour words fairer than thy face? or singles thee from out the throng to thee to breathe his minstrel song? . º º, earl of beaconsfield. i the ardent vow that ne'er can fail, the sigh that is not sad, the glance that tells a secret tale, the spirit hushed yet glad : these weave the dreams that maidens prove the fluttering dream of virgin love. sleep on, sweet maid, nor sigh to break the spell that binds thy brain, nor struggle from thy trance to wake to life's impending pain. who wakes to love awake but knows love is a dream without repose. book of beauty, . on the portrait of lady mahon. fair lady i this the pencil of vandyke might well have painted : thine the english air, graceful yet earnest, that his portraits bear, in that far troubled time, when sword and pike gleamed round the ancient halls and castles fair that shrouded albion's beauty: though, when need, they too, though soft withal, would boldly dare, defend the leaguered breach, or charging steed, mount in their trampled parks. far different scene the bowers present before thee; yet serene though nowadays, if coming time impart our ancient troubles, well i ween thy life would not reproach thy lot and what thou art, a warrior's daughter and a statesman's wife. book of beauty, . not only that thy puissant arm could bind the tyrant of a world and, conquering fate, enfranchise europe, so i deem thee great : earl of beaconsfield. still scantier summers had her brow illumed than that on which she threw a witching smile, unconscious of the spell that could beguile his being of the burthen it was doomed by his ancestral blood to bear : a spirit, rife with desponding thoughts and fancies drear, a moody soul that men sometimes inherit, and worse than all the woes the world may bear. but when he met that maiden's dazzling eye, he bade each gloomy image baffled fly. iii. amid the shady woods and sunny lawns the maiden and the youth now wander, gay as the bright birds, and happy as the fawns, their sportive rivals, that around them play; their light hands linked in love, the golden hours unconscious fly, while thus they graceful roam, and careless ever till the voice of home recalled them from their sunshine and their flowers; for then they parted : to his lonely pile the orphan-chief, for though his woe to lull, the maiden called him brother, her fond smile gladdened another hearth, while his was dull. yet as they parted, she reproved his sadness, and for his sake she gaily whispered gladness. iv. she was the daughter of a noble race, that beauteous girl, and yet she owed her name to one who needs no herald's skill to trace his blazoned lineage, for his lofty fame lives in the mouth of men, and distant climes re-echo his wide glory; where the brave are honoured, where 'tis noble deemed to save a prostrate nation, and for future times wit and wisdom of the work with a high devotion, that no taunt, or ribald lie, or zealot's eager curse, or the short-sighted world's neglect can daunt, that name is worshipped his immortal verse blends with his god-like deeds, a double spell to bind the coming age he loved too well ! w. for, from his ancient home, a scatterling, they drove him forth, unconscious of their prize, and branded as a vile unhallowed thing, the man who struggled only to be wise. and even his hearth rebelled, the duteous wife, whose bosom well might soothe in that dark hour, swelled with her gentle force the world's harsh power, and aimed her dart at his devoted life. that struck ; the rest his mighty soul might scorn, but when his household gods averted stood, 'twas the last pang that cannot well be borne when tortured e'en to torpor: his heart's blood flowed to the unseen blow : then forth he went, and gloried in his ruthless banishment. wi. a new-born pledge of love within his home, his alien home, the exiled father left ; and when, like cain, he wandered forth to roam, . a cain without his solace, all bereft, stole down his pallid cheek the scalding tear, to think a stranger to his tender love his child must grow, untroubled where might rove his restless life, or taught perchance to fear her father's name, and bred in sullen hate, shrink from his image. thus the gentle maid, who with her smiles had soothed an orphan's fate, had felt an orphan's pang; yet undismayed, earl of beaconsfield. though taught to deem her sire the child of shame, she clung with instinct to that reverent name ! vii. time flew ; the boy became a man ; no more his shadow falls upon his cloistered hall, but to a stirring world he learn'd to pour the passion of his being, skilled to call from the deep caverns of his musing thought shadows to which they bowed, and on their mind to stamp the image of his own ; the wind, though all unseen, with force or odour fraught, can sway mankind, and thus a poet's voice, now touched with sweetness, now inflamed with rage, though breath, can make us grieve and then rejoice: such is the spell of his creative page, that blends with all our moods; and thoughts can yield that all have felt, and yet till then were sealed. viii. the lute is sounding in a chamber bright with a high festival ; on every side, soft in the gleamy blaze of mellowed light, fair women smile, and dancers graceful glide; and words still sweeter than a serenade are breathed with guarded voice and speaking eyes, by joyous hearts in spite of all their sighs; but bygone fantasies that ne'er can fade retain the pensive spirit of the youth; reclined against a column he surveys his laughing compeers with a glance, in sooth, careless of all their mirth : for other days enchain him with their vision, the bright hours passed with the maiden in their sunny bowers. t ſ º wit and wisdom of thf ix. why turns his brow so pale, why starts to life that languid eye? what form before unseen, with all the spells of hallowed memory rife, now rises on his vision ? as the queen of beauty from her bed of sparkling foam sprang to the azure light, and felt the air, soft as her cheek, the wavy dancers bear to his rapt sight a mien that calls his home, his cloistered home, before him, with his dreams prophetic strangely blending. the bright muse of his dark childhood still divinely beams upon his being ; glowing with the hues that painters love, when raptured pencils soar to trace a form that nations may adore x. one word alone, within her thrilling ear, breathed with hushed voice the brother of her heart, and that for aye is hidden. with a tear smiling she strove to conquer, see her start, the bright blood rising to her quivering cheek, and meet the glance she hastened once to greet, when not a thought had he, save in her sweet and solacing society; to seek her smiles his only life ah happy prime of cloudless purity, no stormy fame his unknown sprite then stirred, a golden time worth all the restless splendour of a name; and one soft accent from those gentle lips might all the plaudits of a world eclipse. xi. my tale is done ; and if some deem it strange my fancy thus should droop, deign then to learn my tale is truth : imagination's range its bounds exact may touch not : to discern | earl of beaconsfield. far stranger things than poets ever feign, in life's perplexing annals, is the fate of those who act, and musing, penetrate the mystery of fortune: to whose reign the haughtiest brow must bend; 'twas passing strange the youth of these fond children; strange the flush of his high fortunes and his spirit's change; strange was the maiden's tear, the maiden's blush ; strange were his musing thoughts and trembling heart, 'tis strange they met, and stranger if they part'ſ venetia. on the night our daughter was born. i. within our heaven of love, the new-born star we long devoutly watched, like shepherd kings, steals into light, and, floating from afar, methinks some bright transcendent seraph sings, waving with flashing light her radiant wings, immortal welcome to the stranger fair : to us a child is born. with transport clings the mother to the babe she sighed to bear; of all our treasured loves the long-expected heir ii. my daughter i can it be a daughter now shall greet my being with her infant smile and shall i press that fair and taintless brow with my fond lips, and tempt, with many a wile of playful love, those features to beguile a parent with their mirth p. in the wild sea of this dark life, behold a little isle rises amid the waters, bright and free, a haven for my hopes of fond security wit and wisdom of the and charm of renovation . to the sky thou bringest light, and to the glowing earth a garb of grace: but sweeter than the sky that hath no cloud, and sweeter than the earth with all its pageantry, the peerless boon thou bearest to me, a temper like thine own ; a springlike spirit, beautiful and glad | long years, long years of suffering, and of thought deeeper than woe, had dimmed the eager eye once quick to catch thy brightness, and the ear that lingered on thy music, the harsh world had jarred. the freshness of my life was gone, and hope no more an omen in thy bloom found of a fertile future there are minds like lands, but with one season, and that drear : mine was eternal winter | iii. a dark dream of hearts estranged, and of an eden lost entranced my being ; one absorbing thought, which, if not torture, was a dull despair that agony were light to. but while sad within the desert of my life i roamed, and no sweet springs of love gushed for to greet my wearied heart, behold two spirits came floating in light, seraphic ministers, the semblance of whose splendour on me fell as on some dusky stream the matin ray, touching the gloomy waters with its life. and both were fond, and one.was merciful and to my home long forfeited they bore my vagrant spirit, and the gentle hearth, i reckless fled, received me with its shade and pleasant refuge. and our softened hearts were like the twilight, when our very bliss earl of beaconsfield. calls tears to soothe our rapture; as the stars steal forth, then shining smiles their trembling ray mixed with our tenderness ; and love was there in all his manifold forms ; the sweet embrace, and thrilling pressure of the gentle hand, and silence speaking with the melting eye iv. and now again i feel thy breath, o spring ! and now the seal hath fallen from my gaze, and thy wild music in my ready ear finds a quick echo | the discordant world mars not thy melodies; thy blossoms now are the emblems of my heart; and through my veins the flow of youthful feeling, long pent up, glides like thy sunny streams in this fair scene, on forms still fairer i my blessing pour; on her the beautiful, the wise, the good, who learnt the sweetest lesson to forgive; and on the bright-eyed daughter of our love, who soothed a mother, and a father saved veneţia. it appears to me that the age of versification has passed. the mode of composition must ever be greatly determined by the manner in which the composition can be made pub- lic. in ancient days the voice was the medium by which we became acquainted with the inventions of a poet. in such a method, where those who listened had no time to pause, and no opportunity to think, it was necessary that everything should be obvious. the audience who were perplexed would soon become wearied. the spirit of ancient poetry, therefore, is rather material than metaphy- sical, superficial, not internal. there is much simplicity and much nature, but little passion, and less philosophy. to obviate the baldness, which is the consequence of a wit and wisdom of the style where the subject and the sentiments are rather intimated than developed, the poem was enriched by music and enforced by action. occasionally were added the en- chantment of scenery and the fascination of the dance. but the poet did not depend merely upon these brilliant accessories. he resolved that his thoughts should be ex- pressed in a manner different from other modes of commu- nicating ideas. he caught a suggestion from his sister art, and invented metre. and in this modulation he introduced a new system of phraseology, which marked him out from the crowd, and which has obtained the title of “poetic diction.’ his object in this system of words was to heighten his meaning by strange phrases and unusual constructions. inversion was invented to clothe a commonplace with an air of novelty; vague epithets were introduced to prop up a monotonous modulation. were his meaning to be enforced, he shrank from wearisome ratiocination and the agony of precise conceptions, and sought refuge in a bold personifi- cation or a beautiful similitude. the art of poetry was, to express natural feelings in unnatural language. institutions ever survive their purpose, and customs govern us when their cause is extinct. and this mode of communicating poetic invention still remained, when the advanced civilisation of man, in multiplying manuscripts, might have made many suspect that the time had arrived when the poet was to cease to sing, and to learn to write. had the splendid refinement of imperial rome not been doomed to such rapid decay, and such mortifying and de- grading vicissitudes, i believe that versification would have worn out. unquestionably that empire, in its multifarious population, scenery, creeds, and customs, offered the richest materials for emancipated fiction ; materials, however, far too vast and various for the limited capacity of metrical celebration. that beneficent omnipotence, before which we must earl of beaconsfield. bow down, has so ordered it, that imitation should be the mental feature of modern europe; and has ordained that we should adopt a syrian religion, a grecian literature, and a roman law. at the revival of letters, we beheld the por- tentous spectacle of national poets communicating their inventions in an exotic form. conscious of the confined nature of their method, yet unable to extricate themselves from its fatal ties, they sought variety in increased artifice of diction, and substituted the barbaric clash of rhyme for the melody of the lyre. a revolution took place in the mode of communicating thought. now, at least, it was full time that we should have emancipated ourselves for ever from sterile metre. one would have supposed that the poet who could not only write, but even print his inventions, would have felt that it was both useless and unfit that they should be communi. cated by a process invented when his only medium was simple recitation. one would have supposed that the poet would have rushed with desire to the new world before him, that he would have seized the new means which permitted him to revel in a universe of boundless invention ; to com- bine the highest ideal creation with the infinite delineation of teeming nature; to unravel all the dark mysteries of our bosoms and all the bright purposes of our being ; to become the great instructor and champion of his species; and not only delight their fancy, and charm their senses, and com- mand their will, but demonstrate their rights, illustrate their necessities, and expound the object of their existence; and all this too in a style charming and changing with its universal theme, now tender, now sportive ; now earnest, now profound ; now sublime, now pathetic ; and substituting for the dull monotony of metre the most various, and ex- quisite, and inexhaustible melody. when i remember the trammels to which the poet has been doomed, and the splendour with which consummate genius has invested him, and when, for a moment, i con- wit and wisdom of the ceive him bursting asunder his bonds, ifancy that i behold the sacred bird snapping the golden chain that binds him to olympus, and soaring even above jove —contarini fleming. s a delicious maze of metaphor and music.— venetia. what is poetry but a lie, and what are poets but liars?— (“cadurcis') venetia. ‘it is in poetry, and poetry alone, that modern nations have maintained the majesty of genius. do we equal the greeks p do we even excel them p’ ‘let us prove the equality first,” said cadurcis. “the greeks excelled in every species of poetry. in some we do not even attempt to rival them. we have not a single modern ode, or a single modern pastoral. we have no one to place by pindar, or the exquisite theocritus. as for the epic, i confess myself a heretic as to homer; i look upon the iliad as a remnant of national songs ; the wise ones agree that the odyssey is the work of a later age. my instinct agrees with the result of their researches. i credit their conclusion. the paradise lost is, doubtless, a great production, but the subject is monkish. dante is national, but he has all the faults of a barbarous age. in general the modern epic is framed upon the assumption that the iliad is an orderly composition. they are indebted for this fallacy to virgil, who called order out of chaos; but the aeneid, all the same, appears to me an insipid creation. and now for the drama. you will adduce shakespeare p’ “there are passages in dante,’ said herbert, “not in- ferior, in my opinion, to any existing literary composition; but, as a whole, i will not make my stand on him ; i am not so clear that, as a lyric poet, petrarch may not rival the greeks. shakespeare i esteem of ineffable merit.” “and who is shakespeare p’ said cadurcis. “we know of him as much as we do of homer. did he write half the plays attributed to him? did he ever write a single whole play? i doubt it. he appears to me to have been an earl of beaconsfield. inspired adapter for the theatres, which were then not as good as barns. i take him to have been a botcher-up of old plays. his popularity is of modern date, and it may not last ; it would have surprised him marvellously. heaven knows, at present, all that bears his name is alike admired ; and a regular shakespearian falls into ecstasies with trash which deserves a niche in the dunciad. for my part, i abhor your irregular geniuses, and i love to listen to the little nightingale of twickenham.’ ‘i have often observed,” said herbert, ‘that writers of an unbridled imagination themselves, admire those whom the world, erroneously, in my opinion, and from a confusion of ideas, esteems correct. i am myself an admirer of pope, though i certainly should not ever think of classing him among the great creative spirits. and you, you are the last poet in the world, cadurcis, whom one would have fancied his votary.’ ‘i have written like a boy,” said cadurcis. “i found the public bite, and so i baited on with tainted meat. i have never written for fame, only for notoriety; but i am satiated ; i am going to turn over a new leaf.” ‘for myself,' said herbert, “if i ever had the power to impress my creations on my fellow-men, the inclination is gone, and perhaps the faculty is extinct. my career is over ; perhaps a solitary echo from my lyre may yet, at times, linger about the world like a breeze that has lost its way. but there is a radical fault in my poetic mind, and i am conscious of it. i am not altogether void of the creative faculty, but mine is a fragmentary mind; i produce no whole. unless you do this, you cannot last; at least, you cannot materially affect your species. but what i admire in you, cadurcis, is that, with all the faults of youth, of which you will free yourself, your creative power is vigorous, prolific, and complete ; your creations rise fast and fair, like perfect worlds.”— venetia. earl of beaconsfield. muddlebrains is a political humbug, the greatest of all humbugs; a man who swaggers about london clubs and consults solemnly about his influence, and in the country is a nonentity.—sybil. - in estimating the accuracy of political opinion one should take into consideration the standing of the opinionist.— sybil. political ecowomp. the right honourable gentleman has uttered three or four commonplaces—the prostitutes of political economy whom gentlemen on each side in turn embrace—to show that you may fight hostile tariffs with free imports—speech in house of commons (corn importation bill), may , . popular gratitude. when the british nation is at once grateful and enthu- siastic, they always call you ‘my lord.’—lothair. population. the population returns of this country are very instruc- tive reading—(‘gerard') sybil. post office. a member of parliament is a sort of political confessor, and even if a constituent were to consult him about a con- spiracy, it is better that he should be dissuaded by his representative than have his letters opened by a secretary of state.—speech in house of commons (opening letters at post-office), february , . - power. in this country the depository of power is always unpo- pular; all combine against it ; it always falls.—coningsby. next to the assumption of power was the responsibility of relinquishing it.—speech in house of commons (want of confidence), may , . wit and wisdom of the the very exercise of power only teaches me that it may be wielded for a greater purpose.—contarini fleming. everyone loves power, even if they do not know what to do with it.—endymion. the most powerful men are not public men : a public man is responsible, and a responsible man is a slave. it is private life that governs the world,—(‘baron sergius.') endymion. the more you are talked about, the less powerful you are.—(‘baron sergius’) endymion. practical. everything is practical which we believe.—(‘nigel pen- ruddock') endymion. - pra per. innocence has prayed for fresh support, and young devotion told her beads. she (may dacre) rises with an eye of mellowed light, and her soft cheek is tinted with the flush that comes from prayer.—the young duke. the tears trickled down the pale cheek of glastonbury as he revolved in his mind these mournful thoughts; and almost unconsciously he wrung his hands as he felt his utter want of power to remedy these sad and piteous cir- cumstances. yet he was not absolutely hopeless. there was ever open to the pious glastonbury one perennial source of trust and consolation. this was a fountain that was ever fresh and sweet, and he took refuge from the world's harsh courses and exhausting cares in its salutary flow and its refreshing shade, when, kneeling before his crucifix, he commended the unhappy ferdinand and his family to the superintending care of a merciful omnipo- tence.—henrietta temple. precedevt. . a precedent embalms a principle.—speech in house of commons (expenditure of country), february , . earl of beaconsfield. the right honourable gentleman (sir r. peel) tells us to go back to precedents : with him a great measure is always founded on a small precedent. he traces the steam-engine always back to the tea-kettle.—speech in house of commons (maynooth), april , . press. as for the press, i am myself a gentleman of the press, and bear no other scutcheon.—speech in house of commons (relations with france), february , . public opinion has a more direct, a more comprehen- sive, a more efficient organ for its utterance, than a body of men sectionally chosen. the printing-press is a political element unknown to classic or feudal times. it absorbs in a great degree the duties of the sovereign, the priest, the parliament ; it controls, it educates, it discusses. that public opinion, when it acts, would appear in the form of one who has no class interests. in an enlightened age the monarch on the throne, free from the vulgar prejudices and the corrupt interests of the subject, becomes again divine ! coningsby. pretenders. ministers do not love pretenders.-endymion. pride of ancestry. there is no pride like the pride of ancestry, for it is a blending of all emotions. how immeasurably superior to the herd is the man whose father only is famous ! imagine then the feelings of one who can trace his line through a thousand years of heroes and of princes.—the young duke. princess alice. the subject to which i have to refer is one on which there will be unanimity; but alas ! it is the unanimity of sorrow. a princess, who loved us though she left us, and who always revisited her fatherland with delight—one of o wit and wisdom of the those women the brightness of whose being adorns society and inspires the circle in which she lives—has been removed from this world, to the anguish of her family, her friends, and her subjects. the princess alice—for i will venture to call her by that name, though she wore a crown—afforded one of the most striking instances that i can remember of rich- ness of culture and rare intelligence combined with the most pure and refined domestic sentiments. you, my lords, who knew her life well, can recall those agonising hours when she attended the dying bed of her illustrious father, who had directed her studies and formed her tastes. you can recall, too, the moment at which she attended her royal brother at a time when the hopes of england seemed to depend on his life; and now can you remember too well how, when the whole of her own family were stricken by a malignant disease, she had been to them the angel in the house ; but at last, her own vital power perhaps exhausted, she has herself fallen. my lords, there is something wonderfully piteous in the immediate cause of her death. the physicians who permitted her to watch over the suffer- ing family enjoined her under no circumstances whatever to be tempted into an embrace. her admirable self-con- straint guarded her through the crises of this terrible com- plaint in safety. she remembered and observed the injunc- tions of her physicians. but it became her lot to break to her son—quite a youth—the death of his youngest sister, to whom he was devotedly attached. the boy was so over- come with misery that the agitated mother to console him clasped him in her arms—and thus received the kiss of death. my lords, i hardly know an incident more pa- thetic. it is one by which poets might be inspired, and which the artist in every class, whether in picture, in statue, or in gem, might find a fitting subject of commemoration. my lords, we will not dwell at this moment on the suffer- ings of the husband whom she has left behind, and of the children who were so devoted to her ; but our immediate earl of beaconsfield. i duty is to offer our condolence to one whose happiness and whose sorrow always excite and command the loyalty and affectionate respect of this house. upon her majesty a great grief has fallen which none but the queen can so completely and acutely feel. seventeen years ago her majesty experienced the crushing sorrow of her life, and then she was particularly sustained by the daughter whom she has now lost, who assisted her by her labours, and aided her by her presence and counsel. her majesty now feels that the cup of sorrow was not then exhausted. no lan- guage can express the consolation we wish to extend to our sovereign in her sorrow—such suffering is too fresh to allow of solace ; but, however exalted, there are none but must be sustained by the consciousness that they possess the sympathy of a nation.—speech in house of lords, decem- ber , . prince consort. the loss was so sudden, so unexpected, that the natural emotions of the community were all directed to the per- sonal character of him who had passed away. the peerless husband, perfect father, the master whose yoke was gentle- ness, the wise and faithful counsellor of the sovereign who was his consort—these were the traits in the character of the prince that attached and appealed to all hearts; and whilst there was a general desire, by public contributions, to show a sense of those qualities, every community felt that it was equally a judge of those virtues with the metropolis; and there was an immense amount of local subscriptions dedicated to the ornament or utility of the district in which the subscriptions were raised. this is the reason why the public contributions were not directed to one centre. but as time drew on, something of the influence of posterity was exercised upon the opinion of the country, and it became conscious that it had lost not merely a man of virtuous and benignant character, who had exercised the fine qualities he wit and wisdom of the possessed for the advantage of the community of which he was a prominent member, but it felt that it had lost a man of very original and peculiar character, who had exercised a great influence upon the age, and which it felt as time advanced would have been still more sensibly experienced. the character of prince albert was peculiar in this respect, that he combined two great qualities which are generally considered to be incompatible, and combined those qualities in a high degree. he united the faculty of contemplation with the talent of action, and was equally remarkable for pro- fundity of thought and promptitude of organisation. add to these qualities all the virtues of the heart, and the house will see that the character thus composed was a very re- markable one. he brought this peculiar temperament to act upon the public mind for purposes of great moment, but of great difficulty. the task which the prince pro- posed to himself was to extend the knowledge, refine the tastes, and enlarge the sympathies of a proud and ancient people. had he not been gifted with deep thought and a singular facility and happiness of applying and mastering details, he could not have succeeded so fully as he did in those efforts, the results of which we shall find so much the greater as time goes on. such being now the impression of the country—that we have lost not simply an accom- plished and benignant prince, but one of those minds which influence their age and mould the character of a people—a strong feeling prevails that a memorial should be raised in the metropolis of the empire. a public memorial such as the country requires should be of a universal and complete description. it should apply to the general senti- ments of the country, and should represent, as far as art can represent, the full career of the man, so that future generations may behold a monument which may serve for their instruction and encouragement. it should, as it were, represent the character of the prince himself: in the har- mony of its proportions, in the beauty of its ornament, and earl of beaconsfield. in its enduring nature. it should be something direct, sig- nificant, and choice : so that those who come after us may say, this is the type and testimony of a sublime life and a transcendent career, and thus they were recognised by a grateful and admiring people !—speech in house of commons, april , . princes. princes go for nothing, without a loan.—(“fakredeen’) tancred. the crown prince of all countries is only a puppet in the hands of the people to be played against his own father. (“sievers') vivian grey. private secretaries. the relations between a minister and his secretary are, or at least should be, among the finest that can subsist between two individuals. except the married state, there is none in which so great a confidence is involved, in which more forbearance ought to be exercised, or more sympathy ought to exist. there is usually in the relations an identity of interest, and that of the highest kind ; and the perpetual difficulties, the alternations of triumph and defeat, develop devotion.—endymion. the right honourable gentleman drew a most interesting picture of himself overwhelmed with the cares of state, and supported on each side by a private secretary, one of whom received ool, and the other ol, a year. are the private secretaries of a prime minister in such a position that they are only to be rewarded by their salaries? he is to be rewarded by the confidence which is reposed in him, and by the prospects which are opened to him, and any refer- ence to the salary of the receiver is a mere ad captandum argument.—speech in house of commons (salaries and wages [public service] bill). earl of beaconsfield. is called “protection.”—speech in house of commons (foreign corn), may , . proverbs. we cannot eat the fruit whilst the tree is in blossom.— alroy. - one grape will not make a bunch, even though it be great one.—tancred. when the infant begins to walk, it thinks it lives in strange times.—sybil. a frying egg will not wait for the king of cordova.- count alarcos. who drinks, first chinks. in a long journey and a small inn, one knows one's company. an ass covered with gold has more respect than a horse with a pack saddle. courage is fire, and bullying is smoke. the sheep should have his belly full who quarrels with his mate. who asks in god's name, asks for two. there's no fishing for trout in dry breeches. the fool wonders, the wise man asks. an obedient wife commands her husband. business with a stranger is title enough. the oldest pig must look for the knife.—count alarcos. prudence. we live in an age of prudence. the leaders of the people now generally follow.—coningsby. public. god made man in his own image ; but the public is made by newspapers, members of parliament, excise officers, and poor-law guardians.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. wit and wisdom of the that a man with a purpose generally sees it realised.— endymion. he really owed his social advancement to his indomi- table will. that quality governs all things, and though the will of seymour hicks was directed to what many may deem a petty or contracted purpose, life is always interest- ing when you have a purpose and live in its fulfilment.— endymion. queen. he who serves queens may expect backsheesh.— (‘darkush') tancred. question. questions are always easy.—(‘morley') sybil. race. the truth is, progress and reaction are but words to mystify the millions. they mean nothing, they are nothing, they are phrases and not facts. in the structure, the decay, and the development of the various families of man, the vicissitudes of history find their main solution—all is race.— life of lord george bentinck. - no one will treat with indifference the principle of race. it is the key of history.—(‘baron sergius’) endymion. language and religion do not make a race. there is only one thing which makes a race, and that is blood— (‘baron sergius’) endymion. the semites are unquestionably a great race, for among the few things in this world which appear to be certain, nothing is more sure than that they invented the alphabet. (‘baron sergius’) endymion. - the decay of a race is an inevitable necessity unless it lives in deserts and never mixes its blood.—(‘sidonia') tancred. saxon industry and norman manners never will agree.— (“mr. millbank’) coningsby. --~ - o wit and wisdom of the of a great struggle against the danger of universal empire, and after that long interval he has given to his country his life in order to guard it against the menaces of a new and overwhelming enemy. the qualities of lord raglan were remarkable, and it may be doubted whether they will be supplied by a successor, however able. that which perhaps most distinguished him was an elevation and serenity of mind that invested him, as it were, with an heroic and classical repose, that permitted him to bring to the manage- ment of men and the transaction of great affairs the magic influence of character, and that often in his case accom- plished results otherwise produced by the inspiration of genius. perhaps there is no instance on record in which valour of so high a character was so happily and so singularly allied to so disciplined a discretion. never were courage and caution united in so great a degree of either quality. sir, over the tomb of the great departed criticism must be silent; but even then it must be permitted to all of us to remember that the course of events has sanctioned the judgments of that commander with respect to those difficulties with which it was his hard fate to cope, but which his country must recollect he did not choose to create. may those who succeed him encounter a happier fortune ; they will not need a more glorious end, for there is nothing more admirable than self-sacrifice to public duty. that was the principle which regulated the life of somerset ; it was the principle which he carried with him to the grave. speech in house of commons (the queen's message, the late lord raglan), july , . rail wap mania. political connection, political consistency, political prin- ciple, all vanished before the fascination of premiums.- endymion. wit and wisdom of the cannot conceive how it is possible to prevent a certain degree of nonsense from being uttered during the recess. but i have always considered these projects very much as i would the autumnal foliage, and believed that as the year advanced, and parliament met, and we came to real business, and entered into a more vigorous and healthy atmosphere, we should give our attention to subjects which had at least the recommendation of the necessities of the country, and which might be brought about by sober and prudent legislation. but when i read this paragraph in which so many and such varied subjects are specifically mentioned, and so many more indirectly alluded to, i confess that i do not look forward to the result of the present session with the sanguine spirit that i did twenty-four hours ago. i think there is a prospect of a terrible july.—speech in house of commons (address in answer to queen's speech), february , . reciprocitp. the principle of reciprocity appears to rest on scientific grounds, and it is probable that experience may teach us that it has recklessly been disregarded by our legislators. life of lord george bentinck. reform. d n the reform bill ! if the duke had not quarrelled with lord grey on a coal committee, we should never have had the reform bill.—(‘lord monmouth') coningsby. the reform act has not placed the administration of our affairs in abler hands than conducted them previously to the passing of the measure, for the most efficient members of the present cabinet, with some few exceptions, and those attended by peculiar circumstances, were ministers before the reform act was contemplated. nor has that memo- rable statute created a parliament of a higher reputation for public qualities, such as politic ability, and popular elo- quence, and national consideration, than was furnished by -| earl of beaconsfield. - the old scheme. on the contrary, one house of parliament has been irremediably degraded into the decaying position of a mere court of registry, possessing great privileges, on condition that it never exercises them; while the other chamber, that, at the first blush, and to the superficial, exhibits symptoms of almost unnatural vitality, engrossing in its orbit all the business of the country, assumes on a more studious inspection somewhat of the character of a select vestry, fulfilling municipal rather than imperial offices, and beleaguered by critical and clamorous millions, who cannot comprehend why a privileged and exclusive senate is requisite to perform functions which immediately concern all, which most personally comprehend, and which many in their civic spheres believe they could accomplish in a manner not less satisfactory, though certainly less ostenta- tious. - but if it have not furnished us with abler administrators or a more illustrious senate, the reform act may have exercised on the country at large a beneficial influence. has it? has it elevated the tone of the public mind p. has it cultured the popular sensibilities to noble and ennobling ends? has it proposed to the people of england a higher test of national respect and confidence than the debasing qualification universally prevalent in this country since the fatal introduction of the system of dutch finance? who will pretend it if a spirit of rapacious covetousness, desecrating all the humanities of life, has been the besetting sin of england for the last century and a half, since the passing of the reform act the altar of mammon has blazed with triple worship. to acquire, to accumulate, to plunder each other by virtue of philosophic phrases, to propose a utopia to consist only of wealth and toil, this has been the breathless business of enfranchised england for the last twelve years, until we are startled from our voracious strife by the wail of intolerable serfage. are we then to conclude, that the only effect of the wit and wisdom of the the spiritual nature of man is stronger than codes or constitutions. no government can endure which does not recognise that for its foundation, and no legislation last which does not flow from this fountain. as time is divided into day and night, so religion rests upon the providence of god and the responsibility of man. one is manifest, the other mysterious ; but both are divine.—speech at glasgow university, movember , . a fine writer of antiquity, perhaps the finest, has re- corded in a passage his belief in divine providence, and in the necessity of universal toleration: 'eºy& uły klašv rabra kal r& révr’ &el *dorkou' àv àvěpárotori umyavāv eoûs' "orº & ah ráð’ éarly €v yváup pſaa, kelvös r' ékelva orrepyārw, kāya, rdhe. these lines were written more than two thousand years ago, by the most attic of athenian poets. in the perplexities of life i have sometimes found them a solace and a satisfaction; and i now deliver them to you, to guide your consciences and to guard your lives.—speech at glasgow university, movember , . remorse. there is anguish in the recollection that we have not adequately appreciated the affection of those whom we have loved and lost.—endymion. aºepublican. notwithstanding the apathy which had been engendered by premature experience, st. aldegonde held extreme opinions, especially on political affairs, being a republican of the reddest dye. he was opposed to all privilege, indeed to all orders of men, except dukes, who were a necessity. he was also strongly in favour of the equal division of all property, except land. liberty depended on land, and the wit and wisdom of the but that the people are a people more sensible of their errors.-speech in house of commons (sugar duties), july , . - revolution. since the settlement of the constitution, now nearly two centuries ago, england has never experienced a revolution, though there is no country in which there has been so continuous and such considerable change. how is this? because the wisdom of our forefathers placed the prize of supreme power without the sphere of human passions.— speech in free trade hall, manchester, april , . great revolutions, whatever may be their causes, are not lightly commenced, and are not concluded with precipita- tion.—speech in house of commons (address on speech), february , . - ridicule. a fear of becoming ridiculous is the best guide in life, and will save a man from all sorts of scrapes.—(‘lord monmouth') coningsby. rigbp (mr.). he who uttered these words was a man of middle size and age, originally in all probability of a spare habit, but now a little inclined to corpulency. baldness, perhaps, contributed to the spiritual expression of a brow which was, however, essentially intellectual, and gave some character of openness to a countenance which, though not ill-favoured, was unhappily stamped by a sinister cast that was not to be mistaken. his manner was easy, but rather audacious than well-bred. indeed, while a visage which might otherwise be described as handsome was spoilt by a dishonest glance, so a demeanour that was by no means deficient in self-possession and facility, was tainted by an innate vulgarity, which in the long run, though seldom, yet surely developed itself— coningsby. | earl of beaconsfield. a’itualism. what i do object to is the mass in masquerade.—speech in house of commons (public worship regulation bill), may , . i mean by ritualism the practice by a certain portion of the clergy of the church of england of ceremonies which they themselves confess are symbolical of doctrine which they are pledged by every solemn compact which can bind men to their sovereign and their country to denounce and repudiate.—speech in house of commons (public worship aegulation bull), august , . rivers. thou rapid aar ! thy waves are swollen by the snows of a thousand hills; but for whom are thy leaping waters fed? is it for the rhine p calmly, o placid neckar! does thy blue stream glide through thy vine-clad vales; but calmer seems thy course when it touches the rushing rhine ! how fragrant are the banks which are cooled by thy dark-green waters, thou tranquil maine ! but is not the perfume sweeter of the gardens of the rhine? thou impetuous nah! i lingered by thine islands of nightingales, and i asked thy rushing waters why they disturbed the music of thy groves p. they told me they were hastening to the rhine ! red moselle fierce is the swell of thy spreading course; but why do thy broad waters blush when they meet the rhine? thou delicate meuse ! how clear is the current of thy limpid wave; as the wife yields to the husband do thy pure waters yield to the rhine ! and thou, triumphant and imperial river, flushed with the tribute of these vassal streams thou art thyself a tributary, and hastenest even in the pride of conquest to earl of beaconsfield. o i sphere and always lived in the same sphere, that sphere being one peopled by duchesses and countesses and gentlemen of fashion and ministers of state. ropwey (mr.). mr. rodney was a remarkably good-looking person, by nature really a little resembling his principal, and completing the resemblance by consummate art. if there were any- thing confidential to be accomplished in their domestic life, everything might be trusted to his discretion and entire devotion. mr. rodney was the most official personage in the ministerial circle. he considered human nature only with reference to office. no one was so intimately acquain- ted with all the details of the lesser patronage as himself, and his hours of study were passed in the pages of the *peerage” and in penetrating the mysteries of the ‘royal calendar.”—endymion. roehamptow (lord). he was somewhat advanced in middle life, tall and of a stately presence, with a voice more musical even than the tones, which had recently enchanted everyone. his coun- tenance was impressive, a truly olympian brow, but the lower part of the face indicated not feebleness but flexibility, and his mouth was somewhat sensuous ; natural, and sin- gularly unaffected, and seemed to sympathise entirely with those whom he addressed. the earl of roehampton was the strongest member of the government, except, of course, the premier himself. he was the man from whose combined force and flexibility of character the country had confidence that in all their councils there would be no lack of courage, yet tempered with discretion. lord roehampton, though an englishman, was an irish peer, and was resolved to remain so, for he fully appreciated the position, which united social distinction and the power of a seat in the house of commons. he was a very ambitious, and, as it was thought, worldly man, o wit and wisdom of the deemed even by many to be unscrupulous, and yet he was romantic. a great favourite in society and especially with the softer sex, somewhat late in life he had married suddenly a beautiful woman, who was without fortune, and not a member of the enchanted circle in which he flourished. he had been a widower for two years, and in addition to his many recommendations he had now the inestimable reputa- tion, which no one had ever contemplated for him, of having been a good husband.—endymion. rome. i speak of that country which first impressed upon the world a general and enduring form of masculine virtue; the land of liberty and law, and eloquence and military genius, now garrisoned by monks and governed by a doting priest.— (‘theodora') lothair. the roman empire was the empire of great cities. man was then essentially municipal—(‘coningsby') tancred. i leant against a column of the temple of castor. on one side was the palace of the caesars ; on the other, the colossal amphitheatre of vespasian. arches of triumph, the pillars of pagan temples, and the domes of christian churches rose around me. in the distance was the wide campagna, the claudian aqueduct, and the alban mount. solitude and silence reigned on that sacred road once echoing with the shouts and chariots of three hundred triumphs ; solitude and silence, meet companions of impe- rial desolation | where are the spoils of egypt and of carthage? where the golden tribute of iberia? where the long gallic trophies? where are the rich armour and massy cups of macedon p. where are the pictures and statues of corinth p where the libraries of athens p where is the broken bow of parthia? where the elephants of pontus, and the gorgeous diadems of the asian kings? and where is rome? all nations rose and flourished earl of beaconsfield. o only to swell her splendour, and now i stand amid her ruins. - in such a scene what are our private griefs and petty sorrows p and what is man p i felt my nothingness. life seemed flat, and dull, and trifling. i could not con- ceive that i could again become interested in its base pursuits. i believed that i could no longer be influenced by joy or by sorrow. indifference alone remained.—contarini aºleming. routine. it seems to me that the world is withering under routine. 'tis the inevitable lot of humanty; but in old days it was a routine of great thoughts, and now it is a routine of little ones.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. ropaltp. england is a domestic country; there the home is re- vered, the hearth sacred. the nation is represented by a family—the royal family—and if that family is educated into a sense of responsibility and a sentiment of public duty, it is difficult to exaggerate the salutary influence it may ex- ercise over a nation.—speech at manchester, april , . nothing, in my opinion, has been more remarkable or more interesting in the late unanimous feeling with regard to the royal marriage on the part of this country than the strong domestic principle which has pervaded the whole of this great and powerful nation. that general homage was offered, i am sure, on this occasion principally because there has been a conviction on the part of the country that this alliance has been brought about not so much by political considerations as from the impulses of nature and affection. that domestic feeling has been strongly exhibited from the wishes that have been felt by the nation to express their attachment and respect for the royal parents of our princess, because they felt that under the illustrious roof under which she has dwelt, there is as much respect felt for the happiness of the wit and wisdom of the dotal despotism is this : that a minister of the church of england, who is appointed to expound doctrine, should deem that he has a right to invent doctrine. that, sir, is the sacerdotal despotism that i fear.—speech in house of commons (uniformity act), june , . sanitas. a very great scholar observes that in his opinion the de- claration of the wisest of mankind, “vanity of vanities, all is vanity,’ was not a misprint, but a mistake of the copyist, and that he believed the words were not “vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas,” but ‘sanitas sanitatum, omnia sanitas.” now i quite agree that it must have been a misquotation of the words of the wise king of israel, and, if so, that they would have constituted one of his best claims to be con- sidered the wisest of mankind.—speech at aylesbury, royal and central bucks agricultural association, september , . ja thetp. i have always thought that the feeling of satiety, almost inseparable from large possessions, is a surer cause of misery than ungratified desires.—(‘theodora') lothair. scepticism. with the characteristic caprice and impetuosity of youth, cadurcis rapidly and ardently imbibed all these doctrines, captivated alike by their boldness and their novelty. hitherto the child of prejudice, he flattered himself that he was now the creature of reason, and, determined to take nothing for granted, he soon learned to question everything that was received.— venetia. doubt as you like, credulity will come, and in good sea- son.—count alarcos. school. the hour came, and i was placed in the heart of a little and busy world. for the first time in my life i was sur- earl of beaconsfield. o rounded by struggling and excited beings. joy, hope, sorrow, ambition, craft, courage, wit, dulness, cowardice, beneficence, awkwardness, grace, avarice, generosity, wealth, poverty, beauty, hideousness, tyranny, suffering, hypocrisy, truth, love, hatred, energy, inertness; they were all there, and all sounded, and moved, and acted, about me. light laughs, and bitter cries, and deep imprecations, and the deeds of the friendly, the prodigal, and the tyrant, and the exploits of the brave, the graceful, and the gay, and the flying words of native wit, and the pompous sentences of acquired knowledge; how new, how exciting, how won- derful did i tremble? did i sink into my innermost self? idid i fly? never. as i gazed upon them, a new principle rose up in my breast, and i perceived only beings whom i was determined to control. they came up to me with a curious glance of half-suppressed glee, breathless and mocking. they asked me questions of gay nonsense with a serious voice and solemn look. i answered in their kind. on a sudden i seemed endowed with new powers, and blessed with the gift of tongues. i spoke to them with a levity which was quite strange to me, a most unnatural ease. i even, in my turn, presented to them questions, to which they found it difficult to respond. some ran away to communicate their impression to their comrades, some stayed behind, but these became more serious and more natural. when they found that i was endowed with a pregnant and decided character, their eyes silently pro- nounced me a good fellow ; they vied with each other in kindness, and the most important led me away to initiate me in their mysteries. weeks flew away, and i was intoxicated with my new life and my new reputation. i was in a state of ceaseless excitement. it seemed that my tongue never paused : yet each word brought forth a new laugh, each sentence of wit and wisdom of the gay nonsense fresh plaudits. all was rattle, frolic, and wild mirth. my companions caught my unusual manner, they adopted my new phrases, they repeated my extra- ordinary apophthegms. everything was viewed and done according to the new tone which i had introduced. it was decided that i was the wittiest, the most original, the most diverting of their society. a coterie of the congenial insensibly formed around me, and my example gradually ruled the choice spirits of our world. i even mingled in their games although i disliked the exertion, and in those in which the emulation was very strong i even excelled. my ambition conquered my nature. it seemed that i was the soul of the school. wherever i went my name sounded, whatever was done my opinion was quoted. i was caressed, adored, idolised. in a word, i was popular.—contarini fleming. there is no place in the world where greater homage is paid to talent than an english school.—vivian grey. a select school.—the rev. dr. coronel was so extremely exclusive in his system, that it was reported that he had once refused the son of an irish peer.—the young duke. schoolbop. character.—we are too apt to believe that the character of a boy is easily read. 'tis a mystery the most profound. mark what blunders parents constantly make as to the nature of their own offspring, bred, too, under their eyes, and display- ing every hour their characteristics. how often in the nursery does the genius count as a dunce because he is pensive ; while a rattling urchin is invested with almost supernatural qualities because his animal spirits make him impudent and flippant the schoolboy, above all others, is not the simple being the world imagines. in that young bosom are often stirring passions as strong as our own, desires not less violent, a volition not less supreme. in that io wit and wisdom of the - lasted ; what went before, what comes next. we are a link in the chain, as inferior animals were that preceded us : we in turn shall be inferior ; all that will remain of us will be some relics in a new red sandstone. this is develop- ment. we had fins; we may have wings.-(‘lady con- stance’) tancred. modern science has vindicated the natural equality of man.—(‘delegate from national convention') sybil. scotch. it has been my lot to have found myself in many distant lands. i have never been in one without finding a scotchman, and i never found a scotchman who was not at the head of the poll—he was prosperous ; he was thriving; often the confidential adviser of persons of the highest posi- tion, even of rulers of states ; and although i myself am inclined to attribute much to organisation and race, i am bound to say i never met a scotchman, even if he were the confidential adviser of a pasha, who did not tell me he owed his rise to his parish school.—speech at glasgow, movember , . scrope (sir fraunceps). one of the most interesting members of the house of commons was sir fraunceys scrope. he was the father of the house of commons, though it was difficult to believe that from his appearance. he was tall, and had kept his distinguished figure; a handsome face with a musical voice and a countenance now benignant, though very bright and once haughty. he still retained the same fashion of costume in which he had ridden up to westminster more than half a century ago, from his seat in derbyshire, to support his dear friend charles fox ; real top-boots, and a blue coat and buff waistcoat. he was a great friend of lord roehampton, had a large estate in the same county, and had refused an earldom.—endymion. | . wit and wisdom of the servilitp. how singular it is that those who love servility are always the victims of impertinence –the young duke. seville. there is not a more beautiful and solemn temple in the world than the great cathedral of seville. when you enter from the glare of a spanish sky, so deep is the staining of the glass, and so small and few the windows, that, for a moment, you feel in darkness. gradually, the vast design of the gothic artist unfolds itself to your vision ; gradually rises up before you the profuse sumptuousness of the high altar, with its tall images, and velvet and gold hangings, its gigantic railings of brass and massy candlesticks of silver, all revealed by the dim and perpetual light of the sacred and costly lamps. you steal with a subdued spirit over the marble pave- ment. all is still, save the hushed muttering of the gliding priests. around you are groups of kneeling worshippers, some prostrate on the ground, some gazing upwards, with their arms crossed, in mute devotion, some beating their breasts, and counting their consoling beads. lo the tink- ling of a bell. the mighty organ bursts forth. involuntarily you fall upon your knees, and listen to the rising chanting of the solemn choir. a procession moves from an adjoining chapel. a band of crimson acolytes advance waving censers, and the melody of their distant voices responds to the deep-toned invocations of the nearer canons. there are a vast number of chapels in this cathedral on each side of the principal nave. most of them are adorned with masterpieces of the spanish school. let us approach one. the light is good, and let us gaze through this iron railing upon the picture it encloses. - i see a saint falling upon his knees, and extending his enraptured arm to receive an infant god. what mingled earl of beaconsfield. love, enthusiasm, devotion, reverence, blend in the counte- nance of the holy man but, oh that glowing group of seraphim, sailing and smiling in the sunny splendour of that radiant sky, who has before gazed upon such grace, such ineffable and charming beauty and in the background is an altar, whereon is a vase holding some lilies, that seem as if they were just gathered. there is but one artist who could have designed this picture; there is but one man who could have thus combined ideal grace with natural simplicity; there is but one man who could have painted that diapha- nous heaven, and those fresh lilies. inimitable murillo l— contarini fleming. shower. nature, like man, sometimes weeps for gladness.— coningsby. sidney (lok d henrp). sidonia welcomed tancred, and introduced him to a guest who had preceded them, lord henry sidney. it was a name that touched tancred, as it has all the youth of england, significant of a career that would rescue public life from that strange union of lax principles and contracted sympathies which now form the special and degrading features of british politics. it was borne by one whose boyhood we have painted amid the fields and schools of eton, and the springtime of whose earliest youth we traced by the sedgy waters of the cam. we left him on the threshold of public life; and, in four years, lord henry had created that reputation which now made him a source of hope and solace to millions of his countrymen. but they were four years of labour which outweighed the usual exertions of public men in double that space. his regular attendance in the house of commons alone had given him as much parliamentary experience as fell to the lot of many of those who had been first returned in , and had been, therefore, twice as long in the house. he wit and wisdom of the was not only a vigilant member of public and private com- mittees, but had succeeded in appointing and conducting several on topics which he esteemed of high importance. add to this, that he took an habitual part in debate, and was a frequent and effective public writer; and we are furnished with an additional testimony, if that indeed were wanting, that there is no incentive to exertion like the passion for a noble renown. nor should it be forgotten that, in all he accomplished, he had but one final purpose, and that the highest. the debate, the committee, the article in the journal or the review, the public meeting, the private re- search, these were all means to advance that which he had proposed as the object of his public life, namely, to elevate the condition of the people. although there was no public man whose powers had more rapidly ripened, still it was interesting to observe that their maturity had been faithful to the healthy sympathies of his earlier years. the boy, whom we have traced intent upon the revival of the pastimes of the people, had ex- panded into the statesman, who, in a profound and com- prehensive investigation of the elements of public wealth, had shown that a jaded population is not a source of national prosperity. what had been a picturesque emotion had now become a statistical argument. the material system that proposes the supply of constant toil to a people as the perfection of polity, had received a staggering blow from the exertions of a young patrician, who announced his belief that labour had its rights as well as its duties. what was excellent about lord henry was, that he was not a mere philanthropist, satisfied to rouse public atten- tion to a great social evil, or instantly to suggest for it some crude remedy. a scholar and a man of the world, learned in history and not inexperienced in human nature, he was sensible that we must look to the constituent principles of society for the causes and the cures of great national disorders. earl of beaconsfield. i he therefore went deeply into the question, nor shrank from investigating how far those disorders were produced by the operation or the desuetude of ancient institutions, and how far it might be necessary to call new influences into political existence for their remedy. richly informed, still studious, fond of labour and indefatigable, of a gentle disposition though of an ardent mind, calm yet energetic, very open to conviction, but possessing an inflexibility amounting even to obstinacy when his course was once taken, a ready and improving speaker, an apt and attrac- tive writer, affable and sincere, and with the undesigning faculty of making friends, lord henry seemed to possess all the qualities of a popular leader, if we add to them the golden ones, high lineage, an engaging appearance, youth, and a temperament in which the reason had not been developed to the prejudice of the heart.—tancred. sidonia. as he stood at the window of his little apartment, watching the large drops that were the heralds of a coming hurricane, and waiting for his repast, a flash of lightning illumined the whole country, and a horseman at full speed, followed by his groom, galloped up to the door. . . . he was above the middle height and of a distinguished air and figure; pale, with an impressive brow, and dark eyes of great intelligence. . . . sidonia had exhausted all the sources of human know- ledge; he was master of the learning of every nation, of all tongues dead or living, of every literature, western and oriental. he had pursued the speculations of science to their last term, and had himself illustrated them by ob- servation and experiment. he had lived in all orders of society, had viewed every combination of nature and of art, and had observed man under every phasis of civilisa- tion. he had even studied him in the wilderness. the influence of creeds and laws, manners, customs, traditions, earl of beaconsfield. i the only human quality that interested sidonia was intellect. he cared not whence it came ; where it was to be found: creed, country, class, character, in this respect, were alike indifferent to him. the author, the artist, the man of science, never appealed to him in vain. often he anticipated their wants and wishes. he encouraged their society; was as frank in his conversation as he was gene- rous in his contributions; but the instant they ceased to be authors, artists, or philosophers, and their communica- tions arose from anything but the intellectual quality which had originally interested him, the moment they were rash enough to approach intimacy and appealed to the sympa- thising man, instead of the congenial intelligence, he saw them no more. it was not, however, intellect merely in these unquestionable shapes that commanded his notice. there was not an adventurer in europe with whom he was not familiar. no minister of state had such communica- tion with secret agents and political spies as sidonia. he held relations with all the clever outcasts of the world. the catalogue of his acquaintance in the shape of greeks, armenians, moors, secret jews, tartars, gipsies, wandering poles and carbonari, would throw a curious light on those subterranean agencies of which the world in general knows so little, but which exercise so great an influence on public events. his extensive travels, his knowledge of languages, his daring and adventurous disposition, and his unlimited . means, had given him opportunities of becoming acquainted with these characters, in general so difficult to trace, and of gaining their devotion. to these sources he owed that knowledge of strange and hidden things which often startled those who listened to him. nor was it easy, scarcely pos- sible, to deceive him. information reached him from so many and such contrary quarters, that, with his discrimi- nation and experience, he could almost instantly distinguish the truth. the secret history of the world was his pastime. o wit and wisdom of the his great pleasure was to contrast the hidden motive, with the public pretext, of transactions. . . the somewhat hard and literal character of english life suited one who shrank from sensibility, and often took refuge in sarcasm. its masculine vigour and active intel- ligence occupied and interested his mind. sidonia, indeed, was exactly the character who would be welcomed in our circles. his immense wealth, his unrivalled social know- ledge, his clear vigorous intellect, the severe simplicity of his manners, frank, but neither claiming nor brooking familiarity, and his devotion to field-sports, which was the safety-valve of his energy, were all circumstances and qualities which the english appreciate and admire ; and it may be fairly said of sidonia that few men were more popular, and none less understood.—coningsby. silence. silence often expresses more powerfully than speech the verdict and judgment of society.—speech in house of commons (administration of viscount palmerston), august , . sleep. slavery's only service money, sweet sleep.–(“mrs. lorraine') vivian grey. no one but an adventurous traveller can know the luxury of sleep. there is not a greater fallacy in the world than the common creed that sweet sleep is labour's guerdon. mere regular, corporeal labour may certainly procure us a good, sound, refreshing slumber, disturbed often by the consciousness of the monotonous duties of the morrow ; but how sleep the other great labourers of this laborious world? where is the sweet sleep of the politician p. after hours of fatigue in his office and hours of exhaustion in the house, he gains his pillow ; and a brief, feverish night, disturbed by the triumph of a cheer and the horrors of a reply. where is the sweet sleep of the poet? we all know how earl of beaconsfield. i harassing are the common dreams which are made up of incoherent images of our daily life, in which the actors are individuals that we know, and whose conduct generally ap- pears to be regulated by principles which we can compre- hend. how much more enervating and destroying must be the slumber of that man who dreams of an imaginary world ! waking, with a heated and excited spirit, to mourn over some impressive incident of the night, which is never- theless forgotten, or to collect some inexplicable plot which has been revealed in sleep, and has fled from the memory as the eyelids have opened. where is the sweet sleep of the artist? of the lawyer? where, indeed, of any human being to whom to-morrow brings its necessary duties sleep is the enemy of care, and care is the constant com- panion of regular labour, mental or bodily.— vivian grey. smile. there are few faces that can afford to smile : a smile is sometimes bewitching, in general vapid, often a contortion. tancred. social. the darkest hour precedes the dawn, and a period of unusual stillness often, perhaps usually, heralds the social convulsion.—endymion. - to throw over a host is the most heinous of social crimes.—aeothair. he was an excellent host, which no one can be who does not combine a good heart with high breeding.— aothair. to be king of your company is a poor ambition ; yet homage is homage, and smoke is smoke whether it comes out of the chimney of a palace or of a workhouse.—the young duke. to be his uninvited guest proved at once that you had entered the highest circle of the social paradise.—end- // / t. wit and wisioom of the my idea of an agreeable person is a person who agrees with me.—(“hugo bohun') lothair. there is not less treasure in the world because we use paper currency; and there is not less passion than of old, though it is thought bon ton to be tranquil.—(‘sidonia') coningsby. however vast may appear the world in which we move, we all of us live in a limited circle.—endymion. society and politics have much to do with each other, but they are not identical—(‘lady roehampton’) endy- mion. teach us that wealth is not elegance ; that profusion is not magnificence ; and that splendour is not beauty. teach us that taste is a talisman which can do greater wonders than the millions of the loanmonger. teach us that to vie is not to rival, and to imitate not to invent. teach us that pretension is a bore. teach us that wit is excessively good-natured, and, like champagne, not only sparkles, but is sweet. teach us the vulgarity of malignity. teach us that envy spoils our complexions, and that anxiety destroys our figure. catch the fleeting colours of that shy chameleon, cant, and show what excessive trouble we are ever taking to make ourselves miserable and silly. teach us all this, and aglaia shall stop a crow in its course and present you with a pen, thalia hold the golden fluid in a sevres vase, and euphrosyne support the violet-coloured scroll.—the young duke. societp. there is no doubt that that great pumice stone, society, smooths down the edges of your thoughts and manners.-- the young duke. sidonia obtained at an early age that experience of re- fined and luxurious society which is a necessary part of a finished education. it gives the last polish to the manners ; earl of beaconsfield. sovereigntp. there is no sovereignty of any first-rate state which costs so little to the people as the sovereignty of england.—speech at manchester, april , . .spaniards. certainly the spaniards are a noble race. they are kind and faithful, courageous and honest, with a profound mind, that will nevertheless break into rich humour, and a dignity which, like their passion, is perhaps the legacy of their oriental sires.—contarini fleming. spanish bull-fight. a spanish bull-fight taught me fully to comprehend the rapturous exclamation of ‘panem et circenses ’ the amusement apart, there is something magnificent in the assembled thousands of an amphitheatre. it is the trait in modern manners which most effectually recalls the nobility of antique pastimes. the poetry of a bull-fight is much destroyed by the appearance of the cavaliers. instead of gay, gallant knights bounding on caracoling steeds, three or four shapeless, un- wieldy beings cased in armour of stuffed leather, and looking more like dutch burgomasters than spanish chivalry, enter the lists on limping rips. the bull is, in fact, the executioner for the dogs ; and an approaching bull-fight is a respite for any doomed steed throughout all seville. the tauridors, in their varying, fanciful, costly, and splendid dresses, compensate in a great measure for your disappointment. it is difficult to conceive a more brilliant band. these are ten or a dozen footmen, who engage the bull unarmed, distract him as he rushes at one of the cava- liers by unfolding and dashing before his eyes a glittering scarf, and saving themselves from an occasional chase by practised agility, which elicits great applause. the per- earl of beaconsfield. horse dexterously veers aside. the bull rushes on, but the knight wounds him severely in the flank with his lance. the tauridors now appear, armed with darts. they rush with extraordinary swiftness and dexterity at the infuriated animal, plant their galling weapons in different parts of his body, and scud away. to some of their darts are affixed fireworks, which ignite by the pressure of the stab. the animal is then as bewildered as infuriate ; the amphi- theatre echoes to his roaring, and witnesses the greatest efforts of his rage. he flies at all, staggering and streaming with blood; at length, breathless and exhausted, he stands at bay, his black, swollen tongue hanging out, and his mouth covered with foam. 'tis horrible ! throughout, a stranger's feelings are for the bull, although this even the fairest spaniard cannot comprehend. as it is now evident that the noble victim can only amuse them by his death, there is a universal cry for the matador; and the matador, gaily dressed, appears amid a loud cheer. the matador is a great artist. strong nerves must combine with great quickness and great expe- rience to form an accomplished matador. it is a rare character, highly prized; their fame exists after their death, and different cities pride themselves on producing or possessing the eminent. the matador, plants himself before the bull, and shakes a red cloak suspended over a drawn sword. this last insult excites the lingering energy of the dying hero. he makes a violent charge : the mantle falls over his face, the sword enters his spine, and he falls amid thundering shouts. the death is instantaneous, without a struggle and without a groan. a car, decorated with flowers and ribbons, and drawn by oxen, now appears, and bears off the body in triumph. i have seen eighteen horses killed in a bull-fight, and eight bulls; but the sport is not always in proportion to the slaughter. sometimes the bull is a craven, and then, if, earl of beaconsfield. i st. aldegowpe (lord). . tall, fair, and languid, st. aldegonde was the heir appa- rent of the wealthiest, if not the most ancient, dukedom in the united kingdom. he was spoiled, but he knew it. had he been an ordinary being, he would have merely subsided into selfishness and caprice, but having good abilities and a good disposition, he was eccentric, adven- turous, and sentimental. notwithstanding the apathy which had been engendered by premature experience, st. alde- gonde held extreme opinions, especially on political affairs, being a republican of the reddest dye. he was opposed to all privilege, and indeed to all orders of men, except dukes, who were a necessity. he was also strongly in favour of the equal division of all property, except land. liberty depended on land, and the greater the landowners, the greater the liberty of a country. he would hold forth on this topic even with energy, amazed at anyone differing from him ; ‘as if a fellow could have too much land,” he would urge with a voice and glance which defied con- tradiction. st. aldegonde had married for love, and he loved his wife, but he was strongly in favour of woman's rights and their extremest consequences. it was thought that he had originally adopted these latter views with the amiable intention of piquing.i.ady st. aldegonde ; but if so, he had not succeeded. beaming with brightness, with the voice and airiness of a bird, and a cloudless temper, albertha st. aldegonde had, from the first hour of her marriage, concentrated her intelligence, which was not mean, on one object ; and that was never to cross her husband on any conceivable topic. they had been married several years, and she treated him as a darling spoiled child. when he cried for the moon, it was promised him immediately ; however irrational his proposition, she always assented to it, though generally by tact and vigilance she guided him in the right direction. nevertheless, st. alde- wit and wisdom of the gonde was sometimes in scrapes; but then he always went and told his best friend, whose greatest delight was to extricate him from his perplexities and embarrassments. lord st. aldegonde loved to preside over the mysteries of the smoking-room. there, enveloped in his egyptian robe, occasionally blurting out some careless or headstrong paradox to provoke discussion among others, which would amuse himself, rioting in a rabelaisian anecdote, and listening with critical delight to endless memoirs of horses and prima donnas, st. aldegonde was never bored. some- times too, when he could get hold of an eminent traveller, or some individual distinguished for special knowledge, st. aldegonde would draw him out with skill, himself dis- playing an acquaintance with the particular topic which often surprised his companions, for st. aldegonde professed never to read ; but he had no ordinary abilities and an original turn of mind and habit of life, which threw him in the way of unusual persons of all classes, from whom he imbibed or extracted a vast variety of queer, always amusing, and not altogether useless information.—lothair. sta tesmaavsa/ip. you will find it of the first importance in public life to know personally those who are carrying on the business of the world ; so much depends on the character of an indivi- dual, his habits of thought, his prejudices, his superstitions, his social weaknesses, his health. conducting affairs without this advantage is, in effect, an affair of stationery: it is pens and paper who are in communication, not human beings.- (‘count ferroll’) endymion. - - he (ferrars) had read very little more than some latin writers, some greek plays, and some treatises of aristotle. these, with a due course of bampton lectures, and some dipping into the ‘quarterly review,’ qualified a man in those days not only for being a member of parliament, but wit and wisdom of the strength, human strength always seems to me the natural process of settling affairs.-(‘delegate to national convention') sybil. sublimitp. we have long been induced to suspect that the seeds of true sublimity lurk in a life which, like this book, is half fashion and half passion.—the young duke. juccess. success is the child of audacity.—iskander. as a general rule the most successful man-in life is the man who has the best information.—(‘baron sergius’) endymion. the impromptu is always successful in life.—(‘pinto') jcothair. for my success in life, it may be principally ascribed to the observance of a simple rule—i never trust either god or man.—(‘tiresias’) infernal marriage. - jummer evening. the clouds of a summer eve were glowing in the creative and flickering blaze of the vanished sun, that had passed like a monarch from the admiring sight, yet left his pomp behind. the golden and umber vapours fell into forms that to the eye of the musing lothair depicted the objects of his frequent meditation. there seemed to rise in the horizon the dome and campaniles and lofty aisles of some celestial fane, such as he had often more than dreamed of raising to the revealed author of life and death. altars arose and sacred shrines, and delicate chantries and fretted spires; now the flashing phantom of heavenly choirs, and then the dim response of cowled and earthly cenobites: these are black vesper's pageants : lothair. earl of beaconsfield. suav. the sun is not the light for study.—(“sievers') vivian grey. - sunda p. there is always a danger of the day becoming a course of heavy meals and stupid walks.—lothair. the gentlemen habited themselves, both as regards form and character, in a style indicative of the subdued gravity of their feelings.-lothair. sunrise. it is the hour before the labouring bee has left his golden hive ; not yet the blooming day buds in the blushing east; not yet has the victorious lucifer chased from the early sky the fainting splendour of the stars of night. all is silent, save the light breath of morn waking the slumbering leaves. even now a golden streak breaks over the grey mountains. hark to shrill chanticleer | as the cock crows the owl ceases. hark to shrill chanticleer's feathered rival the mountain lark springs from the sullen earth, and welcomes with his hymn the coming day. the golden streak has ex- panded into a crimson crescent, and rays of living fire flame over the rose-enamelled east. man rises sooner than the sun, and already sound the whistle of the ploughman, the song of the mower, and the forge of the smith ; and hark to the bugle of the hunter, and the baying of his deep- mouthed hound. the sun is up, the generating sun and temple, and tower, and tree, the massy wood, and the broad field, and the distant hill, burst into sudden light; quickly upcurled is the dusky mist from the shining river; quickly is the cold dew drunk from the raised heads of the drooping flowers – vivian grey. superannuation. the history of superannuation in this country is the history of spoliation. it is a very short history, for it may wit and wisdom of the be condensed in one sentence, ‘you promised a fund and you exacted a tax.’—speech in house of commons (civil service superannuation bill), february , . juperior persons. he (mr. horsman) denounces the government, he de- rides the opposition, he detests the peace party, he attacks the whole house of commons, because we did not move in the matter. but why did not the right honourable gentle- man move in it p. he had for three months on the paper a motion, which was without exception the most unconstitu tional that was ever placed on the table of this house. why did he not move that preposterous proposition ? why, because he knew that if he had moved that revolutionary rigmarole, he would have been left without a teller, had he gone to a division. and this is the gentleman who lectures parliament in a body, and every individual in particular, with a recklessness of assertion unequalled. we know that in private life there is always in every circle some person, male or female, who is regarded as a “superior person.” they decide on everything, they lecture everybody : all acknowledge their transcendent qualities ; but everyone gets out of their way. the right honourable member for stroud is the ‘superior person’ of the house of commons.—speech in house of commons (denmark and germany, vote of censure), july , . .suspense. decision destroys suspense, and suspense is the charm of existence.—(“mrs. coningsby') tancred. switzerland. i had thought of switzerland only as of a rude barrier between me and the far object of my desires. the impres- sion that this extraordinary country made upon me was perhaps increased by my previous thoughts having so little brooded over the idea of it. it was in switzerland that i earl of beaconsfield. marney was not opposed to the habits of his wife. men, when they are married, often shrink from the glare and bustle of those social multitudes which are entered by bachelors with the excitement of knights-errant in a fairy wilderness, because they are supposed to be rife with ad- ventures, and, perhaps, fruitful of a heroine. the adventure sometimes turns out to be a catastrophe, and the heroine a copy instead of an original ; but let that pass.-tancred. .spmpath p. sympathy is the solace of the poor ; but for the rich there is compensation.—(‘simmons’) sybil. there is a strange sympathy which whispers convictions that no evidence can authorise, and no arguments dispel.— venetia. - sympathy and antipathy share our being, as day and darkness share our lives.—lothair. the sympathy of sidonia, so complete, and as instructive as it was animating, was a sustaining power which we often need when we are meditating great deeds. how often, when all seems dark, and hopeless, and spiritless, and tame, when slight obstacles figure in the cloudy landscape as alps, and the rushing cataracts of our invention have subsided into drizzle, a single phrase of a great man instantaneously flings sunshine on the intellectual landscape, and the habitual features of power and beauty, over which we have so long mused in secret confidence and love, resume all their energy and lustre.—tancred. we exist because we sympathise. if we did not sym- pathise with the air, we should die. but, if we only sympa- thised with the air, we should be in the lowest order of brutes, baser than the sloth. mount from the sloth to the poet. it is sympathy that makes you a poet. it is your desire that the airy children of your brain should be born anew within another's, that makes you create ; therefore, a wit and wisdom of thie misanthropical poet is a contradiction in terms.-(‘herbert') wenetia. man is neither vile, nor the excellent being which he sometimes imagines himself to be. he does not so much act by system as by sympathy. if the creature cannot always feel for others, he is doomed to feel for himself; and the vicious are, at least, blessed with the curse of remorse.— (“horace grey') vivian grey. spstem. a series of systems have mystified existence.—contarini fleming. tact, without tact you can learn nothing. tact teaches you when to be silent. inquirers who are always inquiring never learn anything—(‘wilton’) endymion. a want of tact is worse than a want of virtue. some women, it is said, work on pretty well without the last : i never knew one who did not sink, who ever dared to sail without the other.—the young duke. perseverance and tact are the two great qualities most valuable for all men who would mount, but especially for those who have to step out of the crowd.—(‘sidney wilton') endymion. tact does not remove difficulties, but difficulties melt away under tact.—tancred. lothair had a greater degree of tact than usually falls to the lot of the ingenuous.-lothair. tamcred (lord mowtact/te). the duke bowed to the corporation, with the duchess on his left hand; and on his right there stood a youth, above the middle height and of a frame completely and gracefully formed. his dark brown hair, in those hyacinthine curls which grecian poets have celebrated, and which grecian sculptors have immortalised, clustered over his brow, which, earl of beaconsfield. i however, they only partially concealed. it was pale, as was his whole countenance, but the liquid richness of the dark brown eye, and the colour of the lip, denoted anything but a languid circulation. the features were regular, and in- clined rather to a refinement which might have imparted to the countenance a character of too much delicacy, had it not been for the deep meditation of the brow, and for the lower part of the visage, which intimated indomitable will and an iron resolution. placed for the first time in his life in a public position and under circumstances which might have occasioned some degree of embarrassment even to those initiated in the world, nothing was more remarkable in the demeanour of lord montacute than his self-possession; nor was there in his carriage anything studied, or which had the character of being preconceived. every movement or gesture was distinguished by what may be called a graceful gravity. with a total absence of that excitement which seemed so natural to his age and situation, there was nothing in his manner which approached to nonchalance or indifference. it would appear that he duly estimated the importance of the event they were commemorating, yet was not of a habit of mind that over-estimated anything.—tancred. taste. there is no accounting for tastes. my grandmother loved a brindled cat.—(‘essper') vivian grey. taxation. confiscation is a blunder that destroys public credit; taxation, on the contrary, improves it ; and both come to the same thing.—tancred. temper. a man's fate is his own temper; and according to that will be his opinion as to the particular manner in which the course of events is regulated. a consistent man believes in wit and wisdom of the destiny, a capricious man in chance.—(‘beckendorf') vivian grey. temple (henrietta). to his surprise, as he was about to emerge from a berceau on to a plot of turf, in the centre of which grew a large cedar, he beheld a lady in a riding-habit standing before the tree, and evidently admiring its beautiful proportions. her countenance was raised and motionless. it seemed to him that it was more radiant than the sunshine. he gazed with rapture on the dazzling brilliancy of her com- plexion, the delicate regularity of her features, and the large violet-tinted eyes, fringed with the longest and the darkest lashes that he had ever beheld. from her position her hat had fallen back, revealing her lofty and pellucid brow, and the dark and lustrous locks that were braided over her temples. the whole countenance combined that brilliant health and that classic beauty which we associate with the idea of some nymph tripping over the dew- bespangled meads of ida, or glancing amid the hallowed groves of greece. although the lady could scarcely have seen eighteen summers, her stature was above the common height ; but language cannot describe the startling symmetry of her superb figure.—henrietta temple, testimonial. the moral which this case, as well as the whole experi- ence of my life, teaches me is to beware of testimonials. nobody ever acted on a testimonial who had not afterwards cause to regret it.—speech in house of commons (pension to irish poe, mr. young), march , . thames. the being who would be content with nothing less than communing with celestial powers in sacred climes, stand- ing at a tavern window, gazing on the moonlit mud-banks of the barbarous thames, a river which neither angel nor earl of beaconsfield. name of falkland and closes with that of canning?— (“waldershare’) endymion. town houses. bellair house.—bellair house was the prettiest mansion in mayfair. it was a long building, in the italian style, situate in the midst of gardens, which, though not very ex- tensive, were laid out with so much art and taste, that it was very difficult to believe that you were in a great city. the house was furnished and adorned with all that taste for which lady bellair was distinguished. all the reception rooms were on the ground floor, and were all connected. ferdi- nand, who remembered lady bellair's injunctions not to leave cards, attracted by the spot, and not knowing what to do with himself, determined to pay her ladyship a visit, and was ushered into an octagon library, lined with well- laden dwarf cases of brilliant volumes, crowned with no lack of marble busts, bronzes, and etruscan vases. on each side opened a magnificent saloon, furnished in that classic style which the late accomplished and ingenious mr. hope first rendered popular in this country. the wings, projecting far into the gardens, comprised respec- tively a dining-room and a conservatory of considerable dimensions. isolated in the midst of the gardens was a long building, called the summer-room, lined with indian matting, and screened on one side from the air, merely by venetian blinds. the walls of this chamber were almost entirely covered with caricatures and prints of the country seats of lady bellair's friends, all of which she took care to visit. here also were her parrots, and some birds of a sweeter voice, a monkey, and the famous squirrel.—hen- rietta temple. aſexham house.—one of the least known squares in lon- don is hexham square, though it is one of the oldest. not that it is very remote from the throng of existence, but it is wit and wisdom of the isolated in a dingy district of silent and decaying streets once it was a favoured residence of opulence and power, and its architecture still indicates its former and prouder destiny. but its noble mansions are now divided and broken up into separate dwellings, or have been converted into chambers and offices. lawyers, and architects, and agents dwell in apartments where the richly-sculptured chimney-pieces, the carved and gilded pediments over the doors, and sometimes even the painted ceilings, tell a tale of vanished stateliness and splendour. a considerable portion of the north side of the square is occupied by one house standing in a courtyard, with iron gates to the thoroughfare. this is hexham house, and where lord hexham lived in the days of the first georges. it is reduced in size since his time, two considerable wings having been pulled down about sixty years ago, and their materials employed in building some residences of less pretension. but the body of the dwelling-house remains, and the courtyard, though reduced in size, has been re- tained. w hexham house has an old oak entrance hall panelled with delicacy, and which has escaped the rifling arts of speculators in furniture; and out of it rises a staircase of the same material, of a noble character, adorned occasion- ally with figures; armorial animals holding shields, and sometimes a grotesque form rising from fruits and flowers, all doubtless the work of some famous carver.—lothair. crecy house.—the duke was one of the few gentlemen in london who lived in a palace. one of the half-dozen of those stately structures that our capital boasts had fallen to his lot. - an heir apparent to the throne, in the earlier days of the present dynasty, had resolved to be lodged as became a prince, and had raised, amid gardens which he had diverted from one of the royal parks, an edifice not unworthy of vicenza in its best days, though on a far more extensive scale earl of beaconsfield. than any pile that favoured city boasts. before the palace was finished the prince died, and irretrievably in debt. his executors were glad to sell to the trustees of the ancestors of the chief of the house of brentham the incomplete palace, which ought never to have been commenced. the ancestor of the duke was by no means so strong a man as the duke himself, and prudent people rather murmured at the ex- ploit. but it was what is called a lucky family; that is to say, a family with a charm that always attracted and absorbed heiresses; and perhaps the splendour of crecy house, for it always retained its original title, might have in some degree contributed to fascinate the taste or imagi- nation of the beautiful women who, generation after gene- ration, brought their bright castles and their broad manors to swell the state and rent-rolls of the family who were so kind to lothair. the centre of crecy house consisted of a hall of vast proportion, and reaching to the roof. its walls com- memorated, in paintings by the most celebrated artists of the age, the exploits of the black prince ; and its coved ceiling, in panels resplendent with venetian gold, was bright with the forms and portraits of english heroes. a corridor round this hall contained the most celebrated private collection of pictures in england, and opened into a series of sumptuous saloons.—lothair. lord st. jerome's house.—the mansion of lord st. jerome was a real family mansion, built by his ancestors a century and a half ago, when they believed that from its cen- tral position, its happy contiguity to the court, the senate, and the seats of government, they at last in st. james's square had discovered a site which could defy the vicissitudes of fashion, and not share the fate of their river palaces, which they had been obliged in turn to relinquish. and in a con- siderable degree they were right in their anticipation; for al- though they have somewhat unwisely permitted the clubs to invade too successfully their territory, st. james's square may earl of beaconsfield. i so they descended once more the private staircase, and again entered the vestibule. “if you had seen these gardens when they were illumi- nated for a fête to george iv.,’ said rigby, as crossing the chamber he ushered his charge into the state apartments. the splendour and variety of the surrounding objects soon distracted the attention of the boy, for the first time in the palace of his fathers. he traversed saloon after saloon hung with rare tapestry and the gorgeous products of foreign looms; filled with choice pictures and creations of curious art; cabinets that sovereigns might envy, and colossal vases of malachite presented by emperors. con- ingsby alternately gazed up to ceilings glowing with colour and with gold, and down upon carpets bright with the fancies and vivid with the tints of aubusson and of ax- minster.—coningsby. muriel house.—muriel house was a family mansion in the green park. it was built of hewn stone during the last century; a palladian edifice, for a time much neglected, but now restored and duly prepared for the reception of its lord and master by the same combined energy and taste which had proved so successful at muriel towers.-lothair. sidonia's house in paris.-sidonia lived in the faubourg st. germain, in a large hotel that, in old days, had belonged to the crillons; but it had received at his hands such ex- tensive alterations, that nothing of the original decoration, and little of its arrangement, remained. a flight of marble steps, ascending from a vast court, led into a hall of great dimensions, which was at the same time an orangery and a gallery of sculpture. it was illumined by a distinct, yet soft and subdued light, which harmonised with the beautiful repose of the surrounding forms, and with the exotic perfume that was wafted about. a gallery led from this hall to an inner hall of quite a different character; fantastic, glittering, variegated ; full of strange shapes and dazzling objects. wit and wisdom of thie mr. bertie tremaine, who had early succeeded to the family estate, lived in grosvenor street, and in becoming style. his house was furnished with luxury and some taste. the host received his guests in a library well stored with political history and political science, and adorned with busts of celebrated statesmen and of profound political sages. bentham was the philosopher then affected by young gentlemen of ambition, and who wished to have credit for profundity and hard heads. mr. bertie tremaine had been the proprietor of a close borough, which for several generations had returned his family to parliament, the faithful supporters of pitt, and perceval, and liverpool, and he had contemplated following the same line, though with larger and higher objects than his ancestors. being a man of considerable and versatile ability, and ample fortune, with the hereditary opportunity which he possessed he had a right to aspire, and, as his vanity more than equalled his talents, his estimate of his own career was not mean. un- fortunately, before he left harrow, he was deprived of his borough, and this catastrophe eventually occasioned a con- siderable change in the views and conduct of mr. bertie tremaine. in the confusion of parties and political thought which followed the reform act of lord grey, an attempt to govern the country by the assertion of abstract principles, and which it was now beginning to be the fashion to call liberalism, seemed the only opening to public life ; and mr. bertie tremaine, who piqued himself on recognising the spirit of the age, adopted liberal opinions with that youthful fervour, which is sometimes called enthusiasm, but which is a heat of imagination subsequently discovered to be incon- sistent with the experience of actual life. at cambridge mr. bertie tremaine was at first the solitary pupil of ben- tham, whose principles he was prepared to carry to their extreme consequences, but being a man of energy and in possession of a good estate, he soon found followers, for the sympathies of youth are quick, and even with an original wit and wisdom of the it is dishonest to blush when you speak the truth, even if it be to your shame.—(‘winter') contarini fleming. time is precious, but truth is more precious than time. speech at aylesbury, royal and central bucks agricultural association, september , . tu quoque. a tu quoque should always be good-humoured, for it has nothing else to recommend it.—speech in house of commons (prosecution of the war), may , . turf. that vast institution of national demoralisation.— endymion. even the jockeys were civil to him, and welcomed him with a sweet smile and gracious nod, instead of the sour and malicious wink with which those characters generally treat a stranger; those mysterious characters, who in their influence over their superiors, and their total want of sympathy with their species, are our only match for the oriental eunuch.-the young duke. the ring is up ; the last odds declared ; all gallop away to the warren. a few minutes, only a few minutes, and the event that for twelve months has been the pivot of so much calculation, of such subtle combinations, of such deep conspiracies, round which the thought and passion of the sporting world have hung like eagles, will be recorded in the fleeting tablets of the past. but what minutes count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day and the race a life.—sybil, "utor. mr. dallas was a clergyman, a profound grecian, a poor man. he had edited the ‘alcestis' and married his laundress; lost money by his edition, and his fellowship by his match.-vivian grey. wit and wisdom of the turkish ship and two greek vessels, which had violated the neutrality. their crews now mingled with the crowd. i beheld, for the first time, the haughty and turbaned ottoman, sitting cross-legged on his carpet under a colonnade, sipping his coffee and smoking a long chibouque, and the greeks, with their small red caps, their high foreheads, and arched eyebrows. can this be modern venice p i thought. can this be the silent, and gloomy, and decaying city, over whose dis- honourable misery i have so often wept? could it ever have been more enchanting? are not these indeed still subjects of a doge, and still the bridegrooms of the ocean p alas ! the brilliant scene was as unusual as unexpected, and was accounted for by its being the feast day of a favourite saint. nevertheless, i rejoiced at the unaccustomed appear- ance of the city at my entrance, and still i recall with plea- sure the delusive moments, when, strolling about the place of st. mark, the first evening that i was in venice, i mingled for a moment in a scene that reminded me of her lost light- heartedness, and of that unrivalled gaiety which so long captivated polished europe. the moon was now in her pride. i wandered once more to the quay, and heard for the first time a serenade. a juggler was conjuring in a circle under the walls of my hotel, and an itinerant opera was performing on the bridge. it is by moonlight that venice is indeed an enchanted city. the effect of the floods of silver light upon the twinkling fretwork of the moresco architecture, the total absence of all harsh sounds, the never-ceasing music on the waters, produce an effect upon the mind which cannot be experienced in any other city. as i stood gazing upon the broad track of bril- liant light that quivered over the lagune, a gondolier saluted me. i entered his boat, and desired him to row me to the grand canal. the marble palaces of my ancestors rose on each side, like a series of vast and solemn temples. how sublime earl of beaconsfield. europe, who have struggled in the less merciful strife of aspiring senates ; men too, some of them, lords of a thousand vassals and chief proprietors of provinces, yet not one of them whose heart does not at this moment tremble as he awaits the first presence of the maiden who must now ascend her throne. a hum of half-suppressed conversation which would attempt to conceal the excitement, which some of the greatest of them have since acknowledged, fills that bril- liant assemblage ; that sea of plumes, and glittering stars, and gorgeous dresses. hush | the portals open ; she comes ; the silence is as deep as that of a noontide forest. attended for a moment by her royal mother and the ladies of her court, who bow and then retire, victoria ascends her throne ; a girl, alone, and for the first time, amid an assemblage of men. in a sweet and thrilling voice, and with a composed / mien which indicates rather the absorbing sense of august duty than an absence of emotion, the queen announc her accession to the throne of her ancestors, and her humble hope that divine providence will guard over the fulfilment of her lofty trust. the prelates and captains and chief men of her realm / then advance to the throne, and, kneeling before her, pledge their troth, and take the sacred oaths of allegiance and supremacy. allegiance to one who rules over the land that the great macedonian could not conquer; and over a continent of which even columbus never dreamed : to the queen of every sea, and of nations in every zone. it is not of these that i would speak; but of a nation nearer her footstool, and which at this moment looks to her with anxiety, with affection, perhaps with hope. fair and serene, she has the blood and beauty of the saxon. will it be her proud destiny at length to bear relief to suffering millions, and, with that soft hand which might inspire trou- * earl of beaconsfield. has a profession, he is to be driven from it. he is cut by the higher orders, and hissed by the lower. he is, in truth, a sort of whipping boy, by whose vicarious agonies all the other transgressors of the same class are, it is supposed, sufficiently chastised. we reflect very complacently on our own severity, and compare, with great pride, the high standard of morals established in england with the parisian laxity. at length, our anger is satiated, our victim is ruined and heart-broken, and our virtue goes quietly to sleep for seven years more.— venetia. the beautiful cannot be obtained without virtue, if virtue consists, as i believe, in the control of the passions, in the sentiment of repose, and the avoidance of all things in excess.-(“mr. phoebus') lothair. voice. there is no index of character so sure as the voice. there are tones, tones brilliant and gushing, which impart a quick and pathetic sensibility: there are others that, deep and yet calm, seem the just interpreters of a serene and exalted intellect. but the rarest and the most precious of all voices is that which combines passion and repose; and whose rich and restrained tones exercise, perhaps, on the human frame a stronger spell than even the fascination of the eye, or that bewitching influence of the hand, which is the privilege of the higher races of asia.-tancred. hark! a voice softer and sweeter than the night breaks upon the air. it is the voice of his beloved ; and, indeed, with all her singular and admirable qualities, there was not anything more remarkable about henrietta temple than her voice. it was a rare voice ; so that in speaking, and in ordinary conversation, though there was no one whose utterance was more natural and less unstudied, it forcibly affected you. she could not give you a greeting, bid you an adieu, or make a routine remark, without impressing you with her power and sweetness. it sounded like a bell, sweet w it and wisdom of the and clear and thrilling; it was astonishing what influence a little word uttered by this woman, without thought, would have upon those she addressed.—henrietta temple. voltaire. now i had never read any work of voltaire's. the truth is, i had no great opinion of the philosopher of fer- ney ; for my friend, the professor, had assured me that voltaire knew nothing of the dorians, that his hebrew also was invariably incorrect, and that he was altogether a super- ficial person : but i chanced to follow my father's coun- sel. i stood before the hundred volumes ; i glanced with indifference upon the wondrous and witching shelf. his- tory, poetry, philosophy, the lucid narrative, and the wild invention, and the unimpassioned truth, they were all before me, and with my ancient weakness for romance i drew out zadig. never shall i forget the effect this work produced on me. what i had been long seeking offered itself. this strange mixture of brilliant fantasy and poignant truth, this unrivalled blending of ideal creation and worldly wisdom, it all seemed to speak to my two natures. i wandered a poet in the streets of babylon, or on the banks of the tigris. a philosopher and a statesman, i moralised over the condition of man and the nature of government. the style enchanted me. i delivered myself up to the full abandonment of its wild and brilliant grace. i devoured them all, volume after volume. morning, and night, and noon, a volume was ever my companion. i ran to it after my meals, it reposed under my pillow. as i read i roared, i laughed, i shouted with wonder and admi- ration ; i trembled with indignation at the fortunes of my race ; my bitter smile sympathised with the searching ridi- cule and withering mockery.—contarini fleming. earl of beaconsfield. volunteers. the british army is the garrison of our empire, but the volunteer force is the garrison of our hearths and homes. patriotism never had a better inspiration than when it established that effective and powerful institution.--speech at aylesbury, royal and central bucks agricultural associa- tion, february , . waldershare. he was a young man of about three or four and twenty years: fair, with short curly brown hair and blue eyes; not exactly handsome, but with a countenance full of expression, and the index of quick emotions, whether of joy or of anger. waldershare was the only child of a younger son of a patri- cian house, and had inherited from his father a moderate but easy fortune. he was one of those vivid and brilliant organisations which exercise a peculiarly attractive influence on youth. he had been the hero of the debating club at cambridge, and many believed in consequence that he must become prime minister. he was witty and fanciful, and, though capricious and bad-tempered, could flatter and caress. waldershare was profligate, but sentimental ; un- principled, but romantic; the child of whim, and the slave of imagination so freakish and deceptive that it was almost impossible to foretell his course. he was alike capable of sacrificing all his feelings to worldly considerations or of forfeiting the world for a visionary caprice. . . . waldershare talked the whole way. it was a rhapsody of fancy, fun, knowledge, anecdote, brilliant badinage—even passionate seriousness. sometimes he recited poetry, and his voice was musical; and when he had attuned his companions to a sentimental pitch, he would break into mockery, and touch with delicate satire every mood of human feeling. all this time, what was now and ever remarkable in waldershare were his manners. they were finished, even to courtliness. wit and wisdom of the result of a quick, vigilant, and comprehensive glance, are generally triumphant in the field : but in civil affairs, where results are not immediate, in diplomacy and in the management of deliberative assemblies, where there is much intervening time and many counteracting causes, this velocity of decision, this fitful and precipitate action, are often productive of considerable embarrassment, and sometimes of terrible discomfiture. it is remarkable that men celebrated for military prudence are often found to be headstrong statesmen. in civil life a great general is fre- quently and strangely the creature of impulse ; influenced in his political movements by the last snatch of information; and often the creature of the last aide-de-camp who has his ear.—coningsby. the duke of wellington brought to the post of first minister immortal fame; a quality of success which would almost seem to include all others. his public knowledge was such as might be expected from one whose conduct already formed an important portion of the history of his country. he had a personal and intimate acquaintance with the sovereigns and chief statesmen of europe, a kind of information in which english ministers have generally been deficient, but without which the management of our external affairs must at the best be haphazard. he pos- sessed administrative talents of the highest order. the tone of the age, the temper of the country, the great qualities and the high character of the minister, indicated a long and prosperous administration. the only individual in his cabinet who, from a combination of circumstances rather than from any intellectual supremacy over his col- leagues, was competent to be his rival, was content to be his successor. in his most aspiring moments, mr. peel, in all probability, aimed at no higher reach ; and with youth and the leadership of the house of commons, one has no reason ~. be surprised at his moderation. the conviction that the uke's government would only cease with the termination of - wit and wisdom of the down thrones and churches, changed dynasties, abrogated and remodelled parliaments ; they have disfranchised scot- land, and confiscated ireland. one may admire the vigour and consistency of the whig party, and recognise in their career that unity of purpose that can only spring from a great principle ; but the whigs introduced sectarian reli- gion, sectarian religion led to political exclusion, and political exclusion was soon accompanied by commercial restraint.—coningsby. i look upon an orangeman as a pure whig; the only professor and practiser of unadulterated whiggism.—con- ingsby. . whisper. a whisper of emphasis.-zothair. will. everything in this world depends upon will.—(‘lady montfort’) endymion. - williams (fewwick) of kars. i wish the house had proposed a vote of thanks to general williams and expressed its indignation at the manner in which he had been supported. but we were stopped by routine. there was no precedent. i think it would have been wise if we had made a precedent. there would have been something noble in an exile and a prisoner receiving the homage of an applauding senate and an admiring country. i think it is well, sometimes, that we should show our sense of the conduct of men who, though not successful, are at least triumphant. sir, there are heroes in adversity; there are prisoners—not to say it profanely— who lead captivity captive. we have not been able to express those feelings ; but at least we have done this ; we have not taken refuge in a shameful silence ; we have had the satisfaction of expressing our sympathy with heroic earl of beaconsfield. merit and with national honour.—speech in house of com- / / . woman. the action of woman on our destiny is unceasing.— sybil. a reputation for success has as much influence with women as a reputation for wealth has with men.—con- ingsby. where there are crowned heads, there are always some charming women.—endymion. our strong passions break into a thousand purposes; women have one. their love is dangerous, but their hate is fatal.—alroy. - in the present day, and especially among women, one would almost suppose that health was a state of unnatural existence.—the young duke. woman alone can organise a drawing-room ; man succeeds sometimes in a library.—comingsby. male firmness is very often obstinacy. women have always something better, worth all qualities. they have tact. (‘lord eskdale') coningsby. the woman who is talked about is generally virtuous, and she is only abused because she devotes to one the charms which all wish to enjoy.—the infernal marriage. there is no mortification, however keen, no misery, however desperate, which the spirit of woman cannot in some degree lighten or alleviate.—coningsby. talk to women as much as you can. this is the best school. this is the way to gain fluency, because you need not care what you say, and had better not be sensible.—(‘baron fleming') contarini fleming. i believe women are loved much more for themselves than is supposed. besides, a woman should be content, if she is loved ; that is the point; and she is not to inquire how far the accidents of life have contributed to the result.— (“myra') endymion. - earl of beaconsfield. to review in his memory all the charming women of whom he had read in the books of all literatures, and whom he had known himself in every court and clime, and the result of his reflections ever was, that the charming woman in ques- tion was by no means the paragon, which some who had read, seen, and thought less, might be inclined to esteem her. there was, indeed, no subject on which sidonia dis- coursed so felicitously as on woman, and none on which lord eskdale more frequently endeavoured to attract him. he would tell you talmudical stories about our mother eve and the queen of sheba, which would have astonished you. there was not a free lady of greece, leontium and phryne, lais, danae, and lamia, the egyptian girl thonis, respect- ing whom he could not tell you as many diverting tales as if they were ladies of loretto ; not a nook of athenaeus, not an obscure scholiast, not a passage in a greek orator, that could throw light on these personages, which was not at his command. what stories would he tell you about marc antony and the actress cytheris in their chariot drawn by tigers | what a character would he paſht of that flora who gave her gardens to the roman people ! it would draw tears to your eyes. no man was ever so learned in the female manners of the last centuries of polytheism as sidonia. you would have supposed that he had devoted his studies peculiarly to that period if you had not chanced to draw him to the italian middle ages. and even these startling revelations were almost eclipsed by his anecdotes of the court of henry iii. of france, with every character of which he was as familiar as with the brilliant groups that at this moment filled the saloons of madame de r d.—coningsby. one should always make it a rule to give up to them, and then they are sure to give up to us.-(‘lord eskdale') coningsby. few great men have flourished, who, were they candid, would not acknowledge the vast advantages they have wit and wisdom of the experienced in the earlier years of their career from the spirit and sympathy of woman. it is woman whose prescient admiration strings the lyre of the despondent poet, whose genius is afterwards to be recognised by his race, and which often embalms the memory of the gentle mistress whose kindness solaced him in less glorious hours. how many an official portfolio would never have been carried, had it not been for her sanguine spirit and assiduous love how many a depressed and despairing advocate has clutched the great seal, and taken his precedence before princes, borne onward by the breeze of her inspiring hope, and illumined by the sunshine of her prophetic smile ! a female friend, amiable, clever, and devoted, is a possession more valuable than parks and palaces; and, without such a muse, few men can succeed in life, none be content.—henrietta temple. wordsworth. gentlemanly man—but only reads his own poetry.— (‘alhambra') vivian grey. s working classes. the honourable gentleman, the member for birmingham, talks of the working classes as if they were paupers. i protest against these descriptions. the working classes are not paupers ; on the contrary, they are a very wealthy class— they are the wealthiest in the country. their aggregate income is certainly greater than any other class; their accumulations are to be counted by millions—and i am not speaking merely of the deposits in savings banks, but of funds of which i am aware they are in possession, and which are accumulated to meet their trade necessities and to defend their labour and rights, which can also be counted by millions—and therefore i protest against that language that the great body of the working classes in this country are in a state of pauperism.—speech in house of commons (elections bill), july , . o wit and wisdom of the youth". youth is, we all know, somewhat reckless in assertion, and when we are juvenile and curly one takes a pride in sarcasm and invective.—speech in house of commons (her majesty's speech, amendments), june , . the two greatest stimulants in the world are youth and debt.—(“fakredeen') tancred. you know too little of life to think of death.-(“winter') contarini fleming. oh! what is wisdom, and what is virtue, without youth ! talk not to me of knowledge of mankind; give, give me back the sunshine of the breast which they o'erclouded ! talk not to me of proud morality; oh! give me innocence the young duke. the blunders of youth are preferable to the triumphs of manhood, or the successes of old age.—(‘princess of tivoli’) jothair. almost everything that is great has been done by youth. (sidonia') coningsby. youth, glittering youth ! i remember when the pro- spect of losing my youth frightened me out of my wits; i dreamt of nothing but grey hairs, a paunch, and the gout or the gravel. but i fancy every period of life has its pleasures, and as we advance in life the exercise of power and the possession of wealth must be great consolations to the majority; we bully our children and hoard our cash.- ( lord cadurcis') venetia. there are few things more gloomy than the recollection of a youth that has not been enjoyed.—henrietta temple. ‘for life in general there is but one decree. youth is a blunder ; manhood a struggle ; old age a regret. do not suppose,’ he added, smiling, ‘that i hold that youth is genius ; all that i say is, that genius, when young, is divine. why, the greatest captains of ancient and modern times both conquered italy at five-and-twenty youth, extreme earl of beaconsfield. youth, overthrew the persian empire. don john of austria won lepanto at twenty-five, the greatest battle of modern time; had it not been for the jealousy of philip, the next year he would have been emperor of mauritania. gaston de foix was only twenty-two when he stood a victor on the plain of ravenna. every one remembers condé and rocroy at the same age. gustavus adolphus died at thirty- eight. look at his captains: that wonderful duke of weimar, only thirty-six when he died. banier himself, after all his miracles, died at forty-five. cortes was little more than thirty when he gazed upon the golden cupolas of mexico. when maurice of saxony died at thirty-two, all europe acknowledged the loss of the greatest captain and the profoundest statesman of the age. then there is nelson, clive ; but these are warriors, and perhaps you may think there are greater things than war. i do not : i worship the lord of hosts. but take the most illustrious achieve- ments of civil prudence. innocent iii., the greatest of the popes, was the despot of christendom at thirty-seven. john de medici was a cardinal at fifteen, and, according to guicciardini, baffled with his statecraft ferdinand of arragon himself. he was pope as leo x. at thirty-seven. luther robbed even him of his richest province at thirty-five. take ignatius loyola and john wesley, they worked with young brains. ignatius was only thirty when he made his pilgrim- age and wrote the “spiritual exercises.” pascal wrote a great work at sixteen, and died at thirty-seven the greatest of frenchmen. “ah! that fatal thirty-seven, which reminds me of byron, greater even as a man than a writer. was it experience that guided the pencil of raphael when he painted the palaces of rome? he, too, died at thirty-seven. richelieu was secretary of state at thirty-one. well, then, there were bolingbroke and pitt, both ministers before other men left off cricket. grotius was in great practice at seventeen, and attorney-general at twenty-four. and acquaviva: acqua- e n d y m i o n . a novel. by the right hon. b enja, min dis r a e l i, earl of beaconsfield, k. g., author of “lothair,” etg. “a study of society by one who has probed deeply the conditions, the tendencies, and the perils of the existing order.”—new york sun. “its distinctive merit consists in the unconsciousness of its character- ization and the epigrammatic brilliancy of the dialogue.”—philadelphia morth american. “there is hardly a character that can not readily be recognized by the appreciative reader, and not a few of them are forcibly or at least entertainingly depicted.”—new york world. “it is full of its author's glistening sentences, and the surprises which he is accustomed to give his readers and hearers.”—evening ez- press. “it has so much epigram, satire, and dogma in matters of social eth- ics, politics, literature, religion, which interest the world to-day, that it would provoke perusal even if its author were not the famous man he was.”—home journal. “it flashes with genial wit and sparkles with brilliant epigrams.”— new york evening post. in two styles: mo, cloth, $ . . cheap edition, mo, cloth, $ . . iby the same a uthor: lothair. mo, cloth, $ . . henrietta temple. vo, paper, cents. venetia. vo §. cents. the young für.e.' vo, paper, cents. miriam alroy., vo, paper, cents. contarini fleming. vo, paper, cents. vivian grey. vo, paper, cents. coningsby. vo, paper, cents. tancred ; 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't'he l'ulot ol of l'rivnto lifo...... hatophobia ................ ... i'mtarfainillas at the mon-sido ..... the latest from america... i'rofunditje .................. punch's pot-pourri pour rire... mr. l'unch's landbook to astrol use and abuse.. on tight lacing .. courage in the omnino pecles.... crinoline's raging fury ...... the llome of the british drama.. a fallacy for the faculties ....... cold in the lend. ............... |love in low life ............ a reflection on literaturo ....... a veil............... irish development.......... pretty little thought: : l'hilosophical drama ...... the works and sayings of anon.. a ten-totaller's wish .... | your literary women .. domestic recipes ........ .. | where are the police...... ...... false hairs and graces.. | words! words! words! ......... kindred quacks...... the oldest note of interrogation. babyolatry .. " breaches of decorum".. what is a baby !.. answers to conundrums ... the fine old english | how to see the teeth of a beauti- quite natural ......... ful young lady.... world's opinion...... punch and his pippins . veil on duelling ... ..... experience .............. • ... ... ...... contents. ରିଶ ଶ ଶ a lazy horse...... : page page to parents and guardians ........ | tale of the dog-days ..... how to weed your friends .... lines drawn in a circle .......... prize (fighting) joke .... not to be fathomed ........ stanzas for the sentimental....... the cloak of religion......... don't say neigh................. the chemistry of common domes- getting drunk with a purpose... tic life................ hint to mischief-makers.... | a devouring flame.... a flight of fancy.......... | “ladies can, we know," .. a monster in human form .. surly sentiments .... faithful even in affliction. life a library ..... niobe for a better half . the philosopher and the fly ..... sweets to the sweet......... ambition.................... a poor delicate creature ...... the mahogany speaker ...... the art of conversation.......... how to be an early bird..... people i should like to meet..... love's increase .................. is man a free agent!............ how to cook your dinner without etiquette for evening parties .... coals, gas, or fuel............. the swoop of the night hawk ... curious chinese definition .. earth and water.. ruins. is it so?...... bad thoughts... two things rather difficultato be done at once... thumbnail portraits ... the greatest trial of patience.... homeopathy .......... lessons for old and young ....... platitudes ............. an invariable rule ..., ......... hemp to its best use... ..... too horrible to contemplate..... a tragedy in london life.... how sometimes to prove an alibi. transparencies................... / wholesome superstitions......... punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. punch in china. ince each gobe-mouche is speak- ing of nanking or peking, and as each critic, wit, or pro- fessional diner, . explains that you can't choose but see that the mantchews must soon be entirely driven from china, and that a high price on our pekoe and hyson must be the infallible end of the clatter, mr. punch, who's a strong goût for souchong and congou determines to go and see what is the matter. it boots not to say how he goes; for to-day young and old, grave and gay, so affect locomotion, that the press every hour produces a shower of“ rough notes of a slide on the great frozen ocean," or “a midsummer's ramble from stamford to stambol;" punch’s pocket-book of fun. the essence of punch. being cuts and cuttings from the wit and wisdom of twenty-five volumes of punch. ylustrated with engrabings, by s. p. avery, from drawings by john leech, tenniel, doyle, cruickshanks and others. new yokk: d. appleton and company. . h . , , harvard college u rary from the library of mrs. ellen haven ross june , . sno punch's pocket-book of fun. oontents. hole...nie delicacy costotaller.. page page mr. punch in china............... .. the secret of youth..... domestic economy... .. the fox and the grapes........... antiquities on the shortest notice. shabby ingratitude............. wholesome prejudice......... . proverbial philosophy ..... knowledge ....................... a few sayings founded on “ doings" the most curious thing .......... an example to young ladies... things that you never can, by any little facts worth knowing...... accident, get & lady (be she " ordered to lie upon the table”.. young or old) to confess to ..... rude and crude observations .. extremes...... old lady and juvenile .. a voice from the stomach ........ a drop in the eye.............. a flower from a lover's button. net profit........................ household songs, -the tea service | the confession of a fond mother.. vulgar definition of a teetotaller.. the electric story-teller .......... spirit rapping ..... dressing in america........ confessions of a spirit-rapping me- rules for self-government.... dium ..... “lud a' mercy! how pretty the best partners... how women veil the truth the shortest act on record..... fresh from america......... the young lady's dream book... a journey without end..... the lost mutton................ character of an habitual sot... a happy inspiration... the " manifold writer"........ nelson vindicated ..... filling up the census paper .... "the monumental bust the art of performing .... a soporific ................... the tyranny of furniture....... a fertility well-grounded ...... the two extremes of fashion... how to make friends happy...... birds--not of a feather.. a matrimonial alliance ........... the east wind .... the crush at the queen's drawing an art-truth...... room .... gentle satires ..... short lecture to young ladies.... the secret of popularity a roman nose pat out of joint ... | how are promises made fast?... curious chinese definitions of wo the poetical cookery book ....... man ........................... health ........................... the world's verdict .. an unmanly assault on bonnets .. ...***! evils attendant on wealth..... a sweet sentiment .......... sentimentalities ....... “it's all right" .... ...... a case of chloroform .. an unknown benefactor.... a phenomenon ...... happiness ..... fast nursery rhymes...... good news from the kitchen.... a little lectura addressed to my contracting bad habits .... dears..... the handsome young clergyman. she-doctoring ... stray shot...... fillibart of petof furnitrashion. vi contents. page • page the laugh behind the scenes..... the fruits of matrimony......... the best persons to know ....... the surgeon's wind .... the sick bachelor ... what happened to smith......... recipes for a happy new year keep your temper............... “a chimley a-t-er". things which no young lady ever the law of domestic storms..... does if she can help it .. lunacy and longevity... recreations in natural history ... she-heroic resolution........... a pretty scale of prices.......... scenes from the life of an unpro the steam annihilator........... tected female ..... another “height of impudence". maine model law.... birthday present ........ a fitting invitation.... a con from the shakspearian clown advice to the fair sex........ poetry of nature.. an old proverb improved...... burglary and bronchitis prevented book-keeping taught in one les a definition of cant ............. son........ a moral for the months .......... the first of september .. the poorest platitudes........... severity of the season. things that it's better to do...... the poetry of nature....... diplomacy....................... funny market and witty intelli the learned language of flowers gence.......................... gorgeous spectacle.... the conversation of flowers..... contentment ......... . a love song of the money-market mr. right........... punch on cricket. the teacher taught an extreme test ...... advice by an undertaker.. . rude questions to a wife ........ the philosophy of smoking ...... female claimants for boredom... stanzas for the sentimental....... taxidermy for parents ............ three things modern young men the shops at christmas .......... cultivate ............ ......... when grog may be taken medici comfort for the corpulent........ nally...... ...... a conversation in a lodging house philosophy for the turf .......... overheard on the staircase ..... sure symptoms of christmas ..... what shall i do with my money?. different phases of feeling ....... espouse in haste, and repent at propriety in dress ...... leisure................... ...... the protocol of private life... hatophobia .... ... paterfamilias at the sea-side .... the latest from america. profundities .... punch's pot-pourri pour rire.. mr. panch's handbook to astrol. use and abuse................... ogy .......... on tight lacing ..... courage in the canine species.... crinoline's raging fury..... the home of the british drama.. a fallacy for the faculties ....... cold in the head..... love in low life ................ a reflection on literature a veil.................... irish development.. pretty little thought..... philosophical drama .. the works and sayings of anon.. a tea-totaller's wish your literary women . domestic recipes .. where are the police.. false hairs and graces... ... words! words! words!.........) kindred quacks.. ..... the oldest note of interrogation, babyolatry ......... ....... “ breaches of decorum".......... what is a baby?. ...... | answers to conundrums ......... the fine old english innkeeper... how to see the teeth of & beauti- quite natural..... .... ful young lady ...... ...... the world's opinion............. punch and his pippins .......... doggrel on duelling ............. ' experience ........... thrultivate the corpodging upuoui . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ., ... contents. vii :....., page page to parents and guardians ........ | tale of the dog-days how to weed your friends ...... | lines drawn in a circle .... prize (fighting) joke ............ not to be fathomed .......... stanzas for the sentimental....... the cloak of religion........... don't say neigh................. . the chemistry of common domes- getting drunk with a purpose.... tic life...................... hint to mischief-makers.......... | a devouring flame.... a flight of fancy................ “ladies can, we know a monster in human form .. surly sentiments .... faithful even in affliction. ... life a library ...... niobe for a better half .. the philosopher and the fly .. sweets to the sweet. ... ambition..... a lazy horse.... .. a poor delicate creature ..... the mahogany speaker .... the art of conversation...... how to be an early bird...... people i should like to meet... love's increase .................. is man a free agent?............ how to cook your dinner without etiquette for evening parties .... coals, gas, or fuel............ the swoop of the night hawk ... curious chinese definition ...... earth and water......... ruins .................. bad thoughts...... two things rather difficult to be a song .... done at once....... thumbnail portraits . the greatest trial of patience.... homeopathy ....... lessons for old and young ....... platitudes ............... an invariable rule ............... hemp to its best use..... i too horrible to contemplate..... a tragedy in london life.. how sometimes to prove an alibi. transparencies... / wholesome superstitions......... is it so?......:: dificult to be punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. punch in china. ince each gobe-mouche is speak- ing of nanking or peking, and as each critic, wit, or pro- fessional diner, explains that .you can't choose but see that the mantchews must soon be entirely driven from china, and that a high price on our pekoe and hyson must be the infallible end of the clatter, mr. punch, who's a strong goût for souchong and congou determines to go and see what is the matter. it boots not to say how he goes; for to-day young and old, grave and gay, so affect locomotion, that the press every hour produces a shower of“ rough notes of a slide on the great frozen ocean," or “a midsummer's ramble from stamford to stambol;" punch's pocket-book of fun. or “ the steppes of the cossacks, by one who has walked in 'em ;' and i'm sure that whate'er mr. punch's plans were, if these tourists could prosper, he wouldn't be baulked in 'em. like the witches, perchance, he might choose to advance, and so order his coachman to bring out his brouham; or ask phebus to lead forth that spirited steed, which is furnished, in turn, by each muse, with a groom: but, however, we'll fancy him safely in quansi, · or quantong, where, taking his place 'mid the great, he, like any philandering son of a mandarin, sits enjoying his opium cum dignitate. rich and stately pagodas he finds on the road, as he goes through the land, for the most part erected, when the smallest house-tax on gaul, briton, or saxon, would have stood not the least chance of being collected. wide canals, dykes, and sluices he sees, too, whose uses were applied both to traffic, to drainage, and tillage, when a hard rain had undone both paris and london, to the mud they were made of restoring each village. and they show him the pages of china's first sages, which were printed for sale in the towns of the tartar; when, with us, scarce a spark of wit gleamed in one clerk, and de montfort“ his mark" set to our magna charta. they declare, too, that banking quite flourished in nan- king, and that printed bank notes were in vogue at the hour when our yeomen and reeves exchanged bannocks for beeves, punca's pocket-book of fun. and seldom bought less than a sheep's worth of four. and he learns their silk factories furnished phylacteries, robes, handkerchiefs, tapestry too, in the jolly days when our sires wore a quaint but light coat of blue paint, with a few streaks of red upon high days and holidays : and that long, long ere bacon and bungay were taken unawares by the sudden blow up of their crucible, each chinese fire-eater had found“ vile saltpetre” to the purpose of killing “ tall fellows” reducible. then the more he inquires concerning their sires, the greater the reason he sees to anticipate that much of the mystery shrouding the history of europe, the records of china will dissipate ; for as old hoang tı built the wall, strong and high, to check the fierce huns as it now checks the tartars, not long after old hannibal conquered at canna, and then wasted his time in his snug winter quarters ; and as if china's sons had not driven those huns into europe by many a subsequent battle, a longer respite, i ween, for old rome there had been, nor europe so early had bowed to an attila. it is clear that a stranger and far greater danger threatened rome when on carthage her wrath she was wreaking; and that cato the censor had shown greater sense, or discernment, by crying “ delenda est peking !” but alas ! all these stories of china's old glories, mr. punch plainly sees it is vain to recall, since the course of the nation in civilization has for ages been typified best by its wall. punch's pocket-book of fun. no more, like his sires, the chinese aspires in science and art to be making some new step; but the national skill, like a soldier on drill, keeps performing a kind of perpetual goose-step. for the vast population, the hand cultivation of the still fertile country no longer suffices ; though to drain swamps they toil, and to carry up soil to the rocky hill sides, no unfrequent device is. and, on seeing their dainties, poor punch fit to faint is, as he cries, “nought but famine gives such things a price!” “rats and mice, and such small deer,” snakes and pup- pies are all dear, as helping to eke out their pittance of rice. now whilst thus his quick wit is on their antiquities busy as that of a layard or bonomi; or, like that of m'culloch, of pig, sheep, and bullock, rice and tea, is discussing the social economy, there springs up a great riot near, and the patriot army comes marching along in its pride ; crying out as they go, “ we are hostile to fô !” they fling down the josses on every side, and smash, in their scrimmages, all buddha's images, whilst a new-fangled creed by their chiefs is propounded, which they call christianity; though, when punch comes to scan it, he finds it is but confucius his creed “worse confounded.” now, in hamlet or city, all quarter or pity to their long-hated rulers the natives refuse; “peacock's plumes" and "red buttons " are nought but lost muttons, punch's pocket-book of fun. whilst impatient his badges of serfdom to lose, each chinese without fail parts his head from his tail, and henceforth minds his toupées instead of his queues. mr. punch—whilst applauding their courage, and lauding their natural wish to recover their freedom- still thinks that society may with propriety expect him a brief " screed o' doctrine ” to read 'em. so he summons their leader, and says, “ you indeed err, if you think that this triumph your labor will terminate; when the mantchews have vanished, there still must be banished many faults which for ages you've suffered to germinate. your own gross inhumanity, cunning and vanity, which still are so great that i cannot ignore 'em, helped the mantchews, who knew you right well, to sub- due you, as the mongols and khalkas had oft done before 'em. you have broken your chains of to-day with small pains ; but hereafter, if courage and honesty you lack, you will be conquered once more-like your fathers of yore, by the might of some yet to come kublai or hulakhu; for the hords of the north are still ripe to burst forth, as oft in their tents the rude minstrel or rhymer tunes his harp in the praise of those glorious days, when their sires fought bravely for gengis or timur. to conclude. if you'd thrive, you must earnestly strive to rub out of men's minds the stern dictum of tennyson, that 'in europe one day beats a year in cathay,' and thereto punch heartly gives you his benison.” punch's pocket-book of fun. domestic economy. lady of the house. my dear, will you allow me to offer you a glass of wine ? visitor. thank you—i'm very thirsty—i think i will. lady of the house (after a slight pause). have you remarked, my dear, how the young men of the present day waste their wine ? i'm sure they leave in their glasses just as much as they drink—and do you know, my dear, mr. skinflint always goes round after a party, and col- lects the wine-glasses together, and it's perfectly astonish- ing the quantity he finds in them. visitor (having just finished her glass). ye-ee-es. lady of the house. yes, my dear, it's a positive fact-and i know you will hardly believe it—but some- times, after a large evening party, he has been able to put away as many as three large decanters full ! [visitor turns pale, and recollects, all of a sudden, that she has a pressing call to make in the next street.] antiquities on the shortest notice. scene.—a celebrated curiosity-shop. antiquarian. what's the price of that mummy? old curiosity man. that mummy, sir,-two thousand years old—why, sir, the very lowest we could take for that mummy, sir, is a five pun' note. antiquarian. oh nonsense. i'll give you two pounds ten for it. old curiosity man. very sorry, sir, but can assure you, sir, it never was made for the money! punch's pocket-book of fun. v wholesome prejudice. “railroads, sib? i hate railroads, and i shall be very glad when they're done away with, and we've got the coaches again." knowledge.—the offspring of thought, but much of- tener an adopted child. . the most curious thing.-a woman not being curi. ous ! punch's pocket-book of fun. things that you never can, by any accident, get a lady (be she young or old) to confess to. that she laces tight! that her shoes are too small for her! that she is ever tired at a ball ! that she paints ! that she is as old as she looks! that she has been more than five minutes dressing ! that she has kept you waiting! that she blushed when a certain person's name was mentioned ! that she ever says a thing she doesn't mean ! that she is fond of scandal ! that she-she of all persons in the world—is in love! that she can't keep a secret! that she doesn't want a new bonnet! that she can do with one single thing less when she is about to travel ! that she hasn't the disposition of an angel, or the tem- per of a saint-or else how could she go through one-half of what she does ? that she doesn't know better than any one else what is best for her! that she is a flirt, or a coquette !! that she is ever in the wrong !!! extremes.—many a fool has passed for a clever man, because he has known how to hold his tongue; and many a clever man has passed for a fool because he has not known how to make use of it. punch's pocket-book of fun. a voice from the stomach. somebody recommends what he calls a “voice loz- enge,” which, it is asserted, gives “tone to the stomach.” this must be very convenient to singers; for anything which gives “tone to the stomach” must add to the usual advantage of a voce di petto, a regular voce di ventre, which would be hailed anywhere as a decided novelty. a stomach with a tone to it must be equal to a barrel organ, and would furnish to a vocalist the means of accom- panying himself without being dependent on any external instrument. we can understand the stomach of a cat having a tone, for it is the source whence we derive all our fiddle-strings; but the human stomach with a tone to it, is a phenomenon which ought to make the lozenge that produces it univer- sally popular. a flower from a lover's button-hole.-a lady's cheek is described as the poetical abode of the rose; but we are not told what kind of a rose. when an ardent lover steals a kiss, we suppose it is a “ cabbage-rose !! questionable delicacy.-a conscientious clerk re- fused a valuable situation under the electric telegraph company, because he did not like accepting “ a post, where he was a responsible agent, with unlimited li(e)-ability." vulgar definition of a teetotaller.—a drunk- ard convinced against his ( )will. punca's pocket-book of fun. confessions of a spirit-rapping medium. it was about the middle of february, when i had paid no rent for nine months, no taxes for six, and no trades- men for three, that i first began to hear a series of rap- pings of a most persevering character. to account for those rappings was extremely difficult, and i made no at- tempt to answer them, for i knew it would be quite use- less as i had not a rap in the house. at length it occurred to me, that though i could not answer the rappings, they might in some way be got to answer me; and as my whole life had been of a rather questionable nature, i resolved on trying the experiment. i was sitting alone about the middle of march, when i thought i heard a rapping, which soon became very vio- lent, at the outer door. having heard some talk of the spirit rappers, i determined to try and find out whether the rappings which were so frequent at my house could have anything to do with the phenomena alluded to. hav- ing lighted my pipe, i began to ask myself the question, “ can that be a creditor ? ” when there immediately came a very loud “rap.” as the spirits, i am told, an. swer by a “rap” when they intend to express an affirma- tive and give no sign when they mean to imply a negative, i made sure there was a creditor at the door. “is he alone ?" i asked. no answer! “ were they all cred. itors who have been rapping during the last few weeks ?” i inquired calmly, but there was such a thunder of “raps," lasting for several minutes, that i could not ask myself another question immediately, as i knew i could not have punch's pocket-book of fun. heard myself speak. “has the butcher been here ? ” was my next inquiry, which was answered by several “raps ” in quick succession, but when i hastily added, “ and will he trust me any longer ?” the rapping suddenly but most decidedly ceased. i had read in some american books on the subject that the spirits frequently moved furniture in the most eccen- tric manner. i determined therefore to choose the dark. est hour of the night to see whether it would be possible to get my furniture moved by the aid of such spirits as i might be able to command. i got a poor fellow who kept a truck to come to me, and intending to make him a “me- dium,” i brought him into communication with all the “spirits” i could get together, but the “ medium ” i had chosen was quite unable to preserve a happy “ medium," and the “spirits," having taken complete possession of him, began to throw him about in the most mischievous manner that can be conceived. they bumped him up against the wall, and when he tried to lift a table under their influ. ence, they threw him down on the top of it. while this was going on, the rappings became so violent that i, who was pretty well used to them, became alarmed ; and es- pecially when i heard something like the forcing open of a door, which made me apprehend that there was some frightful “ process,” perhaps a writ or a summons, with which the rappers intended to serve me out or rather at home-if they could get hold of me. seizing the first friendly wrapper-a macintosh—that i could lay my hands upon, i made my way out by a back door, and did not return till the day following. when i came back to punch's pocket-book of fun. my dwelling i became convinced in the most unpleasant manner that the « rappers” can really do what the amer- icans attribute to them. i had been told that in the uni- ted states there are “rappers” who have positively writ- ten with pen and ink, as well as moved furniture; and i could not doubt either fact when i found all my furniture had been carried away, and an inventory regularly written out lying on the floor, it was clear that not only was the house haunted by “rappers,” but the furniture had become “possessed” by some evil spirit in the shape of a “man in possession,” who had carried it away. from this time forth the house had become a source of such alarm to me that i left it; but i have been told that the “rappings" still continue as vehement as ever, and some of the “rap- pers” who possess the power of writing have placed a written notice on the door, which i have not ventured near enough to read, but which i have been told conveys an in- timation that they are acting as the "medium ” of the landlord; in whose name they will go upon the premises to take possession of them in a few days. the best partners. for whist, the cleverest and most indulgent; for dancing, the handsomest, and the most amusing; for business, the steadiest, the wealthiest, and the most at- tentive; and for marriage—one who combines the qualities of all the three. the shortest act on record:—the act ordaining the fast, for it was an act of no provisions at all. punch's pocket-book of fun. the young lady's dream book. in compliance with the wish expressed in several hun. dreds of charming and flattering notes, with which a cor- responding number of lady correspondents have been fa. vouring mr. punch ever since the pocket-book became one of the institutions of our happy country, he has caused to be prepared the following dreamer's manual, or com- plete and faithful exposition of dreams and visions. it has been carefully collated with all the most popular works of the same character, to which it will be found to bear remarkable affinity, and several new dreams have been added by the editors, who arranged express night- mares for this work exclusively, and regardless of indiges- tion. the following pages, into which is concentrated an incredible amount of dream lore, will now be the stand- ard authority on the subject, and no lady's dressing-table can be considered as properly furnished unless mr. punch's dream book reposes between the ring stand and the eau de cologne. aztecs. to dream of these repulsive objects, signifies that you will be exposed to the impertinence of some quack or other. to dream that you kiss the wretched lit- tle creatures implies that you have indeed been reduced to extremities. ant eater. to dream that you were taken to see it means that you will soon be invited to dinner with your cousins. the dream is, therefore, good or bad, according to the terms on which you are with your relatives. adelphi. to dream that you go there is lucky; and punch's pocket-book of fun. ul. if you dream that the green bushes was performed, it foretells that your life will be an everlasting peace. brighton. the dream of a visit to, means that your prospects are going to brighten, and that you may set your mind upon a peer baby. to dream that you, being single, are affection- ately caressing one in the presence of frederic, implies that you are a prudent girl, and will ere long meet your reward. chiswick fête. to dream of, implies a new bonnet at least. chobham. to dream of the camp at, clearly shows that though the captain has forgotten you, your heart is more faithful, which is comforting. crystal palace. to dream that you attend the in- auguration of, is a dream you will do well to tease your papa to carry out. if you dream that sir joseph paxton presents you with a bunch of orange-flowers, you will be married in ; so mind what you are about, dear. dancing. to dream that you are, is fortunate, but if in the polka your awkward partner tramples on your toes, or tears your dress, and you only.smile forgivingly, you will have, and deserve, an excellent partner for life.—ap- ply at fleet street. dreams. to dream that you are telling your dreams (unless it is to mr. punch), implies that your mind is scarcely so well cultivated as it ought to be, and that the sooner you begin a course of reading, the better for your present or future husband. engaged. to dream you are, and have lost the ring frederic gave you, is not of the slightest consequence even punch's pocket-book of fun. tal nose at it, while looking amiable, the remark under the preceding head will do again. jewelry. to dream that you are covered with, is good, but if you suddenly discover that the jewels are only paste, some jew is trying to cheat a gentleman who is or will be very dear to you. kiss. to dream that you have the “ amazon and the tiger" presented to you, and that it cannot be got into the drawing-room, predicts an embarrassment which need not be described until the dream occurs then write to us: letter. to dream that you receive, and that it is crossed and recrossed, means that spills are wanted for the parlor mantel-piece. mont blanc. to dream of, means that you are very fond of sweetmeats, especially of albert rock. moustaches. to dream of, if the wearer be under forty, is good. if he be over that age, be warned; he is a traitor of the deepest dye. married. see money. music. to dream you hear. the luck depends on the composer. if mendelssohn or auber, you are to be con- gratulated—if henry russell or the cats in the next gar- den, the sooner you wake the better. money. to dream a magnificent young nobleman offers you a bag of, and a wedding-ring, is bad; because probably you will be disappointed. to dream that some- body is teaching you decimals, and making pretty little jokės to you about “scents;" “mille pardons," and so punch's pocket-book of fun. forth, with appropriate action, portends that you will tell frederic not to be so silly. but he will. name. to dream you cannot remember your, means that you desire to change it, and if for the better, we hope you will. opera. to dream you visit, and frederic talks to you all the time, denotes that you and he are very sensible young people, especially if pietro il grande or jessonda is being performed. if your bouquet falls over into the pit, and is picked up by a very handsome man, who presses it to his waistcoat, you are a coquette, and we shall tell frederic. punch. to dream you see mr. punch is the most for- tunate thing, except one (which is actually seeing him), that could happen to you. if he smiles upon you, which, if you are pretty, it is probable he will, look forward to a happy and prosperous life. if he frown, examine your whole conduct, and immediately reform anything likely to displease him. if you are in any doubt as to the subject, write to him frankly, and also legibly. queen. to dream your queen was taken at chess de- notes that you will soon have a mate. rudeness. to dream that you have received any, infallibly indicates that you have been in society where you had no business to be, and most likely without your friends knowledge. rhinoceros. to dream that you are seated in a silver car on the back of a, with prince albert holding a brown gingham umbrella over you, and mr. harley and the lord chancellor strewing sugar-plums in your way, and that punch's pocket-book of fun. thus you go riding to st. paul's to deposit in triumph a golden crochet-hook and a raspberry tart, means that fred- eric's salary will be raised one-third, that his uncle will furnish the house, and that his dear old mamma will pre- sent you with such a dinner and breakfast service. but you will be very lucky to dream this dream in the exact order required. sleep. to dream you go to, if before xii, is good. later, not so good, and denotes that you are allowed to go to too many parties a great deal. tea. to dream that you make, but can see very few spoons, means that almost all the young men at your next party will be agreeable-probably your mamma has been inviting the writers in punch. unicorn. to dream that you are worried by a, de- notes that frederic will take to the key-bugle, rather to the disturbance of your domestic peace. veil. to dream you are taking the, means that you will do a sensible thing, when you walk out at rams- gate, for the sea-breezes, though healthy, make the face a little rough. to dream cardinal wiseman offers you one, and that frederic bonnets his eminence, denotes that frederic is also a wise man. wedding. to dream that you are at your own, and that you cannot manage to utter the word obey, on which frederic walks out of the church, indicates that fortune is very kind, and gives you a hint which you will do well to consider xerxes. to dream that you are, and that you are lashing the sea into a foam, denotes that you do not pay punch's pocket-book of fun. sufficient attention to your mamma's instructions about whipping the syllabubs and trifles. now, as frederic likes these things—need we say more to a girl who means to make home happy ? yellow. to dream that you look, denotes that not only emma vernon, but even that dowdified rosanna brown will have new dresses and mantles at the pic-nic on tuesday, and you will go in that odious old bonnet. but if the yellow seems to come off, it means that frederic will take no notice of the bonnet, and will tell you, as you walk away together, to look at some particular view he pretends to recollect, that you look prettier than you ever did in your life. so save your money, there's a good girl, to pay your milli- ner's bill. zebra. to dream you see, means that frederic has gone and bought himself such a lovely striped waistcoat, just because you said you liked the pattern. isn't he a dear? the lost mutton. a family glee. where is our leg of mutton ? gone, gone, gone! . who could have been the glutton that made his meal thereon ? it was the cat; no doubt of that: jane's sure the fact was so ; for the joint was quite secure last night, when she went to meet her beau ! punch's pocket-book of fun. a happy inspiration. happy the donkey, free from care, whom a few prickly thistles bound, content to breath the rural air in his own pound happy the hog, remote from noise, who could no better bliss desire, than wallowing, far from cruel boys, in his own mire. happy the lawyer wholly free from conscience, and to pity lost, whom a few simple clients fee to their own cost. happy the lawyer's clerk who shines, of shilling dancing rooms the star, and who to patronize inclines a cheap cigar. happy the constable who walks about his beat with eager look, and ultimately stops and talks, with his own cook. happy the cabman who contrives to take a fare to meet a train, and robs the passenger he drives, who can't complain. punch's pocket-book of fun. happy the poet who indites these sentiments so pure and fine, and gets for everything he writes twopence a line. nelson vindicated. among the numerous popular errors that descend from generation to generation is the absurd notion that nelson was always sea-sick in a naval engagement. we take leave to deny the preposterous supposition, for we defy anybody suffering from sickness at sea to give an order for anything—except perhaps a glass of brandy and water—which he might accomplish by a convulsive effort. if nelson had really been sea-sick at the battle of trafal- gar, his celebrated speech delivered just before going into action would have come down to posterity in the following form :-“ england (here! steward ! ) expects (a basin!) that every man (steward, i say ! ) this day will do (stew- ard ! ) his duty (basin !)” “the monumental bust."-a yankee says that the poet, when he alluded to the “monumental bust,” evi- dently meant to imply the “ crack of dome !" a soporific.—why is the practice of praising chil. dren like opium ?-because it's laudanum. a fertility well-grounded.- periodicals are the dead leaves that fertilize the soil of literature. punch's pocket-book of pun. how to make friends happy. be always ready to minister to the necessities of your friend. he will often want the conceit taken out of him ; and it will become you to do him that kindness. treat this failing in him, and all his other failings, precisely as if they were your own; that is to say, mortify them. seize every opportunity of saying things calculated to take him down. you should regard as failings, on the part of your friend, not only his downright whims, caprices, and hu- mors, but likewise all the tastes and inclinations that he has, if he has any in particular. if he possesses a favorite horse, dog or gun, always disparage it. this will tend to wean him from excessive attachment to earthly objects, yourself of course excepted. sneer at the make of his hunter; question his newfound- land's breed; insinuate that his original manton was man- ufactured at birmingham. it will be just as well to take this line with him if he values these things only a little as if he prizes them much, nay, better, for it particularly annoys a man to have a slight predilection of his magnified into a “hobby," especially by the eyes of a friend, which annoyance is a wholesome mortification of the desire not to seem more ridiculous in the sight of those whom he cares for, than he really is. in like manner, and on the same principle, if there is any one thing which you suspect him to think he does well, let him know continually that you think he does it ill. if he prides himself upon his riding, his driving, or fishing, punch's pocket-book of fun. or shooting, make it evident to him that you consider him a cockney. find fault with his manège, his carriage, his tackle, his style. in case he has any the least idea that his appearance and demeanor are gentlemanlike, give him to understand that in your opinion they are snobbish. pick holes in his coat and his conduct. should he ever betray the notion that he possesses any knowledge of the world, impress him with the conviction that he is looked upon by you as a greenhorn. accordingly pounce upon every mis- take he may fall into, or blunder he may commit, and take advantage of it to suggest to him your sense of his inepti- tude, vulgarity, or imbecility. avail yourself, moreover, of every circumstance which may afford a pretext for im- puting any kind of vanity to him, which despicable feeling promptly discourage; as, for instance, if he quotes a bit of poetry out of the fulness of his heart, tell him that his recitation is a mistake; if he hums a tune in the excess of his spirits, advise him not to do that because he has no voice. whenever you hear your friend inveighing against any social or political wrong or injustice, intimate your sus- picion that he does so only because it affects himself. the truth will probably be that it does affect him in some de- gree; and it will vex him to find you exaggerating his slight personal feeling into absolute selfishness. your friend being irritated by any loss or other misfor- tune in his affairs, do not pursue the soothing system with him, but put down his complaints in a manly way, by argu- ing that they are unfounded, and by ascribing his affliction entirely to his own fault. if he has generally been pru- punch's pocket-book of fun. dent, attribute the calamity to his over-caution; if enter- prising, to his recklessness. whatever line of conduct you observe him to pursue, blame it; so that when any disaster occurs to him, you may be in a position to tell him that it would not have happened if he had taken your advice. in all discussions wherein you may be engaged with him, if a word or action of his own can possibly be referred to either of two motives of opposite character, never fail to impute the meaner and the more foolish. by continually practising these precepts, you will ac- custom your friend to the wholesome discipline of humilia- tion, by making himself feel how small he is in your eyes, which he regards as his own. . in doing him this good and kindly office, however, let not your complacency be dis- turbed by the apprehension that when he winces, the pain he suffers may possibly not be occasioned by your treading on his corns, but by his perception of your wish to tread upon them. a matrimonial alliance. fashionable folks have ceased to marry. now, ac- cording to jenkins and his imitators, “ they form a matri- monial alliance ;” upon which, susan jane writes to punch to inquire, " if such an alliance is to be considered offen- sive and defensive ?” mr. punch ventures to reply- “offensive, when misfortune or difficulty is to be attacked and overcome; defensive, when sorrow or sickness assails ; and expensive, when certain little parties, whether or not, will join in the compact.” punch's pocket-book of fun. . the crush at the queen's drawing-room. scene.- a passage in st. james' palace leading to a flight of stairs, both crowded with nobility, gentry, cler- gy, foreigners of distinction, and female aris- tocracy. countess (screams). a...h! pray be more careful, sir—do you know that you are running your spur into my ankle ? general officer. beg ten thousand pardons, ma'am- but really the crowd is so-oh! oh my corn! judge. stop, sir !--my wig !-stop, sir; i say—you've hitched that star of yours in the curls of my wig. ambassador. pardon, milor, je vous demande mille pardons !—but ze kraoude-impossible-s'arrêter. bishop. my lady—my lady-oh, dear, my lady !- your ladyship’s brooch has caught me by the sleeves ! country gentleman. hallo, my lord !--my lord, i say !—make a little room, can't you ?—you are squeezing this lady to death. earl. it's not i that's pushing—it's this gentleman- baronet. no, it is'nt ! earl. yes, it is ! marchioness. oh! oh !—i've lost my diamonds. viscountess. ah!—my lace—my lace l . dowager. ah, drat it! there goes my lappets ! alderman. the hilt of your sword is in my stomach, sir—which is not pleasant, sir. • sheriff. it is your own fault, sir ! i'm not to blame, sir, because your stomach 's in the way, sir. punch's pocket-book of fun. ) american gentleman. go a-head, now, you ! duke. to whom are you speaking, sir ? american gent. wal, i guess i'm talking to a man in the way. liberal member. will you have the kindness to move on, sir ? conservative member. confound your politics! noble lords and honorable gentlemen. oh, oh! omnes. oh, oh !-ah!-ah!--oh!-oh dear!-oh my! -mind-don't-now then! go on! go on there! hoi ! hai! ho! [scene closes. short lecture to young ladies. have a good piano, or none. be sure to have a dread- ful cold when requested to "favor the company." cry at a wedding. scream at a spider. never leave your curl-papers in the drawing-room. drop your handkerchief when you are going to faint. mind you are engaged if you don't like your partner. abjure ringlets on a wet day. it's vulgar to know what there is for dinner. nuts are bad if you are going to sing. never see a black coat as long as there is a red one, and always give the prefer- ence to the elder brother. get married at st. george's, if you can--at all events, get married. a roman nose put out of joint.-the roman poet, speaking of man's frailty, says it is “human to err.” but in the case of a man beating his wife, surely that is being “inhuman to her ? " punch's pocket-book of fun. curious chinese definitions of woman. he strong-minded woman is a dragon in a nightcap. the stupid woman hatches egg-plums. the obstinate woman goes to sea in a bandbox. the patient woman roasts an ox with a burning-glass. the curious woman would like to turn the rainbow, to see what there was upon the other side. the vulgar woman is & spider attempting to spin silk. the cautious woman writes her promises on a slate. o the envious woman kills herself in endeavoring to lace tighter than her neighbors. the extravagant woman burns a wax candle in look- ing for a lucifer match. the happy woman died in a blind, deaf and dumb asylum years ago. the world's verdict.—in all delicate cases where blame is due, you will generally find the following law acted upon :—the poor man is accused, the rich man is ex. cused. evils attendant on wealth.-attendants. punch's pocket-book of fun. el fast nursery rhymes. punch's pocket-book of fun. fast nursery rhymes. .- oid mother hubbard. . old granny hubbard, she went to her cupboard to get little jack a cake. while she was gone, out got master john on the tiles in a wide-awake ! she.went to the hatter's to buy him a cap, and when she came back he had started his trap. she went to the toyship, to buy him a horn, and when she came back, he was off to cremorne. she went for a basin, to set his food soaking, but when she came back his cigar he was smoking. .- little tommy tucker. cut along, tom tucker, sing for his supper. what shall he sing for ? not bread and butter ! tired of welsh rabbits and kidneys almost what do you say to an anchovy toast ? punch's pocket-book of fun. .—dickety, dickety, dock. drinkete, drinkete hock, we'll go and dine at the cock, rump-steak and stout, and cold without; drinkete, drinkete hock. .-ride a cock-horse. back a cock-horse the country across,. and get a good jockey to ride a cock-horse. cords for his breeches, and tops for his toes, he shall have fences wherever he goes. a little lecture addressed to my dears. (by an old maid of the world.) “my dears, love is like chancery: it's a deal easier to get into it than to get out again. there are thousands of ways for the former, but as for the latter, it can't be done, noways. “ take my advice, my dears—never believe a man be- fore marriage, and never trust him after it. “if men, my dears, were to pay, like servants, for every thing they broke, they wouldn't be so fond of break- ing their hearts for every pretty girl they saw. the fortune of a rothschild couldn't stand, my dears, against such a rouinous amount of breakages. why, i have known punch's pocket-book of fun. a man's heart to break as often as an american bank, and yet he would open the next day with the same brass plate on his face, on which you could plainly read 'assurance,' and his heart would go on issuing the same amount of false notes as before. besides what becomes of all their broken hearts, i should like to know? where do they all go to ? along with the old moons, i suppose; or they may be keeping company, there's no knowing where, with all the pins that are lost, each heart beink stuck through with a pin, like the curious insects in a museum. “there's no need to tell you, i am sure, my dears, about choosing a husband. a woman's instinct generally. guides her in those little matters. but this i will tell you, that husbands differ as much as geese; but the soft- est, mind, is not always the worst. the softer your hus- band, the more pliable you will find him; and all the easier for you to twist him round your little finger. if husbands trusted more to their wives and less to themselves, there would be more happy marriages; but, until they learn what is due to our sex and are fully prepared to pay it, that happy balance will never exist in a household which to the husband should be the source of as much joy as a large balance is at his banker's; but at present the wife is not allowed to have any share or interest in the one, or to par- ticipate in the other. "i will conclude, my dears, with giving you a few rules with regard to the choice of husbands in general; and though, my dears, have never ventured on the stormy sea of matrimony myself” (here the fair lecturer's voice slightly trembled with emotion), “ still i have watched punch's pocket-book of fun. from the haven of single blessedness many of the squalls and breezes that have taken place on them, and have derived no small knowledge from the numerous shipwrecks i have witnessed in consequence of them, and this knowl. edge i am only too willing to impart to all those who are anxious to embark for the united states. "i shall confine my observations, my dears, to the small circle of my experience of men, such as i have studied them round the tea-table. “if a man wipes his feet on the door-mat before com. ing into the room, you may be sure that he will make a good domestic husband. “if a man in snuffing the candles, snuffs them out, you may be sure he will make a stupid husband. "if a man puts his handkerchief on his knees whilst taking his tea, you may be sure he will be a prudent husband. “in the same way always mistrust the man who will not take the last piece of toast or sally lunn, but prefers waiting for the next warm batch. it is not unlikely he will make a greedy, selfish husband, with whom you will enjoy 'no brown' at dinner, no crust at tea, no peace whatever at home. “the man, my dears, who wears goloshes and is care- ful about wrapping himself up well before venturing into the night air, not unfrequently makes a good invalid hus- band that mostly stops at home, and is easily comforted with slops. “the man who watches the kettle and prevents it boiling over, will not fail, my dears, in his married state punch's pocket-book of fun. in exercising the same care in always keeping the pot boiling. “ the man who doesn't take tea, ill-treats the cat, takes snuff, and stands with his back to the fire, is a brute whom i would not advise you, my dears, to marry upon any consideration, either for love or money, but most de- cidedly not for love. “but the man who, when the tea is over, is discovered to have had none, is sure to make the best husband. pa- tience like his deserves to be rewarded with the best of wives, and the best of mothers-in-law. my dears, when you meet with such a man of this kind, do your utmost to marry him. in the severest winter he would not mind going to bed first.” [here the lecturer concluded, and the several young ladies retired to their respective avocations.] e she-doctoring. we learn from an american paper that dr. harriet hunt has been lecturing at new york on “woman as a physician.” dr. harriet would doubtless give a new reading to scott's hackneyed lines— “oh woman! in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please, when pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering m.d. thou.” we must say we prefer the original," angel." the secret of youth.—a lady never knows how young she looks, until she has had her portrait painted. punch's pocket-book of fun. the fox and the grapes. - ua uph elderly spinster. “ you're going to be married, dear, are you! well, for my part, i think nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine marriages out of a thousand turn out miserably; but of course every one is the best judge of their own feelings." shabby ingratitude.—men get drunk, and then lay the fault on the wine ! punch's pocket-book of fun. proverbial philosophyi by the solomon in ordinary to the british nation. i. an umbrella upon thine arm may make it ache, but should rain come, the umbrella will preserve thy clothes. choose betwixt a trifling pain and a tailor's bill. . other persons were born about the same time as thy- self, and have been growing up ever since, as well as thou. therefore be not proud.. iii. preserve few secrets from thy wife; for if she discover them she will grieve, not that thou hast kept from her thy secrets, but thy confidence. iv. yet confidence may be misplaced, as when thou goest out in thin patent leathern boots, simply because the pavement before thine own door has dried. the girl who is destined to be thy wife, although now unknown to thee, is sure to be living somewhere or other. hope, therefore, that she is quite well, and otherwise think politely about her. vi. educate thy children, lest one of these fine days they educate thee in a school with no vacations. punch's pocket-book of fun. vii. o how good was nature, that placed great rivers near great towns ! viii. a traveller, journeying wisely, may learn much. yet much may also be learned by him who stays at home. ix. an insane person may lie to thee, and yet be innocent, and thou mayest lie to him, and be praiseworthy. now all persons are somewhat insane, but do thou beware of lying as a general rule. heat expands things, and therefore in hot weather the days are lengthened. moral heats sometimes expand thy mind, but they tend not to the lengthening of thy days. xi. say not that thou knowest a book until thou hast read it all. yet some books thou mayest throw aside partially read. herein thou judgest a criminal unheard. what then ? xii. i do not say to thee, “ marry, for it will exalt thee,” yet was there subtle meaning in those whose usage it was to say, “ marry, come up." xiii. cool things are used to cure fever, yet the over-cool- ness of a friend's act will throw thee into heat. punch's pocket-book of fun. xiv. we know nothing, and yet it is knowing something to know that thou knowest nothing. xv. by a conceit, a certain red fly hath been called a lady- bird, and bidden to fly away home. the counsel is good, even to her who is neither bird nor ily. there is no place like home. xvi. he who always holds his tongue will one day have. nothing else to hold. yet it is not good to be over-gar- rulous. xvii. the weather-cock, working easily, can tell thee the way of the wind, but if the weather-cock sticks, the course of the wind will not be influenced thereby. remember this. xviii. if thy heart is in the highlands, it is not here. xix. virtuous love is wholesome. therefore be virtuous, to make thyself worthy of self-love. not, of course, that thou art thereby prevented from loving somebody else. xx. talk to thyself, and insist on a reply, yet not before the world, lest it think that nobody else will talk to thee. punch's pocket-book of fun. vii. o how good was nature, that placed great rivers near great towns ! viii. a traveller, journeying wisely, may learn much. yet much may also be learned by him who stays at home. ix. an insane person may lie to thee, and yet be innocent, and thou mayest lie to him, and be praiseworthy. now all persons are somewhat insane, but do thou beware of lying as a general rule. heat expands things, and therefore in hot weather the days are lengthened. moral heats sometimes expand thy mind, but they tend not to the lengthening of thy days. xi. say not that thou knowest a book until thou hast read it all. yet some books thou mayest throw aside partially read. herein thou judgest a criminal unheard. what then ? xii. i do not say to thee, “ marry, for it will exalt thee," yet was there subtle meaning in those whose usage it was to say, “ marry, come up.” xiii. cool things are used to cure fever, yet the over-cool. ness of a friend's act will throw thee into heat. punch's pocket-book of fun. xxi. a cat, even if she be friendly, never approaches thee by a direct course. no more does a truth, o friend; but winding round thy stupidities, and rubbing up against thy prejudices, it reaches thee gently—and then, perhaps, scratches. xxii. a stitch in time saves nine. if therefore thou feelest one in thy side, be thankful, o friend. xxiii. love the moon, for she shines in the night, to give us light in the dark, whereas the sun only shines in the day time, when there is plenty of light, and his assistance is not wanted. such is the difference between real and false charity. xxiv. solomon knew several things, allowing for his age, but i could teach him a few others. a few sayings founded on “doings.” a cab is the madness of many for the gain of one. old time may find plenty of sand for his hour.glass in any sugar cask. music has barrel organs to make savage the calmest breast. what is one (sausage) man's (sausage) meat, may be another man's poison. punch's pocket-book of fun. and he pockets all she earns, which he squanders in folly, so i shouldn't think he makes her what one may call jolly. all that's hers is his by law; and to change that condition i hope the house won't listen to any petition ; if girls will marry swells, honest plain young men scorn- ing, when they are taken in, let their fate prove a warning. minke little facts worth knowing. when a man has a very red face, it never, by any chance, arises from drink. he who arrives late at a dinner-party, after the com- pany is seated down to table, generally escapes from the bother of carving. old ideas, like old clothes, put carefully away, come out again, after a time, almost as good as new. the first bottle is always "too dry,” or “ too strong," or “too thin,” or else “it wants age,” or “ body,” or “keep- ing,” and it is only right that there should be something wanting in the first bottle, or else there never would be any improvement in the second. talk scotch to a beggar, and he will soon leave you. always accept a seat in the carriage of the lady who has eaten no dinner; for the chances are that, as she has touched nothing since luncheon, there is a good supper waiting for her at home. " ordered to lie upon the table.”-a spirit-me. dium. punch's pocket-book of fun. rude and crude observations. by a platitudinarian. none of us like the crying of another person's baby. “ i won't” is a woman's ultimatum. no man knows when he goes to law, or gets into a cab what he will have to pay on getting out of it. red tape is the legal chalk with which a lawyer rud- dles his sheep. if we all had windows to our breasts to-morrow, what a demand there would be for blinds ! when a man has been “ drinking like a fish,” it is “the salmon" always that is to blame for it. the truth, with “ london pure milk,” lives certainly at the bottom of a well. years are the milestones which tell us the distance we have travelled, but it's rarely women count them. conversation was hid for a long time, until it was dis- covered in a bag of filberts. some persons are fond of " opening their minds” to you, as if it were a dirty-linen bag-only to let you see the foul things that can drop out of it. women, when they talk of “a good figure," must mean the figure , for that is the figure which is the most pulled in at the middle. the dissipations that persons resort to to drown care, are like the curtains that children in bed pull round them to keep out the dark. the bread of repentance we eat, is often made of the ! wild oats we sow in our youth. punch's pocket-book of fun. . vilim! wwwww old lady. “now, arthur, which will you have some of this nios pudding, or some jam tart?” juvenile. “no pastry, thank-ye, aunt. it spoils one's wine . i don't mind a devilled biscuit, tho, by and by, with my claret." (old lady turns all manner of colors.) a drop in the eye.-it has been, with some truth, observed by a moral writer, that drunkenness is a crying sin. it does not, however, always happen that the party affected by liquor is affected to tears. net profit.—a fisherman's. punch's pocket-book of fun. household songs. the tea service. no. -the song of the teapot. their goblets of silver, their vases of gold, let pleasure and luxury boast : to the teapot alone will philosophy hold, and bread will be ever its toast. yes! 'tis in the teapot life's type may be seen, reflection should on it be fixed; existence is neither all black nor all green, our joys and our sorrows are mix’d. from the depths of the teapot there's plenty to learn, how adversity profit may bring; for at tea-time the kettle will bid us discern how in spite of hot water to sing. no. .—the song of the sugar babin. roam-roam for years from flower to flower, thou, idly busy bee ! thou canst not match with all thy power the sweets enclosed by me. with prejudice i am not blind; the sugars i contain, if to the tea alone confin'd, were sweet, alas ! in vain. no! with the generous grog i'll blend, as with the sober tea : for sociality, a friend will ever find in me. punch's pocket-book of fun. no. .—the song of the milk jug. i know i am a mockery, i hate my very name; into the world of crockery i know not how i came. a milk jug is an article · they might as well put down; for, oh! there's not a particle of genuine milk in town. far better to have given me a name i could deserve, than cruelly have driven me from truth's bright path to swerve; for when of milk jugs trippingly i hear them round me talk, there trickle down me drippingly tears of diluted chalk. oh, how i hate hypocrisy! would i could place myself in that enlarged democracy, the world of common delf. although to fine gim-crackery 'tis fated i belong; no matter—“ down with quackery" shall ever be my song. the confession of a fond mother.-over-indul. gence, like too much sugar, only spoils what it was meant to sweeten. punch's pocket-book of fun. the electric story-teller. what horrid fibs by that electric wire are flashed about ! what falsehoods are its shocks ! so that, in fact, it is a shocking liar, and why? that rogues may gamble in the stocks. we thought that it was going to diffuse truth o'er the world; instead of which, behold, it is employed by speculative jews, that speculative christians may be sold. nations, we fancied, 'twas about to knit, linking in peace, those placed asunder far, whereas those nations are immensely bit by its untrue reports about the war. oh! let us rather have the fact that creeps, comparatively, by the post so slow, than the quick fudge which like the lightning leaps, and makes us credit that which is not so. the calm philosopher, the quiet sage, fair science thus abused to see, provokes, especially it puts him in a rage, to be, himself, deluded by the hoax. dressing in america.—a young lady writes from newport, an american watering-place, that “we have to dress about nine times a-day here.” young ladies at new- port, with their nine dresses, must be like nine-pins ; no sooner set up than down again. punch's pocket-book of fun. rules for self-government. by a prudent old gentleman. always sit next to the carver, if you can, at dinner. ask no woman her age. be civil to all rich uncles and aunts. never joke with a policemap. take no notes, or gold, with you to a fancy-bazaar- nothing but silver. your oldest hat, of course, for an evening party. don't play at chess with a widow. never contradict a man who stutters. pull down the blind before you put on your wig. make friends with the steward on board a steamer- there's no knowing how soon you may be placed in his power. in every strange house it is as well to inquire where the brandy is kept-only think if you were taken ill in the middle of the night! never answer a crossing-sweeper. pay him, or else pass quickly and silently on. one word, and you are lost. keep your own secrets. tell no human being you dye your whiskers. never offend a butler—the wretch has too many chances of retaliation! write not one letter more than you can help. the man who keeps up a large correspondence is a martyr tied not to the stake, but to the post. wind up your conduct, like your watch, once every day examining minutely whether you are “fast” or “ slow." punch's pocket-book of fun. “lud a' mercy! how pretty.” « the heart of a married woman who flirts is like a roste of which every admirer plucks a leaf, till there is nothing left for the husband but the stalk and the thorns." —recol- lections of a fashionable novel, in vols. (of course.) how women veil the truth. when a woman says of another woman" she has a good figure," you may be sure that she is freckled, or that she squints, or that she is marked with the small-pox. but if she simply says, “she is a good soul,” you may be morally certain that she is both ugly and ill-made. fresh from america.—there is a quaker in ver- mont who is so attached to the principles of the peace so- ciety, that he will not have a single flower in his garden; for “ it's terrible,” he says, “ to walk out at this time of the year, and to see the flowers in all directions with shoot- ing pistils." a journey without end.--entering upon an argu- ment with a metaphysician is like getting into an omnibus : you know where you start from, but it's impossible to tell where it will carry you. character of an habitual sot.-he was a man of no determination-except to the head. the “manifold writer.”—mr. g. p. r. james. punch's pocket-book of fun. xxi. a cat, even if she be friendly, never approaches thee by a direct course. no more does a truth, o friend; but winding round thy stupidities, and rubbing up against thy prejudices, it reaches thee gently—and then, perhaps, scratches. xxii. a stitch in time saves nine. if therefore thou feelest one in thy side, be thankful, o friend. xxiii. love the moon, for she shines in the night, to give us light in the dark, whereas the sun only shines in the day time, when there is plenty of light, and his assistance is not wanted. such is the difference between real and false charity xxiv. solomon knew several things, allowing for his age, but i could teach him a few others. a few sayings founded on “doings." a cab is the madness of many for the gain of one. old time may find plenty of sand for his hour-glass in any sugar cask. music has barrel organs to make savage the calmest breast. what is one (sausage) man's (sausage) meat, may be another man's poison. punch's pocket-book of fun. an example to young ladies. my face is round and fat, my nose snub, my hair sandy, i am corpulent and clumsy, my short legs are bandy, and my hands and feet are broad, my expression is stupid ; so except in being plump, i'm by no means a cupid. yet like a goose i hoped her affection to waken, that she'd love me for my mind-oh, how i was mistaken! there came a handsome' swell—your derision don't smother- she became another's bride, and the swell was that other. in his figure, in his style, at every point, in each feature, he was opposite to me, poor absurd-looking creature; then he dressed so very well—at the same time so neatly, and of course he cut me out-by his tailor-completely. i was spooney in those days, i was soft, green, and sappy, and i cried, oh, don't i wish she may ever be happy! they say that of her choice she has sorely repented, she may now with some one else wish that she'd been contented. i'm told the handsome swell whose attractions had caught her, very soon ran through the money for which he had sought her; at her side he's never seen; but is constant at races, is found in billiard-rooms and all those sort of places. in music they declare that she lessons is giving, because he has reduced her to work for her living, punch's pocket-book of fun. and he pockets all she earns, which he squanders in folly, so i shouldn't think he makes her what one may call jolly. all that's hers is his by law; and to change that condition i hope the house won't listen to any petition ; if girls will marry swells, honest plain young men scorn. ing, when they are taken in, let their fate prove a warning. little facts worth knowing. when a man has a very red face, it never, by any chance, arises from drink. he who arrives late at a dinner-party, after the com- pany is seated down to table, generally escapes from the bother of carving. old ideas, like old clothes, put carefully away, come out again, after a time, almost as good as new. the first bottle is always "too dry,” or “ too strong," or “ too thin,” or else “it wants age,” or “ body,” or “keep- ing,” and it is only right that there should be something wanting in the first bottle, or else there never would be any improvement in the second. talk scotch to a beggar, and he will soon leave you. always accept a seat in the carriage of the lady who has eaten no dinner; for the chances are that, as she has touched nothing since luncheon, there is a good supper waiting for her at home. " ordered to lie upon the table.”—a spirit-me- dium. punch's pocket-book of fun. rude and crude observations. by a platitudinarian. none of us like the crying of another person's baby. “i won't ” is a woman's ultimatum. no man knows when he goes to law, or gets into a cab what he will have to pay on getting out of it. red tape is the legal chalk with which a lawyer rud- dles his sheep. if we all had windows to our breasts to-morrow, what a demand there would be for blinds ! when a man has been “ drinking like a fish,” it is the salmon " always that is to blame for it. the truth, with “ london pure milk,” lives certainly at the bottom of a well. years are the milestones which tell us the distance we have travelled, but it's rarely women count them. conversation was hid for a long time, until it was dis- covered in a bag of filberts. some persons are fond of " opening their minds” to you, as if it were a dirty-linen bag-only to let you see the foul things that can drop out of it. women, when they talk of “a good figure," must mean the figure , for that is the figure which is the most pulled in at the middle. the dissipations that persons resort to to drown care, are like the curtains that children in bed pull round them to keep out the dark. the bread of repentance we eat, is often made of the wild oats we sow in our youth. punch's pocket-book of fun. household songs.—the tea service. no. —the song of the teapot. their goblets of silver, their vases of gold, let pleasure and luxury boast : to the teapot alone will philosophy hold, and bread will be ever its toast. yes! 'tis in the teapot life's type may be seen, reflection should on it be fixed; existence is neither all black nor all green, our joys and our sorrows are mix'd. from the depths of the teapot there's plenty to learn, how adversity profit may bring; for at tea-time the kettle will bid us discern how in spite of hot water to sing. no. .-the song of the sugar basin. roam-roam for years from flower to flower, thou, idly busy bee ! thou canst not match with all thy power the sweets enclosed by me. with prejudice i am not blind ; the sugars i contain, if to the tea alone confin'd, were sweet, alas ! in vain. no! with the generous grog i'll blend, as with the sober tea : for sociality, a friend will ever find in me. punch's pocket-book of fun. no. .—the song of the milk jug. i know i am a mockery, i hate my very name; into the world of crockery i know not how i came. a milk jug is an article - they might as well put down; for, oh! there's not a particle of genuine milk in town. far better to have given me a name i could deserve, than cruelly have driven me from truth's bright path to swerve; for when of milk jugs trippingly i hear them round me talk, there trickle down me drippingly tears of diluted chalk. oh, how i hate hypocrisy! would i could place myself in that enlarged democracy, the world of common delf. although to fine gim-crackery 'tis fated i belong; no matter—“ down with quackery" shall ever be my song. the confession of a fond mother.-over-indul- gence, like too much sugar, only spoils what it was meant to sweeten. punch's pocket-book of fun. the electric story-teller. what horrid fibs by that electric wire are flashed about! what falsehoods are its shocks ! so that, in fact, it is a shocking liar, and why? that rogues may gamble in the stocks. we thought that it was going to diffuse truth o'er the world; instead of which, behold, it is employed by speculative jews, that speculative christians may be sold. nations, we fancied, 'twas about to knit, linking in peace, those placed asunder far, whereas those nations are immensely bit by its untrue reports about the war. oh! let us rather have the fact that creeps, comparatively, by the post so slow, than the quick fudge which like the lightning leaps, and makes us credit that which is not so. the calm philosopher, the quiet sage, fair science thus abused to see, provokes, especially it puts him in a rage, to be, himself, deluded by the hoax. dressing in america.—a young lady writes from newport, an american watering-place, that “we have to dress about nine times a-day here.” young ladies at new- port, with their nine dresses, must be like nine-pins; no sooner set up than down again. punch's pocket-book of fun. rules for self-government. by a prudent old gentleman. always sit next to the carver, if you can, at dinner. ask no woman her age. be civil to all rich uncles and aunts. never joke with a policeman. take no notes, or gold, with you to a fancy-bazaar- nothing but silver. your oldest hat, of course, for an evening party. don't play at chess with a widow. never contradict a man who stutters. pull down the blind before you put on your wig. make friends with the steward on board a steamer- there's no knowing how soon you may be placed in his power. in every strange house it is as well to inquire where the brandy is kept-only think if you were taken ill in the middle of the night! never answer a crossing-sweeper. pay him, or else pass quickly and silently on. one word, and you are lost. keep your own secrets. tell no human being you dye your whiskers. never offend a butler—the wretch has too many chances of retaliation ! write not one letter more than you can help. the man who keeps up a large correspondence is a martyr tied not to the stake, but to the post. wind up your conduct, like your watch, once every day examining minutely whether you are “fast” or “slow." punch's pocket-book of fuiin. “lud a' mercy! how pretty.” « the heart of a married woman who flirts is like a roste of which every admirer plucks a leaf, till there is nothing left for the husband but the stalk and the thorns.”—recol- lections of a fashionable novel, in vols. (of course.) how women veil the truth. when a woman says of another woman “she has a good figure,” you may be sure that she is freckled, or that she squints, or that she is marked with the small-pox. but if she simply says, " she is a good soul,” you may be morally certain that she is both ugly and ill-made. fresh from america.—there is a quaker in ver- mont who is so attached to the principles of the peace so- ciety, that he will not have a single flower in his garden; for “ it's terrible,” he says, “ to walk out at this time of the year, and to see the flowers in all directions with shoot- ing pistils.” a journey without end.--entering upon an argu- ment with a metaphysician is like getting into an omnibus : you know where you start from, but it's impossible to tell where it will carry you. character of an habitual sor. he was a man of no determination-except to the head. the “manifold writer." _mr. g. p. r. james. punch's pocket-book of fun. uwona filling up the census paper. wife of his bosom.-"upon my word, mr. peewitt! is this the way you fill up your census? so you call yourself the head of the family'—do you and me a 'female ?'" the art of performing.--promise little, that you may perform much; but if you want to perform little, you can promise as much as you like. punch's pocket-book of fun. the tyranny of furniture. it is a folly to suppose, when a man amasses a quantity of furniture, that it belongs to him. on the contrary, it is he who belongs to his furniture! he is bound hand and foot by it--he is tied by the leg to his own mahogany! he cannot move anywhere without dragging his furniture after him-he cannot go abroad without previously finding a home for his furniture ; he cannot be absent for any time without first taking every precaution that his furniture will be properly provided for in his absence. if he pro- jects any little trip, the thought that always stops him at the door is, “ whatever shall i do with my furniture ?" many a man who boasts of his freedom is the secret slave of his furniture. no man can call himself perfectly free who, whatever he does, or wherever he goes, has always to carry in his mind so many chairs and tables ! the two extremes of fashion. formerly, when ladies went out, they used to have their bonnets on ; but that is no longer the case, for their bonnets are now not on, but half off. the reason generally as- signed by our female acquaintance why bonnets are thus worn, is, because they are. there is, however, a somewhat more logical one to be given than this; namely, the length of the dress. condenthed by the tyranny of fashion to screen their feet and ankles from admiration, the ladies indemnify themselves by showing as much as possible of the head. punch's pocket-book of fun. birds—not of a feather. the following advertisements recently appeared on the same day, and in the order in which we have given them. we hate to use strong expressions, but we are inclined to fear that the second advertiser is a brute. ray parrot lost.-flew away from a villa in u st. john's wood, on tuesday afternoon, a lovely gray parrot. is full of playfulness, and though its articulation is indistinct, it will scream and screech in the most enthu- siastic manner for hours together. any one who has found it is earnestly prayed to treat the dear thing kindly, and not to resent its biting, and, on bringing it to its disconso- late mistress, the reward of three guineas shall be thank. fully paid. address mrs. de poppets, acroceraunia cottage, st. john's wood. ray parrot lost.-flew away from a villa in u st. john's wood, on tuesday afternoon, a gray parrot. may be known by its viciousness, its not speaking a word, and its habit of screeching in the most abominable manner, without any reason whatever. any one who has found it, and will bring it-stuffed—to the undermentioned address, shall receive four guineas, and thanks. address mr. de poppets, acroceraunia cottage, st. john's wood. • the east wind! last week, when the east wind was at its sharpest, a nursery maid, walking with her charge in the regent's park, had a remarkably fine baby dat into twins ! an art-truth.—no woman ever knows how handsome she is until she has had her portrait painted. punch's pocket-book of fun. gentle satires. if you ask a lady to walk out with you, she first looks at your dress, and then thinks of her own. if a woman holds her tongue, it is only from fear she cannot “ hold her own." notice, when you have accompanied your wife to buy a lot of things at her favorite shop, what ostentatious care she takes of your interest in seeing that you get “ the right change." how much more difficult it is to get a woman out on a wet sunday than on a wet week day. can the shut shops have anything to do with this ? the oddest mnemonic curiosity is, that a woman, who never knows her own age, knows to a half an hour that of all her female friends. a woman may laugh too much. it is only a comb that can always afford to show its teeth. women will never be punctual. they scorn the "charms" that hang to a watch-chain. the secret of popularity.—come into a fortune and then your friends will discover in you qualities of the most superlative brilliancy, the existence of which, in your moments of most intoxicated vanity, you never suspected before. how are promises made fast ?-by nails or pins according as persons are in the habit of running away from their words. for instance, you nail a man to his promise, aud pin a woman. punch's pocket-book of fun. the poetical cookery book. btewed duck and peas. air—“my heart and lute.” i give thee all, i can no more, though poor the dinner be; stew'd duck and peas are all the store that i can offer thee. a duck, whose tender breast reveals its early youth full well ; and better still, a pea that peels from fresh transparent shell. though ducks and peas may fail, alas ! one's hunger to allay; at least for luncheon they may pass, the appetite to stay. if season'd duck an odor bring from which one would abstain, the peas like fragrant breath of spring set all to rights again. i give thee all my kitchen lore, though poor the offering be; i'll tell thee how 'tis cook'd, before you come to dine with me : punch's pocket-book of fun. the duck is truss’d from head to heels, then stew'd with butter well : and streaky bacon, which reveals a most delicious smell. when duck and bacon in a mass you in the stewpan lay, a spoon around the vessel pass, and gently stir away: a table-spoon of flour bring, a quart of water plain, then in it twenty onions fling, and gently stir again. a bunch of parsley, and a leaf of ever-verdant bay, two cloves—i make my language brief- then add your peas you may ! and let it simmer till it sings in a delicious strain : then take your duck, nor let the strings for trussing it remain. the parsley fail not to remove, also the leaf of bay; dish up your duck—the sauce improve in the accustom'd way, with pepper, salt, and other things, i need not here explain : and, if the dish contentment brings you'll dine with me again. . punch's pocket-book of fun. apple pie. air—"all that's bright must fade." all new dishes fade- the newest oft the fleetest; of all the pies now made, the apple 's still the sweetest; cut and come again, the syrup upwards springing ! while my life and taste remain, to thee my heart is clinging. other dainties fade the newest oft the fleetest; but of all the pies now made, the apple 's still the sweetest. . who absurdly buys fruit not worth the baking ? who wastes crust on pies that do not pay for making ? better far to be an apple tartiet buying, than to make one at home, and see on it there 's no relying : that must all be weigh’d, when thyself thou treatest- still a pie home-made is, after all, the sweetest. punch's pocket-book of fun. who a pie would make, first his apple slices; then he ought to take some cloves--the best of spices; grate some lemon rind, butter add discreetly; then some sugar mix-but mind the pie's not made too sweetly. every pie that's made with sugar, is completest; but moderation should pervade- too sweet is not the sweetest. who would tone impart, must—if my word is trusted add to his pie or tart a glass of port-old crusted : if a man of taste, he, complete to make it, in the very finest paste will enclose and bake it. pies have each their grade, but, when this thou eatest, of all that e'er were made, you'll say 'tis best and sweetest. health.—an indispensable requisite, for business as well as amusement, which young men spend the greater part of their money in damaging, and old men the greater part of their wealth in repairing. punch's pocket-book of fun. an unmanly assault on bonnets. * mr. punch, as the acknowledged champion of the rights of women-(bless 'em, however right and however wrong !)—has to denounce å mean and cowardly attack, made by a medical practitioner in the human form, upon that delicate, and fairy-like fabric, the female bonnet. the dastard affects to “lament the great increase of tic-doulou- reux in the forehead !” he moreover bewails the predomi- nance of “great suffering in the ear,” induced, as he firmly believes," from the present absurd fashion of dressing the neck instead of the head.” and why not? the fact is, poor women have been put too much aback, too much on one side; and mr. punch cannot but look at the heroic attempt made by the dear creatures to thrust the bonent on the shoulders, as a noble resolution to appear as bare- faced as possible. we yet hope to see a woman as far out of her bonnet as a snail can come out of her shell; and, as for tic-douloureux, earache, headache, and so forth, why, what are such calamities other than glorious ? even as soldiers carry scars in honor and memory of their valor, so may women have earache, headache, and tic- douloureux, as glorious life-long records of the courage that faced all weathers without a bonnet. mr. punch hardly knows a more touching sight- sight so convincing of the inherent energy and devotion of the sex-than to behold a beautiful fragile creature facing the east wind that, at this moment (mr. punch does not disdain to confess the weakness) makes him re- joice at the fire-side like a cricket. it is, we say, a beau- tiful and a touching spectacle to contemplate the young punch's pocket-book of fun. wwwuuta master tom (to old lady who is very nervous about fire). "it'all right, granny; the candle is out. i'm only smoking my usual weed ** an unknown benefactor.—the man who plants a birch tree little knows what he is conferring on posterity. happiness is a perfume that one cannot shed over another without a few drops falling on oneself. punch's pocket-book of fun. good news from the kitchen. we find, from the astronomical intelligence of the month, that, on a given day, “the moon will enter aries." we have received several communications from cooks and others in the domestic interest, who are anxious to know, whether, as the moon is likely to enter aries, there is any chance of the sun entering underground kitchens, to which that luminary has long been a stranger.. contracting bad habits. unless you wish to contract bad habits, we should advise you not to purchase your clothes at a cheap taylor's, for, as the cloth is invariably bad, and the way of making it up generally too small, the chances are, that with every coat, waistcoat, or pair of trousers you purchase, you will be contracting a deplorable bad habit. the only con- solation is, that you will have no difficulty in breaking yourself of the habit, for it is sure to break of its own accord. - the handsome young clergyman. a trifle for the record. oh ! did you not hear of a handsome young clergyman, who in his pulpit was wont for to cry? he handled his text with such seeming sincerity, melting each heart and suffusing each eye. he sighed so hard and groaned so steadily, the ladies all flocked to his church so readily'; punch's pocket-book of fun. and he turned up his eyes with so saintly an air, that this clergyman greatly was liked by the fair. his features were fine, and his views sabbatarian, so by both young and old he was made a great pet; what teapots and slippers this predestinarian young disciple of calvin did constantly get ! he had won such credit and fame for piety, that he had the run of the best society; and a girl with lots of tin did pair with this parson esteemed such a duck by the fair. stray shot. it is with ideas as with pieces of money, those of the least value generally circulate the most. a man, for being told the truth, thanks you the first time, votes you a bore the second, and quarrels with you the third. a french woman talks a great deal more than she thinks an english woman thinks a great deal more than she talks. there is no adhesive label like a nickname ! waiting for dead men's shoes is, in most measures, a · bootless affair. ladies generally shop in couples. when a lady has any money to spend, she dearly loves taking a friend with her to see her spend it. the number of poor poets is, if any thing, greater than the number of poets who are poor. punch's pocket-book of fun. bad words, like bad shillings, are often brought home to the person who has uttered them. life, we are told, is a journey; and to see the way in which some people eat, you would imagine that they were taking in provisions to last them the whole length of the journey. the ducked lawyer dreads the pump. a doctor feels the pulse each time, to let his patient see with what minute care he is keeping watch. the trumpet of fame is often mute for the want of a good trumpeter to blow it for one. the laugh behind the scenes. there is a sound of hollow mirth bursts on the unaccustomed ear; 'tis not the merriment of earth, nor laughter born of wine or beer; 'tis not the cheerfulness of heart that scarcely knows what sorrow means. no, no; 'tis mirth that acts a part; it is the laugh behind the scenes. the laughers are not truly gay; their spirits are not really light; their mirth is the result of pay: they laugh for eighteenpence a night. they stand within the prompter's view, those joneses, thomsons, browns, and greens, waiting the well-remembered cue to raise the laugh behind the scenes. punch's pocket-book of fun. the laughter comes from hollow cheeks, whose deep vermilion-coated skin conceals, by night, the furrowed streaks of sorrow, groaning from within. not e'en a passing jest is heard, to raise the mirth that supervenes ; the solemn prompter gives the word that starts the laugh behind the scenes. jones has, perchance, a little bill he’s fiercely importuned to pay; p’rhaps thomson's wife at home lies ill; brown's infant may have died that day. green, possibly, with aching head, against the wing distracted leans. no matter; they must earn their bread, and join the laugh behind the scenes. but all the world's a stage confest ; and laughter often has its source in what would prove a sorry jest, could we but backwards trace its course. for him the laugh would quickly turn, who'd ask too closely what it means ; then do not seek too much too learn, or look too far behind the scenes. the best persons to know.-an undertaker is ad- vertising a new kind of coffin, which, he says, is “strongly recommended by the faculty.” punch's pocket-book of fun. ubick bachelor. what a snug room! every com- fort is there that can make the heavy wheels of time roll on as softly as possible. what a nest of a bed ! and at the head of it he sees his mother, leaning over him, parting his hair, kissing his forehead, and every minute asking him in a voice through which the affection gushes like tears, "if he feels any better ?”—he sees his sister, nature's kindest nurse, sitting up with him all night, moving if he moves, anticipating every one of his wants, gazing into his face for hope, and smiling at him sometimes in spite of it, coaxing him, like a child, to go to sleep, and holding his hand between hers till he falls into a gentle slumber again-he sees his father coming into the room the first thing in the morning, and treading on tiptoe lest he shall awake him—he recollects what a moment of anxiety it was when the doctor paid his daily visit, and how every one waited in silence round the cur- tained bed, to hear what he said, and then rushed to cheer him and kiss him full of hope he recollects all these, and punch's pocket-book of fun. many more little incidents of love and tenderness, for they hang round his childhood, like immortelles, which his memory loves to “ keep green.” how different his present illness! there is no one to comfort him, to make him forget by kindness the prison- house he is confined in. his loneliness chills him. it throws a frost round every thing, and he thinks, as adam thought when he was a bachelor (the bachelor days of adam would make a most curious book) and prayed for a wife, that- to die must be to live alone, unloved, uncherished, and unknown.” the bachelor is moved; the rock of his egotism is softened, and it is very strange, but tears—real tears bubble up from his heart, like water from a dried-up well in the desert. he rings again, and by some accident the laundress hears him. the sick bachelor has his medicine, and lays down his head grateful for it. if he is grateful for a spoonful of medicine, what would he be for a kind word or a good dinner! he rings the bell, but no one comes. he turns restless in bed, looks at his watch, discovers it is time to take his medicine, but there is no one to give it him. persons run up and down stairs. the noise frets him, and, as it increases, he complains audibly, but there is no one to hear him. he dozes, and forgets his fretfulness. but the next moment a heavy sound, as if some one was playing at skit- punch's pocket-book of pun. riage that it will stop at sure he is tles over head, makes him start up, and again he rings the bell, and again no one answers it. he listens, and listens, till listening becomes a pain, added to his other pains. he longs to read, but all his books are in the next room. he longs to see the paper ; he longs to know if there are any letters; if any one has called; and he groans and rolls about, for all these long- ings, not one of them gratified, seem to fill his bed with nettles. when will the doctor call ? he follows every car- riage that rattles through the street, and clings to the hope that it will stop at his door, till its wheels have turned the corner. he is sure he is much worse. he should like to look at himself, to see how many notches illness has scored upon his face since yesterday; but there is no looking-glass in sight which he can consult as an umpire to tell him the state of the game. he hears footsteps in the next room. a ray of thank- fulness shoots like sunshine through him—it is the doc- tor! he waits, and a loud rumbling of chairs, and open- ing and shutting of windows is all that rewards his pa- tience. he calls, and the fall of broken glass breaks to him the painful truth that it is his laundress !—the ten- der jailer of his sick-room ! "mary! mary !” but mary is old and deaf, and has quite forgotten that there is such a thing as a poor bach- elor who is waiting for his medicine. he calls as loud as he can, and the heavy sound of hoofs, but which he knows are feet, is the only echo that falls upon his night-capped ear. mary slams the door more violently than ever, be- punch's pocket-book of fun. cause he is ill—and the unhappy prisoner, whose crime is single blessedness, is left alone in his condemned cell. how he invokes blessings upon the false front of mary! he only wishes that some day she may be ill as ill as he is—and that it may be his lucky fate to wait upon her! instead of medicine to do her good, he will pour out to her the vials of his wrath, made as bitter as her own ill humor; instead of soft, gentle words, to smooth her pillow, she shall have nothing but sneers and snarls to ruffle her sweet temper; instead of broths, and jellies, and “slops,” and nice delicacies, to strengthen her, he will give her oysters, sausages, lobsters, pork chops, tradesmen's bills, and the loudest postmen's knocks, and the noisiest italian boys—every thing, in short, that can worry and hurt and torture an invalid. recipes for a happy new year. you must do the following things, if you wish to pass a happy new year :- to count five hundred before you venture to contradict your wife. to be careful, when you are asked for your advice (especially by an irishman), how you give it. to praise every baby that is brought up to you for ex- hibition. to take twice of pudding, if you are told the mistress of the house has had a hand in the making of it. to decline in the politest manner being appointed ar- bitrator in any matrimonial quarrel. punch's pocket-book of fun. the law of domestic storms. by a long series of observations it has been found that domestic storms, like other storms, are rotatory; or, in other words, they move in a circle, and come round at regular intervals. the domestic storm, as we have already seen, rages frequently very high at about christmas time, when the trade winds are prevalent. there is reason to believe that these trade winds, which come in counter directions, are preceded by much heavy swelling, and by the extreme latitude into which the master has been driven by the eccentric action of his craft. this was the case in the instance of the eliza, which, after being first set in motion by gentle airs, gave her head completely to the wind, and the mate lost all control over her. an extract from his log—or diary—is full of instruction for those to whom the law of domestic storms is a matter of in- terest. monday.-light breeze, with a cloudy aspect. punca's pocket-book of fun. tuesday.—her head beginning to turn. all sorts of airs. nothing in view. wednesday.-objects more clear. difficulty in keep- ing her from running on to bank. stormy at night. squalls, and appearance altogether threatening. thursday.-inclined to be more calm. changed her tack. received a slight check. towards night stormy again. spoke policeman, a , but could render no as- sistance. friday.-hurricane continued all day. split her stays. squally at night. carried away the sheet, and went over on her larboard side. saturday.— violent gusts. her head carried away, everything dashed to pieces, and every attempt to wear” the craft quite unsuccessful. tried to overhaul her; but she became so unmanageable, that cutting away from her was the only chance of safety. succeeded in getting clean off, and left her to her fate, when she was seen at a dis- tance to be brought to of her own accord rather rapidly. domestic storms do not always proceed from the high- est points, but frequently arise from the lowest; and some curious phenomena have been remarked under-ground, where a sort of blowing-up begins, such as may be sometimes noticed in cook and other great authorities. these storms are often preceded by the sudden carrying away of stores, and by the accumulation of a sort of dripping in the hold, which, when called to the attention of the master, causes him to prepare for a hurricane. some remarkable facts are mentioned by travellers as accompanying storms, such as showers of fish falling on punch's pocket-book of fun. land, having been cast up by the violence of the sea; but in domestic storms nothing is more common than a shower of cups and saucers, wine-glasses, books, and candlesticks. in a very violent domestic storm, that happened in the neighborhood of one of the squares, the convulsions of nature and of ill-nature, were so fearful, that during the raging of the storm, which took a pelting and pitiless shape, four looking-glasses were smashed to pieces. the agents by which storms are sometimes produced in the domestic circles are sparks, which strike, with electrical influence, the heads of some of the lighter craft, and render them very difficult to manage. the law of magnetic at- traction will affect the heads of craft of this description, bringing them round and round, and exposing them to that sort of whirl which is so notoriously dangerous. the best remedy in these cases is a good conductor, or by meeting the sparks with an opposing battery. sometimes a tre- mendous swell will agitate the craft; but in these cases it is better to let the swell pass by, merely keeping the head of the craft in the right direction. whilst scientific men are very laudably devoting them- selves to the study of storms in general, we propose inves- tigating that particular branch of the subject which is ap- plicable to every-day life; for a knowledge of the theory and causes of domestic storms must be useful to all classes of the community. it was on contemplating the ruin caused by a domestic hurricane in the midst of china, that the writer first con- ceived the idea of giving his head to a subject about which his head had been broken more than once, though he had punch's pocket-book of fun. never before thought of collecting together the results of his experience. he had observed that the various domestic storms he had encountered, as mate of a very troublesome craft, though sometimes sudden and furious, had generally some determined cause, and frequently took the same direction, by concentrating towards himself all their violence. he resolved, therefore, on keeping a log, or journal, in which he noted down, from hour to hour, the state of the craft to which he acted as mate—with the nominal rank of commander. he decribed her condition under a slight breeze, her behavior in rough weather, the effect pro- duced upon her by all sorts of airs; and, in fact, he col- lected such information, that he thought any judicious mate, attached to a similar craft, would find little difficulty in her management. one of the curiosities of this domestic experience, is the fact, that the same hurricanes prevail at about the same periods of the year; and it is remarkable, that though the wind seems to be raised with immense difficulty about christmas time, domestic storms are most prevalent at that period. these storms are not felt to operate so severely on those who are provided with a heavy balance, which prevents the agitating influence of those fearful ups and downs which are met with at the time alluded to. those who are protected by the shelter of a bank are comparatively safe in these storms; though the less sub- stantial craft, unable to meet an unusually heavy draft, ; punch's pocket-book of fun. will frequently be found incapable of keeping the head above water. it is a singular fact, that domestic, like other storms, prevail in circles; and, indeed, there is no circle in which they are not to be found; for they visit the family circle, the higher circles, and the lower circles, with almost equal regularity. a thorough understanding of the domestic hurricane is of course invaluable to a master having the charge of one of the weaker vessels, for it enables him to perceive the storm coming on, and to pass out of it. a domestic storm is generally preceded by a great deal of puffing and blow- ing, which leads more or less gradually to a regular blow up; and the craft will frequently begin to heave in every direction. some masters endeavor to meet the storm by i heaving to; but this often doubles, without subduing its violence. the damage done during a domestic storm of this nature is always very great, and a family wreck is not unfrequently the sad consequence. the numerous different airs that prevail, and form, as it : were, the elements of a domestic storm, would form a long and lamentable chapter of themselves; but we give the heads of a few of the principal. sometimes a storm begins with trifling airs, but these often increase suddenly to a squall of the most alarming character. sometimes a storm commences with vapors, which by degrees dissolve into moisture, and a squall springs up, accompanied by torrents of tears rushing down the face of nature, or ill-nature, with fearful fury. a storm of this kind passes over more quickly than some of the other sorts, though the punch's pocket-book of fun. ability of stays, cutting the best way. dip her jib we craft often goes right over on her beam ends; and, under these circumstances, if allowed to lay-to for a time, she will most probably right of herself, without the mate or master taking any trouble. if he is timid, he will prob- ably begin to try and bring the craft round, by taking her out of stays, cutting away her rigging, or some other des- perate process; but the best way is to leave her alone, though it is sometimes justifiable to dip her jib well into the water, for the purpose of keeping her steady. if the domestic storm threatens to be disagreeably durable, and the squall continues, it may be advisable to lower the gaff, by reefing the throat-rope or cap-string under the jaws, and make all taut and quiet. this process is termed, in nautical phraseology, bending a spanker; and there is no doubt that the most formidable spanker may be bent by a firm adop- tion of the plan suggested. if she labors much, you can ease the throat-rope, so as to give room for every thing to work fairly aloft; but if you see a squall getting up, clew her down immediately. lunacy and longevity. lunatics live proverbially to a good old age, and one of the proverbs, upon which the fact is founded, is, we sup- pose, the old household truism, that “ cracked vessels last the longest." she-heroic resolution.—a young lady (of the age of six-and-thirty) declared the other day, in strictest confi- dence, to her maid-servant, that she would sooner dye than let a single gray hair show itself. punch's pocket-book of fun. scenes from the life of an unprotected female.' scene—the outside of mookler, fly-trap, & co.'s, furriers' shawl and mantle warehouse, &c., &c. the windows are barred with bands of all colors, and running at all angles, inscribed, “ selling off, fifty per cent. beloro prime cost." “enormous bargains.” “ ruinous sacrifice.” “ must be got rid of at any price.” “ grand clearance sales.” “ an immense number of bankrupts' stocks." bills of similar delusive import are stuck about every part of the shop. all the goods exhibited in the windows display small tickets of impassioned description, such as, “ récherché.” “ the mode.” “just out.” “ just in.” “ the last thing from paris.” “ chaste.” “how elegant !” “refined splen- dor.” “irresitible !” “quite the thing !” “perfect taste." " original.” “ highly becoming." " acknowledged by all!!" female outer garments, of a general resemblance in shape, but a singular and recondite variety in name, are ticketed with startling titles, and more startling prices, as the “ camail des carmelites, only £ .” the “ pardessas popin court, £ .! !” the “ rédingote rusniake, lined throughout with real sables, at £ .-a bargain !!!" burnous á la bou-maza, from the balls of the elysée, at £ .” mantles, mantellas, mantelets, mantelines, bearskins, burnouses, bougainvilles, bressets, camails, camaïkas, cardinales, crachouras, cote-hardies, paletots, pardessus, pekins, ponchettes, ponchons, polkas, rèdin- gotes, visites, pitchouras, and others, too numerous to enumerate, and too difficult to pronounce, are fixed up for the admiration of passengers. the unprotected female is gazing into the window, fascinated by a gorgeous and bar- baric sharol ticketed, real india at £ s.” unprotected female (thinks). well, that is the sweet- punch's pocket-book of fun. est, cheapest, thing i ever did see! oh, i think it would become me uncommonly. and i could afford it out of my dividends. but then, perhaps, i oughtn't? oh, yes! i must. (she goes to enter the shop, but starts back in horror at a very amorphous and mangy lion, which guards the entrance, balanced by an equally distorted and dingy leopard at the opposite door-post.) oh, gracious ! what's that ? oh, it's only stuffed. (she enters the shop. scene changes to the interior of the establishment.) [mockler is keeping an eye to the fur department. fly-trap walks up and down the shawl and mantle department, in a napoleonic manner, with his hands behind him, and his eyes before him, behind him, and in every direction, at the same time. the “ co.” is in a small raised glass case, keeping guard over the cashier, and checking the entries. the shop is filled with ladies; and young “gents," in white ties and tender manners, are "shaving" them. unprotected female (rather appalled by the splendid scale on which things are carried on). oh! if you please fly-trap (with lordly obsequiousness). a chair for the lady. now, madam, what department ? our stock of furs is extensive and unique. we are sole agents to all the companies every where. winter furs, ma'am, no doubt? sipkins, this lady to the fur department, im-mediately. unprotected female (drawing her breath which has been taken away, by mr. fly-trap's douche of words). oh, please-it's not furs. it was a shawl in the window. punch's pocket-book of fun. fly. trap. mr. fribble — a chair for the lady. shawl and mantle department, im-mediately. [the unprotected female is chaired to the counter by one of “our young men.” young man (letting himself down confidentially and sweetly over the counter to a level with the unprotected female's face, and leaning on his knuckles). now, mem, if you please, what can we have the pleasure of showing you to-day ? [with tender interest. unprotected female. oh, if you please, there's a shawl in the window- young man. certainly, mem. (whipping a pile of shawls on the counter and tossing them into a troubled sea of paisley lyons, and norwich india fabrics). very superior article in lyons and india. a sweet thing this in oriental style-folds into twenty-four-gorgeous quite suit your complexion, mem_(performs various feats of legerdemain with the shawls)--stout material- cleans beau-tifully—look under the light, mem--what a gloss ! and the design our own—that is our indian de- signer--we keep three in cashmere and two at lahore delicious arrangement. (folds, unfolds, tosses, tumbles, twitches, flashes into the light, flirts into the dark, wreathes, unwreathes, and then pauses to watch the effect with intense sensibility.) at twelve twelve, mem- only- ! unprotected female (praying inwardly for strength to resist temptation). oh! they're charming, but, if you please, i don't want them. it's the one in the window- marked “real india, at £ ." punch's pocket-book of fun. young man. beg pardon, mem. (whips another pile on to counter of articles very inferior to the decoy shawl.) this is the article at £ s—real india—an enormous bargain--we couldn't do it if it hadn't been for the punjaub victories-de-licious and go with that bon. net sweetly. (he becomes painfully impressed with the beauty of the shawl.) lovely, indeed, mem. unprotected female (going through various testing processes of manipulation known only to females). oh, but this isn't the same material at all. young man. begging parding, mem, from the same loom—same shipment—if any thing, superior. with an appeal to her candor.) now at £ s:--it's throwing 'em away! let me put it up ! unprotected female. but it's not so good as the one in the window. young man (with a smile of superiority). ex-cuse me, mem-shall we say £ s. unprotected female. but the one in the window is only £ s. young man (winks at fly-trap). you really must let me put it into your carriage- unprotected female (fattered). oh, i've not got a carriage. but if you please, i'd like that one in the win- dow. fly-trap (sharply and significantly, as customers go out shaved). door! [a porter immediately plants his steps in front of the door inside, and begins cleaning the shop fanlight with preternatural care, completely blocking up the door-way. punch's pocket-book of fun. his honesty, and not buy any thing! go-indeed! how do i know what you came for ? unprotected female (piteously). oh, indeed, it was the real india at two-and-ten, and i would have bought one, if you'd shown me any—but yon haven't so i'd rather go. [glances towards the door, as meditating a rush, but the porter's blockade is still rigorously kept up. fly-trap. we don't know parties--but we lose a many articles by parties pretending to buy, and not buying. [with a look of awful suspicion. unprotected female (in an agony of serious alarm). oh no-i'm not---indeed, i've no pockets on--you can no you can't-but i'm not. fly-trap. knipper, look out if there's a policeman. unprotected female (clasping her hands). oh, what for? whatever have i done ? fly-trap. shop-lifting is very common by parties pretending to be customers. unprotected female. oh, but i can prove who i am. fly-trap. parties being strangers and no reference asked but if you purchase-of course unprotected female. oh, i'll purchase any thing- but indeed they're an inferior article. fly-trap. one of the real india at three-and-eight for the lady, mr. fibbet. unprotected female (to herself). oh, it's a shocking imposition! (jones suddenly passes the shop.) oh, there's mr. jones! (she makes a bolt at the door, nearly upsetting the porter, and, jamming herself very tight punch's pocket-book of fun. between the legs of his step-ladder, makes signals of dis. tress to jones.) oh, mr. jones—do, please, mr. jones. [enter jones. consternation of fly-trap ,sudden relapse into general obsequiousness, and scbnr clo- ses on the consequences. maine model law. the frequent occurrence of accidents from fire-arms suggests the question whether it would not be possible, at the cost of a little self-denial to a portion of the public, to prevent these deplorable casualties altogether. the means by which this desirable purpose might there is every reason to believe, be fully accomplished would be the prohibition of the manufacture and sale of gunpowder for any purposes but those of government. it is true that we are not as yet in possession of any statistical facts tending to show that abridgement of the facilities for the purchase of this dangerous substance in any locality has been attended by a proportionate decrease of the deaths, mutilations, and other bodily injuries, arising from its incautious use on an average during a given period in that locality. official and other returns, however, have clearly established that a decided diminution of cases of drunkenness on sundays has attended the partial restric- tions which have been imposed on the supply of intoxicat- ing liquors: and it is not, perhaps, jumping too hastily to a conclusion to infer that, if no such drinks were allowed to be sold at all, the result would be a very general, if not a total, cessation of inebriety. if this inference be al. punch's pocket-book of fun. lowed, it must also be admitted that the analogous measure of putting a stop to the trade in an explosive compound would, at least, greatly limit the frequency of explosions. the maine liquor law is said to answer well; and many persons are of opinion that a similar law would an- swer equally well here. unquestionably. so would a gunpowder law; a law forbidding all dealings in gun- powder. let us have such a law then : the sooner the better. why not put that “villainous saltpetre" under a ban, as well as that pernicious alcohol ? how many an existence has been embittered for life; how many a family has been bereaved of its only support; how many wives, sisters, children, have had to mourn the frightful and fatal consequences which legislation, by intercepting their cause, · might have rendered impossible ! what valid reason can be assigned for the practice of shooting? it is notorious that partridges, pheasants, hares, nay, woodcocks and snipe, may be easily procured, for the purposes of the table, by catching them in nets and snares, or simply knocking them on the head as they lie. as to the plea that the sport affords healthful exercise, surely the same amount and kind of exercise might be taken by walking through heath, turnips, and stubble, or over ploughed fields, with a large stick instead of a gun. the mere exhilaration attendant on the act of strikiug down a bird on the wing, or a quadruped running, doubtless will be cheerfully resigned, when it is considered how great a preservation of human life and limb will be the reward of the sacrifice. as the principle gains ground of legislating to prevent punch's pocket-book of fun. the misuse or abuse of a thing by interdicting its use, it will perhaps come to be considered whether we had not better abolish penknives, because they sometimes cut fine gers, and are no longer necessary now that we have steel pens. the moustache movement also will be rendered im- perative on the part of every man, since it is possible to get on well enough without shaving, but that operation cannot be performed without razors, and every body will be precluded from obtaining those instruments because some persons, if they got them, would commit suicide with them. laws will ultimately be passed for depriving us of the ability to gratify any inclination which can be gratified improperly. a fitting invitation. it wasn't such a bad notion on the part of the gantier, who hung up in his glove-shop the following placard :- “ , hands wanted immediately !" and under it was written in very small characters, (to buy my gloves—the very best quality). advice to the fair sex.—a lady has no occasion, when she has a new bonnet, to buy any bonnet trimmings for it; for she has only to take it to church the first sun. day, and her friends are sure to trim it well for her. an old proverb improved:—a wink is as good as a nod to a blind auctioneer. book-keeping taught in one lesson.--don't lend them! punch's pocket-book of fun. www the first of september. [from an original drawing by our little boy. severity of the season.—a cynical old bachelor overhearing a small wag in his remark, the other evening, that a lady in a waltz and a fashionable petticoat was only to be likened to a travelling circus, had the brutal effron- tery to add an observation that the resemblance alluded to was not alone in point of magnitude, but was carried out still further by the aggravating fact of there being in both cases a fool in the centre. . the poetry of nature.—at present, like a quantity of modern poetry, it is, in most of its branches, only so many dead leaves covered with rime. punch's pocket-book of fun. struck him (it would have served him right had it knocked him down during a three hours' journey from kensington to the city :-nemo omnibus horis sapit, no one knows the times of an omnibus.” there has been a perfect glut of the lower quality of stuffs, which are offered at any price, but the dealers would have nothing to do with them. the following will suffice to show the kind of article that some unprincipled persons, trading on such capital as may be found in the alphabet, are desirous of foisting on the community. “how," asks one of these unprincipled adventurers, in a recent circular, “how can you express in four units that food is necessary for man ?- . . . ., one-ought-to-eat,” is the reply he hazards. we are not sure that an indictment for try- ing to get funny under false pretences would not lie against the person thus committing himself; or, at all events, for passing a counterfeit joke, as the following goes to show a second case of uttering : “ why is a conspiracy like a chicken walking ?-be- cause it's a fowl proceeding !” there can be no doubt that the person capable of hatch- ing a thing of this sort deserves to be completely beaten up with eggs in the nearest pillory. there had been no packet from the isle of dogs when we went to press; and a funny dog we had expected from that quarter has accordingly not arrived. the following has just been growled out to us by a funny dog of our own, who, with his ms., has been com- mitted at once to the kennel : punch's pocket-book of fun. “why is a bald man like an invalid ?-because he wants fresh (h)air." an order came in during the day for five thousand articles equal to the following sample :- “why is a man who does not bet, as bad as a man that does ?-because he's no better." the commission was taken by the respectable firm of wagg & co., at ths, which is somewhat under the old figure. there have been one or two small failures in the funny market during the week, but the transactions of the par- ties were so small, that their paper had scarcely any cir- culation. a gloomy feeling was created by the following :- “why is a hotel-keeper making a fire at the gable-end of his house like a man drinking gin ?-because he's warming his in-n-side ! ” a still further despondency ensued, when one of the oldest jokers in the trade offered to supply any quantity equal to the following, at an eighth lower than last week. “why is an errand-boy like an old horse put up to auction ?-because he'll go for what he'll fetch.” after this it will be dangerous to keep the reader any longer in the oppressive atmosphere of the funny market, and we accordingly release him from his painful position. the conversation of flowers. do flowers converse ? yes, certainly; or else what is the meaning of “ flowers of speech ?” besides, we have a standing proof of the conversation of a flower in its (s)talk ! punca's pocket-book of fun. a love-song of the money-market. i will not ask thee to be mine, because i love thee far too well; ah! what i feel, who thus resign all hope in life, no words can tell, only the dictate i obey . of deep affection's strong excess, when, dearest, in despair, i say farewell to thee and happiness. thy face, so tranquil and serene, to see bedimmed i could not bear, pinched with hard thrift's expression mean, disfigured with the lines of care, i could not brook the day to see when thou would'st not, as thou hast now, have all those things surrounding thee that light the eye and smooth the brow. thou wilt smile calmly at my fear that want would e'er approach our coor; i know it must to thee appear a melancholy dream: no more. wilt thou not be with riches blest ? is not my fortune ample too? must i not, therefore, be possessed, to feel that dread, of devils blue ? punch's pocket-book of fun. · alas! my wealth, that should maintain, my bride in glory and in joy, is built on a foundation vain, which soon a tempest will destroy. yes, yes, an interest high, i know my capital at present bears ; but in a moment it may go : it is invested all in shares. the company is doomed to fall, spreading around disaster dire, i hear that the directors all are rogues—the greatest rogue thy sire ! go-seek a happier, wiser mate, who had the wit to be content with the returns of his estate, and with consols at three per cent! punch's pocket-book of fun. . punch on cricket. the game of cricket, though very ancient, is not quite as old as the hills; for the hills are naturally inclined against a sport requiring a level surface. cricket is a promoter of cheerfulness and hospitality; for it causes one player to open his gate to another, and invite him, in a double sense, to take an innings at his homely wicket. the achievements of the bat are frequently celebrated by a ball; and even enemies who have met as bowlers, have been known to forget in the bowl all their animosity. it is not important to know the precise date at wbich cricket was introduced, who set up the earliest wicket, or was the first to stir his stumps in this country. in a ms. dated , in the bodleian library at ox- ford, a woman is represented in the act of giving a ball to a man; while in the background are several tall and little women trying, as so many long stops and short stops, to catch the ball; but they are all ugly, and there does not seem to be any great catch amongst them. the game familiar to our eyes, and much too familiar with our heads, known in the streets as cat, is believed to be the origin of cricket—which was formerly known as cat and dog; but, as the passing stranger, or the pane of glass, forms the wicket aimed at in this case, the game is only popular with the more mischievous portion of the juvenile community... in modern times cricket is the favorite game with the soldier, the sailor and the clergyman; among each of which class there are many who learn the art of long stop- punch's pocket-book of fun. ping while waiting for promotion or preferment; and who, though they may have often had the ball at their feet, get, somehow or other, bowled out in the long run. for these trials of life, cricket is an excellent preparative; and it is said on the authority of captain gordon, that on the eve of waterloo, some of the officers were amusing them. selves with the bat, while others were dancing at a ball. it is a curious fact that the antiquarians have not yet tried a turn at cricket, for though they have groped among the foundations of almost every thing, the brick-bat is the only bat they have hitherto taken in hand. we, in a spirit of deeper veneration for antiquity, have explored a wider field in the hope of finding it a cricket field, and having taken a walk with old suidas—we fancy we hear the reader asking who is suidas ? but let that pass—we have stumbled over a species of cricket being played under the classical name of cottabos in a retired corner of greece. in this game a piece of wood stuck in the ground enabled the athenians to put up a stump without much expense, and being stumped up to this er. tent, another piece of wood placed horizontally, completed a cheap and effective wicket. a dish hung down from each end, but instead of a ball, the player threw with a vessel full of wine; and thus the game might be termed, to a certain extent, a game of bowls. cricket can only be played by men of excellent tem- per, who are willing, like hampden, to fall in the field, who can submit cheerfully to the chances of battery from the bat, and of assault from the ball. the game is essen- tially english ; and though our countrymen carry it abroad punch's pocket-book of fun. wherever they go, it is difficult to inoculate or knock it into the foreigner. the italians are too fat for cricket, the french too thin, the dutch too dumpy, the belgians too bilious, the flemish too flatulent, the east indians too peppery, the laplanders too bowlegged, the swiss too sen- timental, the greeks too lazy, the egyptians too long in the neck, and the germans too short in the wind. a good cricketer must have an eye as sharp as a needle, a hand as tough as a thimble, and a leg as light as a bodkin. russia should be able to produce no leather equal to his lungs, and india should not show a rubber half so elastic as his muscles. he should have an eye as steady as glass, with a frame of iron, and his limbs should be a study to the limner. with these qualifications, we may hope to make him a cricketer. an extreme test. if you wish to ascertain the temper of a young lady, look at her nails, and the tips of her gloves. if they are jagged and much bitten, you may be sure she is peevish, irritable, quarrelsome, and too ready to show her teeth at the smallest provocation. this is an infallible test that every ill-tempered young lady carries at her finger's-ends. do not attempt to kiss such a young lady under the mistletoe. the affectionate heart thinks it good to have two strings to its beau; the volatile, two beaux to its string. (punch to the fair reader. affectionate or volatile ?) punch's pocket-book of fun. wimbo rude questions to a wife. h! tell us, do you recollect what your feelings were im. mediately after you had given your husband cold meat for dinner? did you not feel ashamed, and angry with yourself, and vow that you would never do so again ?- do you mean to say you have never searched your hus. band's pockets? have you not blushed a papal scarlet when you found that they contained only some cigar- ends, a musty glove or two, a few halfpence well panéd with biscuit crumbs, and, perhaps, an old playbill ?-can you, also, lay your hand upon the tea-caddy, and solemnly declare that you have never, on any rare occasion, opened one of the poor in- nocent's letters ? and have you not been ready to cry with vexation, when you found that your suspicions had been roused by nothing better than a tailor's piteous application for money ?-do your powers of recollection enable you to give impartially the secret history of every "sick head- ache,” that has prevented your coming down to dinner? and, also, is your memory strong enough to describe the various remedies that have been employed before the same punch's pocket-book of fun. could, or would be relieved ?-have you never, in a fit of uncontrollable indignation, threatened to go home to your mamma ? and can you, without much prejudice, inform us who was to blame in each instance for such provocation ? -have you any thing to reproach yourself with regard to that same “mamma?” she is an excellent woman, of course; but was it the best policy, do you think, to have her so incessantly in the house ? or, granting that necessi- ty, was it prudent, or kind, do you imagine, to make all the arrangements of the house subservient to her comfort ? and to neglect your husband's wants to attend to her whims and fancies ? and again, we must put to you the rude question, whether, on second reflection, it would not have been, perhaps, better to have denied her the very free use of that black paint that she delighted in besmearing your husband with every day from head to foot ? and we trust you will tell us whether the result of those noirceurs was not to make out your husband (supposing he was al- ready a little bit of a “black sheep') to be a thousand times blacker than there was any humane occasion for ?— have you never purposely mislaid—in other words, hid- den—the key of the cellarette, when your husband brought home a few friends to supper ?-have you never, when an invitation has come that your husband was particularly anxious you should accept, equivocated just a little by say- ing that “ you had not a gown to go in ?” and was not the object of such equivocation, if we might be allowed to hint such a thing, to put your husband's well known generosity to the test ?—talking of dresses, do you recollect that beautiful moire antique that you saved by a beautiful punch's pocket-book of fun. the shops at christmas. how they blaze out on the winter night, how warmly and how cheerfully ! how loungers feed their eyes at them, how small boys peep askance and fearfully! how poverty, heart-sick for work, beguiles perforce its angry leisure with gazing through those windows sadly, at their pomp, and pride, and pleasure ! see those velvets, darkly damasked, titian-like, so warm and mellow; shawls of indian woof barbaric, barred with black, and red, and yellow; silks and satins gem-like changing, filmy gauzes flung in showers, ribbons winding, rainbow-hued, like tropic snakes through tropic flowers. here's another, through its curtains see those nimble hands preparing silk and satin, gauze and velvet, into forms for ladies' wearing- armory of women's weapons, hung with killing caps and bonnets, future frames for many a face that, thanks to them, may prompt its sonnets. then the goldsmith's gorgeous window, all with precious metals glowing carven chalice, frosted ilagon, stately candelabra showing ; punch's pocket-book of fun. mellow gold of ancient fashion, flashing bracelets, bronzes sober; stately mazers, telling tales of ruby wine or brown october. then the grocer's spicy store-house, tempting poor men's christmas money, crystal sugar, candied citron, clotted currants, raisins sunny, with its porcelains quaintly figured, chests and caddies, and devices, brute and human chinese monsters, and the well-penned cards of prices. then the glory of the twelfth cakes what words may suffice for telling ? or the blue rosetted prize-joints, with their tallowy moun- tains swelling ? or the poulterer's, turkey tapestried; or the oyster-shops, where study gets perplexed amid the barrels, and the rows of lobsters ruddy? yes, the christmas shops are splendid, and to all the senses cheering, though the fog be hanging yellow, or the sleet through streets careering; and there is a wholesome pleasure to our hard-worked english reason, with all gifts of man's contriving thus to grace the joyous season. punch's pocket-book of fun. were't not well to pass a moment from the wares and wealth we write of, to some sights and scenes that christmas joy should, least of joys, make light of ? from the shops turn to the streets, and mark, amid their motley thronging, the many shrunken cheeks, whereto there seems no joy belonging see that man, with wife and children, creeping separate and sadly, never looking at those splendors, or if glancing, glancing madly; as if cursing all that wealth that spares no penny from its heaping, to help them to more food and clothes, and fire, and place for sleeping. that gorgeous velvet, that makes pale all tissues where they've laid it what if the weaver's passing by, whose wasted fingers made it? oh, richly broidered are those scarves; but think of her i who, sighing, drew the sore stitches-o'er her work for hunger slowly dying. capital vies with capital, to add wonders to our city, each underbidding each, without remorse, or ruth, or pity; punch's pock ht-book of fun. still doth labor crowd the market, and still takes the task that's proffered- curses, and works, and curses still the less'ning pittance offered. and so about our splendors hangs a blight that spreads, till neither employer or employed is found, but each is wroth with either; till no love remains of high to low—no trust of low in higher, and the more we grasp the golden fruit, the abyss yawns ever nigher. yes, these are sorry thoughts to be haunting christmas season, for lack of human brotherhood is to christmas special treason; when love to man did light on earth, and there was joy in heaven- oh, for the spirit of that time more english hearts to leaven! when grog may be taken medicinally. (as soon as the laro for the prohibition of the sale of liquors comes into operation.) grog may be taken medicinally: after goose, or duck, or pork, or irish stew, or any delicacy of the season, into which onions may have season. ingably entered. punch's pocket-book of fun. invariably after salmon. when there is any washing being done at home. when the painters are in the house. when a person feels faint, and doesn't know what is the matter with him. when a friend turns up after an absence of several years, or when you are parting with a friend whom you do not expect to see for several years. when a person has the toothache. when a person has lost at cards, or when a person has come into a large property. when a person has met with a large misfortune, or made a tremendous bargain. when a person has quarrelled, and when a reconcilia- tion has taken place. when a person is riding outside a stage-coach, or is on a sea-voyage, or goes out between the acts of a five-act tragedy, or before ascending in a balloon; or after coming off a jury of a coroner's inquest, or when you are sitting up for your wife, or when a friend drops in to smoke a cigar;—and in fact, upon all suitable occasions of sadness or merriment, when a person feels rather low, or feels in very high spirits. philosophy for the turf.—he who lays wagers, lays golden eggs. the goose did so; and you know the con. sequence. why is a youth like a church robbed of its bibles and prayer-books, &c. ?-he is in a state of pew-pillage. punch's pocket-book of fun. sure symptoms of christmas. (by a surly old bachelor.) unch,—i know christ- mas is coming from cer. tain well-known symp- toms that never fail to present themselves at this time of the year :- because my landlady is so extremely civil to me, and brings me my shaving-water the mo- ment i ring for it. because i have not had to complain for two weeks about my boots, and the coal-scuttle is generally pretty full of coals. because the breakfast is laid before i am up, and when i ask for toast with my tea in the evening, the kitchen fire has not once been out. because the impudent news-boy has been much earlier with the newspaper than usual. because, wherever i have called, i haven't had cold meat for dinner for ever so long for two weeks at least. because i cannot get my bills in from my tradesmen- they smile, and scrape their feet in their vile saw-dust, and punch's pocket-book of fun. murmur something about “any time will do, sir, present me with french plum and bonbon-boxes, and fan i have nothing better to do than to lay in a plantation of christmas trees. because the crossing-sweeper takes his hat off to me every time i pass. because the beadle has been wonderfully profuse with his cocked hat, and the pew-opener, within the last fort- night, has nearly curtseyed me to death. because wherever i have called, i have found all the servants smiling most unnaturally, and bringing me things i didn't want. because my little nephews have been so very affection- . ate to me lately. because my little nieces have run up to me and kissed me in a way that was more flattering than agreeable, and i have had my great coat and hat and umbrella and goloshes pulled off me before i have had time to inquire whether my brother (he is only a clerk) was at home. because i have been bothered out of my life with so many inquiries about that “distressing” cough of mine, and have been recommended so many wonderful remedies that were sure to cure it,—which remedies, if i had only taken one half of them, i shouldn't be alive at the present moment. and because—but i think i have said enough of these symptoms, which luckily “come but once a year.” after all, i don't know-perhaps they are not so disagreeable, for the attentions one receives at this period are as flatter- ing to one's vanity as they are conducive to one's comfort. pocket-book of fun. . and bws they all spring out of a christmas es, as i have learnt to my cost, are not as bandboxes. the enjoyment would yable, if one hadn't to pay so dearly - christmas month, my outgoings in- variably exceed my incomings :-otherwise, i like it well enough, and shouldn't mind if the whole year were com- posed of nothing but christmas months. different phases of feeling. wife (very indignantly). “ah! there's the doctor's ' boy at last, my dear, with your physic. it's too bad ! keeping the house up to this hour of the night! what right has he to come as late as ten o'clock ?” servant (who has answered the door). “if you please, mum, the milliner has called with your new dress, and wishes to know if you will try it on ?” wife (in quite another tone). “certainly, susan. show her into the dining-room, and say i will come to her directly." propriety in dress. short dresses have been objected to by the prudish; but though the clothes of ladies are now more than long enough, they admit of the very greatest latitude.—n. b. the discovery of the latitude has succeeded that of the longitude. punch's pocket-book of fun. the protocol of private life. rinn dafty he unfortu nate differ- ences which have arisen between va. rious mem- bers of the tomkins family were taken into considera tion at the recent con ference in finsbury. the original dispute arose in the summer of , about eleven months ; after the marriage of mr. thomas tomkins with miss maria, the beautiful and amiable daughter of mr. and mrs. chowderby, of the city road. mr. chowderby, a year before a coal-agent, in apparently affluent circumstan- ces, became, in june, , from circumstances over which he had no control, unable to meet his financial engagements. previous recourse, (especially upon an occasion when an infuriate milkman urged his demand with some precipi- tancy,) had been had to the loan system, and mr. tom- king, who is engaged in the pickle trade, had discounted a punch's pocket-book of fun. series of (dishonored) bills for his father-in-law. deem- ing it necessary to restrict his cash operations, mr. tom. kins had lately declined this course, and to his son-in-law refusing him money, mr. chowderby, with some plausibil- ity, attributes his being without any. differences arose, which were rather suspended than settled by a visit, which at maria tomkins' desire her husband requested from mrs chowderby. it is here necessary to mention, that about december last, a baby was born to mr. and mrs. tomkins. mrs. chowderby accepted the invitation, bringing with her two younger brothers of maria, and they remained as guests until easter, at which period the unsolicited super- intendence of the elder lady with the management of the infant, the continual disarrangement of the pickle pots by the younger chowderbys, the incessant demands of the elder chowderby for money, and a final proposition that the whole chowderby family should come and live with the tomkins', brought matters to a crisis, which terminated in the expulsion of the chowderbys, and a total estrangement. mr. tomkins felt no discontent at this; but his wife, and various members of the family, considering it objection- able, it was agreed that a conference should be held at miss tiddle's, (a maiden aunt of mr. tomkins,) in order to endeavor to arrange matters. the conference took place at the above locality, on wednesday afternoon. every body attended on his and her own behalf. there were present, therefore, mr. silas chowderby, miss tiddles, mrs. s. chowderby, mr. t. tomkins, maria tomkins, baby tomkins, (provisionally registered thomas augustus pickles,) sarah carter, (nurse punch's pocket-book of fun. of the latter,) master peter chowderby, master jack chowderby, miss louisa tomkins, (mr. t. t.'s sister,) and mr. frederic binkle (keeping company with the latter). miss tiddles could not understand why relatives could not live in peace and harmony. she hated to see family disturbances, and thought the shortest way was to forget and forgive, and try to bear with one another better for the future. she would express no opinion on any subject, except that thomas augustus pickles was the loveliest little ticksywicksy that ever was, so he was, and a duck of diamonds, and a treasure of the indian seas, and the gold mines of america, chick, chick, chick, chick, chick. the initiative was then, at her own desire, conceded to mrs. chowderby, who expressed a conviction that things had come to a pretty pass, when a child forgot her duty to the mother that had weaned her, that the meanness of mr. tomkins did not surprise her, for it was well known that he came of a mean stock; but that maria should go against her was indeed a blow, which, when she was laid in the silent, extramural cemetery, that undutiful girl would remember, in sacking and hashes. to suppose that a woman at her time of life did not understand babies better than a chit was ridiculous, but this was only a pre- tence for mister tomkins to get rid of his duty to his wife's parents. they happened not to be so well off in worldly things as he was, perhaps because they had not stooped to the same low means of turning cash—some peo- ple, respectable people too, had spoken of half-pennies boiled in pickles to give them a color, but that was neither punch's pocket-book of fun. here nor there. mr. tomkins ought to be ashamed of himself, and as for his wife—(here mrs. chowderby wept.) sarah carter had no right to speak, being only a poor servant, but sooner than see that blessed baby (article pro- duced) physicked with the messes mrs. chowderby gur it when its mamma's back was turned, she would break stones on the high ropes. mrs. chowderby insisted on that slut's withdrawal from the conference; but after some discussion this proposal was overruled. mr. tomkins had deuced little to say. he had married maria, and not the whole family; but he was a good. natured fellow, and so long as her relations behaved with any sort of decency, he had been glad to do his best for them. but there was such a thing as cutting it too f- (here mrs. tomkins gently suggested that her husband should vary his illustration). well, he meant as riding a willing horse to death. he appealed to maria if he had not been a kind husband to her, in spite of her relatives. (mrs. tomkins here threw herself on his bosom, and sobbed). mr. chowderby said that it was keener than a tooth- ache to have a thankless serpent instead of a child. mr. tomkins was willing to admit that proposition in all its fulness, but did not see the applicability. miss louisa tomkins was sure that her brother would do every thing that was right, and suggested that he should give them a day on the water, and a dinner at richmond, and every body be friends.. mr. frederic binkle cordially concurred in the last sug. punch's pocket-book of fun. % gestion, and if the word champagne were not deemed in. admissible, he would venture to offer, on his own account, that addition to the proposed festivity. (miss l. tomkins touched his hand, and said " duck.") mr. choderby regarded all that as trash. if mr. tom- kins would give him the money such a piece of foolery would cost, it would enable him to remove his silver tea- pot from the house of a supposititious relative, where, to the infinite disgrace of the family, it had long been de. posited. masters peter and jack chowderby expressed an opin. ion that the party would be much more jolly, and bother the old tea-pot; besides, papa never took tea, but gin-and- water. (the extrusion of these members of the confer. ence occupied the next half minute.) mrs. maria tomkinscried for some time, and then stated, that except her husband, her blessed baby was the only comfort she had on earth. her papa and mamma were very unkind, she was sure, and thomas had a great deal to complain of. she had tried to make peace, but she hoped she knew her duty as a wife. baby tomkins (hearing his mamma's voice) signified that she owed a duty as a mother which he called upon her in the most urgent manner to perform without delay. (the proceedings became inaudible until his demand was complied with.) mrs. chowderby hoped that what the unmarried young lady had seen and heard that day, would be a warning to her in case she ever had the misfortune of having children. punca's pocket-book of fun. no girl could have been better brought up than maria, and now let them look at her. mrs. tomkins begged, laughing, that they would do nothing of the kind. mr. chowderby conceived that if they were going to have nothing but nonsense, they had better go. he was a man of business, and would make a business-like proposi- tion. would tomkins pay all his debts, and advance him £ to buy him a milk-walk, taking the advance out, for he was a man of business, in milk on week days and cream on sundays ? mr. tomkins, in justice to his adored wife, to that in- nocent babe, and to-well, never mind that-must decline doing any thing of the sort. but a £ note was heartily at mr. chowderby's service, and there it was. mr. chowderby would accept it, but without prejudice to his other claims. mrs. chowderby would forgive her maria, if maria could forgive herself. mrs. tomkins signifying that she was decidedly equal to : this latter conciliatory effort, there was much mutual em. bracing, and tea at the expense of miss tiddles. paterfamilias at the sea-side. old paterfamilias is at the sea-side, because he believes change of air should be tried, and there too his wife and his children abide with paterfamilias by the sea-side. punch's pocket-book of fun. detail is his passion, and order his pride, so a journal he keeps, whereunto to confide the events of each day, with the roast, boiled and fried, had by paterfamilias by the sea-side. a month or six weeks thus away gently slide, in hotel or in lodging-house whilst they reside ; then payment of little account to provide has paterfamilias by the sea-side. next day, in the times, there's a letter espied, where the bill and its items are all specified, and extortion denounced, and its harpies decried, by paterfamilias from the sea-side. profundities. (from our cron slop-basin.) let woman argue as little as possible with man, not that she is not often in the right, but because her empire is in danger if her subjects think. primogeniture has advantages for the first-born. to the first child, when at three years old it breaks a plate, we say, “ did 'em den, well donee be frighteney." the second on a similar occasion we scold, the third we turn out of the room, and the fourth we whip. cowper says that “the tear that is wiped with address may be followed, perhaps, by a smile.” if it is a woman's tear, the “ perhaps " is unnecessary. you can always dry it with a dress. putting on a bonnet is a long and troublesome process, punch's pocket-book of fun. yet it is much easier than putting off paying for the article. the wife who is the worst housekeeper is the best hand at cooking_her accounts. the key in which most married women's complaints are set is the latch-key. if your wife is particularly anxious that you should enjoy your breakfast some morning, don't be suspicious. it is just possible that a dress-maker may not be up-stairs with a bill in her pocket. why is a woman's talk like light ? because it lasts from morn till night. the man who makes jokes at matrimony, has probably found matrimony no joke. mercury forms alike the ball of the barometer and the back of the looking-glass. yet, woman consults the second only, when she wants to go out. no hero was ever valet-de-chambre to a man. no marking-ink is so permanent as a printer's, and the name given you by his “font” outlasts that given by the font in church. a reputation for wit is frequently undeserved, but a reputation for folly, never. woman knows the value of most things, and is always ready to exchange when the rate is in her favor. see how quickly a woman's name is given up for a man's. ' if nature means that we should warn before we strike, why did she give us fists before speech? a smile is the receipt given when you pay a compli- ment—an awkward compliment, however, sometimes pro- vokes you to give a stamp. punch's pocket-book of fun. detail is his passion, and order his pride, so a journal he keeps, whereunto to confide the events of each day, with the roast, boiled and fried, had by paterfamilias by the sea-side. a month or six weeks thus away gently slide, in hotel or in lodging-house whilst they reside ; then payment of little account to provide has paterfamilias by the sea-side. next day, in the times, there's a letter espied, where the bill and its items are all specified, and extortion denounced, and its harpies decried, by paterfamilias from the sea-side. profundities. (from our own slop-basin.) let woman argue as little as possible with man, not that she is not often in the right, but because her empire is in danger if her subjects think. primogeniture has advantages for the first-born. to the first child, when at three years old it breaks a plate, we say, “ did 'em den, well donee be frighteney." the second on a similar occasion we scold, the third we turn out of the room, and the fourth we whip. cowper says that “the tear that is wiped with address may be followed, perhaps, by a smile.” if it is a woman's tear, the “perhaps” is unnecessary. you can always dry it with a dress. putting on a bonnet is a long and troublesome process, punch's pocket-book of fun. yet it is much easier than putting off paying for the article. the wife who is the worst housekeeper is the best hand at cooking-her accounts. the key in which most married women's complaints are set is the latch-key. if your wife is particularly anxious that you should enjoy your breakfast some morning, don't be suspicious. it is just possible that a dress-maker may not be up-stairs with a bill in her pocket. why is a woman's talk like light? because it lasts from morn till night. the man who makes jokes at matrimony, has probably fouud matrimony no joke. mercury forms alike the ball of the barometer and the back of the looking-glass. yet, woman consults the second only, when she wants to go out. no hero was ever valet-de-chambre to a man. no marking-ink is so permanent as a printer's, and the name given you by his “font” outlasts that given by the font in church. a reputation for wit is frequently undeserved, but a reputation for folly, never. woman knows the value of most things, and is always ready to exchange when the rate is in her favor. see how quickly a woman's name is given up for a man's. . if nature means that we should warn before we strike, why did she give us fists before speech ? a smile is the receipt given when you pay a compli- mentan awkward compliment, however, sometimes pro- vokes you to give a stamp. punch's pocket-book of fun. bit of pride about them, and will as readily gossip with sarah the housemaid about the luckiest day on which to meet her sweetheart, john the butcher, as they will ap- prise an emperor of a fortunate day to make a treaty, or a generalissimo of the happy hour for going to battle. lastly, there is the great and holy beauty attaching to martyrdom. for every body who practises or believes in astrology is held, by the so-called wise men of the earth, and by their laws, to be either a knave or a fool, or both. this persecution gives the pursuit an additional zest for such people as are found to patronize the art. how to practise it. if you are a professor of the art, that is, one who makes money thereby, i need not give you any advice. you have already learned the real value of astrology. but to the novice i will impart a few seorets, which, if duly studied, will enable him to know as much as your- self. to computo a scheme of the heavens. draw a square, and in the middle a small square, and a few cross lines, cutting the intermediate space up like a chinese puzzle. make upon each of these lines a figure like that upon the great blue, green, and red bottles in a chemist's window. write natus; which is the latin for born, in the centre square (or nata, if you expect a female) and then wait for a victim. . when you get one, write the day and hour of his birth after the latin word, and in conversation, or by pumping a servant, or other- wise, find out any thing you can about him. take your punch's pocket-book of fun. series of (dishonored) bills for his father-in-law. deem. ing it necessary to restrict his cash operations, mr. tom. kins had lately declined this course, and to his son-in-law refusing him money, mr. chowderby, with some plausibil- ity, attributes his being without any. differences arose, which were rather suspended than settled by a visit, which at maria tomkins' desire her husband requested from mrs. chowderby. it is here necessary to mention, that about december last, a baby was born to mr. and mrs. tomkins. mrs. chowderby accepted the invitation, bringing with her two younger brothers of maria, and they remained as guests until easter, at which period the unsolicited super- intendence of the elder lady with the management of the infant, the continual disarrangement of the pickle pots by the younger chowderbys, the incessant demands of the elder chowderby for money, and a final proposition that the whole chowderby family should come and live with the tomkins', brought matters to a crisis, which terminated in the expulsion of the chowderbys, and a total estrangement. mr. tomkins felt no discontent at this; but his wife, and various members of the family, considering it objection- able, it was agreed that a conference should be held at miss tiddle's, (a maiden aunt of mr. tomkins,) in order to endeavor to arrange matters. the conference took place at the above locality, on wednesday afternoon. every body attended on his and her own behalf. there were present, therefore, mr. silas chowderby, miss tiddles, mrs. s. chowderby, mr. t. tomkins, maria tomkins, baby tomkins, (provisionally registered thomas augustus pickles,) sarah carter, (nurse punch's pocket-book of fun. here nor there. mr. tomkins ought to be ashamed of himself, and as for his wife-(here mrs. chowderby wept.) sarah carter had no right to speak, being only a poor servant, but sooner than see that blessed baby (article pro- duced) physicked with the messes mrs. chowderby guy it when its mamma's back was turned, she would break stones on the high ropes. mrs. chowderby insisted on that slut's withdrawal from the conference; but after some discussion this proposal was overruled. mr. tomkins had deuced little to say. he had married maria, and not the whole family; but he was a good. natured fellow, and so long as her relations behaved with any sort of decency, he had been glad to do his best for them. but there was such a thing as cutting it too f- (here mrs. tomkins gently suggested that her husband should vary his illustration). well, he meant as riding a willing horse to death. he appealed to maria if he had not been a kind husband to her, in spite of her relatives. (mrs. tomkins here threw herself on his bosom, and sobbed). mr. chowderby said that it was keener than a tooth- ache to have a thankless serpent instead of a child. mr. tomkins was willing to admit that proposition in all its fulness, but did not see the applicability. miss louisa tomkins was sure that her brother would do every thing that was right, and suggested that he should give them a day on the water, and a dinner at richmond, and every body be friends. mr. frederic binkle cordially concurred in the last sug. punch's pocket-book of fun. gestion, and if the word champagne were not deemed in. admissible, he would venture to offer, on his own account, that addition to the proposed festivity. (miss l. tomkins touched his hand, and said “ duck.") mr. choderby regarded all that as trash. if mr. tom- kins would give him the money such a piece of foolery would cost, it would enable him to remove his silver tea- pot from the house of a supposititious relative, where, to the infinite disgrace of the family, it had long been de- posited. masters peter and jack chowderby expressed an opin- ion that the party would be much more jolly, and bother the old tea-pot; besides, papa never took tea, but gin-and- water. (the extrusion of these members of the confer. ence occupied the next half minute.) mrs. maria tomkins cried for some time, and then stated, that except her husband, her blessed baby was the only comfort she had on earth. her papa and mamma were very unkind, she was sure, and thomas had a great deal to complain of. she had tried to make peace, but she hoped she knew her duty as a wife. baby tomkins (hearing his mamma's voice) signified that she owed a duty as a mother which he called upon her in the most urgent manner to perform without delay. (the proceedings became inaudible until his demand was complied with.) mrs. chowderby hoped that what the unmarried young lady had seen and heard that day, would be a warning to her in case she ever had the misfortune of having children. punch's pocket-book of fun. no girl could have been better brought up than maria, and now let them look at her. mrs. tomkins begged, laughing, that they would do nothing of the kind. mr. chowderby conceived that if they were going to have nothing but nonsense, they had better go. he was a man of business, and would make a business-like proposi- tion. would tomkins pay all his debts, and advance him £ to buy him a milk-walk, taking the advance out, for he was a man of business, in milk on week days and cream on sundays ? mr. tomkins, in justice to his adored wife, to that in- nocent babe, and to-well, never mind that must decline doing any thing of the sort. but a £ note was heartily at mr. chowderby's service, and there it was. mr. chowderby would accept it, but without prejudice to his other claims. mrs. chowderby would forgive her maria, if maria could forgive herself. mrs. tomkins signifying that she was decidedly equal to this latter conciliatory effort, there was much mutual em. bracing, and tea at the expense of miss tiddles. paterfamilias at the sea-side. old paterfamilias is at the sea-side, because he believes change of air should be tried, and there too his wife and his children abide with paterfamilias by the sea-side. punch's pocket-book of fun. he watches the ebb and the flow of the tide, and the sea-gulls that o'er the waves hover and glide, and the steamboats' arrivals are curiously eyed by paterfamilias by the sea-side. he marks the young ladies and children, who ride o’er the shingle-strewn beach of the ocean so wide, upon donkeysa feat one would like to see tried by paterfamilias by the sea-side. he has read, during breakfast, his paper-well dried, and he sits on the shore and peruses his guide, whilst apples and pebbles are now and then shied at paterfamilias by the sea-side. or the sea-weeds and shells his attention divide, with starfish, to plants that seem closely allied, and ships in the offing are through a glass spied by paterfamilias by the sea-side. he bargains for shrimps-being cheaply supplied provided they're not by the doctor denied, whilst the little boys look on, and sometimes deride old paterfamilias by the sea-side. to the bathing-machines his mind's often applied, he considers the swimmers too plainly descried, which gives much occasion to grumble and chide to paterfamilias by the sea-side. ptie's pocket- of its. detail is his passion, and oder his pride, so a journal he keeps, whereanto to confide the events of each day, with the roast, boiled and fried, hadi by paterfamiiias by the sea-side. a month or six weeks thus awas gently slide, in hotel or in lodging-house whilst they reside; then payment of little account to provide has paterfamilias by the sea-side. next day, in the times, there's a letter espied, where the bill and its items are all specified, and extortion denounced, and its harpies decried, by paterfamilias from the sea-side. profundities. (from our own shop-basin.) let woman argue as little as possible with man, not that she is not often in the right, but because her empire is in danger if her subjects think. primogeniture has advantages for the first-born. to the first child, when at three years old it breaks a plate, we say, “ did 'em den, well donee be frighteney.” the second on a similar occasion we scold, the third we turn out of the room, and the fourth we whip. cowper says that “the tear that is wiped with address may be followed, perhaps, by a smile.” if it is a woman's tear, the “ perhaps " is unnecessary. you can always dry it with a dress. putting on a bonnet is a long and troublesome process, punch's pocket-book of fun. yet it is much easier than putting off paying for the article. the wife who is the worst housekeeper is the best hand at cooking her accounts. the key in which most married women's complaints are set is the latch-key. if your wife is particularly anxious that you should enjoy your breakfast some morning, don't be suspicious. it is just possible that a dress-maker may not be up-stairs with a bill in her pocket. why is a woman's talk like light? because it lasts from morn till night. the man who makes jokes at matrimony, has probably fouud matrimony no joke. mercury forms alike the ball of the barometer and the back of the looking-glass. yet, woman consults the second only, when she wants to go out. no hero was ever valet-de-chambre to a man. no marking-ink is so permanent as a printer's, and the name given you by his “font” outlasts that given by the font in church. a reputation for wit is frequently undeserved, but a reputation for folly, never. woman knows the value of most things, and is always ready to exchange when the rate is in her favor. see how quickly a woman's name is given up for a man's. ' if nature means that we should warn before we strike, why did she give us fists before speech ? a smile is the receipt given when you pay a compli- ment-an awkward compliment, however, sometimes pro- vokes you to give a stamp. punch's pocket-book of fun. most men who make morning calls are donkeys, but the worst of them is the donkey that you can't get to go. [there were more in the basin but they shall come out another time. mr. punch's handbook to astrology. description and praise of the science. astrology means the finding out what influence the stars and planets have upon the actions of men and women. as they have no such influence at all, the science is purely imaginative, and is therefore entitled to a higher admiration than belongs to the exact sciences, which demand no exercise of imagination. one of the grand beauties of the science is that the most ignorant person may pursue it with as much success as the most learned, and indeed with more, for an ignorant person may easily persuade himself of the truth of astro- logy, and may therefore attain enthusiastic faith, while the better informed man, the more he studies the subject, becomes more and more convinced that he is wasting his time. another great beauty of astrology is, that no two dis- ciples of the art ever can agree upon its teachings, and this circumstance must endear the pursuit to the free and in- dependent minds who nobly scorn to be bound by the opinions of others, and insist on thinking for themselves. a third nobleness of the pursuit is to be found in the fact that it is suited to all sorts and conditions of men. the stars, consulted through the astrologer, have not a punch's pocket-book of fun. bit of pride about them, and will as readily gossip with sarah the housemaid about the luckiest day on which to meet her sweetheart, john the butcher, as they will ap- prise an emperor of a fortunate day to make a treaty, or a generalissimo of the happy hour for going to battle. lastly, there is the great and holy beauty attaching to martyrdom. for every body who practises or believes in astrology is held, by the so-called wise men of the earth, and by their laws, to be either a knave or a fool, or both. this persecution gives the pursuit an additional zest for such people as are found to patronize the art. how to practise it. if you are a professor of the art, that is, one who makes money thereby, i need not give you any advice. you have already learned the real value of astrology. but to the novice i will impart a few secrets, which, if duly studied, will enable him to know as much as your- self. to compute a scheme of the heavens. draw a square, and in the middle a small square, and a few cross lines, cutting the intermediate space up like a chinese puzzle. make upon each of these lines a figure like that upon the great blue, green, and red bottles in a chemist's window. write natus; which is the latin for born, in the centre square (or nata, if you expect a female) and then wait for a victim. . when you get one, write the day and hour of his birth after the latin word, and in conversation, or by pumping a servant, or other- wise, find out any thing you can about him. take your punch's pocket-book of fun. fee, mention that the stars are rather capricious this week, but that you will let them see their master. then dismiss your man. in a fortnight, send him this sort of thing, varied according to circumstances : the squares above mentioned. “this native (always call him a native) has a curi. ously mixed fortune. at the hour of birth mercury was in sextile to jupiter, and the evil saturn was rushing to combustion, while pisces was intercepted in the first house, and mars afflicted hyleg, the life-giver, and en. tered his department in a malefic sequisquare. for these reasons i should advise the native to beware of lobsters, third-cousins, antibilious pills, and omnibuses, but he may freely indulge in fermented liquors, theatrical amusements, and fireworks. . “the native's ruling planet is uranus, and he must therefore not expect his hair to curl. his horoscope is rather cloudy, and i would counsel him not to smoke ex. cept on the sabbath day. the planets show that the native has been reasonably well educated, but i should not advise him to compete for the highest honors at the universities. he will be successful in commercial per. suits, if he acts with industry and honesty, and avoids eating periwinkles between the th and d of the month. “the native's matrimonial career will be chequered. from the aspect of jupiter and his quartile lights in trine punch's pocket-book of fun. . with the lunation of the sun, i should recommend him to marry a female of pleasing aspect, intelligence, and good temper, and possessed of a competence. in this case, and by avoiding onions in the years and , his pros- pects of comfort may be considered as favorable. “the native must on no account become a hierarch of the churches of england or rome, or take any great office of state under the crown, as the baleful aspect of yellow staturn proves that he could not be prosperous. but any inferior situation of a lucrative character (mercury seems to except the mastership of the mint) he will do well to accept. “ in the native will take several journeys and meet new acquaintances, but let him beware of over-con- fidence. in he will undertake a matter which will fail unless he throw great energy into it. in he will sustain a loss, but not of a very grave character, and in he will meet with a disappointment, which may tem- porarily cast a shade over his life. the stars add little, except that the native must beware of falling off preci- pices, of being run over by cabs, and of eating hot sup- pers, and let none of his children be christened out of a soup-tureen, or by any name beginning with e or z. consult me again after the vernal equinox.” courage in the canine species.—the happy possessor of a pet dog can generally testify that the faithful animal will lick any thing. the home of the british drama.-a french crib. . punch's pocket-book of fun. cold in the head a medical drama. subjoined, as specimens, are some extracts from a play to be produced under the above title, next season, at a fashionable theatre. the subject has been selected in consideration of the nosological taste lately so successfully stimulated by a creation of french dramatic genius. the piece is divided into five acts, entitled respectively, im- prudence, catarrh, bronchitis, consumption, and cod's liver oil. the dénouement, as indicated by the title of act v., is favorable; but the heroine has previously, to all appearance, expired on the stage, after presenting all the symptoms of phthisis pulmonalis with clinical accuracy. the portions selected for quotation are those of which the interest is the least harrowing. in act i. bradshaw and isabel, whose relations and positions in the drama are obvious, meet, by appointment, under romantic circum- stances. isabel catches a cold in the head, and the train of consequences thence resulting constitutes the action. act i.-imprudence. scene-a grove at the end of a vale. moonlight. a harothorn bush, with seat beneath the shade. bradshaw alone. brad. o beauteous night! but here comes isabel, true (looks at his watch) to a second. punctuality, (enter isabel.) thou art the soul of love ! [they embrace. isab. my dearest edward ! punch's pocket-book of fun. id ulift tibay, ocious dheir be brad. o isabel, my life, my soul, my um— (emotion smothers the remainder of the expression.) come, let us sit, love (they seat themselves), and this arm of mine circling thee like—but what is there like this? we'll watch yon evening star. isab. ugh! [shivers. brad. isabel ! you shudder'd. what's the matter ? isab. nothing, dear; only the sudden chill one feels sometimes when somebody, as the old nurses say, is walking o'er one's grave. brad. that horrid word ! name it not, isabel. uplift thy gaze to the bright stars and to the glorious moon. there !—now those glowing eyes reflect their beams, oh, with what interest of added light ! isab. a-tisha! [sneezes. brad. dearest. isab. tisha !_isha misha! [sneeze again. brad. i fear- isab. a-tish! continuing to sneeze. brad. you've caught- isab. isha !--isha !- brad. cold. let me wrap you in this cloak, love. what is it you're looking for ? isab. my han-a-tisha l- my handkerchief.* a-tisha! oh dear! i've left it behi-i-i-i-i-i-tisha !-ind. punch's pocket-book of fun. brad. make this a temporary substitute ah ! 'tis the damp night-air-you're thinly clad- this will not do, love. heavens ! should any harm befall thy precious health, and i the cause ! the thought is madness. come, lean on this arm, i'll see thee safe home. isab. dearest edward, nay, the way is short, and i should be so vexed if we were seen. how sad it is to part ! a-tisha! brad. say, when shall we meet again ? isab. i'll wr--i-ite-a-tisha ! and let you know : edward, farewell. brad. my isabel, adieu ! [they embrace again. stay, dearest, put this cloak on; wear it home, and cast it off a little from the house; i shall know where to find it. . isab. edward ! what that nice new cloak ? throw it into the road ? oh no! i could not think of such a thing. once more good-bye, love, till we meet again. [exit. brad. a black and envious cloud hath risen up, and threatens to bedim the radiant moon. [a sneeze in the distance. ha! i fear that was isabel again. humph! some do reckon it good luck to sneeze: such may the omen prove to isabel. [exit. act closes. act ii.-catarrh. [the temporary absence of isabel, in the preceding punch's pocket-book of fun. act, from her home, has not been effectually concealed from her mamma. an explanation has ensued; and the indulgent parent has been prevailed upon to countenance the addresses of bradshaw : the rather from anxiety about the health of her child, whose moonlight assignation has resulted in a severe cold in the head.] scene-isabel's boudoir. isabel alone, muffled in a sharol, and her head bandaged. isab. 'tis dear the tibe whel edward was to cub; [looks at herself in a mirror. oh, by! i do look such a shockilg fright, i albost dread (uses handkerchief) to bect by lover's eye, with such a loze, ald yet i bust, or else he'll falcy that babba wol't let be see hib. this cubs of sittilg lookilg at the bool. that sowld! it is his footstep. enter seroant bbadsaw following. [exit servant. brad. what do i see? isabel thus !-in invalid attire ! - what is the matter !—speak, love ! isab. lothilg, dear, at least dot butch the batter. oldly a cold, i shall be better sood. re-enter servant with basin of gruel on a tray, which she places on work-table, and exit. brad. my suffering angel ! oh let me try and (wheels arm-chair to table) make you comfortable. [draws shawls closer around her, &c. . punch's pocket-book of fun. isab. thalks, edward. [uses handkerchief. brad. now, love, take a drop of this. [feeds her with gruel. isab. ah!-stay a bobelt-'tis too hot. brad. oh, dear! stop, let me cool it. [tastes a little. isab. is it dice ? brad. not very. isab. (laughing.) ha, ha, ha, ha! you see, love, i cad laugh. brad. that's right, my darling. isab. oh, dear!-oh! by side ! brad. a pain, love ? isab. yes—a little paid il the chest. brad. stay, dearest, let me just apply my ear- for somewhat have i gain'd of physic's lore- to ascertain the state of that dear chest where lies my chiefest treasure. please hold still. [performs auscultation those little fingers in my hair, dear love, confuse the sounds, you know-stop-hush—why, yes! the respiratory murmur's audible, but with a râle, well, that one would expect- there is a rapid action of the heart.- isab. it beats for you alode. enter servant, with tub. serv. ahem! [bradshaw tises brad. what's this? isab. oh!—by hot water, dear, to put by feet il. | punch's pocket-book of fun. / punch's pocket-book of fun. put it dowl, bary, [mary sets down the tub. whel i walt you i'll rig. [exit servant. brad. alas! then, i must go. ah! would the right to stay and tend thee, isabel, were mine. isab. i dow you'd bake a bost atteltive durse. brad. and so i hope some day to prove, if need should be for proof—which may there never be ! do you feel better now, love ? isab. oh, buch better. brad. come let me put your bath in readiness. [moves the tub of hot water to her feet. and then one parting kiss. isab. lo !-stop a billet. [uses handkerchief. low thel ! [they embrace. brad. farewell! oh, soon, ye gracious powers, restore my love to health and me to happiness! exit. isab. how quickly does love bake the billets fly! il the beal tibe by gruel has got cold ! [rings a hand-bell and prepares to put her feet into hot water as the scene closes. a reflection on literature.—it is a well-authen- ticated fact, that the name of a book has a great deal to do with its sale and its success. how strange that titles should go for so much in the republic of letters ! irish development.—pat and his whiskey resemble each other; they come out to most advantage in " hot water." punch's pocket-book of fun. philosophical drama. our readers need not be alarmed. we are not going into a disquisition concerning the “stage in germany"- a subject which so alarmed the editors of the antijacobin some years ago. we wish merely to offer a few sugges- tions with reference to some advertisements we met with lately. it seems that the proprietors of the polytechnic and panopticon are about to introduce dramatic readings and sing songs as part of their attractions—there can be no objection we should think to this. to unite the utile cum dulci has long been the wish of right-minded educa- tionists, and there seems to be no reason why the crucible cum dulcimer should not be engaged in furtherance of scientific education. that shakspeare knew any thing of the atomic theory, of the diffusion of gases, or of compound radicals, we may be permitted to doubt; but a general notion of chemical laws he must have had. his allusion to the possibility of the dust of alexander ultimately stopping a beer barrel is sufficient proof that he understood all about the inde- structibility of matter, while the familiar manner in which touchstone speaks of the retort “courteous” shows on the part of the author an acquaintance with chemical apparatus. but we do not intend to go into the question “did shakspeare understand chemistry ?” we leave that to mr. charles knight, who can no doubt make the sub- ject as clear as day. we merely wish, as we said before, to offer a few suggestions which we hope the proprietor of the polytechnic will not think us precipitate in making punch's pocket-book of fun. at this early stage of the chemical drama speculation. we would respectfully hint that instead of reading old plays, new ones should be written and read—the plots laid in the laboratory; and scenes of thrilling interest might nu easily be got up with the voltaic battery : the titles must be appropriate and taking. for instance, margarite of glycerine would be, as they say in the transpontine dis- tricts, a stunner; and if “written up to " with a purpose on the amusement and instruction plan, would be sure to take. mr. pepper might make the reading of various punch's pocket-book of fun. compounds quite simple, and if he could not reach the sublime, might at least achieve a sublimate. with passing remarks on the organic compounds, with an accompani- ment on the piano, together with allusion to the connection between the treble and bass, and the tribasic phosphates, the thing would be sure to go off well. even a “scream- ing" effect might be produced, when ladies are present, by the judicious introduction of a few explosions—" as part of the performance,” as jack said. “the reduced oxide, or i don't care a button," would be a good title for either farce or tragedy; and with a few well-seasoned remarks from mr. pepper, a good audience could not fail to be mustered. a tea-totaller's wish. mine be a cot beside a rill, where i can always drink my fill, and underneath an osier's clump give me a good old-fashioned pump. let me a pleasant brook command, where i could drink out of my hand, or ask—for lack of other mug- the nightingale to lend his jug. a stream should run from north to south, o’er which i'd hold my watering mouth; and if on more i fain would glut, give me a good-sized water-butt. punch's pocket-book of fun. let others sing the joys of wine- the cistern's wholesome draught be mine; i only need a small estate, enough to pay my water-rate. let me hang idly o'er the marge of some full-laden river-barge; my face in water let me dip, to catch the fluid on my lip. wealth has for me nor charm nor bribe, while water i can still imbibe ; let poets other seasons sing, but give me a perpetual spring. domestic recipes. by a homoeopathic doctor. a good, wholesome breakfast.—take the billionth part of a roll, crumble it in the fiftieth part of a pint of milk; boil the two together, and serve up with ifths of a hard egg. a refreshing luncheon.—half a dram of cheese, and two ounces of stale bread, with pint of table-beer in a quart of water. a hearty dinner.— ounce, drams, scruples of lean rumpsteak, potato, and grains of greens. for pudding— pennyweights of boiled rice, with .ths of a spoon of moist sugar. if fruit is in season, a handsome punch's pocket-book of fun. dessert may be sent up of gooseberries, currants, and the eth part of an apple. a stiff glass of grog.—- drops of gooseberry wine in a tumbler of water. a light supper.-two scruples of gruel, with the thousandth part of a grain of nutmeg, and half as much of sugar. an infallible cure for a cold.—drink nths of a seidlitz powder, dissolved in a jug of water, put your feet in a pint of warm water, and apply to your nose some tallow, but be careful it is not more than the tenth part of a pin’s head, or else it will do no good. : false hairs and graces. an indignant father of a family has sent us a circular, which he snatched from the bands of his eldest daughter, and in which young ladies are invited by some atrocious dealer in wigs to adopt his filthy manufacture, by mixing with their own locks the hair cut from the heads of other people—frequently on account of fever, and sometimes under circumstances of a still less attractive nature. we share with our correspondent the disgust he feels at these mercenaries, who, for the sake of selling a few sham curls and fictitious tresses, put falsehood literally into the heads of the rising generation—and, oh horror! the female part of it. we are not advocates for violence, and we are rather disposed to agree with the dramatist, that “the man who lays his hand,” &c. &c., “is an,” &c., “whom it would be gross flattery to call an,” &c., &c. we, never- punch's pocket-book of fun. i i've some, as well,—no doubt but what you're perfectly aware on't, ma'am, whose doings bring derision and discredit on their parent, ma'am.” “there are boys of mine," says physic, “ma'am, such silly fancies nourishing, as curing gout and stomach-ache by pawing and by flour- ishing." “well,” says divinity, “i've those who teach that hea- ven's beatitudes are to be earned by postures, genuflexions, bows, and attitudes." “my good-for-nothing sons," says physic, "some have turned hydropathists ; some taken up with mesmerism, or joined the homoeopa- thists." "mine," says divinity, “pursue a system of gimcrackery, called puseyism, a pack of stuff, and quite as arrant quackery." says physic, “mine have sleep-walkers, pretending, through the hide of you, to look, although their eyes are shut, and tell you what's inside of you." “ah !” says divinity, “so mine, with quibbling and with cavilling, would have you, ma'am, to blind yourself, to see the road to travel in." turne . punch's pocket-book of fun. isab. thalks, edward. [uses handkerchief. brad. now, love, take a drop of this. [feeds her with gruel. isab. ahl-stay a bobelt'tis too hot. brad. oh, dear ! stop, let me cool it. [tastes a little. isab. is it dice? brad. not very isab. (laughing.) ha, ha, ha, ha! you see, love, i cad laugh. brad. that's right, my darling. isab. oh, dear !-oh! by side ! brad. a pain, love ? isab. yes—a little paid il the chest. brad. stay, dearest, let me just apply my ear- for somewhat have i gain’d of physic's lore- to ascertain the state of that dear chest where lies my chiefest treasure. please hold still. [performs auscultation those little fingers in my hair, dear love, confuse the sounds, you know-stop-hush—why, yes! the respiratory murmur's audible, but with a râle, well, that one would expect- there is a rapid action of the heart.- isab. it beats for you alode. enter servant, with tub. serv. ahem! [bradshaw rises. brad. what's this? isab. oh!—by hot water, dear, to put by feet il. punch's pocket-book of fun. pro punch's pocket-book of fun. put it dowl, bary, [mary sets down the tub. whel i walt you i'll rig. [escit servant. brad. alas! then, i must go. ah! would the right to stay and tend thee, isabel, were mine. isab. i dow you'd bake a bost atteltive durse. brad. and so i hope some day to prove, if need should be for proof—which may there never be ! do you feel better now, love ? isab. oh, buch better. brad. come let me put your bath in readiness. [moves the tub of hot water to her feet. and then one parting kiss. isab. lo !stop a billet. [uses handkerchief. low thel ! [they embrace. brad. farewell! oh, soon, ye gracious powers, restore my love to health and me to happiness! . [exit. isab. how quickly does love bake the billets fly! il the beal tibe by gruel has got cold ! [rings a hand-bell and prepares to put her feet into hot water as the scene closes. a reflection on literature.—it is a well-authen- ticated fact, that the name of a book has a great deal to do with its sale and its success. how strange that titles should go for so much in the republic of letters ! irish development.—pat and his whiskey resemble each other; they come out to most advantage in “hot water." pun pocket-book of fun. wotion. philosophical drama. our readers need not be alarmed. we are not going into a disquisition concerning the “stage in germany"- a subject which so alarmed the editors of the antijacobin some years ago. we wish merely to offer a few sugges- tions with reference to some advertisements we met with lately. it seems that the proprietors of the polytechnic and panopticon are about to introduce dramatic readings and sing songs as part of their attractions—there can be no objection we should think to this. to unite the utile cum dulci has long been the wish of right-minded educa- tionists, and there seems to be no reason why the crucible cum dulcimer should not be engaged in furtherance of scientific education. that shakspeare knew any thing of the atomic theory, of the diffusion of gases, or of compound radicals, we may be permitted to doubt; but a general notion of chemical laws he must have had. his allusion to the possibility of the dust of alexander ultimately stopping a beer barrel is sufficient proof that he understood all about the inde- structibility of matter, while the familiar manner in which touchstone speaks of the retort “courteous” shows on the part of the author an acquaintance with chemical apparatus. but we do not intend to go into the question “ did shakspeare understand chemistry ?” we leave that to mr. charles knight, who can no doubt make the sub- ject as clear as day. we merely wish, as we said before, to offer a few suggestions which we hope the proprietor of the polytechnic will not think us precipitate in making punch's pocket-book of fun. at this early stage of the chemical drama speculation. we would respectfully hint that instead of reading old plays, new ones should be written and read—the plots laid in the laboratory; and scenes of thrilling interest might i easily be got up with the voltaic battery : the titles must be appropriate and taking. for instance, margarite of glycerine would be, as they say in the transpontine dis- tricts, a stunner; and if " written up to” with a purpose on the amusement and instruction plan, would be sure to take. mr. pepper might make the reading of various punch's pocket-book of fun. compounds quite simple, and if he could not reach the sublime, might at least achieve a sublimate. with passing remarks on the organic compounds, with an accompani- ment on the piano, together with allusion to the connection between the treble and bass, and the tribasic phosphates, the thing would be sure to go off well. even a “scream- ing" effect might be produced, when ladies are present, by the judicious introduction of a few explosions—" as part of the performance," as jack said. « the reduced oxide, or i don't care a button," would be a good title for either farce or tragedy; and with a few well-seasoned remarks from mr. pepper, a good audience could not fail to be mustered. a tea-totaller's wish. mine be a cot beside a rill, where i can always drink my fill, and underneath an osier's clump give me a good old-fashioned pump. let me a pleasant brook command, where i could drink out of my hand, or ask-for lack of other mug- the nightingale to lend his jug. a stream should run from north to south, o'er which i'd hold my watering mouth; and if on more i fain would glut, give me a good-sized water-butt. punch's pocket-book of fun. let others sing the joys of wine- the cistern’s wholesome draught be mine; i only need a small estate, enough to pay my water-rate. let me hang idly o’er the marge of some full-laden river-barge; my face in water let me dip, to catch the fluid on my lip. wealth has for me nor charm nor bribe, while water i can still imbibe ; let poets other seasons sing, but give me a perpetual spring. domestio recipes. by a homoopathic doctor. a good, wholesome breakfast.—take the billionth part of a roll, crumble it in the fiftieth part of a pint of milk; boil the two together, and serve up with ifths of a hard egg. a refreshing luncheon.—half a dram of cheese, and two ounces of stale bread, with pint of table-beer in a quart of water. a hearty dinner.— ounce, drams, scruples of lean rumpsteak, potato, and grains of greens. for pudding— pennyweights of boiled rice, with ths of a spoon of moist sugar. if fruit is in season, a handsome punch's pocket-book of fun. dessert may be sent up of gooseberries, currants, and the oth part of an apple. a stiff glass of grog.-- drops of gooseberry wine in a tumbler of water. a light supper.—two scruples of gruel, with the thousandth part of a grain of nutmeg, and half as much of sugar. an infallible cure for a cold.—drink to ths of a seidlitz powder, dissolved in a jug of water, put your feet in a pint of warm water, and apply to your nose some tallow, but be careful it is not more than the tenth part of a pin's head, or else it will do no good. false hairs and graces. an indignant father of a family has sent us a circular, which he snatched from the bands of his eldest daughter, and in which young ladies are invited by some atrocious dealer in wigs to adopt his filthy manufacture, by mixing with their own locks the hair cut from the heads of other people—frequently on account of fever, and sometimes under circumstances of a still less attractive nature. we share with our correspondent the disgust he feels at these mercenaries, who, for the sake of selling a few sham curls and fictitious tresses, put falsehood literally into the heads of the rising generation—and, oh horror! the female part of it. we are not advocates for violence, and we are rather disposed to agree with the dramatist, that "the man who lays his hand,” &c. &c., " is an," &c., “whom it would be gross flattery to call an,” &c., &c. we, never- punch's pocket-book of fun. theless, are disposed to think, that if a young lady is sus- pected of wearing false hair it would be allowable to dash her wig to the ground; and though we are not inclined to recommend the tearing of the hair, we would excuse any one who should unmask a female impostor by carrying away the “false front” under which she may have ven- tured to present herself. kindred quacks. i overheard two matrons grave, allied by close affinity, (the name of one was physic, and the other's was divinity,) as they put their groans together, both so doleful and lugubrious :- says physic, “ to unload the heart of grief, ma'am, is salubrious : here am i, at my time of life, in this year of our deliver- ance; my age gives me a right to look for some esteem and reverence. but, ma'am, i feel it is too true what everybody says to me,- too many of my children are a shame and a disgrace to me.” “ah!” says divinity, “my heart can suffer with another, ma'am; i'm sure i can well understand your feelings as a mother, ma'am. punch's pocket-book of fun. i've some, as well, no doubt but what you're perfectly aware on't, ma'am, whose doings bring derision and discredit on their parent, ma'am.” "there are boys of mine," says physic, “ma'am, such silly fancies nourishing, as curing gout and stomach-ache by pawing and by flour- ishing." “well," says divinity, “i've those who teach that hea- ven's beatitudes are to be earned by postures, genuflexions, bows, and attitudes." “my good-for-nothing sons,” says physic, “ some have turned hydropathists ; some taken up with mesmerism, or joined the homøopa- thists." “mine,” says divinity,“ pursue a system of gimcrackery, called puseyism, a pack of stuff, and quite as arrant quackery." says physic, “mine have sleep-walkers, pretending, through the hide of you, to look, although their eyes are shut, and tell you what's inside of you.” “ah !” says divinity, “so mine, with quibbling and with cavilling, would have you, ma'am, to blind yourself, to see the road to travel in." punch's pocket-book of fun. “ mine,” physic says, “ have quite renounced their good old pills and potions, ma'am, for doses of a billionth of a grain and such wild notions, ma'am.”. “so," says divinity," have mine left wholesome exhorta- tion, ma'am, for credence-tables, reredoses rood-lofts and maceration, ma'am." “but hospitals,” says physic, “my misguided boys are founding, ma'am.” "well,” says divinity,“ of mine, the chapels are abound- ing, ma'am.” “ mine are trifling with diseases, ma'am,” says physie, “not attacking them." “mine,” says divinity, “instead of curing souls are quacking them.” “ah, ma’am,” says physic, “i'm to blame, i fear, for these absurdities." “that's my fear, too,” divinity says, “ ma'am, upon my word it is." says physic, “fees, not science, have been far too much my wishes, ma'am.” “ truth,” says divinity, “i've loved much less than loaves and fishes, ma'am.” says each to each, “we're simpletons or sad deceivers, some of us; and i am sure, ma'am, i don't know whatever will be oome of us.” punch's pocket-book of fun. babyolatry. let us not be misunderstood. all we ask for is toler- ation. we would prevent no man from gazing upon his own in silent adoration as long as to him seemeth meet; but if there be aliens who, not having been naturalized, are apt to regard the bassinette at which paternal rapture kneels, as connected with heathen forms of worship, re- spect their conscientious qualms. in the scale of charity : our scruples ought to have their proper weight. we freely admit that johnson's baby is a model, and : would carry off the palm in its little fist, from any exhibi- tion of the products of farinaceous food. but is that any reason why we should be hurried up to the idol's shrine, and required to bow down and tickle it? what we agi- tate for is a great nursery reformation—no coercive ba- byolatry. those who feel strongly that the times are out of joint, cannot be expected to mince matters. our premises in eden terrace have led us to one conclusion, and that is, if the band of hope, consisting of ten very juvenile per- formers, will commence their vocal illustrations at the un- seasonable hour of two o'clock in the morning, we shall give notice to quit the premises in question at lady-day next. our landord johnson, whose unweaned twins ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm, is the high priest of babyolatry. when we remonstrate, he smiles at our vehemence; when we threaten to leave and take lodgings in the far-famed cavern under blackheath hill, he shakes his head, and fears there is something defective in our moral punch's pocket-book of fun. the presidden ly playinkaney, our liar. we sentiments. this we angrily deny. we love innocent prattle—no one more so—in proof of which we subscribed with others to build a palace for tom thumb. we have the organ of philoprogenitiveness as largely developed as our baby-ridden neighbors; we only object to your infant sap- phos perpetually playing upon it, and putting it out of tune. with respect to infancy, our hopes and fears may be deemed perhaps somewhat peculiar. we can't help it. we dread a night-shriek. we desire peace (and are will. ing to pay a high rent for it), not only abroad, but at home. how delightful it is to contemplate " lawrence's children;" with what tender emotions we have often hung over sir joshua reynolds's! o! if nature had only the repose of art !_if a picture gallery and a nursery were equally con- ducive to calm and suggestive thought, who would not then rush eagerly forward to snatch a plume from cupid's wing wherewith to subscribe himself, avunculus. p.s. the above philosophical dissertations were penned eighteen months ago. since then our domestic status has been somewhat changed, and circumstances alter cases. with deep humility we indite this our recantation. fain would we blot out every word we have written on baby- olatry. time will not permit us to say more, as the per- ambulator is ready before our study windows, and which, owing to our nursery maid's indisposition, we have prom- ised personally to propel all round the regent's park, and to take special care that we don't overturn the pre- cious charge, in whom we feel so deep and natural an in. terest-bless its little heart ! punch's pocket-book of fun. itti it til lly m we w cargo what is a baby ?_why, a baby is a living i. o. u. a "little bill ” drawn upon manhood, that is only hon- ored when it arrives at maturity. punch's pocket-book of fun. the fine old english innkeeper. air-sufficiently obvious. i'll sing you a new song on a theme much stirred of late, of a fine old english innkeeper, grown rather out of date, who keeps up his establishment in almost princely state, and don't forget to charge you there at quite a princely rate, like a fine old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. his house, you 're told, is fitted up " regardless of expense,” although one half is obsolete, and t'other make-pretence; exploded old four-posters, built in george the second's reign, mock plate to serve mock-turtle in, sham ice-pails for champagne : at this fine old english innkeeper's, one of the olden time. the swipes he draws is sour enough to turn a navvy pale, tho' by a bitter raillery he calls it bitter ale; and tho' perhaps you don't see half a waiter all the day, for “attendance" quite as much as for a lawyer's you must pay to this fine old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. then if to wine your tastes incline, some home-made cape you'll get, served up in a decanter like a vinegar-cruet, punch's pocket-book of fun. as a “ bottle of madeira” this will in the bill be set, and however nasty it may be, a nice sum you're in debt to the fine old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. and if your wife be with you, you must have a private room, and use a pair of " wax-lights” (with a muttony perfume), for which you'll pay a crown a day, and 'tis a burning shame : that, whether they be lit or not, they're charged for just the same by this rare old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. but soon these fine old innkeepers will find their race is run, for men are up and doing, and no longer will be done : and shortly we may hope to see a really good hotel, where we may be admitted, and not taken in as well, as we were by our old innkeeper, one of the fleecing time. quite natural. naturalists, when they write, are in the habit of re- cording such wonderful things, that one would imagine they labored under the idea that, instead of a natural history, they were writing a history for naturals ! the world's opinion.-a mean man is a person with a small income who lives within it. punch's pocket-book of fun. doggrel on duelling. o fight a duel is a very fool. ish action, particularly with a view to satisfaction; a pretty sort of satisfac- tion it is to be shot! for if you fight, of course you 're as likely to be hit, as not. suppose you happen to have half-an-ounce of lead driven, by a scruple of gunpowder, through your silly head, then, there's an end of you—if what you believe's not true- and if it is so much the worse for you! suppose the bullet lodges—as it may- in your hip-joint, or knocks your jaw away, a nice satisfaction, indeed, you derive from the strife, having to live in misery, a mutilated object, all your life. or, in case the ball goes crashing through your leg, being forced to have your limb cut off, and hobble through the world on a wooden peg. take the other alternative : suppose you are missed, and, instead of being hit yourself, kill your antagonist, a deal of satisfaction, again, forsooth, you get thereby; the country, immediately, you are obliged to fly, and, like a thief or a swindler, go abroad and hide unless you choose to surrender, for wilful murder to be tried. punch's pocket-book of fun. and there you are, in the felons' dock, looking like a goose; and your satisfaction consists in having run your neck into a noose; or, if you escape the gallows, getting imprisoned at least a year, deprived of every comfort, not even allowed a drop of beer; : or, even if you are acquitted, having your lawyer's bill to pay; and that is any thing but satisfaction, i should say. not to mention the reflection, which must be the reverse of pleasant, that you have gone and shot a fellow-creature like a pheasant, or a partridge; and here you are, with his blood on your - head, not a comfortable thing to think upon when you go to bed. besides, it is childish, as well as savage, to want to shoot a man for "chaff," at which, if you've any sort of character, you can afford to laugh, instead of foolishly calling him out, and risking your pre- cious hide, and thus, perhaps, in attempting murder, committing sui- cide. the fruits of matrimony. a magnificent dessert, and a beautiful family of six or eight children, winding up with a baby in long clothes, who are brought in after dinner to do justice to it—these are at all events some of the fruits of matrimony. punch's pocket-book of fun. the surgeon's wind. the wind is north-east-so let it be ! the north-east wind is the wind for me, to me it blows good if to none besides; for the boys on the pavement cut out slides, and the passenger on the hard flagstones comes down, ha, ha! and breaks his bones. i have had a radius to do, and a compound fractured tibia, too. and that had been scarce ten minutes gone, when in came a case of olecranon. there was next a dislocated hip, resulting also from a slip. zymotic diseases lend a charm to genial autumn, moist and warm. we have scarlatina and typhus then, and cholera good for medical men: but practice is best, i always find, in the bracing air of the north-east wind. when the north-easter whistles shrill, it makes me think on the little bill to many a patient that i shall send, whom that wind calls me to attend. and though its music may seem severe, 'tis a strain to gladden a surgeon's ear. punch's pocket-book of fun. what happened to smuth after sending his wet umbrella to be air ed in the kitoien. keep your temper. —avoid entering into an argu- ment with a deaf man in a railway carriage, as it is sure to lead to high words. punch's pocket-book of fun. “ mine,” physic says, “ have quite renounced their good old pills and potions, ma'am, for doses of a billionth of a grain and such wild notions, ma'am.” . “so," says divinity,“ have mine left wholesome exhorta. tion, ma'am, for credence-tables, reredoses rood-lofts and maceration, ma'am.” “but hospitals,” says physic, “my misguided boys are founding, ma'am.” “well," says divinity,“ of mine, the chapels are abound- ing, ma'am.” “mine are trifling with diseases, ma'am,” says physic, “not attacking them.” “mine," says divinity, “instead of curing souls are quacking them.” “ah, ma'am," says physic, “i'm to blame, i fear, for these absurdities.” “that's my fear, too,” divinity says, “ma'am, upon my word it is.” says physic, “ fees, not science, have been far too much my wishes, ma'am.” “ truth," says divinity, “ i've loved much less than loaves and fishes, ma'am.” says each to each, “we're simpletons or sad deceivers, some of us; and i am sure, ma'am, i don't know whatever will be- come of us." punch's pocket-book of fun. babyolatry. let us not be misunderstood. all we ask for is toler- ation. we would prevent no man from gazing upon his own in silent adoration as long as to him seemeth meet; but if there be aliens who, not having been naturalized, are apt to regard the bassinette at which paternal rapture kneels, as connected with heathen forms of worship, re- spect their conscientious qualms. in the scale of charity our scruples ought to have their proper weight. we freely admit that johnson's baby is a model, and would carry off the palm in its little fist, from any exhibi- tion of the products of farinaceous food. but is that any reason why we should be hurried up to the idol's shrine, and required to bow down and tickle it? what we agi- tate for is a great nursery reformation-no coercive ba- byolatry. those who feel strongly that the times are out of joint, cannot be expected to mince matters. our premises in eden terrace have led us to one conclusion, and that is, if the band of hope, consisting of ten very juvenile per- formers, will commence their vocal illustrations at the un- seasonable hour of two o'clock in the morning, we shall give notice to quit the premises in question at lady-day next. our landord johnson, whose unweaned twins ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm, is the high priest of babyolatry. when we remonstrate, he smiles at our vehemence; when we threaten to leave and take lodgings in the far-famed cavern under blackheath hill, he shakes his head, and fears there is something defective in our moral punch's pocket-book of fun. sentiments. this we angrily deny. we love innocent prattle—no one more so—in proof of which we subscribed with others to build a palace for tom thumb. we have the organ of philoprogenitiveness as largely developed as our baby-ridden neighbors; we only object to your infant sap- phos perpetually playing upon it, and putting it out of tune. with respect to infancy, our hopes and fears may be deemed perhaps somewhat peculiar. we can't help it. we dread a night-shriek. we desire peace (and are will. ing to pay a high rent for it), not only abroad, but at home. how delightful it is to contemplate “ lawrence's children;" with what tender emotions we have often hung over sir joshua reynolds's! o! if nature had only the repose of art !—if a picture-gallery and a nursery were equally con- ducive to calm and suggestive thought, who would not then rush eagerly forward to snatch a plume from cupid's wing wherewith to subscribe himself, avunculus. p.s. the above philosophical dissertations were penned eighteen months ago. since then our domestic status has been somewhat changed, and circumstances alter cases. with deep humility we indite this our recantation. fain would we blot out every word we have written on baby- olatry. time will not permit us to say more, as the per- ambulator is ready before our study windows, and which, owing to our nursery maid's indisposition, we have prom- ised personally to propel all round the regent's park, and to take special care that we don't overturn the pre- cious charge, in whom we feel so deep and natural an in- terest-bless its little heart ! punch's pocket-book of fun. euil illi www waar a baby p_why, a baby is a living i. o. u. a "little bill ” drawn upon manhood, that is only hon- ored when it arrives at maturity. punch's pocket-book of fun. the fine old english innkeeper. air–sufficiently obvious. i'll sing you a new song on a theme much stirred of late, of a fine old english innkeeper, grown rather out of date, who keeps up his establishment in almost princely state, and don't forget to charge you there at quite a princely rate, like a fine old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. his house, you 're told, is fitted up" regardless of expense,” although one half is obsolete, and t'other make-pretence; exploded old four-posters, built in george the second's reign, . mock plate to serve mock-turtle in, sham ice-pails for champagne : at this fine old english innkeeper's, one of the olden time. the swipes he draws is sour enough to turn a navvy pale, tho' by a bitter raillery he calls it bitter ale; and tho' perhaps you don't see half a waiter all the day, for “attendance” quite as much as for a lawyer's you must pay to this fine old english innkeeper, one of the olden time. then if to wine your tastes incline, some home-made cape you'll get, served up in a decanter like a vinegar-cruet, punch's pocket-book of fun. doggrel on duelling. o fight a duel is a very fool. ish action, particularly with a view to satisfaction; a pretty sort of satisfac- tion it is to be shot ! for if you fight, of course you 're as likely to be hit, as not. suppose you happen to have half-an-ounce of lead driven, by a scruple of gunpowder, through your silly head, then, there's an end of you—if what you believe's not true- and if it is so much the worse for you! suppose the bullet lodges—as it may- in your hip-joint, or knocks your jaw away, a nice satisfaction, indeed, you derive from the strife, having to live in misery, a mutilated object, all your life. or, in case the ball goes crashing through your leg, being forced to have your limb cut off, and hobble through the world on a wooden peg. take the other alternative : suppose you are missed, and, instead of being hit yourself, kill your antagonist, a deal of satisfaction, again, forsooth, you get thereby; the country, immediately, you are obliged to fly, and, like a thief or a swindler, go abroad and hide, unless you choose to surrender, for wilful murder to be tried. punch's pocket-book of fun. and there you are, in the felons' dock, looking like a goose; and your satisfaction consists in having run your neck into a noose; or, if you escape the gallows, getting imprisoned at least a year, deprived of every comfort, not even allowed a drop of beer; or, even if you are acquitted, having your lawyer's bill to pay; and that is any thing but satisfaction, i should say. not to mention the reflection, which must be the reverse of pleasant, that you have gone and shot a fellow-creature like a pheasant, or a partridge; and here you are, with his blood on your - head, not a comfortable thing to think upon when you go to bed. besides, it is childish, as well as savage, to want to shoot a man for “chaff,” at which, if you've any sort of character, you can afford to laugh, instead of foolishly calling him out, and risking your pre- cious hide, and thus, perhaps, in attempting murder, committing sui- cide. the fruits of matrimony. a magnificent dessert, and a beautiful family of six or eight children, winding up with a baby in long clothes, who are brought in after dinner to do justice to it-these are at all events some of the fruits of matrimony. punch's pocket-book of fun. the surgeon's wind. the wind is north-east—so let it be! the north-east wind is the wind for me, to me it blows good if to none besides; for the boys on the pavement cut out slides, and the passenger on the hard flagstones comes down, ha, ha! and breaks his bones. i have had a radius to do, and a compound fractured tibia, too. and that had been scarce ten minutes gone, when in came a case of olecranon. there was next a dislocated hip, resulting also from a slip. zymotic diseases lend a charm to genial autumn, moist and warm. we have scarlatina and typhus then, and cholera good for medical men: but practice is best, i always find, in the bracing air of the north-east wind. when the north-easter whistles shrill, it makes me think on the little bill to many a patient that i shall send, whom that wind calls me to attend. and though its music may seem severe, 'tis a strain to gladden a surgeon's ear. punch's pocket-book of fun. wd l'umidv what happened to suth after sending his wet umbrella to be air ed in the kitchen. keep your temper. — avoid entering into an argu- ment with a deaf man in a railway carriage, as it is sure to lead to high words. punch's pocket-book of fun. things which no young lady ever does if she can help it. be the first down in the morning, and not the last up at night. keep an account-book in the place of an album. consent to sit down to the piano on any thing under the dozenth time of asking. pay à morning call in her last year's bonnet. do plain needle work instead of fancy collar stitching. return from morning service without bringing home an inventory (exact to a ribbon) of all the new toilettes which have been displayed there. practise “ cramer's exercises " in the lieu of polkas. wear shoes of any other than most wafer-like con• struction, especially when the snow is on the ground. condescend to learn an english song instead of an italian one. mend her own" things," and her younger brother's! travel twenty miles without nineteen packages, seven. teen of which she might easily dispense with. be seen to eat more at dinner than a couple of cana- ries could. and, finally, takes less than forty minutes to "run and put her bonnet on!” recreations in natural history. a most interesting narrative was read at the last meet- ing of the aborigines protection society. it was the account of the expedition of a missionary, from an ameri- punch's pocket-book of fun." can dissenting college, to a tribe of natives of whose exist- ence its directors had but lately become aware, and who are settled in the south-east of brazil. the worthy mis- sionary, brother erky swunks, who is somewhat short- sighted, and who had seen little of the world beyond the walls of his college, made his way from the nearest town, in the direction of the settlement. after a long journey he arrived there towards evening, and found himself among the objects of his teaching. he describes them as tall and active, clothed in close-fitting skins of hairy ani- mals, and as speaking with great rapidity a language un- known to him, but resembling french, as in some degree did the gestures and manners of the natives themselves. he therefore addressed them in french, and apparently was understood, as they evinced much delight, and danced about the worthy man with gestures of admiration. but when brother swunks began to distribute tracts, they snatched them from him, and darting up to the very top of the lofty trees around, tore the paper into bits, and then descended to obtain more. on his making signs that he was thirsty, they all rushed up the trees again, and over- whelmed him with showers of cocoa-nuts. during the whole night they would not allow him to sleep from their incessant care of his welfare, one native succeeding the other in turning him round, patting his eyes, and stroking his hair. when brother swunks attempted to caress the children, they bit him a good deal, and the females snatch- ed them from him, and carried them up the trees. in the morning brother swunks accidentally placed his walking- stick to his shoulder, gun-fashion, upon which the whole punch's pocket-book of fun. tribe took fright, and departed, and after two days the worthy brother returned, not ungratified with what he had done, yet wishing he had been permitted to do more among these poor heathens. however, detemies had prepared , the d him, anh a brishharge the the perils of the whale fishery are among the most exciting of all narratives of voyages. that the whale, a savage and furious animal, when provoked will dash his head against a ship, and sometimes sink her, is on frequent record. the whalers are now well armed, in order to meet this danger, and firearms are resorted to whenever the whale attempts to strike the vessel. captain fran- cis w. lubbock, an american captain, states that having wounded a red whale with the harpoon, the creature, having capsized all the boats, prepared to charge the ship from which his enemies had come. a brisk discharge of rifles, however, deterred him, and he went down. an hour later he re-appeared, with another whale of a more gigantic size, and around whom he was playing, evidently inciting him to attack the ship. a carronade was run out, and as the monster approached, a well-aimed cannon-ball crashed into his skull, amid the cheers of the brave americans, and laid him a floating corpse. but their cheers were stopped by a tremendous flapping noise. the first whale had dived, gone under the ship, and while all were occupied on the starboard, had actually boarded the vessel on the lar- board, and was trying to suck up the black cook. pikes, cutlasses, harpoons, all went to work, and the whale was beaten off, but too late to save the poor cook, whom sheer fright had converted into a mass of blubber, of which we punch's pocket-book of fun. need hardly say the unhesitating yankees made good merchandise. on the ninth of january , a young english trav. eller in america had taken his gun and strayed into the backwoods in quest of sport. after some hours of wan- dering, he came upon a beaver pond, and beheld the saga- cious animals that had reared the dam, swimming in all directions. he prepared to fire, but they instantly dived, and eluded his aim. the largest beaver lingered last, and stroking his own glossy skin with his ample tail, slily remarked, as he sank, “how's your hatter ?” a pretty scale of prices. a fashionable portrait painter, whose name it would not be fair to his many rivals to mention, when asked what are his terms, invariably answers :-"i have no scale of prices. in fact, i generally leave it open to the liberality of my patrons. i have but one rule to guide me in taking likenesses, and that, to be candid, is, 'handsome is, who handsome does.'" the steam annihilator. it is said that “steam annihilates both time and space.” it is a thousand pities, for our comfort in rail- way travelling, that its annihilating powers will sometimes extend, also, to-human beings. another " height of impudence."--naming a rail- way engine “ safety." punch's pocket-book of fun. cousin emily. “and it's little alfred's birthday to-moebot. ko now, what would he like best for a present ?" alfred (after much reflection). “why, i think i should like a- rece bhould like a testament-and-a-a-and-o, i know! i should a squirt!!" a con from the shakspearian clown. q. when othello killed desdemona, was he thinking of his wife ? a. no-his ( ) mother. poetry of nature. --when mist falls upon the earth le bis and freezes, it forms rime. punch's pocket-book of fun. burglary and bronchitis prevented. according to the ingenious mr. jeffreys, nobody could be without a respirator in his hand to clap on his, wn mouth by way of extinguisher to an incipient cough, i to pop on any unfortunate child who exhibits a tendency choke. the respirator seems to be of two kinds; the ne simply oral, which is calculated to check equally the perheeze of asthma or the whistle of age, and the other, pri-nasal, adapted to nose and mouth, so as to make it im- possible either to sneeze or to snore. according to the assertion of the inventor the res. spirator is, in fact, a warm climate for five and sixpence; a portable madeira that may be always put to the mouth like an inexhaustible bottle, at the mere price of the wine. many gentlemen and ladies seem to have been starting for mwarmer latitudes one individual seems to have been on the top of the 'bus bound, viâ paddington, for barbadoes, when, somebody having recommended him a respirator, he descended from the knife-board of a city atlas, rushed into a shop, where he laid out a few shillings, and became the fortunate possessor of a warm climate, to be put on or taken off ad libitum. i'. but perhaps the most valuable feature of the respira- tor has been hitherto overlooked, for it is as a defence against burglary rather than bronchitis, that it will ob- tain the highest renown. let any family go to bed wear- ing respirators, and we defy the boldest burglar to ex- ecute his purpose if the family should be disturbed. jack sheppard himself, or any other romantic ruffian, punch's pocket-book of fun would start back with terror at the aspect of a household armed all in respirators, and presenting such a picture as one of our artists has supplied. or suppose the midnight marauder to have made his way into the bed-room of a nnnn stricken by mr. jerriwearing the frict between them. pair of parents lying with an infant between them, the entire domestic trio wearing the frightful appendage in- vented by mr. jeffreys, we are convinced that the panic- stricken miscreant would shrink out of the “ chamber of horrors,” and proceed to give himself up to justice at the nearest police station. we are convinced that respirator would be as effectual in frightening away burgo lars as a blunderbuss, or, rather, as an air-gun, to which, from its effect on the breathing, the instrument may be aptly compared a definition of cant.spirits of whine. punch's pocket-book of fun. a moral for the months. · in january, o'er the ice, the rapid skater flies, so never scorn sincere advice “ economy is wise.” in february, feathered songsters pair, the crocus and the snowdrop rear their heads ; then let us of intemperance beware, and early seek, and early leave our beds. the winds of march sweep o'er the plain and bid the dust to fly; the hares in march become insane : “ avoid bad company." in april showers fall short and thick, and hard and heavy, like the stick which, on the beat, policemen carry. “experience is salutary." did not the clouds of april genial showers upon the thirsty fields and meadows empt, sweet may would never be adorned with flowers : “ familiarity doth breed contempt." june clothes the fields and forests in full green and sometimes we have summer come at length by midsummer. long live our gracious queen ! and bear in mind that “ unity is strength." punch's pocket-book of fun. the sun shines high in hot july, and farmers make their hay: virtue is true nobility. “ indulge not in display.” the month of august is with harvest crowned, and now the husbandmen their goblets prime: in foaming jugs of ale their cares are drowned : “ procrastination is the thief of time.' september hears the frequent shot resound on hill and dale, and sees the partridge fall—or not. “this world is but a vale." october clothes the woods in brown, and now the sportsmen are alarming the pheasant—sometimes bring him down. note, that “ variety is charming.” november comes blindfold with mist and with fog, and the year is approaching its term. thus along, on life's journey, we all of us jog, whilst “ the early bird picks up the worm." december christmas brings, along with frost and snow. hark how the tradesman sings- “pay what you owe!” punch's pocket-book of fun. the poorest platitudes. a mathematical line is straight enough, but the lines in geology are strata. the man who squints rarely makes a good astronomer. never look a gift shark in the mouth. if a “ still tongue proves a wise head," then the wisest of mortals must be dumb persons. the man with two wooden legs should never ride any thing but a clothes-horse. the best “ house of correction " is the one in which a mother-in-law dwells. of all flatterers the portrait painter may be said to carry off the brush; for no flatterer understands the art so well as he, of flattering a person to his very face! things that it's better to do. it's better to brew beer than mischief—to be smitten with a young lady than with the rheumatism-to fall into a fortune than into the sea—to be pitted with a mother-in- law than the small-pox—to cut a tooth than a friend—to stand a dinner than an insult—to shoot partridges instead of the moon—to have the drawing of an artist instead of a blister, and to nurse the baby at any time in preference to your anger !!! diplomacy.—the art of saying something when you have got nothing to say—as much as it is the art of say. ing nothing when you have really got something to say punch's pocket-book of fun. horge which should be scents (well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless’d if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. & lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course—it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh ? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken—or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. you quite mistake. i learned them since we married, out of sir joseph paxton's dictionary, the sweetest little book you ever saw. horace. the sweetest little book i ever saw was that one which i laid, with yonder ring, “ the accustomed offerings to the priest and clerk.” lydia. i hope you'll always think so, darling, for i'm sure- [after some more nonsense of this kind, they resume. horace. those stocks are handsome. lydia. horace, you deserve to be put in them. come, dear, recollect. the math- horace. the matthew, mark, - lydia. the mathiola tri- horace. well, love, i am trying. lydia. no, i mean tricuspidata. o you goosey gander ! horace. come, i remember one, now, mrs. saucebos. venus's looking glass—i do know that. lydia. i don't believe it. horace. but i say i do. it's--stay—i have it-speckled spectacles. do you think i'm quite a muff, m'm ? lydia. never mind; on that point i'll say nothing, but i think that specularia speculum might do better than speckled spectacles. what's that? horace. this ? ah!-a great sigh. this flower reminds me of the days punch's pocket-book of fun. funci immens els att rÁction questrian onderi uivo wm vy on gorgeous spectacle. sarah jane. "oh betsy, come 'ere, and bring hisabeller ! we can ser the ' fs of the 'orses!!" contentment.—it is always best to put up with the first loss--as, for instance, when a person loses his hair. punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. right. for three years, during which i have occupied my present apartments, one delightful study has engaged my undivided attention. not botany nor conchology, neither flowers nor shells do i allude to, but something more beau- tiful than either. i mean my opposite neighbor, miss alabaster, and her beaux. miss alabaster keeps a seminary for young ladies, in which class i presume she would deferentially include herself. she is a brunette, round and plump, with small but brilliant black eyes, nose a little retroussé, duplex chin, and hair done in a chinese style, which makes her look irresistibly piquant and provoking. how many offers my fair neighbor had prior to mr. right's arrival, i cannot say with any degree of precision. my own knowledge is confined to half-a-dozen. first, came a flighty young fellow, a banker's round-collared clerk, with a half-holiday movement about his legs, which betrayed his great want, decision of purpose. he played expertly enough on his own trumpet, but failed in touching the chords of affection. after having been six months on trial, miss alabaster pronounced his cigars odious, and he disappeared like jupiter—in a cloud. he was succeeded by a fat fair-haired german, with pale gray eyes, whose fire had nearly.gone out. this dull spark never told his love, but warbled it through a husky flute, most musical, most melan- choly. the key, however, to arabella's heart was not the key of a flat, and as bashfulness seemed to be one of wil- helm's crotchets, she declined his overtures. he, therefore, punch's pocket-book of fun. concluded his sentimental solo with a feeble shake, and retired coloring deeply--a prussian blue. for some time arabella sat at her window in maiden meditation, fancy free. at length a satanic little frenchman, all eyes and teeth, flung himself before her, and with hurried vows, endeavored to wring from her that confession of devotion and dividends, which is so grateful to every ardent lover's ear. it came out, however, on a mouse running across the dining-room floor at this critical juncture, and which caused alphonse to jump up in wonder and alarm, that he carried a dagger concealed beneath his crimson vest. miss alabaster saw his point at once, and scorning his cupidity, she concerted with old meggs, her landlord, to distrain for rent, and when alphonse called again, arabella, with distress in her countenance, informed him that there was still more distress in the house, and could he, would he, advance the trifling sum of five-and-twenty pounds to send that horrid broker's man about his business? the ruse succeeded admirably. monsieur blushed-stammered --pardonnez-moi d—grinned horribly, and bade ma'am- selle alabastère a very good morning. an interregnum of nearly three months succeeded the deposition of the gaul. at length a double-breasted young minister, soft in manners, placid in mien, but cau- tious and keen withal, was observed to call frequently upon miss alabaster, who listened with unwearied interest to his orthodox discourse. my landlady and i now began to hope that arabella's dove-like affections had found an olive bough. but fate ordained it otherwise. the day was all but fixed, some serious conferences had been heid punch's pocket-book of fun. upon the subject of wedding-cakes and cards, when miss alabaster, in walking through st. paul's churchyard, ob- served the divine proceeding at a quick pace towards doc- tor's commons. prompted by some strange impulse, ara- bella followed—he enters the prerogative office, secures an index-book of wills, and hastily runs his eye over the letter a. at-length he reaches the immaculate name of “ ala- baster.” it was arabella's uncle, who had left her that little annuity, the mention of which had caused arabella's prime ministers to smile so sweetly on their first interview. this want of confidence affected arabella deeply. she could have pulled his ears for him, but she concealed her- self and her emotion, and when he called next day miss alabaster had gone out of town—a fib at which the inquirer after truth appeared much shocked. i soon became fatigued, and so did my co-operative landlady, in watching and recording miss alabaster's flir- tations, until the arrival of a stout upright and stable- looking man, not saddled with infirmities, but well suited for a bridal. it was one sunday evening when we first saw him escorting arabella to church, and as my landlady. joyfully observed, there could be no doubt that “mr. right had come at last.” by dint of inquiry we discovered that mr. right was a bachelor and a floor-cloth manufacturer, a person of good designs but of defective education, as was shown by his aspirating his beloved's name as if he spelt it “ harry- bella.” he, however, took steps for his own improvement, and got miss alabaster to teach him la polka, &c. it inspired us with mingled feelings of sympathy and mirth, punch's pocket-book of fun. the sun shines high in hot july, and farmers make their hay: virtue is true nobility. “ indulge not in display.” the month of august is with harvest crowned, and now the husbandmen their goblets prime : in foaming jugs of ale their cares are drowned : " procrastination is the thief of time.' september hears the frequent shot resound on hill and dale, and sees the partridge fall—or not. “this world is but a vale." october clothes the woods in brown, and now the sportsmen are alarming the pheasant-sometimes bring him down. note, that “ variety is charming." november comes blindfold with mist and with fog, and the year is approaching its term. thus along, on life's journey, we all of us jog, whilst “the early bird picks up the worm." december christmas brings, along with frost and snow. hark how the tradesman sings- “pay what you owe!” punch's pocket-book of fun. the poorest platitudes. a mathematical line is straight enough, but the lines in geology are strata. the man who squints rarely makes a good astronomer. never look a gift shark in the mouth. if a “still tongue proves a wise head," then the wisest of mortals must be dumb persons. the man with two wooden legs should never ride any thing but a clothes-horse. the best “ house of correction " is the one in which a mother-in-law dwells. of all flatterers the portrait painter may be said to carry off the brush; for no flatterer understands the art so well as he, of flattering a person to his very face! things that it's better to do. it's better to brew beer than mischief—to be smitten with a young lady than with the rheumatism-to fall into a fortune than into the seaấto be pitted with a mother-in- law than the small-pos—to cut a tooth than a friend-to stand a dinner than an insult to shoot partridges instead of the moon—to have the drawing of an artist instead of a blister, and to nurse the baby at any time in preference to your anger !!! diplomacy.—the art of saying something when you have got nothing to say—as much as it is the art of say. ing nothing when you have really got something to say punch's pocket-book of fun. the learned language of flowers. “ doctæque conjugis sinu quiescere." horace. lydia. lydia. put down the paper, horace, there's a dear, and come into the garden—do. i'm sure you know enough about prince gortschakoff and the allies, and all their countermarching. see, what a lovely morning. horace. very well, but may i have a weed, my darling, eh ? lydia. no, sir, unless you name more properly the horrid thing. what did i bid you call it ? horace. i know; but your long words, like eels, will wriggle out of my memory—'twas nico-something- nitocris--no—though that's an opiate too- i know—nicotiana. lydia. yes, dear, called so from john nicot, of nismes, who first procured the seeds from florida—i wish he hadn't; but as he has, i'll light it for you, pet. there, don't be silly-horace-don't-how can you ? [they enter the garden. horace. well, it's a stunning morning, and your garden looks truly spicy, all mistakes deducted. that rose is quite a swell. lydia. like many swells, it hath no sense-i pun upon the word, punch's pocket-book of fun. which should be scents—(well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. . lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless’d if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh ? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken—or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. lydia ( upon mine a filo which should be scents—(well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless'd if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course—it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh ? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken-or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. you quite mistake. i learned them since we married, out of sir joseph paxton's dictionary, the sweetest little book you ever saw. horace. the sweetest little book i ever saw was that one which i laid, with yonder ring, “ the accustomed offerings to the priest and clerk.” lydia. i hope you'll always think so, darling, for i'm surem [after some more nonsense of this kind, they resume. horace. those stocks are handsome. lydia. horace, you deserve to be put in them. come, dear, recollect. the math- horace. the matthew, mark,— lydia. the mathiola tri- horace. well, love, i am trying. lydia. no, i mean tricuspidata. o you goosey gander ! horace. come, i remember one, now, mrs. saucebol. venus's looking glass—i do know that. lydia. i don't believe it. horace. but i say i do. it's--stay—i have it speckled spectacles. do you think i'm quite a muff, m'm ? lydia. never mind; on that point i'll say nothing, but i think that specularia speculum might do better than speckled spectacles. what's that? horace. this ? ah!-(a great sigh.)-this flower reminds me of the days punch's pocket-book of fun. when i supposed you didn't mean to have me, and when i thought that scented little cousin (kept but to keep me to proposing mark) was in good truth my rival. yes, this flower is love lies bleeding. lydia. is it? such a name is just as silly as your silly story. poor little paul! he loved me like a brother : and that's the amaranthus called caudatus. horace. he was a wretched mite-about as tall as yonder hollyhock. lydia. althea rosea. his figure was perfection. horace. the sweet p. there is another, much about his size. lydia. that is the pisum macrocarpum, horace, and i don't see why you should rail at paul. he always said you were the cleverest man that came to see us—perhaps he made me think so. horace. i'm sure i always liked him, as i like all your relations mothers-uncles--aunts, cousins—and grandmothers. i used to call him after that flower there, jemmy jessamine. lydia. do call it the jasminum bracteatum. and you're not cross ? horace. my lydia, cross with thee? light of my eyes, and lady of my dreams, star of my pathway- [mr. punca's space is valuable, but the author may have the remaining two hundred lines on call. ing at , fleet street, and identifying them.] - punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. right. *** for three years, during which i have occupied my present apartments, one delightful study has engaged my undivided attention. not botany nor conchology, neither flowers nor shells do i allude to, but something more beau- tiful than either. i mean my opposite neighbor, miss alabaster, and her beaux. miss alabaster keeps a seminary for young ladies, in which class i presume she would deferentially include herself. she is a brunette, round and plump, with small but brilliant black eyes, nose a little retroussé, duplex chin, and hair done in a chinese style, which makes her look irresistibly piquant and provoking. how many offers my fair neighbor had prior to mr. right's arrival, i cannot say with any degree of precision. my own knowledge is confined to half-a-dozen. first, came a flighty young fellow, a banker's round-collared clerk, with a half-holiday movement about his legs, which betrayed his great want, decision of purpose. he played expertly enough on his own trumpet, but failed in touching the chords of affection. after having been six months on trial, miss alabaster pronounced his cigars odious, and he disappeared like jupiter-in a cloud. he was succeeded by a fat fair-haired german, with pale gray eyes, whose fire had nearly.gone out. this dull spark never told his love, but warbled it through a husky fute, most musical, most melan- choly. the key, however, to arabella's heart was not the key of a flat, and as bashfulness seemed to be one of wil- helm's crotchets, she declined his overtures. he, therefore, punch's pocket-book of fun. concluded his sentimental solo with a feeble shake, and retired coloring deeply-a prussian blue. for some time arabella sat at her window in maiden meditation, fancy free. at length a satanic little frenchman, all eyes and teeth, flung himself before her, and with hurried vows, endeavored to wring from her that confession of devotion and dividends, which is so grateful to every ardent lover's ear. it came out, however, on a mouse running across the dining-room floor at this critical juncture, and which caused alphonse to jump up in wonder and alarm, that he carried a dagger concealed beneath his crimson vest. miss alabaster saw his point at once, and scorning his cupidity, she concerted with old meggs, her landlord, to distrain for rent, and when alphonse called again, arabella, with distress in her countenance, informed him that there was still more distress in the house, and could he, would he, advance the trifling sum of five-and-twenty pounds to send that horrid broker's man about his business? the ruse succeeded admirably. monsieur blushed-stammered --pardonnez-moi'd-grinned horribly, and bade ma'am- selle alabastère a very good morning. an interregnum of nearly three months succeeded the deposition of the gaul. at length a double-brcasted young minister, soft in manners, placid in mien, but cau- tious and keen withal, was observed to call frequently upon miss alabaster, who listened with unwearied interest to his orthodox discourse. my landlady and i now began to hope that arabella's dove-like affections had found an olive bough. but fate ordained it otherwise. the day was all but fixed, some serious conferences had been heid punch's pocket-book of fun. upon the subject of wedding-cakes and cards, when miss alabaster, in walking through st. paul's churchyard, ob- served the divine proceeding at a quick pace towards doc- tor's commons. prompted by some strange impulse, ara- bella followed—he enters the prerogative office, secures an index-book of wills, and hastily runs his eye over the letter a. at-length he reaches the immaculate name of “ala- baster.” it was arabella's uncle, who had left her that little annuity, the mention of which had caused arabella's prime ministers to smile so sweetly on their first interview. this want of confidence affected arabella deeply. she could have pulled his ears for him, but she concealed her- self and her emotion, and when he called next day miss alabaster had gone out of town—a fib at which the inquirer after truth appeared much shocked. i soon became fatigued, and so did my co-operative landlady, in watching and recording miss alabaster's flir- tations, until the arrival of a stout upright and stable- looking man, not saddled with infirmities, but well suited for a bridal. it was one sunday evening when we first saw him escorting arabella to church, and as my landlady. joyfully observed, there could be no doubt that “mr. right had come at last.” by dint of inquiry we discovered that mr. right was a bachelor and a floor-cloth manufacturer, a person of good designs but of defective education, as was shown by his aspirating his beloved's name as if he spelt it “ harry- bella.” he, however, took steps for his own improvement, and got miss alabaster to teach him la polka, &c. it inspired us with mingled feelings of sympathy and mirth, punch's pocket-book of fun. the sun shines high in hot july, and farmers make their hay : virtue is true nobility. “indulge not in display.” the month of august is with harvest crowned, and now the husbandmen their goblets prime; in foaming jugs of ale their cares are drowned : “ procrastination is the thief of time.' september hears the frequent shot resound on hill and dale, and sees the partridge fall—or not. “ this world is but a vale." october clothes the woods in brown, and now the sportsmen are alarming the pheasant-sometimes bring him down. note, that “ variety is charming." november comes blindfold with mist and with fog, and the year is approaching its term. thus along, on life's journey, we all of us jog, whilst the early bird picks up the worm." december christmas brings, along with frost and snow. hark how the tradesman sings “pay what you owe!” punch's pocket-book of fun. the poorest platitudes. a mathematical line is straight enough, but the lines in geology are strata. the man who squints rarely makes a good astronomer. never look a gift shark in the mouth. if a “still tongue proves a wise head,” then the wisest of mortals must be dumb persons. the man with two wooden legs should never ride any thing but a clothes-horse. the best “ house of correction " is the one in which a mother-in-law dwells. of all flatterers the portrait painter may be said to carry off the brush ; for no flatterer understands the art so well as he, of flattering a person to his very face! things that it's better to do. it's better to brew beer than mischief—to be smitten with a young lady than with the rheumatism-to fall into a fortune than into the sea—to be pitted with a mother-in- law than the small-pox-to cut a tooth than a friend—to stand a dinner than an insult-to shoot partridges instead of the moon to have the drawing of an artist instead of a blister, and to nurse the baby at any time in preference to your anger !!! diplomacy.—the art of saying something when you have got nothing to say—as much as it is the art of say. ing nothing when you have really got something to say punch's pocket-book of fun. the learned language of flowers. “ doctæque conjugis sinu quiescere.” horace. lydia. lydia. put down the paper, horace, there's a dear, and come into the garden-do. i'm sure you know enough about prince gortschakoff and the allies, and all their countermarching. see, what a lovely morning. horace. very well, but may i have a weed, my darling, eh ? lydia. no, sir, unless you name more properly the horrid thing. what did i bid you call it ? horace. i know; but your long words, like eels, will wriggle out of my memory—'twas nico—something- nitocris-no—though that's an opiate too- i know—nicotiana. lydia. yes, dear, called so from john nicot, of nismes, who first procured the seeds from florida—i wish he hadn't; but as he has, i'll light it for you, pet. there, don't be silly-horace-don't-how can you ? [they enter the garden. horace. well, it's a stunning morning, and your garden looks truly spicy, all mistakes deducted. that rose is quite a swell. lydia. like many swells, it hath no sense-i pun upon the word, punch's pocket-book of fun. which should be scents—(well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. : lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless'd if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove ! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken-or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. you quite mistake. i learned them since we married, out of sir joseph paxton's dictionary, the sweetest little book you ever saw. horace. the sweetest little book i ever saw was that one which i laid, with yonder ring, “ the accustomed offerings to the priest and clerk." lydia. i hope you'll always think so, darling, for i'm sure- [after some more nonsense of this kind, they resume. horace. those stocks are handsome. lydia. horace, you deserve to be put in them. come, dear, recollect. the math- horace. the matthew, mark,- lydia. the mathiola tri- horace. well, love, i am trying. lydia. no, i mean tricuspidata. o you goosey gander! horace. come, i remember one, now, mrs. saucebox. venus's looking glass—i do know that. lydia. i don't believe it. horace. but i say i do. it's--stay—i have it--speckled spectacles. do you think i'm quite a muff, m’m ? lydia. never mind; on that point i'll say nothing, but i think that specularia speculum might do better than speckled spectacles. what's that? horace. this ? ah!-(a great sigh.)-this flower reminds me of the days punch's pocket-book of fun. when i supposed you didn't mean to have me, and when i thought that scented little cousin (kept but to keep me to proposing mark) was in good truth my rival. yes, this flower is love lies bleeding. lydia. is it? such a name is just as silly as your silly story. poor little paul! he loved me like a brother : and that's the amaranthus called caudatus. horace. he was a wretched mite-about as tall as yonder hollyhock. lydia. althea rosea. his figure was perfection. horace. the sweet p. there is another, much about his size. lydia. that is the pisum macrocarpum, horace, and i don't see why you should rail at paul. he always said you were the cleverest man that came to see us-perhaps he made me think so. horace. i'm sure i always liked him, as i like all your relations—mothers-uncles-aunts, cousins—and grandmothers. i used to call him after that flower there, jemmy jessamine. lydia. do call it the jasminum bracteatum. and you're not cross ? horace. my lydia, cross with thee? light of my eyes, and lady of my dreams, star of my pathway- [mr. punch's space is valuable, but the author may have the remaining two hundred lines on call- ing at , fleet street, and identifying them.] punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. right. for three years, during which i have occupied my present apartments, one delightful study has engaged my * undivided attention. not botany nor conchology, neither flowers nor shells do i allude to, but something more beau- tiful than either. i mean my opposite neighbor, miss alabaster, and her beaux. - miss alabaster keeps a seminary for young ladies, in which class i presume she would deferentially include herself. she is a brunette, round and plump, with small but brilliant black eyes, nose a little retroussé, duplex chin, and hair done in a chinese style, which makes her look irresistibly piquant and provoking. how many offers my fair neighbor had prior to mr. right's arrival, i cannot say with any degree of precision. my own knowledge is confined to half-a-dozen. first, came a flighty young fellow, a banker's round-collared clerk, with a half-holiday movement about his legs, which betrayed his great want, decision of purpose. he played expertly enough on his own trumpet, but failed in touching the chords of affection. after having been six months on trial, miss alabaster pronounced his cigars odious, and he disappeared like jupiter-in a cloud. he was succeeded by a fat fair-haired german, with pale gray eyes, whose fire had dearly gone out. this dull spark never told his love, but warbled it through a husky flute, most musical, most melan- choly. the key, however, to arabella's heart was not the key of a flat, and as bashfulness seemed to be one of wil. helm's crotchets, she declined his overtures. he, therefore, punch's pocket-book of fun. concluded his sentimental solo with a feeble shake, and retired coloring deeply—a prussian blue. for some time arabella sat at her window in maiden meditation, fancy free. at length a satanic little frenchman, all eyes and teeth, flung himself before her, and with hurried vows, endeavored to wring from her that confession of devotion and dividends, which is so grateful to every ardent lover's ear. it came out, however, on a mouse running across the dining-room floor at this critical juncture, and which caused alphonse to jump up in wonder and alarm, that he carried a dagger concealed beneath his crimson vest. miss alabaster saw his point at once, and scorning his cupidity, she concerted with old meggs, her landlord, to distrain for rent, and when alphonse called again, arabella, with distress in her countenance, informed him that there was still more distress in the house, and could he, would he, advance the trifling sum of five-and-twenty pounds to send that horrid broker's man about his business? the ruse succeeded admirably. monsieur blushed-stammered - pardonnez-moi'd-grinned horribly, and bade ma'am- selle alabastère a very good morning. an interregnum of nearly three months succeeded the deposition of the gaul. at length a double-brcasted young minister, soft in manners, placid in mien, but cau- tious and keen withal, was observed to call frequently upon miss alabaster, who listened with unwearied interest to his orthodox discourse. my landlady and i now began to hope that arabella's dove-like affections had found an olive bough. but fate ordained it otherwise. the day was all but fixed, some serious conferences had been heid punch's pocket-book of fun. the sun shines high in hot july, and farmers make their hay: virtue is true nobility. “indulge not in display.” the month of august is with harvest crowned, and now the husbandmen their goblets prime : in foaming jugs of ale their cares are drowned : “ procrastination is the thief of time.' september hears the frequent shot resound on hill and dale, and sees the partridge fall—or not. “ this world is but a vale." october clothes the woods in brown, and now the sportsmen are alarming the pheasant-sometimes bring him down. note, that “ variety is charming." november comes blindfold with mist and with fog, and the year is approaching its term. thus along, on life's journey, we all of us jog, whilst “the early bird picks up the worm." december christmas brings, along with frost and snow. hark how the tradesman sings- “pay what you owe!” punch's pocket-book of fun. the learned language of flowers. “doctæque conjugis sinu quiescere." horace. lydia. lydia. put down the paper, horace, there's a dear, and come into the garden-do. i'm sure you know enough about prince gortschakoff and the allies, and all their countermarching. see, what a lovely morning. horace. very well, but may i have a weed, my darling, eh ? lydia. no, sir, unless you name more properly the horrid thing. what did i bid you call it ? horace. i know; but your long words, like eels, will wriggle out of my memory—'twas nico-something- nitocris— —though that's an opiate too- i know—nicotiana. lydia. yes, dear, called so from john nicot, of nismes, who first procured the seeds from florida-i wish he hadn't; but as he has, i'll light it for you, pet. there, don't be silly-horace-don't-how can you ? [they enter the garden. horace. well, it's a stunning morning, and your garden looks truly spicy, all mistakes deducted. that rose is quite a swell. lydia. like many swells, it hath no sense—i pun upon the word, punch's pocket-book of fun. which should be scents(well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless’d if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course—it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove ! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh ? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken—or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. you quite mistake. i learned them since we married, out of sir joseph paxton's dictionary, the sweetest little book you ever saw. horace. the sweetest little book i ever saw was that one which i laid, with yonder ring, “ the accustomed offerings to the priest and clerk.” lydia. i hope you'll always think so, darling, for i'm sure [after some more nonsense of this kind, they resume. horace. those stocks are handsome. lydia. horace, you deserve to be put in them. come, dear, recollect. the math- horace. the matthew, mark, lydia. the mathiola tri- horace. well, love, i am trying. lydia. no, i mean tricuspidata. o you goosey gander ! horace. come, i remember one, now, mrs. saucebos. venus's looking glass—i do know that. lydia. i don't believe it. horace. but i say i do. it's--stay-i have it-speckled spectacles. do you think i'm quite a muff, m’m ? lydia. never mind; on that point i'll say nothing, but i think that specularia speculum might do better than speckled spectacles. what's that! horace. this ? ah!-(a great sigh.)—this flower reminds me of the days punch's pocket-book of fun. a name when i supposed you didn't mean to have me, and when i thought that scented little cousin (kept but to keep me to proposing mark) was in good truth my rival. yes, this flower is love lies bleeding. lydia. is it? such a name is just as silly as your silly story. poor little paul! he loved me like a brother : and that's the amaranthus called caudatus. horace. he was a wretched mite about as tall as yonder hollyhock. lydia. althea rosea. his figure was perfection. horace. the sweet p. there is another, much about his size. lydia. that is the pisum macrocarpum, horace, and i don't see why you should rail at paul. he always said you were the cleverest man that came to see us—perhaps he made me think so. horace. i'm sure i always liked him, as i like all your relations—mothers-uncles—aunts, cousins-and grandmothers. i used to call him after that flower there, jemmy jessamine. lydia. do call it the jasminum bracteatum. and you're not cross ? horace. my lydia, cross with thee? light of my eyes, and lady of my dreams, star of my pathway- [mr. punch's space is valuable, but the author may have the remaining two hundred lines on call- ing at , fleet street, and identifying them.] punch's pocket-book of fun. tumlich immense attraction questrian onder wallin na na um my www ili n monument gorgeous spectacle. sarah jane. "oh betsy, come 'ere, and bring hisabeller ! we can sms the ' fs of the 'orses !! " contentment.--it is always best to put up with the first loss--as, for instance, when a person loses his hair. punch's pocket-book of fun. concluded his sentimental solo with a feeble shake, and retired coloring deeply-a prussian blue. for some time arabella sat at her window in maiden meditation, fancy free. at length a satanic little frenchman, all eyes and teeth, flung himself before her, and with hurried vows, endeavored to wring from her that confession of devotion and dividends, which is so grateful to every ardent lover's ear. it came out, however, on a mouse running across the dining-room floor at this critical juncture, and which caused alphonse to jump up in wonder and alarm, that he carried a dagger concealed beneath his crimson vest. miss alabaster saw his point at once, and scorning his cupidity, she concerted with old meggs, her landlord, to distrain for rent, and when alphonse called again, arabella, with distress in her countenance, informed him that there was still more distress in the house, and could he, would he, advance the trifling sum of five-and-twenty pounds to send that horrid broker's man about his business? the ruse succeeded admirably. monsieur blushed—stammered --pardonnez-moi’d-grinned horribly, and bade ma'am- selle alabastère a very good morning. an interregnum of nearly three months succeeded the deposition of the gaul. at length a double-breasted young minister, soft in manners, placid in mien, but cau- tious and keen withal, was observed to call frequently upon miss alabaster, who listened with unwearied interest to his orthodox discourse. my landlady and i now began to hope that arabella's dove-like affections had found an olive bough. but fate ordained it otherwise. the day was all but fixed, some serious conferences had been heid punch's pocket-book of fun. upon the subject of wedding-cakes and cards, when miss alabaster, in walking through st. paul's churchyard, ob- served the divine proceeding at a quick pace towards doc- tor's commons. prompted by some strange impulse, ara- bella followed—he enters the prerogative office, secures an index-book of wills, and hastily runs his eye over the letter a. at-length he reaches the immaculate name of " ala- baster.” it was arabella's uncle, who had left her that little annuity, the mention of which had caused arabella's prime ministers to smile so sweetly on their first interview. this want of confidence affected arabella deeply. she could have pulled his ears for him, but she concealed her- self and her emotion, and when he called next day : miss alabaster had gone out of town—a fib at which the inquirer after truth appeared much shocked. i soon became fatigued, and so did my co-operative landlady, in watching and recording miss alabaster's flir- tations, until the arrival of a stout upright and stable- looking man, not saddled with infirmities, but well suited for a bridal. it was one sunday evening when we first saw him escorting arabella to church, and as my landlady joyfully observed, there could be no doubt that “mr. right had come at last.” by dint of inquiry we discovered that mr. right was a bachelor and a floor-cloth manufacturer, a person of good designs but of defective education, as was shown by his aspirating his beloved's name as if he spelt it “harry- bella." he, however, took steps for his own improvement, and got miss alabaster to teach him la polka, &c. it inspired us with mingled feelings of sympathy and mirth, punch's pocket-book of fun. which should be scents—(well, make a better, sir). 'tis the rubiginosa inodora. horace. then he's a humbug, and not half as good as that sweet william. lydia. is it not as easy to say dianthus, and to add barbatus ? horace. bless'd if it is, my love. i do declare i'm half afraid to name a flower to you, you're down upon me with no end of latin. lydia (archly). i'm very terrible, i know. don't, horace- look at old tomkins sitting at his window. horace. who cares for tomkins ? what a guy he looks among that honeysuckle. lydia. lonicera. horace. o, very well, there's nothing can escape you. i shouldn't wonder if that poor red daisy was squashed beneath a latin epit ph. lydia. of course—it's called the bellis fistulosa. horace. by jove! lydia. don't swear, sir. what a fuss you make about a few plain words, which, one would think, any young gentleman who'd been at school would master in a day. horace. you learned them when you were a girl. lydia. what do you mean, sir, eh ? i'm a girl now. but for the latin names, you're quite mistaken-or, in better english, punch's pocket-book of fun. you quite mistake. i learned them since we married, out of sir joseph paxton's dictionary, the sweetest little book you ever saw. horace. the sweetest little book i ever saw was that one which i laid, with yonder ring, “ the accustomed offerings to the priest and clerk.” lydia. i hope you'll always think so, darling, for i'm sure [after some more nonsense of this kind, they resume. horace. those stocks are handsome. lydia. horace, you deserve to be put in them. come, dear, recollect. the math- horace. the matthew, mark, lydia. the mathiola tri- horace. well, love, i am trying. lydia. no, i mean tricuspidata. o you goosey gander ! horace. come, i remember one, now, mrs. saucebol. venus's looking glass—i do know that. lydia. i don't believe it. horace. but i say i do. it's--stay~ i have it speckled spectacles. do you think i'm quite a muff, m'm ? lydia. never mind; on that point i'll say nothing, but i think that specularia speculum might do better than speckled spectacles. what's that: horace. this ? ah !-(a great sigh.)-this flower ſeminds me of the days punch's pocket-book of fun. when i supposed you didn't mean to have me, and when i thought that scented little cousin (kept but to keep me to proposing mark) was in good truth my rival. yes, this flower is love lies bleeding. lydia. is it? such a name is just as silly as your silly story. poor little paul! he loved me like a brother : and that's the amaranthus called caudatus. horace. he was a wretched mite about as tall as yonder hollyhock. lydia. althea rosea. . his figure was perfection. horace. the sweet p. there is another, much about his size. lydia. that is the pisum macrocarpum, horace, and i don't see why you should rail at paul. he always said you were the cleverest man that came to see us—perhaps he made me think so. horace. i'm sure i always liked him, as i like all your relations--mothers-uncles--aunts, cousins—and grandmothers. i used to call him. after that flower there, jemmy jessamine. lydia. do call it the jasminum bracteatum. and you're not cross ? horace. my lydia, cross with thee? light of my eyes, and lady of my dreams, star of my pathway- [mr. punch's space is valuable, but the author may have the remaining two hundred lines on call. ing at , fleet street, and identifying them.] punch's pocket-book of fun. tumi immens en: latt rÁction questrian onder ml nu wwwwww gorgeous spectacle. sarah jane. "oh betsy, come 'ere, and bring hisabeller! we oan the 'oofs of the 'orses !!" contentment.—it is always best to put up with the first loss--as, for instance, when a person loses his hair. punch's pocket-book of fun. mr. right. for three years, during which i have occupied my present apartments, one delightful study has engaged my undivided attention. not botany nor conchology, neither flowers nor shells do i allude to, but something more beau- tiful than either. i mean my opposite neighbor, miss alabaster, and her beaux. miss alabaster keeps a seminary for young ladies, in which class i presume she would deferentially include herself. she is a brunette, round and plump, with small but brilliant black eyes, nose a little retroussé, duplex chin, and hair done in a chinese style, which makes her look irresistibly piquant and provoking. how many offers my fair neighbor had prior to mr. right's arrival, i cannot say with any degree of precision. my own knowledge is confined to half-a-dozen. first, came a flighty young fellow, a banker's round-collared clerk, with a half-holiday movement about his legs, which betrayed his great want, decision of purpose. he played expertly enough on his own trumpet, but failed in touching the chords of affection. after having been six months on trial, miss alabaster pronounced his cigars odious, and he disappeared like jupiter--in a cloud. he was succeeded by a fat fair-haired german, with pale gray eyes, whose fire had nearly.gone out. this dull spark never told his love, but warbled it through a husky flute, most musical, most melan- çboly. the key, however, to arabella's heart was not the key of a flat, and as bashfulness seemed to be one of wil- elm's crotchets, she declined his overtures. he, therefore, punch's pocket-book of fun. concluded his sentimental solo with a feeble shake, and retired coloring deeply—a prussian blue. for some time arabella sat at her window in maiden meditation, fancy free. at length a satanic little frenchman, all eyes and teeth, flung himself before her, and with hurried vows, endeavored to wring from her that confession of devotion and dividends, which is so grateful to every ardent lover's ear. it came out, however, on a mouse running across the dining-room floor at this critical juncture, and which caused alphonse to jump up in wonder and alarm, that he carried a dagger concealed beneath his crimson vest. miss alabaster saw his point at once, and scorning his cupidity, she concerted with old meggs, her landlord, to distrain for rent, and when alphonse called again, arabella, with distress in her countenance, informed him that there was still more distress in the house, and could he, would he, advance the trifling sum of five-and-twenty pounds to send that horrid broker's man about his business? the ruse succeeded admirably. monsieur blushed-stammered --pardonnez-moi'd-grinned horribly, and bade ma'am. selle alabastère a very good morning. an interregnum of nearly three months succeeded the deposition of the gaul. at length a double-breasted young minister, soft in manners, placid in mien, but cau- tious and keen withal, was observed to call frequently upon miss alabaster, who listened with unwearied interest to his orthodox discourse. my landlady and i now began to hope that arabella's dove-like affections had found an olive bough. but fate ordained it otherwise. the day was all but fixed, some serious conferences had been heid punch's pocket-book of fun. upon the subject of wedding-cakes and cards, when miss alabaster, in walking through st. paul's churchyard, ob- served the divine proceeding at a quick pace towards doc- tor's commons. prompted by some strange impulse, ara- bella followed—he enters the prerogative office, secures an index-book of wills, and hastily runs his eye over the letter - a. at length he reaches the immaculate name of " ala- baster.” it was arabella's uncle, who had left her that little annuity, the mention of which had caused arabella's prime ministers to smile so sweetly on their first interview. this want of confidence affected arabella deeply. she could have pulled his ears for him, but she concealed her- self and her emotion, and when he called next day miss alabaster had gone out of town—a fib at which the inquirer after truth appeared much shocked. i soon became fatigued, and so did my co-operative landlady, in watching and recording miss alabaster's flir- tations, until the arrival of a stout upright and stable- looking man, not saddled with infirmities, but well suited for a bridal. it was one sunday evening when we first saw him escorting arabella to church, and as my landlady. joyfully observed, there could be no doubt that “mr. right had come at last.” by dint of inquiry we discovered that mr. right was a bachelor and a floor-cloth manufacturer, a person of good designs but of defective education, as was shown by his aspirating his beloved's name as if he spelt it “harry- bella." he, however, took steps for his own improvement, and got miss alabaster to teach him la polka, &c. it inspired us with mingled feelings of sympathy and mirth, punch's pocket-book of fun. to see arabella piloting that heavy man through the graceful evolutions of the schottisch. at last she fairly gave him up, and sinking down on the music-stool as she pointed to her muslin slip, mr. right perceived to his dis- may, that he had fairly put his foot in it. the offer of his hand followed almost as a necessary consequence. the sequel is soon told. arabella had come little difficulty in looking over his gait, but it was very little. to speak with spartan brevity, it was “mite against right.” when the vitriolic frenchman heard that ara- bella was about to be married, he gnashed his false teeth, and raved about bringing an action for breach of promise, but arabella trembled pot. she felt that she had right on her side, and the rites of hymen (which are bound up by the rights of women) made her happy and independent for evermore the teacher taught.—a school-boy, having been desired by his preceptor to name that ancient roman wri- ter who was supposed to be the most familiar with the literature of greece, answered, suet-onius. advice by an undertaker.—practise tight lacing. keep as much as possible in-doors. what exercise you must take, always take late at night, and keep it up till five in the morning. . the philosophy of smoking.–fast young men smoke a great deal, for it is the nature of a rake to have a quantity of weeds about him. punch's pocket-book of fun. stanzas for the sentimental. on my declining to polk with angelina at mrs. flirtington's dance. it may not be—at least not yet; 'tis no slight cause that bids me own it; think not my promise i'd forget, but for a while i must postpone it. think not i've ceased to love the whirl of giddy waltz, or polka mazy; nor that thy hair is out of curl, nor that thy edwin's getting lazy. think not 'tis through some jealous qualms that thus i'd have thee disappointed : nor that a prettier rival's charms thy nasal organ have disjointed. nay, teach not those sweet lips to pout, nor at my pleading make wry faces ; canst still thy faithful edwin doubt ? know then the truth : i've broke my braces ! three things modern young men cultivate.—the acquaintance of a young lady with plenty of money-shirt collars as high as a garden-wall-and a moustache. comfort for the corpulent.—no man can think small beer of himself when he is well aware that he is stout. punch's pocket-book of fun. hatophobia. there is a society organizing in favor of the heads of society against the hats of the same. never was there a movement which deserved a profounder sympathy or a more universal adherence. the red republican demands “a million heads; " the hatophobist contents himself with demanding “a million hats,” and that demand we beg to echo. the history of hats is enough to shake one's faith in human progress. instead of advancing, we have been retrograding, or, to make the most of it, we have not yet got beyond the wide-awake. it appears on the fricze of the parthenon. (no. .) it is worn by the clod-crusher of wiltshire. (no. .) but between these two extremes of what we may call the ideal hat, what a decline and fall do our head-covers exhibit! there was the hood of the saxon held its ground to the end of the thirteenth century. (no. .) its tail was punch's pocket-book of fun. cut up and twisted round the head, into the bonnet of the fourteenth. the unsightly turban was next modified into the jaunty bonnet of the fifth, sixth, and seventh henry. (no. .) * d ww.nin the eighth henry exhibits the first development of brim. (no. .) the crown and brim broke out into more luxuriant proportions under elizabeth. (no. .) the same development was at work under mary and james—till, in charles the first, the hat reached its punch's pocket-book of fun. a apogee, and stood revealed in the cavalier's head-gear, the most graceful that has ever shaded english heads. (no. .) from that moment we have to date the decline and fall of the hat. (no. .) one side of it yielded under charles the second, and one segment gone, the others speedily followed, till, under william the third, the brim was turned up all round, and vainly endeavored to make up by its brim and feather- edge for its lost breadth of shadow and sweep of line. (no. .) it was no use--all forms of “the cock ” were odious -nobs, bobs, steinkirks, keven- hullers -- or by whatever name they are known. with the french revolution fell the un- cocked hatbut, alas, only to see the odious chimney-pot of our own day take its place. society has struggled under its hat. in its uneasiness it has tried all modifications of that central cylinder, and tampered in every way with the insignificant brim, but to no purpose. even prince al- bert's daring attempt at a composite of all these has been th punch's pocket-book of fun. generally pronounced a failure. (no. .) the human head-cover has still continued to resemble a truncated section of iron piping, (no. ), and we seem still to lie under the disgrace of the ugliest hat that the world has yet seen, unless a vigorous effort is made to shake it off. let the european world of inventors be called upon to come forward hat in hand, and try what can be done to crown humanity in the nineteenth century with something less like a chimney-pot. we know of nothing that can be said in favor of the article which we are forced to wear on our headsmit is hot in summer, it is not warm in winter; it does not shade us from the sun, it does not shelter us from the rain; it is ugly and expensive; you cannot wear it in a railway carriage, it is always in your way in a drawing-room; if you sit upon it you crush it, yet it will not save your skull in a fall from your horse; it will not go into a portmanteau, you are sure to forget it when suspended from the straps of a carriage roof. it is too hard to roll up, too soft to stand upon; it rusts with the sea-air, and spots with the rain ; if it is good, you are sure to have it taken by mistake at a soirée ; if it is bad, you are set down for a swindler-in short, it has all the bad qualities that a thing can have, and not one good one to set off against them. rally then against the hat of the nineteenth century! if you ask what is to be substituted in its place, we answer, not the bonnet rouge of red republicanism; not the white felt of ditto in germany; not the black steeple-crowned ditto in rome; punch's pocket-book of fun. but a hat that may recall the grace of the days of charles the first without awakening the remembrance of their dissensions—a hat which combines, like our mixed con- stitution, king, lords, and commons--the crown of the former, the cavalier grace of the second, and the service- able substantiality of the third. the latest from america. (in anticipation of the nero submarine telegraph. notices have been served upon all the magpies in the neighborhood of new orleans, that, for the future, they must decide whether they will be black or white; for it is morally impossible that they can be allowed to remain any longer on both sides. in kentucky a barrister has taken out a patent for cracking jokes. the machine is in the form of a lawyer's head, mounted with a wig made apparently of horsehair, - and it is found that if the smallest joke is put into its mouth, it is cracked instantly with the greatest applause. in new hampshire a miller has invented a new motive power for turning his mill. the secret consists in throw- ing every now and then a bottle of cognac into the stream, and the effect, it is said, is such as to make the wheel, by the aid of this new brandy-and-water power, revolve with almost nearly the same velocity as a woman's tongue ! the voracity of the shark is too well known to need any comment. last week, a full-sized one was taken in the bay of new york. for days and nights previously, the persons living on the shores had been charmed with punch's pocket-book of fun. the most delightful music. upon the shark being opened, the secret was laid bare. lo, and behold, there was a cottage piano inside its stomach! the instrument was open, and in front of it there was found a copy of “cra- mer's exercises." an irish oculist has the theory that the potato-disease arises from too much moisture, the consequence of which, he says, is to give the potato a cataract in its eye. he has devoted a whole lifetime to the special study of this disease, and he now makes the announcement that he has succeeded in inventing a “ potato eye snuff,” which be guarantees will effectually cure the ophthalmic esculent. it is solemnly asserted by english jurists that “wis- dom lies in a wig." but we can record a more wonderful phenomenon than that, for we actually knew an instance of the wisdom lying in a tory !-and at election times, it lied pretty soundly too. elderly ladies, who have the privilege of proposing to young gentlemen during leap-year, should make a prac- tice of residing at niagara, for at the falls every year is leap-year. barnum is about to proceed to london for the purpose of purchasing vauxhall gardens exactly as they stand, and bringing them over with the hermit, the , ad- ditional lamps, sea-horses, and every thing all complete, to niblo's gardens. mr. mitchell is in the north, trying his best to domes- ticate the famous breed of kilkenny cats in our country. the reason why the ladies wear such tremendous cir- cumferential dresses, is a very spiteful one. it is only to punch's pocket-book of fun. make it more difficult than ever for their poor weak fools of husbands to get round them. punch's pot-pourri pour rire. no woman is a beauty to her femme-de-chambre. a lawyer's carriage is only a legal conveyance--and it is the client, as often as it stops at his door, who pays for the drawing up of it. most golden calves, when thrown into the crucible of time, turn out no better than pigs of lead ! life is a romance, of which a coquette never tires of turning over a new leaf. mock no man for his snud-nose, for you never can tell what may turn up. a character, like a kettle, once mended, always wants mending be kind even in your reproofs, and reserve them till the morning. no one can sleep well who goes to bed with a flea in his ear. the man who is fond of staking his reputation upon the smallest trifle, generally retires from the contest before he is called upon to deposit his stake. life is full of contradictions—but woman takes very good care that we shall never hear the last of it. it is wrong to judge men by trifles. the man, yes- terday, who kept the dinner waiting half-an-hour, keeps his mother-in-law ! use and abuse. the cab and the driver. punch's pocket-book of fun. on tight lacing. you are aware, young ladies, that by means of tight lacing, the waist of the female figure may be made to vie with that of the wasp, and to resemble the form of an hour-glass, or the letter x; thus very much improving its appearance. you have seen, perhaps, the statue of the venus de medicis; and you know what a fright of a figure it has, in consequence of the model from which it was taken evidently never having worn a corset. the rose, however, is never without the thorn; the most agreeable evening party has its drawbacks. and so vine it maketl red the noor. punch's pocket-book of fun. НАТОРНовia. there is a society organizing in favor of the heads of society against the hats of the same. never was there a movement which deserved a profounder sympathy or a more universal adherence. the red republican demands "a million heads;" the hatophobist contents himself with demanding “a million hats,” and that demand we beg to echo. the history of hats is enough to shake one's faith in human progress. instead of advancing, we have been retrograding, or, to make the most of it, we have not yet got beyond the wide-awake. it appears on the fricze of the parthenon. (no. .) it is worn by the clod-crusher of wiltshire. (no. .) , vm but between these two extremes of what we may call the ideal hat, what a decline and fall do our head-covers exhibit ! there was the hood of the saxon held its ground to the end of the thirteenth century. (no. .) its tail was punch's pocket-book of fun. there are, unhappily, some unpleasant results oonsequent on compression, at the expense of which a slender waist is purchased. the circulating fluid, from a disagreeable law of na- ture, is forced up into the head. the color of the fluid is rosy, as you know. the delicate health attendant on tight lacing forbids it to adorn the cheek, and accordingly it is transferred to the nose, which its tint does not adorn by any means. within the circle of the waist are com- prised certain plaguy vessels, whose freedom from pressure is unfortunately required. when they are subject to any obstruction, as they are by close lacing, there is a vexatious tine it maketh ankles and feet to swell. punch's pocket-book of fun. tendency in the ankles to swell; and the worst is, that s tight shoe only renders the disfigurement the more con- spicuous. young ladies have also some tiresome muscles, whose support is necessary to the spine. their power is de- stroyed—what a pity this is !—by tight stays; and then the back assumes à curvature. how grievous that one cannot be at once slender and straight! comfort must also be sacrificed to elegance, and the reduction of the waist occasions giddiness and headache. this perhaps alone would be a trifle; but lacing involves h derto i tui ebsite the hands increase in bize. punch's pocket-book of fun. short life: and as the contracted figure suggests a resem- blance to the hour-glass, the hour-glass suggests a warning to the contracted figure. crinoline's raging fury; or; the fashionable female's sufferings. you rustic maids of england, who dress yourselves with ease, ah, little do you think how hard it is french taste to please. give ear unto the milliners, and they will plainly show with what care, tight with air, they our crinolines do blow. all you that will be modish, must bear a steadfast heart; for when boys gibe you in the streets, you must not blush nor start; nor must you be disgusted to hear them cry, “ hallo ! i should think you will shrink : give your crinoline a blow !" the bitter jests and sarcasms a poor girl must endure, and look a fright to dress aright, are grievous, te be sure; punch's pocket-book of fun. the husband, and the lover, may simple gowns prefer, that fit the form, and in a storm, with safety let one stir; reproaches fierce, our hearts that pierce, against our taste they throw, which we poor things endure, whilst our crinolines we blow. we put on costly merchandise of most enormous price, so much we need of drapery, to follow this device; we spend so much in drapery, of such a size to show, and with toil our shape spoil, when our crinolines we blow. a fallacy for the faculties.-- why ought a tailor never to begin to make a coat until he tries it on ? because every thing in connection with business ought to be done at the fitting time. love in low life.--before marriage the man is very much struck with the woman, and afterwards the woman is very much struck by the man. a veil. a lace blind, worn by a woman, not to hide her blushes, but to save her complexion. pretty little thought.-the squirrel jumps from branch to branoh, the flirt from beau to beau. punch's pocket-book of fun. the works and sayings of anon. of anon but little is known, though his works are excese sively numerous. he has dabbled in every thing. prose and poetry were alike familiar to his pen. one moment he will be up the highest flights of philosophy, and the next he will be down in some kitchen-garden of literature, culling an enormous goosebury, to present it to the columns of some provincial newspaper. his contributions are scattered wherever the english language is read. open any volume of miscellanies, at any place you will, and you are sure to fall upon some choice little bit, signed by “ anon." what a mind must his have been! it took in every thing, like a pawnbroker's shop. nothing was too trifling for its grasp. now, he was hanging on to the trunk of an elephant, and explaining to you how it was more elastic thán a pair of india-rubber braces; and next he would be constructing a suspension-bridge with a series of monkeys' tails, tying them together as they do pocket- handkerchiefs in the gallery of a theatre when they want to fish up a bonnet that has fallen into the pit. anon is one of our greatest authors. if all the things which are signed with anon's name were collected on rows of shelves, he would require a british museum all to himself. and yet of this great man so little is known that we are not even acquainted with his christian name. there is no certificate of baptism; no mouldy tombstone, no musty washing-bill in the world on which we can hook the smallest line of speculation whether it was john, or james, or joshua, or tom, or dick, or billy anon. punch's pocket-book of fun. shame, that a man should write so much, and yet be known so little. oblivion uses its snuffers, sometimes, very un- justly. on second thoughts, perhaps, it is as well that the works of anon were not collected together. his reputa- tion for consistency would not probably be increased by the collection. it would be found that frequently he had contradicted himself—that in many instances, when he had been warmly upholding the christian white of a question, he had afterwards turned round, and maintained with equal warmth the pagan black of it. he might often be discovered on both sides of a truth, jumping boldly from the right side over to the wrong, and flinging big stones at any one who dared to assail him in either position. such double-sidedness would not be pretty, and yet we should be lenient to such inconsistencies. with one, who had written so many thousand volumes, who had twirled his thoughts as with a mop on every possible subject, how was it possible to expect any thing like consistency ? how was it likely that he could recollect every little atom out of the innumerable mountains his pen had heaped up? anon ought to have been rich, but he lived in an age when piracy was the fashion, and when booksellers walked about, as it were, like indian chiefs with the skulls of the authors they had slain hung round their necks. no won. der, therefore, that we know nothing of the wealth of anon. doubtless he died in a garret, like many other kindred spirits, death being the only score out of the many knock- ing at his door that he could pay. but to his immortal credit let it be said, he has filled more libraries than the punch's pocket-book of fun. most generous patrons of literature. the volumes that formed the fuel of the barbarians' bonfire at alexandria, would be but a small bookstall by the side of the octavos, quartos, and duodecimos he has pyramidised on our book- shelves. look through any catalogue you will, and you will find that a large proportion of the works in it have been contributed by anon. the only author, who can in the least compete with him in fecundity and variety of subject, is ibid. we will now endeavor to give a few specimens of the varied powers, and comprehensive intelligence of poor neglected anon: “parents should recollect that children are little better than pillowsh-yielding to the heads that recline upon them either comfort and rest, or uneasiness and sleepless anxiety, according to the way in which they have been filled."- anon. “ the greenest persons are noted always for making the finest pickles." —anon. “where there is smoke there is fire,' says the old proverb, and this is more particularly true, at most fire- sides, of tobacco smoke. the moment the husband begins to smoke, that very moment the wife begins to fire."- anon. “it must be confessed that fools in their emptiness offer a rich temptation for plunder, as deserted houses are often ransacked for the sake of the lead that covers thom.”- anon. punch's pocket-book of fun. « when an apostate turns, it is as a windmill turns, to make bread by it.”—anon. “ relieve misfortune quickly. a man is like an egg- the longer he is kept in hot water, the harder he is when taken out of it." _anon. “ a sophist fishes for a common place with a crooked pin.”—anon. « there are two sides to every question there is the knife side, and there is the fork side—and that is the best way of settling every question. it's hard, indeed, if, be- fore the dinner is over, the truth has not been found on one side or the other."—anon. "the battle of life may be thus defined : courtship is the engagement or siege, the proposal is the assault, and matrimony the victory. and what comes after matrimony? why, i am sure i don't know, unless, it is the te deum (tædium) that comes after most victories.”_ anon. “an angry woman in a room is as bad as a lighted cracker--for when once she goes off, there's no stopping her, and when she does go out, it is sure to be with a bang ! "-anon. we hope we have strung sufficient pearls for a neck- lace to hang round the neglected neck of the immortal anon. your literary women. literary women (says jenkins) remind him of beau- tiful flowers, that have been withered and dried between sheets of blotting paper. punca's pocket-book of fun. nik anerican enthusiast unch and his pip pins.—the “immediate ap- ple of our eye" is an american apple, which we happen to have in our eye at the present mo- ment. it is not an apple of discord, but an apple whichi oomes home to our very heart's core with its assurances of friendship. a correspondent, who signs himself “the american enthusiast,” has allowed his enthusiasm to take the very sensible turn of a present of apples to punch, who, while receiving it, pro- ceeds to cut it up; and, like some critics, shows his taste by making mince-meat of it. we have perused the whole of the apples with great satisfaction, and though we might find a spot here and there, the blemish is only on the sur. face ; for when we descend a little lower than skin-deep, we find the apple quite worthy of the appellation of the american prince of pippins, which we hereby confer on it. experience.—women dislike talkative men : they know how it's done. punch's pocket-book of fun. stanzas for the sentimental on a tear which angelina observed trickling doron my nose at dinner time. nay, fond one! i will ne'er reveal whence flowed that sudden tear: the truth 'twere kindness to conceal from thy too anxious ear. . how often when some hidden spring of recollected grief is rudely touched, a tear will bring the bursting breast relief! yet 'twas no anguish of the soul, no memory of woes, bade that one lonely tearlet roll adown my chiselled nose : but, ah ! interrogation's note still twinkles in thine eye; know then that i have burnt my throat with this confounded pie ! don't say neigh! we understand that some check has been given to the horse-eating mania by the fear that the too frequent eating of osses will bring on a tendency to ossification of the heart.-n.b. the reader is requested to respond to the above with a horse-laugh ? punch's pocket-book of fun. getting drunk with a purpose. a movement is now on foot to put a legislative stop to all drinking of every kind of beer or spirit, “except for medicinal purposes.” whether it will be an improvement to saturate society with water instead of moistening it with malt, is a question we leave to those who delight in dry discussion; but we must warn the friends of total absti- nence that the exception “for medicinal purposes” is suffi- cient to throw the whole question overboard. we never yet knew an old woman who could not find a “medicinal purpose" for every glass of grog she happened to have a fancy for. if an act of parliament should ever be passed to prohibit spirit drinking, except for medicinal purposes, it will be absolutely necessary to add a schedule of imagi- nary maladies which shall be declared to be not within the exceptions allowed by the statute. in this schedule we would comprise that anile ailing familiarly known as the "wind,” which has caused the consumption of more brandy and water by elderly females in one month than has been imbibed by the most inveterate topers during an equal period. we must also guard the legislature against the allowance of “spasms ” as a ground of exception to any measure for the prohibition of dram drinking, for there is no doubt that any woman of a certain age can command spasms ” at any moment, when she is desirous of calling up“ spirits from the vasty deep" of the cellaret. hint to mischief-makers.-every medal has its re- verse_and every meddler deserves to meet with one. punch's pocket-book of fun. a flight of fancy. to look at the ladies' bonnets, you would imagine that the march winds had blown them all off, but it is no such thing; it is only an air the bonnets, in their conceit, give themselves. they fly off of their own accord, and we believe so stiff-necked are they in their generation, that not all the blowing upon in the world would be able to give them a different turn. a monster in human form. we know (but shall drop his acquaintance as soon as we get married) a blighted old bachelor, who says, “that he supposes, the natural diet of an infant being milk will account for its (s)cream !” faithful even in affliction.—your true woman will never acknowledge she is beaten! even in cases of proved brutality on the part of the husband, you see that magis- trates have the greatest difficulty in getting the wife to admit the fact ! niobe for a better half.—a poor simple husband has a wife, who is so addicted to crying, that he calls her " the perpetual tear and wear of his life.” sweets to the sweet.—woman is a beautiful flower, that can be told, in the dark eyen, by its (s)talk. a lazy horse.—the pegasus of genius seldom stirs without the spur of necessity. punch's pocket-book of fun. the mahogany speaker. when a man a young man, not born with natural eloquence; a youth to whose lips the potato blossom has never magically imparted the flowers of speech-when, we say, a young man is called upon his legs, and stands with ground glass in his stockings—his heart working, like a piston, twenty coward power-his ears ringing with the vibrations of forty thousand bells--his eyes striving to fix the dancing candles, and his tongue as cold and mo- tionless, lying in his mouth withal as clammy as a dead snail, --when a man is in this most tremendous stress of emotion, then—and particularly then-he is called upon to own that that very moment of insupportable agony is, beyond all conceivable comparison—the happiest moment of his life! we say nothing of the hypocrisy of the assertion. hypocrisy is highly necessary in decent life. it is the veneer of mahogany covering the deal plank; making the meaner wood presentable in good society. we say nothing of the hypocrisy; but sympathize very deeply with the sufferings of the hypocrite. hence, in the exuberance of that goodness that for the past ten years has put forth this pocket book as a daily guide and monitor to millions, we propose to set down a certain number of toasts to meet some of the large and small necessities of table, or, so to speak, of mahogany life. and to begin :- .-a birthday speech on arriving at the age of one and twenty.* ladies and gentlemen --standing on the broad ground of manhood, i look around me and i thank you. punch's pocket-book of fun. there name], who watched over my second teeth, and took behe dentist's, when my mother shrank from that pay duty; to you i owe my dental regularity [here and trust that, for many years, i may exercise my id incisors on your beef and pudding. may the vc log, long distant, when i shall inherit your punch- sauc roamented with a queen anne's guinea, to say of the base mammon, called, in the slang of the orld, the three per cents. and you, sir—[name bress family friends),-can i forget the interest sous" godfather, took in my earliest welfare? can i emember that upon your wholesome advice i was ely flogged for truant, when the weakness of my parents would have suffered me to pass unscathed? no, most healthy flagellation i shall never forget. it - [here again the hand to the heart]—marked y here. you are a childless bachelor: would it therwise! would i could call the son of such a my friend. it was not to be, and i bow to fate. ", sir, believe this; the name with which you have me shall never be sullied : nor shall the estate h that name is proudly associated—should it in time descend to me, for one month, one day, one e minute-be sullied by a mortgage--be blighted hey-lender. ladies and gentlemen, forgive my and, in conclusion, believe, and although i am- deed a man, i never felt so much a child. room's speech.“ te health of the bridegroom and bride.” riends, of myself at this most mystic hour, say nothing. no; but i thank you for my wer friend my friend. it wa however, sir, believe this; honored me shall never with which that name is pro fulness of time descend to m hour, one minute—be su feelings : and, in conci i am-indeed a man, i ne i will say punch's pocket-book of fun. wife. wife! blissful monosyllable. a blended harmony of all earth's music! wife ---that calls up, as with an enchanter's wand, the homestead and the hearth! the kettle singing, rejoicingly singing on the bar—and the cat sleeping, profoundly sleeping on the rug! a word that intensifies so many meanings! the call of butcher and baker-and milk below—and quarter's rent—and water- rate and the queen's taxes. ladies and gentlemen, when i only glance at the wedding-ring upon my wife's finger- that ring and that finger which it has been the summit of my bliss this morning to bring together—when i look upon that simple bit of golden wire, it seems to me that in the words of the beautiful bard of avon, “i have put a girdle round about the world”-a world of beauty, of truth, of constancy and love. when i look at that ring —and how can i help looking at it ?-does not its bright- ness fascinate and chain me-yes, i will repeat it; i am proud to repeat it,—chain me? when i look at that ring, am i not reminded of the circle of domestic duties—a cir- cle, even and complete, and without a flaw; a circle har- monious with golden utterance, a circle of purity without alloy—a never-ending, still beginning round of earthly happiness. my friends, when the honeymoon is over—not that it ever will be over with my own--own-[here give the bride's name, arabella or dorcas, as the name may be],--and myself, (for we propose to enjoy twelve honey. moons every year of our lives,) when i enter my house- and here let us return due thanks to my honored father- in-law who has furnished that unpretending mansion with equal taste and liberality, though he will forgive me, if in punch's pocket-book of fun. this confiding hour, when the heart swells, and the tongue will speak, if i jocosely observe to him, that the house has a wine-cellar, and that his taste in tawny port is unex- ceptionable,—when i say i enter my house, and for the first time sinking in my arm-chair, place my slippered feet upon my rug—that rug worked by certain hands with hearts-ease and roses—i shall say to myself, here is my paradise and here[here look at the bride very passion- ately]-and here my eve! i shallod by certmy, slippered atelyha and heraf iil—on receiving a piece of plate. gentlemen,—in having filled the office of—[here put in the office, whether that of chancellor of the exchequer, churchworden, or treasurer to a cricket club,]---i assure you i have had but one object-your interest. that object, i fearlessly assert, has never ceased to accom- pany me. it has gone to bed with me; it has slept with me; it has got up with me; it has shaved with me. your interest, gentlemen, has been the polar-star to my eye, the staff to my hand, and the roses to my feet. do i say this to make any claim upon your gratitude ? no, gentlemen : in giving utterance to these solemn and pro- found emotions for they are solemn, since they are not often evoked but upon serious occasions like the presenta they are profound, for they come from the very bottomest bottom of my heart—(gentlemen, it is sometimes the allow- ed privilege of deep feeling to violate grammar, a privi- lege that my impulsive soul must lay claim to at this mo- ment)--in giving utterance to this, and much more than this, much more easily conceived than spoken, i merely punch's pocket-book of fun. say some of them, gentlemen, for i do, assure you—though do not misinterpret such assurance it would take an ex. ceedingly large silver tea-board to boot, to bear even in the shortest short-hand a notice of the qualities that, like the flowers upon the satin gown in which she appears be- fore you on this happy occasion, cover and adorn her. ladies and gentlemen, whilst thanking you for this tea- pot, permit me to say that you could not have chosen a more appropriate present for our domestic hearth. what the tripod was to the ancient priestess, the tea-pot (with a considerable improvement) is to the english housewife. if it does not inspire her with prophecy, it does much better ; it fills her with gentleness and good humor, and makes her cheerful in bestowing cups of cheerfulness upon others. gentlemen, it is said by arabian writers, that solomon's genii were confined in kettles—then allow me to say, they must have been tea-kettles; for from them-ministered by woman-man drinks quietude, refreshing calmness, and domestic wisdom.] we could add twenty other samples; but feel assured that, with only a tolerable memory, and presence of mind exercised at some half-dozen tables, the speaker may adapt the above sentences to almost any subject, melting them like broken glass, and blowing them again into different objects. how to be an early bird.—jump out of bed the moment you hear the knock at the door. the man who hesitates when called is lost. the mind should be made up in a minute, for early rising is one of those subjects that admit of no turning over. punch's pocket-book of fun. love's increase. they say that years have changed thee, that thy hair, once raven black, is turned to iron gray; that thy complexion, once so passing fair, is like the deeds which property convey. they tell me that thy cheek is cover'd o'er with furrows, which to age possess a fitness; no matter--dearest, i will love thee more, and to my truth let those indentures witness. they whisper that thy former sylph-like waist is far more podgy than it used to be; well! well ! kind nature does but show her taste in making much--something too much—of thee. if thou wert twice thy size, my sighs the same i'd breathe for thee- i still should cry," no matter," with love i burn—shall fat put out the flame ? no, i had loved thee, hadst thou been much fatter. how to cook your dinner without coals, gas, or fuel !-have three removes, for we all know that “ three removes are as good as a fire.” curious chinese definition.—the chinese call a pricking conscience “a hedgehog with all the points turned inwards." ruins.—you never saw a ruin without ivy-you never saw a ruined man but he had a lawyer clinging round him. punch's pocket-book of fun. bad thoughts. (written at baden-baden.) from the little gratitude shown nowadays, you would imagine no one ever did an act of kindness. little by little, as we travel through life, do our whims increase, and become more troublesome—just like women's luggage on a journey. a girl at school would like to have two birthdays every year. when she grows up a woman, she objects to having even one. the parentage of a lie is the most difficult of all to trace. it is indeed, a clever lie that knows its own father ! the worst kind of borrower is he who borrows with the intention of repaying, for you know to a moral cer. tainty that he intends to borrow again. if england was a paradise, still you would find eng. lishmen grumbling. more beggars are relieved for the sake of getting rid of them than from any feeling of charity. it is a curious system of drainage to close up all the sewers, and to leave the thames open into which they all flow! they say “friendship is but a pame;" at all events it is not one you often see on the back of a bill. it is strange how often it occurs, whenever a person is disinclined to do a thing, that he is laboring under "a cold !” scandal, like a kite, to fly well, depends greatly on the length of the tale it has to carry. punch's pocket-book of fun. yes, ladies and gentlemen, i feel my responsibility; i feel my privileges of citizenship, and i hope i also feel my duties. yesterday. i was an infant-to-day [here strike the bosom with the expanded hand] to-day i am a man. according to the benignity of the british constitution, i am eligible [this supposes you not to be a jew] to any office. i see a bright and extended line before me; begin. ning with the churchwarden and ending with the prime minister. i hope, if called upon by my parish or my country, i shall be found equal—(as that distinguished novelist eugene aram has observed)—equal to either for ! tune! and now, permit me to allude to the authors of my being; the proudest of authors, since it can be said of every child what cannot be said of every book, the child is original. [use or omit this, according to the capacity of the company for a joke.] to the best of fathers i owe much; and when i feel assured that it is, despite of him. self, his paternal intention to pay all my debts, when i feel this, i also feel i shall owe him considerably more! indeed, at the present moment, i cannot venture to sur- mise the amount of obligation: however, let that pass, but let it pass into thankfulness for what is gone-and, oh! with treble thankfulness for the allowance that is to come. and now, how shall i speak of the kindness of my mother?" how, with sufficient affection for years of indulgence, beginning in the dim twilight of infancy, with the unlimit- ed run of the sugar-basin, and ending with any amount of pocket-money and (heroically daring the anger of my father), with the secret trust of the latch-key. i have also to thank the friends of my childhood. to you, mrs.- punch's pocket-book of fun. [here name], who watched over my second teeth, and took me to the dentist's, when my mother shrank from that painful duty; to you i owe my dental regularity [here smile], and trust that, for many years, i may exercise my molars and incisors on your beef and pudding. may the day be long, long distant, when i shall inherit your punch- ladle, ornamented with a queen anne's guinea, to say nothing of the base mammon, called, in the slang of the selfish world, the three per cents. and you, sir—[name and address family friends],—can i forget the interest you, my godfather, took in my earliest welfare ? can i cease to remember that upon your wholesome advice i was wholesomely flogged for truant, when the weakness of my parents would have suffered me to pass unscathed ? no, sir; that most healthy flagellation i shall never forget. it is marked-[here again the hand to the heart]—marked indelibly here. you are a childless bachelor : would it were otherwise ! would i could call the son of such a friend my friend. it was not to be, and i bow to fate. however, sir, believe this; the name with which you have honored me shall never be sullied : nor shall the estate with which that name is proudly associated—should it in fulness of time descend to me, for one month, one day, one hour, one minute-be sullied by a mortgagembe blighted by a money-lender. ladies and gentlemen, forgive my feelings: and, in conclusion, believe, and although i am- i am—indeed a man, i never felt so much a child. .—a bridegroom's speech. “tie health of the bridegroom and bride.” my friends,—of myself at this most mystic hour, i will say nothing. no; but i thank you for my punch's pocket-book of fun. wife. wife! blissful monosyllable. a blended harmony of all earth's music! wife,--that calls up, as with an enchanter's wand, the homestead and the hearth! the kettle singing, rejoicingly singing on the bar—and the cat sleeping, profoundly sleeping on the rug! a word that intensifies so many meanings ! the call of butcher and baker-and milk below—and quarter's rent—and water- rate and the queen's taxes. ladies and gentlemen, when i only glance at the wedding-ring upon my wife's finger- that ring and that finger which it has been the summit of my bliss this morning to bring together—when i look upon that simple bit of golden wire, it seems to me that in the words of the beautiful bard of avon, “i have put a girdle round about the world "--a world of beauty, of truth, of constancy and love. when i look at that ring -and how can i help looking at it ?—does not its bright- ness fascinate and chain me—yes, i will repeat it; i am proud to repeat it,-chain me? when i look at that ring, am i not reminded of the circle of domestic duties—a cir- cle, even and complete, and without a flaw; a circle har- monious with golden utterance, a circle of purity without alloy—a never-ending, still beginning round of earthly happiness. my friends, when the honeymoon is over—not that it ever will be over with my own--own—[here give the bride's name, arabella or dorcas, as the name may be],--and myself, (for we propose to enjoy twelve honey- moons every year of our lives,) when i enter my house and here let us return due thanks to my honored father- in-law who has furnished that unpretending mansion with equal taste and liberality, though he will forgive me, if in punca's pocket-book of fun. this confiding hour, when the heart swells, and the tongue will speak, if i jocosely observe to him, that the house has a wine-cellar, and that his taste in tawny port is unex- ceptionable,—when i say i enter my house, and for the first time sinking in my arm-chair, place my slippered feet upon my rug—that rug worked by certain hands with hearts-ease and roses—i shall say to myself, here is my paradise and here [here look at the bride very passion- ately)—and here my eve! il-on receiving a piece of plate. gentlemen,—in having filled the office of—[here put in the office, whether that of chancellor of the e.cchequer, churchworden, or treasurer to a cricket club,]---i assure you i have had but one object—your interest. that object, i fearlessly assert, has never ceased to accom- pany me. it has gone to bed with me; it has slept with me; it has got up with me; it has shaved with me. your interest, gentlemen, has been the polar-star to my eye, the staff to my hand, and the roses to my feet. do i say this to make any claim upon your gratitude ? no, gentlemen : in giving utterance to these solemn and pro- found emotions for they are solemn, since they are not often evoked but upon serious occasions like the present- they are profound, for they come from the very bottomest bottom of my heart-(gentlemen, it is sometimes the allow- ed privilege of deep feeling to violate grammar, a privi- lege that my impulsive soul must lay claim to at this mo- ment)--in giving utterance to this, and much more than this, much more easily conceived than spoken, i merely punch's pocket-book of fun. ma punch's pocket-book of fun. state that in fulfilling your service, i have fulfilled my own personal pleasure !• i have sought no other reward- i expected none, i wished for none. nevertheless, gentle- men, when i look upon the splendid candelabra before me —a candelabra of fourteen branches,—i beg to assure you that i shall again and again in the deep midnight contem- plate the fourteen wax candles that will be continually burning therein,-only as so many lights to higher exer- tion-as so many vivifying suns kindling and strengthen- ing me in your service.] [if the piece of plate shordd be a snuff-box, say, and, gentlemen, whenever i open this box, whenever my finger and thumb shall take from within a restorative pinch, and taken, when my finger and thumb shall fillip off the particles that may adhere, i shall moralize upon those particles, and think all rewards but dust, but that best reward, your friendship-your support.] [if the token presented be a watch, say—and never, gentlemen, shall i hear it tick, but my heart will pulsate in unison with its sound; never will it strike the time, but my fancy will, with backward flight, return to the present moment, the happiest, proudest, moment of my life !] [should the speaker be a married man, and should a silver tea-pot be also presented to his wife, he may say—it is said, ladies and gentlemen, that a man must not praise himself. yet how is it possible to avoid such eulogy when called upon to speak of his wife—who is of himself —the dearest and most precious part of his existence ? gentlemen, i thank you for mrs. - you have inscri- bed some of her virtues on that silver tea-pot: i fearlessly punch's pocket-book of fun. say some of them, gentlemen, for i do assure you—though do not misinterpret such assurance-it would take an ex. ceedingly large silver tea-board to boot, to bear even in the shortest short-hand a notice of the qualities that, like the flowers upon the satin gown in which she appears be- fore you on this happy occasion, cover and adorn her. ladies and gentlemen, whilst thanking you for this tea- pot, permit me to say that you could not have chosen a more appropriate present for our domestic hearth. what the tripod was to the ancient priestess, the tea-pot (with a considerable improvement) is to the english housewife. if it does not inspire her with prophecy, it does much better; it fills her with gentleness and good humor, and makes her cheerful in bestowing cups of cheerfulness upon others. gentlemen, it is said by arabian writers, that solomon's genii were confined in kettles—then allow me to say, they must have been tea-kettles; for from them-ministered by woman-man drinks quietude, refreshing calmness, and domestic wisdom.] we could add twenty other samples; þut feel assured that, with only a tolerable memory, and presence of mind exercised at some half-dozen tables, the speaker may adapt the above sentences to almost any subject, melting them like broken glass, and blowing them again into different objects. i how to be an early bird.-jump out of bed the moment you hear the knock at the door. the man who hesitates when called is lost. the mind should be made up in a minute, for early rising is one of those subjects that admit of no turning over. punch's pocket-book of fun. love's increase. they say that years have changed thee, that thy hair, once raven black, is turned to iron gray; that thy complexion, once so passing fair, is like the deeds which property convey. they tell me that thy cheek is cover'd o'er with furrows, which to age possess a fitness ; no matter-dearest, i will love thee more, and to my truth let those indentures witness. they whisper that thy former sylph-like waist is far more podgy than it used to be; well! well ! kind nature does but show her taste in making much--something too much—of thee. if thou wert twice thy size, my sighs the same i'd breathe for thee-i still should cry, " no matter," with love i burn-shall fat put out the flame ? no, i had loved thee, hadst thou been much fatter. how to cook your dinner without coals, gas, or fuel !-have three removes, for we all know that “ three removes are as good as a fire.” curious chinese definition.—the chinese call a pricking conscience "a hedgehog with all the points turned inwards." ruins.—you never saw a ruin without ivy-you never saw a ruined man but he had a lawyer clinging round him. · punch's pocket-book of fun. bad thoughts. (written at baden-baden.) from the little gratitude shown nowadays, you would imagine no one ever did an act of kindness. little by little, as we travel through life, do our whims increase, and become more troublesome—just like women's luggage on a journey. a girl at school would like to have two birthdays every year. when she grows up a woman, she objects to having even one. the parentage of a lie is the most difficult of all to trace. it is, indeed, a clever lie that knows its own father! the worst kind of borrower is he who borrows with the intention of repaying, for you know to a moral cer. tainty that he intends to borrow again. if england was a paradise, still you would find eng. lishmen grumbling. more beggars are relieved for the sake of getting rid of them than from any feeling of charity. it is a curious system of drainage to close up all the sewers, and to leave the thames open into which they all flow ! they say “friendship is but a name;" at all events it is not one you often see on the back of a bill. it is strange how often it occurs, whenever a person is disinclined to do a thing, that he is laboring under "& cold !” scandal, like a kite, to fly well, depends greatly on the length of the tale it has to carry. punch's pocket-book of fun. a song when lovely woman, prone to folly, finds that e'en rowland's oils betray; what charm can soothe her melancholy ? what art can turn gray hairs away? the only art gray hairs to cover, . to hide their tint from every eye, to win fresh praises from her lover, and make him offer—is to dye. thumbnail portraits. the man who parts his hair down the middle. he has been brought up at home, or else educated at a girl's school. he can make pies and puddings, and is an unfailing hand at threading a needle. his sisters have taught him to sew, and it is said that he mends his own stockings, but at all events he does not practise the art in public. he wears turn-down collars, and cultivates senti- mental poetry. he plays the flute, and loves to look at the moon. his great passion is reading novels. many a night's rest has a lovely heroine robbed him of! his voice is soft and flute-like-but a flute that only plays the very lowest notes. there is a confidential tone about his conversation, as if he were whispering some fearful secret that he was mortally afraid would be overheard. if he goes to the theatre he takes his goloshes with him. he is punch's pocket-book' of fun. - timid, and has been known to walk up and down a pastry. cook's for half-an-hour before he has dared go in to ask for a penny bun. at an evening party, he drinks lemon- ade, or orangeade, or sherryade, or any other mild young man's “ ade;" in the daytime, if he imbibes any thing, it is milk, or ginger-beer. beer he sets his lips against en. tirely, as, in his refined opinion, it tends to grossness. he contributes to ladies' albums, collects autographs, writes acrostics, and is indefatigable in his exertions if a young lady should want half a million soiled postage stamps to complete a charitable wager. his remarks upon the wea- ther are as invaluable as they are inexhaustible, but, per- sonally, he is not very strong, and he cannot sit with his back to his horses. it makes him giddy to waltz. he hands the muffins round with a grace that no lady can re. fuse. he sings in the sweetest little voice that wouldn't wake up a canary. but he is very miserable in his songs, and is always breaking his heart, or begging that he may die, but if he were asking you to pass the melted butter he couldn't put the request more mildly. at a pic-nic he is invaluable-(and we never new a pic-nic take place with- out a man who parted his hair down the middle)—for he runs for the plates, cleans the knives and forks, fetches the spring water, and does a number of little useful offices whilst the other gentlemen are quietly seated down upon the grass eating their dinners. more than this, his pockets are always stocked with pincushions, and smelling. bottles, voice-lozenges, and pocket scissors and combs, and an infinity of nick-nacks most serviceable to the ladies, who call him in return " a dear man;" and he is never so punch's pocket-book of fun. happy as when he is carrying their shawls and parasols, or is tuning their guitar, or holding their music, or with his cambric pocket handkerchief (a perfect cobweb, that you might roll up into less than a pill), is frightening away the “nasty gnats.” with him all children are “ dears” and “pets ”—all babies," sweet little things ;” and he stabs them playfully with his finger, and “ chickabiddies " then until he makes them cry. he doesn't like children, however, who romp and are noisy, disagreeable children, who pull him about, and disarrange his trowsers by climbing up his knees, or dirty his clean gaiters by standing on his boots, or tumble his beautiful hair. to conclude with a few rapid character. istics. the man who parts his hair (it is generally light hair or a faint auburn) down the middle perfumes his handkerchief, likes homemade wines, is passionately fond of flowers, adores byron, cannot bear onions, carries an eye-glass, keeps a diary and a cat, holds skeins of silk for ladies, is ready to lend a hand to table-turning or any other fashionable folly of the day, rarely dances, has an inveterate habit of never parting with his hat, and is in- valuable in taking an elderly lady down to dinner. homeopathy. a cockney, who is still at large, desires to know “what is the meaning of the motto of the homøopathists. similia similibus curantur ?" the cockney, in default of other response, makes answer to himself-.“ any man (hahnemann) may cure any man !" . punch's pocket-book of fun. platitudes. by our old codger. the french republic is always represented with a phrygian head-dress. the fittest ornament for it, i think, would be a “ mob-cap.” i do abominate all parrots, perroquets, and cockatoos, and the awful noises they make. i am sure they are only tolerated by ladies, because they are such “delicious crea- tures” (screechers). it is very curious that men never know they have gray hairs. the discovery is always made for them by other people. there is no peacemaker in the world like a good dinner. we do not dislike men so much who are ruining them. selves—it is only when they are ruined. france should be painted, like fortune, standing on a wheel—for she seems to have quite a turn for revolutions. if you wish to hear all your faults freely canvassed, have your portrait taken, and invite your friends to come and keep you company. the best part of a public dinner is that there are no children after dessert. hemp to its best use.—those who think that it is better to teach people not to commit crime than to hang them for committing it, will probably find encouragement in a fact of which paper-manufacturers have been reminded by the present scarcity of rags, namely, that whatever ma- terial can be used for the making of rope, can be used for the making of paper. punch's pocket-book of fun. a tragedy in london life. scene:-a handsome mansion in a fashionable square. stranger in black. i believe, sir, you are a medical man, and the proprietor of a certain “pierian spring,” advertised under the title of the “ eau de jouvence," at s. the bottle ? medical man. i am, sir. stranger in black. that water is reputed to be drawn from the classic “ fountain of youth,” of which you alone, sir, possess the key, and professes, if i am to believe this document (reads prospectus), “to remove freckles, elongate the eyelashes, brighten the pupil of the eye, give a filbert shape to the nails, eradicate corns, mollify the skin," and, besides curing all mortal complaints, from chil- blains down to cholera; guarantees likewise, if i am not wrong, to “ lengthen the span of human existence to an in- calculable extent, such as the patriarchs never dreamt of ?" medical man. it does, sir. stranger in black. then, sir, allow me to say i am an undertaker. here is my card, sir—"mr. capet mor- tuam”-and i have come to say, sir, that i shall be most happy to allow you a commission of per cent., sir-i live close by—upon all the business you may send me. [whether the undertaker was kicked out, or whether an agreement was then and there entered into between him and the doctor, is best known to the registrar of deaths for that particular district. punch's pocket-book of fun. transparencies. when the mother of a large family of grown-up daugh- ters pays a great deal of court to a rich young man, who is not yet blest with a wife, her conduct becomes so ridicu- lously transparent that all her female friends openly laugh åt her for it. when a candidate plays with the children of an elector, and stuffs them with oranges and sugar-plums, and pays compliments to the wife, and begs to hold the baby whilst “ she gets her good man's dinner ready,” it does not require the sight of a lynx, or a conjuror, to see through a miserable transparency like that. when a friend drops in after dinner, and brings a bag of filberts with him, the transparency assumes imme- diately the rich glow of a bottle of wine. when a medical man is called out of church regularly every sunday, he must flatter himself exceedingly if he fancies no one sees through a trick so excessively trans- parent as that. when a proud, extravagant family breaks up its estab- lishment in town and country, sells off every thing it has, and goes to live on the continent for the purpose of “gir. ing the children the best continental education," we doubt if there are many persons, even of the most benevolent turn of mind, who give much faith to a story so transparent. when government talks year after year of the “public accounts being framed with the strictest regard to econo- my,” we wonder how many persons are taken in by the transparency? punch's pocket-book of fun. when a young swell puts down his horses, and volun- tarily gives up his dog-cart, because he “has been ordered to take exercise,” the only effect such a transparency can have on the eyes and minds of his friends is to make them exchange looks of comical incredulity, and smile. . when a servant wishes for a holiday “to go and see her mother” on easter monday, or a clerk asks for “ a day's leave, if convenient, for the purpose of visiting his aunt in the country who is very poorly," on the derby day, though the requests in both instances may be acceded to, still we suspect that the masters, in granting them, kindly shut their eyes to the extreme transparency of the excuse. tale of the dog-days. “it is not perhaps generally known ”-as the penny-a- liners say, when they are about to furnish a shilling's worth of the very stalest news—that there exists in lon- don a regular body of professional dog-stealers. the members of the fraternity are understood to keep a secre- tary to conduct their correspondence, as well as a large tanning establishment, to prepare for the leather market the hides of such animals as are not ransomed by their owners. the dog-stealers recently took a savage way to work on the fears of an old lady whose pet had fallen into the hands of “the trade," and who had shown some reluc- tance to lay down the sum of eight pounds, which had been demanded as the price for the restoration of the favorite. the owner of the delicate animal received one morning by post the tips of her dog's ears, with an intimation that punch's pocket-book of fun. small talk is the chaff that leads a young lady from flat to flat, in the same way that a horse is led across the stage by a sieve of fictitious oats. perseverance is failing nineteen times and succeeding the twentieth--but when you do succeed, good gracious me! how the applause does come down ! the stage has two sides, like its “ banners ”—the one brilliant, and the other dull,--and the public judges of it by seeing only the brilliant side. i have observed many tumbles through life, but i have invariably noticed that it is the man who mounts the high horse, that receives the least pity when he falls. genius, like the mantle of grimaldi, is claimed by every fool, but possessed by scarcely one ! the only ring in which the whip should not be used is the wedding-ring; whenever it is used, you may put it down as a badly managed circle, that is a disgrace to the ring! life may be compared to one of the golden goblets that flash at our banquets upon the stage; it looks very splendid, and you fancy it is full of the most intoxicating draughts; but put it to your lips, and you will find there is nothing in it !—nothing but hollowness, mockery, and disappointment !!! not to be fathomed.—there are secrets, like springs, that lie too deep for boring—and a woman's age is one of them. the cloak of religion.it is to be known sometimes by the fine nap it has during sermon time. punch's pocket-book of fun. the chemistry of common domestic life (by a strong-minded woman-rith a strong chemical turn.) the subjects to be treated in this interesting series, and into which will be thrown the experience of a long married life, will be- no. .-the air we breathe, and why our dear children (bless them!) always require a change of it at a certain period of the year. no. .- the cold meat we eat, and why it generally produces ill humor when there is no pudding after it. no. .-the joints we cook at home, and the joints that are cooked for us in a lodging-house, and how the latter invariably lose so much more in the cooking no. .-the pancakes we fry and the wonderful pud. dings we contrive, whenever there is a doubt whether there will be sufficient for dinner. no. .--the pot-luck that our husbands will persist in bringing their friends home to partake of, and the various stews and broils that always come out of it. no. .—the luncheons we enjoy when alone, and the dinners we cannot touch when there is company. no. .—the sherry we drink ourselves, and the marsala we give to our friends at an evening party. no. .--the sweets we give our children, and the bit- punch's pocket-book of fun. ters we receive from our husbands for so doing, on the absurd plea that it makes the poor little dears ill. no. .—the soil we cultivate in our conservatories and out in our balconies, and the flowers (hyacinths particularly) we rear on our mantelpiece. no. .—the beverages we infuse after an oyster supper, and the slops we imbibe when we have a cold. no. .—the odors (including musk and patchouli) we love best, and the smells we dislike most, espe- cially that filthy tobacco-smoke. no. .—the pets we cherish, and the real causes of the illnesses that are generally attributed to our over-feeding them. no. .—the quarrels we ferment and the storms we brew, whenever poor mother comes to make a short stay in the house. " no. .—the table-beer we give our servants, and an analysis of the strange rapidity with which it is drunk, though the ungrateful creatures are always complaining of it. no. .—the tea and sugar we allow the cook and housemaid, and the extraordinary preference they have for that which is used in the parlor. no. .what we breathe, and whom we breathe for, and the great benefit there is in stays, by their enabling us to breathe so much better, and how a heated room generally improves the respira- tion and ventilation. punch's pocket-book of fun. no. .-the body we love and nourish and take care of, with an exposure of the absurd fallacy that thin shoes, low dresses, and scanty clothing are in the least injurious to health. a devouring flame. three removes, it is said, are as bad as a fire; but a fire is not so bad as an extravagant woman, by many re- moves. the one simply burns you out of house, but the other, if she is your wife, burns you out of both house and home; and then again, you may put out the former, but, as long as you have a place to live in, vou have no chance of putting out the latter. ladies can, we know, sometimes go to very great lengths in dress; but the gown has lately got to such a pitch, and so much latitude is taken in the way of longi. tude, that there is no knowing where it will end. we have found, occasionally, very great inconvenience in our walks, by following, as excursionists, such a train as that which female fashion seems to entail on all its votaries. it says as little for the ankles as it does for the under- standings of the fair sex of the present day, that they are compelled to hide their bad feet by at least one yard of superfluous drapery. in addition to the untidy and un- sightly character of the proceeding, the dust raised is so great a nuisance, that every lady appearing in the costume of the period ought to be compelled to have a page in at- tendance, with a watering-pot, wherever she goes. punch's pocket-book of fun. surly sentiments. (by a professed old grumbler.) vanity never died yet of a surfeit. a parent who strikes a child is like a man who strikes the water---the consequences of the blow are sure to fly up in his own face. there are fools who cannot keep a secret. their ex. cessive greenness, like that of new wood, makes them split. reform is an omnibus that's always “just going to start." friends, like tumblers in frosty weather, are apt to fly at the first touch of hot water. it is with a faded beauty as with a clock-the more the face is enamelled, the more clearly do we see the pro- gress of time. the most uncomfortable house to live in is a house full of pets, such as pet dogs, pet canaries, pet squirrels, par- rots, and cats,—but, worse than all, pet children! cerberus must have been a box-keeper, originally, at a theatre. there is no one so long-lived as your delicate fine lady, who is always “dying." i have generally found that a “little party” with a “ little music," and a “ little singing," with a "little vingt- et-un ” after that, followed by a “little supper,” and lastly a "little grog” just before going home, carry one up to five or six o'clock in the morning, and invariably end in a little headache the next day. punch's pocket-book of fun. no woman drinks beer of her own accord,--she is always “ ordered” to drink it ! experience is a pocket-compass that a fool never thinks of consulting until he has lost his way. an ugly baby is an impossibility. when a man has the headache, and says " it's the salmon," you may safely conclude that he has been “ drink. ing like a fish.” the moment friendship becomes a tax, it's singular, at every fresh call it makes, how very few persons it finds at home! life a library. life is a library, composed of several volumes. with some, these volumes are richly gilt; with others, quite plain. of its several volumes, the first is a child's book, full of pretty pictures; the second is a school-book, blotted, inked, and dog's-eared; the next is a thrilling romance, full of love, hope, ruin, and despair, winding up with a marriage with the most beautiful heroine that ever was; then, there is the housekeeping-book, with the butchers' and bakers’ bills increasing every year; after that, come the day-book and ledger, swelling out into a series of many volumes, presenting a rare fund of varied informa- tion, and gingling like a cash-box with money; these are followed up with a grave history, solemnly travelling over the events of the past, with many wise deductions and grave warnings; and last of all, comes the child's-book again with its pages rather soiled, and its pictures by no means so bright as they used to be. to the above library punch's pocket-book of fun. utfit tiwit uito olved atlit surat noli irwido oah a poor delicati oreature punch's pocket-book of fun. a poor delicate creature! we know a poor delicate creature, who is incapable of any exertion. she lies on the sofa all day. she cannot bear the slightest noise. the blinds are always pulled down, for the sun gives her a headache. she is so weak she rarely speaks above a whisper. the servants always approach her on tiptoe, for fear of sending her into hys- terics. as a matter of course, she never moves out with- out the carriage. you would imagine her nerves were made of the finest silk—or of venetian glass, rather-and that with the lightest movement, they would all snap. she is so sensitive, she cannot bear a breath of the air of heaven. it would certainly blow her away. the softest zephyr that ever blew from the south would irrevivably extinguish the puny flame of her flickering existence. to guard against an accident of this melancholy nature, all the windows are closed; not a door, not a ventilator is al- lowed to be open; and the tender invalid keeps her frail body continually wrapped up in the thickest plaids and shawls. look at her, as she is reclining on that ottoman -does she not seem to be at the last gasp of exhaustion ? would you not rather take her for a fashionable mummy just embalmed in cashmeres ? poor, delicate creature, in pity let us leave her. . suppose we go to lady gunter's ball. do you see that beautiful girl spinning round in the waltz with that austrian attaché—the crystallized foreigner, now opposite to you, who is such a revolving pillar of diamonds ? yes; we see the lovely blonde if you mean her--with the bare punch's pocket-book of fun. companion, who made her laugh, and kept continually fill. ing her glass. and after that? why, after that she goes up stairs again, and dances more incessantly than ever. she is in- satiable for dancing. to look at her, you would think a tarantula had bitten her, and that she couldn't keep still for the fraction of a minute. the wonder is how one pair of satin shoes lasts her through the same evening. you would imagine with her rapidity-and it is as much as your eyes can do to follow her—that she would wear out half a dozen pairs at least. and how long does she keep it up? why, as long as she can—till four or five o'clock in the morning--till the wax candles begin to droop—till the musicians have nearly played themselves fast asleep until she hasn't a partner left to dance with—and then, loth to leave, she goes unwillingly home to begin the same dance the following evening. how often does this occur ? why, four, or five, and sometimes six times a week; and frequently there are two or three balls on the same even- ing, and she goes to every one of them, and this, mind you, after she has been to a concert, or a matinée, or a pic-nic, perhaps, in the day-time. what, only think of the exer- cise! well, that is something, to be sure; and if the cal- culation could be made, it is probable it would be ascer- tained, by the most generous cabman's measure, that that young lady does not dance less than twenty miles in the course of an evening—and that is only allowing at the rate of four miles an hour, which you will acknowledge is absurdly moderate for human waltzing. multiply this by , and you will have a sum total of miles danced by punch's pocket-book of fun. a young lady in the period of one week! and this, recol- lect, is independent of fêtes, fancy fairs, flower shows, and other amusements that demand some degree of exercise during the day. and now, do you know who this young lady is who dances her miles a week? who it is that goes through an amount of labor only to be equalled by the poor fellows who walk their thousand miles in their thousand hours? you will never guess, and so i do not mind telling you. she is the same young lady whom we saw stretched out at full length on the sofa, who looked so weak that she would have fainted if any one had asked her to walk across the street; who was so nervous that she could not bear the slightest noise, or endure the smallest key-hole of fresh air; who was so woe-begone that she could not talk, laugh, nor open her eyes, nor touch a single thing; so helpless that she could not have moved off her couch by herself, not even if the house had been in flames; who looked, in fact, such a lackadaisical bundle of shawls and prostration, that you must have doubted in your own mind whether she could ever stand upright again on her two legs. yes, sir, that young lady, whose prowess you have been wondering at this evening, is that same poor delicate creature; and allow me to say, sir (concluded the doctor, as he gave us a cigar to walk home with), that in the way of fatigue there are very few men—i was nearly saying, prize-fighters—who can stand half so much as your poor delicate creature ! the art of conversation.—you convince a man- you persuade a woman. punch's pocket-book of fun. no woman drinks beer of her own accord, -she is always “ ordered” to drink it ! experience is a pocket-compass that a fool never thinks of consulting until he has lost his way. an ugly baby is an impossibility. when a man has the headache, and says “it's the salmon," you may safely conclude that he has been “ drink. ing like a fish.” the moment friendship becomes a tax, it's singular, at every fresh call it makes, how very few persons it finds at home! life a library. life is a library, composed of several volumes. with some, these volumes are richly gilt; with others, quite plain. of its several volumes, the first is a child's book, full of pretty pictures; the second is a school-book, blotted, inked, and dog's-eared; the next is a thrilling romance, full of love, hope, ruin, and despair, winding up with a marriage with the most beautiful heroine that ever was; then, there is the housekeeping-book, with the butchers' and bakers' bills increasing every year; after that, come the day-book and ledger, swelling out into a series of many volumes, presenting a rare fund of varied informa- tion, and gingling like a cash-box with money; these are followed up with a grave history, solemnly travelling over the events of the past, with many wise deductions and grave warnings ; and last of all, comes the child's-book again with its pages rather soiled, and its pictures by no means so bright as they used to be. to the above library punch's pocket-book of fun. is sometimes added the banker's-book, thick with gold, but it is a very scarce work, and only to be met with in the richest collections. the philosopher and the fly. stupid silly little fly, o as upon the wall you walk, let us have some quiet talk. who are you ? and what am i? what is man, and what are flies ? it perchance would be as well if philosophy could tell, though the answer might surprise. come, philosophy profound ! fly, approach! in converse free; where's the fly-alas, i see : tumbled, in the milk-jug ! drown'd. ambition there should be a measure in ambition as in all things, and particularly a boot-and-shoe-measure. for instance, in your anxiety to walk in the shoes of another person, it never does to throw away your own boots before you have got your toes comfortably stowed in the shoes of the for- mer. by neglecting this very common precaution, many an ambitious man has to trudge over the sharp stones of the world barefooted, and dies a beggar! punch's pocket-book of fun. wi en sunnan vinnunu lue turt merit nudi intuit jimui ded chuupe a poos delicate creature punch's pocket-book of fun. arms and naked shoulders—a costume which, by courtesy, is called full dress. what a rate she is going at ! pre- cisely; the times' steam engine is in quickness a slow coach compared to her! she makes more revolutions in one minute than the french have made in all their lives; and, if you notice, she shows no symptoms of fatigue. she will keep up that same speed for hours, and the mo- ment she ceases she is ready to begin again. she is inde- fatigable; no wheel in a cotton factory could spin round quicker, or work for so many hours with less apparent fa- tigue. but she is going out on the balcony: why, she will catch her death of cold! no; she is accustomed to it. a sailor walking the deck wouldn't trouble himself less about colds than she does. all atmospheres are the same to her. she is no fragile hothouse plant, but a hardy annual that will bloom anywhere—up the chimney, if you please, or down in the cellar, or by the side of the kitchen fire, or at the bottom of the well--the small question of temperature doesn't make much difference to a constitution so well seasoned as hers. but does she take no nourish- ment to keep up this extraordinary fatigue ? yes : ices- plenty of ices and biscuits—varied occasionally with a jelly, and perhaps, late in the evening, the tiniest wing of a chicken with a little lobster sauce, or a plover's egg, or a bit of blancmange, the whole of it washed down with not more than half a glass of champagne. but i have seen her eat a very good supper-a supper worthy of a guards- man in love—but it has been very late, when there were very few persons in the room, and she has had a pleasant punch's pocket-book of fun. people i should like to meet. the maiden aunt who does not take in tracts, nor confine herself (and guests) to cold meat on a sunday, who has no objection to the smell of a cigar, and can even bear the sight of a snuff-box without fainting; who only keeps one cat, and if she have a lap-dog, will not suffor either to monopolize the sofa ; who has a soul above anti- macassars, and although she keeps her house perpetually clean, does not keep her servants in perpetual hot water, nor pretend to be in hysterics if you stand upon the hearth- rug: who wears her own hair even though it be gray, and never so forgets herself as to appear in mittens: who can even invite a gentleman to dinner, and abstain from mak- ing him ill with wines of her home-manufacture after it; who, above all, is not given to missionaries, and though charitable to a fault, the fault is not that of pestering her acquaintance for donations, nor keeping, a “savings-bank” for some pet piety upon her mantel-piece, and being quite put out if you omit to put into it. such a maiden aunt is a relative worth having, and if i were an old bachelor i should make a point of calling on her. the cabman who dose not smell of beer, and whose cab you can enter without finding a short pipe in it; who can receive a sixpence without opening the safety-valve of an oath, or challenging the donor to a pugilistic single combat; who, if he adopts a circuitous route, can at least invent a reasonable pretext for it, or at any rate abstain from adding insult to injury by giving vent to the plagiary that “ the streets is hup; " whose estimates of distance are, punch's pocket-book of fun. in some cases at all events, restrained within the limits of possible belief. the amateur artist who shaves every day, and never · passes a month without a visit to his hair-cutter; who does not think it derogatory to keep his nails clean, nor fancy he'll lose character by paying his tailor ; who can conde- scend even to wear an actual bat, and does not dress him- self for a studio as though it were a masquerade, or a farce at the adelphi; who can talk of a picture without artis tically criticising it, and puzzling his friends about “ middle lights” and “ distances,” and “fetching up the tone; " who can abstain from raptures when a pre-rapb- aelite is mentioned, and can equally command himself in the presence of an “old master ;” who can hire a pretty maid-servant and not make a “study" of her, and can even form the acquaintance of a man with a roman nose, without insisting on his sitting as a model virginius; that amateur i should not object to meet, which is more than i can say of most in his position. is man a free agent? writing as i do, hastily with my bonnet on, i have no idea of entering into such a metaphysical inquiry, as with reference either to my subject or my reader, will be pro- ductive of exhaustion. my present object is merely to discuss man's free agency in connection with his greatest tentporal blessing—the married state. man is by nature timid, and prone to solitude. prompt- ed by his normal impulses, he hides himself in dens and punch's pocket-book of fun. caves, from whence he is drawn forth by the gentle voice of woman. she pats him softly on the cheek—she puts a pair of french clogs in his hand; and docile as una's lion, she makes him fetch and carry at her own sweet will. to win her approving smile, he defies danger-ascending mountains (mont blanc for example) at a vast expense- performing on the corde élastique, or running on a rolling tub-making heroic speeches in parliament, and dying on the floor of the house, like a country actor, with immense applause. such is man—a being singularly dependent, and whose inability to repair his own hose must ever excite our live- liest commiseration. this for preface. “is man a free agent?” that, as hamlet says, is the question; and to show how serious a question it is, permit me to relate, as mrs. inchbald did, a 'simple story.”. last summer, accompanied by papa, and taking advan- tage of the midsummer vacation in our establishment for young ladies at tooting, i embarked on board a boat- the little western—for ramsgate. there were many gentlemen passengers, but one particularly arrested my attention. he was a tall well made commercial-traveller- looking man, with blue eyes and sandy whiskers : and as he sat next to me, we naturally entered into conversation. amongst other literary celebrities he mentioned pope, and as the proper study of mankind is man, he recom mended all ladies to learn it by heart. from pope we passed, by an easy transition, to puseyism and the rev. mr. kittens, under whom he was gratified to find that my- punch's pocket-book of fun. self and papa had sat for some years. with reference to matters of fashion, his opinions were strictly orthodox, and, like all men of enlarged ideas, he admired long dresses; and as to small bonnets, he confessed that he pitied those short-sighted persons who cannot see much in them. one thing certainly did surprise me, his intimate, nay, profound acquaintance with the most intricate details of fashionable millinery. how he had mastered what to most men, even of powerful intellect, are insurmountable difficulties, i could only understand, by presuming that he lived with his accomplished sister. i was just about giving utterance to the suggestion, when my parasol was snatched away by some invisible ariel, and descending upon the sun-lit waves, which leaped with responsive joy at our laughter, was soon, as byron says, “ far, far at sea !” penetrated with sympathy for my loss, my kind and gene- rous neighbor, with polite pleasantry, hastened to repair it, and as he handed me, for this purpose, his unfurled alpaca umbrella, he softly squeezed (or i fancied so) not only my little finger, but its companion of my left hand, where, had i worn a ring, of course he must have felt it. up to this moment my impression had been that he was a bachelor, or free agent; that is, frec to pay delicate attentions when and where he might think proper; and sheltered by his alpaca umbrella, which he gracefully held over me, i looked upon him with mingled gratitude and respect. judge then of my more than astonishment when, on arriv. ing at ramsgate pier, he stepped ashore, and three fat children, rudely embracing his legs, saluted him by the ridiculous name of_papa ! punch's pocket-book, of fun. this is only a solitary instance of the misunderstand- ings which persons like myself are apt to fall into, from there being no certain means of distinguishing whether a man is or is not a free agent. the only criterion at present is, that men of family are always more attentive, and often more truly gallant than those who have not arrived at that honorable distinction. but should there not be some outward and visible sign, some tangible in- signia which would ensure us from wasting our sweetness upon those, who can make us no adequate return? sup- posing every "united brother” was compelled by law to wear when travelling a sort of badge-say the key of the tea-caddy round his neck-a plan which could not be at- tended with any inconvenience, as no man of correct feel- ing ever thinks of taking pleasure abroad, while circum. stances necessitate his lady remaining at home. etiquette for evening parties. by our own brummell. if you are at all an absent-minded man, it is prudent not to venture to a party in rubbers. possibly you might forget to take them off, and so be entering the room upon a questionable footing. in dressing for an evening party, always bear in mind the maxim, “ ease before elegance.” many a good waltzer has been forced into a wallflower through the tortures of having a new pair of boots on. if you have strength of mind you will avoid such a fate, even at the cost of appear- ing in your bluchers. recollect, black trousers are not indispensables. the authorities at the opera, who are the punch's pocket-book of fun. posal being negatived, you had better strike up at once the first thing that occurs to you—say bobbin' around or the ratcatcher's daughter, either of which would be nicely appropriate to the occasion. recollect, punctuality is the soul of evening parties. be careful therefore always to arrive to a moment at the time you are invited for. if the hour be not specified, as is occasionally the case, it is considered good breeding to call the day before and make inquiry of the servant. your conduct in the supper-room must depend an cir- cumstances. if it be a half-stand-up affair, ladies' business first and gentlemen's pleasure afterwards, you will be ex. pected during the first part to do duty of course as an amateur waiter; when, unless you practise well before- hand, you will no doubt contrive to cover yourself with jelly and confusion. but if the repast be a sit-down-all- together one, you may eat and drink in comfort, if you only take care not to have a lady next you: otherwise of course you'll have to minister to her wants instead of satisfying your own. in taking your departure, don't forget to make an offer of your thanks for the pleasant evening you have spent : and if you then proceed to shake hands all round with such of the guests as may remain, you will do much to confirm the favorable impression which your previous be- havior will doubtless have produced. in fact, if you act strictly in accordance with the advice that we have given, you will soon be esteemed quite an acquisition to society; and in short, to use the language of the advertisers, no evening party will be thought complete without you. pijnch's pocket-book of fun. planet. “for ages of ages, on this turbulent world, hast thou shone down, tranquil and serene as now. and thou wilt still shine on, in thine unchangeable calmness, on hopes as yet unformed, on griefs unfelt, on unimagined fears. thou, ob moon, that smilest on the quiet graves, thou wilt one day smile as peacefully on us, when we are laid in earth, and all our cares forgotten! is it not so ?” "oh, yes ! ” answered isabel, with emotion. the youth heaved a long-drawn sigh. “this is a strange meeting,” he observed, after a pause. “a few minutes more, and we part—perchance for ever in the meanwhile, might i entreat a trifling favor, which would render me supremely happy ? " “really, sir, i—that is-pray, excuse—i could not, indeed !” stammered isabel, blushing with an intensity actually visible in the moonlight. “suffer me to imprint but one kiss "—the maiden shrank back " on that delicate hand," said the stranger. “this is indeed a strange request,” she replied. "it is perhaps romantic. but of late years," he con- tinued, “i have resided in germany, where the boon which i now venture to crave would be esteemed a life- long happiness. would you deny so rich a blessing, granted so easily ? ' “ to my preserver ?—that were indeed ungrateful,” isa bel answered. and divesting her little hand of its neat kid glove, she presented it to the stranger, who, kneeling, respectfully raised it to his lips ! at this moment a wild cry for help proceeded from & coppice not far distant. the stranger started to his feet, punch's pocket-book of fun. lessons for old and young. these lessons in words of one and two syllables are intended to be read by children to adults, on a system of mutual instruction by which both parties may teach and learn at the same time. the tip-sy man, look at that man. he can-not walk straight. see how he rolls and tum-bles a-bout. he can-not speak plain. why can he not speak plain, and why does he tum-ble and roll a-bout ? he has been drink.ing. i think he has had too much bran-dy and wa-ter. he is a tip- sy man. his head will ache to-morrow. how silly of him to drink too much bran-dy and wa-ter, and make his head ache! pa-pa ne-ver drinks too much bran-dy and water. what a good pa-pa ! the dra-per's bhop. that is a dra-per's shop. there is a la-dy. she is buy-ing a dress. where is her hus-band ? he is at work. he does not know that she is buy-ing a dress. she has more dres-ses than she wants. her hus-band will have to pay for her new dress. he can-not af-ford the mo-ney. it is ve-ry wrong of her to buy a dress that she does not want, when he can-not af-ford to pay for it. mam-ma ne-ver serves pa-pa so ; does she, dear mam-ma ? the ci-gar. oh! what a nas-ty smell! where does it come from? it comes from that man's ci-gar. he is smok-ing. dir. -- -- - ----- -- m . the borrower will be charged an overdue fee if this book is not returned to the library on or before the last date stamped below. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fees. janmar lo ng cancelleu pi the os, comple ual for the united states. with illus auons of the principal angle fish america and npwards of illustrations on steel, stone und w · ſae ! ---- № zº º - |× the bridgewater treatises on the power, wisdom, and goodness of god, as manifested in the creation. treatise. v. animal and vegetable physiology, considered with reference to natural theology. by peter mark roget, m. d. sec. ht. s. etc. in two volumes. vol. ii. “and there are diversities of oper ations, but it is the same god which workerh all in all.” cor. xii. . animal v e g e t a b l e phy s i o logy, considered with reference to naturah, the ol ogy. by peter m a r k r o get, m. d. secretary to the royal society, fullerian professor of physiology in the royal institution of great britain, vice presidext of the society of arts, rellow or the royat, college of physicians, consulting physician to the queen charlotte's lying-in hospital, and to the northern dispensary, etc. et.c. wol. ii. philadelphia: carey, lea & blanchard. - . \ +: tº phil a. . o - hapva. j.n. university library ~ griggs & co., printers. contents of the second volume. part ii.-the wital functions. charten_l–objects of nutritiox - - - - chapter ii.-nutnition in vegetables - - - § . food of plants - - - - - . absorption of nutriment by plants - - . exhalation - - - - - . aeration of the sap - - - - . return of the sap - - - - . secretion in vegetables - - - . excretion in vegetables - - - - chapten iii.-animal nutritiox in general - - § . food of animals - - - - - . series of vital functions - - - charten iv.-nutrition in the low er on dehs of animals chapter v.—nutritiox in the higher on ders of animals charter wi.-preparatiox of food - - - § . prehension of liquid food - - - . prehension of solid food - - - . mastication by means of teeth - - . formation and development of the teeth - . trituration of food in internal cavities - . deglutition - - - - - . receptacles for retaining food - - charter vii.-digestiox - - - - - charrek viii.-chrlificatiox - - - - page vi contents. page chapter ix.-lactealabson ption - - - - - chapter x. —circulation - - - - - § . diffused circulation - - - - - . vascular circulation - - - - - . respiratory circulation - - - - - . distribution of blood wessels - - - chapter xi.-respiration - - - - - - § . respiration in general - - - - . aquatic respiration - - - - - . atmospheric respiration - - - - . chemical changes effected by respiration - - chapter xii.-secretion - - - - - chapter xiii.-abson ption - - - - - chapter xiv.-nervous poweh - - - - part iii.--the sensorial functions. chapter i.-sensation - - - - - - chapter ii.--touch - - - - - - chapter iii.-taste - - - - - - chapter iv.-smell - - - - - - chapter v.—hearing - - - - - - § . acoustic principles - - - - - . physiology of hearing in man - - - - . comparative physiology of hearing - - - chapten vi.-visiox - - - - - - § . object of the sense of vision - - - - . modes of accomplishing the objects of vision - - . structure of the eye - - - - - . physiology of perfect vision - - - - . comparative physiology of vision - - - chartervii.-penception - - - - - - contents. vii page chapter viii.-comparative physiology of the nervous system § . nervous system of invertebrated animals - - . nervous system of vertebrated animals - - - . functions of the brain - - - - . comparative physiology of perception - - " - - part iv.—the reproductive functions. chafter i.-rephoduction - - - •. - chapter ii.-organic development - - - - charreh iii.-decline of the system - - - - cbapter iv.-unity of design -- - - - - index - - - - - - - - animal and veg etable physiology. ip art ii. the vital functions. chapter i. objects of nutrition. the mechanical structure and properties of the organized fabric, which have occupied our attention in the preceding volume, are necessary for the maintenance of life, and the exercise of the vital powers. but, however artificially that fabric may have been constructed, and however admirable the skill and the foresight that have been displayed in en- suring the safety of its elaborate mechanism, and in pre- serving the harmony of its complicated movements, it yet of necessity contains within itself the elements of its own dis- solution. the animal machine, in common with every other mechanical contrivance, is subject to wear and deteriorate by constant use. not only in the greater movements of the limbs, but also in the more delicate actions of the internal organs, we may trace the operation of many causes inevita- bly leading to their ultimate destruction. continued friction must necessarily occasion a loss of substance in the harder vol. ii. the vital functions. parts of the frame, and evaporation is constantly tending to exhaust the fluids. the repeated actions of the muscles in- duce certain changes in these organs, both in their mecha- nical properties and chemical composition, which impair their powers of contraction, and which, if suffered to con- tinue, would, in no long time, render them incapable of ex- ercising their proper functions; and the same observation applies also to the nerves, and to all the other systems of organs. provision must accordingly be made for remedy- ing these constant causes of decay by the supply of those peculiar materials, which the organs require for recruiting their declining energies. it is obvious that the development of the organs, and ge- neral growth of the body, must imply the continual addition of new particles from foreign sources. organic increase consists not in the mere expansion of a texture previously condensed, and the filling up of its interstices by inorganic matter; but the new materials that are added must, for this purpose, be incorporated with those which previously exist- ed, and become identified with the living substance. thus, we often find structures forming in the bodies of animals of a nature totally different from that of the part from which they arise. in addition to these demands, a store of materials is also wanted for the reparation of occasional injuries, to which, in the course of its long career, the body is unavoidably ex- posed. like a ship fitted out for a long voyage, and forti- fied against the various dangers of tempests, of icebergs, and of shoals, the animal system, when launched into existence, should be provided with a store of such materials as may be wanted for the repair of accidental losses, and should also contain within itself the latent source of those energies, which may be called into action when demanded by the ex- igencies of the occasion. any one of the circumstances above enumerated would of itself be sufficient to establish the necessity of supplies of nourishment for the maintenance of life. but there are objects of nutrition. other considerations, equally important in a physiological point of view, and derived from the essential nature of or- ganization, which also produce a continual demand for these supplies; and these i shall now endeavour briefly to explain. constant and progressive change appears to be one of the leading characteristics of life; and the materials which are to be endowed with vitality must therefore be selected and arranged with a view to their continual modification, cor- responding to these ever varying changes of condition. the artificer, whose aim is to construct a machine for perma- nent use, and to secure it as much as possible from the de- terioration arising from friction or other causes of injury, would, of course, make choice for that purpose of the most hard and durable materials, such as the metals, or the denser stones. in constructing a watch, for instance, he would form the wheels of brass, the spring and the barrel-chain of steel; and for the pivot, where the motion is to be inces- sant, he would employ the hardest of all materials, the diamond. such a machine, once finished, being exempt from almost every natural cause of decay, might remain for an indefinite period in the same state. far different are the objects which must be had in view in the formation of or- ganized structures. in order that these may be qualified for exercising the functions of life, they must be capable of continual alterations, displacements, and adjustments, vary- ing perpetually, both in kind and in degree, according to the progressive stages of their internal development, and to the different circumstances which may arise in their exter- nal condition. the materials which nature has employed in their construction, are, therefore, neither the elementary bodies, nor even their simpler and more permanent combi- nations; but such of their compounds as are of a more plastic nature, and which allow of a variable proportion of ingre- dients, and of great diversity in the modes of their combi- nation. so great is the complexity of these arrangements, that although chemistry is fully competent to the analysis of organized substances into their ultimate elements, no hu- , the vital functions. man art is adequate to effect their reunion in the same state as that in which they had existed in those substances; for it was by the refined operations of vitality, the only power that could produce this adjustment, that they have been brought into that condition. we may take as an example one of the simplest of orga- nic products, namely, sugar; a substance which has been analyzed with the greatest accuracy by modern chemists: yet to reproduce this sugar, by the artificial combination of its simple elements, is a problem that has hitherto baffled all the efforts of philosophy. chemistry, notwithstanding the proud rank it justly holds among the physical sciences, and the noble discoveries with which it has enriched the arts; notwithstanding it has unveiled to us many of the secret ope- rations of nature, and placed in our hands some of her most powerful instruments for acting upon matter; and notwith- standing it is armed with full powers to destroy, cannot, in any one organic product, rejoin that which has been once dissevered. through the medium of chemistry we are ena- bled, perhaps, to form some estimate of the value of what we find executed by other agencies; but the imitation of the model, even in the smallest part, is far beyond our power. no means which the laboratory can supply, no process, which the most inventive chemist can devise, have ever yet approached those delicate and refined operations which na- ture silently conducts in the organized texture of living plants and animals. the elements of organic substances are not very nume- rous; the principal of them being oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, sulphur, and phosphorus, together with a few of the alkaline, earthy, and metallic bases. these substances are variously united, so as to form certain specific com- pounds, which, although they are susceptible, in different instances, of endless modifications, yet possess such a gene- ral character of uniformity, as to allow of their being ar- ranged in certain classes; the most characteristic substance in each class constituting what is called a proximate orga- organic chemistry. nic principle. thus, in the vegetable kingdom we have lignin, tannin, mucilage, oil, sugar, fecula, &c. the animal kingdom, in like manner, furnishes gelatin, . lbu- men, fibrin, mucus, entomoline, elearin, stearin, and many others. the chemical constitution of these organic products, formed, as they are, of but few primary elements, is strik- ingly contrasted with that of the bodies belonging to the mi- neral kingdom. the catalogue of elementary, or simple bodies, existing in nature, is, indeed, more extensive than the list of those which enter into the composition of animal or vegetable substances. but in the mineral world they occur in simpler combinations, resolvable, for the most part, into a few definite ingredients, which rarely comprise more than two or three elements. in organized products, on the other hand, although the total number of existing elements may be smaller, yet the mode of combination in each sepa- rate compound is infinitely more complex, and presents in- calculable diversity. simple binary compounds are rarely ever met with; but, in place of these, we find three, four, five, or even a greater number of constituent elements ex- isting in very complicated states of union. this peculiar mode of combination gives rise to a remark- able condition, which attaches to the chemical properties of organic compounds. the attractive forces, by which their several ingredients are held together, being very numerous, require to be much more nicely balanced, in order to retain them in combination. slight causes are sufficient to disturb, or even overset, this equipoise of affinities, and often pro- duce rapid changes of form, or even complete decomposi- tion. the principles, thus retained in a kind of forced union, have a constant tendency to react upon one another, and to produce, from slight variations of circumstances, a to- tally new order of combinations. thus, a degree of heat, which would occasion no change in most mineral substances, will at once effect the complete disunion of the elements of an animal or vegetable body. organic substances are, in the vital functions. like manner, unable to resist the slower, but equally destruc- tive agency of water and atmospheric air; and they are also liable to various spontaneous changes, such as those consti- tuting fermentation and putrefaction, which occur when their vitality is extinct, and when they are consequently aban- doned to the uncontrolled operation of their natural chemi- cal affinities. this tendency to decomposition may, indeed, be regarded as inherent in all organized substances, and as requiring for its counteraction, in the living system, that perpetual renovation of materials which is supplied by the powers of nutrition. it would appear that, during the continuance of life, the progress of decay is arrested at its very commencement; and that the particles, which first undergo changes unfitting them for the exercise of their functions, and which, if suffered to remain, would accelerate the destruction of the adjoining parts, are immediately removed, and their place supplied by particles that have been modified for that purpose, and which, when they afterwards lose these salutary properties, are, in their turn, discarded and replaced by others. hence, the continued interchange and renewal of particles which take place in the more active organs of the system, especial- ly in the higher classes of animals. in the fabric of those animals which possess an extensive system of circulating and absorbing vessels, the changes that are effected are so considerable and so rapid, that even in the densest textures, such as the bones, scarcely any portion of the substance which originally composed them is permanently retained in their structure. to so great an extent is this renovation of materials carried on in the human system, that doubts may very reasonably be entertained as to the identity of any por- tion of the body after the lapse of a certain time. the pe- riod assigned by the ancients for this entire change of the substance of the body, was seven or eight years: but modern inquiries, which show us the rapid reparation that takes place in injured parts, and the quick renewal of the bones themselves, tend to prove that even a shorter time than this organic chemistry. º is adequate to the complete renovation of every portion of the living fabric.” imperfect as is our knowledge of organic chemistry, we see enough to convince us that a series of the most refined and artificial operations is required, in order to bring about the complicated and elaborate arrangements of elements which constitute both animal and vegetable products. thus, in the very outset of this, as of every other inquiry in phy- siology, we meet with evidences of profound intention and consummate art, infinitely surpassing not only the power and resources, but even the imagination of man. much as the elaborate and harmonious mechanism of an animal body is fitted to excite our admiration, there can be no doubt that a more extended knowledge of that series of subtle processes, consisting of chemical combinations and de- compositions which are continually going on in the organic laboratory of living beings, would reveal still greater won- ders, and would fill us with a more fervent admiration of the infinite art and prescience which are even now manifest- ed to us in every department both of the vegetable and ani- mal economy. the processes by which all these important purposes are fulfilled, comprise a distinct class of functions, the final ob- ject of which may be termed nutrition, that is, the repara- tion of the waste of the substance of the organs, their main- tenance in the state fitting them for the exercise of their respective offices, and the application of properly prepared materials to their development and growth. the functions subservient to nutrition may be distinguished according as the processes they comprise relate to seven principal periods in the natural orders of their succession. the first series of processes has for its objects the reception of the materials from without, and their preparation and gradual conversion into proper nutriment, that is, into mat- ter having the same chemical properties with the substance * see the article “age” in the cyclopædia of practical medicine, where i have enlarged upon this subject. the vital functions. of the organs with which it is to be incorporated; and their purpose being to assimilate the food as much as possible to the nature of the organic body it is to nourish, all these functions have been included under the term ºffssimila- tion. the second series of vital functions comprise those which are designed to convey the nutritive fluids thus elaborated, to all the organs that are to be nourished by them. in the more developed systems of organization this purpose is ac- complished by means of canals, called vessels, through which the nutritive fluids move in a kind of circuit: in this case the function is denominated the circulation. it is not enough that the nutritive juices are assimilated: another chemical process is still required to perfect their ani- malization, and to retain them in their proper chemical con- dition for the purposes of the system. this third object is accomplished by the function of respiration. fourthly, several chemical products, which are wanted in different parts of the economy, are required to be formed by a peculiar set of organs, of which the intimate structure eludes observation; although we may perceive that in many instances among the higher orders of beings, a special appa- ratus of vessels sometimes spread over the surface of a membrane, at other times collected into distinct masses, is provided for that purpose. these specific organs are termed glands, and the office performed by them, as well as by the simpler forms of structure above mentioned, is termed se- cretion. fifthly, similar processes of secretion are also employed to carry off from the blood such animal products as may have been formed or introduced into it, and may possess or have acquired noxious properties. the elimination of these materials, which is the office of the eaccretories, constitutes the function of excretion. sixthly, changes may take place in various parts of the body, both solid and fluid, rendering them unfit to remain in their present situation, and measures must be taken for powers of assimilation. the removal of these useless or noxious materials, by trans- ferring them to the general mass of circulating blood, so as either to be again usefully employed, or altogether discard- ed by excretion from the system. this object is accom- plished by a peculiar set of vessels; and the function they perform is termed . bsorption. lastly, the conversion of the fluid nutriment into the solids of the body, and its immediate application to the purposes of the development of the organs, of their preser- vation in the state of health and activity, and of the repair of such injuries as they may chance to sustain, as far as the powers of the system are adequate to such reparation, are the objects of a seventh set of functions, more especially comprised under the title of nutrition, which closes this long series of chemical changes, and this intricate but har- monious system of operations. although the order in which the constituent elements of organized products are arranged, and the mode in which they are combined, are entirely unknown to us, we can ne- vertheless perceive that in following them successively from the simplest vegetables to the higher orders of the animal kingdom, they acquire continually increasing degrees of complexity, corresponding, in some measure, to the greater refinement and complication of the structures by which they have been elaborated, and of the bodies to which they are ultimately assimilated. thus, plants derive their nourish- ment from the crude and simple materials which they ab- sorb from the earth, the waters, and the air that surround them; materials which consist almost wholly of water, with a small proportion of carbonic acid, and a few saline ingre- dients, of which that water is the vehicle. but these, after having been converted by the powers of vegetable assimila- tion, into the substance of the plant, acquire the character- istic properties of organized products, though they are still the simplest of that class. in this state, and when the fabric they had composed is destroyed, and they are scattered over the soil, they are fitted to become more highly nutri- vol. ii. the vital functions. tive to other plants, which absorb them, and with more fa- cility adapt them to the purposes of their own systems. here they receive a still higher degree of elaboration; and thus the same materials may pass through several successive series of modifications, till they become the food of animals, and are then made to undergo still farther changes. new elements, and in particular nitrogen, is added to the oxy- gen, hydrogen and carbon, which are the chief constituents of vegetable substances:” and new properties are acquired, from the varied combinations into which their elements are made to enter by the more energetic powers of assimilation appertaining to the animal system. the products which result are still more removed from their original state of inorganic matter: and in this condition they serve as the appropriate food of carnivorous animals, which generally hold a higher rank in the scale of organization, than those that subsist only on vegetables. '. thus has each created being been formed in reference, not merely to its own welfare, but also to that of multitudes of others which are dependent on it for their support, their pre- servation,-nay, even for their existence. in contemplating this mutual relationship, this successive subordination of the different races to one another, and this continual tendency to increased refinement, we cannot shut our eyes to the mag- nificent unfolding of the great scheme of nature for the pro- gressive attainment of higher objects; until, in the perfect sys- tem, and exalted cndowments of man, we behold the last re- sult that has been manifested to us of creative power. * nitrogen, however, frequently enters into the composition of vegeta- bles: though, in general, in a much smaller proportion than into the sub- stance of animals, of which last it always appears to be an essential constitu- ent. ( ) chapter ii. nutrition in vegetables. § . food of plants. the simplest kind of nutrition is that presented to us by the vegetable kingdom, where water may be considered as the general vehicle of the nutriment received. before the discoveries of modern chemistry, it was very generally be- lieved that plants could subsist on water alone; and boyle, and van helmont, in particular, endeavoured to establish, by experiment, the truth of this opinion. the latter of these physiologists planted a willow in a certain quantity of earth, the weight of which he had previously ascertaine" with great care; and, during five years, he kept it moistened with rain- water alone, which he imagined was perfectly pure. at the end of this period, he found that the earth had scarcely di- minished in weight, while the willow had grown into a tree, and had acquired an additional weight of one hundred and fifty pounds: whence he concluded that the water had been the only source of its nourishment. but it does not seem to have been, at that time, known, that rain-water always con- tains atmospheric air, and frequently, also, other substances, and that it cannot, therefore, be regarded as absolutely pure water: nor does it appear that any precautions were taken to ascertain that the water actually employed was wholly free from foreign matter, which, it is easy to conceive, it might have held in solution. in an experiment of duhamel, on the other hand, a horse-chesnut tree and an oak, exposed to the open air, and watered with distilled water alone, the former for three, and the latter for eight years, were kept alive, in- the vital functions. deed, but they were exceedingly stinted in their growth, and evidently derived little or no sustenance from the water with which they were supplied. experiments of a similar nature were made by bonnet, and with the like result. when plants are contained in closed vessels, and regularly supplied with water, but denied all access to carbonic acid gas, they are developed only to a very limited extent, determined by the store of nutritious matter which had been already collected in each plant when the experiment commenced, and which, by combining with the water, may have afforded a temporary supply of nourishment. - but the water which nature furnishes to the vegetable or- gans is never perfectly pure; for, besides containing air, in which there is constantly a certain proportion of carbonic acid gas, it has always acquired by percolation through the soil various earthy and saline particles, together with mate- rials derived from decayed vegetable or animal remains. most of these substances are soluble, in however minute a quantity, in water: and others, finely pulverized, may be suspended in that fluid, and carried along with it into the vegetable system. it does not appear, however, that pure carbon is ever admitted; for sir h. davy, on mixing char- coal, ground to an impalpable powder, with the water into which the roots of mint were immersed, could not discover that the smallest quantity of that substance had been, in any case, absorbed." but in the form of carbonic acid, this ele- ment is received in great abundance, through the medium of water, which readily absorbs it: and a considerable quantity of carbon is also introduced into the fluids of the plant, de- rived from the decomposed animal and vegetable materials, which the water generally contains. the peculiar fertility of each kind of soil depends principally on the quantity of these organic products it contains in a state capable of being absorbed by the plant, and of contributing to its nourish- ment. * elements of agricultural chemistry, lect. vi. p. . food of plants. the soil is also the source whence plants derive their sa- line, earthy, and metallic ingredients. the silica they often contain is, in like manner, conveyed to them by the water, which it is now well ascertained, by the researches of ber- zilius, is capable of dissolving a very minute quantity of this dense and hard substance. it is evident that, however small this quantity may be, if it continue to accumulate in the plant, it may in time constitute the whole amount of that which is found to be so copiously deposited on the surface, or collected in the interior of many plants, such as the bam- boo, and various species of grasses. the small degree of solubility of many substances thus required for the con- struction of the solid vegetable fabric, is, probably, one of the reasons why plants require so large a supply of water for their subsistence. § . . bsorption of nutriment by plants. the greater number of cellular plants absorb water with nearly equal facility from every part of their surface: this is the case with the . /gae, for instance, which are aquatic plants. in lichens, on the other hand, absorption takes place more partially; but the particular parts of the surface where it oc- curs are not constantly the same, and appear to be deter- mined more by mechanical causes than by any peculiarity of structure: some, however, are found to be provided in certain parts of the surface with stomata, which de can- doſe supposes may act as sucking orifices. many mush- rooms appear to be capable of absorbing fluids from all parts of their surface indiscriminately; and some species, again, are furnished at their base with a kind of radical fibrils for that purpose. in plants having a vascular structure, which is the case in by far the greater number, the roots are the special organs to which this office of absorbing nourishment is assigned: but it occasionally happens that, under certain circumstances, the leaves, or the stems of plants are found to absorb mois- the vital functions. ture, which they have been supposed to do by the stomata interspersed on their surface. this, however, is not their natural action; and they assume it only in forced situations, when they procure no water by means of the roots, either from having been deprived of these organs, or from their being left totally dry. thus, a branch separated from the trunk, may be preserved from withering for a long time, if the leaves be immersed in water: and when the soil has been parched by a long drought, the drooping plants will be very quickly revived by a shower of rain, or by artificial water- ing, even before any moisture can be supposed to have pe- netrated to the roots. it is by the extremities of the roots alone, or rather by the spongioles which are there situated, that absorption takes place: for the surface of the root, being covered in every other part by a layer of epidermis, is incapable of perform- ing this office. it was long ago remarked by duhamel, that trees exhaust the soil only in those parts which surround the extremities of the roots: but the fact that absorption is ef- fected only at those points has been placed beyond a doubt by the direct experiments of sennebier, who, taking two car- rots of equal size, immersed in water the whole root of the one, while only the extremity of the other was made to dip into the water, and found that equal quantities were absorbed in both cases; while, on immersing the whole surface of ano- ther carrot in the fluid, with the exception of the extremity of the root, which was raised so as to be above the surface, no absorption whatever took place. plants having a fusi- jorm, or spindle-shaped root, such as the carrot and the radish, are the best for these experiments. in the natural progress of growth, the roots are constant- ly shooting forwards in the direction they have first taken, whether horizontally, or vertically, or at any other inclina- tion. thus, they continually arrive at new portions of soil, of which the nutritive matter has not yet been exhausted; and as a constant relation is preserved between their lateral extension and the horizontal spreading of the branches, the vegetable absorption. greater part of the rain which falls upon the tree, is made to drop from the leaves at the exact distance from the trunk, where, after it has soaked through the earth, it will be re- ceived by the extremities of the roots, and readily sucked in by the spongioles. we have here a striking instance of that beautiful correspondence, which has been established between processes belonging to different departments of na- ture, and which are made to concur in the production of re- mote effects, that could never have been accomplished with- out these preconcerted and harmonious adjustments. the spongioles, or absorbing extremities of the roots, are constructed of ordinary cellular or spongy tissue: and they imbibe the fluids, which are in contact with them, partly by capillary action, and partly, also, by what has been termed a hygroscopic power. but though these principles may sufficiently account for the simple entrance of the fluids, they are inadequate to explain its continued ascent through the substance of the root, or along the stem of the plant. the most probable explanation of this phenomenon is, that the progressive movement of the fluid is produced by alter- nate contractions and dilatations of the cells themselves, which compose the texture of the plant: these actions being themselves referrible to the vitality of the organs. the absorbent power of the spongioles is limited by the diameter of their pores, so that fluids which are of too vis- cid or glutinous a consistence to pass readily through them are liable to obstruct or entirely block up these passages. thus, if the spongioles be surrounded by a thick solution of gum, or even of sugar, its pores will be clogged up, scarcely any portion of the fluid will be absorbed, and the plant will wither and perish: but if the same liquids be more largely diluted, the watery portion will find its way through the spongioles, and become available for the sustenance of the plant, while the greater part of the thicker material will be left behind. the same apparent power of selection is exhi- bited when the saline solutions of a certain strength are pre- sented to the roots: the water of the solution, with only a the vital functions. small proportion of the salts, being taken up, and the re- maining part of the fluid being found to be more strongly impregnated with the salts than before this absorption had taken place. it would appear, however, that all this is merely the result of a mechanical operation, and that it fur- nishes no evidence of any discriminating faculty in the spongiole: for it is found that, provided the material pre- sented be in a state of perfect solution and limpidity, it is sucked in with equal avidity, whether its qualities be dele- terious or salubrious. solutions of sulphate of copper, which is a deadly poison, are absorbed in large quantities by the roots of plants, which are immersed in them: and water which drains from a bed of manure, and is consequently loaded with carbonaceous particles, proves exceedingly in- jurious when admitted into the system of the plant, from the excess of nutriment it contains. but in the ordinary course of vegetation, no danger can arise from this general power of absorption, since the fluids which nature supplies are always such as are suitable to the organs that are to re- ceive them. the fluid, which is taken up by the roots, and which, as we have seen, consists chiefly of water, holding in solution atmospheric air, together with various saline and earthy in- gredients necessary for the nourishment of the plant, is in a perfectly crude state. it rises in the stem of the plant, un- dergoing scarcely any perceptible change in its ascent; and is in this state conducted to the leaves, where it is to expe- rience various important modifications. by causing the roots to imbibe coloured liquids, the general course of the sap has been traced with tolerable accuracy, and it is found to traverse principally the ligneous substance of the stem: in trees, its passage is chiefly through the alburnum, or more recently formed wood, and not through the bark, as was at one time believed. the course of the sap, however, varies under different circumstances, and at different epochs of vegetation. at the period when the young buds are preparing for their de- vegetable absorption. velopment, which usually takes place when the genial warmth of spring has penetrated beyond the surface, and expanded the fibres and vessels of the plant, there arises an urgent demand for nourishment, which the roots are active- ly employed in supplying. as the leaves are not yet com- pleted, the sap is at first applied to purposes somewhat diſ- ferent from those it is destined to fulfil at a more advanced period, when it has to nourish the fully expanded organs: this fluid has, accordingly, received a distinct appellation, being termed the nursling sap. instead of rising through the alburnum, the nursling sap ascends through the inner- most circle of wood, or that which is immediately contigu- ous to the pith, and is thence transmitted, by unknown channels, through the several layers of wood, till it reaches the buds, which it is to supply with nourishment. during this circuitous passage, it probably undergoes a certain de- gree of elaboration, fitting it for the office which it has to perform: it apparently combines with some nutriment, which had been previously deposited in the plant, and which it again dissolves; and thus becoming assimilated, is in a state proper to be incorporated with the new organization that is developing. this nursling sap, provided for the nourish- ment of the young buds, has been compared to the milk of animals, which is prepared for a similar purpose at those times only when nutriment is required for the rearing of their young. several opinions have been entertained with regard to the channels through which the sap is conveyed in its ascent along the stem, and in its passage to its ultimate destination. many observations tend to show, that, in ordinary circum- stances, it is not transmitted through any of the distinguisha- ble vessels of the plant: for most of these, in their natural state, are found to contain only air. the sap must, therefore, either traverse the cells themselves, or pass along the inter- cellular spaces. that the latter is the course it takes, is the opinion of de candolle, who adduces a variety of arguments in its support. the sap, he observes, is found to rise equally vol. ii. . the vital functions. well in plants whose structure is wholly cellular; a fact which proves the vessels are not, in all cases, necessary for its con- veyance. in many instances, the sap is known to deviate from its usual rectilinear path, and to pursue a circuitous course, very different from that of any of the known vessels of the plant. the diffusion of the sap in different directions, and its subsidence in the lowest parts, on certain occasions, are facts irreconcilable with the supposition that it is confined in these vessels. numerous experiments have been made to discover the ve- locity with which the sap rises in plants, and the force it ex- erts in its ascent. those of hales are well known: by lopping off the top of a young vine, and applying to the truncated ex- tremity a glass tube, which closed round it, he found that the fluid in the tube rose to a height, which, taking into account the specific gravity of the fluid, was equivalent to a perpen- dicular column of water of more than forty-three feet; and, consequently, exerted a force of propulsion considerably great- er than the pressure of an additional atmosphere. the velo- city, as well as the force of ascent, must, however, be liable to great variation; being much influenced by evaporation, and other changes, which the sap undergoes in the leaves. various opinions have been entertained as to the agency by which the motion of the sap is effected; but, although it seems likely to be resolved into the vital movements of the cellular structure already mentioned, the question is still enveloped in considerable obscurity. there is certainly no evidence to prove that it has any analogy to a muscular power; and the simplest supposition we can make is that these actions take place by means of a contractile property belonging to the ve- getable tissue, and exerted, under certain circumstances, and in conformity to certain laws, which we have not yet succeed- ed in determining. vegetable exhalation. § . eachalation. the nutrient sap, which, as we have seen, rises in the stem, and is transmitted to the leaves without any change in its qualities or composition, is immediately, by the medium of the stomata, or orifices which abound in the surface of those organs, subjected to the process of eachalation. the propor- tion of water which the sap loses by exhalation in the leaves, is generally about two-thirds of the whole quantity received; so that it is only the remaining third that returns to nourish the organs of the plant. it has been ascertained that the water thus evaporated is perfectly pure; or, at least, does not contain more than a , , th part of the foreign mat- ter with which it was impregnated when first absorbed by the roots. the water thus exhaled, being dissolved by the air the moment it escapes, passes off in the form of invisible vapour. hales made an experiment with a sun-flower, three feet high, enclosed in a vessel, which he kept for fifteen days: and inferred from it that the daily loss of the plant by exha- lation was twenty ounces; and this, he computes, is a quanti- ty seventeen times greater than that lost by insensible per- spiration from an equal portion of the surface of the human body. the comparative quantities of fluid exhaled by the same plant, at different times, are regulated, not so much by tem- perature, as by the intensity of the light to which the leaves are exposed. it is only during the day, therefore, that this function is in activity. de candolle has found that the arti- ficial light of lamps produces on the leaves an effect similar to that of the solar rays, and in a degree proportionate to its intensity." as it is only through the stomata that exhalation proceeds, the number of these pores in a given surface must considerably influence the quantity of fluid exhaled. by the loss of so large a portion of the water which, in the rising sap, had held in solution various foreign materials, these • physiologie végétale, i. . s the wital functions. substances are rendered more disposed to separate from the fluid, and to become consolidated on the sides of the cells or vessels, to which they are conducted from the leaves. this, then, is the first modification in the qualities of the sap which it undergoes in those organs. § . aeration of the sap. a chemical change much more considerable and im- portant than the preceding is next effected on the sap by the leaves, when they are subjected to the action of light. it consists in the decomposition of the carbonic acid gas, which is either brought to them by the sap itself, or obtained di- rectly from the surrounding atmosphere. in either case its oxygen is separated, and is disengaged in the form of gas; while its carbon is retained, and composes an essential in- gredient of the altered sap, which, as it now possesses one of the principal elements of vegetable structures, may be con- sidered as having made a near approach to its complete assi- milation, using this term in the physiological sense already pointed out. the remarkable discovery that oxygen gas is exhaled from the leaves of plants during the day time, was made by the great founder of pneumatic chemistry, dr. priestley: to sennebier we are indebted for the first observation that the presence of carbonic acid is required for the disengagement of oxygen in this process, and that the oxygen is derived from the decomposition of the carbonic acid, and these lat- ter facts have since been fully established by the researches of mr. woodhouse, of pennsylvania, mr. théodore de saus- sure, and mr. palmer. they are proved in a very satisfac- tory manner by the following experiment of de candolle. two glassjars were inverted over the same water-bath; the one filled with carbonic acid gas, the other filled with water, containing a sprig of mint; the jars communicating below by means of the water-bath, on the surface of which some oil was poured, so as to intercept all communication between aeration of the sap. the water and the atmosphere. the sprig of mint was ex- posed to the light of the sun for twelve days consecutively: at the end of each day the carbonic acid was seen to di- minish in quantity, the water rising in the jar to supply the place of what was lost, and at the same time the plant ex- haled a quantity of oxgyen, exactly equal to that of the carbo- nic acid which had disappeared. a similar sprig of mint, placed in a jar of the same size, full of distilled water, but with- out having access to carbonic acid, gave out no oxygen gas, and soon perished. when, in another experiment, conducted by means of the same apparatus as was used in the first, ox- ygen gas was substituted in the first jar instead of carbonic acid gas, no gas was disengaged in the other jar, which contained a sprig of mint. it is evident, therefore, that the oxygen gas obtained from the mint in the first experiment was derived from the decomposition, by the leaves of the mint, of the carbonic acid, which the plant had absorbed from the water. solar light is an essential agent in effecting this chemical change; for it is never found to take place at night, nor while the plant is kept in the dark. the experiments of sennebier would tend to show that the violet, or most re- frangible of the solar rays have the greatest power in deter- mining this decomposition of carbonic acid: but the experi- ments are of so delicate a nature, that this result requires to be confirmed by a more rigid investigation, before it can be admitted as satisfactorily established. that the carbon resulting from this decomposition of car- bonic acid is retained by the plant, has been amply proved by the experiments of m. théodore de saussure, who found that this process is attended with a sensible increase in the quantity of carbon which the plant had previously con- tained. it is in the green substance of the leaves alone that this process is conducted: a process, which, from the strong ana- logy that it bears to a similar function in animals, may be considered as the respiration of vegetables. the effect ap- the vital functions. pears to be proportionate to the number of stomata which the plant contains. it is a process which takes place only in a living plant; for if a leaf be bruised so as to destroy its organization, and consequently its vitality, its substance is no longer capable either of decomposing carbonic acid gas under the influence of solar light, or of absorbing oxygen in the dark. neither the roots, nor the flowers, nor any other parts of the plant, which have not this green substance at their surface, are capable of decomposing carbonic acid gas: they produce, indeed, an effect which is in some respects the opposite of this; for they have a tendency to absorb oxy- gen, and to convert it into carbonic acid, by uniting it with the carbon they themselves contain. this is also the case with the leaves themselves, whenever they are not under the influence of light: thus, during the whole of the night, the same leaves, which had been exhaling oxygen during the day, absorb a portion of that element. the oxygen thus absorbed enters immediately into combination with the carbonaceous matter in the plant, forming with it carbonic acid: this carbonic acid is in part exhaled; but the greater portion either remains attached to the substance of the leaf, or combines with the fluids which constitute the sap: in the latter case it is ready to be again presented to the leaf, when daylight returns, and when a fresh decomposition is again effected. this reversal at night of what was done in the day may, at first sight, appear to be at variance with the unity of plan, which we should expect to find preserved in the vegetable economy: but a more attentive examination of the process will show that the whole is in perfect harmony, and that these contrary processes are both of them necessary, in or- der to produce the result intended. the water which is absorbed by the roots generally car- ries with it a certain quantity of soluble animal or vegetable materials, which contain carbon. this carbon is transmit- ted to the leaves, where, during the night, it is made to combine with the oxygen they have absorbed. it is thus aeration of the sap. converted into carbonic acid, which, when daylight pre- vails, is decomposed; the oxygen being dissipated, and the carbon retained. it is evident that the object of the whole process is to obtain carbon in that precise state of disinte- gration, to which it is reduced at the moment of its separa- tion from carbonic acid by the action of solar light on the green substance of the leaves; for it is in this state alone that it is available in promoting the nourishment of the plant, and not in the crude condition in which it exists when it is pumped up from the earth, along with the water which conveys it into the interior of the plant. hence the neces- sity of its having to undergo this double operation of first combining with oxygen, and then being precipitated from its combination in the manner above described. it is not the whole of the carbon introduced into the vegetable sys- tem, in the form of carbonic acid, which has to undergo the first of these changes, a part of that carbon being already in the condition to which that operation would reduce it, and consequently in a state fit to receive the decomposing action of the leaves. the whole of these chemical changes may be included under the general term ...?eration. thus the great object to be answered by this vegetable aeration is exactly the converse of that which we shall af- terwards see is effected by the respiration of animals: in the former it is that of adding carbon, in an assimilated state, to the vegetable organization; in the latter, it is that of dis- charging the superfluous quantity of carbon from the animal system. the absorption of oxygen, and the partial disen- gagement of carbonic acid, which constitute the nocturnal changes effected by plants, must have a tendency to deteri- orate the atmosphere with respect to its capability of sup- porting animal life; but this effect is much more than com- pensated by the greater quantity of oxygen given out by the same plants during the day. on the whole, therefore, the atmosphere is continually receiving from the vegetable kingdom a large accession of oxygen, and is, at the same time, freed from an equal portion of carbonic acid gas, both the wital functions. of which effects tend to its purification and to its remaining adapted to the respiration of animals. nearly the whole of the carbon accumulated by vegetables is so much taken from the atmosphere, which is the primary source from which they derive that element. at the season of the year when vegetation is most active, the days are longer than the nights; so that the diurnal process of purification goes on for a great- er number of hours than the nocturnal process by which the air is vitiated. the oxygen given out by plants, and the carbonic acid resulting from animal respiration, and from the various pro- cesses of combustion which are going on in every part of the world, are quickly spread through the atmosphere, not only from the tendency of all gases to uniform diffusion, but also from the action of the winds, which are continually agi- tating the whole mass, and promoting the thorough mingling of its different portions, so as to render it perfectly homo- geneous in every region of the globe, and at every elevation above the surface. thus are the two great organized kingdoms of the crea- tion made to co-operate in the execution of the same design: each ministering to the other, and preserving that due ba- lance in the constitution of the atmosphere, which adapts it to the welfare and activity of every order of beings, and which would soon be destroyed, were the operations of any one of them to be suspended. it is impossible to contem- plate so special an adjustment of opposite effects without ad- miring this beautiful dispensation of providence, extending over so vast a scale of being, and demonstrating the unity of plan on which the whole system of organized creation has been devised. § . return of the sap. the sap, which, during its ascent from the roots, contains but a small proportion of nutritious particles, diluted with a return of the sap. large quantity of water, after undergoing in the leaves, as in a chemical laboratory, the double processes of exhalation and aeration, has become much more highly charged with nutri- ment; and that nutriment has been reduced to those particu- lar forms and states of composition which render it applica- ble to the growth of the organs, and the other purposes of vegetable life. this fluid, therefore, corresponds to the blood of animals, which, like the elaborated sap, may be re- garded as fluid nutriment, perfectly assimilated to that par- ticular kind of organization, with which it is to be afterwards incorporated. from the circumstance of its being sent back from the leaves for distribution to the several organs where its presence is required, it has received the name of the re- turning sap, that it might be distinguished from the crude fluid which arrives at the leaves, and which is termed the ascending sap. the returning sap still contains a considerable quantity of water, in its simple liquid form; which was necessary in order that it might still be the vehicle of various nutritive materials that are dissolved in it. it appears, however, that a large proportion of the water, which was not exhaled by the leaves, has been actually decomposed, and that its sepa- rated elements, the oxygen and the hydrogen, have been combined with certain proportions of carbon, hydrogen, ni- trogen and various earths, metals and salts, so as to form the proximate vegetable products, which are found in the re- turning sap. the simplest, and generally the most abundant of these products, is that which is called gum." from the universal presence of this substance in the vegetable juices, and more • according to the investigations of dr. prout, grains of gum are composed of grains of the elements of water, that is, of oxygen and hydrogen, in the exact proportions in which they would have united to form grains of water; together with of carbon, or the base of carbo- nic acid. this, according to the doctrine of chemical equivalents, corre. sponds to one molecule of water, and one molecule of carbon. phil. trans. , . vol. ii. - the wital functions. - especially in the returning sap, of all known plants, from its bland and unirritating qualities, from its great solubility in water, and from the facility with which other vegetable products are convertable into this product, gum may be fairly assumed to be the principal basis of vegetable nutri- ment; and its simple and definite composition points it out as being the immediate result of the chemical changes which the sap experiences in the leaves. during the de- scent of the sap, however, this fluid undergoes, in various parts of the plant, a farther elaboration, which gives rise to other products. we are now, therefore, to follow it in its progress through the rest of the vegetable system. the returning sap descends from the leaves through two different structures: in exogenous plants the greater portion finds a ready passage through the liber, or innermost layer of bark, and another portion descends through the alburnum, or outermost layer of the wood. with regard to the ex- act channels through which it passes, the same degree of un- certainty prevails as with regard to those which transmit the ascending sap. de candolle maintains that, in either case the fluids find their way through the intercellular spaces: other physiogists, however, are of opinion, that par- ticular vessels are appropriated to the office of transmitting the descending sap. the extreme minuteness of the organs of vegetables has hitherto presented insuperable obstacles to the investigation of this important question: and consequent- ly our reasonings respecting it can be founded only on in- direct evidence. the processes of the animal economy, where the channels of distribution, and the organs of pro- pulsion are plainly observable, afford but imperfect analogies to guide us in this intricate inquiry: for although it is true that in the higher classes of animals the circulation of the nutrient fluid, or blood, through distinct vessels, is sufficient- ly obvious, yet in the lower departments of the animal king- dom and in the embryo condition even of the more perfect species, the nutritious juices are distributed without being confined within any visible vessels; and they either perme- return of the sap. ate extensive cavities in the interior of the body, or pene- trate through the interstices of a cellular tissue. that this latter is the mode of transmission adopted in the vegetable system has been considered probable, from the circumstance that the nutritious juices are diffused throughout those plants which contain no vessels whatsoever with the same facility as throughout those which possess vessels; from which it has been concluded that vessels are not absolutely necessary for the performance of this function. the nature of the forces which actuate the sap in its descent from the leaves, and its distribution to different parts, is involved in equal obscurity with the nature of the powers which contribute to its motion upwards along the stem, from the roots to the leaves. in endogenous plants the passage of the sap in its descent, is, in like manner, through those parts which have been latest formed; that is, through the innermost layers of their structure. the returning sap, while traversing these several parts of the plant, deposites in each the particular materials which are requisite for their growth, and for their maintenance in a healthy condition. that portion which flows along the liber not meeting with any ascending stream of fluid, descends without impediment to the roots, to the extension of which, after it has nourished the inner layer of bark, it particularly contributes: that portion, on the other hand, which descends along the alburnum, meets with the stream of ascending sap, which, during the day at least, is rising with considerable force. a certain mixture of these fluids probably now takes place, and new modifications are, in consequence, produced, which, from the intricacies of the chemical processes thus conducted in the inner recesses of vegetable organization, we are utterly baffled in our attempts to follow. all that we are permitted to see are the general results, namely, the gradual deposition of the materials of the future alburnum and liber. these materials are first deposited in the form of a layer of glutinous substance, termed the cambium; a substance which appears to consist of the solid portion of the the vital functions. sap, precipitated from it by the separation of the greater part of the water that held it in solution. the cambium becomes, in process of time, more and more consolidated, and acquires the organization proper to the plant of which it now forms an integrant part: it constitutes two layers, the one, belong- ing to the wood, being the alburnum; the other, belonging to the bark, being the liber. the alburnum and the liber, which have been thus con- structed, perform an important part in inducing ulterior changes on the nutrient materials which the returning sap continues to supply. their cells absorb the gummy sub- stance from the surrounding fluid, and by their vital powers effect a still farther elaboration in its composition; convert- ing it either into starch, or sugar, or lignin, according to the mode in which its constituent elements are arranged. al- though these several principles possess very different sensible properties, yet they are found to differ but very slightly in the proportions of their ingredients; and we may infer that the real chemical alterations, which are required in order to ef- fect these conversions, are comparatively slight, and may readily take place in the simple cellular tissue.” in the series of decompositions which are artificially ef- fected in the laboratory of the chemist, it has been found that gum and sugar are intermediate products, or states of transition between various others; and they appear to be pe- culiarly calculated, from their great solubility, for being easi- ly conveyed from one organ to another. starch and lignin, on the other hand, are compounds of a more permanent character, and especially adapted for being retained in the organs. starch, which, though solid, still possesses consi- * according to the analyses of dr. prout, the following is the composition of these substances: parts of pure gum arabic consist of of oxygen and hydrogen, united in the proportions in which they exist in water, and of carbon. dried starch, or fecula, of water, and - - - pure crystallized sugar, - - - - - - - - lignin from boxwood, - - - - - - - - - return of the sap. derable solubility, is peculiarly fitted for being applied to the purposes of nourishment: it is accordingly hoarded in magazines, with a view to future employment, being to ve- getables, what the ſat is to animals, a resource for the exi- gencies that may subsequently arise. with this intention, it is carefully stored in small cells, the coats of which pro- tect it from the immediate dissolving action of the surround- ing watery sap, but allow of the penetration of this fluid, and of its solution, when the demands of the system require it. the tuberous root of the potato, that invaluable gift of pro- vidence to the human race, is a remarkable example of a magazine of nutritive matter of this kind. the lignin, on the contrary, is deposited with the inten- tion of forming a permanent part of the vegetable structure, constituting the basis of the woody fibre, and giving mecha- nical support and strength to the whole fabric of the plant. these latter structures may be compared to the bones of ani- mals, composing, by their union, the solid frame work, or skeleton of the organized system. the woody fibres do not seem to be capable of farther alteration in the living vegeta- ble, and are never, under any circumstances, taken up and removed to other parts of the system, as is the case with nu- tritive matter of a more convertible kind. the sap holds in solution, besides carbonaceous matter, some saline compounds and a few earthy and metallic bases: bodies which, in however minute a quantity they may be present, have unquestionably a powerful influence in deter- mining certain chemical changes among the elements of or- ganic products, and in imparting to them peculiar proper- ties; for it is now a well ascertained fact that a scarcely sensible portion of any one ingredient is capable of pro- ducing important differences in the properties of the whole compound. an example occurs in the case of gold, the ductility of which is totally destroyed by the presence of a quantity of either antimony or lead, so minute as barely to amount to the two thousandth part of the mass; and even the fumes of antimony, when in the neighbourhood of melt- the vital functions. ed gold, have the power of destroying its ductility." in the experiments made by sir john herschel on some remarka- ble motions excited in fluid conductors by the transmission of electric currents, it was found that minute portions of calcareous matter, in some instances less than the millionth part of the whole compound, are sufficient to communicate sensible mechanical motions, and definite properties to the bodies with which they are mixed.t as silica is among the densest and least soluble of the earths, we might naturally expect that any quantity of it taken into the vegetable system in a state of solution, would very early be precipitated from the sap, after the exhalation of the water which held it dissolved; and it is found, ac- cordingly, that the greater portion of this silica is actually deposited in the leaves, and the parts adjacent to them. when once deposited, it seems incapable of being again taken up, and transferred to other parts, or ejected from the system: and hence, in course of time, a considerable accu- mulation of silicious particles takes place, and by clogging up their cells and vessels, tends more and more to obstruct the passage of nourishment into these organs. this change has been assigned as a principal cause of the decay and ulti- mate destruction of the leaves: their foot-stalks, more espe- cially suffering from this obstruction, perish, and occasion the detachment of the leaves, which thus fall off at the end of each season, making way for those that are to succeed them in the next. § . secretion in pegetables. while the powers of the simpler kinds of cells are ade- quate to produce in the returning sap the modifications above described, by which it is converted into gummy, sac- charine, amylaceous, or ligneous products; there are other cellular organs, endowed with more extensive powers of * hatchett. f philosophical transactions for , p. . vegetable secretion. chemical action, which effect still greater changes. the na- ture of the agents by which these changes are produced are unknown, and are therefore referred generally to the vital energies of vegetation; but the process itself has been termed secretion, and the organs in which it is conducted, and which are frequently very distinguishable as separate and peculiar structures, are called glands. when the products of secretion are chemically analyzed, the greater number are found to contain a large quantity of hydrogen, in addi- tion to that which is retained in combination with oxygen as the representative of water: this is the case with all the oily secretions, whether they be fixed or volatile, and also with those secretions which are of a resinous quality. some, on the contrary, are found to have an excess of oxygen; and this is the condition of most of the acid secretions; while others, again, appear to have acquired an addition of nitro- gen. all these substances have their respective uses, although it may frequently be difficult to assign them correctly. some are intended to remain permanently enclosed in the vesicles where they were produced; others are retained for the pur- pose of being employed at some other time; while those be- longing to a third class are destined to be thrown off from the system as being superfluous or noxious: these latter sub- stances, which are presently to be noticed, are specially de- signated as earcretions. many of these fluids find their way from one part of the plant to another, without appearing to be conducted along any definite channels, and others are conveyed by vessels, which appear to be specially appro- priated to this office. the following are examples of the uses to which the pe- culiar secretions of plants are applied. many lichens, which fix themselves on calcareous rocks, such as the patellaria immersa, are observed, in process of time, to sink deeper and deeper beneath the surface of the rock, as if they had some mode of penetrating into its substance, analogous to that which many marine worms are known to possess. the the wital functions. agent appears in both instances to be an acid, which here is probably the oxalic, acting upon the carbonate of lime, and producing the gradual excavation of the rock. this view is confirmed by the observation that the same species of lichen, when attached to the rocks which are not calcareous, re- mains always at the surface, and does not penetrate below it. a caustic liquor is sometimes collected in vesicles, situated at the base of slender hairs, having a canal which conducts the fluid to the point. this is the case with the nettle. the slightest pressure made by the hand on the hairs grow- ing on the leaves of this plant, causes the fluid in their vesi- cles to pass out from their points, so as to be instilled into the skin, and occasion the well known irritation which en- sues. m. de candolle, junior, has ascertained, by chemical tests, that the stinging fluid of the nettle is of an alkaline na- ture. in some species of this genus of plants, the hairs are so large that the whole mechanism above described is visi- ble to the naked eye. this apparatus bears a striking re- semblance to that which exists in the poisonous teeth of serpents, and which is hereafter to be described. as the resinous secretions resist the action of water, we find them often employed by nature as a means of effec- tually defending the young buds from the injurious effects of moisture; and for a similar purpose we find the surface of many plants covered with a varnish of wax, which is another secretion belonging to the same class: thus, the ceroxylon, and the iriartea have a thick coating of wax, covering the whole of their stems. sometimes the plant is strewed over with a bluish powder, possessing the same property of re- pelling water: the leaves of the mesembryanthemum, or fig-marigold, of the tripler, or orache, and of the bras- sica, or cabbage, may be given as examples of this curious provision. such plants, if completely immersed in water, may be taken out without being wetted in the slightest de- gree; thus presenting us with an analogy to the plumage of the cygnet, and other aquatic birds, which are rendered com- pletely water-proof by an oily secretion spread over their circulation in plants. - surface. many aquatic plants, as the batrachospermum, are, in like manner, protected by a viscid layer, which ren- ders the leaves slippery to the feel, and which is impermea- ble to water. several tribes of plants contain liquids that are opaque, and of a white milky appearance: this is the case with the poppy, the fig-tree, the convolvulus, and a multitude of other genera; and a similar kind of juice, but of a yellow colour, is met with in the chelidonium, or celandine. all these juices are of a resinous nature, and usually highly acrid, and even poisonous in their qualities; and their opaci- ty is occasioned by the presence of a great number of minute globules, visible with the microscope. the vessels in which these fluids are contained are of a peculiar kind, and exhibit ramifications and junctions, resembling those of the blood vessels of animals. we may also discover, by the aid of the microscope, that the fluids contained in these vessels are moving in currents with considerable rapidity, as appears from the visible motions of their globules; and they present, therefore, a remarkable analogy with the circulation of the blood in some of the inferior tribes of animals. this curious phenomenon was first observed in the chelidonium by schultz, in the year ; and he designated it by the term cyclosis, in order to distinguish it from a real circulation, if, on farther inquiry, it should be found not to be entitled to the latter appellation.” the circular movements which have been thus observed in the milky juices of plants, have lately attracted much attention among botanists: but considerable doubt still prevails whether these appearances afford sufficient evi- dence of the existence of a general circulation of nutrient . juices in the vegetable systems of those plants which ex- hibit them; for it would appear that in reality the ob- served motions of the fluid, are, in every case, partial, and * “die natur der lebendigen pflanze.” see, also, annales des sciences naturelles, xxiii. . vol. ii. the vital functions. the extent of the circuit very limited. the cause of, these motions is not yet known; but probably they are ultimately referrible to a vital contraction of the vessels; for they cease the moment that the plant has received an injury, and are more active in proportion as the temperature of the atmo- sphere is higher. these phenomena are universally met with in all plants that contain milky juices; but they have also been observed in many plants of which the juices are nearly transparent, and contain only a few floating globules, such as the chara, or stone-wort, the caulina fragilis, &c.," where the double currents are beautifully seen under the microscope, perform- ing a complete circulation within the spaces of the stem that lie between two adja- cent knots or joints; and where, by the proper adjust- ment of the object, it is easy to see at one view both the ascending and descending streams passing on opposite sides of the stem. fig. shows this circulation in the cells of the caulinia fragalis - very highly magnified, the direction of the streams being indicated by the arrows. fig. represents the circulation in one of the jointed hairs, projecting from the cuticle of the calyx of the tradescantia virginica,t in each cell of which the same circulatory motion of the fluids is perceptible. * amici, annales des sciences naturelles, ii. p. . # fig. is taken from amici, and fig. from that given by mr. slack, trans. soc. arts, vol. xlix. - vegetable excretions. § . eaccretion in pegetables. it had long been conjectured by de candolle, that the superfluous or noxious particles contained in the returning sap are excreted or thrown out by the roots. it is evident that if such a process takes place, it will readily explain why plants render the soil where they have long been cultivated less suitable to their continuance in a vigorous condition, than the soil in the same spot was originally; and also why plants of a different species are frequently found to flourish remarkably well in the same situation where this apparent deterioration of the soil has taken place. the truth of this sagacious conjecture has been established in a very satisfac- tory manner by the recent experiments of m. macaire." the roots of the chondrilla muralis were carefully cleaned, and immersed in filtered rain water: the water was changed every two days, and the plant continued to flourish, and put forth its blossoms: at the end of eight days, the water had acquired a yellow tinge, and indicated, both by the smell and taste, the presence of a bitter narcotic substance, analo- gous to that of opium; a result which was farther confirmed by the application of chemical tests, and by the reddish brown residuum obtained from the water by evaporation. m. macaire ascertained that neither the roots nor the stems of the same plants, when completely detached, and im- mersed in water, could produce this effect, which he there- fore concludes is the result of an exudation from the roots, continually going on while the plant is in a state of healthy vegetation. by comparative experiments on the quantity of matter thus excreted by the roots of the french bean (phaseolus vulgaris) during the night and the day, he found it to be much more considerable at night; an effect which it is natural to ascribe to the interruption in the action of the leaves when they are deprived of light, and when the cor- • an account of these experiments was first published in the fifth volume of the “mémoires de la société de physique et d’histoire naturelle de ge- neve,” and repeated in the “annales des sciences naturelles,” xxviii. . - the vital functions. responding absorption by the roots is also suspended. this was confirmed by the result of some experiments he made on the same plants by placing them, during day time, in the dark, under which circumstances the excretion from the roots was found to be immediately much augmented: but, even when exposed to the light, there is always some exu- dation, though in small quantity, going on from the roots. that plants are able to free themselves, by means of this excretory process, from noxious materials, which they may happen to have imbibed through the roots, was also proved by another set of experiments on the mercurialis annua, the senecio vulgaris, and brassica campestris, or common cabbage. the roots of each specimen, after being thoroughly washed and cleaned, were separated into two bunches, one of which was put into a diluted solution of acetate of lead, and the other into pure water, contained in a separate ves- sel. after some days, during which the plants continued to vegetate tolerably well, the water in the latter vessel being examined, was found to contain a very perceptible quantity of the acetate of lead. the experiment was va- ried by first allowing the plant to remain with its roots immersed in a similar solution, and then removing it, after carefully washing, in order to free the roots from any portion of the salt that might have adhered to their surface, into a vessel with rain water; after two days, distinct traces of the acetate of lead were afforded by the water. similar experiments were made with lime-water and with a solution of common salt, instead of the ace- tate of lead, and were attended with the like results. de candolle has ascertained, that certain maritime plants which yield soda, and which flourish in situations very distant from the coast, provided they occasionally receive breezes from the sea, communicate a saline impregnation to the soil in their immediate vicinity, derived from the salt which they doubtless had imbibed by the leaves. although the materials which are thus excreted by the roots are noxious to the plant which rejects them, and would consequently be injurious to other individuals of the same vegetable excretions. species, it does not therefore follow that they are incapa- ble of supplying salutary nourishment to other kinds of plants: thus, it has been observed that the salicaria flou- rishes particularly in the vicinity of the willow, and the oro- banche, or broom-rape, in that of hemp. this fact has also been established experimentally by m. macaire, who found that the water in which certain plants had been kept was noxious to other specimens of the same species, while, on the other hand, it produced a more luxuriant vegetation in plants of a different kind. this fact is of great importance in the theory of agricul- ture, since it perfectly explains the advantage derived from a continued rotation of different crops in the same field, in in- creasing the productiveness of the soil. it also gives a satis- factory explanation of the curious phenomenon of fairy rings, as they are called, that is, of circles of dark green grass, oc- curring in old pastures: these dr. wollaston has traced to the growth of successive generations of certain fungi, or mush- rooms spreading from a central point." the soil, which has once contributed to the support of these fungi, becomes ex- hausted or deteriorated with respect to the future crops of the same species, and the plants, therefore, cease to be pro- duced on those spots: the second year's crop consequently appears in the space of a small ring, surrounding the origi- nal centre of vegetation; and in every succeeding year, the deficiency of nutriment on one side necessarily causes the new roots to extend themselves solely in the opposite direc- tion, and occasions the circle of fungi continually to proceed by annual enlargement from the centre outwards. an ap- pearance of luxuriance of the grass follows as a natural con- sequence; for the soil of an interior circle will always be enriched and fertilized with respect to the culture of grass, by the decayed roots of fungi of the preceding years’ growth. it often happens, indeed, during the growth of these fungi, that they so completely absorb all nutriment from the soil beneath, that the herbage is for a time totally destroyed, • phil. trans. for , p. . the vital functions. giving rise to the appearance of a ring bare of grass, sur- rounding the dark ring; but after the fungi have ceased to appear, the soil where they had grown becomes darker, and the grass soon vegetates again with peculiar vigour. when two adjacent circles meet and interfere with each other’s progress, they not only do not cross each other, but both circles are invariably obliterated between the points of con- tact: for the exhaustion occasioned by each obstructs the pro- gress of the other, and both are starved. it would appear that different species of fungi often require the same kind of nutriment; for, in cases of the interference of a circle of mushrooms with another of puff-balls, still the circles do not intersect one another, the exhaustion produced by the one being equally detrimental to the growth of the other, as if it had been occasioned by the previous vegetation of its own species. the only final cause we can assign for the series of phe- nomena constituting the nutritive functions of vegetables is the formation of certain organic products calculated to sup- ply sustenance to a higher order of beings. the animal kingdom is altogether dependent for its support, and even existence, on the vegetable world. plants appear formed to bring together a certain number of elements derived from the mineral kingdom, in order to subject them to the ope- rations of vital chemistry, a power too subtle for human science to detect, or for human art to imitate, and by which these materials are combined into a variety of nutritive sub- stances. of these substances, so prepared, one portion is consumed by the plants themselves in maintaining their own structures, and in developing the embryos of those which are to replace them; another portion serves directly as food to various races of animals; and the remainder is either employed in fertilizing the soil, and preparing it for subsequent and more extended vegetation, or else, buried in the bosom of the earth, it forms part of that vast magazine of combustible matter, destined to benefit future communi- ties of mankind, when the arts of civilization shall have de- veloped the mighty energies of human power. ( ) chapter iii. animal nutrition in general. § . food of animals. nutrition constitutes no less important a part of the animal, than of the vegetable economy. endowed with more energetic powers, and enjoying a wider range of ac- tion, animals, compared with plants, require a considerably larger supply of nutritive materials for their sustenance, and for the exercise of their various and higher faculties. the materials of animal nutrition must, in all cases, have previ- ously been combined in a peculiar mode; which the powers of organization alone can effect. in the conversion of vege- table into animal matter, the principal changes in chemical composition which the former undergoes, are, first, the ab- straction of a certain proportion of carbon; and secondly, the addition of nitrogen.” other changes, however, less easily appreciable, though perhaps as important as the former, take place in greater quantity, with regard to the propor- tions of saline earthy, and metallic ingredients; all of which, and more especially iron, exist in greater quantity in ani- mal than in vegetable bodies. the former also contain a larger proportion of sulphur and phosphorus than the latter. * the recent researches of messrs. macaire and marcet tend to establish the important fact that both the chyle and the blood of herbivorous and of carnivorous quadrupeds are identical in their chemical composition, in as far, at least, as concerns their ultimate analysis. they found, in particular, the same proportion of nitrogen in the chyle, whatever kind of food the ani- mal habitually consumed: and it was also the same in the blood, whether of carnivorous or herbivorous animals; although this last fluid contains more nitrogen than the chyle. (mémoires de la société de physique et d’histoire naturelle de genève, v. .) the vital functions. the equitable mode in which nature dispenses to her in- numerable offspring the food she has provided for their sub- sistence, apportioning to each the quantity and the kind most consonant to enlarged views of prospective benefi- cence, is calculated to excite our highest wonder and admi- ration. while the waste is the smallest possible, we find that nothing which can afford nutriment is wholly lost. there is no part of the organized structure of an animal or vegetable, however dense its texture, or acrid its qualities, that may not, under certain circumstances, become the food of some species of insect, or contribute in some mode to the support of animal life. the more succulent parts of plants, such as the leaves, or softer stems, are the principal sources of nourishment to the greater number of larger quadrupeds, to multitudes of insects, as well as to numerous tribes of other animals. some plants are more particularly assigned as the appropriate nutriment of particular species, which would perish if these ceased to grow: thus the silkworm subsists almost exclusively upon the leaves of the mulberry tree; and many species of caterpillars are attached each to a particular plant which they prefer to all others. there are at least fifty different species of insects that feed upon the common nettle; and plants, of which the juices are most acrid and poisonous to the generality of animals, such as euphorbium, henbane, and nightshade, afford a whole- some and delicious food to others. innumerable tribes of animals subsist upon fruits and seeds, while others feast upon the juices which they extract from flowers, or other parts of plants; others, again, derive their principal nourish- ment from the hard fibres of the bark or wood. still more general is the consumption of animal matter by various animals. every class has its carnivorous tribes, which consume living prey of every denomination; some being formed to devour the flesh of the larger species, whe- ther quadrupeds, birds, or fish; others feeding on reptiles or mollusca, and some satisfying their appetite with insects alone. the habits’ of the more diminutive tribes are not economy of nutritive matter. less predatory and voracious than those of the larger quad- rupeds; for the spiders on the land, and the crustacea in the sea, are but representatives of the lions and tigers of the fo- rest, displaying an equally ferocious and insatiable rapacity. other families, again, generally of still smaller size, are de- signed for a parasitic existence, their organs being fitted only for imbibing the blood or juices of other animals. no sooner is the signal given, on the death of any large animal, than multitudes of every class hasten to the spot, eager to partake of the repast which nature has prepared. if the carcass be not rapidly devoured by rapacious birds, or carnivorous quadrupeds, it never fails to be soon attacked by swarms of insects, which speedily consume its softer tex- tures, leaving only the bones.” these, again, are the fa- vourite food of the hyena, whose powerful jaws are pecu- liarly formed for grinding them into powder, and whose stomach can extract from them an abundant portion of nu- triment. no less speedy is the work of demolition among the inhabitants of the waters, where innumerable fishes, crustacea, annelida, and mollusca, are on the watch, to de- vour all dead animal matter which may come within their reach. the consumption of decayed vegetables is not quite so speedily accomplished; yet these, also, afford an ample store of nourishment to hosts of minuter beings, less conspi- cuous, perhaps, but performing a no less important part in the economy of the creation. it may be observed that most of the insects which feed on decomposing materials, whether animal or vegetable, consume a much larger quantity than * so strongly was linnaeus impressed with the immensity of the scale on which these works of demolition by insects are carried on in nature, that he used to maintain that the carcass of a dead horse would not be devoured with the same celerity by a lion, as it would by three flesh flies (musca romitoria) and their immediate progeny: for it is known that one female fly will give birth to at least , young larvae, each of which will, in the course of a day, devour so much food, and grow so rapidly, as to acquire an increase of two hundred times its weight; and a few days are sufficient to the produc- tion of a third gencration. vol. ii. the wital functions. - they appear to require for the purposes of nutrition. we may hence infer that, in their formation, other ends were contemplated, besides their own individual existence. they seem as if commissioned to act as the scavengers of organic matter, destined to clear away all those particles, of which the continued accumulation would have tainted the atmo- sphere, or the waters, with infection, and spread a wide ex- tent of desolation and of death. in taking these general surveys of the plans adopted by nature for the universal subsistence of the objects of her bounty, we cannot help admiring how carefully she has pro- vided the means for turning to the best account every parti- cle of each product of organic life, whether the material be consumed as food by animals, or whether it be bestowed upon the soil, reappearing in the substance of some plant, and being in this way made to contribute, eventually, to the same ultimate object, namely, the support of animal life. but we may carry these views still farther, and following the ulterior destination of the minuter and unheeded frag- ments of decomposed organizations, which we might con- ceive had been cast away, and lost to all useful purposes, we may trace them as they are swept down by the rains, and deposited in pools and lakes, amidst waters collected from the soil on every side. here we find them, under favoura- ble circumstances, again partaking of animation, and invested with various forms of infusory animalcules, which sport, in countless myriads, their ephemeral existence, within the ample regions of every drop. yet, even these are still qua- lified to fulfil other objects in a more distant and far wider sphere; for, borne along, in the course of time, by the rivers into which they pass, they are at length conveyed into the sea, the great receptacle of all the particles that are detached from the objects on land. here, also, they float not useless- ly in the vast abyss, but contribute to maintain in existence incalculable hosts of animal beings, which people every por- tion of the wide expanse of ocean, and which rise, in regu- lar gradation, from the microscopic monad, and scarcely vi- - economy of nutritive matter. sible medusa,” through endless tribes of mollusca, and of fishes, up to the huge leviathan of the deep. not even are these portions of organic matter, which, in the course of decomposition, escape in the form of gases, and are widely diffused through the atmosphere, wholly lost for the uses of living nature: for, in course of time, they, also, as we have seen, re-enter into the vegetable sys- tem, resuming the solid form, and reappearing as organic products, destined again to run through the same never end- ing cycle of vicissitudes and transmutations. the diffusion of animals over wide regions of the globe is a consequence of the necessity which prompts them to search for subsistence wherever food is to be met with. thus while the vegetation of each different climate is regu- lated by the seasons, herbivorous animals are in the winter forced to migrate from the colder to the milder regions, where they may find the pasturage they require; and these migrations occasion corresponding movements among the predaceous tribes which subsist upon them. thus are con- tinual interchanges produced, contributing to colonize the earth, and extend its animal population over every habitable district. but in all these changes we may discern the ulti- mate relation they ever bear to the condition of the vegeta- ble world, which is placed as an intermediate and necessary link between the mineral and the animal kingdoms. all 'those regions which are incapable of supporting an exten- sive vegetation, are, on that account, unfitted for the habita- tion of animals. such are the vast continents of ice, which spread around the poles; such are the immense tracts of snow and of glaciers, which occupy the summits of the highest mountain chains; and such is the wide expanse of sand, which covers the largest portions both of africa and * the immensity of the numbers of these microscopic medusae, which peo- ple every region of the ocean, may be judged of from the phenomenon of the phosphorescent light which is so frequently exhibited by the sea, when agitated, and which, as i have already observed, is found to arise from the presence of an incalculable multitude of these minute animals. the vital functions. of asia: and often have we heard of the sunken spirits of the traveller through the weary desert, from the appalling si- lence that reigns over those regions of eternal desolation; but no sooner is his eye refreshed by the reappearance of vegetation, than he again traces the footsteps and haunts of animals, and welcomes the cheering sound of sensitive be- ings. the kind of food which nature has assigned to each par- ticular race of animals has an important influence, not mere- ly on its internal organization, but, also, on its active powers. and disposition; for the faculties of animals, as well as their structure, have a close relation to the circumstances con- nected with their subsistence, such as the abundance of its supply, the facility of procuring it, the dangers incurred in its search, and the opposition to be overcome before it can be obtained. in those animals whose food lies generally within their reach, the active powers acquire but little de- velopment: such, for instance, is the condition of herbivo- rous quadrupeds, whose repast is spread every where in rich profusion beneath their feet; and it is the chief business of their lives to crop the flowery mead, and repose on the same spot which affords them the means of support. predaceous animals, on the contrary, being prompted by the calls of ap- petite to wage war with living beings, are formed for a more active and martial career; their muscles are more vigorous, their bones are stronger, their limbs more robust, their senses more delicate and acute. what sight can compare with that of the eagle and the lynx; what scent can be more exquisite than that of the wolf and the jackal? all the perceptions of carnivorous animals are more accurate, their sagacity em- braces a greater variety of objects, and, in feats of strength and agility, they far surpass the herbivorous tribes. a tiger will take a spring of fifteen or twenty feet, and, seizing upon a buffalo, will carry it with ease on its back through a dense and tangled thicket: with a single blow of its paw it will break the back of a bull, or tear open the flanks of an ele- phant. influence of the demand for food. while herbivorous animals are almost constantly employed in eating, carnivorous animals are able to endure abstinence for a great length of time, without any apparent diminution of their strength: a horse or an ox would sink under the ex- haustion consequent upon fasting for two or three days, whereas, the wolf and the martin have been known to live fifteen days without food, and a single meal will suffice them for a whole week. the calls of hunger produce on each of these classes of animals the most opposite effects. herbivo- rous animals are rendered weak and faint by the want of food, but the tiger is roused to the full energy of his powers by the cravings of appetite; his strength and courage are ne- ver so great as when he is nearly famished, and he rushes to the attack, reckless of consequences, and undismayed by the number or force of his opponents. from the time he has tasted blood, no education can soften the native ferocity of his disposition: he is neither to be reclaimed by kindness, nor subdued by the fear of punishment. on the other hand, the elephant, subsisting upon the vegetable productions of the forest, superior in size and even in strength to the tiger, and armed with as powerful weapons of offence, which it wants not the courage to employ, when necessary, is capa- ble of being tamed with the greatest ease, is readily brought to submit to the authority of man, and requites with affec tion the benefits he receives. on first contemplating this extensive destruction of ani- mal life, by modes the most cruel and revolting to all our feelings, we naturally recoil with horror from the sanguina- ry scene; and cannot refrain from asking how all this is con- sistent with the wisdom and benevolence so conspicuously manifested in all other parts of the creation. the best theo- logians have been obliged to confess that a difficulty does here exist,” and that the only plausible solution which it ad- mits of, is to consider the pain and suffering thus created, as one of the necessary consequences of those general laws * see, in particular, paley's natural theology, chap. xxvi. the vital functions. which secure, on the whole, the greatest and most permanent good. there can ba no doubt that the scheme, by which one animal is made directly conducive to the subsistence of another, leads to the extension of the benefits of existence to an infinitely greater number of beings than could other- wise have enjoyed them. this system, besides, is the spring of motion and activity in every part of nature. while the pursuit of its prey forms the occupation, and constitutes the pleasure of a considerable part of the animal creation, the employment of the means they possess of defence, of flight, and of precaution, is also the business of a still larger part. these means are, in a great proportion of instances, success- ful; for, wherever nature has inspired sagacity in the percep- tion of danger, she has generally bestowed a proportionate degree of ingenuity in devising the means of safety. some are taught to deceive the enemy, and to employ stratagem where force or swiftness would have been unavailing: many insects, when in danger, counterfeit death, to avoid destruc- tion; others, among the myriapoda, fold themselves into the smallest possible compass, so as to escape detection. the tortoise, as we have already seen, retreats within its shell, as within a fortress; the hedge-hog rolls itself into a ball, presenting bristles on every side; the diodon inflates its glo- bular body for the same purpose, and floats on the sea, armed at all the points of its surface; the cuttle-fish screens itself from pursuit by effusing an intensely dark coloured ink, which renders the surrounding waters so black and turbid as to conceal the animal, and favour its escape; the torpedo defends itself from molestation by reiterated discharges from its electric battery; the butterfly avoids capture by its irre- gular movements in the air, and the hare puts the hounds at fault by her mazy doublings. thus does the animated crea- tion present a busy scene of activity and employment: thus are a variety of powers called forth, and an infinite diversity of pleasures derived from their exercise; and existence is, on the whole, rendered the source of incomparably higher de- grees, as well as of a larger amount of enjoyment, than ap- series of vital functions. pears to have been compatible with any other imaginable system. § . series of pital functions. in the animal economy, as in the vegetable, the vital, or nutritive functions are divisible into seven kinds, namely, assimilation, circulation, respiration, secretion, excretion, absorption, and nutrition; some of which even admit of farther subdivision. this is the case more particularly with the processes of assimilation, which are generally nu- merous, and require a very complicated apparatus for acting on the food in all the stages of its conversion into blood, a fluid which, like the returning sap of plants, consists of nu- triment in its completely assimilated state. it will be ne- cessary, therefore, to enter into a more particular examina- tion of the objects of these different processes. in the more perfect structures belonging to the higher orders of animals, contrivances must be adopted, and organs provided for seizing the appropriate food, and conveying it to the mouth. a mechanical apparatus must there be placed for effecting that minute subdivision, which is necessary to prepare it for the action of the chemical agents to which it is afterwards to be subjected. from the mouth, after it has been sufficiently masticated, and softened by fluid secretions prepared by neighbouring glands, the food must be con- veyed into an interior cavity, called the stomach, where, as in a chemical laboratory, it is made to undergo the par- ticular change which results from the operation termed di- gestion. the digested food must thence be conducted into other chambers, composing the intestinal tube, where it is converted into chyle, which is a milky fluid, consisting wholly of nutritious matter. vessels are then provided, which, like the roots of plants, drink up this prepared fluid, and convey it to other cavities, capable of imparting to it a powerful impulsive force, and of distributing it through ap- propriate channels of circulation, not only to the respiratory the vital functions. organs, where its elaboration is completed by the influence of atmospheric air, but also to all other parts of the system, where such a supply is required for their maintenance in the living state. the objects of these subsequent functions, many of which are peculiar to animal life, have already been detailed.” this subdivision of the assimilatory processes occurs only in the higher classes of animals, for in proportion as we de- scend in the scale, we find them more and more simplified, by the concentration of organs, and the union of many of fices in a single organ, till we arrive, in the very lowest or- ders, at little more than a simple digestive cavity, perform- ing at once the functions of the stomach and of the heart; without any distinct circulation of nutrient juices, without vessels, nay, without any apparent blood. long after all the other organs, such as the skeleton, whether internal or external, the muscular and nervous systems, the glands, ves- sels, and organs of sense, have one after another disappeared, we still continue to find the digestive cavity retained, as if it constituted the most important, and only indispensable organ of the whole system. the possession of a stomach, then, is the peculiar cha- racteristic of the animal system as contrasted with that of vegetables. it is a distinctive criterion that applies even to the lowest orders of zoophytes, which, in other respects, are so nearly allied to plants. it extends to all insects, howe- ver diminutive; and even to the minutest of the microscopic animalcules.f the mode in which the food is received into the body is, in general, very different in the two organized kingdoms of nature. plants receive their nourishment by a slow, but * see the first chapter of this volume, p. . f in some species of animals belonging to the tribe of medusae, as the eudora, berenice, orythia, favonia, lymnoria, and geryonia, no central cavity corresponding to a stomach has been discovered: they appear, there- fore, to constitute an exception to the general rule. see péron, annales de muséum, xiv. and . influence of the demand for food. nearly constant supply, and have no receptacle for collecting it at its immediate entry; the sap, as we have seen, passing at once into the cellular tissue of the plant, where the pro- cess of its gradual elaboration is commenced. animals, on the other hand, are capable of receiving at once large sup- plies of food, in consequence of having an internal cavity, adapted for the immediate reception of a considerable quan- tity. a vegetable may be said to belong to the spot from which it imbibes its nourishment, and the surrounding soil, into which its absorbing roots are spread on every side, may almost be considered as a part of its system. but an animal has all its organs of assimilation within itself, and having receptacles in which it can lay in a store of provi- sions, it may be said to be nourished from within; for it is from these interior receptacles that the lacteals, or absorb- ing vessels corresponding in their office to the roots of ve- getables, imbibe nourishment. important consequences flow from this plan of structure; for since animals are thus enabled to subsist for a certain interval without needing any fresh supply, they are independent of local situation, and may enjoy the privilege of moving from place to place. such a power of locomotion was, indeed, absolutely neces- sary to beings which have their subsistence to seek. it is this necessity, again, which calls for the continued exercise of their senses, intelligence, and more active energies; and that lead, in a word, to the possession of all those higher powers which raise them so far above the level of the ve- getable creation. vol. ii. s ( ) chapter iv. nutrition in the lower orders of animals. the animals which belong to the order of polypipresent us with the simplest of all possible forms of nutritive organs. the hydra, for instance, which may be taken as the type of this formation, consists of a mere stomach, provided with the simplest instruments for catching food, and nothing more. a simple sac, or tube, adapted to receive and digest food, is the only visible organ of the body. it exhibits not a trace of either brain, nerves, or organs of sense, nor any part corresponding to lungs, heart, or even ./ vessels of any sort; all these organs, so essential to the maintenance of life in other animals, being here dispensed with. in the magnified view of the hydra, exhibited in fig. , the cavity into which the food is received and digested is laid open by a longitudinal section, so as to show the - comparative thickness of the walls of this cavity. the structure of these walls must be adapted not only to prepare and pour out the fluids by which the food is digested, but also to allow of the transudation through its substance, probably by means of invisible pores, of the nu- tritious particles thus extracted from the food, for the pur- pose of its being incorporated and identified with the ge- latinous pulp, of which the body appears wholly to consist. the thinness and transparency of the walls of this cavity allow of our distinctly following these changes by the aid of the microscope. trembley watched them with unwearied perseverance for days together, and has given the following nutrition in polypi. account of his observations. the hydra, though it does not pursue the animals on which it feeds, yet devours with avi- dity all kinds of living prey that come within the reach of its tentacula, and which it can overcome and introduce into its mouth. the larvae of insects, naides, and other aquatic worms, minute crustacea, and even small fishes, are indiscriminately laid hold of, if they happen but to touch any part of the long filaments which the animal spreads out, in different directions, like a net in search of food. the struggles of the captive which finds itself entangled in the folds of these tentacula, are generally ineffectual, and the hy- dra, like the boa constrictor, contrives, by enormously ex- panding its mouth, slowly to draw into its cavity animals much larger than its own body. worms longer than itself are easily swallowed by being previously doubled together by the tentacula. fig. shows a hydra in the act of de- vouring the vermiform larva of a tipula, which it has en- circled with its tentacula, to which it has applied its expand- ed mouth, and of which it is absorbing the juice, before swallowing it. fig. shows the same animal, after it has succeeded, though not without a severe contest, in swallow- ing a minnow, or other small fish, the form of which is still visible through the transparent sides of the body, which are stretched to the utmost. it occasionally happens, when two of these animals have both seized the same object by the wital functions. its different ends, that a struggle between them ensues, and that the strongest, having obtained the victory, swallows at a single gulp, not only the object of contention, but its an- tagonist also. the scene is represented in fig. , where the tail of the hydra, of which the body has been swallowed by the victor, is seen protruding from the mouth of the lat- ter. it soon, however, extricates itself from this situation, apparently without having suffered the smallest injury. the voracity of the hydra is very great, especially after long fast- ing; and it will then devour a great number of insects, one aſ- ter another at one meal, gorging itself till it can hold no more, and its body becoming dilated to an extraordinary size: and yet the same animal can continue to live for more than four months without any visible supply of food. on attentively observing the changes induced upon the food by the action of the stomach of these animals, they ap- pear to consist of a gradual melting down of the softer parts, which are resolved into a kind of jelly, leaving unaltered only a few fragments of the harder and less digestible parts. these changes are accompanied by a kind of undulation of the contents of the stomach, backwards and forwards, throughout the whole tube, apparently produced by the contraction and dilatation of its different portions. the un- digested materials being collected together and rejected by the mouth, the remaining fluid is seen to contain opaque globules of various sizes, some of which are observed to pe- netrate through the sides of the stomach, and enter into the granular structure which composes the flesh of the animal. some portion of this opaque fluid is distributed to the tenta- cula, into the tubular cavities of which it may be seen en- tering by passages of communication with the stomach. by watching attentively the motions of the globules, it will be perceived that they pass backwards and forwards through these passages, like ebbing and flowing tides. all these phenomena may be observed with greater dis- tinctness when the food of the animal contains colouring matter, capable of giving a tinge to the nutritious fluid, and nutrition in polypi. allowing of its progress being traced into the granules which are dispersed throughout the substance of the body. trem- bley is of opinion that these granules are vesicular, and that they assume the colour they are observed to have, from their becoming filled with the coloured particles contained in the nourishment. the granules which are nearest to the cavity of the stomach are those which are first tinged, and which therefore first imbibe the nutritious juices: the others are coloured successively, in an order determined by their distance from the surface of the stomach. trembley ascer- tained that a living hydra introduced into the stomach of another hydra, was not in any degree acted upon by the fluid secretions of that organ, but came out uninjured. it often happens that a hydra, in its eagerness to transfer its victim into its stomach, swallows several of its own tenta- cula, which had encircled it: but these tentacula always ul- timately came out of the stomach, sometimes after having remained there twenty-four hours, without the least detri- ment. the researches of trembley have brought to light the extraordinary fact that not only the internal surface of the stomach of the polypus is endowed with the power of di- gesting food, but that the same property belongs also to the external surface, or what we might call the skin of the ani- mal. he found that by a dexterous manipulation, the hy- dra may be completely turned inside out, like the finger of a glove, and that the animal, after having undergone this singular operation, will very soon resume all its ordinary functions, just as if nothing had happened. it accommo- dates itself in the course of a day or two to the transforma- tion, and resumes all its natural habits, eagerly seizing ani- malcules with its tentacula, and introducing them into its newly formed stomach, which has for its interior surface what before was the exterior skin, and which digests them with perfect case. when the discovery of this curious phe- nomenon was first made known to the world, it excited great astonishment, and many naturalists were incredulous the vital functions. as to the correctness of the observations. but the researches of bonnet and of spallanzani, who repeated the experiments of trembley, have borne ample testimony to their accuracy, which those of every subsequent observer have farther con- tributed to confirm. the experiments of trembley have also proved that eve- ry portion of the hydra possesses a wonderful power of re- pairing all sorts of injuries, and of restoring parts which have been removed. these animals are found to bear with impunity all sorts of mutilations. if the tentacula be cut off, they grow again in a very short time: the whole of the fore part of the body is, in like manner, reproduced, if the animal be cut asunder; and from the head which has been removed there soon sprouts forth a new tail. if the head of the hydra be divided by a longitudinal section, extending only half way down the body, the cut portions will unite at their edges, so as to form two heads, each having its sepa- rate mouth, and set of tentacula. if it be split into six or seven parts, it will become a monster with six or seven heads; if each of these be again divided, another will be formed with double that number. if any of the parts of this compound polypus be cut off, as many new ones will spring up to replace them; the mutilated heads at the same time acquiring fresh bodies, and becoming as many entire poly- pi. fig. represents a hydra with seven heads, the re- sult of several operations of this kind. the hydra will sometimes of its own accord split into two; each division becoming independent of the other, and growing to the same size as the original hydra. trembley found that dif- ferent portions of one polype might be ingrafted on ano- ther, by cutting their surfaces, and pressing them together: for by this means they quickly unite, and become a com- pound animal. when the body of one hydra is introduced into the mouth of another, so that their heads are kept in contact for a sufficient length of time, they unite and form but one individual. a number of heads and bodies may thus be joined together artificially, so as to compose living nutrition in polypi. . monsters more complicated than the wildest fancy has con- ceived. - still more complicated are the forms and economy of those many-headed monsters, which prolific nature has spread in countless multitudes over the rocky shores of the ocean, in every part of the globe. these aggregated polypi grow in imitation of plants, from a common stem, with widely ex- tended flowering branches. myriads of mouths open upon the surface of the animated mass; each mouth being sur- rounded with one or more circular rows of tentacula, which are extended to catch their prey: but as the stationary con- dition of these polypes prevents them from moving in search of food, their tentacula are generally furnished with a mul- titude of cilia, which, by their incessant vibrations, deter- mine currents of water to flow towards the mouth, carrying with them the floating animalcules on which the entire po- lypus subsists. each mouth leads into a separate stomach; whence the food, after its digestion, passes into several channels, gene- rally five in number, which proceed in different directions from the cavity of each stomach, dividing it into many branches, and being distributed over all the surrounding por- tions of the flesh. these branches communicate with simi- lar channels proceeding from the neighbouring stomachs: so that the food which has been taken in by one of the mouths, contributes to the general nourishment of the whole mass of aggregated polypi. cuvier discovered this structure in the peretilla, which belongs to this order of polypi: he also found it in the pennatula, and it is probably similar in all the others. fig. represents three of the polypes of the veretilla, with their communicating vessels seen below. the prevailing opinion among naturalists is, that each poly- pus is an individual animal, associated with the rest in a sort of republic, where the labours of all are exerted for the com- mon bencfit of the whole society. but it is, perhaps, more consonant with our ideas of the nature of vitality, to consider the extent of the distribution of nutritive fluid in any organic the vital functions. system, as the criterion of the individuality of that system, a view which would lead us to consider the entire polypus, or mass composed of numerous polypes, as a single indivi- dual animal; for there is no more inconsistency in supposing that an individual animal may possess any number of mouths, than that it may be provided with a multitude of distinct stomachs, as we shall presently find is actually exemplified in many of the lower animals. some of the entozoa, or parasitic worms, exhibit a gene- ral diffusion, or circulation of nourishment through numerous channels of communication, into which certain absorbing vessels convey it from a great number of external orifices, or mouths, as they may be called. this is the case with the thenia, or tape worm, which is composed of a series of flat jointed portions, of which two contiguous segments are seen, highly magnified, in fig. , exhibiting round the margin of each portion, a circle of vessels (v.) which communicate with those of the adjoining segments; each circle being pro- vided with a tube (o,) having external openings for imbibing nourishment from the surrounding fluids. although each segment is thus provided with a nutritive apparatus, com- plete within itself, and so far, therefore, independent of the rest, the individuality of the whole animal is sufficiently de- termined by its having a distinct head at one extremity, pro- vided with instruments for its attachment to the surfaces it inhabits. nutrition in medusae. the hydatid, (fig. ,) is another parasitic worm, of the simplest possible construction. it has a head (o,) of which h is a magnified representation, furnished with four suckers, and a tubular neck, which terminates in a globular sac. when this sac, which is the stomach, is fully distend- ed with fluid, its sides are stretched, so as to be reduced to a very thin transparent membrane, having a perfectly sphe- rical shape; after this globe has become swollen to a very large size, the neck yields to the distention, and disappears; and the head can then be distinguished only as a small point on the surface of the globular sac. it is impossible to con- ceive a more simple organic structure than this, which may, in fact, be considered as an isolated living stomach. the caenurus, which is found in the brain of sheep, has a struc- ture a little more complicated; for, instead of a single head, there is a great number spread over the surface, opening into the same general cavity, and when the sac is distended, ap- pearing only as opaque spots on its surface. the structure of the sponge has been already fully de- scribed; and the course of the minute channels pointed out, in which a kind of circulation of sea water is carried on for the nourishment of the animal. the mode by which nutri- ment is extracted from this circulating fluid, and made to contribute to the growth of these plant-like structures, is entirely unknown. the apparatus for nutrition possessed by animals belong- ing to the tribe of medusae is of a peculiar kind. i have already described the more ordinary form of these singular animals, which resembles a mushroom, from the hemispheri- cal form of their bodies, and their central foot-stalk, or pedi- cle. in the greater number of species there exists at the extremity of this pedicle, a single aperture, which is the be- ginning of a tube leading into a large central cavity in the interior of the body, and which may, therefore, be regarded as the mouth of the animal: but in those species which have no pedicle, as the equorea, the mouth is situated at the centre of the under surface. the aperture is of sufficient vol. ii. the vital functions. width to admit of the entrance of prey of considerable size, as appears from the circumstance that fishes of some inches in length are occasionally found entire in the stomachs of those medusae which have a single mouth. the central ca- vity, which is the stomach of the animal, does not appear to possess any proper coats, but to be simply scooped out of the soft structure of the body. its form varies in different species; having generally, however, more or less of a star- like shape, composed of four curved rays, which might al- most be considered as constituting four stomachs, joined at a common centre. such, indeed, is the actual structure in the medusa aurita, in which gaede found the stomach to consist of four spherical sacs, completely separated by par- titions. these arched cavities, or sacs, taper as they radiate towards the circumference, and are continued into a canal, from which a great number of other canals proceed, general- ly, at first, by successive bifurcations of the larger trunks, but afterwards branching off more irregularly, and again uniting by lateral communications so as to compose a com- plicated net-work of vessels. these ramifications at length unite to form an annular vessel, which encircles the margin of the disk. it appears, also, from the observations of gaede, that a farther communication is established between this lat- ter vessel, and others which permeate the slender filaments, or tentacula, that hang like a fringe all round the edge of the disk, and which, in the living animal, are in perpetual motion. it is supposed that the elongations and contractions, of these filaments are effected by the injection or recession of the fluids contained in those vessels.” here, then, we see not only a more complex stomach, but also the com- mencement of a vascular system, taking its rise from that cavity, and calculated to distribute the nutritious juices to every part of the organization. . there are other species of medusae, composing the ge- nus rhizostoma of cuvier, which, instead of having only * journal de physique, lxxxix. . nutrition in medusaf. one mouth, are provided with a great number of tubes which serve that office, and which bear a great analogy to the roots of a plant." the pedicle terminates below in a great num- ber of fringed processes, which, on examination, are found to contain ramified tubes, with orifices opening at the ex- tremity of each process. in this singular tribe of animals there is properly no mouth or central orifice, the only ave- nues to the stomach being these elongated canals, which collect food from every quarter where they extend, and which, uniting into larger and larger trunks as they proceed towards the body, form one central tube, or oºsophagus, which terminates in the general cavity of the stomach. the medusa pulmo, of which a figure was given in vol. i., page , belongs to this modern genus, and is now termed the rhizostoma cuvieri. the course of these absorbent vessels is most conveni- ently traced after they have been filled with a dark coloured liquid. the appearances they present in the rhizostoma * it is from this circumstance that the genus has received the name it now bears, and which is derived from two greek words, signifying root-like mouths. the vital functions. cuvieri, after being thus injected, are represented in the annexed figures; the first of which (fig. ,) shows the under surface of that animal, after the pedicle has been re- moved by a horizontal section, at its origin from the hemi- spherical body, or cupola, as it may be termed, where it has a square prismatic form, so that its section presents the square surface, q, q. fig. is a vertical section of the same specimen; both figures being reduced to about one- half of the natural size. the dotted line, h., h, in the latter figure, shows the plane where the section of the pedicle was made in order to give the view of the base of the hemi- sphere presented in fig. . on the other hand, the dot- ted line v, v, in fig. , is that along which the vertical section of the same animal, represented in fig. , was made, four of the arms (a, a, a, a,) descending from the pe- dicle being left attached to it. in these arms, or tentacula, nutrition in medusaf. may be seen the canals, marked by the dark lines (c, c, c,) which arise from numerous orifices in the extremities and fringed surface of the tentacula, and which, gradually uniting like the roots of a plant, converge towards the centre of the pedicle, and terminate by a common tube, which may be considered as the oesophagus (o,) in one large central cavity, or stomach (s,) situated in the upper part of the cupola. the section of this oesophagus is visible at the centre of fig. , where its cavity has the form of a cross. the stomach has a quadrangular shape, as in the ordinary medusae, and from each of its four corners there proceed vessels, which are con- tinuous with its cavity, and are distributed by endless rami- fications over the substance of the cupola, extending even to the fringed margin, all round its circumference. the mode of their distribution, and their numerous communications by lateral vessels, forming a complete vascular net-work, is seen in fig. , which represents, on a larger scale, a portion of the marginal part of the disk. the two large figures ( and ) also show the four lateral cavities (r, r, fig. ,) which are contiguous to the stomach, but separated from it by membranous partitions: these cavities have, by some, been supposed to perform an office in the system of the me- dusa, corresponding to respiration; an opinion, however, which is founded rather on analogy than on any direct ex- perimental evidence. the entrances into these cavities are seen open at e, in fig. , and at e, e, in the section fig. . a transverse section of one of the arms is given in fig. , showing the form of the absorbent tube in the centre: and a similar section of the extremity of one of the tentacula is seen in fig. , in which, besides the central tube, the cavities of some of the smaller branches (b, b,) which are proceeding to join it, are also visible. the regular gradation which nature has observed in the complexity of the digestive cavities and other organs, of the various species of this extensive tribe, is exceedingly re- markable: for while some, as the eudora, have, to all ap- pearance, no internal cavity corresponding to a stomach, and the wital functions. are totally unprovided with either pedicle, arms, or tenta- cula; others, furnished with these latter appendages, are equally destitute of such a cavity; and those belonging to a third family possess a kind of pouch, or false stomach, at the upper part of the pedicle, apparently formed by the mere ſolding in of the integument. this is the case with the geronia, depicted in fig. , whose structure, in this respect, approaches that of the hydra, already described, where the stomach consists of an open sac apparently formed by the integuments alone. thence may a regular progres- sion be followed, through various species, in which the aper- ture of this pouch is more and more completely closed, and where the tube which enters it branches out into ramifica- tions more or less numerous, as we have seen in the rhizos- toma.” it is difficult to conceive in what mode nutrition is performed in the agastric tribes, or those destitute of any visible stomach; unless we suppose that their nourishment is imbibed by direct absorption from the surface. ever since the discovery of the animalcula of infusions, naturalists have been extremely desirous of ascertaining the nature of the organization of these curious beings: but as no mode presented itself of dissecting objects of such extreme minuteness, it was only from the external appearances they present under the microscope that any inferences could be drawn with regard to the existence and form of their inter- nal organs. in most of the larger species, the opaque glo- bules, seen in various parts of the interior, were generally supposed to be either the ova, or the future young, lodged within the body of the parent. in the rotifer, or wheel animalcule of spallanzani,t a large central organ is plainly perceptible, which was, by some, imagined to be the heart; but which has been clearly ascertained, by bonnet, to be a receptacle for food. muller, and several other observers, have witnessed the larger animalcules devouring the smaller; and the inference was obvious, that, in common with all * see péron, annales du muséum, xiv. . f vol. i. p. , fig. . nutrition in the infusoria. other animals, they also must possess a stomach. but, as no such structure had been rendered visible in the smallest spe- cies of infusoria, such as monads, it was too hastily concluded that these species were formed upon a different and a sim- pler model. lamark characterized them as being, through- out, of a homogeneous substance, destitute of mouth and di- gestive cavity, and nourished simply by means of the ab- sorption of particles through the external surface of their bodies. - the nature and functions of these singular beings long remained involved in an obscurity which appeared to be impenetrable; but at length a new light has been thrown upon the subject by professor ehrenberg, whose researches have recently disclosed fresh scenes of interest and of won- der in microscopic worlds, peopled with hosts of animated beings, almost infinite in number as in minuteness.” in en- deavouring to render the digestive organs of the infusoria more conspicuous, he hit upon the fortunate expedient of supplying them with coloured food, which might communi- cate its tinge to the cavities into which it passed, and exhi- bit their situation and course. obvious as this method may appear, it was not till after a labour of ten years that ehren- berg succeeded in discovering the fittest substances, and in applying them in the manner best suited to exhibit the phe- nomena satisfactorily. we have already seen that trembley had adopted the same plan for the elucidation of the struc- ture of the hydra. gleichen also had made similar attempts with regard to the infusoria; but, in consequence of his having employed metallic or earthy colouring materials, * the results of ehrenberg's labours were first communicated to the ber- lin academy; they have since been published in two works in german: the first of which appeared at berlin in , under the title of “organisation, systematik und geographisches perhältniss der infusionsthierchen.” the second work appeared in , and is entitled “zur erkenntniss der organi- sation in der richtung des kleinsten raumes.” both are in folio, with plates. an able analysis of the contents of the former of these works, by dr. gaird- ner, is given in the edinburgh new philosophical journal for , p. , of which have availed myself largely in the account which follows. the vital functions. which acted as poisons, instead of those which might serve as food, he failed in his endeavours. equally unsuccessful were the trials made by ehrenberg with the indigo and gum- lac of commerce, which are always contaminated with a cer- tain quantity of white lead, a substance highly deleterious to all animals; but, at length, by employing an indigo which was quite pure, he succeeded perfectly.” the moment a minute particle of a highly attenuated solution of this sub- stance is applied to a drop of water in which are some pe- dunculated vorticellae, occupying the field of the microscope, the most beautiful phenomena present themselves to the eye. currents are excited in all directions by the vibrations of the cilia, situated round the mouths of these animalcules, and are readily distinguished by the motions of the minute particles of indigo which are carried along with them; the currents generally all converging towards the orifice of the mouth. presently the body of the vorticella, which had been hitherto quite transparent, becomes dotted with a num- ber of distinctly circular spots, of a dark blue colour, evi- dently produced by particles of indigo accumulated in those situations. in some species, particularly those which have a contracted part, or neck, between the head and the body, as the rotifer vulgaris, these particles can be traced in a continuous line in their progress from the mouth to these internal cavities. in this way, by the employment of colouring matters, eh- renberg succeeded in ascertaining the existence of a system of digestive cavities in all the known genera of this tribe of animals. there is now, therefore, no reason for admitting that cuticular absorption of nutritive matter ever takes place • the colouring matters proper for these experiments are such as do not chemically combine with water, but yet are capable of being diffused in a state of very minute division. indigo, sap, green, and carmine, answer these conditions, and being also easily recognised under the microscope, are well adapted for these observations. great care should be taken, however, that the substance employed is free from all admixture of lead, or other metallic impurity. * nutrition in the infusoria. among this order of beings. whole generations of these transparent gelatinous animalcules may remain immersed for weeks in an indigo solution, without presenting any co- loured points in their tissue, except the circumscribed cavi- ties above described. great variety is found to exist in the forms, situations, and arrangement of the organs of digestion in the infusoria. they differ also in their degree of complication, but with- out any obvious relation to the magnitude of the animalcule. the monas atomus, the minutest of the whole tribe, exhi- bits a number of sacs, opening by as many separate orifices, from a circumscribed part of the surface. in others, as in the leucophra patula, of which fig. represents the ap- pearance under the microscope, there is a long alimentary canal, traversing the greater part of the body, taking several spiral turns, and furnished with a great number of blind pouches, or casca, as sacs of this description, proceeding la- terally from any internal canal, and having no other outlet, are technically termed. these cavities become filled with coloured particles immediately after their entrance into the alimentary canal; and must, therefore, be considered as so many stomachs provided for the digestion of the food which they receive.” but they are not all filled at the same time, * ehrenberg terms these polygastric infusoria, from the greek, signify- ing with many stomachs. vol. ii. the vital functions. for some continue long in a contracted state, so as not to be visible; while, at another time, they readily admit the co- loured food. it is, therefore, only by dint of patient watch- ing that the whole extent of the alimentary tube, and its apparatus of stomachs, can be fully made out. fig. , above referred to, exhibits the leucophra patula of ehren- berg,” with a few of its stomachs filled with the opaque par- ticles: but fig. shows the whole series of organs as it would appear if it could be taken out of the body, and placed in the same relative situation with the eye of the observer, as they are seen in the first figure. in some species, from one to two hundred of these sacs may be counted, connected with the intestinal tube. many of the larger species, as the hydatina senta, exhibit a greater concentration of organs, having only a single oval cavity of considerable size, situated in the fore part of the body. in the rotifer vulgaris, the alimentary canal is a slender tube, considerably dilated near its termination. in some porticellae, the intestine, from which proceed numerous caeca, makes a complete circular turn, ending close to its commencement: ehrenberg forms of these the tribe of cyclocala, of which the porticella cit- rina, and the stentor polymorphus, are examples. thus do we discover the same diversity in the structure of the digestive organs of the several races of these diminutive be- ings, as is found in the other classes of animals. the hydatina senta, one of the largest of the infusoria, was found by ehrenberg to possess a highly developed structure with respect to many systems of organs, which we should never have expected to meet with so low in the scale of animals. as connected with the nutritive func- tions, it may here be mentioned that the head of this ani- malcule is provided with a regular apparatus for mastica- tion, consisting of serrated jaws, each having from two to six teeth. these jaws are seen actively opening and shut- ting when the animal is taking its food, which consists of * trichoda palula. muller. - nutrition in the actinia. particles brought within reach of the mouth by means of currents excited by the motions of the cilia. such are the simple forms assumed by the organs of as- similation among the lowest orders of the animal creation; namely, digesting cavities, whence proceed various canals, which form a system for the transmission of the prepared nourishment to different parts; but all these cavities and ca- nals being simply hollowed out of the solid substance of the body. as we ascend a step higher in the scale, we find that the stomach and intestinal tube, together with their appendages, are distinct organs, formed by membranes and coats proper to each, and that they are themselves contained in an outer cavity, which surrounds them, and which re- ceives and collects the nutritious juices after their elabora- tion in these organs. the . ctinia, or sea anemone, for example, resembles a polypus in its general form, having a mouth, which is surrounded with tentacula, and which leads into a capacious stomach, or sac, open below, and occupying the greater part of the bulk of the animal; but while, in the polypus, the sides of the sto- mach constitute also those of the body, the whole being one simple sac; in the actinia, spaces intervene between the coats of the stomach, and the skin of the animal. as the stomach is not a closed sac, but is open below, these cavities are, in fact, continuous with that of the sto- mach: they are divided by numerous membranous parti- tions passing vertically between the skin, and the membrane of the stomach, and giving support to that organ. fig. , representing a vertical section of the . ctinia coriacea, dis- plays this internal structure. b is the base, or disk, by which the animal adheres to rocks: is the section of the coriaceous integument, showing its thickness: m is the cen- tral aperture of the upper surface, which performs the office the vital functions. of a mouth, leading to s, the stomach, of which the lower orifice is open, and which is suspended in the general cavi- ty, by means of vertical partitions, of which the cut edges are seen below, uniting at a central point, c, and passing be- tween the stomach and the integument. these muscular partitions are connected above with three rows of tentacula, of which the points are seen at t. the ovaries (o) are seen attached to the partition; and also the apertures in the lower part of the stomach, by which they communicate with its cavity. * * * if we considered the medusa as having four stomachs, we might in like manner regard the . sterias, or star-fish, as having ten, or even a greater number. the mouth of this radiated animal is at the centre of the under surface; it leads into a capacious bag, situated immediately above it, and which is properly the stomach. from this central sac there proceed ten prolongations, or canals, which occupy in pairs the centre of each ray, or division of the body, and subdi- vide into numerous minute ramifications. these canals, with their branches, are exhibited at c, c, fig. , which represents one of the rays of the asterias, laid open from the upper side. the canals are supported in their positions by membranes, connecting them with the sides of the ca- vity in which they are suspended. in the various species of echini, we find that the ali- mentary tube has attained a more perfect development; for instead of constituting merely a blind pouch, it passes en- tirely through the body of the animal. we here find an a sophagus, or narrow tube, leading from the mouth to the nutrition in the asterias. stomach; and the stomach continued into a regular intestine, which takes two turns in the cavity of the body, before it terminates. the alimentary tube in the lower animals frequently ex- hibits dilatations in different parts: these, if situated in the beginning of the canal, may be considered as a succession of stomachs; while those that occur in the advanced por- tions are more properly denominated the great intestine, by way of distinction from the middle portions of the tube, which are generally narrower, and are termed the small in- testine. we often see blind pouches, or caeca, projecting from different parts of the canal; this is the case with the intestine of the aphrodita aculeata, or sea-mouse. the in- testine being generally longer than the body, is obliged to be folded many times within the cavity it occupies, and to take a winding course. in some cases, on the other hand, the alimentary tube passes in nearly a straight line through the body, with scarcely any variation in its diameter; this is the case with the . scaris, which is a long cylindric worm; and nearly so with the lumbricus terrestris, or earth-worm. in the nais, on the contrary, as shown in fig. , the alimentary tube presents a series of dilatations, which, from the transparency of the skin, may be easily seen in the living animal. the food taken in by these worms is observed to be transferred from the one to the other of its numerous stomachs, backwards and forwards many times, before its digestion is accomplished. the stomach of the leech is very peculiar in its struc- ture: its form, when dissected off, and removed from the body, is shown in fig. . it is of great capacity, occu- pying the larger part of the interior of the body; and its ca- vity is expanded by ſolds of its internal membrane into se- veral pouches (c, c, c.) mr. newport, who has lately the wital functions. examined its structure with great care, finds that each of the ten portions into which it is divided, sends out, on the part most remote £ from the desophagus (o) two lateral pouches, or caeca; which, as they are traced along the canal, become both wider and longer, so that the tenth pair of caeca (a) extends to the hinder extre- mity of the animal; the intestine ( ,) which is very short, lying between them.” it has long been known, that if, after the leech has fastened on the skin, a portion of the tail be cut off, the animal will continue to suck blood for an indefinite time: this arises from the circumstance, that the caecal portions of the stomach are laid open, so that the blood received into that cavity flows out as fast as it is swallowed. a structure very similar to that of the leech is met with in the digestive organs of the glosso- pora tuberculata, (hirudo com- planata, linn.) of which fig. represents a magnified view from the upper side. when seen from the under side, as is shown in fig. , the cavity of the stomach is distinctly seen, prolonged into several - cells, divided by partitions, and directed towards the tail. the two last of these cells (c c) * this figure was engraved from a drawing made, at my request, by mr. newport, from a specimen which he dissected, and which he was so obliging as to show me. fig. represents the mouth, within which are seen the three teeth; and fig. , one of the teeth detached. a paper, descriptive of the structure of the stomach of the leech, by mr. newport, was lately read nutrition in tº annelida. are much longer than the rest, and terminate in two blind sacs, between which is situated a tortuous intestinal tube.” - at a meeting of the roy: society. see the abstracts of the proceedings in the society, for june, . • in both these figures, ris the tubular tongue, projected from the mouth. in fig. , e are the six eyes, situated on the extremity which corresponds to the head; and a double longitudinal row of white tubercles is also visible, extending along the back of the animal. e, in fig. , is the entrance into a cavity, or pouch, provided for the reception of the young. see johnson, " trans, for , p. . - ( s ) - chapter w. nutrition in the higher orders of . nimals. in proportion as we rise in the animal scale, we find that the operations of nutrition become still farther multiplied, and that the organs which perform them are more numerous and more complicated in their structure. the long series of processes requisite for the perfect elaboration of nutri- ment, is divided into different stages; each process is the work of a separate apparatus, and requires the influence of different agents. we no longer find that extreme simplicity which we noticed as so remarkable in the hydra and the medusa, where the same cavity performs, at once, the func- tions of the stomach and of the heart. the manufacture of nutriment, if we may so express it, is, in these lower zoo- phytes, conducted upon a small scale, by less refined me- thods, and with the strictest economy of means; the appara- tus is the simplest, the agents the fewest possible, and many different operations are carried on in one and the same place. as we follow the extension of the plan in more elevated stages of organic development, we find a farther division of labour introduced. of this we have already seen the com- mencement in the multiplication of the digesting cavities of the leech and other annelida: but, in animals which occupy a still higher rank, we observe a more complete separation of offices, and a still greater complication of organs. the principle of the division of labour is carried to a much great- er extent than in the inferior departments of the animal creation. besides the stomach, or receptacle for the unas- . similated food, another organ, the heart, is provided for the complex apparatus for nutrition. sl uniform distribution of the nutritious fluids elaborated by the organs of digestion. this separation of functions, again, leads to the introduction of another system of canals or ves- sels, for transmitting the fluids from the organs which pre- pare them to the heart, as into a general reservoir. in the higher orders of the animal kingdom, all these processes are again subdivided and varied, according to the species of food, the habits and mode of life, assigned by nature to each in- dividual species. for the purpose of conveying clearer no- tions of the arrangement of this extensive system of vital organs, i have drawn the annexed plan (fig. ,) which º - !. them in their natural order of connexion, an "they might be supposed to appear in a side view of the in- terior of a quadruped. to this diagram i shall make fre- quent reference in the following description of this sys- - tem. the food is, in the first place, prepared for digestion by several mechanical operations, which loosen its texture and destroy its cohesion. it is torn asunder and broken down by the action of the jaws and of the teeth; and it is, at the same time, softened by an admixture with the fluid secre- tions of the mouth. it is then collected into a mass, by the action of the muscles of the cheek and tongue, and swal- vol. ii. s the wital functions. ( lowed by the regulated contractions of the different parts of the throat. it now passes along a muscular tube, called the oesophagus, (represented in the diagram by the letter o,) into the stomach, (s) of which the entrance (c) is called the cardia. - in the stomach the food is made to undergo various che- mical changes; after which it is conducted through the aper- ture termed the pylorus (p,) into the canal of the intestine ( ,) where it is farther subjected to the action of several fluid secretions derived from large glandular organs situated in the neighbourhood, as the liver (l) and the pancreas; and elaborated into the fluid which is termed chyle. the chyle is taken up by a particular set of vessels, called the lacteals, which transmit it to the heart (h.) these vessels are exceedingly numerous, and arise by open orifices from the inner surface of the intestines, whence they ab- sorb, or drink up the chyle. they may be compared to internal roots, which unite as they ascend along the mesen- tery (m,) or membrane connecting the intestines with the back; forming larger and larger trunks, till they terminate in an intermediate reservoir (r,) which has been named the receptacle of the chyle. from this receptacle there pro- ceeds a tube, which, from its passing through the thorax, is called the thoracic duct (t;) it ascends along the side of the spine, which protects it from compression, and opens at v, into the large veins which are pouring their contents into the auricle, or first cavity of the heart (u,) whence it immediately passes into the ventricle, or second cavity of that organ (h.) such, in the more perfect animals, is the circuitous and guarded route, which every particle of nou- rishment must take before it can be added to the general mass of circulating fluid. - by its admixture with the blood already contained in these vessels, and its purification by the action of the air in the respiratory organs (b,) the chyle becomes assºnilated, and is distributed by the heart through appropriate channels of circulation called arteries (of which the common trunk, complex apparatus for nutrition. s or . orta, is seen at a,) to every part of the system; thence returning by the veins (v, w, v,) to the heart. the various modes in which these functions are conducted in the seve- ral tribes of animals will be described hereafter. it will be sufficient for our present purpose to state, by way of com- pleting the outline of this class of functions, that, like the returning sap of plants, the blood is made to undergo far- ther modifications in the minute vessels through which it circulates; new arrangements of its elements take place during its passage through the subtle organization of the glands, which no microscope has yet unravelled: new pro- ducts are here formed, and new properties acquired, adapted to the respective purposes which they are to serve in the animal economy. the whole is one vast laboratory, where mechanism is subservient to chemistry, where chemistry is the agent of the higher powers of vitality, and where these powers themselves minister to the more exalted facul- ties of sensation and of intellect. the digestive functions of animals, however complex and varied, and however exquisitely contrived to answer their particular objects, yet afford less favourable opportunities of tracing distinctly the adaptation of means to the respective ends, than the mechanical functions. this arises from the circumstance that the processes they effect imply a refined chemistry, of which we have as yet but a very imperfect knowledge; and that we are also ignorant of the nature of the vital agents concerned in producing each of the chemi- cal changes which the food must necessarily undergo during its assimilation. we only know that all these changes are slowly and gradually effected; the materials having to pass through a great number of intermediate stages before they can attain their final state of elaboration. hence we are furnished with a kind of scale, whereby, whenever we can ascertain the degrees of difference exist- ing between the chemical condition of the substance taken into the body, and that of the product derived from it, we may estimate the length of the process required, and the s the vital functions. amount of power necessary for its conversion into that pro- duct. it is obvious, for example, that the chemical changes which vegetable food must be made to undergo, in order to assimilate it to blood, must be considerably greater than those required to convert animal food into the same fluid, because the latter is itself derived, with only slight modifi- cation, immediately from the blood. we accordingly find it to be an established rule, that the digestive organs of ani- mals which feed on vegetable materials are remarkable for their size, their length, and their complication, when com- pared with those of carnivorous animals of the same class. this rule applies, indeed, universally to mammalia, birds, reptiles, fishes, and also to insects: and below these we can scarcely draw the comparison, because nearly all the inferior tribes subsist wholly upon animal substances. many of these latter animals have organs capable of extracting nourishment from substances which we should hardly ima- gine contained any sensible portion. thus, on examining the stomach of the earth-worm, we find it always filled with moist earth, which is devoured in large quantities, for the sake of the minute portion of vegetable and animal materi- als that happen to be intermixed with the soil; and this slen- der nutriment is sufficient for the subsistence of that ani- mal.” many marine worms, in like manner, feed apparently upon sand alone; but that sand is generally intermixed with fragments of shells, which have been pulverized by the con- tinual rolling of the tide and the surge; and the animal mat- ter contained in these fragments, affords them a supply of nutriment adequate to their wants. it is evident, that when, as in the preceding instances, large quantities of indigestible materials are taken in along with such as are nutritious, the stomach and other digestive cavities must be rendered more than usually capacious. it is obvious also that the structure of the digestive organs must bear a relation to the mechani- cal texture, as well as the chemical qualities of the food; and this we find to be the case in a variety of instances, which will hereafter be specified. complex apparatus for nutrition. the activity of the digestive functions and the structure of the organs, will also be regulated by a great variety of other circumstances in the condition of the animal, inde- pendently of the mechanical or chemical nature of the food. the greater the energy with which the more peculiarly animal functions of sensation and muscular action are ex- ercised, the greater must be the demand for nourishment, in order to supply the expenditure of vital force created by these exertions. compared with the torpid and sluggish reptile, the active and vivacious bird or quadruped requires and consumes a much larger quantity of nutriment. the tortoise, the turtle, the toad, the frog, and the chameleon, will, indeed, live for months without taking any food. fishes, which, like reptiles, are cold-blooded animals, al- though at all times exceedingly voracious when supplied with food, yet can endure long fasts with impunity. the rapidity of development has also great influence on the quantity of food which an animal requires. thus, the caterpillar, which grows very quickly, and must re- peatedly throw off its integuments, during its continuance in the larva state, consumes a vast quantity of food com- pared with the size of its body; and hence we find it pro- vided with a digestive apparatus of considerable size. ( ) chapter vi. preparation of food. § . prehension of liquid food. in studying the series of processes which constitute assi- milation, our attention is first to be directed to the mode in which the food is introduced into the body, and to the me- , chanical changes it is made to undergo before it is subjected to the chemical action of the digestive organs. the nature of these preliminary processes will, of course, vary accord- ing to the texture and mechanical condition of the food. where it is already in a fluid state, mastication is unneces- sary, and the receiving organs consist simply of an appara- tus for suction. this is the case very generally with the entozoa, which subsist upon the juices of other animals, and which are all provided with one or more sucking ori- fices, often extended in the form of a tube or proboscis.” the hydatid, for instance, has four sucking apertures dis- posed round the head of the animal: the tenia has orifices of this kind in each of its jointed segments: the . scaris and the earth-worm have each a simple mouth. the margin of the mouth is often divided, so as to compose lips; of these there are generally two, and in the leech there are three. in some rare cases, as in the planaria, there is, besides the * some species of fasciole, or flukes, are furnished with two, three, six, or more sucking disks, by which they adhere to surfaces: to these animals the names distoma, tristoma, hewastoma, and polystoma have been given; but these denominations, implying a plurality of mouths, are evidently in- correct, since the sucking disks are not perforated, and do not perform the office of mouths; and the true mouth for the reception of food is single. cuvier discovered an animal of this class furnished with above a hundred of these cup-shaped sucking organs. see edinburgh philos. journal, xx. . prehension of liquid food. ordinary mouth, a tube also provided for suction, in a diſ- ferent part of the body, and leading into the same stomach.” when the instrument for suction extends for some length from the mouth, it is generally termed a proboscis: such is the apparatus of the butterfly, the moth, the gnat, the house fly, and other insects that subsist on fluid aliment. the pro- boscis of the lepidoptera, (fig. ,) is a double tube, con- structed by the two edges being rolled longitudinally till they meet in the middle of the lower surface, thus form- ing a tube on each side, but leaving also another tube, intermediate to the two lateral ones. this middle tube is formed by the junction of two grooves, which, by the aid of a curious appara- tus of hooks, resembling those of the laminae of a feather already described,t lock into each other, and can be either united into an air tight canal, or be instantly separated at the pleasure of the animal. reaumur conceives, that the lateral tubes are intended for the reception of air, while the central canal is that which conveys the honey, which the insect sucks from flowers, by suddenly unrolling the spiral coil, into which the proboscis is usually folded, and darting it into the nectary.f in the hemiptera, the proboscis is a tube, either straight or jointed, guarded by a sheath, and acting like a pump. the diptera have a more complicated instrument for suc- tion, consisting of a tube, of which the sides are strong and fleshy, and moveable in every direction, like the trunk of an elephant: it has at its extremity a double fold, resemb- ling lips, which are well adapted for suction. the gnat, and other insects which pierce the skin of animals, have, for this purpose, instruments, termed, from their shape and office, * phil trans. for , . volume i. p. . * kirby and spence's entomology, vol. ii. p. . the vital functions. lancets.” in the gnat, they are five or six in number, finer than a hair, exceedingly sharp, and generally barbed on one side. in the tabanus, or horse-fly, they are flat like the blade of a knife. these instruments are sometimes con- structed so as to form, by their union, a tube adapted for suction. in the flesh-fly, the proboscis is folded like the letter z, the upper angle pointing to the breast, and the lower one to the mouth. in other flies there is a single fold only. those insects of the order hymenoptera, which, like the bee, suck the honey of flowers, have, together with regular jaws, a proboscis formed by the prolongation of the lower lip, which is folded so as to constitute a tube: this tube is protected by the mandibles: and is projected forwards by being carried on a pedicle, which can be folded back when the tube is not in use. the mouths of the acephalous mol- lusca are merely sucking apertures, with folds like lips, and without either jaws, tongue, or teeth, but having often ten- tacula arising from their margins. among fishes, we meet with the family of cyclostomata, so called from their having a circular mouth, formed for suction. the margin of this mouth is supported by a ring of cartilage, and is furnished with appropriate muscles for producing adhesion to the surfaces to which it is applied; the mechanism and mode of its attachment being similar to that of the leech. to this family belong the myaine and the lamprey. so great is the force of adhesion exerted by this sucking apparatus, that a lamprey has been raised out of the water with a stone, weighing ten or twelve pounds, adhering to its mouth. humming birds have a long and slender tongue, which can assume the tubular form, like that of the butterfly or the bee, and for a similar purpose, namely, sucking the juices of flowers. among the mammalia, the pampire bat affords another instance of suction by means of the tongue, which * kirby and spence's entomology, vol. iii. p. . prehension of solid food. is said to be folded into a tubular shape for that purpose. but suction among the mammalia is almost always performed by the muscles of the lips and cheeks, aided by the move- ments of the tongue, which, when withdrawn to the back of the cavity, acts like the piston of a pump. in the lamprey this hydraulic action of the tongue is particularly remarka- ble. many quadrupeds, however, drink by repeatedly dip- ping their tongue into the fluid, and quickly drawing it into the mouth. § . prehension of solid food. when the food consists of solid substances, organs must be provided; first, for their prehension and introduction into the mouth; secondly, for their detention when so introduced; and thirdly, for their mechanical division into smaller frag- ments. of those instruments of prehension which are not portions of the mouth itself, and which form a series of variously constructed organs extending from the tentacula of the po- lypus to the proboscis of the elephant, and to the human arm and hand, some account has already been given in the his- tory of the mechanical functions: but, in a great number of instances, prehension is performed by the mouth, or the parts which are extended from it, and may be considered as its appendices. the prehensile power of the mouth is de- rived principally from the mechanical form and action of the jaws, which open to receive, and close to detain the bodies intended as food; and to this latter purpose, the teeth, when the mouth is furnished with them, likewise materially contribute, although their primary and more usual office is the mechanical division of the food, by means of mastication, an action in which the jaws, in their turn, co-operate. ano- ther principal purpose effected by the jaws is that of giving mechanical power to the muscles, which, by acting upon the sides of the cavity of the mouth, tend to compress and vol. ii. the vital functions. propel the contained food. we find, accordingly, that all animals of a highly developed structure are provided with jaws. among the animals which are ranked in the class of zoo- phytes the highest degrees of development are exhibited by the echinodermata, and in them we find a remarka- ble perfection in the organs of mastication. the mouth of the echinus is surrounded by a frame-work of shell, con- sisting of five converging pieces, each armed with a long tooth; and for the movement of each part there are provided separate muscles, of which the anatomy has been minutely described by cuvier. in the shells of the echini that are cast on the shore, this calcareous frame is usually found en- tire in the inside of the outer case; and aristotle having noticed its resemblance to a lantern, it has often gone by the whimsical name of the lantern of aristotle. in all articulated animals which subsist on solid aliment, the apparatus for the prehension and mastication of the food, situated in the mouth, is exceedingly complicated, and ad- mits of great diversity in the different tribes; and, indeed, the number and variety of the parts of which it consists is so great, as hardly to admit of being comprehended in any general description. in most insects, also, their minuteness is an additional obstacle to the accurate observation of their anatomy, and of the mechanism of their action. the re- searches, however, of savigny," and other modern entomo- logists, have gone far to prove, that, amidst the infinite va- riations observable in the form and arrangement of the se- veral parts of these organs, there is still preserved, in the general plan of their construction, a degree of uniformity quite as great as that which has been remarked in the fabric of the vertebrated classes. not only may we recognise, in every instance, the same elements of structure, but we may also trace regular chains of gradation, connecting forms ap- - * see his “théorie des organes de la bouche des animaux invertèbrés et articulés,” which forms the first part of the “mémoires sur les animaux sans vertèbres.” paris, . jaws of the echin us. parently most remote, and organs destined for widely dif- ferent uses: so that even when there has been a complete change of purpose, we still perceive the same design fol- lowed, the same model copied, and the same uniformity of plan preserved in the construction of the organs of every kind of mastication; and there prevails in them the same unity of system as is displayed in so marked a manner in the conformation of the organs of progressive motion. the jaws, which, in one tribe of insects, are formed for breaking down and grinding the harder kinds of food, are, in another, fitted for tearing asunder the more tough and fibrous tex- tures; they are fashioned, in a third, into instruments for taking up the semi-fluid honey prepared by flowers; while, again, in a fourth, they are prolonged and folded into a tu- bular proboscis, capable of suction, and adapted to the drink- ing of fluid aliment. pursuing the examination of these or- gans in another series of articulated animals, we find them gradually assuming the characters, as well as the uses, of instruments of prehension, of weapons for warfare, of pillars for support, of levers for motion, or of limbs for quick pro- gression. some of these remarkable metamorphoses of or- gans have already attracted our attention, in a former part of this treatise.” jaws pass into feet, and feet into jaws, through every intermediate form; and the same individual often exhibits several steps of these transitions; and is some- times provided also with supernumerary organs of each de- scription. in the arachnida, in particular, we frequently meet with supernumerary jaws, together with various ap- pendices, which present remarkable analogies of form with the attennae, and the legs and feet of the crustacea. the principal elementary parts which enter into the com- position of the mouth of an insect, when in its most perfect state of development, are the seven following: a pair of up- per jaws, a pair of lower jaws, an upper and a lower lip, and a tongue.t these parts in the loeusta viridissima, or com- * vol. i. p. . f all these parts, taken together, were termed by fabricius instrumenta the wital functions. mon grasshopper, are delineated in their relative situations, but detached from one another, in fig. . the upper jaws, (m.) which are termed the mandibles, are those prin- cipally employed for the mastication of hard substances; they are, accordingly, of greater strength than the lower jaws, and their edges are generally deeply serrated, so as to act like teeth in dividing and bruising the food. some of these teeth are pointed, others wedge-shaped, and others broad, like grinders; their form being, in each particular case, adapted to the mechanical texture of the substances to which they are designed to be applied. thus, the mandi- bles of some melolonthae have a projection, rendered rough by numerous deep transverse furrows, converting it into a file for wearing down the dry leaves, which are their natural food.” in most cases, indeed, we are, in like manner, ena- bled, from a simple inspection of the shape of the teeth, to cibaria; and upon their varieties of structure he founded his celebrated sys- tem of entomological classification. kirby and spence have denominated them trophi. see their introduction to entomology, vol. iii. p. . to the seven elements above enumerated, savigny adds, in the hemiptera, an eighth, which he terms the epiglossa. * knoch, quoted by kirby. jaws of insects. form tolerably accurate ideas of the kind of food on which the insect naturally subsists.” above, or rather in front of the mandibles, is situated the labrum, or upper lip (u.) it is usually of a hard or horny texture, and admits of some degree of motion: but its form and direction are exceedingly various in different tribes of insects. the lower pair of jaws (j,) or marillae, as they have been termed, are behind the mandibles, and between them is situated the labium, or lower lip (l,) which closes the mouth below, as the labrum does above. in the grass- hopper, each maxilla consists of an outer and an inner plate (o and .) the jaws of insects are confined, by their arti- culations with the head, to motions in a horizontal plane only, so that they open and close by a lateral movement, and not vertically upwards and downwards, as is the case with the jaws of vertebrated animals. the maxillae are, in most cases, employed principally for holding the substances on which the dividing or grinding apparatus of the mandibles is exerted. a similar use may be assigned also to the or- gans denominated palpi, or . ntennulae (p, q,) which are jointed filaments, or processes, attached to different parts of the mouth, and most usually to the maxillae and the labium; the former (p) being termed the marillary, and the latter (q) the labial palpi. in addition to these parts, another, which, from its supposed use, has been denominated glossa, or tongue (g,) is also generally found. for an account of the various modifications which these parts receive in different tribes and species, i must refer to works which treat professedly of this branch of comparative anatomy. i shall content myself with giving a single exam- ple of the conversion of structure here alluded to, in that of the rostrum, or proboscis of the cimer nigricornis. this insect belongs to the order hemiptera, which has been usually characterized as being destitute of both mandibles * see a memoir by marcel des serres, in the annales du muséum d'hist. nat. xiv. . the vital functions. and jaws, and as having, instead of these parts, an apparatus of very different construction, designed to pierce the skin of animals, and suck their juices. but savigny, on applying the principles of his theory, has recognised, in the proboscis of the cimex, the existence of all the constituent elements that are found in the mouth of insects formed for the masti- cation of solid food. this proboscis consists of four elon- gated filaments, contained in a kind of sheath: these fila- ments are represented in fig. , se- parated to a little distance from each other, in order that their respective origins may be distinctly seen; the one set (q) being prolongations of the man- dibles (j,) and the other set (p) being, in like manner, prolongations of the maxillae (m.) between these filaments, and near their commencement, is seen a pointed cartilaginous body (g,) which is the glossa, or tongue; and the aper- ture seen at its root is the passage into the oesophagus. the sheath is merely the elongated labium, of which the base is seen at l, in fig. ; but is represented, in its whole length, in fig. , where the groove for con- taining the filaments above described, j is apparent. in the mouths of the annelida we often meet with hard bodies, which serve the purposes of jaws and of teeth. the retractile proboscis of the aphro- dite, or sea-mouse, is furnished with four teeth of this de- scription. the leech has, immediately within its lips, three semi-circular teeth, with round and sharp cutting edges: they are delineated in fig. , in their relative po- sitions; and fig. represents one of the teeth detached from the rest. it is with these teeth that the leech pierces the skin of the animals whose blood it sucks; and, as soon as jaws of insects. the wound is inflicted, the teeth, being moveable at their base, fall back, leaving the opening of the mouth free for sucking. the wound thus made is of a peculiar form, being composed of three lines, radiating from a centre, where the three teeth had penetrated. most of the mollusca which inhabit univalve shells are provided with a tubular organ, of a cylindric or conical shape, capable of elongation and contraction, by circular and longitudinal muscular fibres, and serving the purpose of a proboscis, or organ of prehension, for seizing and conveying food into the mouth. these tubes are of great size in the buccinum, the murea, and the poluta, as also in the doris, which, though it has no shell, is likewise a gastero- pode. in those mollusca of this order which have not a proboscis, as the limaa, or slug, the helia, or snail, and the aplysia, or sea-hare, the mouth is furnished with broad lips, and is supported by an internal cartilage, º º having several tooth-like projections, which assist º in laying hold of the substances taken as food. that of the snail is represented in fig. . all the sepiae, or cuttle fish tribe, are furnished, at the entrance of the mouth, with two horny jaws, having a re- markable resemblance to the bill of a parrot; excepting that the lower piece is the larger of the two, and covers the up- per one, which is the reverse of what takes place in the parrot. these constitute a powerful instrument for break- ing the shells of the mollusca and crustacea, which compose the usual prey of these animals. fishes almost always swallow their food entire, so that their jaws and teeth are employed principally as organs of prehension and detention; and the upper jaw, as well as the lower one, being moveable upon the cranium, they are ca- pable of opening to a great width. the bony pieces which compose the jaws are more numerous than the correspond- ing bones in the higher classes of vertebrata, and they ap- pear, therefore, as if their development had not proceeded the vital functions. sufficiently far to effect their consolidation into more com- pact structures.” fishes which live upon other animals of the same class having a soft texture, are furnished with teeth constructed merely for seizing their prey, and perhaps also for slightly di- viding it, so as to adapt it to being swallowed. these teeth are of various shapes, though usually sharp at the points, and either conical or hooked at the extremity, with the points al- ways directed backwards, in order to prevent the escape of the animal which has been seized. those fishes which subsist on testaceous mollusca have teeth with grinding surfaces, and their jaws are also adapted for mastication. every part of the mouth, tongue, and even throat, may afford lodgement for teeth in this class of animals. almost the whole cavity of the mouth of the narrhichas lupus, or wolf-fish, may be said to be paved with teeth, a triple row being implanted on each side; so that this fish exerts great power in breaking shells. the shark has numerous rows of sharp teeth, with serrated margins: these, at first sight, appear to be formidable instru- ments; but as the teeth in the opposite jaws do not meet, it is evident that they are not intended for cutting, like the incisors of mammalia. among reptiles we find the batrachia almost wholly des- titute of teeth. frogs, indeed, exhibit two rows of very fine points; the one in the upper jaw, and the other passing trans- versely across the palate: they may be considered as teeth existing in a rudimental state; for they are not sufficiently developed to be useful in mastication. there are about forty of these minute teeth on each side in the frog. in the salamander, there are sixty above and below; and also thirty on each side of the palate. the tongue of the frog is of great length; its root is at- tached close to the fore part of the lower jaw, while its point, * attempts have been made to trace analogies between the different seg- ments of the jaws of fishes and corresponding parts of the mouths of crus- tacea and of insects: but the justness of these analogies is yet far from being satisfactorily proved. jaws of birds. which is cloven, is turned backwards, extending into the throat and acting like a valve in closing the air passage into the lungs. iſ, when this animal has approached within a certain distance of the insect it is about to seize, we watch it with attention, we are surprised to observe the insect suddenly disappear, without our being able to perceive what has become of it. this arises from the frog having-darted out its tongue upon its victim with such extreme quickness, and withdrawn it with the insect adhering to it, so rapidly, that it is scarcely possible for the eye to follow it in its mo- tion. the chameleon also has a very long and slender tongue, the extremity of which is dilated into a kind of club or spoon, and covered with a glutinous matter: with this instrument the animal catches insects from a considera- ble distance, by a similar manoeuvre to that practised by the frog." - serpents and lizards have generally curved or conical teeth, calculated rather for tearing and holding the food, than for masticating it: like those of fishes, they are affixed partly to the jaws, and partly to the palate. the chelonian rep- tiles have no teeth, their office being supplied by the sharp cutting edges of the horny portion of the jaws. birds as well as serpents have a moveable upper jaw; but they are also provided with beaks of various forms, in which we may trace an exact adaptation to the kind of food appro- priated to each tribe; thus, predaceous birds, as the cagle and the hawk tribe, have an exceedingly strong hooked beak, for tearing and dividing the flesh of the animals on which they prey; while those that feed on insects, or on grain, have pointed bills, adapted to picking up minute objects. aquatic birds have generally flattened bills, by which they can best select their food among the sand, the mud, or the weeds at the bottom of the water; and their edges are fre- quently serrated, to allow the fluid to filter through, while * mr. houston has given a description of the structure of this organ, and of the muscles by which it is moved, in a paper contained in the transactions of the royal irish academy, vol. xv. p. . voi. ii. the vital functions. the solid portions are retained in the mouth. the duck aſ- fords an instance of this structure; which is, however, still more strongly marked in the genus mergus, or mergansor, where the whole length of the margin of the bill is beset with small sharp pointed teeth, directed backwards: they are particularly conspicuous in the mergus serrator, or red- breasted mergansor. the object of the barbs and fringed processes which are appended to the tongue in many birds, such as that of the toucan and the parrakeet, appears in like manner, to be the detention of substances introduced into the mouth. . the beak of the haematopus, or oyster-catcher, has a wedge shape, and acts like an oyster-knife for opening bi- valve shells. - in the loria curvirostra, or cross-bill, the upper and lower mandibles cross each other when the mouth is closed, a structure which enables this bird to tear open the cones of the pine and fir, and pick out the seeds, by insinuating the bill between the scales. it can split cherry stones with the utmost ease, and in a very short time, by means of this pe- culiarly shaped bill." birds which dive for the purpose of catching fish have often a bill of considerable length, which enables them to secure their prey, and changes its position till it is adapted for swallowing. - the rhynchops, or black skimmer, has a very singular- ly formed beak; it is very slender, but the lower mandible very much exceeds in length the upper one, so that while skimming the waves in its flight, it cuts the water like a plough-share, catching the prey which is on the surface of the sea. the woodpecker is furnished with a singular apparatus for enabling it to dart out with great velocity its long and pointed tongue, and transfix the insects on which it princi- pally feeds; and these motions are performed so quickly * see a paper on the mechanism of the bill of this bird, by mr. yarrell, in the zoological journal, iv. . tongue of the woodpecker. that the eye can scarcely follow them. this remarkable mechanism is delineated in fig. , which represents the head of the woodpecker, with the skin removed, and the parts dissected. the tongue itself (t) is a slender sharp- pointed horny cylinder, having its extremity (b) beset with barbs, of which the points are directed backwards: it is sup- ported on a slender os hyoides, or lingual bone, to the posterior end of which the extremities of two very long and narrow cartilaginous processes are articulated.* the one on the right side is shown in the figure, nearly in the whole extent of its course, at c, d, e, f, and a small portion of the left cartilage is seen at l. the two cartilages form, at their junction with the tongue, a very acute angle, slightly di- verging as they proceed backwards; until, bending down- wards (at c,) they pass obliquely round the sides of the neck, connected by a membrane (m;) then, being again in- flected upwards, they converge towards the back of the head, where they meet, and, being enclosed in a common sheath, are conducted together along a groove, which ex- tends forwards, along the middle line of the cranium (e.,) till it arrives between the eyes. from this point, the groove * these cartilages correspondin situation, at the part, at least, where they are joined to the os hyoides, to what are called the cornua, or horns of that bone, in other animals. w the wital functions. and the two cartilages it contains, which are now more closely conjoined, are deflected towards the right side, and terminate at the edge of the aperture of the right nostril (f) into which the united cartilages are finally inserted. in order that their course may be seen more distinctly, these cartilages are represented in the figure (at d.) drawn out of the groove provided to receive and protect them.” a long and slender muscle is attached to the inner margin of each of these cartilages, and their actions conspire to raise the lower and most bent parts of the cartilages, so that their curvature is diminished, and the tongue protruded to a con- siderable distance, for the purpose of catching insects. as soon as this has been accomplished, these muscles being suddenly relaxed, another set of fibres, passing in front of the anterior portion of the cartilages nearly parallel to them, are thrown into action, and as suddenly retract the tongue into the mouth, with the insect adhering to its barbed ex- tremity. this muscular effort is, however, very materially assisted by the long and tortuous course of these arched cartilages, which are nearly as elastic às steel springs, and effect a considerable saving of muscular power. this was the more necessary, because, while the bird is on the tree, it repeats these motions almost incessantly, boring holes in the bark, and picking up the minutest insects, with the ut- most celerity and precision. on meeting with an ant-hill, the woodpecker easily lays it open by the combined efforts of its feet and bill, and soon makes a plentiful meal of the ants and their eggs. among the mammalia which have no teeth, the myrme- cophaga, or ant-eater, practises a remarkable manoeuvre for catching its prey. the tongue of this animal is very long and slender, and has a great resemblance to an earth- worm: that of the two-toed ant-eater is very nearly one- third of the length of the whole body; and at its base is * s is the large salivary gland on the right side. - f an account of this mechanism is given by mr. waller, in the phil. trans. for , p. . tongue of the ant-eater. : scarcely thicker than a crow-quill. it is furnished with a long and powerful muscle, which arises from the sternum, and is continued into its substance, affording the means of a quick retraction, as well as lateral motion; while its elonga- tion and other movements are effected by circular fibres, which are exterior to the former. when laid on the ground in the usual track of ants, it is soon covered with these in- sects, and being suddenly retracted, transfers them into the mouth; and as, from their minuteness, they require no mas- tication, they are swallowed undivided, and without there being any necessity for teeth. - the lips of quadrupeds are often elongated for the more ready prehension of food, as we see exemplified in the rhi- noceros, whose upper lip is so extensible as to be capable of performing the office of a small proboscis. the sorea, mos- chatus, or musk shrew, whose favourite food is leeches, has likewise a very moveable snout, by which it gropes for, and seizes its prey from the bottom of the mud. more fre- quently, however, this office of prehension is performed by the tongue, which for that purpose is very flexible and much elongated, as we see in the cameleopard, where it acts like a hand in grasping and bringing down the branches of a tree.* in the animals belonging to the genus felis, each of the papillae of the tongue is armed with a horny sheath termi- nating in a sharp point, which is directed backwards, so as to detain the food and prevent its escape. these prickles are of great size and strength in the larger beasts of prey, as the lion and the tiger; they are met with also in the opossum, and in many species of bats, more especially those belonging to the genus pteropus: all these horny produc- tions have been regarded as analogous to the lingual teeth of fishes, already noticed. the mouth of the ornithorhyncus has a form of con- struction intermediate between that of quadrupeds and * home, lectures, &c. vi. plate . the wital functions. birds; being furnished, like the former, with grinding teeth at the posterior part of both the upper and lower jaws, but they are of a horny substance; and the mouth is terminated in front by a horny bill, greatly resembling that of the duck, or the spoon-bill. the whale is furnished with a singular apparatus de- signed for filtration on a large scale. the palate has the form of a concave dome, and from its sides there descends vertically into the mouth, a multitude of thin plates set pa- rallel to each other, with one of their edges directed towards the circumference, and the other towards the middle of the palate. these plates are known by the name of whalebone, and their general form and appearance, as they hang from the roof of the palate, are shown in fig. , which represents only six of these plates.” they are connected to the bone by means of a white ligamen- tous substance, to which they are im- mediately attached, and from which they appear to grow: at their inner margins, the fibres, of which their tex- ture is throughout composed, cease to adhere together; but being loose and detached, form a kind of fringe, calcu- lated to intercept, as in a sieve, all so- lid or even gelatinous substances that may have been admitted into the cavity of the mouth, which is exceedingly ca- pacious; for as the plates of whalebone grow only from the margins of the up- per jaw, they leave a large space with- in, which, though narrow anteriorly, is wider as it extends backwards, and is capable of holding a large quantity of * in the piked whale the plates of whalebone are placed very near to- gether, not being a quarter of an inch asunder; and there are above three hundred plates in the outer rows on each side of the mouth. mouth of the whale. water. thus, the whale is enabled to collect a whole shoal of mollusca, and other small prey, by taking into its mouth the sea water which contains these animals, and allowing it to drain off through the sides, after passing through the in- terstices of the net work formed by the filaments of the whalebone. some contrivance of this kind was even neces- sary to this animal, because the entrance into its cesophagus is too narrow to admit of the passage of any prey of consi- derable size; and it is not furnished with teeth to reduce the food into smaller parts. the principal food of the balana mysticetus, or great whalebone whale of the arctic seas, is the small clio borealis, which swarms in immense num- bers in those regions of the ocean; and which has been al- ready delineated in fig. .” these remarkable organs for filtration entirely supersede the use of ordinary teeth; and, accordingly, no traces of teeth are to be discovered either in the upper or lower jaw. yet a tendency to conform to the type of the mammalia is manifested in the early conformation of the whale; for rudi- ments of teeth exist in the interior of the lower jaw before birth, lodged in deep sockets, and forming a row on each side. the development of these imperfect teeth proceeds no farther; they even disappear at a very early period, and the groove which contained them closes over, and, after a short time, can no longer be seen. for the discovery of this curious fact we are indebted to geoffroy st. hilaire.f in connexion with this subject, an analogous fact, which has been noticed in the parrot, may here be mentioned. the young of the parrot, while still in the egg, presents a row of tubercles along the edge of the jaw, in external appearance exactly resembling the rudiments of teeth, but without being implanted into regular sockets in the maxillary bones: they are formed, however, by a process precisely similar to that of dentition; that is, by deposition from a vascular pulp, connected with the jaw. these tubercles are afterwards * vol. i. p. . f cuvier, ossemens fossiles, me edition, tom. v. p. . the vital functions. consolidated into one piece in each jaw, forming, by their union, the beak of the parrot, in a manner perfectly analo- gous to that which leads to the construction of the compound tooth of the elephant, and which i shall presently describe. the original indentations are obliterated as the beak ad- vances in growth; but they are permanent in the bill of the duck, where the structure is very similar to that above de- scribed in the embryo of the parrot. § . mastication by means of teeth. the teeth, being essential instruments for seizing and holding the food, and effecting that degree of mechanical di- vision necessary to prepare it for the chemical action of the stomach, perform, of course, a very important part in the economy of most animals; and in none more so than in the mammalia, the food of which generally requires considera- ble preparation previously to its digestion. there exist, ac- cordingly, the most intimate relations between the kind of food upon which each animal of this class is intended by na- ture to subsist, and the form, structure, and position of the teeth; and these relations may, indeed, be also traced in the shape of the jaw, in the mode of its articulation with the head, in the proportional size and distribution of the mus- cles which move the jaw, in the form of the head itself, in the length of the neck, and its position on the trunk, and, indeed, in the whole conformation of the skeleton. but since the nature of the appropriate food is at once indicated by the structure and arrangement of the teeth, it is evident that these latter organs, in particular, will afford to the na- turalist most important characters for establishing a systema- tic classification of animals, and more especially of quadru- peds, where the differences among the teeth are very consi- derable; and these differences have, accordingly, been the objects of much careful study. to the physiologist they present views of still higher interest, by exhibiting most offices of the teeth. w striking evidences of the provident care with which every part of the organization of animals has been constructed, in exact reference to their respective wants and destinations. the purposes answered by the teeth are principally those of seizing and detaining whatever is introduced into the mouth, of cutting it asunder, and dividing it into smaller pieces, of loosening its fibrous structure, and of breaking down and grinding its harder portions. occasionally, some particular teeth are much enlarged, in order to serve as weapons of attack or defence; for which purpose, they ex- tend beyond the mouth, and are then generally denominated tusks; this we see exemplified in the elephant, the narwhal, the walrus, the hippopotamus, the boar, and the babi- foussa. four principal forms have been given to teeth, which ac- cordingly may be distinguished into the conical, the sharp- edged, the flat and the tuberculated teeth; though we occa- sionally find a few intermediate modifications of these forms. it is easy to infer the particular functions of each class of teeth, from the obvious mechanical actions to which, by their form, they are especially adapted. the conical teeth, which are generally also sharp-pointed, are principally em- ployed in seizing, piercing, and holding objects: such are the offices which they perform in the crocodile, and other saurian reptiles, where all the teeth are of this structure; and such are also their uses in most of the cetacea, where similar forms and arrangements of teeth prevail. all the dolphin tribe, such as the porpus, the grampus, and the dolphin, are furnished with a uniform row of conical teeth, set round both jaws, in number amounting frequently to two hundred. fig. , which represents the jaws of the por- pus, shows the form of these simply prehensile teeth. the cachalot has a similar row of teeth, which are, how- ever, confined to the lower jaw. all these animals subsist upon fish, and their teeth are therefore constructed very much on the model of those of fish; while those cetacea, on the other hand, which are herbivorous, as the manatus and vol. ii. #! the vital functions. the dugong, or indian walrus, have teeth very differently formed. the tusks of animals must necessarily, as respects their shape, be classed among the conical teeth. the sharp-edged teeth perform the office of cutting and dividing the yielding textures presented to them; they act individually as wedges or chisels, but when co-operating with similar teeth in the opposite jaw, they have the power of cutting like shears or scissors. the flat teeth, of which the surfaces are generally rough, are used in conjunction with those meeting them in the opposite jaw for grinding down the food by a lateral motion, in a manner analogous to the operation of mill-stones in a mill. the tuberculated teeth, of which the surfaces present a number of rounded eminences, corresponding to depressions in the teeth op- posed to them in the other jaw, act more by their direct pressure in breaking down hard substances, and pounding them, as they would be in a mortar. the position of the teeth in the jaws has been another ground of distinction. in those mammalia which exhibit the most complete set of teeth, the foremost in the row have the sharp-edged or chisel shape, constituting the blades of a cutting instrument; and they are accordingly denominated incisors. the incisors of the upper jaw are always im- planted in a bone, intermediate between the two upper jaw bones, and called the intermarillary bones.” the conical * those teeth of the lower jaw which correspond with the incisors of the upper jaw, are also considered as incisors. in man, and in the species of quadrumana that most nearly resemble him, the sutures which divide the in- termaxillary from the maxillary bones are obliterated before birth, and leave in the adult no trace of their former existence, teeth of cetacea. teeth, immediately following the incisors, are called cuspi- date, or canine teeth, from their being particularly conspi- cuous in dogs; as they are, indeed, in all the purely carnivo- rous tribes. in the larger beasts of prey, as the lion and the tiger, they become most powerful weapons of destruction: in the boar they are likewise of great size, and constitute the tusks of the animal. all the teeth that are placed farther back in the jaw are designated by the general name of molar teeth, or grinders, but it is a class which includes several different forms of teeth. those teeth which are situated next to the canine teeth, partake of the conical form, having pointed eminences; these are called the false molar teeth, and, also, from their having generally two points, or cusps, the bicuspidate teeth. the posterior molar teeth are diffe- rently shaped in carnivorous animals, for they are raised into sharp and often serrated ridges, having many of the proper- ties of cutting teeth. in insectivorous and frugivorous ani- mals their surface presents prominent tubercles, either point- ed or rounded, for pounding the food; while in quadrupeds that ſeed on grass or grain they are flat and rough, for the purpose simply of grinding. the apparatus for giving motion to the jaws is likewise varied according to the particular movements required to act upon the food in the different tribes. the articulation of the lower jaw with the temporal bone of the skull, approaches to a hinge joint; but considerable latitude is allowed to its motions by the interposition of a moveable cartilage between the two surfaces of articulation, a contrivance admirably an- swering the intended purpose. hence, in addition to the principal movements of opening and shutting, which are made in a vertical direction, the lower jaw has also some de- gree of mobility in a horizontal or lateral direction, and is likewise capable of being moved backwards or forwards, to a certain extent. the muscles which effect the closing of the jaw are principally the temporal and the masseter mus- cles; the former occupying the hollow of the temples, the latter connecting the lower angle of the jaw with the zygo- the wital functions. matic arch. the lateral motions of the jaw are effected by muscles placed internally between the sides of the jaw and the basis of the skull. in the conformation of the teeth and jaws, a remarkable contrast is presented between carnivorous and herbivorous animals. in the former, of which the tiger, fig. , may be taken as an example, the whole apparatus for mastication is calculated for the destruction of life, and for tearing and dividing the fleshy fibres. the molar teeth are armed with pointed eminences, which correspond in the opposite jaws so as exactly to lock into one another, like wheel-work, when the mouth is closed. all the muscles which close the jaw are of enormous size and strength, and they imprint the bones of the skull with deep hollows, in which we trace marks of the most powerful action. the temporal muscles occupy the whole of the sides of the skull (t, t;) and by the continuance of their vigorous exertions, during the growth of the animal, alter so considerably the form of the bones, that the skulls of the young and the old animals are often with difficulty recognised as belonging to the same species.” the process of the lower jaw (seen between t and t,) to which this temporal muscle is attached, is large and promi- nent; and the arch bone (z,) from which the masseter arises, takes a wide span outwards, so as to give great strength to * this is remarkably the case with the bear, the skull of which exhibits, in old animals, alarge vertical crest, not met with at an early period of life. jaws. and teeth of herbivora. the muscle. the condyle, or articulating surface of the jaw (c,) is received into a deep cavity, constituting a strictly hinge joint, and admitting simply the motions of opening and shutting. in herbivorous animals, on the contrary, as may be seen in the skull of the antelope, fig. , the greatest force is bestowed, not so much on the motions of opening and shut- ting, as on those which are necessary for grinding, and which act in a lateral direction. the temporal muscles, oc- cupying the space t, are comparatively small and feeble; the condyles of the jaw are broad and rounded, and more loosely connected with the skull by ligaments; the muscles in the interior of the jaw, which move it from side to side, are very strong and thick; and the bone itself is extended downwards, so as to afford them a broad basis of attachment. the surfaces of the molar teeth are flattened and of great extent, and they are at the same time kept rough, like those of mill-stones, their office being in fact very similar to that performed by these implements for grinding. all these circumstances of difference are exemplified in the most marked manner, in comparing together the skulls of the larger beasts of prey, as the tiger, the wolf, or the bear, with those of the antelope, the horse, or the ox. the rodentia, or gnawing quadrupeds, which i have al- ready had occasion to notice, compose a well-marked family of mammalia. these animals are formed for subsisting on the vital functions. dry and tough materials, from which but little nutriment can be extracted; such as the bark, and roots, and even the woody fibres of trees, and the harder animal textures, which would appear to be most difficult of digestion. they are all animals of diminutive stature, whose teeth are expressly - formed for gnawing, nibbling, and wearing away by conti- nued attrition, the harder tex- tures of organized bodies. * the rat, whose skull is de- lineated in fig. , belongs to this tribe. they are all furnished with two incisor teeth in each jaw, generally very long, and having the exact shape of a chisel; and the molar teeth have surfaces irregularly marked with raised zigzag lines, rendering them very perfect instruments of tritura- tion. the zygomatic arch is exceedingly slender and fee- ble; and the condyle is lengthened longitudinally to allow of the jaw being freely moved forwards and backwards, which is the motion for which the muscles are adapted, and by which the grinding operation is performed. the beaver, the rat, the marmot, and the porcupine, present exam- ples of this structure, among the omnivorous rodentia: and the hare, the rabbit, the shrew, among those that are principally herbivorous. the quadrumana, or monkey tribes, approach nearest to the human structure in the conformation of their teeth, which appear formed for a mixed kind of food, but are especially adapted to the consumption of the more esculent fruits. the other orders of mammalia exhibit intermediate gradations in the structure of their teeth to those above de- scribed, corresponding to greater varieties in the nature of their food. thus, the teeth and jaws of the hyena are formed more especially for breaking down bones, and in so doing exert prodigious force; and those of the sea otter have rounded eminences, which peculiarly fit them for breaking shells. structure of teeth. the teeth, though composed of the same chemical ingre- dients as the ordinary bones, differ from them by having a greater density and compactness of texture, whence they derive that extraordinary degree of hardness which they re- quire for the performance of their peculiar office. the sub- stances of which they are composed are of three different kinds: the first, which is the basis of the rest, constituting the solid nucleus of the tooth, has been considered as the part most analogous in its nature to bone, but from its much greater density, and from its differing from bone in the mode of its formation, the name of ivory has been ge- nerally given to it. its earthy ingredient consists almost entirely of phosphate of lime, the proportion of the carbo- nate of that earth entering into its composition being very small; and the animal portion is albumen, with a small quan- tity of gelatin. - a layer of a still harder substance, termed the enamel, usually covers the ivory, and, in teeth of the simplest struc- ture, forms the whole of their outer surface: this is the case with the teeth of man and of carnivorous quadrupeds. these two substances, and the direction of their layers, are seen in fig. , which is the section of a simple tooth. e is the outer case of enamel, o the osseous portion, and p the cavity where the vascular pulp which formed it was lodged. the enamel is composed almost wholly of phosphate of lime, containing no albumen, and scarcely a trace of gelatin; - the vital functions. it is the hardest of all animal substances, and is capable of striking fire with steel. it exhibits a fibrous structure, ap- proaching to a crystalline arrangement, and the direction of its fibres, as shown by the form of its fragments when bro- ken, is every where perpendicular to the surface of the ivory to which it is applied. the ends of the fibres are thus alone exposed to the friction of the substances on which the teeth are made to act; and the effect of that friction in wearing the enamel is thus rendered the least possible. in the teeth of some quadrupeds, as of the rhinoceros, the hippopotamus, and most of the rodentia, the enamel is intermixed with the ivory, and the two so disposed as to form jointly the surface for mastication. in the progress of life, the layers of enamel, being the hardest, are less worn down by friction than those of the ivory, and therefore form prominent ridges on the grinding surface, preserving it always in that rough condition, which best adapts it for the bruising and comminuting of hard substances. the incisors of the rodentia are guarded by a plate of en- amel only on their anterior convex surfaces, so that by the wearing down of the ivory behind this plate, a wedge-like form, of which the enamel constitutes the fine cutting edge, is soon given to the tooth, and is constantly retained as long as the tooth lasts (fig. .) this mode of growth is admi- rably calculated to preserve these chisel teeth fit for use during the whole lifetime of the animal, an object of greater consequence in this description of teeth than in others, which continue to grow only during a limited period. the same arrangement, attended with similar advantages, is adopted in the structure of the tusks of the hippopotamus. in teeth of a more complex structure, a third substance is found, uniting the vertical plates of ivory and enamel, and performing the office of an external cement. this substance has received various names, but it is most commonly known by that of the crusta petrosa: it resembles ivory both in its composition and its extreme hardness; but is generally more opaque and yellow than that substance. structure of teeth. other herbivorous quadrupeds, as the horse, and animals belonging to the ruminant tribe, have also complex teeth com- posed of these three substances; and their grinding surfaces present ridges of enamel intermixed in a more irregular manner with the ivory and crusta petrosa; but still giving the advantage of a very rough surface to the trituration. fig. represents the grinding surface of the tooth of a horse, worn down by long mastication. e is the enamel, marked by transverse lines, showing the direction of its fibres, and enclosing the osseous portion (o,) which is shaded by interrupted lines. an outer coating of enamel (e) is also visible, and between that and the inner coat, the substance called crusta petrosa (c.) marked by waving lines, is seen. on the outside of all there is a plate of bone, which has been left white. in ruminants, the plates of enamel form cres- cents, which are convex outwardly in the lower, and in- wardly in the upper jaw; thus providing for the crossing of the ridges of the two surfaces, an arrangement similar to that which is practised in constructing those of mill-stones. the teeth of the lower jaw fall within those of the upper jaw, so that a lateral motion is required in order to bring their surfaces opposite to each other alternately on both sides. fig. shows the grinding surface of the tooth of a sheep, where the layers of bone are not apparent, there being only two layers of enamel (e.) and one of crusta petrosa (c.) these three component parts are seen to most advantage in a vertical and longitudinal section of the grinding tooth of the elephant, in which they are more completely and equally intermixed than in that of any other animal. fig. presents a vertical section of the grinding tooth of the asiatic elephant, in the early stage of its growth, and highly polished, so as to exhibit more perfectly its three component structures. the enamel, marked e, is formed of transverse fibres; the osseous, or innermost structure is composed of longitudinal plates. the general covering of crusta pe- trosa, c, is less regularly deposited. p is the cavity which had been occupied by the pulp. in this tooth, which is still vol. ii. the vital functions. in a growing state, the fangs are not yet added, but they are, at one part, beginning to be formed. the same tooth, in its usual state, as worn by mastication, gives us a natural and horizontal section of its interior structure, in which the plates of white enamel are seen forming waved ridges. these con- stitute, in the asiatic elephant, a series of narrow transverse bands, (fig. ,) and in the african elephant, a series of lozenge-shaped lines, (fig. ,) having the ivory on their interior, and the yellow crusta petrosa on their outer sides; which latter substance also composes the whole circumfe- rence of the section. § . formation and development of the teeth. few processes in animal development are more remarka- ble than those which are employed to form the teeth; for they are, by no means, the same as those by which ordina- ry bone is constructed; and being commenced at a very ear- ly period, they afford a signal instance of nature’s provident anticipation of the future necessities of the animal. the teeth, being the hardest parts of the body, require a peculiar dentition. system of operations for giving them this extraordinary density, which no gradual consolidation could have impart- ed. the formation of the teeth is, in some respects, analo- gous to that of shell; inasmuch as all their parts, when once deposited, remain as permanent structures, hardly ever ad- mitting of removal or of renewal by the vital powers. un- like the bones, which contain within their solid substance vessels of different kinds, by which they are nourished, mo- dified, and occasionally removed, the closeness of the texture of the teeth is such as to exclude all vessels whatsoever. this circumstance renders it necessary that they should ori- ginally be formed of the exact size and shape which they are ever after to possess: accordingly, the foundation of the teeth, in the young animal, are laid at a very early period of its evolution, and considerable progress has been made in their growth even prior to birth, and long before they can come into use. - a tooth of the simplest construction is formed from blood- vessels, which ramify through small masses of a gelatinous appearance; and each of these pulpy masses is itself enclosed in a delicate transparent vesicle, within which it grows till it has acquired the exact size and shape of the future tooth. each vascular pulp is farther protected by an investing membrane of greater strength, termed its capsule, which is lodged in a small cavity between the two bony plates of the jaw. the vessels of the pulp begin at an early period to deposite the calcareous substance, which is to compose the ivory, at the most prominent points of that part of the vesi- cle, which corresponds in situation to the outer layer of the crown of the tooth. the thin scales of ivory thus formed increase by farther depositions made on their surfaces next to the pulp, till the whole has formed the first, or outer layer of ivory: in the mean time, the inner surface of the capsule, which is in immediate contact with this layer, se- cretes the substance that is to compose the enamel, and de- posites it in layers on the surface of the ivory. this double operation proceeds step by step, fresh layers of ivory being the vital functions. deposited, and building up the body of the tooth, and in the same proportion encroaching upon the cavity occupied by the pulp, which retires before it, until it is shrunk into a small compass. and fills only the small cavity which remains in the centre of the tooth. the ivory has by this time re- ceived from the capsule a complete coating of enamel, which constitutes the whole outer surface of the crown: after which no more is deposited, and the function of the capsule having ceased, it shrivels and disappears. but the formation of ivory still continuing at the part most remote from the crown, the fangs are gradually formed by a similar process from the pulp; and a pressure being thereby directed against the bone of the socket at the part where it is the thinnest, that portion of the jaw is absorbed, and the progress of the tooth is only resisted by the gum; and the gum, in its turn, soon yielding to the increasing pressure, the tooth cuts its way to the surface. this process of successive deposition is beautifully illustrated by feeding a young animal at dif- ferent times with madder; the teeth which are formed at that period exhibiting, in consequence, alternate layers of red and of white ivory.” - the formation of the teeth of herbivorous quadrupeds, which have three kinds of substance, is conducted in a still more artificial and complicated manner. thus, in the ele- phant, the pulp which deposites the ivory is extended in the form of a number of parallel plates; while the capsule which invests it, accompanies it in all its parts, sending down du- plicatures of membrane in the intervals between the plates. hence the ivory constructed by the pulp, and the enamel deposited over it, are variously intermixed; but besides this, the crusta petrosa is deposited on the outside of the enamel. cuvier asserts that this deposition is made by the same cap- sule which has formed the enamel, and which, previously to this change of function, has become more spongy and vascular than before. but his brother, m. frederic cuvier, * cuvier. dictionnaire des sciences médicales, t. viii. p. . dentition. represents the deposite of crusta petrosa, as performed by a third membrane, wholly distinct from the two others, and exterior to them all, although it follows them in all their folds. in the horse and the ox, the projecting processes of the pulp, have more of a conical form, with undulating sides; and hence the waved appearance presented by the enamel, on making sections of the teeth of these animals. the tusks of the elephant are composed of ivory, and are formed precisely in the same manner as the simple conical teeth already described, excepting that there is no outer cap- sule, and therefore no outer crust of enamel. the whole of the substance of the tusk is constructed by successive depo- sites of layers, having a conical shape, from the pulp which occupies the axis of the growing tusk; just as happens in the formation of a univalve shell which is not turbinated, as, for instance, the patella. hence, any foreign substance, a bul- let, for example, which may happen to get within the cavity occupied by the pulp, becomes, in process of time, encrusted with ivory, and remains embedded in the solid substance of the tusk. the pulp, as the growth of the tusk advances, re- tires in proportion as its place is occupied by the fresh de- posites of ivory. the young animal requires teeth long before it has attained its full stature; and these teeth must be formed of dimen- sions adapted to that of the jaw, while it is yet of small size. but, as the jaw enlarges, and the teeth it contains admit not of any corresponding increase, it becomes necessary that they should be shed to make room for others of larger di- mensions, formed in a more capacious mould. provision is made for this necessary change at a very early period of the growth of the embryo. the rudiments of the human teeth begin to form four or five months before birth: they are contained in the same sockets with the temporary teeth, the capsules of both being connected together. as the jaw en- larges, the second set of teeth gradually acquire their full dimensions, and then, by their outward pressure, occasion the vital functions. the absorption of the fangs of the temporary teeth, and, push- ing them out, occupy their places.” as the jaw bone, during its growth, extends principally backwards, the posterior portion, being later in forming, is comparatively of a larger size than either the fore or the la- teral parts; and it admits, therefore, of teeth of the full size, which, consequently, are permanent. the molar teeth, which are last formed, are, for want of space, rather smaller than the others, and are called the wisdom-teeth, because they do not usually make their appearance above the gum till the person has attained the age of twenty. in the negro, however, where the jaw is of greater length, these teeth have sufficient room to come into their places, and are, in gene- ral, fully as large as the other molars. the teeth of carnivorous animals are, from the nature of their food, less liable to be worn, than those of animals living on grain, or on the harder kinds of vegetable sub- stances; so that the simple plating of enamel is sufficient to preserve them, even during a long life. but in many herbi- vorous quadrupeds we find that, in proportion as the front teeth are worn away in mastication, other teeth are formed, and advance from the back of the jaw to replace them. this happens, in a most remarkable manner, in the elephant, and is the cause of the curved form which the roots assume; for, in proportion as the front teeth are worn away, those imme- diately behind them are pushed forwards by the growth of a new tooth at the back of the jaw; and this process goes on continually, giving rise to a succession of teeth, each of which is larger than that which has preceded it, during the whole period that the animal lives. a similar succession of teeth takes place in the wild boar, and, also, though to a less extent, in the sus cethiopicus.t. this mode of dentition * it is stated by rousseau that the shedding of the first molar tooth both of the guinea-pig, and the capibara, and its replacement by the permanent tooth, take place a few days before birth. anatomie comparée du système dentaire, p. . f home, phil. trans, for , p. ; and , p. . dentition. appears to be peculiar to animals of great longevity, and which subsist on vegetable substances containing a large pro- portion of tough fibres, or other materials of great hardness; and requiring for their mastication teeth so large as not to admit of both the old and new tooth being contained, at the same time, in the alveolar portion of the jaw. an expedient of a different kind has been resorted to in the rodentia, for the purpose of preserving the long chisel- shaped incisors in a state fit for use. by the constant and severe attrition to which they are exposed, they wear away very rapidly, and would soon be entirely lost, and the ani- mal would perish in consequence, were it not that nature has provided for their continued growth, by elongation from their roots, during the whole of life. this growth proceeds in the same manner, and is conducted on the same princi- ples, as the original formation of the simple teeth already described: but, in order to effect this object, the roots of these teeth are of great size and length, and are deeply em- bedded in the jaw, in a large bony canal provided for that purpose; and their cavity is always filled with the vascular pulp, from which the continued secretion and deposition of fresh layers, both of ivory and enamel, take place. the tusks of the elephant and of the hippopotamus exhibit the same phenomenon of constant and uninterrupted growth. in the shark, and some other fishes, the same object is attained in a different manner. several rows of teeth are lodged in each jaw, but one only of these rows projects and is in use at the same time; the rest lying flat, but ready to rise in order to replace those that have been broken or worn down. in some fishes, the teeth advance in proportion as the jaw lengthens, and as the fore teeth are worn away: in other cases, they rise from the substance of the jaw, which presents on its surface an assemblage of teeth in different stages of growth: so that, in this class of animals, the great- est variety occurs in the mode of the succession of the teeth. the teeth of the crocodile, which are sharp-pointed hol- the vital functions. low cones, composed of ivory and enamel, are renewed by the new tooth (as is shown at a, in fig. ,) being formed in the cavity of the one (b) which it is to replace, and not being enclosed in any separate cavity of the jaw bone (c.) as this new tooth increases in size, it press- es against the base of the old one, and entering its cavity, acquires the same conical form; so that when the latter is shed, it is already in its place, and fit for immediate use. this succession of teeth, takes place several times during the life of the animal, so that they are sharp and perfect at all ages. the fangs of serpents are furnished, like the stings of nettles, with a receptacle at their base for a poisonous li- quor, which is squeezed out by the pressure of the tooth, at the moment it inflicts the wound, and conducted along a canal, opening near the extremity of the tooth. each fang is lodged in a strong bony socket, and is, by the interven- tion of a connecting bone, pressed forwards whenever the jaw is opened sufficiently wide; and the fang is thus made to assume an erect position. as these sharp teeth are very liable to accidents, others are ready to supply their places when wanted: for which purpose there are commonly pro- vided two or three half-grown fangs, which are connected only by soft parts with the jaw, and are successively moved forwards into the socket to replace those that were lost.* the tube through which the poison flows is formed by the folding in of the edges of a deep longitudinal groove, extending along the greater part of the tooth; an interval being left between these edges, both at the base and extre- mity of the fang, by which means there remain apertures at both ends for the passage of the fluid poison. this struc- ture was discovered by mr. t. smith in the coluber naia, * home, lectures, &c. i. . fangs of serpents. or, cobra de capello; * and is shown in fig. , which represents the full grown tooth, where the slight furrow, in- dicating the junction of the two sides of the original groove, may be plainly seen; as also the two apertures (a and b) above mentioned. this mode of formation of the tube is farther illustrated by fig. , which shows a transverse section of the same tooth, exhibiting the cavity (p) which contains the pulp of the tooth, and which surrounds that of the central tube in the form of a crescent. figures s and are delineations of the same tooth in different stages of growth, the bases of which, respectively, are shown in figures and . figures and are magnified representations of sections of the fangs of another species of serpent, resembling the rattle-snake. fig. is a section of the young fang taken about the middle: in this stage of growth, the cavity which contains the pulp, almost entirely surrounds the poison tube, and the edges of the depression, which form the suture, are seen to be angular, and present so large a surface to each other, that the suture is complete- ly filled up, even in this early stage of growth. fig. is a section of a full-grown fang of the same species of ser- pent, at the same part as the preceding; and here the cavity * philosophical transactions, , p. . vol. ii. the vital functions. of the pulp is seen much contracted from the more advanced stage of growth. it is a remarkable circumstance, noticed by mr. smith, that a similar longitudinal furrow is perceptible on every one of the teeth of the same serpent; and that this appear- ance is most marked on those which are nearest to the poi- sonous fangs: these furrows, however, in the teeth that are not venomous, are confined entirely to the surface, and do not influence the form of the internal cavity. no trace of these furrows is discernible in the teeth of those serpents which are not armed with venomous fangs. among the many instances in which teeth are converted to uses widely different from mastication, may be noticed that of the squalus pristis, or saw-fish, where the teeth are set horizontally on the two lateral edges of the upper jaw, which is prolonged in the form of a snout (seen in a, fig. ,) constituting a most formidable weapon of offence. b is a more enlarged view of a portion of this instrument, seen from the under side. - §. . trituration of food in internal cavities. the mechanical apparatus, provided for triturating the harder kinds of food, does not belong exclusively to the gastric teeth. mouth, or entrance into the alimentary canal, for in many animals we find this office performed by interior organs. among the inferior classes, we find examples of this conforma- tion in the crustacea, the mol- lusca, and above all in insects. thus, there is found in the sto- mach of the lobster, a cartilagi- nous frame-work, in which are --- implanted hard calcareous bodies, having the form, and performing the functions of teeth. they are delineated in fig. , which presents a view of the interior of the stomach of that animal. the tooth a is situated in the middle of this frame, has a rounded conical shape, and is smaller than the others (b, c,) which are placed one on each side, and which resemble in their form broad molar teeth. when these three teeth are brought together by the action of the surrounding muscles, they fit exactly into each other, and are capable of grinding and completely pulverizing the shells of the mollusca introduced into the stomach. these teeth are the result of a secretion of calca- reous matter from the inner coat of that organ, just as the outer shell of the animal is a production of the integu- ment: and at each casting of the shell, these teeth, together with the whole cuticular lining of the stomach to which they adhere, are thrown off, and afterwards renewed by a fresh growth of the same material. in the craw-fish, the gastric teeth are of a different shape, and are more adapted to divide than to grind the food. among the gasteropodous mollusca, se- veral species of bullae have stomachs armed with calcareous plates, which act as cutting or grinding teeth. the bulla aperta has three instruments of this description, as may be seen in fig. , which shows the interior of the stomach of that species. similar organs are found in the bulla lig- the vital functions. naria. the aplysia has a considerable number of these gas- tric teeth. an apparatus of a still more complicated kind is provided in most of the insects belonging to the order of orthoptera; but i shall not enter at present in their de- scription, as it will be more convenient to include them in the general account of the alimentary canal of insects, which will be the subject of future consideration. the internal machinery for grinding is exemplified on the largest scale in granivorous birds; where it forms part of the stomach itself, and is termed a gizzard. it is shown in fig. , representing the interior of the stomach of a swan. both the structure and the mode of operation of this organ bear a striking analo- gy to a mill for grinding corn, for it consists of two powerful mus- cles (g,) of a hemispherical shape, with their flat sides applied to each other, and their edges united by a strong tendon, which leaves a va- cant space of an oval or quadrangular form between their two surfaces. these surfaces are covered by a thick and dense horny substance, which, when the gizzard is in ac- tion, performs an office similar to that of mill-stones. in most birds, there is likewise a sac, or receptacle, termed the craw, (represented laid open at c) in which the food is collected for the purpose of its being dropped, in small quantities at a time, into the gizzard, in proportion as the latter gradually becomes emptied.” thus, the analogy be- tween this natural process and the artificial operation of a corn-mill is preserved even in the minuter details; for while the two flat surfaces of the gizzard act as mill-stones, the craw supplies the place of the hopper, the office of which is * the gastric glands, which are spread over the greater part of the inter- nal surface of the craw, and which prepare a secretion for macerating the grain, are also seen in this part of the figure. action of the gizzard. to allow the grain to pass out in small quantities into the aperture of the upper mill-stone, which brings it within the sphere of their action. innumerable are the experiments which have been made, particularly by reaumur and spallanzani, with a view to ascertain the force of compression exerted by the gizzard on its contents. balls of glass, which the bird was made to swallow with its food, were soon ground to powder: tin tubes, introduced into the stomach, were flattened, and then bent into a variety of shapes; and it was even found that the points of needles and of lancets fixed in a ball of lead, were blunted and broken off by the power of the gizzard, while its internal coat did not appear to be in the slightest degree injured. these results were-long the subject of ad- miration to physiologists; and being echoed from mouth to mouth, were received with a sort of passive astonishment, till hunter directed the powers of his mind to the inquiry, and gave the first rational explanation of the mechanism by which they are produced. he found that the motion of the sides of the gizzard, when actuated by its muscles, is lateral, and at the same time circular; so that the pressure it exerts, though extremely great, is directed nearly in the plane of the grinding surfaces, and never perpendicularly to them; and thus the edges and points of sharp instruments are either bent or broken off by the lateral pressure, without their having an opportunity of acting directly upon those sur- faces. still, however, it is evident that the effects we ob- serve produced upon sharp metallic points and edges, could not be accomplished by the gizzard without some assistance from other sources; and this assistance is procured in a very singular, and, at the same time, very effectual manner. on opening the gizzard of a bird, it is constantly found to contain a certain quantity of small pebbles, which must have been swallowed by the animal. the most natural rea- son that can be assigned for the presence of these stones, is, that they aid the gizzard in triturating the contained food, and that they, in fact, supply the office of teeth in that ope- the vital functions. ration. spallanzani, however, has called in question the soundness of this explanation, and has contended that the pebbles found in the gizzard are swallowed merely by acci- dent, or in consequence of the stupidity of the bird, which mistakes them for grain. but this opinion has been fully and satisfactorily refuted both by fordyce and by hunter, whose observations concur in establishing the truth of the common opinion, that in all birds possessing gizzards, the presence of these stones is essential to perfect digestion. a greater or less number of them is contained in every giz- zard, when the bird has been able to meet with the requi- site supply, and they are never swallowed but along with the food. several hundred were found in the gizzard of a turkey; and two thousand in that of a goose: so great an accumulation could never have been the result of mere ac- cident. if the alleged mistake could ever occur, we should expect it to take place to the greatest extent in those birds which are starving for want of food; but this is far from be- ing the case. it is found that even chickens, which have been hatched by artificial heat, and which could never have been instructed by the parent, are yet guided by a natural instinct in the choice of the proper materials for food, and for assisting its digestion: and if a mixture of a large quan- tity of stones with a small proportion of grain be set before them, they will at once pick out the grain, and swallow along with it only the proper proportion of stones. the best proof of the utility of these substances may be derived from the experiments of spallanzani himself, who ascer- tained that grain is not digested in the stomachs of birds, when it is protected from the effects of trituration. thus, the gizzard may, as hunter remarks, be regarded as a pair of jaws, whose teeth are taken in occasionally to assist in this internal mastication. the lower part of the gizzard consists of a thin muscular bag, of which the office is to digest the food which has been thus triturated. considerable differences are met with in the structure of the gizzards of various kinds of birds, corresponding to dif- salivary apparatus. ferences in the texture of their natural food. in the turkey, the two muscles which compose the gizzard are of unequal strength, that on the left side being considerably larger than that on the right; so that while the principal effort is made by the former, a smaller force is used by the latter to restore the parts to their situation. these muscles produce, by their alternate action, two effects; the one a constant tritura- tion, by a rotatory motion: the other a continued, but oblique, pressure of the contents of the cavity. as this cavity is of an oval form, and the muscle swells inwards, the opposite sides never come into contact, and the interposed materials are triturated by their being intermixed with hard bodies. in the goose and swan, on the contrary, the cavity is flat- tened, and its lateral edges are very thin. the surfaces ap- plied to each other are mutually adapted in their curvatures, a concave surface being every where applied to one which is convex: on the left side, the concavity is above; but on the right side, it is below. the horny covering is much stronger, and more rough, than in the turkey, so that the food is ground by a sliding, instead of a rotatory motion, of the parts opposed, and they do not require the aid of any intervening hard substances of a large size. this motion bears a great resemblance to that of the grinding teeth of ruminating animals, in which the teeth of the under jaw slide upwards, within those of the upper, pressing the food between them, and fitting it, by this peculiar kind of tritu- ration, for being digested." § . deglutition. the great object of the apparatus which is to prepare the food for digestion, is to reduce it into a soft pulpy state, so as to facilitate the chemical action of the stomach upon it: for this purpose, solid food must not only be subjected to mechanical trituration, but it must also be mixed with a cer- * home, phil. trans. for , p. . the vital functions. tain proportion of fluid. hence, all animals that masticate their food are provided with organs which secrete a fluid, called the saliva, and which pour this fluid into the mouth as near as possible to the grinding surfaces of the teeth. these organs are glands, placed in such a situation as to be compressed by the action of the muscles which move the jaw, and to pour out the fluid they secrete in greatest quan- tity, just at the time when the food is undergoing masti- cation. saliva contains a large quantity of water, together with some salts and a little animal matter. its use is not only to soften the food, but also to lubricate the passage through which it is to be conveyed into the stomach; and the quantity secreted has always a relation to the nature of the food, the degree of mastication it requires, and the mode in which it is swallowed. in animals which subsist on ve- getable materials, requiring more complete maceration than those which feed on flesh, the salivary glands are of large size: they are particularly large in the rodentia, which feed on the hardest materials, requiring the most complete tritu- ration; and in these animals we find that the largest quantity of saliva is poured out opposite to the incisor teeth, which are those principally employed in this kind of mastication. in birds and reptiles, which can hardly be said to masti- cate their food, the salivary glands are comparatively of small size; the exceptions to this rule occurring chiefly in those tribes which feed on vegetables, for in these the glands are more considerable.” in fishes there is no structure of this kind provided, there being no mastication performed: and the same observation applies to the cetacea. in the cephalopodous and gasteropodous mollusca, we find a sali- vary apparatus of considerable size: insects, and the anne- lidat also, generally present us with organs which appear to perform a similar office. * the large salivary gland in the woodpecker, is seen at s, fig. , page . f the bunch of filaments, seen at s, fig. (p. ) are the salivary or- gans of the leech. deglutition. the passage of the food along the throat is facilitated by the mucous secretions, which are poured out from a multi- tude of glands interspersed over the whole surface of the membrane lining that passage. the camel, which is formed for traversing dry and sandy deserts, where the atmosphere as well as the soil is parched, is specially provided with a glandular cavity placed behind the palate, and which fur- nishes a fluid for the express purpose of moistening and lu- bricating the throat. in the structure of the oesophagus, which is the name of the tube along which the food passes from the mouth to the stomach, we may trace a similar adaptation to the particular kind of food taken in by the animal. when it is swallowed entire, or but little changed, the oesophagus is a very wide canal, admitting of great dilatation. this is the case with many carnivorous birds, especially those that feed on fishes, where its great capacity enables it to hold, for a considera- ble time, the large fish which are swallowed entire, and which could not conveniently be admitted into the stomach. blumenbach relates that a sea-gull, which he kept alive for many years, could swallow bones of three or four inches in length, so that only their lower ends reached the stomach, and were digested, while their upper ends projected into the osophagus, and descended gradually, in proportion as the former were dissolved. serpents, which swallow animals larger than themselves, have, of course, the oesophagus, as well as the throat, capable of great dilatation, and the food occupies a long time in passing through it, before it reaches the digesting cavity. the turtle has also a capacious oeso- phagus, the inner coat of which is beset with numerous firm and sharp processes, having their points directed towards the stomach; these are evidently intended to prevent the re- turn of the food into the mouth. grazing quadrupeds, who, while they eat, carry their heads close to the ground, have a long opsophagus, with thick muscular coats, capable of ex- erting considerable power in propelling the food in the di- rection of the stomach, which is contrary to that of gravity. vol. ii. the wital functions. § . receptacles for retaining food. provision is often made for the retention of the undigest- ed food in reservoirs, situated in different parts of the mouth, or the oesophagus, instead of its being immediately intro- duced into the stomach. these reservoirs are generally em- ployed for laying in stores of provisions for future consump- tion. many quadrupeds have cheek pouches for this purpose: this is the case with several species of monkeys and ba- boons; and, also, with the mus cricetus, or hamster. the mus busarius, or canada rat, has enormous cheek pouches, which, when distended with food, even exceed the bulk of the head. small cheek pouches exist in that singular ani- mal, the ornithorhyncus. the sciurus palmarum, or palm squirrel, is also provided with a pouch for laying in a store of provisions. a remarkable dilatation, in the lower part of the mouth and throat, answering a similar purpose, takes place in the pelican; a bird which displays great dex- terity in tossing about the fish with which it has loaded this bag, till it is brought into the proper position for being swal- lowed. the whale has also a receptacle of enormous size, extending from the mouth to a considerable distance under the trunk of the body. analogous in design to these pouches are the dilatations of the gesophagus of birds, denominated crops. in most birds which feed on grain, the crop is a capacious globular sac, placed in front of the throat, and resting on the furcular bone. the crop of the parrot is represented at c, fig. ; where also, s indicates the cardiac portion of the stomach, and g the gizzard, of that bird. the inner coat of the crop is furnished with numerous glands, which pour out considerable quantities of fluid for macerating and softening the dry and hard texture of the grain, which, for that purpose, remains there for a considerable time. many birds feed their young from the contents of the crop; and, at those seasons its glands are receptacles for retaining food. much enlarged, and very active in preparing their peculiar secretions: this is remarkably the case in the pigeon (fig. ,) which, instead of a single sac, is provided with two (seen at c, c, fig. ,) one on each side of the oesophagus (o.) the pouting pigeon has the facul- ty of filling these cavities with air, which produces that distend- ed appearance of the throat from which it derives its name. birds of prey have, in general, very small crops, their food not re- quiring any previous softening; but the pulture, which gorges large quantities of flesh at a single meal, has a crop of considerable size, form- ing, when filled, a visible projection in front of the chest. birds which feed on fish have no separate dilatation for this purpose, probably because the great width of the oesophagus, and its having the power of retaining a large mass of food, render the farther dilatation of any particular part of the tube unnecessary. the lower portion of the oesophagus ap- pears often, indeed, in this class of animals, to answer the purpose of a crop, and to effect changes in the food which may properly be considered as a preliminary stage of the digestive process. ( ) chapter whi. digestion. all the substances received as food into the stomach, whatever be their nature, must necessarily undergo many changes of chemical composition before they can gain ad- mission into the general mass of circulating fluids; but the extent of the change required for that purpose will, of course, be in proportion to the difference between the qualities of the nutritive materials in their original, and in their assimi- lated state. the conversion of vegetable into animal mat- ter necessarily implies a considerable modification of proper- ties; but even animal substances, however similar may be their composition to the body which they are to nourish, must still pass through certain processes of decomposition, and subsequent recombination, before they can be brought into the exact chemical state in which they are adapted to the purposes of the living system. the preparatory changes we have lately been occupied in considering, consist chiefly in the reduction of the food to a soft consistence, which is accomplished by destroying the co- hesion of its parts, and mixing them uniformly with the fluid secretions of the mouth; effects which may be considered as wholly of a mechanical nature. the first real changes in its chemical state are produced in the stomach, where it is con- verted into a substance termed chyme; and the process by which this first step in the assimilation of the food is pro- duced, constitutes what is properly termed digestion. nothing has been discovered in the anatomical structure of the stomach, tending to throw any light on the means by which this remarkable chemical change is induced on the digestion. materials it contains. the stomach is, in most animals, a simple sac, composed of several membranes, enclosing thin layers of muscular fibres, abundantly supplied with blood- vessels and with nerves, and occasionally containing struc- tures which appear to be glandular. the human stomach, which is delineated in fig. , exhibits one of the simplest forms of this organ; c being the cardiac portion, or part where the oesophagus opens into it; and p the pyloric por- tion, or that which is near its termination in the intestine. at the pylorus itself, the diameter of the passage is much constricted, by a fold of the inner membrane, which is sur- rounded by a circular band of muscular fibres, performing the office of a sphincter, and completely closing the lower orifice of the stomach, during the digestion of its contents. the principal agent in digestion, as far as the ordinary chemical means are concerned in that operation, is a fluid secreted by the coats of the stomach, termed the gastric juice. this fluid has, in each animal, the remarkable pro- perty of dissolving, or, at least, reducing to a pulp, all the substances which constitute the natural food of that particu- lar species of animal; while it has comparatively but little solvent power over other kinds of food. such is the con- clusion which has been deduced from the extensive re- searches on this subject, made by that indefatigable experi- mentalist, spallanzani, who found, in numberless trials, that the gastric juice taken from the stomach, and put into glass the wital functions. vessels, produced, if kept at the usual temperature of the animal, changes, to all appearance, exactly similar to those which take place in natural digestion.” in animals which feed on flesh, the gastric juice was found to dissolve only animal substances, and to exert no action on vegetable mat- ter; while, on the contrary, that taken from herbivorous ani- mals, acted on grass and other vegetable substances, without producing any effect on flesh; but in those animals, which, like man, are omnivorous, that is, partake indiscriminately of both species of aliment, it appeared to be fitted equally for the solution of both. so accurate an adaptation of the chemical powers of a solvent to the variety of substances employed as food by different animals, displays, in the most striking manner, the vast resources of nature, and the re- fined chemistry she has put in action for the accomplishment of her different purposes. in the stomachs of many animals, as also in the human, it is impossible to distinguish with any accuracy the organi- zation by which the secretion of the gastric juice is effected: but where the structure is more complex, there may be ob- served a number of glandular bodies interspersed in various parts of the internal coats of the stomach. these, which are termed the gastric glands, are distributed in various ways in different instances: they are generally found in greatest number, and often in clusters, about the cardiac ori- fice of the stomach; and they are frequently intermixed with glands of another kind, which prepare a mucilaginous fluid, serving to protect the highly sensible coats of the stomach from injurious impressions. these latter are termed the * the accuracy of this conclusion has been lately contested by m. de montégre, whose report of the effects of the gastric juice of animals out of the body, does not accord with that of spallanzani; but the difference of cir- cumstances in which his experiments were made, is quite sufficient to ac- count for the discrepancy in the results; and those of m. de montégre, there- fore, by no means, invalidate the general facts stated in the text, which have been established by the experiments, not only of spallanzani, but also of reaumur, stevens, leuret, and lassaigne. see alison's outlines of phy- siology and pathology, p. . digestion. mucous glands, and they are often constructed so as to pour their contents into intermediate cavities, or small sacs, which are denominated follicles, where the fluid is collected before it is discharged into the cavity of the stomach. the gastric glands of birds are larger and more conspicuous than those of quadrupeds: but, independently of those which are situated in the stomach, there is likewise found, in almost all birds, at the lower termination of the oesophagus, a large glandular organ, which has been termed the bulbulus glan- dulosus. in the ostrich, this organ is of so great a size as to give it the appearance of a separate stomach. a view of the internal surface of the stomach of the african ostrich is given in fig. ; where c is the cardiac cavity, the coats of which are studded with numerous glands; g, g, are the two sides of the gizzard. fig. shows one of the gas- tric glands of the african ostrich; fig. , a gland from the stomach of the american ostrich, and fig. , a sec- tion of a gastric gland in the beaver, showing the branching of the ducts, which form three internal openings. in birds that live on vegetable food, the structure of the gastric glands is evidently different from that of the corresponding glands in predaceous birds; but as these anatomical details have not as yet tended to elucidate in any degree the pur- the vital functions. poses to which they are subservient in the process of diges- tion, i pass them over as being foreign to the object of our present inquiry.” it is essential to the perfect performance of digestion, that every part of the food received into the stomach should be acted upon by the gastric juice; for which purpose provi- sion is made that each portion shall, in its turn, be placed in contact with the inner surface of that organ. this is the more necessary, as many facts render it probable, as will be noticed more particularly hereafter, that, besides the chemi- cal action of the gastric juice, an influence, derived from the nerves, essentially contributes to the accomplishment of the chemical changes which the food undergoes in the stomach. for this reason it is that the coats of the stomach are pro- vided with muscular fibres, passing, some in a longitudinal, others in a transverse, or circular direction; while a third set have an oblique, or even spiral course.t when the greater number of these muscles act together, they exert a considerable pressure upon the contents of the stomach; a pressure which, no doubt, tends to assist the solvent action of the gastric juice. when different portions act in succes- sion, they propel the food from one part to another, and thus promote the mixture of every portion with the gastric juice. we often find that the middle transverse bands con- tract more strongly than the rest, and continue contracted for a considerable time. the object of this contraction, which divides the stomach into two cavities, appears to be to separate its contents into two portions, so that each may be subjected to different processes; and, indeed, the differ- ences in structure, which are often observable between these two portions of the stomach, would lead to the belief that their functions are in some respects different. * these structures have been examined with great care and minuteness by sir everard home, who has given the results of his inquiries in a series of papers, read from time to time to the royal society, and published in their transactions. f sec fig. , vol. i. p. , and its description, p. . digestion. during digestion the exit of the food from the stomach into the intestine is prevented by the pylorus being closed by the action of its sphincter muscle. it is clear that the food is required to remain for some time in the stomach in order to be perfectly digested, and this closing of the pylo- rus appears to be one means employed for attaining this end; and another is derived from the property which the gastric juice possesses of coagulating, or rendering solid, every animal or vegetable fluid susceptible of undergoing that change. this is the case with fluid albumen; the white of an egg, for instance, which is nearly pure albumen, is very speedily coagulated when taken into the stomach; the same change occurs in milk, which is immediately curdled by the juices that are there secreted, and these effects take place quite independently of any acid that may be present. the object of this change from fluid to solid appears to be to detain the food for some time in the stomach, and thus to allow of its being thoroughly acted upon by the digestive powers of that organ. those fluids which pass quickly through the stomach, and thereby escape its chemical ac- tion, however much they may be in themselves nutritious, are very imperfectly digested, and consequently afford very little nourishment. this is the case with oils, with jelly, and with all food that is much diluted.” hunter ascertained * a diet consisting of too large a proportion of liquids, although it may contain much nutritive matter, yet if it be incapable of being coagulated by the stomach, will not be sufficiently acted upon by that organ to be proper- ly digested, and will not only afford comparatively little nourishment, but be very liable to produce disorder of the alimentary canal. thus, soups will not prove so nutritive when taken alone, as when they are united with a certain proportion of solid food, capable of being detained in the stomach, during a time sufficiently long to allow of the whole undergoing the pro- cess of digestion. i was led to this conclusion, not only from theory, but from actual observation of what took place among the prisoners in the mil- bank penitentiary, in , when on the occasion of the extensive preva- lence of scorbutic dysentery in that prison, dr. p. m. latham and myself were appointed to attend the sick, and inquire into the origin of the disease. among the causes which concurred to produce this formidable malady, one of the most prominent appeared to be an impoverished diet, consisting of a vol. ii. s the vital functions. that this coagulating power belongs to the stomach of every animal which he examined for that purpose, from the most perfect down to reptiles;” and sir e. home has prosecuted the inquiry with the same result, and ascertained that this property is possessed by the secretion from the gastric glands, which communicates it to the adjacent membranes.t the gastric juice has also the remarkable property of cor- recting putrefaction. this is particularly exemplified in animals that feed on carrion, to whom this property is of great importance, as it enables them to derive wholesome nourishment from materials which would otherwise taint the whole system with their poison, and soon prove de- structive to life. it would appear that the first changes which constitute digestion take place principally at the cardiac end of the stomach, and that the mass of food is gradually transferred towards the pylorus, the process of digestion still continuing as it advances. in the rabbit it has been ascertained that food newly taken into the stomach is always kept distinct from that which was before contained in it, and which has begun to undergo a change: for this purpose the new food is introduced into the centre of the mass already in the sto- mach; so that it may come in due time to be applied to the coats of that organ, and be in its turn digested, after the same change has been completed in the latter.f as the flesh of animals has to undergo a less considera- ble change than vegetable materials, so we find the stomachs of all the purely carnivorous tribes consisting only of a mem- branous bag, which is the simplest form assumed by this or- large proportion of soups, on which the prisoners had subsisted for the pre- ceding eight months. a very full and perspicuous account of that disease has been drawn up, with great ability, by my friend dr. p. m. latham, and published under the title of “an account of the disease lately prevalent in the general penitentiary.” london, . * observations on the animal economy, p. . # phil. trans for , p. . # see dr. philip's experimental inquiry into the laws of the vital func- tions, d edition, p. . stomachs of mammalia. gan. but in other cases, as we have already seen, the sto- mach exhibits a division into two compartments by means of a slight contraction; a condition which, as sir e. home has remarked, is sometimes found as a temporary state of the human stomach;" while, in other animals, it is the na- tural and permanent conformation. the rodentia furnish many examples of this division of the cavity into two dis- tinct portions, which exhibit even differences in their struc- ture: this is seen in the dormouse, (fig. ) the beaver, the hare, the rabbit, and the cape hyraa, (fig. .) the first or cardiac portion is often lined with cuticle, while the lower portion is not so lined; as is seen very conspicuously in the stomachs of the solipeda. the stomach of the horse, in particular, is furnished at the cardia, with a spiral fold of the inner, or cuticular membrane, which forms a complete valve, offering no impediment to the entrance of food from the oesophagus, but obstructing the return of any part of the contents of the stomach into that passage.f. this * the figure given of the human stomach, p. , shows it in the state of partial contraction here described. f the total inability of a horse to vomit is probably a consequence of the impediment presented by this valve. see mem. du muséum d'hist. nat. viii. . the vital functions. valve is shown in fig. , which represents an inner view of the cardiac portion of the stomach of the horse; o being the termination of the oesophagus. the stomach of the water rat is composed of two dis- tinct cavities, having a narrow passage of communication: the first cavity is lined with cuticle, and is evidently in- a tended for the maceration of a the food before it is submit- ted to the agents which are to effect its digestion; a process which is completed in the se- cond cavity, provided, for that purpose, with a glandular sur- face. in proportion as nature allows of greater latitude in diet, we find her providing great complication in the digestive appara- tus, and subdividing the stomach into a greater number of ca- vities, each having probably a separate office assigned to it, though concurring in one general effect. a gradation in this respect may be traced through a long line of quadrupeds, such as the hog, the peccari, the porcupine, (fig. ,) and the hippopotamus, where we find the number of separate pouches for digestion amounting to four or five. next to these we may rank the very irregular stomach of the kan- guroo, (fig. ) composed of a multitude of cells, in which the food probably goes through several preparatory processes: and still greater complication is exhibited by the stomachs of the cetacea, as, for example, in that of the porpus (fig. .) as the fishes upon which this animal feeds are swal- lowed whole, and have large sharp bones, which would injure any surface not defended by cuticle, receptacles are provided, in which they may be softened and dissolved, and even con- verted into nourishment, by themselves, and without inter- fering with the digestion of the soft parts. the narrow com- stomachs of mammalia. munications between these several stomachs of the cetacea are probably intended to ensure the thorough solution of their contents, by preventing the exit of all such portions as have not perfectly undergone that process. supernumerary cavities of this kind, belonging to the stomach, are more especially provided in those animals which swallow food either in larger quantity than is imme- diately wanted, or of a nature which requires much prepa- ration previous to digestion. the latter is more particularly the case with the horned ruminant tribes that feed on the leaves or stalks of vegetables, a kind of food, which, in pro- portion to its bulk, affords but little nutriment, and requires, therefore, a long chemical process, and a complicated diges- tive apparatus, in order to extract from it the scanty nutri- tious matter it contains, and prepare it for being applied to the uses of the system. this apparatus is usually considered as consisting of four stomachs; and, in order to convey a distinct idea of this kind of structure, i have selected for re- presentation, in fig. , that of the sheep, of which the four stomachs are marked by the numbers , , , , re- spectively, in the order in which they occur, when traced from the aesophagus (c) to the intestine (p.) the wital functions. the grass, which is devoured in large quantities by these animals, and which undergoes but little mastication in the mouth, is hastily swallowed, and is received into a capacious reservoir, marked in the figure, called the paunch. this cavity is lined internally with a thick membrane, beset with numerous flattened papillae, and is often divided into pouches by transverse contractions. while the food remains in this bag, it continues in rather a dry state; but the moisture with which it is surrounded contributes to soften it, and to pre- pare it for a second mastication; which is effected in the fol- lowing manner. connected with the paunch is another, but much smaller sac ( ,) which is considered as the second sto- mach; and, from its internal membrane being thrown into numerous irregular folds, forming the sides of polygonal cells, it has been called the honey-comb stomach, or reticule. fig. exhibits this reticulated appearance of the inner surface of this cavity. a singular connexion exists between this stomach and the preceding; for, while the oesophagus ap- pears to open naturally into the paunch, there is, on each side of its termination, a muscular ridge, which projects from the orifice of the latter, so that the two together form a chan- nel leading into the second stomach; and thus the food can readily pass from the oesophagus into either of these cavi- ties, according as the orifice of the one or the other is open to receive it. it would appear, from the observations of sir e. home, that liquids drank by the animal pass at once into the second stomach, the entrance into the first being closed. the food contained in the paunch is transferred, by small portions at a time, into this second, or honey-comb stomach, in which there is always a supply of water for moistening the portion of food introduced into it. it is in this latter stomach, then, that the food is rolled into a ball, and thrown up, through the oesophagus, into the mouth, where it is again masticated at leisure, and while the animal is reposing; a process which is well known by the name of chewing the cud, or rumi- nation. stomachs of ruminants. when the mass, after being thoroughly ground down by the teeth, is again swallowed, it passes along the oesophagus into the third stomach ( ,) the orifice of which is brought forward by the muscular bands, forming the two ridges al- ready noticed, which are continued from the second sto- mach, and which, when they contract, effectually prevent any portion of the food from dropping into either of the pre- ceding cavities. in the ox, this third stomach is described by sir e. home, as having the form of a crescent, and as containing twenty-four septa, or broad folds of its inner membrane. these folds are placed parallel to one another, like the leaves of a book, excepting that they are of unequal breadths, and that a narrower fold is placed between each of the broader ones. fig. represents this plicated struc- ture in the interior of the third stomach of a bullock. what- ever food is introduced into this cavity, which is named, from its foliated structure, the many-plies stomach, must pass between these folds, and describe three-fourths of a cir- cle, before it can arrive at the orifice leading to the fourth stomach, which is so near that of the third, that the distance between then does not exceed three inches. there is, how- ever, a more direct channel of communication between the oesophagus and the fourth stomach ( ,) along which milk taken by the calf, and which does not require to be either macerated or ruminated, is conveyed directly from the oeso- phagus to this fourth stomach; for, at that period, the folds of the many-plies stomach are not yet separated, and adhere closely together; and, in these animals, rumination does not take place, till they begin to eat solid food. it is in this fourth stomach, which is called the reed, that the proper di- gestion of the food is performed, and it is here that the coa- gulation of the milk takes place; on which account the coats of this stomach are employed in dairies, under the name of rennet, to obtain curd from milk. a regular gradation in the structure of ruminating sto- machs may be traced in the different genera of this family of quadrupeds. in ruminants with horns, as the bullock the vital functions. and the sheep, there are two preparatory stomachs for re- taining the food previous to rumination, a third for receiving is after it has undergone this process, and a fourth for effect- ing its digestion. ruminants without horns, as the camel, dromedary, and lama, have only one preparatory stomach before rumination, answering the purpose of the two first sto- machs of the bullock; a second, which i shall presently no- tice, and which takes no share in digestion, being employed merely as a reservoir of water; a third, exceedingly small, and of which the office has not been ascertained; and a fourth, which both receives and digests the food after rumination. those herbivorous animals which do not ruminate, as the horse and ass, have only one stomach; but the upper portion of it is lined with cuticle, and appears to perform some pre- paratory office, which renders the food more easily digesti- ble by the lower portion of the same cavity.” the remarkable provision above alluded to in the camel, an animal which nature has evidently intended as the inha- bitant of the steril and arid regions of the east, is that of reservoirs of water, which, when once filled, retain their contents for a very long time, and may minister not only to the wants of the animal that possesses it, but, also, to those of man. the second stomach of the camel has a separate compartment, to which is attached a series of cellular ap- pendages; (exhibited, on a small scale, in fig. :) in these the water is retained by strong muscular bands, which close the orifices of the cells, while the other portions of the sto- mach are performing their usual functions. by the relaxa- tion of these muscles, the water is gradually allowed to mix with the contents of the stomach, and thus the camel is ena- bled to support long marches across the desert, without re- ceiving any fresh supply. the arabs, who traverse those extensive plains, accompanied by these useful animals, are, it is said, sometimes obliged, when faint, and in danger of perishing from thirst, to kill one of their camels, for the sake * home, phil. trans. vo. , p. . idigestion. of the water contained in these reservoirs, which they al- ways find to be pure and wholesome. it is stated by those who have travelled in egypt, that camels, when accustomed to go journeys, during which they are for a long time de- prived of water, acquire the power of dilating the cells, so as to make them contain a more than ordinary quantity, as a supply for their journey.” when the elephant, while travelling in very hot weather, is tormented by insects, it has been observed to throw out from its proboscis, directly upon the part on which the flies fix themselves, a quantity of water, with such force as to dislodge them. the quantity of water thrown out is in pro- portion to the distance of the part attacked, and is common- ly half a pint at a time: and this, mr. pierard, who resided many years in india, has known the elephant to repeat eight or ten times within the hour. the quantity of water at the animal’s command for this purpose, observes sir e. home, cannot, therefore, be less than six quarts. this water is not only ejected immediately after drinking, but six or eight hours afterwards. upon receiving this information, sir e. home examined the structure of the stomach of that animal, and found in it a cavity, like that of the camel, perfectly well adapted to afford this occasional supply of water, which may, at other times, be employed in moistening dry food for the purposes of digestion.* in every series of animals belonging to other classes, a correspondence may be traced, as has been done in the mam- malia, between the nature of their food and the conformation of their digestive organs. the stomachs of birds, reptiles, and fishes, are, with certain modifications, formed very much upon the models of those already described, according as the food consists of animal or of vegetable materials, or presents more or less resistance from the cohesion of its texture. as it would be impossible, in this place, to enter into all the de- * home, lectures on comparative anatomy, vol. i. p. . + supplement to sir e. home's lectures on comparative anatomy, vol. vi. p. . vol. ii. - the wital functions. tails necessary for fully illustrating this proposition, i must content myself with indicating a few of the most general re- sults of the inquiry.” as the food of birds varies, in different species, from the softest animal matter to the hardest grain, so we observe every gradation in their stomachs, from the membranous sac of the carnivorous tribes, which is one extreme, to the true gizzard of granivorous birds, which occupies the other extremity of the series. this gradation is established by the muscular fibres, which surround the former, acquiring, in different tribes, greater extent, and forming stronger mus- cles, adapted to the corresponding variations in the food, more especially as it partakes of the animal or vegetable character. in all the cold-blooded vertebrata, where digestion is not assisted by any internal heat, that operation proceeds more slowly, though in the end not less effectually, than in ani- mals where the contents of the stomach are constantly main- tained at a high temperature. they almost all rank as car- nivorous animals, and have accordingly stomachs, which, however they may vary in their form, are alike simply membranous in their structure, and act by means of the sol- vent power of their secretions. among reptiles, only a few exceptions occur to this rule. the common sea-turtle that is brought to our tables, is one of these; for it is found to feed exclusively on vegetable diet, and chiefly on the sea- weed called zostira maritima, and the structure of its sto- mach corresponds exactly to the gizzard of birds. some tortoises, also, which eat grass, make an approach to the same structure. in fishes, indeed, although the membranous structure of * the comparative anatomy of the stomach has been investigated with great diligence by the late sir e. home, and the results recorded in the pa- pers he communicated, from time to time, to the royal society, and which have been republished in his splendid work, entitled “lectures on compara- tive anatomy,” to which it will be seen that i have been largely indebted for the facts and observations relating to this subject, detailed in the text. digestion in fishes. the stomach invariably accompanies the habit of preying upon other fish, yet there is one species of animal food, namely, shell-fish, which requires to be broken down by powerful means before it can be digested. in many fish, which consume food of this kind, its trituration is effected by the mouth, which is, for this purpose, as i have already noticed in the wolf-fish, armed with strong grinding teeth. but in others, an apparatus similar to that of birds is em- ployed; the office of mastication being transferred to the stomach. thus, the mullet has a stomach endowed with a degree of muscular power, adapting it, like the gizzard of birds, to the double office of mastication and digestion; and the stomach of the gillaroo trout, a fish peculiar to ireland, exhibits, though in a less degree, the same structure. the common trout, also, occasionally lives upon shell-fish, and swallows stones to assist in breaking the shells. among the invertebrated classes we occasionally meet with instances of structures exceedingly analogous to a giz- zard, and probably performing the same functions. such is the organ ſound in the sepia; the earth-worm has both a crop and a gizzard; and insects offer numerous instances, presently to be noticed, of great complexity in the structure of the stomach, which is often provided, not only with a mechanism analagous to a gizzard, but also with rows of gastric teeth. ( s ) chapter viii. chylification. the formation of chyle, or the fluid which is the imme- diate and exclusive source of nutriment to the system, takes place in the intestinal tube, into which the chyme prepared by the stomach is received, and where farther chemical changes are effected in its composition. the mode in which the conversion of chyme into chyle is accomplished, and indeed the exact nature of the changes themselves, being, as yet, very imperfectly known, it is consequently impos- sible to trace distinctly the correspondence which, in all cases, undoubtedly exists between the objects, to be answered and the means employed for their attainment. no doubt can be entertained of the importance of the functions that are performed by structures so large and so complicated as are those composing the alimentary canal, and its various appendages. we plainly perceive that provision is made in the interior of that canal, for subjecting its contents to the action, first, of an extensive vascular and nervous sur- face; and secondly, of various fluid secretions, derived from different sources, and exercising powerful chemical agencies on the digested aliment; that a muscular power is supplied, by means of the layers of circular and longitudinal fibres, contained between the outer and inner coats of the intes- tine,” for exerting a certain pressure on their contents, and for propelling them forwards by a succession of contractions, which constitutes what is termed their peristaltic motion; and lastly, that contrivances are at the same time resorted to for retarding the progress of the aliment in its passage * see vol. i. p. . º chylification. along the canal, so that it may receive the full action of these several agents, and yield the utmost quantity of nutri- ment it is capable of affording. the total length of the intestinal tube differs much in dif- ſerent animals, being in general, as already stated, smaller in the carnivorous tribes, than those which feed on substances of difficult digestion, or affording but little nourishment. in these latter animals, the intestine is always of great length, exceeding that of the body many times; hence it is obliged to be folded into a spiral or serpentine course, forming many convolutions in the abdominal cavity. sometimes, probably for greater convenience of package, instead of these nume- rous convolutions, a similar effect of increasing the surface of the inner membrane is obtained by raising it into a great number of ſolds, which project into the cavity. these folds are often of considerable breadth, contributing not only to the extension of the surface for secretion and absorption, but also to the detention of the materials, with a view to their more complete elaboration. remarkable examples of this kind of structure occur in most of the cartilaginous fishes, when the inner coat of the large in- testine is expanded into a broad fold, which, as is seen in fig. , representing this struc- ture in the interior of the intestine of the shark, takes a spiral course; and this is con- tinued nearly the whole length of the canal, so that the internal surface is much augment- led without any increase in the length of the | intestine.” when the nature of the assimilatory pro- cess is such as to require the complete detention of the food, for a certain time, in particular situations, we find this ob- ject provided for by means of caeca, or separate pouches • structures of this description have a particular claim to attention, from the light they throw on the nature of several fossil remains, lately investi- gated with singular success by dr. buckland. the vital functions. opening laterally from the cavity of the intestine, and having no other outlet. structures of this description have already been noticed in the infusoria,t and they are met with, indeed, in animals of every class, occurring in various parts of the alimentary tube, sometimes even as high as the pyloric por- tion of the stomach, and frequently at the commencement of the small intestine. their most usual situation, however, is lower down, and especially at the part where the tube, af. ter having remained narrow in the first half of its course, is dilated into a wider cavity, which is distinguished from the former by the appellation of the great intestine, and which is frequently more capacious than the stomach itself. it is exceedingly probable that these two portions of the canal perform different functions in reference to the assimilation of the food: but hitherto no clew has been discovered to guide us through the intricacies of this difficult part of physiology; and we can discern little more than the existence already mentioned, of a constant’relation between the nature of the aliment and the structure of the intestines, which are longer, more tortuous, and more complicated, and are furnished with more extensive folds of the inner membrane, and with larger and more numerous caeca, in animals that ſeed on ve- getable substances, than in carnivorous animals of the same class. the class of insects supplies numberless exemplifications of the accurate adaptation of the structure of the organs of as- similation to the nature of the food which is to be convert- ed into nutriment, and of the general principle that vegeta- ble aliment requires longer processes and a more compli- cated apparatus for this purpose, than that which has been al- ready animalized. in the herbivorous tribes, we find the oeso- phagus either extremely dilatable, so as to serve as a crop, or receptacle for containing the food previous to its digestion, or having a distinct pouch appended to it for the same object: to this there generally succeeds a gizzard, or apparatus for * page , of this volume. city lification. trituration, furnished, not merely with a hard cuticle, as in birds, but also with numerous rows of teeth, of various forms, answering most effectually the purpose of dividing, or grind- ing into the minutest fragments, all the harder parts of the food, and thus supplying any deficiency of power in the jaws for accomplishing the same object. thence the aliment, properly prepared, passes into the cavity appropriated for its digestion, which constitutes the true stomach.” in the lower part of this organ a peculiar fluid secretion is often in- termixed with it, which has been supposed to be analogous to the bile of the higher animals. it is prepared by the coats of slender tubes, termed hepatic vessels, which are often of great length, and sometimes branched or tufted, or beset, like the fibres of a feather, with lateral rows of fila- ments, and which float loosely in the general cavity of the body, attached only at their termination, where they open into the alimentary canal. t. in some insects, these tubes are of larger diameter than in others: and in many of the or- thoptera, as we shall presently see, they open into large re- ceptacles, sometimes more capacious than the stomach itself, which have been supposed to serve the purpose of reservoirs of the biliary secretion, pouring it into the stomach on those occasions only when it is particularly wanted for the com- pletion of the digestive process.f * it is often difficult to distinguish the portions of the canal, which cor- respond in their functions to the stomach, and to the first division of the in- testines, or duodenum; so that different naturalists, according to the views they take of the peculiar office of these parts, have applied to the same ca- vity the term of chyliferous stomach, or of duodenum. see the memoir of léon dufour, in the annales des sciences naturelles, ii. . f the first trace of a secreting structure, corresponding to hepatic vessels, is met with in the ./stºrias, where the double row of minute lobes attached to the caecal stomachs of those animals, and discharging their fluid into thcse cavities, are considered by carus, as performing a similar office. the floc- culent tissue which surrounds the intestine of the holothuria, is probably, also, an hepatic apparatus. # a doubt is suggested, by léon dufour, whether the liquid found in these pouches is real bile, or mercly aliment in the progress of assimilation. ann. sc. nat. ii. . the vital functions. the distinction into small and great intestine is more or less marked, in different insects, in proportion to the quan- tities of food consumed, and to its vegetable nature; and in herbivorous tribes, more especially, the dilatations in the lower part of the canal are most conspicuous, as well as the duplicatures of the inner membrane, which constitute im- perfect valves for retarding the progress of the aliment. it is generally at the point where this dilatation of the canal commences, that a second set of hepatic vessels is inserted, having a structure essentially the same as those of the first set, but generally more slender, and uniting into a small number of ducts before they terminate. the number and complication of both these sets of hepatic vessels, appear to have some relation to the existence and development of the gizzard, and consequently, also, to the nature and bulk of the food. vessels of this description are, indeed, constantly found in insects; but it is only where a gizzard exists, that two sets of these secreting organs are provided; and in some larvae, remarkable for their excessive voracity, even three orders of hepatic vessels are met with.” . a muscular power has also been provided, not only for the strong actions exerted by the gizzard, but, also, for the necessary propulsion, in different directions, of the contents both of the stomach and intestinal tubes. the muscular fibres of the latter are distinctly seen to consist of two sets, the one passing in a transverse or circular, and the other in a longitudinal direction. glandular structures, analogous to the mucous follicles of the higher animals, are also plainly distinguishable in the internal coat of the canal, more espe- cially of herbivorous insects.f the whole tract of the ali- mentary canal is attached to the sides of the containing ca- vity by a fine membrane, or peritoneum, containing nume- rous air-vessels, or tracheae.f * see the memoirs of marcel des serres, in the annales du muséum, xx. . f lyonet. # it has been stated by malpighi and by swammerdam, and the statement digestive organs of insects. to engage in a minute description of the endless varia- tions in the structure of the digestive organs, presented in the innumerable tribes which compose this class of animals, would be incompatible with the limits of this treatise. i shall content myself, therefore, with giving a few illustrations of their prin- cipal varieties, selected from those in which the leading characters of struc- ture are most strongly marked. i shall, with this view, exhibit first one of the simplest forms of the alimentary or- gans, as they occur in the mantis reli- giosa, (linn.) which is a purely carni- vorous insect, belonging to the order of orthoptera. fig represents those of this insect, freed from their attach- ments, and separated from the body. the whole canal, as is seen, is perfect- ly straight: it commences by an oeso- phagus (o,) of great length, which is succeeded by a gizzard (g;) at the low- er extremity of this organ the upper hepatic vessels (m, b,) eight in number, and of considerable diameter, are in- serted: then follows a portion of the canal (d,) which may be regarded either as a digesting stomach, or a chyliferous duodenum: farther downwards, the second set of hepatic vessels (h h,) which are very numerous, but as slender as hairs, are received: and after a small contraction (n) there is again a slight dilatation of the tube (c) before it termi- nates. - has been repeated by every succeeding anatomist; that almost all the insects belonging to the tribe of grylli, possessed the faculty of ruminating their food; but this error has been refuted by marcel des serres, who has offered satisfactory evidence that in no insect is the food subjected to a true rumina- tion, or second mastication, by the organs of the mouth. see annales du mu- séum, xx. and . vol. ii. - the vital functions. the alimentary canal of the cicindela campestris, (lin.) which preys on other insects, is represented in fig. ; where we see that the lower part of the oesophagus (o,) is dilated into a crop (p,) succeeded by a small gizzard (g,) which is provided for the purpose of bruising the elytra, and other hard parts of their victims: but, their mechanical division being once effected, we again find the true digesting stomach (s) simply membranous, and the intestine ( ) very short, but dilated, before its termination, into a large colon (c.) the hepatic vessels (h,) of which, in this insect, there is only one set, terminate in the cavity of the intestine by four ducts, at the point where that canal commences. a more complicated structure is exhibited in the alimen- tary tube of the melolontha vulgaris, or common cock- chaffer, which is a vegetable feeder, devouring great quanti- ties of leaves of plants, and consequently requiring a long digestive organs or insects. and capacious canal for their assimilation; as is shown in fig. , which represents them prepared in a similar man- ner to the former. in this herbivorous insect, the oesopha- gus (o) is, as might be expected, very short, and is soon di- lated into a crop (p;) this is followed by a very long, wide, and muscular stomach (s,) ringed like an earth-worm, and continued into a long and tortuous intestine (i, ,) which presents in its course several dilatations (c, c,) and re- ceives very elongated, convoluted, and rami- fied hepatic vessels (h, h.) fig. is a highly magnified view of a small portion of one of these vessels, showing its branched form. in the alimentary canal (fig. *) of the . crida aptera (stephens,) which is a species of grass- hopper, feeding chiefly on the dewberry, we observe a long oesophagus (o,) which is very dilatable, enlarging occasionally into a crop ( ,) and succeeded by a round- ed or heart-shaped gizzard (g,) of very e complicated structure, and connected with two remarkably large biliary pouches (u and b,) which receive, at their anterior extremity, the upper set of hepatic ves- sels (v. v.) a deep furrow in the pouch * (b.) which, in the horizontal position of the body, lies underneath the gizzard, divides it apparently into two sacs. the intestinal canal is pretty uniform in its diameter, receives in its course a great h number of hepatic vessels (h h,) by se- parate openings, and after making one convolution, is slightly constricted at n, and is dilated into a colon (c.) on the * the figures relating to this insect were engraved from the drawings of mr. newport, who was also kind enough to supply me with the description of the parts they represent. fig. is twice the natural size. the vital functions. coats of which the longitudinal muscular bands are very dis- tinctly seen. fig. is a magnified view of the gizzard laid open, to show its internal structure. it is furnished with six longitudinal rows of large teeth, and six intermedi- ate double rows of smaller teeth; the total number of teeth being . one of the rows of large teeth is seen, detached, and still more magnified, in fig. ; it contains at the up- per part, five small hooked teeth (p,) succeeded below by four broad teeth (d,) consisting of quadrangular plates, and twelve tricuspid teeth (t;) that is, teeth having three cusps, or points at their edges. fig. shows the profile of one of these teeth; a, being the sharp point by which the ante- rior acute angle of the base terminates. fig. exhibits the base of the same tooth seen from below, e, e, e, being the three cusps, and m, the triangular hollow space for the insertion of the muscles which move them, and which com- pose part of the muscular apparatus of the gizzard. the smaller teeth, which are set in double lines between each of the larger rows, consist of twelve small triangular teeth in each row. all the teeth contained in this organ are of a brown colour and horny texture, resembling tortoise shell. the same insect, as we have seen, often exhibits, at dif- ferent periods of its existence, the greatest contrast, not only in external form, but also in its habits, instincts, and modes of subsistence. the larva is generally remarkable for its voracity, requiring large supplies of food to furnish the ma- terials for its rapid growth, and frequently consuming enor- mous quantities of fibrous vegetable aliment: the perfect in- sect, on the other hand, having attained its full dimensions, is sufficiently supported by small quantities of a more nu- tritious food, consisting either of animal juices, or of the fluids prepared by flowers, which are generally of a saccha- rine quality, and contain nourishment in a concentrated form. it is evident that the same apparatus, which is ne- cessary for the digestion of the bulky food taken in during the former period, would not be suited to the assimilation of that which is received during the latter; and that in order digestive organs of insects. to accommodate it to this altered condition of its function, considerable changes must be made in its structure. hence, it will be interesting to trace the gradual transitions in the conformation of the alimentary canal, during the progressive development of the insect, and more especially while it is undergoing its different metamorphoses. these changes are most conspicuous in the lepidoptera, where we may observe the successive contractions which take place in the immensely voluminous stomach of the ca- terpillar, while passing into the state of chrysalis, and thence into that of the perfect insect, in which its form is so changed that it can hardly-be recognised as the same organ. i have given representations of these three different states of the en- tire alimentary canal of the sphina ligustri, or privet hawk- moth, in figures , , and ;" the first of which • these figures also have been engraved from the drawings of mr. new- port, which he was so obliging as to make for me, from preparations of his own, the result of very careful dissections. the vital functions. is that of the caterpillar; the second, that of the chrysalis; and the third, that of the moth. the whole canal and its appendages, have been separated from their attachments, and spread out so as to display all their parts; and they are de- lineated of the natural size, and in each case, so as to show their comparative dimensions in these three states. in all the figures, a is the oesophagus; b, the stomach; c, the small intestine; d, the caecal portion of the canal; and e, the colon, or large intestine. the hepatic vessels are shown at f; and the gizzard, which is developed only in the moth, at g, fig. . it will be seen that in the caterpillar, (fig. ,) the sto- mach forms by far the most considerable portion of the ali- mentary tube, and that it bears some resemblance in its struc- ture and capacity to the stomachs of the annelida, already described.* this is followed by a large, but short, and per- fectly straight intestine. these organs in the pupa (fig. ) have undegone considerable modifications, the whole canal, but more especially the stomach, being contracted both in length and width:f the shortening of the intestine not being in proportion to that of the whole body, obliges it to be folded upon itself for a certain extent. in the moth, fig. ,) the contraction of the stomach has proceeded much farther; and an additional cavity, which may be consi- dered as a species of crop or gizzard (g,) is developed: the small intestine takes a great many turns during its course, and a large pouch, or caecum, has been formed at the part where it joins the large intestine. the hepatic vessels are exceedingly numerous in the crus- tacea, occupying a very large space in the general cavity; and they compose by their union an organ of considerable size, which may be regarded as analogous in its functions to * see the figures and description of those of the nais and the leech, p. and . f carus states that he found the stomach of a pupa, twelve days after it had assumed that state, scarcely half as long, and only one-sixth as wide as it had been in the caterpillar. digestive organs of mollusca. . the liver of the higher classes of animals. this organ ac- quires still greater size and importance in the mollusca, where it frequently envelops the stomach, pouring the bile into its cavity by numerous ducts.” as the structure and course of the intestinal canal varies greatly in different tribes of mollusca, they do not admit of being comprised in any general description. the only examples i think it necessa- ry to give, in this class, are those of the patella, or limpet, and of the pleuro- branchus. the intestinal tube of the patella is delineated in fig. ; where m is the mouth; t, the tongue folded back; o, the oesophagus; and s, the sto- mach, from which the tortuous intestinal tube is seen to be continued. all the convolutions of this tube, as well as the stomach itself, are enclosed, or rather imbedded, in the substance of the liver, which is the largest organ of the body. the pleurobranchus peronii (cuv.) is remarkable for the number and complication of its organs of digestion. they are seen laid open in fig. ; where c is the crop; g, the gizzard; p, a plicated stomach, resembling the third stomach of ruminant quadrupeds; and d, a fourth ca- vity, being that in which digestion is com- pleted. a canal of communication is seen at t, leading from the crop to this last cavity: b is the point where the biliary duct enters. in the cephalopoda, the structure of these organs is very complicated; for they are pro- vided with a crop, a muscular gizzard, and a caecum, which has a spiral form. in these animals we also discover the rudiment of another auxiliary * transparent crystalline needles, the nature and uses of which are quite unknown, are frequently found in the biliary ducts of this class of animals. the vital functions. organ, namely, the pancreas, which secretes a fluid contri- buting to the assimilation of the food. this organ becomes more and more developed as we ascend in the scale of ani- mals, assuming a glandular character, and secreting a watery fluid, which resembles the saliva, both in its sensible and chemical properties. it has been conjectured that many of the vessels, which are attached to the upper portion of the alimentary canal of insects, and have been termed hepatic, may, in fact, prepare a fluid having more of the qualities of the pancreatic than of the biliary secretion. the alimentary canal of fishes is in general characterized by being short; and the continuity of the stomach with the intestines is often such as to offer no well marked line of distinction between them. the caeca are generally large and numerous; and a number of tubular organs, connected more especially with the pyloric appendices, are frequently met with, resembling a cluster of worms, and having some analogy, in situation at least, to the hepatic or pancreatic vessels of insects. their appearance in the salmon is re- presented at p, in fig. . the pancreas itself is only met with, in this class of ani- mals, in the order of cartilaginous fishes, and more especially in the ray and the shark tribes. a distinct gall-bladder, or reservoir, is also met with in some kinds of fish, but is by no means general in that class. in the class both of fishes and of reptiles, which are cold-blooded animals, the processes of digestion are conducted more slowly than in the more energetic sys- tems of birds and of mammalia; and the comparative length of the canal is, on the whole, greater in the former than in the latter: but the chief differences in this respect depend on the kind of food which is consumed, the canal being always shortest in those tribes that are most carnivo- rous.* as the frog, in the different stages of its growth, * see home, lectures, &c. i. . digestive organs of mammalia. lives upon totally different kinds of food, so we find that the structure of its alimentary canal, like that of the moth, undergoes a material change during these metamorphoses. the intestinal canal of the tad-pole is of great length, and is collected into a large rounded mass, composed of a great number of coils, which may easily be distinguished, by the aid of a magnifying glass, through the transparent skin. during its gradual transformation into a frog, this canal be- comes much reduced in its length; so that when the animal has attained its perfect form, it makes but a single convolu- tion in the abdominal cavity. a similar correspondence exists between the length of the canal, and the nature of the food in the class of birds. at the termination of the small intestine there are usually found two casca, which, in the gallinaceous and the aquatic fowls, are of great length: those of the ostrich contain in their interior a spiral valve. sir e. home is of opinion that in these animals the functions of the pyloric portion of the stomach are performed by the upper part of the intes- tine. in the intestines of the mammalia contrivances are em- ployed with the apparent intention of preventing their con- tents from passing along too hastily: these contrivances are most effectual in animals whose food is vegetable, and con- tains little nourishment, so that the whole of what the food is capable of yielding is extracted from them. sir e. home observes that the colon, or large intestine of animals which live upon the same species of food, is of greater length, in proportion to the scantiness of the supply. thus, the length of the colon of the elephant, which inhabits the fertile woods of asia, is only , feet; while, in the dromedary, which dwells in the arid deserts of arabia, it is . this con- trast is still more strongly marked in birds. the cassowa- ry of java, which lives amidst a most luxuriant supply of food, has a colon of one foot in length, and two casca, each of which is six inches long, and one quarter of an inch in vol. ii. the vital functions. diameter. the african ostrich, on the other hand, which inhabits a country where the supply of food is very scanty, has the colon forty-five feet long; each of the caeca is two feet nine inches in length, and, at the widest part, three inches in diameter; in addition to which, there are broad valves in the interior of both these cavities.” on comparing the structure of the digestive organs of man with those of other animals belonging to the class mam- malia, we find them holding a place in the series intermedi- ate between those of the purely carnivorous, and exclusively herbivorous tribes, and, in some measure, uniting the cha- racters of both. the powers of the human stomach do not, indeed, extend to the digestion either of the tough woody fibres of vegetables, on the one hand, or the compact texture of bones on the other; but, still, they are competent to ex- tract nourishment from a wider range of alimentary sub- stances, than the digestive organs of almost any other animal. this adaptation to a greater variety of food may also be in- ferred from the form and disposition of the teeth, which combine those of different kinds more completely than in most mammalia, excepting, perhaps, the quadrumana, in which, however, the teeth do not form, as in man, an unin- terrupted series in both jaws. in addition to these pecu- liarities, we may also here observe, that the sense of taste, in the human species, appears to be affected by a greater variety of objects than in the other races of animals. all these are concurring indications that nature, in thus render- ing man omnivorous, intended to qualify him for maintain- ing life wherever he could procure the materials of subsist- ence, whatever might be their nature, whether animal or vegetable, or a mixture of both, and in whatever soil or * lectures, &c. i. . in the account above given of the digestive or- gans i have purposely omitted all mention of the spleen; because, although it is probably in some way related to digestion, the exact nature of its func- tions has not yet been determined with any certainty. digestive organs of man. climate they may be produced; and for endowing him with the power of spreading his race, and extending his dominion over every accessible region of the globe. thus, then, from the consideration of the peculiar structure of the vital, as well as the mechanical organs of his frame, may be de- rived additional proofs of their being constructed with re- ference to faculties of a higher and more extensive range than those of any, even the most favoured species of the brute creation. ( ) chapter ix. lacteal absorption. the chyle, of which we have now traced the formation, is a fluid of uniform consistence, perfectly bland and unirri- tating in its properties, the elements of which have been brought into that precise state of chemical composition which renders them fit to be distributed to every part of the sys- tem for the purposes of nourishment. in all the lower or- ders of animals it is transparent; but the chyle of mammalia often contains a multitude of globules, which give it a white colour, like milk. its chemical composition appears to be very analogous to that of the blood into which it is afterwards converted. from some experiments made by my late much valued friend dr. marcet, it appears that the chyle of dogs, fed on animal food alone, is always milky, whereas, in the same animals, when they are limited to a vegetable diet, it is nearly transparent and colourless.” the chyle is absorbed from the inner surface of the intes- tines by the lacteals, which commence by very minute ori- fices, in incalculable numbers, and unite successively into larger and larger vessels, till they form trunks of considera- ble size. they pass between the folds of a very fine and delicate membrane, called the mesentery, which connects the intestines to the spine, and which appears to be inter- posed in order to allow them that degree of freedom of mo- tion, which is so necessary to the proper performance of their functions. in the mesentery, the lacteals pass through several glandular bodies, termed the mesenteric glands, where it is probable that the chyle undergoes some modifi- cation, preparatory to its conversion into blood. * medico-chirurgical transactions, vi. . lacteal absorption. - the mesenteric glands of the whale contain large spheri- cal cavities, into which the trunks of the lacteals open, and where the chyle is probably blended with secretions proper to those cavities; but no similar structure can be detected in terrestrial mammalia. it is only among the vertebrata that lacteal vessels are met with. those of fishes are simple tubes, either wholly without valves, or if there be any, they are in a rudimental state, and not sufficiently extended to prevent the free pas- sage of their fluid contents in a retrograde direction. the lacteals of the turtle are larger and more distinct than those of fishes, but their valves are still imperfect, though they present some obstruction to descending fluids. in birds and in mammalia these valves are perfectly effectual, and are exceedingly numerous, giving to the lacteals, when distend- ed with fluid, the appearance of strings of beads. the ef- fect of these flood-gates, placed at such short intervals, is that every external pressure made upon the tube, assists in the propulsion of the fluid in the direction in which it is intend- ed to move. hence it is easy to understand how exer- cise must tend to promote the transmission of the chyle. . the glands are more numerous and concentrated in the mammalia, than in any other class. from the mesenteric glands the chyle is conducted, by the continuation of the lacteals, into a reservoir, which is termed the receptacle of the chyle; whence it ascends through the thoracic duct,” which passes along the side of the spine, in a situation affording the best possible protection from in- jury or compression, and opens into the great veins leading directly into the heart. in invertebrated animals having a circulatory system of vessels, the absorption of the chyle is performed by veins instead of lacteal vessels. the sanguification of the chyle, or its conversion into blood, takes place, during the course of the circulation, and * this duct is occasionally double. the wital functions. is principally effected by the action of atmospheric air in certain organs, hereafter to be described, where that ac- tion, or aeration as it may be termed, in common with an analogous process in vegetables, takes place. in all verte- brated animals the blood has a red colour, and it is also red in most of the annelida; but in all other invertebrated ani- mals, it is either white or colourless." we shall, for the present, then, consider it as having undergone this change, and proceed to notice the means employed for its distribu- tion and circulation throughout the system. * vauquelin has observed that the chyle has often a red tinge in animals. ( ) chapter x. circulation. § . diffused circulation. animal life, implying mutual actions and reactions be- tween the solids and fluids of the body, requires for its maintenance the perpetual transfer of nutritive juices from one part to another, corresponding in its activity to the ex- tent of the changes which are continually taking place in the organized system. for this purpose we almost con- stantly find that a circulatory motion of the nutrient fluids is established; and the function which conducts and regu- lates their movements is emphatically denominated the cir- culation. several objects of great importance are answered by this function; for in the first place, it is through the cir- culation that every organ is supplied with the nutritive particles necessary for its development, its growth and the maintenance of its healthy condition; and that the glands, in particular, as well as the other secreting organs, are fur- nished with the materials they require for the elaboration of the products, which it is their peculiar office to prepare. a second essential object of the circulation, is to transmit the nutritive juices to certain organs, where they are to be sub- jected to the salutary influence of the oxygen of the atmo- sphere; a process which in all warm-blooded animals, com- bined with the rapid and extensive distribution of the blood, diffuses and maintains throughout the system the high tem- perature required by the greater energy of their functions. hence it necessarily follows that the particular mode in which the circulation is conducted in each respective tribe, the vital functions. must influence every other function of the economy, and must, therefore, constitute an essential element in deter- mining the physiological condition of the animal. we find, accordingly, that among the characters on which systematic zoologists have founded their great divisions of the animal kingdom, the utmost importance is attached to those de- rived from differences of structure in the organs of circula- tion. a comprehensive survey of the different classes of ani- mals with reference to this function, enables us to discern the existence of a regular gradation of organs, increasing in complexity as we ascend from the lower to the higher or- ders; and showing that here, as in other departments of the economy of nature, no change is made abruptly, but always by slow and successive steps. in the very lowest tribes of zoophytes, the modes by which nutrition is accomplished can scarcely be perceived to differ from those adopted in the vegetable kingdom, where, as we have already seen, the nu- tritive fluids, instead of being confined in vessels, appear to permeate the cellular tissue, and thus immediately supply the solids with the materials they require; for, in the sim- pler kinds of polypi, of infusoria, of medusae, and of ento- zoa, the nourishment which has been prepared by the di- gestive cavities is apparently imbibed by the solids, after having transuded through the sides of these organs, and without its being previously collected into other, and more general cavities. this mode of nutrition, suited only to the torpid and half vegetative nature of zoophytes, has been de- nominated nourishment by imbibition, in contradistinction to that by circulation; a term, which, as we have seen, im- plies, not merely a system of canals, such as those existing in medusae, where there is no evidence of the fluids really circulating, but an arrangement of ramified vessels, composed of membranous coats, through which the nutrient fluid moves in a continued circuit. the distinction which has thus been drawn, however, is one on which we should be careful not to place undue reli- diffused circui, ation. ance, for it is founded, perhaps, more on our imperfect means of investigation, than on any real differences in the pro- cedures of nature relative to this function. when the juices, either of plants, or of animals, are transparent, their motions are imperceptible to the eye, and can be judged of only by other kinds of evidence; but when they contain globules, differing in their density from that of the fluid, and there- fore capable of reflecting light, as is the case with the sap of the chara and caulinia, we have ocular proof of the ex- istence of currents, which, as long as the plant is living and in health, pursue a constant course, revolving in a regular and defined circuit; and all plants which have milky juices exhibit this phenomenon. although the extent of each of these vegetable currents is very limited, compared with the entire plant, it still presents an example of the tendency which the nutrient fluids of organized structures have to move in a circuit, even when not confined within vessels or narrow channels; for this movement of rotation, or cyclosis, as it has been termed,” whatever may be its cause, appears always to have a definite direction. the current returns into itself, and continues without intermission, in a manner much resembling the rotatory movements occasionally pro- duced in fluids by electro-magnetism.t movements, very similar in their appearance and cha- racter to those of vegetable cyclosis, have been recently dis- covered in a great number of polyferous zoophytes, by mr. lister, who has communicated his observations in a paper which was lately read to the royal society, and of which the following are the principal results. in a specimen of the tubularia indivisa, when magnified one hundred times, a current of particles was seen within the tubular stem of the polype, strikingly resembling, in the steadiness and continuity of its stream, the vegetable circulation in the * see pages and of this volume. i so great is this resemblance, that it has led several physiologists to as- cribe these movements to the agency of electricity; but there does not, as yet, appear to be any substantial foundation for this hypothesis. vol. ii. the wital functions. chara. its general course was parallel to the slightly spiral lines of irregular spots on the surface of the tube, ascending on the one side, and descending on the other; each of the opposite currents occupying one-half of the circumference of the cylindric cavity. at the knots, or contracted parts of the tube, slight eddies were noticed in the currents; and at each end of the tube the particles were seen to turn round, and pass over to the other side. in various species of ser- tulariae the stream does not flow in the same constant di- rection; but, after a time, its velocity is retarded, and it then either stops, or exhibits irregular eddies, previous to its return in an opposite course; and so on alternately, like the ebb and flow of the tide. if the currents be designedly obstructed in any part of the stem, those in the branches go on without interruption, and independently of the rest. the most remarkable circumstance attending these streams of fluid is that they appear to traverse the cavity of the sto- mach itself, flowing from the axis of the stem into that or- gan, and returning into the stem without any visible cause determining these movements. similar phenomena were observed by mr. lister in campanulariae and plumula- in some of the minuter species of crustacea the fluids have been seen, by the aid of the microscope, moving with- in the cavities of the body, as if by a spontaneous impulse, without the aid of a propelling organ, and apparently with- out being confined in membranous channels, or tubes of any sort. this kind of diffused circulation is also seen in the embryos of various animals, at the earliest periods of their development, and before any vessels are formed. § . pascular circulation. the next step in the gradation of structures consists in the presence of vessels, within which the fluids are confined, and by which their course and their velocity are regulated; wascular circulation. and, in general, these vessels form a complete circuit. the first rudiments of a vascular organization are those observed and described by tiedemann, in the asteria, which are si- tuated higher in the animal scale than medusae; but whether any actual circulation takes place in the channels constituted by these vessels, which communicate both with the cavity of the intestine, and with the respiratory organs, is not yet determined with any certainty. the holothuriae, which also belong to the order of echinodermata, are furnished with a complex apparatus of vessels, of which the exact functions are still unknown. in those species of entozoa which ex- hibit a vascular structure, the canals appear rather to be ra- mifications of the intestinal tube, than proper vessels, for no distinct circulation can be traced in them: an organization of this kind has already been noticed in the taenia.” it was, till very lately, the prevailing opinion among na- turalists that all true insects are nourished by imbibition, and that there exists in their system no real vascular circu- lation of juices. in all the animals belonging to this class, and in every stage of their development, there is found a tubular organ, called the dorsal vessel, extending the whole length of the back, and nearly of uniform diameter, except where it tapers at the two ends. it contains a fluid, which appears to be undulated backwards and forwards, by means of contractions and dilatations, occurring in succession in different parts of the tube; and it is also connected with transverse ligamentary bands, apparently containing muscu- lar fibres, capable, by their action, of producing, or, at least, of influencing these pulsatory movements. an enlarged re- presentation of the dorsal vessel of the melolontha vulgaris, or common cockchaffer, isolated from its attachments, is * given in fig. , showing the series of dilatations (v, v, v) which it usually presents in its course; and in fig. , the same vessel is exhibited in connexion with the ligamentary * page , in this volume, fig. . the family of planariæ present ex- ceptions to this general rule: for many species possess a system of circu- lating vessels. see dugès, annales des sciences naturelles; xv. . the wital functions. and muscular apparatus which surrounds it, seen from the lower side. in the last of these figures, a is the tapering prolongation of the tube, proceeding towards the head of the insect; v, one of the dilated portions, or ventricles, as they have been called, of the dorsal part of the tube; f, one of the small tendinous folds, to which the ligamentary bands are attached; and l is one of these bands, having a triangular, or, if considered as continuous with that on the other side of the vessel, a rhomboidal shape, and attached at r, to the su- perior segments of the abdomen. at is seen a layer of the same fibres, which are partly ligamentous and partly muscu- lar, passing underneath the dorsal vessel, and forming, in conjunction with the layer that passes above it, a sheath, which embraces and fixes that vessel in its place: these in- ferior layers have been removed from the other parts of the vessel, to allow the upper layers to be seen, as is the case at circulation in insects. . fig. gives a side view of the anterior extremity of the same vessel, showing the curve (a) which it describes as it bends downwards in its course towards the head. the function performed by the dorsal vessel, which, judging from the universal presence of this organ in insects, must be one of great importance in their economy, was long a profound mystery. its analogy in structure and position to the dorsal vessels of the arachnida and the annelida, where it evidently communicates with channels of circu- lation, and exhibits movements of pulsation resembling those of insects, was a strong argument in favour of the opinion that it is the prime mover of a similar kind of circulation; but then, again, this hypothesis appeared to be overturned by the fact that no vessels of any kind could be seen extend- ing from it in any direction; nor could any channels for the transmission of a circulating fluid be detected in any part of the body. those organs, which, in animals apparently of an inferior rank, are most vascular, such as the stomach, the intestinal tube, the eye, and other apparatus of the senses, seemed to be constructed, and to be nourished, by means to- tally different from those adopted in the former animals. although extremely minute ramifications of air tubes are every where visible in the interior of insects, yet, neither cuvier, nor any other anatomist, could succeed, by the closest scrutiny, in detecting the least trace of blood vessels; and the presumption, therefore, was, that none existed. but it still remained a question, if the dorsal vessel be not subservient to circulation, what is its real function? marcel des serres, who bestowed great pains in investi- gating this subject, came to the conclusion that its use is to secrete the fatty matter, which is generally found in great abundance in the abdominal cavity, and which is accumu- lated particularly around the dorsal vessel." a more at- tentive examination of the structure of the vessel itself brought to light a valvular apparatus, of which the only con- * see his various papers in the mémoires du muséum d'hist. nat.; tom. iv. and v. the wital functions. ceivable purpose is that of determining the motion of the contained fluid in one constant course; a purpose necessarily incompatible with its supposed alternate undulation in op- posite directions, from one end of the tube to the other. these valves are exhibited in fig. , in a still more mag- nified view of a longitudinal section of the dorsal vessel, showing the semicircular folds (s, s) of its inner membrane, which perform the function of valves by closing the passage against any retrograde motion of the fluid. this discovery of valves in the dorsal vessel, again made the balance of pro- bability incline towards the opinion that it is the agent of some kind of circulation. all doubt as to the reality of a circulation in insects is now dispelled by the brilliant discoveries of professor ca- rus, who, in the year , first observed this phenomenon in the larva of the agrion puella. in the transparent parts of this insect, as well as of many others, numerous streams of fluid, rendered manifest by the motions of the globules they contain, are seen meandering in the spaces which in- tervene between the layers of the integument, but without appearing to be confined within any regular vessels. the streams on the sides of the body all pass in a direction back- wards from the head, till they reach the neighbourhood of the posterior end of the dorsal vessel, towards which they all converge; they are then seen to enter that vessel, and to be propelled by its pulsations towards its anterior extremi- ty, where they again issue from it, and are subsequently di- vided into the scattered streams, which descend along the sides of the body, and which, after having thus completed their circuit, return into the pulsating dorsal vessel. this mixed kind of circulation, partly diffused and partly vascular, is beautifully seen in the larva of the ephemera marginata,” where, besides the main current, which, after * this insect is figured and described in dr. goring and mr. pritchard's “microscopic illustrations,” and its circulation is very fully detailed, and il- lustrated by an engraving on a large scale, by mr. bowerbank, in the ento- mological magazine, i. ; plate ii. circulation in insects. being discharged from the anterior extremity of the dorsal vessel, descends in a wide spreading stream on each side and beneath that vessel, another portion of the blood is con- veyed by two lateral trunks, which pass down each side of the body, in a serpentine course, and convey it into the lower extremity of the dorsal vessel, with which they are continuous. these are decidedly vessels, and not portions of the great abdominal cavity, for their boundaries are clearly defined; yet they allow the blood contained in them to escape into that cavity, and mix with the portion previ- ously diffused. all these wandering streams sooner or later find their way into the dorsal vessel, being absorbed by it at various points of its course, where its membranous coat is reflected inwards to form the valves. in the legs, the tail, and the antennae, the circulation is carried on by means of vessels, which are continuous with the lateral vessels of the body, branching off from them in the form of loops, as- cending on one side, and then turning back to form the de- scending vessel, so that the currents in each move in con- trary "directions. fig. represents the appearance of these parallel vessels in one of the antennae of the semblis viridis, magnified thirty times its natural size. the whole the wital functions. system of circulating vessels in that insect, of which the for- mer is only a detached part, is shown in fig. s, where the course of the blood is indicated by arrows; a, repre- senting the currents in the antennae; w, those in the rudi- mental wings; and t, those in the tail; in all which parts the vessels form loops, derived from the main vessels of the trunk. in some larvae the vascular loops, conveying these collateral streams, pass only for a certain distance into the legs; sometimes, indeed, they proceed no farther than the haunches. the currents of blood in these vessels have not a uniform velocity, being accelerated by the impulsions they receive from the contractions of the dorsal vessel, which appears to be the prime agent in their motion. as the insect advances to maturity, and passes through its metamorphoses, considerable changes are observed to take place in the organization of the circulating system, and in the energy of the function it performs. the vessels in the extreme parts, as in the tail, are gradually obliterated, and the circulation in them, of course, ceases, the blood ap- pearing to retire into the more internal parts. in the wings, on the other hand, where the development proceeds rapidly, the circulation becomes more active; and even after they have attained their full size, and are yet in a soft state, the motion of the blood in the centre of all the nervures is dis- tinctly visible:” but afterwards, as the wings become dry, it ceases there also, and is then confined to the vessels of the trunk. in proportion as the insect approaches to the com- pletion of its development, these latter vessels also, one after the other, shrink and disappear, till, at length, nothing which had once appertained to this system remains visible, except the dorsal vessel. but, as we observe this vessel still con- tinuing its pulsatory movements, we may fairly infer that they are designed to maintain some degree of obscure and imperfect circulation of the nutrient juices, through vessels, * these currents in the wing of the semblis bilineata have been described and delineated by carus, in the acta acad, caes. leop. carol. nat. cur. vol. xv. part ii. p. . circulation in insects. which may, in their contracted state, corresponding to the diminished demands of the system, have generally escaped detection. in confirmation of these views, it may be stated, that several observers have, at length, succeeded in tracing minute branches, proceeding in different directions, from the dorsal vessel, and distributed to various organs. the divi- sion of the anterior part of the dorsal vessel into descending branches was noticed by comparetti. dugès has observed a similar division of this vessel in the corselet of several spe- cies of phalenæ, and farther ramifications in that of the gryllus lineola; and audouin has traced them in many of the hymenoptera.” * annales des sciences naturelles, xv. . the figures which follow (from to ) are representations, of the na- tural size, of the dorsal vessel of the sphinx ligustri, or privet hawk-moth, which has been dissected in its three different stages, with great care, by mr. newport, from whose drawings these figures have been engraved, and to whom i am indebted also for the description which follows:– the dorsal vessel of this insect is an elongated and gradually tapering ves- sel extending from the hinder part of the abdomen, along the back, towards the head; and furnished with valves, which correspond very nearly in their situation to the incisions of the body. during the changes of the insect from the larva to the imago state, it undergoes a slight modification of form. in every state it may be distinguished into two portions, a dorsal and an aor. vol. ii. m - the wital functions. the discovery of the circulation in insects, and of its va- rying energy at different periods of growth, has elucidated many obscure points in the physiology of this important tal. the dorsal portion, which is the one in which a pulsation is chiefly ob- servable, is furnished with distinct valves, is attached along the dorsal part of the body by lateral muscles, and has vessels which enter it laterally, pouring into it the circulating fluid, which is returning from the sides and inferior portions of the body. in the caterpillar, this portion of the dorsal vessel ex- tends from the twelfth to the anterior part of the fifth segment. it is fur- nished with eight double valves, which are formed, as mr. bowerbank has correctly described them in the ephemera marginata—namely, the upper valve “by a reflecting inwards and upwards of the inner coat, or coats of the artery,” (by which he means the dorsal vessel) “and the under one by a con- traction or projection of the like parts of a portion of the artery beneath, so as to come within the grasp of the lower part of the valve above it.” the whole vessel is made up of three coats, the two innermost of which, the lining, or serous, and the muscular, or principal portion of the vessel, consti- tute the reflected portions, or valves; while the third, or outermost coat, which is exceedingly thin and delicate, is continued over the vessel nearly in a straight line, and does not appear at all to follow the reflexions of the other two. in the caterpillar, this portion of the vessel has eight pairs of small suspensory muscles, seen along the upper side of fig. , which arise from the middle of the upper surface of each valve, and are continued back to be attached over the middle of the next valve: they seem to have considerable influence over the contractions of the valves. the aortal, or anterior por- tion of the vessel, extends from the hinder part of the fourth segment to its termination and division into vessels, to be distributed to the head, which di- vision takes place after it has passed the oesophagus, and at a point immedi- ately beneath the supra-oesophageal ganglion, or brain of the insect. this portion of the vessel is much narrower than the dorsal, has no distinct valves or muscles; nor do any vessels enter it laterally; but it is very delicate and transparent, and gradually diminishes in size from its commencement to its anterior termination. its course, in the caterpillar, is immediately beneath the integument, along the fourth and third segments, till it arrives at the hinder parts of the second segment; when it gradually descends upon the oesophagus, and, immediately behind the cerebral ganglion, gives off a pair of exceedingly minute vessels. it then passes beneath the ganglion, and, in the front part of the head, is divided into several branches, as noticed by mr. newport in the anatomical description he has given of the nerves of this spe- cies of sphinx: (phil. trans. , p. .) these branches are best ob- served in the chrysalis (fig. :) in all the stages they may be divided into three sets; the first is given off immediately after the vessel has passed be- meath the ganglion; and consists of two lateral trunks, the united capacity of circui, ation in insects. class. it explains why insects, after they have attained their imago state, and the circulation is nearly obliterated, no longer increase in size, and require but little nourishment for the maintenance of life. this, however, is a state not calculated for so long a duration as that in which the deve- lopment is advancing; and, accordingly, the period during which the insect remains in the imago condition is generally short, compared to that of the larva, where a large supply of nutriment, and a rapid circulation of the fluids, concur in maintaining the vital functions in full activity. thus, the ephemera, which lives for two or three years in the larva state, generally perishes in the course of a few hours after it has acquired wings, and reached its perfect state of ma- turity. which is equal to about one-third of that of the aorta; they descend, one on each side of the mouth, and are each divided into three branches. the se- cond set consists of two pairs of branches, one going apparently to the tongue, the other to the antennae. the third set is formed by two branches, which pass upwards, and are the continuations of the aorta; they divide into branches, and are lost in the integuments, and structures of the anterior part of the head. the pulsatory action of the dorsal vessel is continued along its whole course, and seems to terminate at the division of the vessel into branches. during the metamorphoses of the insect, this vessel becomes considerably shortened, but is stronger and more consolidated in its structure. its course is likewise al- tered; from having, in the caterpillar, (fig. ,) passed along, nearly in a straight line, it begins in the chrysalis, (fig. ,) to descend in the fifth segment, and to pass under what is to become the division between the tho- rax and abdomen in the perfect insect. it then ascends in the fourth seg- ment, and descends again in the second, so that when the insect has attained its perfect form, (fig. ,) its course is very tortuous. the vessels which enter it are situated in the abdomen, and pass in laterally among the muscles, chiefly at the anterior part of each segment or valve. fig. is a superior, or dorsal vicw of the same vessel, in the perfect state of the insect, which shows, still more distinctly, the vessels entering it laterally, intermixed with the lateral muscles. fig. is a magnified lateral view of the anterior ex- tremity of the dorsal vessel, corresponding to fig. ; and fig. , a simi- larly magnified view of the same portion of the vessel seen from above, cor- responding to fig. . fig. shows the mode in which the valves are formed by a duplicature of the inner membranc in the perfect insect. iso the vital functions. in proportion as the changes of form which the insect un- dergoes are less considerable, the evidences of a circulation become more distinct. such is the case in many of the ap- terous insects, composing the family of myriapoda: in the scolopendra morsitans, (linn.,) for instance, dugès ob- served the dorsal vessel dividing into three large branches. most of the tribes belonging to the class of arachnida have, likewise, a dorsal vessel, very analogous in its struc- ture and situation to that of insects; and, as none of them undergo any metamorphosis, their vascular system admits of being considerably developed, and becomes a permanent part of the organization. fig. shows the dorsal vessel of the . zanea domestica, or house spi- der, with some of the arterial trunks arising from it, lying embedded in a thick mass of substance, having a similar oily character to that which is contained, in large quantities, in the principal cavities of insects. it is, in general, difficult to obtain a view of the circulation in the living spider, on account of the thick co- vering of hair which is spread over the body and the limbs; but if a species, which has no hair, be selected for examination, we can see very distinctly, through the microscope, the motion of the blood in the vessels, by means of the globules it contains, both in the legs and in other parts, where it presents appearances very similar to those already described in the limbs of the larvae of insects. a complete vascular circulation is established in all the animals which compose the class of annelida; the vessels being continuous throughout, and having sufficient power to propel the blood through the whole of its circuit. great va- riety exists in the arrangement and distribution of these vessels, depending on the form of the animal, the compli- cation of its functions, and the extent of its powers. the first rudiment of a distinct system of circulating vessels, in- dependent of the ramified tubes proceeding from the intes- circulation in the annelida. tinal canal, occurs in the planariæ, which are a tribe of flat vermiform animals, in many respects allied to the more developed entozoa, and appearing placed as an intermediate ” link between them and the annelida. in many species such as the planaria nigra, fusca, and tremellaris, (muller,) dugès ob- served two longitudinal trunks (fig. ”) running along the sides of the under surface of the animal, and joining together, both at their fore and hind extremities, so as to form a continuous channel of an oval form. a great number of smaller vessels branch off from these main trunks in every direction, and ramify extensively, often uniting with those from the opposite side, and establishing the freest communications between them. in the annelida which have a more lengthened and cy- lindric form, the principal vessels have a longitudinal course, but are differently disposed in different species. there is, in all, a vascular trunk, extending along a middle line, the whole length of the back, and especially designated as the dorsal vessel; in general, there is also a corresponding trunk, occupying the middle line of the lower, or abdominal side of the body, and termed the abdominal vessel. this latter vessel is sometimes double; one being superficial, and ano- ther lying deeper; the principal nervous cord, and chain of ganglia being situated between them. frequently, there are found, in addition to these, vessels which run along the sides of the body, and are therefore called the lateral ves- sels. in every case there are, as we have seen in the plana- ria, numerous branches, and collateral communications be- tween the lateral, the abdominal, and dorsal vessels; more especially at the two extremities of the body, where the great mass of blood, which has been flowing in one direction in one set of vessels, is transferred into others, which convey f de blainville has described a structure similar to this in a planaria from brazil. dict, des sc. nat. t. xli. . s the vital functions. it in the contrary direction, and complete the circuit of its course. the ramifications and lateral connexions of the minuter branches are often so numerous as to compose a vascular net-work, covering a considerable extent of surface. this general description of the circulatory system is appli- cable to the tribes of annelida possessing the simplest struc- ture, such as the nais, the nereis, and the leech; genera which include a great variety of species of different shapes and sizes. although the vessels themselves may be plainly discerned, it is not so easy to determine the real course which the blood takes while circulating within them; and we accordingly find very great discordance in the reports of different phy- siologists on this subject. de blainville asserts that in all the annelida, the blood in the dorsal vessel is carried back- wards, that is, from the head to the tail; a motion, which, of course, implies its return in the contrary direction, either in the lateral or the abdominal vessels. in the nais, the nereis, and the leech, these last vessels are two in number, situated at the sides of the abdominal surface of the body. carus adds his testimony in favour of this mode of considering the circulation in the annelida. on the other hand, spix, bon- net, sir everard home, and dugès, describe the course of the blood as quite the opposite of this, and maintain that it moves backwards, or towards the tail, in the abdominal ves- sels; and forwards, or towards the head, in the dorsal vessel. morren, who is the latest authority on this subject, gives his testimony in favour of the latter view of the subject, as far as relates to the dorsal vessel of the erpobdella vulga- ris,” an animal allied to the leech, and already noticed in the account of the mechanical functions of this tribe:f but he considers the abdominal vessel as performing also the same function of carrying the blood forwards towards the head, and the two lateral vessels as conveying it backwards, thus completing the circuit. this is illustrated by the diagram * hirudo vulgaris. (linn.) nephelis vulgaris. (savigny.) f vol. i. p. , where a delineation of this animal was given, fig. . circulation in the annelida. is (fig. ;) where a is the anterior, and p the posterior ex- tremity of the animal, the dorsal vessel occupying the mid- dle straight line between the two lateral vessels, and the di- rection of the stream in each being indicated by the adjacent arrows. the blood in the abdominal vessel following the same course as that in the dorsal vessel, the same diagram represents also these vessels seen from below. fig. is an inferior view of the erpobdella, showing the numerous ramifications of the abdominal vessel; the lesser branches encircling the nervous ganglia, and accompanying the prin- cipal nervous filaments which proceed from them: while the lateral vessels are seen pursuing a slightly serpentine course.* the tribe of lumbrici, which includes the earth-worm, volves continually on its own axis, instead of following the ordinary course * dugès represents the blocq of this animal as moving in different direc- tions in the right and in the left lateral vessels; generally backwards in the former, and forwards in the latter: at the same time that it moves backwards in the dorsal, and forwards in the abdominal vessel. in the communicating branches which pass transversely from one lateral vessel to the other, the blood flows from left to right in those situated in the anterior half of the body, and from right to left in those of the posterior half: so that the plane in which its circuit is performed is horizontal, instead of vertical. it is curi- ous to find an example of a similar transverse circulation, in the vegetable kingdom; this has recently been observed by mr. solly and mr. varley, in a sprout of the chara vulgaris, near the end of which the enclosed fluid re- of ascent and descent along the sides of the cylindric cavity.—see trans. of the society of arts, xlix. . – the vital functions. is distinguished from the annelida already noticed, by being more highly organized, and possessing a more extensive cir- culation, and a more complicated apparatus for the perform- ance of this function. the greater extent of vascular rami- fications appears to require increased powers for carrying the blood through the numerous and intricate passages it has to traverse; and these are obtained by means of muscular receptacles, capable, by their successive contraction, of add- ing to the impulsive force with which the blood is driven into the trunks that distribute it so extensively. these mus- cular appendages are globular or oval dilatations of some of the large vascular trunks, which bend round the sides of the anterior part of the body, and establish a free communication between the dorsal and the abdominal vessels. they are described by dugès as consisting, in the lumbricus gigas, of seven vessels on each side, forming a series of rounded dilatations, about twelve in number, resembling a string of beads.” in the lumbricus terrestris, or common earth-worm, there are only five pairs of these vessels; they have been de- scribed and figured by sir e. home: but the most full and accurate account of their structure has been given by mor- ren, in his splendid work on the anatomy of that animal.f fig. , which is reduced from his plates, represents these * they are termed by dugès, paisseaux moniliformes, ou dorso-abdomi- maua.-annales des sciences naturelles, xv. . f philos. transact, for , p. ; and pl. iii. fig. . # “de lumbrici terrestris historia naturalis, necnon anatomia tractatus.” qto, bruxelles, . circulation in the crustacea. . singular appendages to the vascular system of the earth- worm, separated from their attachments, and viewed in con- nexion only with the dorsal and abdominal trunks in which they terminate. the abdominal vessel, (a, a,) on arriving near the oesophagus, is dilated, at the point b, into a globu- lar bulb (c.) which is followed, at equal intervals, by four others (c., c.) from each of these bulbs, or ventricles, as they are termed by morren, a vessel (d) is sent off at right angles, on each side; this vessel also enlarges into several nearly globular dilatations (e.) followed by a still larger, and more elongated oval receptacle (f,) which completes the se- micircular sweep taken by the vessel in bending round the sides of the body, in order to join the dorsal vessel (g, g,) in which all the other four communicating vessels, presenting similar dilatations, terminate. sir e. home is of opinion that these dilated portions of the vessel are useful as reser- voirs of blood, for supplying it in greater quantity to the neighbouring organs, as occasion may require: but morren ascribes to them the more important office of accelerating, by their muscular action, the current of circulating blood. if the latter of these views be correct, which the strong pul- sations, constantly visible in these bulbs, render extremely probable, this structure would offer the first rudiments of the organ which, in all the superior classes of animals, per- forms so important an office in the circulation of the blood, namely, the heart: and this name, indeed, is given by cu- vier, morren, and others, to these dilated portions of the vascular systems of the higher orders of annelida.” here, also, the statements of different anatomists are at variance, with regard to the direction taken by the blood while circulating in the vessels: home and dugès represent it as proceeding forwards in the dorsal, and backwards in the abdominal vessels; a course which implies its descent * it is remarkable that the blood in most of the annelida has a bright scarlet colour, and resembles, in this respect, the blood of vertebrated ani- mals. vol. ii. s the wital functions. - along the lateral communicating vessels just described; while de blainville and morren ascribe to it a course precisely the reverse. amidst these conflicting testimonies, it is extreme- ly difficult to determine on which side the truth lies; and a suspicion will naturally arise, that the course of the blood in the vessels may not be at all times uniform, but may be lia- ble to partial oscillations, or be even completely reversed, by the operation of particular disturbing causes. the larger crustacea possess a circulatory apparatus still more extensive and complete, accompanied by a correspond- ing increase in the energy of the vital functions. as we follow this system in the more highly organized tribes of this class, we find the powers of the dorsal vessel becoming more and more concentrated in its anterior extremity; till, in the decapoda, a family which comprehends the lobster and the crab, we find this part dilated into an oval or globu- lar organ, with very muscular coats, capable of vigorous contractions, propelling its contents with considerable force into the vessels, and therefore clearly entitled to the appel- lation of heart. the distinction between arteries and veins, which can scarcely be made with any precision in the sys- tems of the inferior tribes, is here perfectly determined by the existence of this central organ of propulsion: for the ves- sels into which the blood is sent by its contractions, and which, ramifying extensively, distribute it to distant parts, are indisputably arteries; and, conversely, the vessels which collect the blood from all these parts, and bring it back to the heart, are as decidedly veins. the heart of the lobster is situated immediately under the carapace, or shell of the dorsal region of the thorax, directly over the stomach; its pulsations are very distinct, and are performed with great regularity. the importance of the heart, as the prime agent in the circulation, increases as we advance to the higher classes of animals, whose more active and energetic functions require a continual and rapid renewal of nutrient fluid, and render necessary the introduction of farther refinements into its circulation in the verte brata. structure. the supply of blood to the heart, being in a con- stant stream, produces a gradual dilatation of the cavity which receives it; and the muscular fibres of that cavity are not ex- cited to contraction, until they are stretched to a certain point. but in order effectually to drive the blood into eve- ry part of the arterial system, where it has great resistances to overcome, a considerable impulsive force is required, im- plying a sudden as well as powerful muscular action. this object is attained, in all vertebrated animals, by providing a second muscular cavity, termed a ventricle, into which the first cavity, or auricle, throws the blood it has received from the veins, with a sudden impulse; and thus the ventricle, be- ing rapidly distended, is excited to a much more quick and forcible contraction than the auricle, and propels the blood it contains into the artery, with an impetus incomparably greater than could have resulted from the action of the au- ricle alone. fig. represents the heart with its two ca- vities; d being the auricle, and e the ventricle; together with the main trunks of the veins (c, c.) which convey the blood into the auricle; and those of the arteries (a,) which receive it from the ventricle for distribution over the whole system. the force of contraction in the principal cavity of the heart being thus increased, it becomes necessary to provide the wital functions. additional security against the retrograde motion of its fluid contents. valves are accordingly interposed between the auricle and ventricle; and great refinement of mechanism is displayed in their construction. fig. represents their appearance (at v) when the cavities, both of the auricle (d.) and the ventricle (e) are laid open: c, c, as before, being the upper and lower venæ cavae, and a, the main trunk of the aorta. these valves are composed of two loose membranes, the fixed edges of which are attached circularly to the aper- ture of communication between the cavities, and their loose edges project into the ventricle; so that they perform the office of flood-gates, allowing a free passage to the blood when it is impelled into the ventricle, and being pushed back the moment the ventricle contracts; in which latter case they concur in accurately closing the aperture, and preventing the return of a single drop into the auricle. these valves being attached to a wide circular aperture, it is necessary that they should be restrained from inverting themselves into the auricle, at each contraction of the ventricle. for this pur- pose there are provided slender ligaments (which are seen in fig. ,) fixed by one end to the edge of the valve, and by the other to some part of the inner surface of the ventri- cle, so that the valve is always kept within the cavity of the latter. in the auricle, the same purpose is answered by the oblique direction in which the veins enter it. circulation in the vertebrata. the arteries themselves, especially the main trunk of the aorta, as it issues from the heart, are muscular, and when suddenly distended, contract upon their contents. it was necessary, therefore, to provide means for preventing any reflux of blood into the ventricle during their contraction; and for this purpose a set of valves (v, fig. ,) is placed at the beginning of these tubes where they arise from the ventricle. these valves consist usually of three membranes, which have the form of a crescent, and are capable of closing the passage so accurately, that not a drop of blood can pass between them.” in order to convey a more clear idea of the course of the blood in the circulatory sys- tem, i have drawn the diagram, fig. , exhibiting the gene- ral arrangement of its compo- nent parts. the main arterial trunk, or aorta (a,) while pro- ceeding in its course, gives off numerous branches, (b,) which divide and subdivide, till the ramifications (p) arrive at an extreme degree of minuteness; and they are finally distributed to every organ, and to the re- motest extremities of the body. they frequently, during their course, communicate with one another, or anastomose, as it is termed, by collateral branches, so as to provide against interruptions to the circu- lation, which might arise from accidental obstructions in any particular branches of this extended system of canals. the minutest vessels (p,) which, in incalculable numbers, pervade • in the artery of the shark, and other cartilaginous fishes, where the ac- tion of the vessel is very powerful, these valves are much more numerous, and arranged in rows, occupying several parts of the artery. additional valves are also met with in other fishes at the branching of large arterics. the wital functions. every part of the frame, are named, from their being finer than hairs, capillary vessels. after the blood, thus transmitted to the different parts of the body by the arteries, has supplied them with the nourish- ment they require, it is conveyed back to the heart by the veins, which, commencing from the extreme ramifications of the arteries, bend back again in a course directed towards the heart. the smaller branches join in succession to form larger and larger trunks, till they are at length all united into one or two main pipes, called the pema cavae, (c,) which pour their accumulated torrent of blood into the general re- servoir, the heart; entering first into the auricle (d,) and thence being carried forward into the ventricle (e,) which again propels it through the aorta. the veins are larger and more numerous than the arteries, and may be compared to rivers, which, collecting all the water that is not imbibed by the soil, and reconveying it into its general receptacle, the ocean, perform an analogous office in the economy of the earth. the communications of the capillary arteries with the veins are beautifully seen, under the microscope, in the trans- parent membranes of frogs or fishes. the splendid spectacle, thus brought within the cognizance of our senses, of unceasing activity in the minutest filaments of the animal frame, and of the rapid transit of streams of fluid, bearing along with them minute particles, which appear to be pressing forwards, like the passengers in the streets of a crowded city, through multitudes of narrow and winding passages, can never fail, when first beheld, to fill the mind with astonishment;” a feel- ing which must be exalted to the highest admiration, on re- flecting that what we there behold is at all times going on * lewenhoeck, speaking of the delight he experienced on viewing the circulation of the blood in tadpoles, uses the following expressions: “this pleasure has oftentimes been so recreating to me, that i do not believe that all the pleasure of fountains, or water-works, either natural or made by art, could have pleased my sight so well, as the view of these creatures has given me.”—phil. trans. xxii. . resfia atory circulation. within us, during the whole period of our lives, in every, even the minutest, portion of our frame. how inadequate, then, must be any ideas we are capable of forming of the in- calculable number of movements and of actions, which are conducted in the living system; and how infinite must be the prescience and the wisdom, by which these multifarious and complicated operations were so deeply planned, and so harmoniously adjusted! § . respiratory circulation. the object of the circulation is not merely to distribute the blood through the general system of the body; it has, also, another and a very important office to perform. the blood undergoes, in the course of its circulation, considera- ble changes, both in its colour and its chemical composition. the healthy blood transmitted by the arteries is of a bright scarlet hue; that brought back by the veins is of a dark pur- ple, from its containing an excess of carbon, and is conse- quently unfit to be again circulated. whenever, from some derangement in the functions, this dark blood finds its way into the arteries, it acts as a poison on every organ which it reaches, and would soon, if it continued to circu- late, destroy life. hence, it is ne- cessary that the blood which returns by the veins should undergo purifi- cation, by exposure either to the air itself, or to a fluid containing air, for the purpose of restoring and pre- serving its salutary qualities. the heart and vascular system have, therefore, the additional task as- signed them of conveying the vi- tiated venous blood to certain or- gans, where it may have access to the air, and receive its the wital functions. - vivifying influence; and to this office a distinct set of arte- ries and veins is appropriated, constituting a distinct circu- lation. this i have endeavoured to illustrate by the dia- gram, fig. , where d represents the auricle, and e the ventricle of the heart; and a and c, the main arterial and venous trunks; and where the two circulations are, for the sake of distinctness, supposed to be separated from one ano- ther, so that the two systems of vessels may occupy diffe- rent parts of the diagram. the vessels which pervade the body generally (b,) and are subservient to nutrition, belong to what is termed the greater, or systemic circulation: those which circulate the blood through the respiratory organs, (r,) for the purpose of aeration, compose the system of the desser, or respiratory circulation. few subjects in physiology present a field of greater in- terest than the comparison of the modes in which these two great functions are, in all the various classes of animals, ex- actly adjusted to each other. so intimately are the organs of circulation related to those which distribute the blood to the respiratory organs, that we never can form a clear idea of the first, without a close reference to the last of these sys- tems. while describing the several plans of circulation presented to us by the different classes, i shall be obliged to assume both the necessity of the function of respiration, and of a provision of certain organs for the reception of air, ei- ther in its gaseous form, or as it is contained in the water, where the blood may be subjected to its action. it is ne- cessary, also, to state that the organs for receiving atmosphe- ric air, in its gaseous state, are either lungs, or pulmonary cavities, while those which are constructed for aquatic res- piration are termed gills, or branchia; the arteries and the veins which carry on this respiratory circulation, being termed pulmonary, or branchial, according as they relate to the one or the other description of respiratory organs. in many animals it is only a part of the circulating blood which undergoes aeration; the pulmonary or branchial arte- ries and veins being merely branches of the general system respiratory circulation. of blood vessels: so that in this case, which is that repre- sented in the preceding figure ( ,) the lesser circulation is included as a part of the general circulation. but in all the higher classes the whole of the blood is, in some part of its circuit, subjected to the influence of the air; the pulmonary, being then distinct from the systemic circulation. in the an- nelida, for instance, the venæ cavae, which bring back the blood from the system, unite to form one or more vessels, which then assume the function of arteries, subdividing and ramifying upon the branchial organs; after this the blood is again collected by the branchial veins, which unite into one trunk to form the arteries of the systemic circulation. most insects, especially when arrived at the advanced stages of their development, have too imperfect a circulation to ef- fect the thorough aeration of the blood: and indeed a greater part of that fluid is not contained within the vascular sys- tem, but permeates the cavities and cellular texture of the body. it will be seen, when i come to treat of respiration, that the same object is accomplished by means totally inde- pendent of the circulatory apparatus; namely, by a system of air-tubes, distributed over every part of the body. but an apparatus of this kind is not required in those arachni- da, where the circulation is vigorous, and continues during the whole of life: here, then, we again meet with a pulmo- nary as well as a systemic circulation, in conjunction with internal cavities for the reception of air. in the crustacea the circulation is conducted on the same general plan as in the annelida: the blood from every part of the body being collected by the venae cavae, which are exceedingly capacious, and extend, on each side, along the lower surface of the ab- domen. they send out branches, which distribute the blood to the gills; but these branches, at their ori- gin, suddenly dilate, so as to the wital functions. form large receptacles, which are called sinuses, where the blood is allowed to accumulate, and where, by the muscularity of the expanded coats of the vessels, it receives an additional force of propulsion. from the branchiae the blood is re- turned by another set of veins to the elongated heart for- merly described, and propelled by that organ into the sys- temic arteries. fig. shows the relative situation of these vessels, when isolated and viewed from behind in the maja squinado, c, c, are the venæ cavae; e, e, the ve- nous sinuses above-mentioned; f, f, are the branchial ar- teries; g, the gills, or branchiae; and , , the branchial veins terminating in the heart l.” in the mollusca, the heart acquires greater size, compared with the other organs, and exerts a proportionally greater influence as the prime mover in the circulation. in the de- velopment of its structure, in the different orders of this class, a beautiful gradation may be perceived: the branchiopoda having two hearts, one placed upon each of the two lateral trunks of the branchial veins; the gasteropoda having a single heart, furnished with an auricle; and the . cephala being provided with a heart, which has a single ventricle, but two auricles, corresponding to the two trunks of the branchial veins.t the most remarkable variety of structure is that exhibited by the cephalopoda. we have already seen, in the crusta- cea, dilatations of the venæ cavae, at the origin of the branch- ial arteries: but in the nautilus the dilatations of the branch- ial veins are of such a size, as to be almost entitled to the appellation of auricles. the sepia, in whose highly organ- ized system there is required great additional power to pro- pel the blood with sufficient force through the gills, is pro- vided with a large and complicated branchial apparatus; and * a minute account of the organs of circulation in the crustacea is given by audouin and milne edwards, in the annales des sciences naturelles, xi. and , from which work the above figure is taken. f a great number of bivalve mollusca exhibit the singular peculiarity of the lower portion of the intestinal tube traversing through the cavity of the heart. respiratory circulation in fishes. the requisite power is supplied by two additional hearts, situated on the venæ cavae, of which they appear as if they were dilatations, immediately before the branchial arteries are sent off." they are shown at e, e, fig. , which re- presents this part of the vascular system of the loligo, de- tached from the surrounding parts; the course of the blood being indicated by arrows. c is one of the three trunks constituting the venæ cavae, proceeding from above, dividing into two branches as it descends, and terminating, conjointly with the two venous trunks (d,) which are coming from be- low, into the lateral or branchial hearts (e, e,) already men- tioned. thence the blood is conveyed by the branchial arteries, (f, f,) on each side, to the gills (g,) and returned, by the branchial veins ( ,) to the large central, or systemic heart (l.) which again distributes it, by means of the sys- temic arteries, to every part of the body. the cuttle-fish tribe is the only one thus furnished with three distinct hearts for carrying on a double circulation: none of these hearts are furnished with auricles. the remarkable distribution of the muscular powers which give an impulse to the circulating fluids, met with in * these veins are surrounded by a great number of blind pouches, which have the appearance of a fringe; the use of this singular structure is un- known. iso the vital functions. in proportion as the changes of form which the insect un- dergoes are less considerable, the evidences of a circulation become more distinct. such is the case in many of the ap- terous insects, composing the family of myriapoda: in the scolopendra morsitans, (linn.,) for instance, dugès ob- served the dorsal vessel dividing into three large branches. most of the tribes belonging to the class of arachnida have, likewise, a dorsal vessel, very analogous in its struc- ture and situation to that of insects; and, as none of them undergo any metamorphosis, their vascular system admits of being considerably developed, and becomes a permanent part of the organization. fig. shows the dorsal vessel of the ranea domestica, or house spi- der, with some of the arterial trunks arising from it, lying embedded in a thick mass of substance, having a similar oily character to that which is contained, in large quantities, in the principal cavities of insects. it is, in general, difficult to obtain a view of the circulation in the living spider, on account of the thick co- vering of hair which is spread over the body and the limbs; but if a species, which has no hair, be selected for examination, we can see very distinctly, through the microscope, the motion of the blood in the vessels, by means of the globules it contains, both in the legs and in other parts, where it presents appearances very similar to those already described in the limbs of the larvae of insects. a complete vascular circulation is established in all the animals which compose the class of annelida; the vessels being continuous throughout, and having sufficient power to propel the blood through the whole of its circuit. great va- riety exists in the arrangement and distribution of these vessels, depending on the form of the animal, the compli- cation of its functions, and the extent of its powers. the first rudiment of a distinct system of circulating vessels, in- dependent of the ramified tubes proceeding from the intes- circulation in the annelida. tinal canal, occurs in the planariæ, which are a tribe of flat vermiform animals, in many respects allied to the more developed entozoa, and appearing placed as an intermediate * link between them and the annelida. in many species such as the planaria nigra, jusca, and tremellaris, (muller,) dugès ob- served two longitudinal trunks (fig. *) running along the sides of the under surface of the animal, and joining together, both at their fore and hind extremities, so as to form a continuous channel of an oval form. a great number of smaller vessels branch off from these main trunks in every direction, and ramify extensively, often uniting with those from the opposite side, and establishing the freest communications between them. in the annelida which have a more lengthened and cy- lindric form, the principal vessels have a longitudinal course, but are differently disposed in different species. there is, in all, a vascular trunk, extending along a middle line, the whole length of the back, and especially designated as the dorsal vessel; in general, there is also a corresponding trunk, occupying the middle line of the lower, or abdominal side of the body, and termed the abdominal vessel. this latter vessel is sometimes double; one being superficial, and ano- ther lying deeper; the principal nervous cord, and chain of ganglia being situated between them. frequently, there are found, in addition to these, vessels which run along the sides of the body, and are therefore called the lateral ves- sels. in every case there are, as we have seen in the plana- ria, numerous branches, and collateral communications be- tween the lateral, the abdominal, and dorsal vessels; more especially at the two extremities of the body, where the great mass of blood, which has been flowing in one direction in one set of vessels, is transferred into others, which convey f de blainville has described a structure similar to this in a planaria from brazil. dict, des sc. nat. t. xli. . s the wital functions. it in the contrary direction, and complete the circuit of its course. the ramifications and lateral connexions of the minuter branches are often so numerous as to compose a vascular net-work, covering a considerable extent of surface. this general description of the circulatory system is appli- cable to the tribes of annelida possessing the simplest struc- ture, such as the nais, the nereis, and the leech; genera which include a great variety of species of different shapes and sizes. although the vessels themselves may be plainly discerned, it is not so easy to determine the real course which the blood takes while circulating within them; and we accordingly find very great discordance in the reports of different phy- siologists on this subject. de blainville asserts that in all the annelida, the blood in the dorsal vessel is carried back- wards, that is, from the head to the tail; a motion, which, of course, implies its return in the contrary direction, either in the lateral or the abdominal vessels. in the nais, the nereis, and the leech, these last vessels are two in number, situated at the sides of the abdominal surface of the body. carus adds his testimony in favour of this mode of considering the circulation in the annelida. on the other hand, spix, bon- net, sir everard home, and dugès, describe the course of the blood as quite the opposite of this, and maintain that it moves backwards, or towards the tail, in the abdominal ves- sels; and forwards, or towards the head, in the dorsal vessel. morren, who is the latest authority on this subject, gives his testimony in favour of the latter view of the subject, as far as relates to the dorsal vessel of the erpobdella vulga- ris,” an animal allied to the leech, and already noticed in the account of the mechanical functions of this tribe:f but he considers the abdominal vessel as performing also the same function of carrying the blood forwards towards the head, and the two lateral vessels as conveying it backwards, thus completing the circuit. this is illustrated by the diagram * hirudo vulgaris. (linn.) nephelis vulgaris. (savigny.) f vol. i. p. , where a delineation of this animal was given, fig. . circulation in the annelida. is (fig. ;) where a is the anterior, and p the posterior ex- tremity of the animal, the dorsal vessel occupying the mid- dle straight line between the two lateral vessels, and the di- rection of the stream in each being indicated by the adjacent arrows. the blood in the abdominal vessel following the same course as that in the dorsal vessel, the same diagram represents also these vessels seen from below. fig. is an inferior view of the erpobdella, showing the numerous ramifications of the abdominal vessel; the lesser branches encircling the nervous ganglia, and accompanying the prin- cipal nervous filaments which proceed from them: while the lateral vessels are seen pursuing a slightly serpentine course.* the tribe of lumbrici, which includes the earth-worm, * dugès represents the blood of this animal as moving in different direc- tions in the right and in the left lateral vessels; generally backwards in the former, and forwards in the latter: at the same time that it moves backwards in the dorsal, and forwards in the abdominal vessel. in the communicating branches which pass transversely from one lateral vessel to the other, the blood flows from left to right in those situated in the anterior half of the body, and from right to left in those of the posterior half: so that the plane in which its circuit is performed is horizontal, instead of vertical. it is curi- ous to find an example of a similar transverse circulation, in the vegetable kingdom; this has recently been observed by mr. solly and mr. varley, in a sprout of the chara vulgaris, near the end of which the enclosed fluid re- volves continually on its own axis, instead of following the ordinary course of ascent and descent along the sides of the cylindric cavity.—see trans, of the society of arts, xlix. . the vital functions. is distinguished from the annelida already noticed, by being more highly organized, and possessing a more extensive cir- culation, and a more complicated apparatus for the perform- ance of this function. the greater extent of vascular rami- fications appears to require increased powers for carrying the blood through the numerous and intricate passages it has to traverse; and these are obtained by means of muscular receptacles, capable, by their successive contraction, of add- ing to the impulsive force with which the blood is driven into the trunks that distribute it so extensively. these mus- cular appendages are globular or oval dilatations of some of the large vascular trunks, which bend round the sides of the anterior part of the body, and establish a free communication between the dorsal and the abdominal vessels. they are described by dugès as consisting, in the lumbricus gigas, of seven vessels on each side, forming a series of rounded dilatations, about twelve in number, resembling a string of beads.” in the lumbricus terrestris, or common earth-worm, there are only five pairs of these vessels; they have been de- scribed and figured by sir e. home: but the most full and accurate account of their structure has been given by mor- ren, in his splendid work on the anatomy of that animal.f fig. , which is reduced from his plates, represents these * they are termed by dugès, paisseaux moniliformes, ou dorso-abdomi- maua.-annales des sciences naturelles, xv. . f philos. transact, for , p. ; and pl. iii. fig. . # “de lumbrici terrestris historia naturalis, necnon anatomia tractatus.” qto, bruxelles, . circulation in the crustacea. . singular appendages to the vascular system of the earth- worm, separated from their attachments, and viewed in con- nexion only with the dorsal and abdominal trunks in which they terminate. the abdominal vessel, (a, a,) on arriving near the oesophagus, is dilated, at the point b, into a globu- lar bulb (c.) which is followed, at equal intervals, by four others (c., c.) from each of these bulbs, or ventricles, as they are termed by morren, a vessel (d) is sent off at right angles, on each side; this vessel also enlarges into several nearly globular dilatations (e.) followed by a still larger, and more elongated oval receptacle (p,) which completes the se- micircular sweep taken by the vessel in bending round the sides of the body, in order to join the dorsal vessel (g, g,) in which all the other four communicating vessels, presenting similar dilatations, terminate. sir e. home is of opinion that these dilated portions of the vessel are useful as reser- voirs of blood, for supplying it in greater quantity to the neighbouring organs, as occasion may require: but morren ascribes to them the more important office of accelerating, by their muscular action, the current of circulating blood. if the latter of these views be correct, which the strong pul- sations, constantly visible in these bulbs, render extremely probable, this structure would offer the first rudiments of the organ which, in all the superior classes of animals, per- forms so important an office in the circulation of the blood, namely, the heart: and this name, indeed, is given by cu- vier, morren, and others, to these dilated portions of the vascular systems of the higher orders of annelida.” here, also, the statements of different anatomists are at variance, with regard to the direction taken by the blood while circulating in the vessels: home and dugès represent it as proceeding forwards in the dorsal, and backwards in the abdominal vessels; a course which implies its descent * it is remarkable that the blood in most of the annelida has a bright scarlet colour, and resembles, in this respect, the blood of vertebrated ani- mals. vol. ii. s the vital functions. - along the lateral communicating vessels just described; while de blainville and morren ascribe to it a course precisely the reverse. amidst these conſlicting testimonies, it is extreme- ly difficult to determine on which side the truth lies; and a suspicion will naturally arise, that the course of the blood in the vessels may not be at all times uniform, but may be lia- ble to partial oscillations, or be even completely reversed, by the operation of particular disturbing causes. the larger crustacea possess a circulatory apparatus still more extensive and complete, accompanied by a correspond- ing increase in the energy of the vital functions. as we follow this system in the more highly organized tribes of this class, we find the powers of the dorsal vessel becoming more and more concentrated in its anterior extremity; till, in the decapoda, a family which comprehends the lobster and the crab, we find this part dilated into an oval or globu- lar organ, with very muscular coats, capable of vigorous contractions, propelling its contents with considerable force into the vessels, and therefore clearly entitled to the appel- lation of heart. the distinction between arteries and veins, which can scarcely be made with any precision in the sys- tems of the inferior tribes, is here perfectly determined by the existence of this central organ of propulsion: for the ves- sels into which the blood is sent by its contractions, and which, ramifying extensively, distribute it to distant parts, are indisputably arteries; and, conversely, the vessels which collect the blood from all these parts, and bring it back to the heart, are as decidedly veins. the heart of the lobster is situated immediately under the carapace, or shell of the dorsal region of the thorax, directly over the stomach; its pulsations are very distinct, and are performed with great regularity. the importance of the heart, as the prime agent in the circulation, increases as we advance to the higher classes of animals, whose more active and energetic functions require a continual and rapid renewal of nutrient fluid, and render necessary the introduction of farther refinements into its circulation in the vertebrata. structure. the supply of blood to the heart, being in a con- stant stream, produces a gradual dilatation of the cavity which receives it; and the muscular fibres of that cavity are not ex- cited to contraction, until they are stretched to a certain point. but in order effectually to drive the blood into eve- ry part of the arterial system, where it has great resistances to overcome, a considerable impulsive force is required, im- plying a sudden as well as powerful muscular action. this object is attained, in all vertebrated animals, by providing a second muscular cavity, termed a ventricle, into which the first cavity, or auricle, throws the blood it has received from the veins, with a sudden impulse; and thus the ventricle, be- ing rapidly distended, is excited to a much more quick and forcible contraction than the auricle, and propels the blood it contains into the artery, with an impetus incomparably greater than could have resulted from the action of the au- ricle alone. fig. represents the heart with its two ca- vities; d being the auricle, and e the ventricle; together with the main trunks of the veins (c, c,) which convey the blood into the auricle; and those of the arteries (a,) which receive it from the ventricle for distribution over the whole system. the force of contraction in the principal cavity of the heart being thus increased, it becomes necessary to provide s the wital functions. additional security against the retrograde motion of its fluid contents. valves are accordingly interposed between the auricle and ventricle; and great refinement of mechanism is displayed in their construction. fig. represents their appearance (at v) when the cavities, both of the auricle (d) and the ventricle (e) are laid open: c, c, as before, being the upper and lower venæ cavae, and a, the main trunk of the aorta. these valves are composed of two loose membranes, the fixed edges of which are attached circularly to the aper- ture of communication between the cavities, and their loose edges project into the ventricle; so that they perform the office of flood-gates, allowing a free passage to the blood when it is impelled into the ventricle, and being pushed back the moment the ventricle contracts; in which latter case they concur in accurately closing the aperture, and preventing the return of a single drop into the auricle. these valves being attached to a wide circular aperture, it is necessary that they should be restrained from inverting themselves into the auricle, at each contraction of the ventricle. for this pur- pose there are provided slender ligaments (which are seen in fig. ,) fixed by one end to the edge of the valve, and by the other to some part of the inner surface of the ventri- cle, so that the valve is always kept within the cavity of the latter. in the auricle, the same purpose is answered by the oblique direction in which the veins enter it. circulation in the vertebrata. the arteries themselves, especially the main trunk of the aorta, as it issues from the heart, are muscular, and when suddenly distended, contract upon their contents. it was necessary, therefore, to provide means for preventing any reflux of blood into the ventricle during their contraction; and for this purpose a set of valves (v, fig. ,) is placed at the beginning of these tubes where they arise from the ventricle. these valves consist usually of three membranes, which have the form of a crescent, and are capable of closing the passage so accurately, that not a drop of blood can pass between them.” in order to convey a more clear idea of the course of the blood in the circulatory sys- tem, i have drawn the diagram, º- fig. , exhibiting the gene- º ral arrangement of its compo- a | nent parts. the main arterial / trunk, or aorta (a,) while pro- ceeding in its course, gives off c/ \ numerous branches, (b,) which p b divide and subdivide, till the ramifications (p) arrive at an extreme degree of minuteness; and they are finally distributed to every organ, and to the re- motest extremities of the body. they frequently, during their course, communicate with one another, or anastomose, as it is termed, by collateral branches, so as to provide against interruptions to the circu- lation, which might arise from accidental obstructions in any particular branches of this extended system of canals. the minutest vessels (p,) which, in incalculable numbers, pervade • in the artery of the shark, and other cartilaginous fishes, where the ac- tion of the vessel is very powerful, these valves are much more numerous, and arranged in rows, occupying several parts of the artery. additional valves are also met with in other fishes at the branching of large arterics. the wital functions. every part of the frame, are named, from their being finer than hairs, capillary vessels. after the blood, thus transmitted to the different parts of the body by the arteries, has supplied them with the nourish- ment they require, it is conveyed back to the heart by the veins, which, commencing from the extreme ramifications of the arteries, bend back again in a course directed towards the heart. the smaller branches join in succession to form larger and larger trunks, till they are at length all united into one or two main pipes, called the penae cavae, (c,) which pour their accumulated torrent of blood into the general re- servoir, the heart; entering first into the auricle (d,) and thence being carried forward into the ventricle (e,) which again propels it through the aorta. the veins are larger and more numerous than the arteries, and may be compared to rivers, which, collecting all the water that is not imbibed by the soil, and reconveying it into its general receptacle, the ocean, perform an analogous office in the economy of the earth. the communications of the capillary arteries with the veins are beautifully seen, under the microscope, in the trans- parent membranes of frogs or fishes. the splendid spectacle, thus brought within the cognizance of our senses, of unceasing activity in the minutest filaments of the animal frame, and of the rapid transit of streams of fluid, bearing along with them minute particles, which appear to be pressing forwards, like the passengers in the streets of a crowded city, through multitudes of narrow and winding passages, can never fail, when first beheld, to fill the mind with astonishment;" a feel- ing which must be exalted to the highest admiration, on re- flecting that what we there behold is at all times going on * lewenhoeck, speaking of the delight he experienced on viewing the circulation of the blood in tadpoles, uses the following expressions: “this pleasure has oftentimes been so recreating to me, that i do not believe that all the pleasure of fountains, or water-works, either natural or made by art, could have pleased my sight so well, as the view of these creatures has given me."—phil. trans. xxii. , resf iratory circulation. within us, during the whole period of our lives, in every, even the minutest, portion of our frame. how inadequate, then, must be any ideas we are capable of forming of the in- calculable number of movements and of actions, which are conducted in the living system; and how infinite must be the prescience and the wisdom, by which these multifarious and complicated operations were so deeply planned, and so harmoniously adjusted! § . respiratory circulation. the object of the circulation is not merely to distribute the blood through the general system of the body; it has, also, another and a very important office to perform. the blood undergoes, in the course of its circulation, considera- ble changes, both in its colour and its chemical composition. the healthy blood transmitted by the arteries is of a bright scarlet hue; that brought back by the veins is of a dark pur- ple, from its containing an excess of carbon, and is conse- quently unfit to be again circulated. whenever, from some derangement in the functions, this dark blood finds its way into the arteries, it acts as a poison on every organ which it reaches, and would soon, if it continued to circu- late, destroy life. hence, it is ne- cessary that the blood which returns by the veins should undergo purifi- cation, by exposure either to the air itself, or to a fluid containing air, for the purpose of restoring and pre- serving its salutary qualities. the heart and vascular system have, therefore, the additional task as- signed them of conveying the vi- tiated venous blood to certain or- gans, where it may have access to the air, and receive its the wital functions. vivifying influence; and to this office a distinct set of arte- ries and veins is appropriated, constituting a distinct circu- lation. this i have endeavoured to illustrate by the dia- gram, fig. , where d represents the auricle, and e the ventricle of the heart; and a and c, the main arterial and venous trunks; and where the two circulations are, for the sake of distinctness, supposed to be separated from one ano- ther, so that the two systems of vessels may occupy diffe- rent parts of the diagram. the vessels which pervade the body generally (b,) and are subservient to nutrition, belong to what is termed the greater, or systemic circulation: those which circulate the blood through the respiratory organs, (r,) for the purpose of aeration, compose the system of the lesser, or respiratory circulation. few subjects in physiology present a field of greater in- terest than the comparison of the modes in which these two great functions are, in all the various classes of animals, ex- actly adjusted to each other. so intimately are the organs of circulation related to those which distribute the blood to the respiratory organs, that we never can form a clear idea of the first, without a close reference to the last of these sys- tems. while describing the several plans of circulation presented to us by the different classes, i shall be obliged to assume both the necessity of the function of respiration, and of a provision of certain organs for the reception of air, ei- ther in its gaseous form, or as it is contained in the water, where the blood may be subjected to its action. it is ne- cessary, also, to state that the organs for receiving atmosphe- ric air, in its gaseous state, are either lungs, or pulmonary cavities, while those which are constructed for aquatic res- piration are termed gills, or branchia; the arteries and the veins which carry on this respiratory circulation, being termed pulmonary, or branchial, according as they relate to the one or the other description of respiratory organs. in many animals it is only a part of the circulating blood which undergoes aeration; the pulmonary or branchial arte- ries and veins being merely branches of the general system respiratory circulation. of blood vessels: so that in this case, which is that repre- sented in the preceding figure ( ,) the lesser circulation is included as a part of the general circulation. but in all the higher classes the whole of the blood is, in some part of its circuit, subjected to the influence of the air; the pulmonary, being then distinct from the systemic circulation. in the an- nelida, for instance, the venæ cavae, which bring back the blood from the system, unite to form one or more vessels, which then assume the function of arteries, subdividing and ramifying upon the branchial organs; after this the blood is again collected by the branchial veins, which unite into one trunk to form the arteries of the systemic circulation. most insects, especially when arrived at the advanced stages of their development, have too imperfect a circulation to ef- fect the thorough aeration of the blood: and indeed a greater part of that fluid is not contained within the vascular sys- tem, but permeates the cavities and cellular texture of the body. it will be seen, when i come to treat of respiration, that the same object is accomplished by means totally inde- pendent of the circulatory apparatus; namely, by a system of air-tubes, distributed over every part of the body. but an apparatus of this kind is not required in those arachni- da, where the circulation is vigorous, and continues during the whole of life: here, then, we again meet with a pulmo- nary as well as a systemic circulation, in conjunction with internal cavities for the reception of air. in the crustacea the circulation is conducted on the same general plan as in the annelida: the blood from every part of the body being collected by the venae cavae, which are exceedingly capacious, and extend, on each side, along the lower surface of the ab- domen. they send out branches, which distribute the blood to the gills; but these branches, at their ori- gin, suddenly dilate, so as to vol. ii. the wital functions. form large receptacles, which are called sinuses, where the blood is allowed to accumulate, and where, by the muscularity of the expanded coats of the vessels, it receives an additional force of propulsion. from the branchiae the blood is re- turned by another set of veins to the elongated heart for- merly described, and propelled by that organ into the sys- temic arteries. fig. shows the relative situation of these vessels, when isolated and viewed from behind in the maja squinado, c, c, are the venæ cavae; e, e, the ve- nous sinuses above-mentioned; f, f, are the branchial ar- teries; g, the gills, or branchiae; and , , the branchial veins terminating in the heart l.” in the mollusca, the heart acquires greater size, compared with the other organs, and exerts a proportionally greater influence as the prime mover in the circulation. in the de- velopment of its structure, in the different orders of this class, a beautiful gradation may be perceived: the branchiopoda having two hearts, one placed upon each of the two lateral trunks of the branchial veins; the gasteropoda having a single heart, furnished with an auricle; and the . cephala being provided with a heart, which has a single ventricle, but two auricles, corresponding to the two trunks of the branchial veins.t the most remarkable variety of structure is that exhibited by the cephalopoda. we have already seen, in the crusta- cea, dilatations of the venæ cavae, at the origin of the branch- ial arteries: but in the nautilus the dilatations of the branch- ial veins are of such a size, as to be almost entitled to the appellation of auricles. the sepia, in whose highly organ- ized system there is required great additional power to pro- pel the blood with sufficient force through the gills, is pro- vided with a large and complicated branchial apparatus; and * a minute account of the organs of circulation in the crustacea is given by audouin and milne edwards, in the annales des sciences naturelles, xi. and , from which work the above figure is taken. f a great number of bivalve mollusca exhibit the singular peculiarity of the lower portion of the intestinal tube traversing through the cavity of the heart. respiratory circulation in fishes. the requisite power is supplied by two additional hearts, situated on the venae cavae, of which they appear as if they were dilatations, immediately before the branchial arteries are sent off." they are shown at e, e, fig. , which re- presents this part of the vascular system of the loligo, de- tached from the surrounding parts; the course of the blood being indicated by arrows. c is one of the three trunks constituting the venæ cavae, proceeding from above, dividing into two branches as it descends, and terminating, conjointly with the two venous trunks (d,) which are coming from be- low, into the lateral or branchial hearts (e, e,) already men- tioned. thence the blood is conveyed by the branchial arteries, (f, f,) on each side, to the gills (g,) and returned, by the branchial veins ( ,) to the large central, or systemic heart (l.) which again distributes it, by means of the sys- temic arteries, to every part of the body. the cuttle-fish tribe is the only one thus furnished with three distinct hearts for carrying on a double circulation: none of these hearts are furnished with auricles. the remarkable distribution of the muscular powers which give an impulse to the circulating fluids, met with in * these veins are surrounded by a great number of blind pouches, which have the appearance of a fringe; the use of this singular structure is un- known. the vital functions. the sepia, constitutes a step in the transition from mollusca to fishes. in this latter class of animals, the two lateral hearts have united into a single central heart, while the aortic heart has entirely disappeared; and thus the position of the heart with respect to the two circulations is just the reverse of that which it has in the invertebrated classes. the plan in fishes is shown in the diagram, fig. , where the cen- tral organs are seen to consist of four cavities, c, d, e, f, opening successively the one into the other. the heart belongs exclusively to the gills; and there proceeds from it, not the aorta, but the trunk of those branchial arteries (f,) which convey the whole of the blood to the respiratory organs (g, h.) this blood, after being there aerated, is collected by the branchial veins ( ,) which unite into a single trunk (a,) passing down the back, and performing, without any intermediate heart, the office of an aorta; that is, it divides into innumerable branches, and distributes the blood to every part of the system.” the blood is then reconveyed to the heart by the ordinary veins, which form a large vena cava (c.) this vein is generally considerably dilated at its termination, or just before it opens into the auricle, con- stituting what has been termed a venous sinus (s.) this, then, is followed by the auricle (d) and the ventricle (e;) but, besides these cavities, there is also a fourth (f,) formed by a dilatation of the beginning of the branchial artery, and termed the bulbus arteriosus, contributing, doubtless, to * the caudal branch of the aorta is protected by the roots of the inferior spinous processes, joining to form arches through which it passes; and fre- quently the artery is contained in a bony channel, formed by the bodies of the vertebrae, which effectually secures it from all external pressure. in the sturgeon even the abdominal aorta is thus protected, being entirely concealed within this bony canal. respiratory circulation in reptiles. augment the impetus with which the blood is sent into the branchial arteries. the circulation in reptiles is not double, like that of fishes; for only a part of the blood is brought under the in- fluence of the air in the pulmonary organs. all the animals belonging to this class are cold-blooded, sluggish, and inert; they subsist upon a scanty allowance of food, and are as- tonishingly tenacious of life. the simplest form in which we meet with this mode of circulation is in the batrachia; it is shown in the diagram, fig. . the heart of the frog, for example, may be considered as consisting of a single ventricle (e,) and a single auricle (d.") from the former there proceeds one great arterial trunk, which is proper- ly the aorta. this aorta soon divides into two trunks, which, after sending branches to the head and neck, bend downwards (as it is seen at o, p,) and unite to form a single trunk (a,) which is the descending aorta. from this vessel proceed all the arteries which are distributed to the trunk and to the limbs, and which are represented as situated at b: these arterial ramifica- tions are continued into the great ve- nous trunks, which, as usual, constitute the venae cavae (c.) and terminate in the auricle (d.) from each of the trunks which arise from the primary division of the aorta, there proceed the small arteries (f,) which are distributed to the lungs (h,) and convey to those organs a part only of the mass of circulating blood. to • dr. davy has observed that although the auricle appears single, when viewed externally, its cavity is in reality divided into two compartments by a transparent membranous partition in which some muscular fibres are apparent: these communicate with the cavity of the ventricle by a common opening provided with three semilunar valves. edin. phil journal; xix. . the wital functions. these pulmonary arteries there correspond a set of veins, uniting in the trunks ( ,) which bring back the aerated blood to the auricle of the heart (d,) where it is mixed with the blood which has returned by the venæ cavae (c.) from the general circulation. thus the blood is only partially aerated, in consequence of the lesser circulation being here only a branch of the greater. nothing is more curious or beautiful than the mode in which, during the transformations of this animal, nature conducts the gradual transition of the branchial circulation of the tadpole, into the pulmonary circulation of the frog. in the former, the respiratory organs are constructed on the model of those of fishes, and respiration is performed in the same manner as in that class of animals: the heart is conse- quently essentially branchial, sending the whole of its blood to the gills, the veins returning from which (describing the course marked by the dotted lines m, n, in the diagram,) unite, as in fishes, to form the descending aorta. as the lungs develope, small arterial branches, arising from the aor- ta, are distributed to those organs, and in proportion as these arteries enlarge, the branchial arteries diminish; until, on their becoming entirely obliterated, the course of the blood is wholly diverted from them, and flows through the en- larged lateral trunks (o, p,) of which the junction constitutes the descending aorta. this latter vessel now receives the whole of its blood directly from the heart; which, from be- ing originally a branchial, has become a systemic heart. the heart of the chelonian reptiles, such as the ordinary species of tortoises and turtles, has two distinct auricles; the one, receiving the blood from the pulmonary veins; the other, from those of the body generally; so that the mixture of aerated and vitiated blood takes place, not in the auricle, but in the ventricle itself. when all the cavities are dis- tended with blood, the two auricles being nearly of the same size as the ventricle, the whole has the appearance of a union of three hearts. the circulatory system of the ophidia is constructed on a plan very similar to that of the chelonia. warm-blooded circui, ation. in the saurian reptiles, the structure becomes again more complicated. in the chameleon each auricle of the heart has a large venous sinus, appearing like two supplementary auricles.” the heart of the crocodile has not only two au- ricles, but its ventricle is divided by two partitions, into three chambers: each of the partitions is perforated to allow of a free communication between the chambers; and the pas- sages are so adjusted as to determine the current of aerated blood, returning from the lungs, into those arteries, more especially, which supply the head and the muscles of the limbs; while the vitiated blood is made again to circulate through the arteries of the viscera.f it is in warm-blooded animals that the two offices of the circulation are most efficiently performed; for the whole of the blood passes, alternately, through the greater and the lesser circulations, and a complete apparatus is provided for each. there are, in fact, two hearts, the one on the left side impelling the blood through the greater or systemic circu- lation; the other, on the right side, appropriated to the lesser, or pulmonary circulation. the annexed diagram, (fig. ,) illustrates the plan of the cir- culation in warm-blooded ani- mals. from the left ventri- cle (l) the blood is propelled into the aorta (a,) to be dif- fused through the arteries of the system (b) to every part, and penetrating into all the capillary vessels; thence it is returned by the veins, through the venæ cavae (c.) to the right auricle (p,) which delivers it into the right ventricle (e.) this right ventricle impels the blood, thus received, through the pulmonary arteries * houston; trans. roy. irish acad. xv. . f it would appear, from this arrangement of the vessels, that the brain, or distribution of blood vessels. is conducive to their mutual strength: for the fibres of each intermix and even co-operate in their actions, and both cir- culations are carried on at the same time; that is, both ven- tricles contract or close at the same instant; and the same applies to the auricles. the blood which has just returned from the body, and that from the lungs, the former by the venae cavae, the latter by the pulmonary veins, fill their re- spective auricles at the same instant; and both auricles, con- tracting at the same moment, discharge their contents simul- taneously into their respective ventricles. in the like manner, at the moment when the left ventricle is propelling its aerated blood into the aorta, for the purposes of general nutrition, the right ventricle is likewise driving the vitiated blood into the pulmonary artery, in order that it may be pu- rified by the influence of the air. thus, the same blood which, during the interval of one pulsation, was circulating through the lungs, is, in the next, circulating through the body; and thus do the contractions of the veins, auricles, ventricles, and arteries, all concur in the same general end, and establish the most beautiful and perfect harmony of ac- tion.* § . distribution of blood pessels. in the distribution of the arteries in the animal system, we meet with numberless proofs of wise and provident ar- rangement. the great trunks of both arteries and veins, which carry on the circulation in the limbs, are conducted always on the interior sides, and along the interior angles of the joints, and generally seek the protection of the adja- * evidence is afforded of the human conformation being expressly adapted to the erect position of the body by the position of the heart, as compared with quadrupeds; for, in the latter, the heart is placed directly in the middle of the chest, with the point towards the abdomen, and not occupying any portion of the diaphragm; but, in man, the heart lies obliquely on the dia- phragm, with the apex turned towards the left side. vol. ii. ' the vital functions. cent bones. grooves are formed in many of the bones, where arteries are lodged, with the evident intention of aſ- fording them a more secure passage. thus, the principal arteries which supply the muscles of the chest, proceed along the lower edges of the ribs, in deep furrows formed for their protection. arteries are often still more effectu- ally guarded against injury or obstruction by passing through complete tubes of solid bone. an instance occurs in the ar- teries supplying the teeth, which pass along a channel in the lower jaw, excavated through the whole length of the bone. the aorta in fishes, after having supplied arteries to the vis- cera of the abdomen, is continued to the tail, and passes through a channel, formed by bony processes from the ver- tebrae; and the same kind of protection is afforded to the corresponding artery in the cetacea. in the fore leg of the lion, which is employed in actions of prodigious strength, the artery, without some especial provision, would have been in danger of being compressed by the violent contrac- tions of the muscles: in order, therefore, to guard against this inconvenience, it is made to pass through a perforation in the bone itself, where it is completely secure from pres- sure." the energy of every function is regulated in a great mea- sure by the quantity of blood which the organs exercising that function receive. the muscles employed in the most vigorous actions are always found to receive the largest share of blood. it is commonly observed that the right fore leg of quadrupeds, as well as the right arm in man, is stronger than the left. much of this superior strength is, no doubt, the result of education; the right arm being habi- tually more used than the left. but still the different mode in which the arteries are distributed to the two arms consti- tutes a natural source of inequality. the artery supplying the right arm with blood is the first which arises from the * in like manner the coffin bone of the horse is perforated for the safe conveyance of the arteries going to the foot. - distribution of blood wessels. aorta, and it proceeds in a more direct course from the heart than the artery of the left arm, which has its origin in com- mon with the artery of that side of the head. hence it has been inferred that the right arm is originally better supplied with nourishment than the left. it may be alleged, in con- firmation of this view, that in birds, where any inequality in the actions of the two wings would have disturbed the regularity of flight, the aorta, when it has arrived at the centre of the chest, divides with perfect equality into two branches, so that both wings receive precisely the same quantity of blood; and the muscles, being thus equally nou- rished, preserve that equality of strength, which their func- tion rigidly demands. - when a large quantity of blood is wanted in any particu- lar organ, and yet the force with which it would arrive, if sent immediately by large arteries, might injure the texture of that organ, contrivances are adopted for diminishing its impetus, either by making the arteries pursue very winding and circuitous paths, or by subdividing them, before they reach their destination, into a great number of smaller arte- ries. the delicate texture of the brain, for instance, would be greatly injured by the blood being impelled with any considerable force against the sides of the vessels which are distributed to it; and yet a very large supply of blood is re- quired by that organ for the due performance of its func- tions. accordingly we find that all the arteries which go to the brain are very tortuous in their course; every flexure tending considerably to diminish the force of the current of blood. in animals that graze, and keep their heads for a long time in a dependent position, the danger from an excessive impetus in the blood flowing towards the head is much greater than in other animals; and we find that an extraor- dinary provision is made to obviate this danger. the arte- ries which supply the brain, on their entrance into the basis of the skull, suddenly divide into a great number of minute branches, forming a complicated net-work of vessels, an ar- force of the heart. teries, which must be overcome before any blood can enter them. secondly, the arteries are, in most places, so con- nected with many heavy parts of the body, that their dila- tation cannot be effected without, at the same time, commu- nicating motion to them. thus, when we sit cross-legged, the pulsation of the artery in the ham, which is pressed upon the knee of the other leg, is sufficiently strong to raise the whole leg and foot at each beat of the pulse. if we con- sider the great weight of the leg, and reflect upon the length of the lever by which that weight acts, we shall be convinced of the prodigious force which is actually exerted by the cur- rent of blood in the artery in thus raising the whole limb. thirdly, the winding course, which the blood is forced to take, in following all the oblique and serpentine flexures of the arteries, must greatly impede its motion. but not- withstanding these numerous and powerful impediments, the force of the heart is so great, that, in defiance of all obstacles or causes of retardation, it drives the blood with immense velocity into the aorta. the ventricle of the human heart does not contain more than an ounce of blood, and it con- tracts at least seventy times in a minute; so that above three hundred pounds of blood are passing through this organ during every hour that we live. “consider,” says paley, “what an affair this is when we come to very large animals. the aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than the main pipe of the water-works at london bridge; and the water roaring in its passage through that pipe is inferior in impetus and ve- locity to the blood gushing through the whale's heart. an anatomist who understood the structure of the heart, might say before hand that it would play; but he would expect, from the complexity of its mechanism, and the delicacy of many of its parts, that it should always be liable to derange- ment, or that it would soon work itself out. yet shall this wonderful machine go on night and day, for eighty years together, at the rate of a hundred thousand strokes every twenty-four hours, having at every stroke a great resistance to overcome, and shall continue this action for this length * the wital functions. of time, without disorder and without weariness. to those who venture their lives in a ship, it has often been said that there is only a plank between them and destruction; but in the body, and especially in the arterial system, there is in many parts only a membrane, a skin, a thread.” yet how well has every part been guarded from injury: how provi- dentially have accidents been anticipated: how skilfully has danger been averted! the impulse which the heart, by its powerful contraction, gives to the blood, is nearly expended by the time it has reached the veins: nature has accordingly furnished them with numerous valves, all opening, of course, in a direction towards the heart; so that as long as the blood proceeds in its natural course, it meets with no impediment; while a retrograde motion is effectually prevented. hence external pressure, occasionally ap- plied to the veins, assists in promoting the flow of blood towards the heart; and hence the effects of exercise in accelerating the cir- culation. valves are more especially pro- vided in the veins which pass over the mus- cles of the extremities, or which run imme- diately beneath the skin; while they are not found in the more internal veins belonging to the viscera, which are less exposed to une- qual pressure. these valves are delineated in fig. , which represents the interior of one of the larger veins. the situation and structure of the valves belonging to the hydraulic apparatus of the circulation furnish as une- quivocal proofs of design as any that can be adduced. it was the observation of these valves that first suggested to the mind of harvey the train of reflections which led him to the discovery of the real course of the blood in the veins, the arteries and the heart. this great discovery was one of the earliest fruits of the active and rational spirit of in- quiry, which, at the era of bacon’s writings, was beginning to awaken the human mind from its long night of slumber, valves of the weins. and to dissipate the darkness which had, for so many ages, overshadowed the regions of philosophy and science. we cannot but feel a pride, as englishmen, in the recollection, that a discovery of such vast importance as that of the cir- culation of the blood, which has led to all the modern im- provements in the medical art, was made by our own coun- tryman, whose name will for ever live in the annals of our race as one of its most distinguished benefactors. the con- sideration, also, that it had its source in the study of com- parative anatomy and physiology, affords us a convincing proof of the great advantage that may result from the culti- vation of those sciences; to which nature, indeed, seems, in this instance, expressly to have invited us, by displaying to our view, in the organs of the circulation, an endless di- versity of combinations, as if she had purposely designed to elucidate their relations with the vital powers, and to assist our investigations of the laws of organized beings. - ( s ) chapter xi. º respiration. § . respiration in general. the action of atmospheric air is equally necessary for the maintenance of animal, as of vegetable life; and as the ascending sap of the one cannot be perfected unless exposed to the chemical agency of air in the leaves, in like manner the blood of animals requires the perpetual renovation of its vital properties by the purifying influence of respiration. the great importance of this function is evinced by the con- stant provision which has been made by nature, in every class of animals, for bringing each portion of their nutritive juices, in its turn, into contact with air. even the circula- tion of these juices is an object of inferior importance, com- pared with their aeration; for we find that insects, which have but an imperfect and partial circulation of their blood, still require the free introduction of air into every part of their system. the necessity for air is more urgent than the demand for food; many animals being capable of sub- sisting for a considerable time without nourishment, but all speedily perishing when deprived of air. the influence of this element is requisite as well for the production and de- velopment, as for the continuance of organized beings in a living state. no vegetable seed will germinate, nor will any egg, even of the smallest insect, give birth to a larva, if kept in a perfect vacuum. experiments on this subject have been varied and multiplied without end by spallanza- "ni, who found that insects under an air pump, confined in rarefied air, in general lived for shorter periods in propor- respiration. tion to the degree to which the exhaustion of air had been carried. those species of infusoria, which are most tena- cious of life, lived in very rarefied air for above a month: others perished in fourteen, eleven, or eight days; and some in two days only. in this imperfect vacuum, they were seen still to continue their accustomed evolutions, wheeling in circles, darting to the surface, or diving to the bottom of the fluid, and producing vortices by the rapid vibration of their cilia, to catch the floating particles which serve as their food: in course of time, however, they invariably gave in- dications of uneasiness; their movements became languid, a general relaxation ensued, and they at length expired. but when the vacuum was rendered perfect, none of the infu- sions of animal or vegetable substances, which, under ordi- nary circumstances, soon swarm with millions of these mi- croscopic beings, ever exhibited a single animalcule; although these soon made their appearance in great numbers, if the smallest quantity of air was admitted into the receiver. animals which inhabit the waters, and remain constantly under its surface, such as fishes, and the greater number of mollusca, are necessarily precluded from receiving the di- rect action of atmospheric air in its gaseous state. but as all water exposed to the air soon absorbs it in large quanti- ties, it becomes the medium by which that agent is applied to the respiratory organs of aquatic animals; and the oxy- gen it contains may thus act upon the blood with considera- ble effect; though not, perhaps, to the same extent as when directly applied in a gaseous state. the air which is pre- sent in water is, accordingly, as necessary to these animals as the air of the atmosphere is to those which live on land: hence, in our inquiries into the respiration of aquatic ani- mals, it will be sufficient to trace the means by which the surrounding water is allowed to have access to the organs appropriated to this function; and in speaking of the action of the water upon them, it will always be understood that i refer to the action of the atmospheric air which that water contains. vol. ii. . the vital functions. respiration, in its different modes, may be distinguished, according to the nature of the medium which is breathed, into aquatic or atmospheric; and in the former case, it is either cutaneous, or branchial, according as the respiratory organs are external or internal. atmospheric respiration, again, is either tracheal, or pulmonary, according as the air is received by a system of air tubes, or tracheae, or into pulmonary cavities, or lungs. . aquatic respiration. q p zoophytes appear in general to be unprovided with any distinct channels for conveying aerated water into the inte- rior of the bodies, so that it may act in succession on the nu- tritive juices, and after performing this office, may be ex- pelled, and exchanged for a fresh supply. it has according- ly been conjectured, on the presumption that this function is equally necessary to them as it is to all other animals, that the vivifying influence of the surrounding element is ex- erted through the medium of the surface of the body. thus, it is very possible that in polypi, while the interior surface of the sac digests the food, its external surface may perform the office of respiration: and no other mode of accomplishing this function has been distinctly traced in the . calepha. me- dusae, indeed, appear to have a farther object than mere pro- gression in the alternate expansions and contractions of the floating edges of their hemispherical bodies; for these move- ments are performed with great regularity under all circum- stances of rest or motion; and they continue even when the animal is taken out of the water and laid on the ground, as long as it retains its vitality. the specific name of the medu- sa pulmo” (the pulmone marino of the italians,) is derived from the supposed resemblance of these movements to those of the lungs of breathing animals. the large cavities ad- jacent to the stomach, and which have been already pointed out in fig. and ,t have been conjectured to be res- * see the delineation of this animal in fig. , vol. i. p. . f pages and of this volume. aquatic respiration. piratory organs, chiefly, i believe, because they are not known to serve any other purpose. the entozoa, in like manner, present no appearance of internal respiratory organs; so that they probably receive the influence of oxygen only through the medium of the juices of the animals on which they subsist. planariae, which have a more independent existence, though endowed with a system of circulating vessels, have no internal respira- tory organs; and whatever respiration they perform must be wholly cutaneous. such is also the condition of several of the simpler kinds of . nnelida; but in those which are more highly organized, an apparatus is provided for respiration, which is wholly external to the body, and appears as an ap- pendage to it, consisting generally of tufts of projecting fibres, branching like a plume of feathers, and floating in the surrounding fluid. the lumbricus marinus, or lob-worm,” for example, has two rows of branchial organs of this de- scription, one on each side of the body; each row being com- posed of from fourteen to sixteen tufts. in the more sta- tionary annelida, which inhabit calcareous tubes, as the serpula and the teredo, these arborescent tufts are protected by a sheath which envelops their roots; and they are placed on the head, as being the only part which comes in contact with the water. most of the smaller crustacea have branchiae in the form of feathery tufts, attached to the paddles near the tail, and kept in incessant vibratory motion, which gives an appear- ance of great liveliness to the animal, and is more especially striking in the microscopic species. the variety of shapes which these organs assume in different tribes is too great to allow of any specific description of them in this place: but amidst these varieties, it is sufficiently apparent that their construction has been, in all cases, designed to obtain a con- siderable extent of surface over which the minute subdivi- * arenicola piscatorum (lam.) see a delineation of this marine worm in fig. , vol. i. p. . the vital functions. sions of the blood vessels might be spread, in order to ex- pose them fully to the action of aerated water. the mollusca, also, present great diversity in the forms of their respiratory organs, although they are all, with but few exceptions, adapted to aquatic respiration. in many of the tribes which have no shell, as the thetis, the doris, and the tritonia, there are arborescent gills projecting from different parts of the body, and floating in the water. in the lepas, or barnacle, a curious family, constituting a connecting link between molluscous and articulated animals, these organs are attached to the bases of the cirrhi, or jointed tentacula, which are kept in constant motion, in order to obtain the full action of the water on the blood vessels they contain. we are next to consider the extensive series of aquatic animals in which respiration is carried on by organs situated in the interior of the body. the first example of internal aquatic respiration occurs in the holothuria, where there is an organ composed of ramified tubes, situated in a cavity communicating with the intestine, and having an external opening for the admission of the aerated water, which is brought to act on a vascular net-work, containing the nutri- tive juices of the animal, and apparently performing a par- tial circulation of those juices. a still more complicated system of respiratory channels occurs, both in the echinus and asterias, where they open by separate, but very minute orifices, distinct from the larger apertures through which the feet protrude; and the water admitted through these tubes is allowed to permeate the general cavity of the body, and is thus brought into contact with all the organs. the animals composing the family of ascidiae have a large respiratory cavity, receiving the water from without, and having its sides lined with a membrane, which is thrown into a great number of folds; thus considerably extending the surface on which the water is designed to act. the entrance into the oesophagus, or true mouth, is situated at the bottom of this cavity; that is, at the part most remote from the ex- ternal orifice; so that all the food has to pass through the the wital functions. these filaments. organs of this description are denominated branchiae, or gills; and the arteries which bring the blood to them are called the branchial arteries; the veins, which convey it back, being, of course, the branchial veins. the larger crustacea have their branchiae situated on the under side of the body, not only in order to obtain protec- tion from the carapace, which is folded over them, but also for the sake of being attached to the haunches of the feet- jaws, and thoracic feet, and thus participating in the move- ments of those organs. they may be seen in the lobster, or in the crab, by raising the lower edge of the carapace. the form of each branchial lamina is shown at g, in fig. :” they consist of assemblages of many thousands of mi- nute filaments, proceeding from their respective stems, like the fibres of a feather; and each group having a triangular, or a pyramidal figure. the number of these pyramidal bo- dies varies in the different genera; thus, the lobster has twenty-two, disposed in rows on each side of the body; but in the crab, there are only seven on each side. to these organs are attached short and flat paddles, which are moved by appropriate muscles, and are kept in incessant motion, producing strong currents of water, evidently for the pur- pose of obtaining the full action of the element on every por- tion of the surface of the branchiae. in the greater number of mollusca, these important or- gans, although external with respect to the viscera, are with- in the shell, and are generally situated near its outer margin. they are composed of parallel filaments, arranged like the teeth of a fine comb; and an opening exists in the mouth for admitting the water which is to act upon them.t in the * page , of this volume. f these filaments appear, in many instances, to have the power of pro- ducing currents of water in their vicinity by the action of minute cilia, similar to those belonging to the tentacula of many polypi, where the same pheno- menon is observable. thus, if one of the branchial filaments of the fresh water muscle be cut across, the detached portion will be seen to advance in the fluid by a spontaneous motion, like the tentaculum of a polype, under aquatic respiration. gasteropoda, or inhabitants of univalve shells, this opening is usually wide. in the acephala, or bivalve mollusca, the gills are spread out, in the form of laminae, round the mar- gin of the shell, as is exemplified in the oyster, where it is commonly known by the name of beard. the aerated wa- ter is admitted through a fissure in the mouth, and when it has performed its office in respiration, is usually expelled by a separate opening. the part of the mouth through which the water is admitted to the branchiae is sometimes prolonged, forming a tube, open at the extremity, and at all times al- lowing free ingress and egress to the water, even when the animal has withdrawn its body wholly within its shell. sometimes one, and sometimes two tubes of this kind are met with; and they are often protected by a tubular portion of shell, as is seen in the murea, buccinum, and strombus; in other instances, the situation of the tube is only marked by a deep notch in the edge of the shell. in those mollusca which burrow in the sand, this tube can be extended to a considerable length, so as to reach the water, which is alter- nately sucked in and ejected by the muscular action of the mouth. in those acephala which are unprovided with any tube of this kind, the mechanism of respiration consists simply in the opening and shutting of the shell. by watch- ing them attentively, we may perceive that the surrounding water is moved in an eddy by these actions, and that the current is kept up without interruption. all the sepia have their gills enclosed in two lateral cavities, which communi- cate with a funnel-shaped opening in the middle of the neck, alternately receiving and expelling the water by the muscu- lar action of its sides. the forms assumed by the respira- tory organs in this class are almost infinitely diversified, while the general design of their arrangement is still the sain c. as we rise in the scale of animals, the respiratory func- the same circumstances. similar currents of water, according to the recent observations of mr. lister, and apparently determined by the same mechanism of vibratory cilia, take place in the branchial sac of ascidiz. the wital functions. tion assumes a higher importance. in fishes the gills form large organs, and the continuance of their action is more es- sential to life than it appears to be in any of the inferior classes: they are situated, as is well known, on each side of the throat in the immediate vicinity of the heart. their usual form is shown at g g, fig. t, where they are repre- sented on one side only, but in their relative situations with respect to the auricle (d,) and ventricle (e,) of the heart; the bulbus arteriosus (b) and the branchial artery (f.) they have the same fringed structure as in the mollusca, the fibres being set close to each other, like the barbs of a feather, or the teeth of a fine comb, and being attached on each side of the throat, in double rows, to the convex margins of four cartilaginous or osseous arches, which are themselves con- nected with the jaws by the bone called the os hyoides. the mode of their articulation is such as to allow each arch to have a small motion forwards, by which they are separated from one another; and by moving backwards they are again brought together, or collapsed. each filament contains a slender plate of cartilage, giving it mechanical support, and enabling it to preserve its shape while moved by the streams of water which are perpetually rushing past. when their *... " respiration in fishes. surfaces are still more minutely examined, they are found to be covered with innumerable minute processes, crowded to- gether like the pile of velvet; and on these are distributed myriads of blood vessels, spread like a delicate net-work, over every part of the surface. the whole extent of this surface exposed to the action of the aerated water, by these thickly set filaments, must be exceedingly great." a large flap termed the operculum, extends over the whole organ, defending it from injury, and leaving below a wide fissure for the escape of the water, which has per- formed its office in respiration. for this purpose the water is taken in by the mouth, and forced by the muscles of the throat, through the apertures which lead to the branchial ca- vities: in this action the branchial arteries are brought for- wards and separated to a certain distance from each other; and the rush of water through them unfolds and separates each of the thousand minute filaments of the branchiae, so that they all receive the full action of that fluid as it passes by them. such appears to be the principal mechanical ob- ject of the act of respiration in this class of animals; and it is an object that requires the co-operation of a liquid such as water, capable of acting by its impulsive momentum in expanding every part of the apparatus on which the blood vessels are distributed. when a fish is taken out of the wa- ter, this effect can no longer be produced; in vain the ani- mal reiterates its utmost efforts to raise the branchiae, and relieve the sense of suffocation it experiences in consequence of the general collapse of the filaments of those organs, which adhere together in a mass, and can no longer receive the vi- viſying influence of oxygen.t death is, in like manner, the consequence of a ligature passed round the fish, and prevent- ing the expansion of the branchiae and the motion of the opercula. * dr. monro computed that in the skate, the suffice of the gills is, at the least, equal to the whole surface of the human body. f it has been generally stated by physiologists, even of the highest au- thority, such as cuvier, that the principal reason why fishes cannot maintain vol. ii. the vital functions. - in all osseous fishes the opening under the operculum for the exit of the respired water, is a simple fissure; but in most of the cartilaginous tribes, there is no operculum, and the water escapes-through a series of apertures in the side of the throat. sharks have five oblong orifices of this descrip- tion, as may be seen in fig. ." as the lamprey employs its mouth more constantly than other fish in laying hold of its prey, and adhering to other bodies, the organs of respiration are so constructed as to be independent of the mouth in receiving the water. there are seven external openings on each side (fig. ,) lead- ing into the same number of separate oval pouches, situated horizontally, and the inner membrane of which has the same structure as gills: these pouches are seen on a larger scale than in the preceding figure, in fig. . there is also an equal number of internal openings, seen in the lower part of this last figure, leading into a tube, the lower end of which is closed and the upper terminates by a fringed edge in the oesophagus. the water which is received by the seven la- teral openings, enters at one side, and after it has acted upon the gills, passes round the projecting membranes. the greater part makes its exit by the same orifices; but a por- tion escapes into the middle tube, and thence passes, either into the other cavities, or into the oesophagus.t life, when surrounded by air instead of water, is that the branchiae become dry, and lose the power of acting when thus deprived of their natural mois- ture: for it might otherwise naturally be expected that the oxygen of atmo- spheric air would exert a more powerful action on the blood which circulates in the branchiae, than that of merely aerated water. the rectification of this error is due to flourens, who pointed out the true cause of suffocation, stated in the text, in a memoir entitled “expériences sur le méchanisme de la res- piration des poissons.”—annales des sciences naturelles, xx. . * they are also visible in fig. , (page ,) which is that of the squa- lus pristis, a species belonging to this tribe. f it was commonly supposed that the respired water is ejected through the nostril; but this is certainly a mistake, for the nostril has no communi- cation through the mouth, as was pointed out by sir e. home. phil. trans. for , p. . these organs have also been described by bloch and gaertner. respiration in fishes. in the myarine, which feeds upon the internal parts of its prey, and buries its head and part of its body in the flesh, the openings of the respiratory organs are removed suffi- ciently far from the head to admit of respiration going on while the animal is so employed; and there are only two external openings, and six lateral pouches on each side, with tubes similar to those in the lamprey. the perca scandens (daldorff,”) which is a fish inhabiting the seas of india, has a very remarkable structure adapting it to the maintenance of respiration, and consequently to the support of life for a considerable time when out of the water: and hence it is said occasionally to travel on land to some distance from the coast.f the pharyngeal bones of this fish have a foliated and cellular structure, which gives them a capacity for retaining a sufficient quantity of water, not only to keep the gills moist, but also to enable them to per- form their proper office; while not a particle of water is suf- fered to escape from them, by the opercula being accurately closed. the same faculty, resulting from a similar structure, is possessed by the ophicephalus, which is also met with in the lakes and rivers of india and china. eels are enabled to carry on respiration when out of water, for a certain pe- riod, in consequence of the narrowness of the aperture for the exit of the water from the branchial cavity, which en- ables it to be closed, and the water to be retained in that cavity.f i have already stated that, in all aquatic animals, the water which is breathed is merely the vehicle by which the air it contains is brought into contact with the organs of respiration. this air is constantly vitiated by the respiration of these animals, and requires to be renewed by the absorption of a * anthias testudinus (bloch:). anabs (cuv.) f this peculiar faculty has been already alluded to in volume i. p. . # dr. hancock states that the doras costatus, (silurus costatus, linn.) or hassar, in very dry seasons, is sometimes seen, in great numbers, making long marches over land, in scarch of water. edin. phil. journal, xx. . the vital functions. fresh portion, which can only take place when the water freely communicates with the atmosphere: and if this re- newal be by any means prevented, the water is no longer capable of sustaining life. fishes are killed in a very few hours, if confined in a limited portion of water, which has no access to fresh air. when many fishes are enclosed in a narrow vessel, they all struggle for the uppermost place, (where the atmospheric air is first absorbed,) like the unfor- tunate men imprisoned in the black-hole at calcutta. when a small fish pond is frozen over, the fishes soon perish, un- less holes be broken in the ice, in order to admit air: they may be seen flocking towards, these holes, in order to re- ceive the benefit of the fresh air as it is absorbed by the water; and so great is their eagerness on these occasions, that they often allow themselves to be caught by the hand. water from which all air has been extracted, either by the air-pump, or by boiling, is to fishes what a vacuum is to a breathing terrestrial animal. humboldt and provençal made a series of experiments on the quantities of air which fishes require for their respiration. they found that river- water generally contains about one th of its bulk of air, of which quantity one-third consists of oxygen, being about one per cent., of the whole volume. a tench is able to breathe when the quantity of oxygen is reduced to the th part of the bulk of the water, but soon becomes ext ceedingly feeble by the privation of this necessary element. the fact, however, shows the admirable perfection of the or- gans of this fish, which can extract so minute a quantity of air from water to which that air adheres with great tenacity." * the swimming bladder of fishes is regarded by many of the german naturalists as having some relations with the respiratory function, and as be- ing the rudiment of the pulmonary cavity of land animals; the passage of communication with the oesophagus being conceived to represent the trachea. the air contained in the swimming bladder of fishes has been examined by many chemists, but although it is generally found to be a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen, the proportion in which these gases exist is observed to vary considerably. biot concluded from his experiments, that in the air- º the vital functions. are usually situated in rows on each side of the body, as is shown in fig. , which represents the lower abdominal - ſºlº ſ fºlitu nys n w surface of the dytiscus marginalis. they are seen very distinctly in the caterpillar, which has generally ten on each side, corresponding to the number of abdominal segments. in many insects we find them guarded by bristles, or tufts of hair, and sometimes by valves, placed at the orifice, to prevent the entrance of extraneous bodies. the spiracles are opened and closed by muscles provided for that purpose. fig. is a magnified view of spiracles of this description, from the cerambya heros. (fab.) they are the begin- nings of short tubes, which open into large trunks, (as shown in fig. ,) extending longitudinally on each side, and sending off radiating branches from the parts which are op- posite to the spiracles; and these branches are farther subdi- vided, in the same manner as the arteries of the larger ani- mals, so that their minute ramifications pervade every organ in the body. this ramified distribution has frequently oc- casioned their being mistaken for blood vessels. in the wings of insects, the nervures, which have the appearance of veins, are only large air-tubes. jurine asserts that it is by forcing air into these tubes that the insect is enabled sud- denly to expand the wings in preparing them for flight, respiration in insects. giving them, by this means, greater buoyancy, as well as tension. the trachea are kept continually pervious by a curious mechanism: they are formed of three coats, the external and internal of which are membranous; but the middle coat is constructed of an elastic thread coiled into a helix, or cylin- drical spiral, (as seen in fig. ;) and the elasticity of this thread keeps the tube constantly in a state of expansion, and therefore full of air. when examined under water, the tra- cheae have a shining silvery appearance, from the air they contain. this structure has a remarkable analogy with that of the air vessels of plants, which also bear the name of tra- cheae; and in both similar variations are observed in the con- texture of the elastic membrane by which they are kept pervious." the tracheae, in many parts of their course, present re- markable dilatations, which apparently serve as reservoirs of air: they are very conspicuous in the dytiscus margina- iis, which resides principally in water; but they also exist in many insects, as the melolontha and the cerambyar, which live wholly in the air.t those of the scolia horto- rum (fab.) are delineated in fig. , considerably magni- fied. if an insect be immersed in water, air will be seen es- caping in minute bubbles at each spiracle; and in proportion as the water enters into the tubes, the sensibility is de- stroyed. if all the spiracles be closed by oil, or any other unctuous substance, the insect immediately dies of suffoca- tion; but if some of them be left open, respiration is kept up to a considerable extent, from the numerous communi- cations which exist among the air vessels. insects soon • according to the observation of dr. kidd these vessels are often annular in insects, as is also the case with those of plants. he considers the longi- tudinal traches as connecting channels, by which the insect is enabled to direct the air to particular parts for occasional purposes. phil trans for , p. . f léon dufour, annales des sciences naturelles; viii. . the vital functions. perish when placed in the receiver of an air-pump, and the air exhausted; but they are generally more tenacious of life under these circumstances than the larger animals, and often, after being apparently dead, revive on the readmission of air. aquatic insects have tracheae, like those living in air, and are frequently provided with tubes, which are of sufficient length to reach the surface of the water, where they absorb air for respiration. in a few tribes a complicated mode of respiration is practised; aerated water is taken into the body, and introduced into cavities, when the air is extracted from it, and transmitted by the ordinary tracheae to the different parts of the system." such, then, is the extensive apparatus for aeration in ani- mals, which have either no circulation of their nutritious juices, or a very imperfect one; but no sooner do we arrive at the examination of animals possessing an enlarged sys- tem of blood vessels, than we find nature abandoning the system of tracheae, and employing more simple means of effecting the aeration of the blood. advantage is taken of the facility afforded by the blood vessels of transmitting the blood to particular organs, where it may conveniently re- ceive the influence of the air. thus, scorpions are provided, on each side of the thorax, with four pulmonary cavities, seen at l, on the left side of fig. , into each of which air is admitted by a separate external opening. a, b, is the dorsal vessel, which is connected with the pulmonary cavi- ties by means of two sets of muscles, the one set (m, m) be- ing longer than the other (m, m, m.) the branchial arte- ries (v) are seen ramifying over the inner surface of the * mr. dutrochet conceives that the principle on which this operation is conducted is the same with that by which gases are reciprocally transmitted through moistened membranes; as in the experiments of humboldt and gay lussac, who, on enclosing mixtures of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbonic acid gases, in any proportion, in a membranous bladder, which was then im- mersed in aerated water, found that there is a reciprocal transit of the gases; until at length pure atmospheric air remains in the cavity of the bladder. respiration in insects. pulmonary cavities (r) on the right side, whence the blood is conveyed by a corresponding set of branchial veins to the dorsal vessel: and other vessels, which are ordinary - veins, are seen at o, proceeding from the abdominal cavity to join the dorsal vessel. the membrane which lines the pulmonary cavities is curiously plaited, presenting the ap- pearance of the teeth of a comb, and partaking of the struc- ture of gills; and on this account these organs are termed by latreille pneumo-branchiae. organs of a similar de- scription exist in spiders, some species having eight, others four, and some only two: but there is one entire order of arachnida which respire by means of tracheae, and in these the circulation is as imperfect as it is in insects. it may here be remarked that an essential difference ex- ists in the structure of the respiratory organs, according to the nature of the medium which is to act upon them: for in vol. ii. the vital functions. aquatic respiration the air contained in water is made to act on the blood circulating in vessels which ramify on the external surface of the filaments of the gills; while in at- mospheric respiration the air in its gaseous state is always received into cavities, on the internal surface of which the blood vessels, intended to receive its influence, are distri- buted. it is not difficult to assign the final cause of this change of plan; for in each ease the structure is accommo- dated to the mechanical properties of the medium respired. a liquid, being inelastic and ponderous, is adapted, by its momentum alone, to separate and surround the loose float- ing filaments composing the branchiae; but a light gaseous fluid, like air, is, on the contrary, better fitted to expand di- latable cavities into which it may be introduced. occasionally, however, it is found that organs constructed like branchiae, and usually performing aquatic respiration, can be adapted to respire air. this is the case with some species of crustacea, of the order decapoda, such as the crab, which, by means of a peculiar apparatus, discovered by audouin, and milne edwards, retain a quantity of water in the branchial cavity so as to enable them to live a very long time out of the water. it is only in their mature state of development, however, that they are qualified for this amphibious existence, for at an early period of growth they can live only in water. there is an entire order of gasteropodous mollusca which breathe atmospheric air by means of pulmonary cavities. this is the case with the lima.c, or slug, and also with the helia, or snail, the testacella, the clausilia, and many others, which, though partial to moist situations, are, from the conformation of their respiratory organs, essentially land animals. the air is received by a round aperture near the head, guarded by a sphincter muscle, which is seen to dilate or contract as occasion may require, but which is sometimes completely concealed from view by the mouth folding over it. the cavity, to which this opening leads, is lined by a membrane delicately folded, and overspread w respiration by lungs. with a beautiful net-work of pulmonary vessels. other mollusca of the same order, which are more aquatic in their habits, have yet a similar structure, and are obliged at in- tervals to come to the surface of the water in order to breathe atmospheric air: this is the case with the onchidium, the planorbis, the lymnaea, &c. - the structure of the pulmonary organs becomes gradually more refined and complicated as we ascend to the higher classes of animals. in all vertebrated terrestrial animals they are called lungs, and consist of an assemblage of vesi- cles, into which the air is admitted by a tube, called the trachea, or wind-pipe, extending downwards from the back of the mouth, parallel to the oesophagus. great care is taken to guard the beginning of this passage from the intrusion of any solid or liquid that may be swallowed. a cartilaginous valve, termed the epiglottis, is generally provided for this purpose, which is made to descend by the action of the same muscles that perform deglutition, and which then closes ac- curately the entrance into the air-tube. it is an exceedingly beautiful contrivance, both as to the simplicity of the me- chanism, and the accuracy with which it accomplishes the purpose of its formation. at the upper part of the chest the trachea divides into two branches, called the bronchia, passing to the lungs on either side. both the wind-pipe and the bronchia are prevented from closing by the inter- position of a series of firm cartilaginous ringlets, interposed between their inner and outer coats, and placed at small and equal distances from one another. the natural elasticity of these ringlets tends to keep the sides of the tube stretched, and causes it to remain open: it is a structure very analo- gous to that of the trachea of insects, or of the vessels of the same name in plants. the lungs of reptiles consist of large sacs, into the cavity of which the bronchia, proceeding from the bifurcation of the trachea, open at once, and without farther subdivision. cells are formed within the sides of this great cavity, by fine membranous partitions, as thin and delicate as soap the vital functions. bubbles. the lungs of serpents have scarcely any of these partitions, but consist of one simple pulmonary sac, situated on the right side, having the slender elongated form of all the other viscera, and extending nearly the whole length of the body. the lung on the left side is in general scarcely discernible, being very imperfectly developed. in the cha- meleon the lungs have numerous processes which project from them like caeca. in the sauria, the lungs are more confined to the thoracic region, and are more completely cellular. the mechanism, by which, in these animals, the air is forced into the lungs, is exceedingly peculiar, and was for a long time a subject of controversy. if we take a frog as an example, and watch its respiration, we cannot readily discover that it breathes at all, for it never opens its mouth to receive air, and there is no motion of the sides to indi- cate that it respires; and yet, on any sudden alarm, we see the animal blowing itself up, as if by some internal power, though its mouth all the while continues to be closed. we may perceive, however, that its throat is in frequent mo- tion, as if the frog were economizing its mouthful of air, and transferring it backwards and forwards between its mouth and lungs; but if we direct our attention to the nos- trils, we may observe in them a twirling motion, at each movement of the jaws; for it is, in fact, through the nostrils that the frog receives all the air which it breathes. the jaws are never opened but for eating, and the sides of the mouth form a sort of bellows, of which the nostrils are the inlets; and by their alternate contraction and relaxation the air is swallowed, and forced into the trachea, so as to inflate the lungs. if the mouth of a frog be forcibly kept open, it can no longer breathe, because it is deprived of the power of swallowing the air required for that function; and if its nostrils be closed, it is, in like manner, suffocated. the respiration of most of the reptile tribes is performed in a similar manner; and they may be said rather to swallow the air they breathe, than to draw it in by any expansive action respiration in reptiles. of the parts which surround the cavity of lungs; for even the ribs of serpents contribute but little, by their motion, to this effect, being chiefly useful as organs of progressive motion. the chelonia have lungs of great extent, passing back- wards under the carapace, and reaching to the posterior part of the abdomen. turtles, which are aquatic, derive great advantages from this structure, which enables them to give buoyancy to their body, (encumbered as it is with a heavy shell,) by introducing into it a large volume of air; so that the lungs, in fact, serve the purposes of a large swim- ming bladder. that this use was contemplated in their structure is evident from the volume of air received into the lungs, being much greater than is required for the sole purpose of respiration. the section of the lungs of the tur- tle (fig. ,) shows their interior structure, composed of large cells, into which the trachea (t) opens. few subjects in animal physiology are more deserving the attention of those whose object is to trace the operations of nature in the progressive development of the organs, than the changes which occur in the evolution of the tadpole from the time it leaves the egg till it has attained the form of the the wital functions. perfect frog. we have already had occasion to notice seve- ral of these transformations in the organs of the mechanical functions, and also in those of digestion and circulation: but the most remarkable of all are the changes occurring in the respiratory apparatus, corresponding with the opposite na- ture of the elements which the same animal is destined to inhabit in the different stages of its existence. no less than three sets of organs are provided for respiration; the two first being branchiae, adapted to the fish-like condition of the tadpole, and the last being pulmonary cavities, for receiving air, to be employed when the animal exchanges its aquatic for its terrestrial life. it is exceedingly interesting to ob- serve that this animal at first breathes by gills, which pro- ject in an arborescent form from the sides of the neck, and float in the water; but that these structures are merely tem- porary, being provided only to meet the immediate exigen- cy of the occasion, and being raised at a period when none of the internal organs are as yet perfected. as soon as ano- ther set of gills, situated internally, can be constructed, and are ready to admit the circulating blood, the external gills are superseded in their office; they now shrivel, and are re- moved, and the tadpole performs its respiration by means of branchiae, formed on the model of those of fishes, and acting by a similar mechanism. by the time that the system has undergone the changes necessary for its conversion into the frog, a new apparatus has become evolved for the respira- tion of air. these are the lungs, which gradually coming into play, direct the current of blood from the branchiae, and take upon themselves the whole of the office of respiration. the branchiae, in their turn, become useless, are soon obli- terated, and leave no other trace of their former existence than the original division of the arterial trunks, which had supplied them with blood directly from the heart, but which, now uniting in the back, form the descending aorta.” there is a small family called the perenni-branchia, be- * see fig. , p. . respiration in reptiles. longing to this class, which, instead of undergoing all the changes i have been describing, present, during their whole lives, a great similitude to the first stage of the tadpole. this is the case with the xolotl, the proteus anguinus, the siren lacertina, and the menobranchus lateralis, which permanently retain their external gills, while at the same time they possess imperfectly developed lungs. it would therefore seem as if, in these animals, the progress of deve- lopment had been arrested at an early stage, so that their adult state corresponds to the larva condition of the frog.” in all warm-blooded animals respiration becomes a func- tion of much greater importance, the continuance of life being essentially dependent on its vigorous and unceasing exercise. the whole class of mammalia have lungs of an exceedingly developed structure, composed of an immense number of minute cells, crowded together as closely as pos- sible, and presenting a vast extent of internal surface. the thorax, or cavity in which the lungs, together with the heart and its great blood vessels, are enclosed, has somewhat the shape of a cone; and its sides are defended from compres- sion by the arches of the ribs, which extend from the spine to the sternum, or breast-bone, and produce mechanical sup- port on the same principle that a cask is strengthened by being girt with hoops, which, though composed of compara- tively weak materials, are yet capable, from their circular shape, of presenting great resistance to any compressive force. while nature has thus guarded the chest, with such pe- culiar solicitude, against the efforts of any external force, tending to diminish its capacity, she has made ample provi- sion for enlarging or contracting its diameter in the act of * geoffroy st. hilaire thinks there is ground for believing that crocodiles and turtles possess, in addition to the ordinary pulmonary respiration, a par- tial aquatic abdominal respiration, effected by means of the two channels of communication which have been found to exist between the cavity of the abdomen and the external surface of the body: and also that some analogy may be traced between this aquatic respiration in reptiles, by these peritoneal canals, and the supposed function of the swimming bladder of fishes, in sub- •erviency to a species of aerial respiration. the vital functions. respiration. first, at the lower part, or that which cor- responds to the basis of the cone, the only side, indeed, which is not defended by bone, there is extended a thin ex- pansion, partly muscular, and partly tendinous, forming a complete partition, and closing the cavity of the chest on the side next to the abdomen. this muscle is called the dia- phragm: it is perforated, close to its origin from the spine, by four tubes, namely, the oesophagus, the aorta, the vena cava, and the thoracic duct. its surface is not flat, but con- vex above, or towards the chest; and the direction of its fibres is such, that, when they contract, they bring down the middle part, which is tendinous, and render it more flat than before, (the passage of the four tubes already mentioned, not interfering with this action,) and thus, the cavity of the tho- rax may be considerably enlarged. it is obvious that if, upon the descent of the diaphragm, the lungs were to re- main in their original situation, an empty space would be left between them and the diaphragm. but no vacuum can take place in the body; the air cells of the lungs must al- ways contain, even in their most compressed state, a certain quantity of air: and this air will tend, by its elasticity, to ex- pand the cells; the lungs will, consequently, be dilated, and will continue to fill the chest; and the external air will rush in through the trachea in order to restore the equilibrium. this action is termed inspiration. the air is again thrown out when the diaphragm is relaxed, and pushed upwards, by the action of the large muscles of the trunk; the elasticity of the sides of the chest, concurring also in the same effect; and thus ea piration is accomplished. - the muscles which move the ribs conspire also to produce dilatations and contractions of the cavity of the chest. each rib is capable of a small degree of motion on that extremity by which it is attached to the spine; and this motion, as- suming the chest to be in the erect position, as in man, is chiefly upwards and downwards. but, since the inclination of the ribs is such that their lower edges form acute angles with the spine, they bend downwards as they proceed to- wards the breast; and the uppermost rib being a fixed point, respiration in mammalia. the action of the intercostal muscles, which produces an ap- proximation of the ribs, tends to raise them, and to bring them more at right angles with the spine; the sternum, also, to which the other extremities of the ribs are articulated, is elevated by this motion, and, consequently, removed to a greater distance from the spine; the general result of all these actions being to increase the capacity of the chest. thus, there are two ways in which the cavity of the thorax can be dilated; namely, by the action of the dia- phragm, and by the action of the intercostal muscles. it is only in peculiar exigencies that the whole power of this ap- paratus is called into action; for in ordinary respiration the diaphragm is the chief agent employed, and the principal effect of the action of the intercostal muscles is simply to fix the ribs, and thus give greater purchase to the diaphragm. the muscles of the ribs are employed chiefly to give active vol. ii. respiration in birds. terially to the lightness of the fabric." all these cells are very large and numerous in birds which perform the highest and most rapid flight, such as the eagle. the bill of the toucan, which is of a cellular structure, and also the cells between the plates of the skull in the owl, are, in like man- ner, filled with air, derived from the lungs: the barrels of the large quills of the tails and wings are also supplied with air from the same source. in birds, then, the air is not merely received into the lungs, but actually passes through them, being drawn for- wards by the muscles of the ribs when they elevate the chest, and produce an expansion of the subjacent air-cells. the chest is depressed, for the purpose of expiration, by another set of muscles, and the air driven back: this air, consequently, passes a second time through the lungs, and acts twice on the blood which circulates in those organs. it is evident that if the lungs of birds had been constructed on the plan of those of quadrupeds, they must have been twice as large to obtain the same amount of aeration in the blood; and consequently must have been twice as heavy, which would have been a serious inconvenience in an ani- mal formed for flying:t the diffusion of so large a quantity of air throughout the body of animals of this class presents an analogy with a similar purpose apparent in the confor- mation of insects, where the same object is effected by means of tracheae.f * in birds, not formed for extensive flight, as the gallinaceous tribes, the humerus is the only bone into which air is introduced.—hunter on the animal economy, p. . f i must mention, however, that the correctness of this view of the sub- ject is contested by dr. macartney, who thinks it probable that the air, on its return from the large air-cells, passes directly by the large air-holes into the bronchia, and is not brought a second time into contact with the blood. # the peculiarities of structure in the respiratory system of birds have probably a relation to the capability we see them possess, of bearing with impunity, very quick and violent changes of atmospheric pressure. thus, the condor of the andes is often seen to descend rapidly from a height of above , feet, to the edge of the sea, where the air is more than twice the vital functions thus, has the mechanism of respiration been varied in the different classes of animals, and adapted to the particu- lar element, and mode of life designed for each. combined with the peculiar mode of circulation, it affords a tolerably accurate criterion of the energy of the vital powers. in birds, the muscular activity is raised to the highest degree, in consequence of the double effect of the air upon the whole circulating blood in the pulmonary organs. the mamma- lia rank next below birds, in the scale of vital energy; but they still possess a double circulation, and breathe atmo- spheric air. the torpid and cold-blooded reptiles are sepa- rated from mammalia by a very wide interval, because, al- though they respire air, that air only influences a part of the blood; the pulmonary, being only a branch of the gene- ral circulation. in fishes, again, we have a similar result, because, although the whole blood is brought by a double circulation to the respiratory organs, yet it is acted upon only by that portion of air which is contained in the water respired, and which is less powerful in its action than the same element in its gaseous state. we may, in like man- ner, continue to trace the connexion between the extent of these functions and the degrees of vital energy throughout the successive classes of invertebrate animals. the vigour and activity of the functions of insects, in particular, have an evident relation to the effective manner in which the complete aeration of the blood is secured by the extensive distribution of tracheae through every part of their system. § . chemical changes effected by respiration. we have next to direct our attention to the chemical of fices which respiration performs in the animal economy. it the density of that which the bird had been breathing. we are, as yet, una- ble to trace the connexion which probably exists between the structure of the lungs, and this extraordinary power of accommodation to such great and sudden variations of atmospheric pressure. chemical effects of respiration. is only of late years that we may be said to have obtained any accurate knowledge as to the real nature of this impor- tant function; and there is perhaps no branch of physiology which exhibits in its history a more humiliating picture of the wide sea of error in which the human intellect is prone to lose itself, when the path of philosophical induction is abandoned, than the multitude of wild and visionary hypo- theses, devoid of all solid foundation, and perplexed by the most inconsistent reasonings, which formerly prevailed with regard to the objects and the processes of respiration. to give an account, or even a brief enumeration of these theo- ries, now sufficiently exploded, would be incompatible with the purpose to which i must confine myself in this treatise." i shall content myself, therefore, with a concise statement of such of the leading facts relating to this function, as have now, by the labours of modern physiologists, been satisfac- torily established, and which serve to elucidate the benefi- cent intentions of nature in the economy of the animal sys- tem. atmospheric air acts without difficulty upon the blood while it is circulating through the vessels which are rami- fied over the membranes lining the air cells of the lungs; for neither these membranes, nor the thin coats of the ves- sels themselves, present any obstacle to the transmission of chemical elements from the one to the other. the blood being a highly compound fluid, it is exceedingly difficult to obtain an accurate analysis of it, and still more to ascertain with precision the different modifications which occur in its chemical condition at different times: on this account, it is scarcely possible to determine, by direct observation, what are the exact chemical changes, which that fluid undergoes * for an account of the history of the various chemical theories which have prevailed on this interesting department of physiology, i must refer to the “essay on respiration,” by dr. bostock, and also to the “elementary system of physiology,” by the same author, which latter work comprises the most comprehensive and accurate compendium of the science which has yet appeared. chemical effects of respiration. priestley. the exact quantity of oxygen, which is lost in natural respiration, varies in different animals, and even in different conditions of the same animal. birds, for in- stance, consume larger quantities of oxygen by their res- piration; and hence require, for the maintenance of life, a purer air than other vertebrated animals. wauquelin, how- ever, found that many species of insects and worms pos- sess the power of abstracting oxygen from the atmosphere in a much greater degree than the larger animals. even some of the terrestrial mollusca, such as snails, are capa- ble of living for a long time in the vitiated air in which a bird had perished. some insects, which conceal them- selves in holes, or burrow under ground, have been known to deprive the air of every appreciable portion of its oxygen. it is observed by spallanzani, that those animals, whose modes of life oblige them to remain for a great length of time in these confined situations, possess this power in a greater degree than others, which enjoy more liberty of moving in the open air: so admirably have the faculties of animals been, in every instance, accommodated to their re- spective wants. since carbonic acid consists of oxygen and carbon, it is evident that the portion of that gas which is exhaled from the lungs is the result of the combination of either the whole, or a part, of the oxygen gas, which has disappeared during the act of respiration, with the carbon contained in the dark venous blood, which is brought to the lungs. the blood having thus parted with its superabundant carbon, which escapes in the form of carbonic acid gas, regains its natural vermilion colour, and is now qualified to be again transmit- ted to the different parts of the body for their nourishment and growth. as the blood contains a greater proportion of carbon than the animal solids and fluids which are formed from it, this superabundant carbon gradually accumulates in proportion as its other principles, (namely, oxygen, hydro- gen, and nitrogen) are abstracted from it by the processes of secretion and nutrition. by the time it has returned to the the wital functions, heart, therefore, it is loaded with carbon, a principle, which, when in excess, becomes noxious, and requires to be re- moved from the blood, by combining it with a fresh quan- tity of oxygen obtained from the atmosphere. it is not yet satisfactorily determined whether the whole of the oxygen, which disappears during respiration, is employed in the for- mation of carbonic acid gas: it appears, probable, however, from the concurring testimony of many experimentalists, that a small quantity is permanently absorbed by the blood, and enters into it as one of its constituents. a similar question arises with respect to nitrogen, of which, as i have already mentioned, it is probable that a small quantity disappears from the air when it is respired; although the accounts of experimentalists are not uniform on this point. the absorption of nitrogen during respiration was one of the results which dr. priestley had deduced from his experiments: and this fact, though often doubted, ap- pears, on the whole, to be tolerably well ascertained by the inquiries of davy, pfaff, and henderson. with regard to the respiration of cold-blooded animals, it has been satisfac- torily established by the researches of spallanzani, and more especially by those of humboldt and provençal, on fishes, that nitrogen is actually absorbed. a confirmation of this result has recently been obtained by messrs. macaire and marcet, who have found that the blood contains a larger proportion of nitrogen than the chyle, from which it is formed. we can discover no other source from which chyle could acquire this additional quantity of nitrogen, during its conversion into blood, than the air of the atmosphere, to which it is exposed in its passage through the pulmonary vessels.” * according to these views of the chemical objects of res- piration, the process itself is analogous to those artificial operations which effect the combustion of charcoal. the food supplies the fuel, which is prepared for use by the di- - * see the note at page . chemical effects of respiration. gestive organs, and conveyed by the pulmonary arteries to the place where it is to undergo combustion: the diaphragm is the bellows, which feeds the furnace with air; and the tra- chea is the chimney, through which the carbonic acid, which is the product of the combustion, escapes. it becomes an interesting problem to determine whether this analogy may not be farther extended; and whether the combustion of carbon, which takes place in respiration, be not the exclusive source of the increased temperature, which all animals, but more especially those designated as warm- blooded, usually maintain above the surrounding medium. the uniform and exact relation which may be observed to take place between the temperature of animals and the ener- gy of the respiratory function, or, rather, the amount of the chemical changes induced by that function, affords very strong evidence in favour of this hypothesis. the coinci- dence, indeed, is so strong, that, notwithstanding the objec- tions that have been raised against the theory founded upon this hypothesis, from some apparent anomalies which occa- sionally present themselves, we must, i think, admit that it affords the best explanation of the phenomena of any theory yet proposed, and that, therefore, it is probably the true one. the maintenance of a very elevated temperature appears to require the concurrence of two conditions; namely, first, that the whole of the blood should be subjected to the influ- ence of the air, and, secondly, that the air should be pre- sented to it in a gaseous state. these, then, are the circum- stances which establish the great distinction between warm and cold-blooded animals; a distinction which at once stamps the character of their whole constitution. it is the condition of a high temperature in the blood which raises the quadru- ped and the bird to a rank, in the scale of vitality, so far above that of the reptile: it is this which places an insupera- ble boundary between mammalia and fishes. however the warm-blooded cetacea, who spend their lives in the ocean, may be found to approximate in their outward form, and in their external instruments of motion, to the other inhabitants vol ii. the vital functions. of the deep, they are still, from the conformation of their respiratory organs, dependent on another element. if a seal, a porpoise, or a dolphin were confined, but for a short time, under the surface of the water, it would perish with the same certainty as any other of the mammalia, placed in the same situation. we observe them continually rising to the surface in order to breathe, under every circumstance of pri- vation or of danger; and however eagerly they may pursue their prey, however closely they may be pressed by their enemies, a more urgent want compels them, from time to time, to respire air at the surface of the sea. were it not for this imperious necessity, the whale, whose enormous bulk is united with corresponding strength and swiftness, would live in undisturbed possession of the widely extended domains of the ocean, might view, without dismay, whole fleets sent out against him, and might defy all the efforts that man could practise for his capture or destruction. but the constitution of his blood, obliging him to breathe at the sur- face of the water, brings him within the reach of the fatal harpoon. in vain, on feeling himself wounded, does he plunge for refuge into the recesses of the deep; the same ne- cessity recurs, and compelling him again to present himself to his foes, exposes him to their renewed attacks, till he falls in the unequal struggle. his colossal form and gigantic strength are of little avail against the power of man, feeble though that power may seem, when physically considered, but which derives resistless might from its association with an immeasurably superior intellect. ( ) chapter xii. secretion. the capability of effecting certain chemical changes in the crude materials introduced into the body, is one of the powers which more especially characterize life; but although this power is exercised both by vegetable and by animal or- ganizations, we perceive a marked difference in the results of its operation in these two orders of beings. the food of plants consists, for the most part, of the simpler combina- tions of elementary bodies, which are elaborated in cellu- lar or vascular textures, and converted into various pro- ducts. the oak, for example, forms, by the powers of ve- getation, out of these elements, not only the green pulpy matter of its leaves, and the light tissue of its pith, but also the densest of its woody fibres. it is from similar materials, again, that the olive prepares its oil, and the cocoa-nut its milk; and the very same elements in different states of com- bination, compose, in other instances, at one time the luscious sugar of the cane, at another the narcotic juice of the poppy, or the acrid principle of the euphorbium: and the same plant which furnishes in one part the bland farina of the potato, will produce in another the poisonous extract of the night- shade. yet all these, and thousands of other vegetable pro- ducts, differing widely in their sensible qualities, agree very nearly in their ultimate chemical analysis, and owe their pe- culiar properties chiefly to the order in which their elements are arranged; an order dependent on the processes to which they have been subjected in the system of each particular vegetable. the vital functions. in the animal kingdom we observe these processes mul- tiplied to a still greater extent; and the resulting substances are even farther removed from the original condition of un- organized matter. in the first place, the food of animals, instead of being simple, like that of plants, has always un- dergone previous preparation; for it has either constituted a portion of some other organized being, or it has been a product of organization; in each case, therefore, partaking of the complexity of composition which characterizes or- ganized bodies. still, whatever may be its qualities when received into the stomach, it is soon converted by the pow- ers of digestion into a milky, or transparent fluid, having nearly the same uniform properties. we have seen that there is scarcely any animal or vegetable substance, how- ever dense its texture, or virulent its qualities, but is capa- ble of affording nourishment to various species of animals. let us take as an example the elytra of cantharides, which are such active stimulants when applied in powder to the skin in the ordinary mode of blistering; we find that, not- withstanding their highly acrid qualities, they constitute the natural food of several species of insects, which devour them with great avidity; and yet the fluids of these insects, though derived from this pungent food, are perfectly bland, and devoid of all acrimony. cantharides are also, accord- ing to pallas, the favourite food of the hedge-hog; although to other mammalia they are highly poisonous. it has also been found that even those animal secretions, (such as the venom of the rattle-snake,) which, when infused, even in the minutest quantity, into a wound, prove instantly fatal, may be taken into the stomach without producing any de- leterious effects. these, and a multitude of other well- known facts, fully prove how completely substances re- ceived as aliment may be modified, and their properties changed, or even reversed, by the powers of animal diges- tion. r no less remarkable are the transmutations, which the blood itself, the result of these previous processes, is subse- secretion. quently made to undergo in the course of circulation, and when subjected to the action of the nutrient vessels and se- creting organs; being ultimately converted into the various textures and substances which compose all the parts of the frame. all the modifications of cellular substance, in its various states of condensation; the membranes, the liga- ments, the cartilages, the bones, the marrow; the muscles, with their tendons; the lubricating fluid of the joints; the medullary pulp of the brain; the transparent jelly of the eye; in a word, all the diversified textures of the various organs, which are calculated for such different offices, are derived from the same nutrient fluid, and may be considered as being merely modified arrangements of the same ultimate chemical elements. in what, then, we naturally ask, consists this subtle che- mistry of life, by which nature effects these multifarious changes; and in what secret recesses of the living frame has she constructed the refined laboratory in which she operates her marvellous transformations, far surpassing even those which the most visionary alchemist of former times had ever dreamed of achieving? questions like these can only be fairly met by the confession of profound ignorance; for, although the subject of secretion has long excited the most ardent curiosity of physiologists, and has been prosecuted with extraordinary zeal and perseverance, scarcely any po- sitive information has resulted from their labours, and the real nature of the process remains involved nearly in the same degree of obscurity as at first." it was natural to ex- • it is not yet precisely determined to what extent the organs of secretion are immediately instrumental in producing the substance which is secreted; and it has been even suggested that possibly their office is confined to the mere separation, or filtration from the blood, of certain animal products, which are always spontaneously forming in that fluid in the course of its circulation. this hypothesis, in which the glands, and other secreting ap- paratus are regarded as only very fine strainers, is supported by a few facts, which seem to indicate the presence of these products in the blood, inde- pendently of the secreting processes by which they are usually supposed to be formed, but the evidence is as yet too scanty and equivocal to warrant the deduction of any general theory on the subject. the vital functions. pect that in this inquiry material assistance would be de- rived from an accurate anatomical examination of the or- gans by which the more remarkable secretions are formed; yet, notwithstanding the most minute and careful scrutiny of these organs, our knowledge of the mode in which they are instrumental in effecting the operations which are there conducted, has not in reality advanced a single step. to add to our perplexity, we often see, on the one hand, parts, to all appearance very differently organized, giving rise to secretions of a similar nature; and, on the other hand, sub- stances of very different properties produced by organs, which, even in their minutest details, appear to be identical in their structure. secretions are often found to be poured out from smooth and membranous surfaces, such as those which line the cavities of the abdomen, the chest, and the head, and which are also reflected inwards, so as to invest the organs therein contained, as the heart, the lungs, the stomach, the intestines, the liver, and the brain.” in other instances, the secreting membrane is thickly set with mi- nute processes, like the pile of velvet: these processes are called villi, and their more obvious use, as far as we can perceive, is to increase the surface from which the secretion is prepared. at other times we see an opposite kind of structure employed; the secreting surface being the internal lining of sacs or cells, either opening at once into some larger cavity, or prolonged into a tube, or duct, for convey- * sometimes the secreting organ appears to be entirely composed of a mass of vessels covered with a smooth membrane; in other cases, it appears to contain some additional material, or parenchyma, as it is termed. verte- brated animals present us with numerous instances of glandular organs em- ployed for special purposes of secretion: thus, in the eyes of fishes there ex- ists a large vascular mass, which has been called the choroid gland, and which is supposed to be placed there for the purpose of replenishing some of the humours of the eye, in proportion as they are wasted. within the air-bladder of several species of fishes there is found a vascular organ, appa- rently serving to secrete the air with which the bladder is filled; numerous ducts, filled with air, having been observed proceeding from the organ, and opening on the inner surface of the air-bladder. secretion. ing the secreted fluid to a more distant point. these cells, or follicles, as they are termed, are generally employed for the mucous secretions, and are often scattered throughout the surfaces of membranes:* at other times the secreting cavities are collected in great numbers into groups; and they then frequently consist of a series of lengthened tubes, like caeca, examples of which we have already seen in the hepatic and salivary glands of insects. a secretory organ, in its simplest form, consists of short, narrow and undivided tubes; we next find tubes which are elongated, tortuous or convoluted, occasionally presenting di- lated portions, or even having altogether the appearance of a collection of pouches, or sacs; while, in other cases, they are branched, and extend into minute ramifications. sometimes they are detached, or isolated; at other times they are collected into tufts, or variously grouped into masses, where still the se- parate tubes admit of being unravelled. the secreting fila- ments of insects float in the general cavity, containing the mass of nutrient fluid, and thence imbibe the materials they require for the performance of their functions. it is only when they receive a firm investment of cellular membrane, forming what is termed a capsule, and assuming the appear- ance of a compact body, that they properly constitute a gland; and this form of a secreting organ is met with only among the higher animals.t great variety is observable both in the form and struc- ture of different glands, and in the mode in which their blood vessels are distributed. in animals which are fur- nished with an extensive circulation, the vessels supplying the glands with blood are distributed in various modes; and it is evident that each plan has been designedly selected with reference to the nature of the particular secretion to * see p. of this volume; and in particular fig. . sebaceous folli- cles are also noticed in vol. i. p. , f dr. kidd, however, describes bodies apparently of a glandular charac- ter, disposed in rows on the inner surface of the intestinal canal of the gryt. lotalpa, or mole-cricket. phil. tran. for , p. . the wital functions. be performed, although we are here unable to follow the connexion between the means and the end. in some glands, for example, the minute arteries, on their arrival at the or- gan, suddenly divide into a great number of smaller branch- es, like the fibres of a camel-hair pencil: this is called the pencillated structure. sometimes the minute branches, in- stead of proceeding parallel to each other after their divi- sion, separate like rays from a centre, presenting a stel- lated, or star-like arrangement. in the greater number of instances, the smaller arteries take a tortuous course, and are sometimes coiled into spirals, but generally the convo- lutions are too intricate to admit of being unravelled. it is only by the aid of the microscope that these minute and delicate structures can be rendered visible; but the fallacy, to which all observations requiring the application of high magnifying powers are liable, is a serious obstacle to the ad- vancement of our knowledge in this department of phy- siology. almost the only result, therefore, which can be collected from these laborious researches in microscopic ana- tomy, is that nature has employed a great diversity of means for the accomplishment of secretion; but we still remain in ignorance as to the kind of adaptation, which must assuredly exist, of each structure to its respective object, and as to the nice adjustment of chemical affinities which has been pro- vided in order to accomplish the intended effects.” elec- * the only instance in which we can perceive a correspondence between the chemical properties of the secretion, and the kind of blood from which it is prepared, is in the liver, which, unlike all the other glands, has venous, instead of arterial blood, sent to it for that purpose. the veins, which re- turn the blood that has circulated through the stomach, and other abdominal viscera, are collected into a large trunk, called the rena porta, which enters the liver, and is there again subdivided and ramified, as if it were an artery: its minuter branches here unite with those of the hepatic artery, and ramify through the minute lobules which compose the substance of the liver. after the bile is secreted, and carried off by hepatic ducts, the remaining blood is conducted, by means of minute hepatic veins, which occupy the centres of each lobule, into larger and larger trunks, till they all unite in the vena cava, going directly to the heart. (see kiernan's paper on the anatomy and phy- siology of the liver, phil. trans. for , p. .) a similar system of ve- secretion. tricity is, no doubt, an important agent in all these processes, but in the absence of all certain knowledge as to the mode in which it is excited and brought into play in the living body, the chasm can for the present be supplied only by remote conjecture. the process which constitutes the ultimate stage of nutri- tion, or the actual incorporation of the new material with the solid substance of the body, of which it is to form a part, is involved in equal obscurity with that of secretion. nous ramifications, though on a much smaller scale, has been discovered by jacobson, in the kidneys of most fishes and reptiles, and even in some birds. vol. ii. - ( ) chapter xiii. absorption. absorption is another function, related to nutrition, which deserves special notice. the principal object of this function is the removal of such materials as have been al- ready deposited, and have become either useless or injurious, and their conveyance into the general mass of circulating fluids; purposes which are accomplished by a peculiar set of vessels, called the lymphatics. these vessels contain a fluid, which, being transparent and colourless like water, has been denominated the lymph. the lymphatics are perfect- ly similar in their structure, and probably, also, in their mode of action, to the lacteals, which absorb the chyle from the intestinal cavity: they are found in all the classes of verte- brated animals, and pervade extensively every part of the body. exceedingly minute at their origin, they unite to- gether as they proceed, forming larger and larger trunks, generally following the course of the veins, till they finally discharge their contents either into the thoracic duct, or into some of the large veins in the vicinity of the heart. throughout their whole course, they are, like the lacteals, provided with numerous valves, which, when the vessel is distended with lymph, give it a resemblance to a string of beads, fig. ." in the lower animals, it dºn'h appears that the veins are occasionally en- dowed with a power of absorption, similar to that possessed * in warm-blooded animals, the lymphatics are made to traverse, in some part of their course, certain bodies of a compact structure, resembling glands, and termed, accordingly, the lymphatic glands. one of these is represented absorption. by the lymphatics. none of the invertebrata, indeed, pos- sess lymphatics, and absorption must consequently be per- formed by the veins, when these latter vessels exist. the addition of the system of lymphatic vessels, as auxiliaries to the veins, may therefore be regarded as a refinement in or- ganization, peculiar to the higher classes of animals.” professor muller, of bonn, has lately discovered that the frog, and several other amphibious animals, are provided with large receptacles for the lymph, situated immediately under the skin, and exhibiting distinct and regular pulsa- tions, like the heart. the use of these lymphatic hearts, as they may be called, is evidently to propel the lymph in its proper course along the lymphatic vessels. in the frog four of these organs have been found; the two posterior hearts being situated behind the joint of the hip, and the two anterior ones on each side of the transverse process of the third vertebra, and under the posterior extremity of the scapula. the pulsations of these lymphatic hearts do not correspond with those of the sanguiferous heart; nor do those of the right and left sides take place at the same times, but they often alternate in an irregular manner. professor muller has discovered similar organs in the toad, the sala- mander, and the green lizard, and thinks it probable that they exist in all the amphibia.f in fig. . they correspond in structure, and probably also in their func- tions, to the mesenteric glands, through which, in the mammalia, the lacteals pass, before reaching the thoracic duct. it is chiefly in the mammalia, in- deed, that these glands are met with; for they are rare among birds, and still more so among fishes and reptiles. - * fohmann, who has made extensive researches on the absorbent vessels throughout all the classes of vertebrated animals, has found that they termi- nate extensively in the veins. see his work, entitled “anatomische unter- suchungen uber die verbindung der saugadern mit den venen.” f phil. trans. for , p. . chapter xiv. nervous power. the organs which are appropriated to the performance of the various functions conducive to nutrition, are generally designated the vital organs, in order to distinguish them from those which are subservient to sensation, voluntary motion, and the other functions of animal life. the slight- est reflection on the variety and complication of actions comprised under the former class of functions in the higher animals, will convince us that they must be the result of the combined operation of several different agents; but the principal source of mechanical force required by the vital organs, is still, as in all other cases, the muscular power. the coats of the stomach and of the intestinal tube contain a large proportion of muscular fibres, the contractions of which effect the intermixture and propulsion of the con- tents of these cavities, in the manner best calculated to fa- vour the chemical operations to which they are to be sub- jected, and to extract from them all the nourishment they may contain. in like manner, all the tubular vessels, which transmit fluids, are endowed with muscular powers adapted ...to the performance of that office. the heart is a strong hol- low muscle, with power adequate to propel the blood, with immense force, through the arterial and venous systems. the blood vessels, also, especially the minute, or capillary arteries, besides being elastic, are likewise endowed with muscular power, which contributes its share in forwarding the motion of the blood, and completing its circulation. the quantity of blood circulating in each part, the velocity of its motion, and the heat which it evolves, are regulated nervous power. in a great measure by the particular mode of action of the blood vessels of that part. the quantity, and sometimes even the quality of the secretions, are dependent, in like manner, on the conditions of the circulation; and the action of the ducts, which convey the secreted fluids to their re- spective destinations, is also resolvable into the effects of a muscular power. the immediate cause which, in these organs, excites the muscular fibre to contraction, may frequently be traced to the forcible stretching of its parts. this is the case in all hollow and tubular muscles, such as the stomach, the heart, and the blood vessels, when they are mechanically distended, beyond a certain degree, by the presence of contained fluids, or other substances. at other times, the chemical quality of their contents appears to be the immediate stimulus in- citing them to contraction. but numerous instances occur, in the higher orders of animals, in which these causes alone are inadequate to explain the phenomena of the vital func- tions. no mechanical hypothesis will suffice to account for the infinite diversity in the modes of action of the organs which perform these functions, or afford any clew to the means by which they are made to co-operate, with such nicety of adjustment, in the production of the ultimate ef- fect. still less will any theory, comprising only the agency of the muscular power, and the ordinary chemical affinities, enable us to explain how an irritating cause, applied at one part, shall produce its visible effects on a distant organ; or in what way remote and apparently unconnected parts shall, as if by an invisible sympathy, be brought, at the same mo- ment, to act in concert, in the production of a common ef- fect. yet such co-operation must, in innumerable cases, be absolutely indispensable to the perfect accomplishment of the vital functions of animals. nature has not neglected objects so important to the suc- cess of her measures, but has provided, for the accomplish- ment of these purposes, a controlling faculty, residing in the nervous system, and denominated the nervous power. ex- the vital functions. periments have shown that the due performance of the vital functions of digestion, of circulation, and of secretion, re- quires the presence of an agency, derived from different parts of the brain and spinal marrow, and regulating the or- der and combinations of the actions of the organs which are to perform those functions. the same influence, for exam- ple, which increases the power of secretion in any particu- lar gland, is found to increase, at the same time, the action of those blood vessels which supply that gland with the ma- terials for secretion; and conversely, the increased action of the blood vessels is accompanied by an increased activity of the secreting organ. experience also shows that when the influence of the brain and spinal marrow is intercepted, although the afflux of blood may, for a time, continue, yet the secretion ceases, and all the functions dependent upon secretion, such as digestion, cease likewise. thus, the ner- vous power combines together different operations, adjusts their respective degrees, and regulates their succession, so as to ensure that perfect harmony which is essential to the at- tainment of the objects of the vital functions; and thus, not only the muscular power which resides in the vital organs, but also the organic affinities which produce secretion, and all those unknown causes which effect the nutrition, deve- lopment, and growth of each part, are placed under the con- trol of the nervous power.” although we are entirely ignorant of the nature of the nervous power, we know that, when employed in the vital functions, it acts through the medium of a particular set of fibres, which form part of the nervous system, and are classed, therefore, among the nerves. the principal filaments of this class of nerves compose what is called the sympathetic nerve, from its being regarded as the medium of extensive *as the functions of plants are sufficiently simple to admit of being con- ducted without the aid of muscular power, still less do they require the as- sistance of the nervous energy: both of which properties are the peculiar at- tributes of animal vitality. we accordingly find no traces either of nervous or of muscular fibres in any of the vegetable structures. nervous power. sympathies among the organs; but the whole assemblage of these nerves is more commonly known by the name of the ganglionic system, from the circumstance of their being connected with small masses of nervous substance, termed ganglia, which are placed in different parts of their course. fig. , represents a ganglion (g,) through which the nerve (n) consisting at its origin of a number of separate filaments (f,) is seen to pass, before it subdivides into branches (b.) the numerous communications and inter- changes of filaments, which subsequently take place at vari- ous parts, forming what is called a pleaus, are shown in fig. : where four trunks (t, t,) divide into branches, which are again separated, and variously reunited in their course, like a ravelled skein of thread, before they proceed to their respective destinations. the ganglia are connected by nervous filaments with every part of the brain and spinal marrow, the great central organs of the nervous system; and they also send out innu- merable branches, to be distributed all over the body. all the parts receiving blood vessels, and more especially the organs of digestion, are abundantly supplied with ganglionic nerves; so that, by their intervention, all these parts have extensive connexions with the brain and spinal marrow, and also with one another. the ganglia are more particularly the points of union between nervous fibres coming from the vital functions. many different parts: they may be considered, therefore, as performing, with regard to the vital functions, an office ana- logous to that which the brain and spinal marrow perform with regard to the other nerves, or as being secondary cen- tres of nervous power. thus, there are two important ob- jects for which the nerves belonging to the ganglionic sys- tem have been provided; first, to serve as the channels through which the affections of one organ might be enabled to influence a distant organ; and secondly, to be the medium through which the powers of several parts might be com- bined and concentrated for effecting particular purposes, re- quiring such co-operation. hence it is by means of the gan- glionic nerves that all the organs and all the functions are rendered efficient in the production of a common object, and are brought into one comprehensive and harmonious system of operation. the nervous power, the effects of which we are here con- sidering, should be carefully distinguished from that power which is an attribute of another portion of the nervous sys- tem, and which, being connected with sensation, volition, and other intellectual operations, has been denominated sen- sorial power.” the functions of digestion, circulation, ab- sorption, secretion, and all those included under the class of nutrient or vital functions, are carried on in secret, are not necessarily, or even usually attended with sensation, and are wholly removed from the control of volition. nature has not permitted processes, which are so important to the preservation of life, to be in any way interfered with by the will of the animal. we know that in ourselves they go on as well during sleep as when we are awake, and whether our attention be directed to them or not; and though occa- sionally influenced by strong emotions, and other affections of mind, they are in general quite independent of every in- tellectual process. in the natural and healthy condition of * this distinction has been most clearly pointed out, and illustrated by dr. a. p. w. philip. sce his “experimental inquiry into the laws of the vi- tal functions.” nervous power. - the system all its internal operations proceed quietly, stea- dily, and constantly, whether the mind be absorbed in thought or wholly vacant. the kind of existence resulting from these functions alone, and to which our attention has hither- to been confined, must be regarded as the result of mere vegetative, rather than of animal life. it is time that we turn our views to the higher objects, and more curious field of inquiry, belonging to the latter. vol. ii. ( ) part iii. the sensorial functions. chapter i. sensation. the system of mechanical and chemical functions which we have been occupied in reviewing, has been established only as a foundation for the endowment of those higher fa- culties which constitute the great objects of animal exist- ence. it is in the study of these final purposes that the scheme of nature, in the formation of the animal world, opens and displays itself in all its grandeur. the whole of the phenomena we have hitherto considered concur in one essential object, the maintenance of a simply vital existence. endowed with these properties alone, the organized system would possess all that is absolutely necessary for the conti- nuance and support of mere vegetative life. the machine- ry provided for this purpose is perfect and complete in all its parts. to raise it to this perfection, not only has the divine architect employed all the properties and powers of matter, which science has yet revealed to man, but has also brought into play the higher and more mysterious energies of nature, and has made them to concur in the great work that was to be performed. on the organized fabric there has been conferred a vital force; with the powers of mechanism have been conjoined those of chemistry; and to these have been sensation. superadded the still more subtle and potent agencies of ca- loric and of electricity: every resource has been employed, every refinement studied, every combination exhausted that could ensure the stability, and prolong the duration of the system, amidst the multifarious causes which continually menace it with destruction. it has been supplied with am- ple means of repairing the accidents to which it is ordinarily exposed; it has been protected from the injurious influence of the surrounding elements, and fitted to resist for a length- ened period the inroads of disease, and the progress of decay. but can this, which is mere physical existence, be the sole end of life? is there no farther purpose to be answered by structures so exquisitely contrived, and so bountifully pro- vided with the means of maintaining an active existence, than the mere accumulation and cohesion of inert materials, dif- fering from the stones of the earth only in the more arti- ficial arrangement of their particles, and the more varied configuration of their texture? is the growth of an animal to be ranked in the same class of phenomena as the concre- tion of a pebble, or the crystallization of a salt? must we not ever associate the power of feeling with the idea of animal life? can we divest ourselves of the persuasion that the movements of animals directed like our own, to obvious ends, proceed from voluntary acts, and imply the operation of an intellect, not wholly dissimilar in its spiritual es- sence from our own? in vain may descartes and his fol- lowers labour to sustain their paradox, that brutes are only automata, mere pieces of artificial mechanism, insensible either to pleasure or to pain, and incapable of internal af- ſections, analogous to those of which we are conscious in our- selves. their sophistry will avail but little against the plain dictates of the understanding. to those who refuse to admit that enjoyment, which implies the powers of sensation, and of voluntary motion, is the great end of animal existence, the object of its creation must for ever remain a dark and im- penetrable mystery; by such minds must all farther inquiry the sensorial functions. º into final causes be at once abandoned as utterly vain and hopeless. but it surely requires no laboured refutation to overturn a system that violates every analogy by which our reasonings on these subjects must necessarily be guided; and no artificial logic or scholastic syllogisms will long prevail over the natural sentiment, which must ever guide our con- duct, that animals possess powers of feeling, and of sponta- neous action, and faculties appertaining to those of intellect. the functions of sensation, perception, and voluntary mo- tion require the presence of an animal substance, which we find to be organized in a peculiar manner, and endowed with very remarkable properties. it is called the medullary sub- stance; and it composes the greater part of the texture of the brain, spinal marrow, and nerves; organs, of which the assemblage is known by the general name of the nervous system. certain affections of particular portions of this me- dullary substance, generally occupying some central situa- tion, are, in a way that is totally inexplicable, connected with affections of the sentient and intelligent principle; a princi- ple which we cannot any otherwise conceive than as being distinct from matter; although we know that it is capa- ble of being affected by matter operating through the me- dium of this nervous substance, and that it is capable of reacting upon matter through the same medium. of the truth of these propositions there exist abundant proofs; but as the evidence which establishes them will more con- veniently come under our notice at a subsequent period of our inquiry, i shall postpone their consideration; and pro- ceeding upon the assumption that this connexion exists, shall next inquire into the nature of the intervening steps in the process, of which sensation and perception are the results. designating, then, by the name of brain this primary and essential organ of sensation, or the organ whose physical af- fections are immediately attended by that change in the percipient being which we term sensation; let us first in- quire what scheme has been devised for enabling the brain to receive impressions from such external objects, as it is nervous system. - intended that this sentient being shall be capable of per- ceiving. as these objects can, in the first instance, make impressions only on the organs situated at the surface of the body, it is evidently necessary that some medium of com- munication should be provided between the external organ and the brain. such a medium is found in the nerves, which are white cords, consisting of bundles of threads or fila- ments of medullary matter, enveloped in sheaths of mem- brane, and extending continuously from the external organ to the brain, where they all terminate. it is also indispen- sably requisite that these notices of the presence of objects should be transmitted instantly to the brain; for the slightest delay would be attended with serious evil, and might even lead to fatal consequences. the nervous power, of which, in our review of the vital functions, we noticed some of the operations, is the agent employed by nature for this import- ant office of a rapid communication of impressions. the ve- locity with which the nerves subservient to sensation trans- mit the impressions they receive at one extremity, along their whole course, to their termination in the brain, exceeds all measurement, and can be compared only to that of elec- tricity passing along a conducting wire. it is evident, therefore, that the brain requires to be fur- nished with a great number of these nerves, which perform the office of conductors of the ºubtle influence in question; and that these nerves must extend from all those parts of the body which are to be rendered sensible, and must unite at their other extremities in that central organ. it is of espe- cial importance that the surface of the body, in particular, should communicate all the impressions received from the contact of external bodies, and that these impressions should produce the most distinct perceptions of touch. hence, we find that the skin, and all those parts of it more particularly intended to be the organs of a delicate touch, are most abun- dantly supplied with nerves; each nerve, however, commu- nicating a sensation distinguishable from that of every other, so as to enable the mind to discriminate between them, and the sensorial functions. - refer them to their respective origins in different parts of the surface. it is also expedient that the internal organs of the body should have some sensibility; but it is better that this should be very limited in degree, since the occasions are few in which its exercise would be useful, and many in which it would be positively injurious: hence, the nerves of sensation are distributed in less abundance to these organs. it is not sufficient that the nerves of touch should com- municate the perceptions of the simple pressure or resistance of the bodies in contact with the skin: they should also fur- nish indications of other qualities in those bodies, of which it is important that the mind be apprized; such, for example, as warmth, or coldness. whether these different kinds of impressions are all conveyed by the same nervous fibres, it is difficult, and, perhaps, impossible to determine. when these nerves are acted upon in a way which threat- ens to be injurious to the part impressed, or to the system at large, it is also their province to give warning of the im- pending evil, and to rouse the animal to such exertions as may avert it; and this is effected by the sensation of pain, which the nerves are commissioned to excite on all these oc- casions. they act the part of sentinels, placed at the out- posts, to give signals of alarm on the approach of danger. sensibility to pain must then enter as a necessary consti- tuent among the animal anctions; for, had this property been omitted, the animal system would have been but of short duration, exposed, as it must necessarily be, to perpe- tual casualties of every kind. lest any imputation should be attempted to be thrown on the benevolent intentions of the great author and designer of this beautiful and wondrous fabric, so expressly formed for varied and prolonged enjoy- ment, it should always be borne in mind that the occasional suffering, to which an animal is subjected from this law of its organization, is far more than counterbalanced by the consequences arising from the capacities for pleasure, with which it has been beneficently ordained that the healthy ex- ercise of the functions shall be accompanied. enjoyment nervous system. appears universally to be the main end, the rule, the ordi- nary and natural condition: while pain is but the casualty, the exception, the necessary remedy, which is ever tending to a remoter good, in subordination to a higher law of crea- tion. it is a wise and bountiful provision of nature that each of the internal parts of the body has been endowed with a par- ticular sensibility to those impressions which, in the ordina- ry course, have a tendency to injure its structure; while it has, at the same time, been rendered nearly, if not complete- ly, insensible to those which are not injurious, or to which it is not likely to be exposed. tendons and ligaments, for example, are insensible to many causes of mechanical irrita- tion, such as cutting, pricking, and even burning: but the moment they are violently stretched, that being the mode in which they are most liable to be injured, they instantly com- municate a feeling of acute pain. the bones, in like man- ner, scarcely ever communicate pain in the healthy state, except from the application of a mechanical force which tends to fracture them. the system of nerves, comprising those which are de- signed to convey the impressions of touch, is universally present in all classes of animals; and among the lowest or- ders, they appear to constitute the sole medium of commu- nication with the external world. as we rise in the scale of animals, we find the faculties of perception extending to a wider range, and many qualities, depending on the chemi- cal action of bodies, are rendered sensible, more especially those which belong to the substances employed as food. hence arises the sense of taste, which may be regarded as a new and more refined species of touch. this difference in the nature of the impressions to be conveyed, renders it ne- cessary that the structure of the nerves, or, at least, of those parts of the nerves which are to receive the impression, should be modified and adapted to this particular mode of action. as the sphere of perception is enlarged, it is made to sensation. ing apprized, by the increasing loudness of the sound of falling waters, as he advances in a particular direction, that he is coming nearer and nearer to the cataract. . yet how much is really implied in all these apparently simple phe- nomena! science has taught us that these perceptions of external objects, far from being direct or intuitive, are only the final results of a long series of operations, produced by agents of a most subtle nature, which act by curious and complicated laws, upon a refined organization, disposed in particular situations in our bodies, and adjusted with admi- rable art to receive their impressions, to modify and com- bine them in a certain order, and to convey them in regular succession, and without confusion, to the immediate seat of sensation. yet this process, complicated as it may appear, constitutes but the first stage of the entire function of perception: for ere the mind can arrive at a distinct knowledge of the pre- sence and peculiar qualities of the external object which gives rise to the sensation, a long series of mental changes must intervene, and many intellectual operations must be performed. all these take place in such rapid succession, that even when we include the movement of the limb, which is consequent upon the perception, and which we naturally consider as part of the same continuous action, the whole appears to occupy but a single instant. upon a careful ana- lysis of the phenomena, however, as i shall afterwards at- tempt to show, we find that no less than twelve distinguish- able kinds of changes, or rather processes, some of which imply many changes, must always intervene, in regular succession, between the action of the external object on the organ of sense, and the voluntary movement of the limb which it excites. the external agents, which are capable of affecting the different parts of the nervous system, so as to produce sen- sation, are of different kinds, and are governed by laws pe- culiar to themselves. the structure of the organs must, accordingly, be adapted, in each particular case, to receive vol. ii. the sensobial functions. the impressions made by these agents, and must be modi- fied in exact conformity with the physical laws they obey. thus, the structure of that portion of the nervous system which receives visual impressions, and which is termed the retina, must be adapted to the action of light; and the eye, through which the rays are made to pass before reaching the retina, must be constructed with strict reference to the laws of optics. the ear must, in like manner, be formed to receive delicate impressions from those vibrations of the air which occasion sound. the extremities of the nerves, in these and other organs of the senses, are spread out into a delicate expansion of surface, having a softer and more uniform texture than the rest of the nerve, whereby they acquire a susceptibility of being affected by their own ap- propriate agents, and by no other. the function of each nerve of sense is determinate, and can be executed by no other part of the nervous system. these functions are not interchangeable, as is the case with many others in the ani- mal system. no nerve, but the optic nerve, and no part of that nerve, except the retina, is capable, however im- pressed, of giving rise to the sensation of light: no part of the nervous system, but the auditory nerve, can convey that of sound; and so of the rest. the credulity of the public has sometimes been imposed upon by persons who pretend- ed to see by means of their fingers: thus, at liverpool, the celebrated miss m*avoy contrived for a long time to per- suade a great number of persons that she really possessed this miraculous power. equally unworthy of credit are all the stories of persons, under the influence of animal mag- netism, hearing sounds addressed to the pit of the stomach, and reading the pages of a book applied to the skin over that organ. in almost every case the impression made upon the sen- tient extremity of the nerve which is appropriated to sen- sation, is not the direct effect of the external body, but re- sults from the agency of some intervening medium. there is always a portion of the organ of sense interposed between sensation. the object and the nerve on which the impression is to be made. the object is never allowed to come into direct con- tact with the nerves; not even in the case of touch, where the organ is defended by the cuticle, through which the im- pression is made, and by which that impression is modified so as to produce the proper effect on the subjacent nerves. this observation applies with equal force to the organs of taste and of smell, the nerves of which are not only sheathed with cuticle, but defended from too violent an action by a secretion expressly for that purpose. in the senses of hearing and of vision, the changes which take place in the organs interposed between the external impressions and the nerves, are still more remarkable and important, and will be re- spectively the subjects of separate inquiries. the objects of these senses, as well as those of smell, being situated at a dis- tance, produce their first impressions by the aid of some me- dium exterior to our bodies, through which their influence extends: thus, the air is the usual medium through which both light and sound are conveyed to our organs. hence, in order to understand the whole series of phenemena be- longing to sensation, regard must be had to the physical laws which regulate the transmission of these agents. we are now to consider these intermediate processes in the case of each of the senses. ( ) chapter ii. touch. i have already had occasion to point out the structure of the integuments, considered in their mechanical office of protecting the general frame of the body;" but we are not to view them in their relation to the sense of touch, of which they are the immediate organ. it will be recollected that the corium forms the principal portion of the skin; that the cuticle composes the outermost layer; and that between these there occurs a thin layer of a substance, termed the rete mu- cosum. the corium is constructed of an intertexture of dense and tough fibres, through which a multitude of blood vessels and nerves are interspersed; but its external sur- face is more vascular than any other part, exhibiting a fine and delicate net-work of vessels, and it is this portion of the skin, termed by anatomists the vascular plearus, which is the most acutely sensible in every point: hence we may infer that it contains the terminations of all the nervous fila- ments distributed to this organ, and which are here found to divide to an extreme degree of minuteness. when examined with the microscope, this external sur- face presents a great number of minute projecting filaments. malpighi first discovered this structure in the foot of a pig; and gave these prominences the name of papillae. it is pro- bable that each of these papillae contains a separate branch of the nerves of touch, the ultimate ramifications of which are spread over the surface: so that we may consider these papillae, of which the assemblage has been termed the cor- pus papillare, as the principal and immediate organ of * vol. i. p. . touch. touch. this structure is particularly conspicuous on those parts of the skin which are more especially appropriated to this sense, such as the tips of the fingers, the tongue, and the lips: in other parts of the surface, which are endowed with less sensibility, the papillae are scarcely visible, even with the aid of the microscope. the surface of the corium is exquisitely sensible to all ir- ritations, whether proceeding from the contact of foreign bodies, or from the impression of atmospheric air. this ex- treme sensibility of the corium would be a source of con- stant torment, were it not defended by the cuticle, which is unprovided with either blood vessels or nerves, and is, therefore, wholly insensible. for the same reason, also, it is little liable to change, and is thus, in both respects, admi- rably calculated to afford protection to the finely organized corium. although the cuticle exhibits no traces of vascularity, it is by no means to be regarded as a dead or inorganic sub- stance, like the shells of the mollusca. that it is still part of the living system is proved by the changes it frequently undergoes, both in the natural and the diseased conditions of the body. it is perpetually, though slowly, undergoing de- cay and renovation; its external surface drying off in mi- nute scales, and in some animals peeling off in large por- tions. when any part of the human skin is scraped with a knife, a gray dust is detached from it, which is found to con- sist of minute scales. by repeated friction, or pressure of any part of the skin, the cuticle soon acquires an increase of thickness and of hardness; this is observable in the soles of the feet, and palms of the hands, and in the fingers of those who make much use of them in laborious work. but this greater thick- ness in the parts designed by nature to suffer considerable pressure, is not entirely the effect of education; for the cuti- cle, which exists before birth, is found even then to be much thicker on the soles of the feet, and palms of the hands, than on other parts. this example of provident care in origi- the sensorial functions. - nally adjusting the structures of parts to the circumstances in which they are to be placed at an after period, would of itself, were it a solitary instance, be well fitted to call forth our admiration. but the proofs of design in the adaptation of organs to their respective purposes multiply upon us in such profusion, as we study in detail each department of the * animal economy, that we are apt to overlook individual in- stances, unless they are particularly brought before our no- tice. how often have we witnessed and profited by the rapid renewal of the cuticle, when by any accident it has been destroyed, without adverting to the nature of the pro- cess which it implies; or reflected that the vessels of the skin must, on all these occasions, supply the materials, out of which the new cuticle is to be formed, must effect their combination in the requisite proportions, and must deposite them in the precise situations in which they are wanted! different animals present remarkable differences in the thickness and texture of the cuticle, according to the element they are destined to inhabit, and the situations in which they are most frequently placed. provision is in many cases made for preserving the cuticle from the injury it would receive from the long continued action of the air or water; for it is apt to become rigid; and to peel off, from ex- posure to a very dry atmosphere; and the constant action of water, on the contrary, renders it too soft and spongy. in order to guard against both these effects, the skin has been furnished, in various parts of its surface, with a secreting apparatus, which pours out unctuous or mucilaginous fluids: the oily secretions being more particularly employed as a defence against the action of the air, and the mucilaginous fluids as a protection against that of water. the conditions on which the perſection of the sense of touch depends are, first, an abundant provision of soft pa- pillae supplied with numerous nerves; secondly, a certain degree of fineness in the cuticle; thirdly, a soft cushion of cellular substance beneath the skin; fourthly, a hard resist- ing basis, such as that which is provided in the nails of the touch. human fingers; and lastly, it is requisite that the organ be so constructed as to be capable of being readily applied, in a variety of directions, to the unequal surfaces of bodies; for the closer the contact, the more accurate will be the percep- tions conveyed. in forming an estimate of the degree of perfection in which this sense is exercised in any particular animal, we must, accordingly, take into account the mobili- ty, the capability of flexion, and the figure of the parts em- ployed as organs of touch. as touch is the most important of all the senses, inasmuch as it is the foundation of all our knowledge of the material world, so its relative degrees of perſection establish marked differences in the intellectual sagacity of the several tribes, and have a considerable influence on the assignment of their proper station in the scale of animals. although the power of receiving obscure impressions from the contact of external bodies, and of perceiving varia- tions of temperature, is probably possessed by all animals, a small number only are provided with organs specially ap- propriated for conveying the more delicate sensations of touch. the greater part of the surface of the body in the testaceous mollusca is protected by a hard and insensible covering of shell. the integuments of insects, especially those of the coleoptera, are in general too rigid to receive any fine impressions from the bodies which may come in contact with them; and the same observation applies, with even greater force, to the crustacea. the scales of fishes, and of reptiles, the solid incasements of the chelonia, the plumage of birds, the dense coating of the armadillo, the thick hides of the rhinoceros, and other pachydermata, are evidently incompatible with any delicacy of touch. this nicer faculty of discrimination can be enjoyed only by ani- mals having a soft and flexible integument, such as all the naked zoophytes, worms, and mollusca, among the lower orders, and serpents, among the higher. the flexibility of the body or limbs is another condition which is extremely necessary towards procuring extensive and correct notions the sensorial functions. of the relative positions of external objects. it is essential therefore that those instruments which are more particularly intended as organs of touch, should possess this property. it will not be necessary to enter into a minute description of these organs, because they have, for the most part, been already noticed as instruments of prehension; for the sense of touch is in general exercised more particularly by the same parts which perform this latter function. thus the tentacula of the various tribes of polypi, of actiniae, and of annelida, are organs both of prehension and of touch. the tubular feet of the asterias and echinus are, in like man- ner, subservient both to the sense of touch, and to the fa- culty of progressive motion. the feet of insects and of crustacea are well calculated, indeed, by their jointed struc- ture, for being applied to the surfaces, and to different sides of bodies; but they are scarcely ever employed in this capa- city; being superseded by the palpi, which are situated near the mouth. when insects are walking, the palpi are inces- santly applied to the surface on which they advance, as if these organs were especially employed to feel their way. there can be little doubt, however, that, in most insects, touch. the principal organs of touch are the mºntennae, also deno- minated, from their supposed office, the feelers.” some idea of the great variety in the forms of the anten- nae of insects may be obtained from the specimens deline- ated in fig. , which shows a few of the most remarka- ble.f the universality of these organs among every species of this extensive class of animals, their great flexibility, arising from their jointed structure,f their incessant motion when the insect is walking, and their constant employment in exa- mining the surfaces of all the bodies with which they come in contact, sufficiently point them out as instruments of a very delicate sense of touch. organs of this kind were par- ticularly necessary to insects, since the horny nature of the * the german name for them, fühlhörner, or the feeling horns, is founded on the same notion. f in this figure, a represents the form of antennae, technically denomi- nated.antenna capitulo uncinato, as exemplified in the pausus. b. is the a. piloso-verticillata, as in the psychoda ocellaris. c.. a. biclavata, (claviger longicornis.) ...a. triangularis, (lophosia.) clavata, (masaris.) capit, lamellato, (melolontha mas.) capit, fissile, (aphodius fossor.) fusiformis, (zygaena.) capitata, (.dscalaphus.) furcata, (nepa.) bipectinata, (bombyx.) irregularis, (agaon paradoxum.) . cordata, (diaperis boleti.) . bipectinata, (ctenophora.) ... palmata, (nepa cinerea.) ... ensiformis, (truralis.) r..a. setacea, (cerambyr.) # the number of segments into which these organs are divided is often very great. in the gryllotalpa, or mole cricket, it amounts to above . (kidd, phil. trans. for , p. .) this insect has, besides the antennae on the head, two posterior or caudal antennae, which are not jointed, except- ing at their very commencement. these are extremely sensible, and serve, probably, to give the animal notice of the approach of any annoyance from behind. ib. p. . vol. ii. : ... a . a. . . a . ...a. . . a - ...a . . . a. ...a. ... a ...a . . a . a : . touch. every ant which it chances to meet. each ant, on receiving this intimation, immediately sets about repeating the same signal to the next ant which comes in its way; and the alarm is thus disseminated with astonishing rapidity throughout the whole society. sentinels are at all times stationed on the outside of the nests, for the purpose of apprizing the inha- bitants of any danger that may be at hand. on the attack of an enemy, these guardians quickly enter into the nest, and spread the intelligence on every side: the whole swarm is soon in motion, and while the greater number of ants rush forwards with desperate fury to repel the attack, others who are intrusted with the office of guarding the eggs and the larvae, hasten to remove their charge to places of greater se- curity. when the queen bee is forcibly taken away from the hive, the bees which are near her at the time do not soon appear sensible of her absence, and the labours of the hive are car- ried on as usual. it is seldom before the lapse of an hour, that the working-bees begin to manifest any symptoms of uneasiness: they are then observed to quit the larvae which they had been feeding, and to run about in great agitation, to and fro, near the cell which the queen had occupied be- fore her abduction. they then move over a wider circle, and on meeting with such of their companions as are not aware of the disaster, communicate the intelligence by cross- ing their antennae, and striking lightly with them. the bees which receive the news become, in their turn, agitated, and conveying this feeling wherever they go, the alarm is soon participated by all the inhabitants of the hive. all rush forwards with tumultuous precipitation, eagerly seek- ing their lost queen; but after continuing the search for some hours, and finding it to be fruitless, they appear resigned to their misfortune; the noisy hubbub subsides, and the bees quietly resume their labours. a bee, deprived of its antennae, immediately becomes dull and listless: it desists from its usual labours, remains at the bottom of the hive, seems attracted only by the light, and the sensorial functions. takes the first opportunity of quitting the hive, never more to return. a queen bee, thus mutilated, ran about, without apparent object, as if in a state of delirium, and was incapa- ble of directing her trunk with precision to the food which was offered to her. latreille relates that, having deprived some labouring ants of their antennae, he replaced them near the nest; but they wandered in all directions, as if bewil- dered, and unconscious of what they were doing. some of their companions were seen to notice their distress; and, ap- proaching them with apparent compassion, applied their tongues to the wounds of the sufferers, and anointed them with their saliva. this trait of sensibility was repeatedly witnessed by latreille, while watching their movements with a magnifying glass. the arachnida, from the mobility of their limbs, and the thinness of their cutaneous investment, have a very delicate sense of touch. among the mollusca, it is only the higher orders of cephalopoda that enjoy this sense in any con- siderable degree, and they are enabled to exercise it by means of their long and flexible tentacula. many bivalve mollusca have, indeed, a set of tentacula placed near the mouth, but they are short, and of little power. it is pro- bable that the foot may also be employed by these animals as an organ of touch. fishes are, in general, very ill-constructed for the exer- cise of this sense; and their fins are used for no other pur- poses than those of progressive motion. that part of the surface which possesses the most acute feeling is the under- side, where the integuments are the thinnest. the chief seat of the sense of touch, however, is the lip, or end of the snout, which is largely supplied with nerves; and perhaps the cirrhi, or little vermiform processes called barbels, which in some species are appended to the mouth, may be subser- vient to this sense.” these processes in the silurus glanis are moved by particular muscles. * these kind of tentacula are remarkable for their length and mobility in the lophins piscatorius, or angler; and it is said that they are employed by touch. ! serpents, from the great flexibility of their spine, are ca- pable of grasping and twining round objects of almost any shape, and of taking, as it were, their exact measure. this conformation must be exceedingly favourable to the acqui- sition of correct perceptions of touch. as it is these per- ceptions, which, as we shall afterwards find, lay the founda- tion of the most perfect acquaintance with the tangible pro- perties of surrounding bodies, we may presume that this power contributes much to the sagacity possessed by these animals. it has been said of serpents, that their whole body is a hand, conferring some of the advantages of that instru- ment. hellman has shown that the slender bifurcated tongue of these animals is used for the purposes of touch.” in those species of lizards which are enabled by the structure of their feet to clasp the branches of trees, as the gecko and the chameleon, and whose tails also are prehen- sile, we must, for the same reason, presume that the sense of touch exists in a more considerable degree than in other saurian reptiles, which do not possess this advantage the toes of birds are also well calculated to perform the office of organs of touch, from the number of their articulations and their divergent position, and from the papillae with which their skin abounds, accompanied as they are with a large supply of nerves. those birds, which, like the parrot, em- ploy the feet as organs of prehension, probably enjoy a greater development of this sense. the skin which covers the bills of aquatic birds is supplied by very large nerves, and consequently possesses great sensibility. this struc- ture enables them to find their food, which is concealed in the mud, by the exercise of the sense of touch residing in that organ. a similar structure, probably serving a similar purpose, is found in the ornithorhyncus. among mammalia, we find the seat of this sense frequent- ly transferred to the lips, and extremity of the nostrils, and the fish, while lurking in ambush, as a decoy to other fishes, which they en- tice by their resemblance to worms. * quoted by blumenbach. the sensorial functions. many have the nose prolonged and flexible, apparently with this view. this is the case with the shrew and the mole, which are burrowing animals, and still more remarkably with the pachydermata, where this greater sensibility of the parts about the face seems to have been bestowed as some compensation for the general obtuseness of feeling resulting from the thickness of the hide which covers the rest of the body. thus, the rhinoceros has a soft, hook-shaped exten- sion of the upper lip, which is always kept moist, in order to preserve its sensibility as an organ of touch. the hog has the end of the nose also constructed for feeling; though it is not so well calculated for distinguishing the form of ob- jects, as where the organ is prolonged in the form of a snout, which it is in the tapir, and in a still higher degree in the admirably constructed proboscis of the elephant, which, as an organ, both of prehension and of touch, forms the nearest approach to the perfect structure of the human hand. the lion, tiger, cat, and other animals of the genus fe- lis, have whiskers, endowed at their roots with a particular sensibility, from being largely supplied with nerves. the same is the case with the whiskers of the seal. the prehensile tails of the american monkeys are doubt- less fitted to convey accurate perceptions of touch, as well as the feet and hands: as may be inferred from the great size of the nervous papillae, and the thinness of the cuticle of those parts. the sense of touch attains its greatest degree of excellence in the human hand, in which it is associated with the most perfect of all instruments of prehension. but as the struc- ture and functions of this organ are the exclusive subjects of another of these treatises, i shall refrain from any farther remarks respecting them. the sensorial functions. the primary use of this sense, the organ of which is placed at the entrance of the alimentary canal, is evidently to guide animals in the choice of their food, and to warn them of the introduction of a noxious substance into the sto- mach. with respect to the human species, this use has been, in the present state of society, superseded by many acquired tastes, which have supplanted those originally given to us by nature: but in the inferior animals it still retains its pri- mitive office, and is a sense of great importance to the safety and welfare of the individual, from its operation being coin- cident with those of natural instincts. if, as it is said these instincts are still met with among men in a savage state, they are soon weakened or effaced by civilization. the tongue, in all the inferior classes of vertebrated ani- mals, namely, fishes, reptiles, and birds, is scarcely ever constructed with a view to the reception of delicate impres- sions of taste; being generally covered with a thick, and often horny cuticle; and being, besides, scarcely ever employed in mastication. this is the case, also, with a large propor- tion of quadrupeds, which swallow their food entire, and which cannot, therefore, be supposed to have the sense of taste much developed. - insects which are provided with a tongue or a proboscis may be conceived to exercise the sense of taste by means of these organs. but many insects possess, besides these, a pair of short feelers, placed behind the true antennae; and it has been observed that, while the insect is taking food, these organs are in incessant motion, and are continually employed in touching and examining the food, before it is introduced into the mouth: hence, some entomologists have concluded that they are organs of taste. but it must be obvious that in this, as in every other instance in which our researches extend to beings of such minute dimensions, and which oc- cupy a station, in the order of sensitive existence, so remote from ourselves, we are wandering into regions where the only light that is afforded us must be borrowed from vague and fanciful analogies, or created by the force of a vivid and deceptive imagination. ( s ) º chapter iv. smell. animal life being equally dependent upon the salubrious qualities of the air respired, as of the food received, a sense has been provided for discriminating the nature of the for- mer, as well as of the latter. as the organs of taste are placed at the entrance of the alimentary canal, so those of smell usually occupy the beginning of the passages for res- piration, where a distinct nerve, named the olfactory, ap- propriated to this office, is distributed. the sense of smell is generally of greater importance to the lower animals than that of taste; and the sphere of its perceptions is in them vastly more extended than in man. the agents, which give rise to the sensations of smell, are certain effluvia, or particles of extreme tenuity, which are disseminated very quickly through a great extent of atmo- spheric air. it is exceedingly difficult to conceive how mat- ter so extremely rare and subtle as that which composes these odorous effluvia can retain the power of producing any sensible impression on the animal organs: for its tenuity is so extraordinary as to exceed ali human comprehension. the most copious exhalations from a variety of odoriferous substances, such as musk, valerian, or asafoetida, will be continually emanating for years, without any perceptible loss of weight in the body which supplies them. it is well known that if a small quantity of musk be enclosed for a few hours in a gold box, and then taken out, and the box cleaned as carefully as possible with soap and water, that box will retain the odour of musk for many years; and yet vol. ii. the senso rial functions. the nicest balance will not show the smallest increase of its weight from this impregnation. no facts in natural philo- sophy afford more striking illustrations of the astonishing, and indeed inconceivable divisibility of matter, than those relating to odorous effluvia. it would appear that most animal and vegetable bodies are continually emitting these subtle effluvia, of which our own organs are not sufficiently delicate to apprize us, unless when they are much concentrated, but which are readily perceived and distinguished by the lower animals; as may be inferred from their actions. a dog is known to follow its master by the scent alone, through the avenues and turn- ings of a crowded city, accurately distinguishing his track amidst thousands of others. the utility of the sense of smell is not confined to that of being a check upon the respiration of noxious gases; for it is also a powerful auxiliary to the sense of taste, which, of itself, and without the aid of smell, would be very vague in its indications and limited in its range. what may have been its extent and delicacy in man, while he existed in a savage state, we have scarcely any means of determining; but in the present artificial condition of the race, resulting from civilization and the habitual cultivation of other sources of knowledge, there is less necessity for attending to its per- ceptions, and our sensibility to odours may perhaps have di- minished in the same proportion. it is asserted both by soemmerring and blumenbach that the organ of smell is smaller in europeans, and other civilized races of mankind, than in those nations of africa or america, which are but little removed from a savage state: it is certainly much less developed in man than in most quadrupeds. to the carni- vorous tribes, especially, it is highly useful in enabling them to discover their natural food at great distances. the cavity of the nostrils, in all terrestrial vertebrated animals is divided into two by a vertical partition; and the whole of its internal surface is lined by a soft membrane, smell. called the schneiderian membrane,” which is constantly kept moist, is supplied with numerous blood vessels, and upon which are spread the ultimate ramifications of the ol- factory nerves. the relative magnitude of these nerves is much greater in carnivorous quadrupeds than in those which subsist on vegetable food. in quadrupeds as well as in man, these nerves are not collected into a single trunk in their course towards the brain, but compose a great number of fila- ments, which pass separately through minute perforations in a plate of bone, (called the ethmoid bone) before they en- ter into the cavity of the skull, and join that part of the ce- rebral substance with which they are ultimately connected. the surface of the membrane which receives the impres- sions from odorous effluvia, is considerably increased by several thin plates of bone, which project into the cavity of the nostrils, and are called the turbinated bones. these are delineated at t, t, in fig. s , as they appear in a vertical and longitudinal section of the cavity of the human nostril, where they are seen covered by the schneiderian mem- * it has been so named in honour of schneider, the first anatomist who gave an accurate description of this membrane. s the sensorial functions. brane.” a transverse and vertical section of these parts is given in fig. .t the turbinated bones are curiously folded, and often convoluted in a spiral form, with the evi- dent design of obtaining as great an extent of surface as pos- sible within the confined space of the nasal cavity. this tur- binated, or spiral shape, chiefly characterizes these bones among herbivorous quadrupeds: in the horse, for example, the turbinated bones are of a large diameter, and extend the whole length of the prolonged nostrils. their structure is exceedingly intricate; for while they retain, externally, the general shape of an oblong spiral shell, they are pierced on all their internal sides with numerous perforations, through * this figure shows the branches of the olfactory nerve (o,) passing through the thin cribriform plate of the ethmoid bone, and distributed over that membrane. several of the cells, which open into the cavity, are also seen; such as the large sphenoidal sinus (s,) the frontal sinus (f,) and one of the ethmoidal cells (c.) n, is the nasal bone; p, the palate; and f, the mouth of the eustachian tube, which leads to the ear. - f in this figure, s, is the septum, or partition of the nostrils, on each side of which are seen the sections of the turbinated bones projecting into the cavity; the ethmoid cells (c.,) situated between the orbits (os) and the .in- trum maxillare (a,) which is another large cavity communicating with the nostrils. smell. which the membrane, together with the fine branches of the nerves, passes freely from one side to the other. the ca- vities resulting from the convolutions are intersected by un- perforated partitions of extraordinary tenuity, serving both to support the arches of bone, and to furnish a still greater surface for the extension of the olfactory membrane. in the sheep, the goat, and the deer, the structure is very si- milar to that just described; but the convolutions are double, with an intermediate partition, so as to resemble in its trans- verse section the capital of an ionic column.” they are shown at (t) in the transverse section of the nostrils of a sheep in fig. . in carnivorous quadrupeds the structure of these bones is still more intricate, and is calculated to afford a far more ex- tensive surface for the distribution of the olfactory nerve. in the seal this conformation is most fully developed, and the bony plates are here not turbinated, but ramified, as * in a species of antelope described by mr. hodgson, cavities exist, si- tuated immediately behind the ordinary nostrils, and communicating with them. the accessory nostrils are conjectured to be useful to this exceeding- ly fleet animal by facilitating its breathing, while it is exerting its utmost speed; for the expansion of the nostrils opens also these posterior cavities, the sides of which, being elastic, remain dilated. journal of the asiatic so- ciety, feb. , p. . the sensorial functions. shown at t in fig. . eight or more principal branches arise from the main trunk; and each of these is afterwards divided and subdivided to an extreme degree of minuteness, so as to form, in all, many hundred plates. the olfactory membrane, with all its nerves, is closely applied to every plate in this vast assemblage, as well as to the main trunk, and to the internal surface of the surrounding cavity: so that its extent cannot be less than square inches in each nos- tril. an organ of such exquisite sensibility requires an ex- traordinary provision for securing it against injury, by the power of voluntarily excluding noxious vapours; and nature has supplied a mechanism for this express purpose, enabling the animal to close, at pleasure, the orifice of the nostril. the hog, which, in its natural state, subsists wholly on ve- getable food, resembles herbivorous tribes in the external form and relative magnitude of the turbinated bones; but they are more simple in their structure, being formed of sin- gle, and slightly convoluted plates, without partitions or per- forations. in this respect, they approach to the human structure, which is even less complicated, and indicates a greater affinity with vegetable than with animal feeders. man, indeed, distinguishes more accurately vegetable odours than those proceeding from animal substances; while the reverse is observed with regard to quadrupeds whose habits are decidedly carnivorous. a dog, for instance, is regard- less of the odour of a rose or violet; and, probably, as he derives from them no pleasure, is unable to discriminate the one from the other. predacious animals, as sir b. harwood observes, require both larger olfactory nerves, and a more extensive surface for their distribution, than the vegetable eaters. the food of the latter is generally near at hand; and as they have occasion only to select the wholesome from the noxious plants, their olfactory organs are constructed for the purpose of arresting the effluvia of odorous substances immediately as they arise. the former are often under the necessity of discovering the lurking places of their prey at a considerable distance, and are, therefore, more sensible to smell. the weak impressions of particles widely diffused through the surrounding medium, or slightly adhering to those bo- dies, with which the object of their pursuit may have come into contact. the olfactory bones of birds are constructed very much on the model of the spiral bones of herbivorous quadrupeds, and vary but little in the different species. fig. exhi- bits their appearance in the turkey: but the size of the ol- factory nerves of birds of prey greatly exceeds that of the same nerves in granivorous birds. in the latter, indeed, they are exceedingly small; and as the natural food of that tribe has but little odour, we find that they are easily de- ceived by any thing which bears a resemblance to it. sir busick harwood relates that some poultry, which were usually fed with a mixture of barley meal and water, were found to have swallowed, by mistake, nearly the whole con- tents of a pot of white paint. two of the fowls died, and two others became paralytic. the crops of the latter were opened, and considerably more than a pound of the poison- ous composition taken from each; and the crops, either na- turally, or from the sedative effects of the paint, appeared to have so little sensibility that, after the wounds were sewed up, both the fowls eventually recovered. the olfactory nerves are conspicuous in the duck, both from their size and mode of distribution. they are seen the sensorial functions. in fig. , passing out through the orbit of the eye (o) in two large branches, an upper one (u,) and a lower one (l.) the ramifications of which are spread over the mandibles, both within and without. for the protection of the highly sensible extremity of the beak against the injurious impres- sions of hard bodies, a horny process (p,) similar, both in form and office, to the human nail, is attached to it, and its edges guarded by a narrow border of the same horny mate- rial; these receive a first, and fainter impression, and admo- nish the animal of approaching danger; if none occur, the matter is then submitted to the immediate scrutiny of the nerves themselves, and is swallowed or rejected according to their indication.* it has been generally asserted that vultures, and other. birds of prey, are gifted with a highly acute sense of smell; and that they can discover by means of it the carcass of a dead animal at great distances: but it appears to be now suf- ficiently established by the observations and experiments of mr. audubon, that these birds in reality possess the sense of smell in a degree very inferior to carnivorous quadru- peds; and that so far from guiding them to their prey from a distance, it affords them no indication of its presence, even when close at hand. the following experiments appear to be perfectly conclusive on this subject. having procured the skin of a deer, mr. audubon stuffed it full of hay; and after the whole had become perfectly dry and hard, he placed it in the middle of an open field, laying it down on * such is the account given by sir busick harwood, in his “system of comparative anatomy and physiology,” p. . smell, its back, in the attitude of a dead animal. in the course of a few minutes afterwards, he observed a vulture flying to- wards it, and alighting near it. quite unsuspicious of the deception, the bird immediately proceeded to attack it, as usual, in the most vulnerable points. failing in his object, he next, with much exertion, tore open the seams of the skin, where it had been stitched together, and appeared earnestly intent on getting at the flesh, which he expected to find within, and of the absence of which, not one of his senses was able to inform him. finding that his efforts, which were long reiterated, led to no other result than the pulling out large quantities of hay, he at length, though with evident reluctance, gave up the attempt, and took flight in pursuit of other game to which he was led by the sight alone, and which he was not long in discovering and securing. another experiment, the converse of the first, was next tried. a large dead hog was concealed in a narrow and winding ravine, about twenty feet deeper than the surface of the earth around it, and filled with briers and high cane. this was done in the month of july, in a tropical climate, where putrefaction takes place with great rapidity. yet, although many vultures were seen, from time to time, sail- ing in all directions over the spot where the putrid carcass was lying, covered only with twigs of cane, none ever dis- covered it; but in the mean while, several dogs had found their way to it, and had devoured large quantities of the flesh. in another set of experiments, it was found that young vultures, enclosed in a cage, never exhibited any tokens of their perceiving food, when it could not be seen by them, however near to them it was brought." it has been doubted whether fishes, and other aquatic ani- mals, possess the sense of smell; in some of the whale tribe, * edinburgh new journal of science, ii. . the accuracy of these re- sults, which had been contested by mr. waterton, is fully established by the recent observations and experiments of m. bachman, which are detailed in loudon's magazine of nat. hist. vii. . vol. ii. the sensorial functions. indeed, neither the organ of smell nor the olfactory nerves are found.” some physiologists have gone the length of de- nying the capability of water to serve as the vehicle of odo- rous effluvia. but as water is known to contain a large quantity of air, which acts upon the organs of respiration, it is easy to conceive that it may also convey to the nostrils the peculiar agents which are calculated to excite perceptions of smell. fishes are, in fact, observed to be attracted from great distances by the effluvia of substances thrown into the water; and they are well known to have a strong predilec- tion for all highly odoriferous substances. baits used by anglers are rendered more attractive by being impregnated with volatile oils, or other substances having a powerful scent, such as asafoetida, camphor, and musk. mr. t. bellt has discovered in the crocodile and alligator, a gland, which secretes an unctuous matter, of a strong, musky odour, si- tuated beneath the lower jaw, on each side. the external orifice of this gland is a small slit, a little within the lower edge of the jaw; and the sac, or cavity containing the odo- riferous substance, is surrounded by two delicate bands of muscular fibres, apparently provided for the purpose of first bringing the gland into a proper position, and then, by com- pressing it, discharging its contents. mr. bell conceives that the use of this secretion is to act as a bait for attracting fish towards the sides of the mouth, where they can be rea- dily seized in the mode usual to the alligator, which is that of snapping sideways at the objects he aims at devouring. the organs of smell in fishes are situated in cavities, placed one on each side, in front of the head: they are mere- ly blind sacs, having no communication with the mouth or throat, and, indeed, no other outlet but the external open- ings, which are generally two to each sac. the principal entrance is furnished with a valve, formed by a moveable membrane, appearing like a partition dividing each nostril * home; lectures on comparative anatomy, i. . - f phil. trans. for , p. . smell, into two cavities, and serving the purpose of preventing the introduction of any foreign body. the organ itself is si- tuated behind this valve, and consists either of a membrane, curiously plaited into numerous semicircular folds, or of tufted or arborescent filaments. fig. shows this cavity (s) with its plaited membrane in the perch; and fig. , in the skate; the laminae in the former being radiated, and in the latter, foliated, or parallel to each other. on the sur- face of these organs, whatever be their shape, the olfactory nerves (n,) arising from the anterior lobes (o) of the brain, are distributed; and the great size of these nerves would lead us to infer considerable acuteness in the sense which they supply. when the fish is swimming, their situation in front of the snout exposes them to the forcible impulse of the water which strikes against them. according to geof- froy st. hilaire, the water enters the cavity by the upper orifice, and escapes by the lower. scarpa alleges that fishes exercise this sense by compressing the water against the membrane. on the other hand, it is contended by duméril, that the perceptions communicated by this organ, being the result of the action of a liquid instead of a gas, should be classed under the head of taste rather than of smell. this seems, however, to be a mere verbal criticism, in making which it appears to have been forgotten that the impressions of odorous effluvia, even in animals breathing atmospheric air, always act upon the nerve through the intermedium of the fluid which lubricates the membrane of the nostril. that the nasal cavities of fishes are rudimental forms of the sensorial functions. those of the mammalia, although they do not, as in the latter class, open into the the respiratory organs, is shown by the curious transformation of the one into the other during the development of the tadpole, both of the frog and of the sa- lamander. during the first periods of their existence, these animals are perfectly aquatic, breathing water by means of gills, and having all their organs formed on the model of the fish. their nasal cavities are not employed for respiration at this early period, nor even for some time after they have begun to take in air, which they do by the mouth, swallow- ing it in small portions at a time, and afterwards throwing it out in bubbles by the same channel. but when they quit the water, and become land animals with pulmonary respi- ration, the nostrils are the channels through which the air is received and expelled; and it is here also that the sense of smell continues to be exercised. we know very little respecting the seat of the sense of smell in any of the invertebrated animals, though it is very evident that insects, in particular, enjoy this faculty in a very high degree. analogy would suggest the spiracles as the most probable seat of this sense, being the entrances to the respiratory passages. this office has, however, been as- signed by many to the antennae; while other entomologists have supposed that the palpi are the real organs of smell." experiments on this subject are attended with great diffi- culty, and their results must generally be vague and incon- clusive. those which mr. p. huber made on bees, seem, however, to establish, with tolerable certainty, that the spira- cles are insensible to strong odours, such as that of oil of turpentine, which is exceedingly offensive to all insects. it was only when a fine camel-hair pencil containing this pun- gent fluid was presented near the cavity of the mouth, above the insection of the proboscis, that any visible effect was pro- duced upon the insect, which then gave decisive indications * on the subject of this sense in insects, see kirby and spence's introduc- tion to entomology, vol. iv. p. . smell. - of strong aversion. mr. kirby has discovered in the ante- rior part of the nose of the necrophorus vespillo, or bu- rying beetle, which is an insect remarkable for the acute- ness of its smell, a pair of circular pulpy cushions, covered with a membrane, beautifully marked with fine transverse furrows. these he considers as the organs of smell; and he has found similar structures in several other insects.” no distinct organs of smell have been discovered in any of the mollusca; but as there is evidence that some of the animals belonging to that class possess this sense, it has been conjectured that it resides either in the whole mucous surface of the mantle, or in the respiratory organs. swam- merdam observed, long ago, that snails are evidently af- fected by odours; and cuttle-fish are said to show a decided aversion to strongly scented plants. * kirby and spence's introduction to entomology, vol. iii. ; and iv. . hearing. ble sound, although its parts are visibly thrown into the usual vibratory motions. in proportion as air is admitted into the receiver, the sound becomes more and more dis- tinct; and if, on the other hand, the air be condensed, the sound is louder than when the bell is surrounded by air of the ordinary density.” the impulses given by the sounding body to the contigu- ous particles of the elastic medium, are propagated in every direction, from particle to particle, each, in its turn, striking against the next, and communicating to it the whole of its own motion, which is destroyed by the reaction of the particle against which it strikes. hence, after moving a certain de- finite distance, a distance, indeed, which is incalculably small, each particle returns back to its former situation, and is again ready to receive a second impulse. each particle, being elastic within a certain range,t suffers a momentary com- pression, and immediately afterwards resumes its former shape: the next particle is, in the mean time, impelled, and undergoes the same succession of changes; and so on, throughout the whole series of particles. thus, the sono- rous undulations have an analogy with waves, which spread in circles on the surface of water, around any body, which, by its motion, ruffles that surface; only that, instead of merely extending in a horizontal plane, as waves do, the so- norous undulations spread out in all directions, forming, not circles in one plane, but spherical shells; and, whatever be the intensity of the sounds, the velocity with which the un- dulations advance is uniform, as long as they continue in a medium of uniform density. this velocity in air, is, on an average, about feet in a second, or twelve and a half * these facts were first ascertained by dr. hauksbee. see philosophical transactions for , vol. xxiv., p. , . f the particles of water are as elastic, within a limited distance, as those of the most solid body, although, in consequence of their imperfect cohe- sion, or, rather, their perfect mobility in all directions, this property cannot be so easily recognised in masses of fluids, as it can in solids. the sensorial functions. miles in a minute: it is greater in dense, and smaller in rare- fied air; being, in the same medium, exactly proportioned to the elasticity of that medium. water is the medium of sound to aquatic animals, as the air is to terrestrial animals. sounds are, indeed, conveyed more quickly, and to greater distances, in water than in air, on account of the greater elasticity of the constituent parti- cles of water, within the minute distance required for their action in propagating sound. stones, struck together under water, are heard at great distances by a person whose head is under water. franklin found, by experiment, that sound, after travelling above a mile through water, loses but little of its intensity. according to chladni, the velocity of sound in water is about feet in a second, or between four and five times as great as it is in air. solid bodies, especially such as are hard and elastic, and of uniform substance, are also excellent conductors of sound. of this we may easily convince ourselves by applying the ear to the end of a log of wood, or a long iron rod, in which situation we shall hear very distinctly the smallest scratch made with a pin at the other end; a sound, which, had it passed through the air only, would not have been heard at all. in like manner, a poker suspended by two strings, the ends of which are applied to the two ears, communicates to the organ, when struck, vibrations which would never have been heard under ordinary circumstances. it is said that the hunters in north america, when desirous of hearing the sounds of distant footsteps, which would be quite inaudible in any other way, apply their ears close to the earth, and then readily distinguish them. ice is known to convey sounds, even better than water: for if cannon be fired from a distant fort, where a frozen river intervenes, each flash of light is followed by two distinct reports, the first being con- veyed by the ice, and the second by the air. in like man- ner, if the upper part of the wall of a high building be struck with a hammer, a person standing close to it on the ground, hearing. will hear two sounds after each blow, the first descending through the wall, and the second through the air. as sounds are weakened by diffusion over a larger sphere of particles, so they are capable of having their intensity in- creased by concentration into a smaller space; an effect which may be produced by their being reflected from the solid walls of cavities, shaped so as to bring the undulations to unite into a focus; it is on this principle that the ear- trumpet, for assisting persons dull of hearing, is construct- ed: and the same effect sometimes takes place in echoes, which occasionally reflect a sound of greater loudness than the original sound which was directed towards them. if the impulses given to the nerves of the ear be repeated at equal intervals of time, provided these intervals be very small, the impressions become so blended together as not to be distinguishable from one another, and the sensation of a uniform continued sound, or musical note, is excited in the mind. if the intervals between the vibrations be long, the note is grave; if short, that is, if the number of vibrations in a given time be great, the note is, in the same proportion, acute. the former is called a low, the latter a high note; designations which in all probability were originally derived from the visible motions of the throat of a person who is singing these different notes; for, independently of this cir- cumstance, the terms of high and low are quite arbitrary; and it is well known that they were applied by the ancients in a sense exactly the reverse of that in which we now use them. the different degrees of tension given to the cord or wire of a stringed musical instrument, as well as its different lengths, determine the frequency of its vibrations; a greater tension, or a shorter length, rendering them more frequent, and consequently producing a higher note; and on the con- trary, the note is rendered more grave by either lessening the tension, or lengthening the cord or wire. in a wind instrument, the tone depends altogether upon the length of the tube producing the sound. vol. ii. s s the sensorial functions. there are, therefore, two qualities in sound recognisable by the ear, namely, loudness, or intensity, and quality, or tone; the former depending on the force of the vibrations; the latter, on their frequency. these acoustic principles are to be borne in mind in studying the comparative physi- ology of hearing; and since the functions of the different parts of the organ of this sense are, as yet, but imperfectly under- stood, i shall, in treating of this subject, deviate from the plan i have hitherto followed, and premise an account of the structure of the ear in its most perfectly developed state, which it appears to be in man. § . physiology of hearing in man. that part of the organ of hearing, which, above all others is essential to the performance of this function, is the acous- tic nerve, of which the fibres are expanded, and spread over the surface of a fine membrane, placed in a situation adapt- ed to receive the full impression of the sonorous undulations, which are conveyed to them. this membrane, then, with its nervous filaments, may be regarded as the immediate or- gan of the sense; all the other parts being merely accessory apparatus, designed to collect and to condense the vibrations of the surrounding medium, and to direct their concentrated action on the auditory membrane. i have endeavoured, in fig. , to exhibit, in one view, the principal parts of this complicated organ, as they exist in man, in their relative situations, and of their natural size: thereby affording a scale by which the real dimensions of those portions, which i shall afterwards have occasion to explain by magnified representations, may be properly ap- preciated.” the concha, or external ear (c,) is formed of an elastic plate of cartilage, covered by integument, and presenting va- * in this and all the following figures, the parts of the right ear are shown, and similar parts are always indicated by the same letters. * hearing. rious elevations and depressions, which form a series of pa- rabolic curves, apparently for the purpose of collecting the sonorous undulations of the air, and of directing them into a funnel-shaped canal (m,) termed the meatus auditorius, which leads to the internal ear. this canal is composed partly of cartilage, and partly of bone; and the integument lining it is furnished with numerous small glands, which supply a thick oily fluid, of an acrid quality, apparently de- signed to prevent the intrusion of insects: the passage is also guarded by hairs, which appear intended for a similar pur- pose. the meatus is closed at the bottom by a membrane (p,) which is stretched across it like the skin of a drum, and has been termed, from this resemblance, the membrane of the tympanum, or the ear-drum." it performs, indeed, an of- fice corresponding to its name; for the sonorous undulations of the air, which have been collected, and directed inwards by the grooves of the concha, strike upon the ear-drum, and throw it into a similar state of vibration. the ear-drum is * the inner surface of the ear-drum is shown in this figure, the cavity of the tympanum, which is behind it, being laid open. the sensorial functions. composed of an external membrane, derived from the cuti- cle which lines the meatus; an internal layer, which is con- tinuous with that of the cavity beyond it; and a middle layer, which consists of radiating muscular fibres, proceed- ing from the circumference towards the centre, where they are inserted into the extremity of a minute bony process (h,) presently to be described.* this muscular structure appears designed to vary the degree of tension in the ear- drum, and thus adapt the rate of its vibrations to those com- municated to it by the air. there is, also, a slender muscle, situated internally, which, by acting on this delicate process of bone, as on a lever, puts the whole membrane on the stretch, and enables its radiating fibres to effect the nicer adjustments required for tuning, as it may be called, this part of the organ.t immediately behind the membrane of the ear-drum, there is a hollow space (t,) called the cavity of the tympanum, of an irregular shape, scooped out of the most solid part of the temporal bone, which is here of great density and hard- ness. this cavity is always filled with air; but it would obviously defeat the purpose of the organ if the air were confined in this space; because unless it were allowed occa- sionally to expand or contract, it could not long remain in equilibrium with the pressure exerted by the atmosphere on the external surface of the ear-drum; a pressure which, as is well known, is subject to great variations, indicated by the rise and fall of the barometer. these variations would ex- pose the membrane of the ear-drum to great inequalities of pressure at its outer and inner surfaces, and endanger its being forced, according to the state of the weather, either outwards or inwards, which would completely interfere with the delicacy of its vibrations. nature has guarded against * in many quadrupeds their insertion into this process is at some distance from the centre of the membrane. these muscular fibres are delineated in fig. , vol. i. p. . f home, lectures, &c., iii. . hearing. these evils by establishing a passage of communication be- tween the tympanum and the external air, by means of a tube (e,) termed the eustachian tube, which begins by a small orifice from the inner side of the cavity of the tympa- num, and opens by a wide mouth at the back of the nos- trils." this tube performs the same office in the ear, as the hole which it is found necessary to make in the side of a drum, for the purpose of opening a communication with the external air; a communication which is as necessary for the functions of the ear, as it is for the proper sounding of the drum. we find accordingly that a degree of deafness is induced whenever the eustachian tube is obstructed, which may happen either from the swelling of the membrane lining it, during a cold, or from the accumulation of secre- tion in the passage. it is also occasionally useful as a chan- nel through which sounds may gain admittance to the inter- nal ear; and it is perhaps for this reason that we instinct- ively open the mouth when we are intent on hearing a very faint or distant sound. on the side of the cavity of the tympanum, which is op- posite to the opening of the eustachian tube, is situated the beginning of another passage, leading into numerous cells, contained in the mastoid process of the temporal bone, and therefore termed the mastoid cells: these cells are likewise filled with air. the innermost side of the same cavity, that is, the side opposite to the ear-drum, and which is shown in * this opening is seen at e, in fig. , p. , representing a vertical and longitudinal section of the right nostril. hearing. - signated, from the intricacy of its winding passages, the la- byrinth. it is seen at (s. v. r) in fig. , in connexion with the tympanum; but in fig. , it is represented, on a very large scale, detached from every other part, and separated from the solid bone in which it lies embedded. it consists of a middle portion, termed the vestibule (v,) from which, on its upper and posterior side, proceed the three tubes (x, y, z,) called, from their shape, the semicircular canals; while to the lower anterior side of the vestibule there is attached a spiral canal, resembling in ap- pearance the shell of a snail, and on that account denomi- nated the cochlea (k.) all these bony cavities are lined with a very delicate membrane, or periosteum, and are filled with a transparent watery, or thin gelatinous fluid, which is termed by breschet, the perilymph.” within the cavity of the osseous labyrinth, now de- scribed, are contained membranes having nearly the shape of the vestibule and semicircular canals, but not extending into the cochlea. these membranes, which compose what has been termed, for the sake of distinction, the membranous labyrinth, form one continuous, but closed sac, containing a fluid, perfectly similar in appearance to the perilymph, which surrounds it on the outer side, and intervenes be- tween it and the sides of the osseous labyrinth, preventing any contact with those sides. in fig. , which is on a still larger scale than the preceding figure, the osseous laby- rinth is laid open, so as to show the parts it encloses, and • annales des sciences naturelles, xxix. . it has also been called the .aqua labyrinthi, and the fluid of cotunnius, from the name of the anato- mist who first distinctly described it. i de blainville has termed this fluid “la vitrine auditive,” from its sup- posed analogy with the vitreous humour of the eye. the sensorial functions. more especially the membranous labyrinth, floating in the perilymph (p.) the form of this latter part is still more distinctly seen, in fig. , where it is represented in a po- sition exactly corresponding to the former figure, but whol- ly detached from the bony labyrinth, and connected only with the nervous filaments which are proceeding to be dis- tributed to its different parts. a simple inspection of these figures, in both of which the corresponding parts are marked by the same letters, will show at once the form and the connexions of the three semi- circular canals, (x, y, z,) each of which present, at their ori- gin from the vestibule, a considerable dilatation, termed an ampulla (a, a, a,) while, at their other extremities, where they terminate in the vestibule, there is no enlargement of their diameter: and it will also be seen that two of these ca- nals (x and y) unite into one before their termination. the hearing. same description applies in all respects both to the osseous and to the membranous canals contained within them; the space (p) which intervenes between the two, being filled with the perilymph. but the form of the membranous vestibule demands more particular notice, as it is not so exact an imi- tation of that of the osseous cavity; being composed of two distinct sacs, opening into each other: one of these (u) is termed the utricle;" and the other (s,) the sacculus. each sac contains in its interior a small mass of white calcareous matter, (o, o,) resembling powdered chalk, which seems to be suspended in the fluid contained in the sacs by the interme- dium of a number of nervous filaments proceeding from the acoustic nerves (g and n,) as seen in fig. . from the universal presence of these cretaceous substances in the la- byrinth of all the mammalia, and from their much greater size and hardness in aquatic animals, there can be little doubt that they perform some office of great importance in the physiology of hearing.f their size and appearance in the dog is shown in fig. : and in the hare, in fig. . the cochlea, again, is an exceedingly curious structure, being formed of the spiral convolutions of a double tube, or rather of one tube, separated into two compartments by a partition (l.) called the lamina spiralis, which extends its whole length, except at the very apex of the cone, where it suddenly terminates in a curved point, or hook (h,) leaving an aperture by which the two portions of the tube commu- nicate together. in fig. , a bristle (b, b) is passed through this aperture. the central pillar, round which these tubes take two and a half circular turns, is termed the modiolus. its apex is seen at (m.) one of these passages is distin- guished by the name of the vestibular tube, in consequence • scarpa and weber term it the sinus or alveus utriculosus; it is called by others the sacculus restibuli. breschet gives it the name of le sinus médian. see the memoir already quoted, p. . f these cretaceous bodies are termed by breschet otolithes, and otoconies, according as they are of a hard or soft consistence. ibid. p. . + scala vestibuli. vol. ii. the sensorial functions. of its arising from the cavity of the vestibule; and the other by that of the tympanic tube," because it begins from the inner side of the membrane which closes the fenestra ro- tunda, and forms the only separation between the interior of that tube, and the cavity of the tympanum. the trunk of the auditory nerve occupies a hollow space immediately be- hind the ventricle, and its branches pass through minute holes in the bony plate which forms the wall of that cavity, being finally expanded on the different parts of the mem- branous labyrinth.t great uncertainty preváils with regard to the real func- tions performed by the several parts of this very complex apparatus. it is most probable, however, that the sonorous vibrations of the air which reach the external ear, are di- rected down the meatus, and striking against the ear-drum which closes the passage, throw that membrane into vibra- tions of the same frequency; to which the action of its mus- cles, which appear intended to regulate its tension, may also contribute. the vibrations of the ear-drum, no doubt, ex- cite corresponding motions in the air contained in the cavity of the tympanum; which, again, communicates them to the membrane of the fenestra rotunda; while, on the other hand, the membrane closing the fenestra ovalis, receives similar impressions from the stapes, conveyed through the chain of tympanic ossicula, which appear to serve as solid conductors of the same vibrations. thus, the perilymph, or fluid con- tained in the labyrinth, is affected by each external sound, both through the medium of the air in the tympanum, and by means of the ossicula: the undulations thus excited pro- * scala tympani. f in fig. , the anterior trunk of the auditory nerve is seen (at g) dis. tributing branches to the ampullae (a, a,) the utricle (u,) and the calcareous body it contains; while the posterior trunk (s) divides into a branch, which supplies the sacculus (s) and its calcareous body (o) and a second branch (k) which is distributed over the cochlea. (n) is the nerve called the por- tio dura, which merely accompanies the auditory nerve, but has no relation to the sense of hearing. in fig. , the auditory nerve (n) is seen enter- ing at the back of the vestibule. hearing. duce impressions on the extremities of the nervous filaments, which are spread over the membranous labyrinth; and these impressions being conveyed to the brain, are immediately followed by the sensation of sound. - with regard to the purposes which are answered by the winding passages of the semicircular canals, and cochlea, hardly any plausible conjecture has been offered; yet no doubt can be entertained that the uses of all these parts are of considerable importance, both as to delicacy and correct- ness of hearing. there is an obvious correspondence be- tween the positions of the three semicircular canals, (two of which are vertical, and one horizontal, and of which the planes are reciprocally perpendicular to one another,) and the three dimensions by which the geometrical relations of space are estimated; and it might hence be conjectured that the ob- ject of this arrangement is to allow of the transmission of vi- brations of every kind, in whatever direction they may ar- rive. it is not an improbable supposition that the return into the vestibule, of undulations which have passed through these canals, has the effect of at once putting a stop to all farther motion of the fluid, and preventing the continuance of the impression which has been already made on the nerves. the same use may be assigned to the double spiral convolutions of the tubes of the cochlea: for the undulations of the fluid in the tympanic tube, received from the mem- brane of the fenestra rotunda, will meet those proceeding along the vestibular tube, derived from the membrane of the fenestra ovalis, and like two opposing waves, will tend to destroy one another. thus each external sound will pro- duce but a single momentary impression; the prolongation of the undulations of the fluid of the labyrinth being pre- vented by their mutual collision and neutralization." * the preliminary steps in the process above described are not absolutely essential to hearing, for many instances have occurred in which the power of hearing has been perfectly retained after the membrane of the ear-drum, and also the ossicula had been destroyed by disease. a small aperture in the membrane does not interfere with its power of vibration; but if the whole s the sensorial functions. there are, therefore, two qualities in sound recognisable by the ear, namely, loudness, or intensity, and quality, or tone; the former depending on the force of the vibrations; the latter, on their frequency. these acoustic principles are to be borne in mind in studying the comparative physi- ology of hearing; and since the functions of the different parts of the organ of this sense are, as yet, but imperfectly under- stood, i shall, in treating of this subject, deviate from the plan i have hitherto followed, and premise an account of the structure of the ear in its most perfectly developed state, which it appears to be in man. § . physiology of hearing in man. that part of the organ of hearing, which, above all others is essential to the performance of this function, is the acous- tic nerve, of which the fibres are expanded, and spread over the surface of a fine membrane, placed in a situation adapt- ed to receive the full impression of the sonorous undulations, which are conveyed to them. this membrane, then, with its nervous filaments, may be regarded as the immediate or- gan of the sense; all the other parts being merely accessory apparatus, designed to collect and to condense the vibrations of the surrounding medium, and to direct their concentrated action on the auditory membrane. i have endeavoured, in fig. , to exhibit, in one view, the principal parts of this complicated organ, as they exist in man, in their relative situations, and of their natural size: thereby affording a scale by which the real dimensions of those portions, which i shall afterwards have occasion to explain by magnified representations, may be properly ap- preciated.” the concha, or external ear (c,) is formed of an elastic plate of cartilage, covered by integument, and presenting va- * in this and all the following figures, the parts of the right ear are shown, and similar parts are always indicated by the same letters. hearing. rious elevations and depressions, which form a series of pa- rabolic curves, apparently for the purpose of collecting the sonorous undulations of the air, and of directing them into a funnel-shaped canal (m,) termed the meatus auditorius, which leads to the internal ear. this canal is composed partly of cartilage, and partly of bone; and the integument lining it is furnished with numerous small glands, which supply a thick oily fluid, of an acrid quality, apparently de- signed to prevent the intrusion of insects: the passage is also guarded by hairs, which appear intended for a similar pur- pose. the meatus is closed at the bottom by a membrane (p,) which is stretched across it like the skin of a drum, and has been termed, from this resemblance, the membrane of the tympanum, or the ear-drum.” it performs, indeed, an of- fice corresponding to its name; for the sonorous undulations of the air, which have been collected, and directed inwards by the grooves of the concha, strike upon the ear-drum, and throw it into a similar state of vibration. the ear-drum is * the inner surface of the ear-drum is shown in this figure, the cavity of the tympanum, which is behind it, being laid open. the sensorial functions. composed of an external membrane, derived from the cuti- cle which lines the meatus; an internal layer, which is con- tinuous with that of the cavity beyond it; and a middle layer, which consists of radiating muscular fibres, proceed- ing from the circumference towards the centre, where they are inserted into the extremity of a minute bony process (h,) presently to be described.” this muscular structure appears designed to vary the degree of tension in the ear- drum, and thus adapt the rate of its vibrations to those com- municated to it by the air. there is, also, a slender muscle, situated internally, which, by acting on this delicate process of bone, as on a lever, puts the whole membrane on the stretch, and enables its radiating fibres to effect the nicer adjustments required for tuning, as it may be called, this part of the organ.t immediately behind the membrane of the ear-drum, there is a hollow space (t,) called the cavity of the tympanum, of an irregular shape, scooped out of the most solid part of the temporal bone, which is here of great density and hard- ness. this cavity is always filled with air; but it would obviously defeat the purpose of the organ if the air were confined in this space; because unless it were allowed occa- sionally to expand or contract, it could not long remain in equilibrium with the pressure exerted by the atmosphere on the external surface of the ear-drum; a pressure which, as is well known, is subject to great variations, indicated by the rise and fall of the barometer. these variations would ex- pose the membrane of the ear-drum to great inequalities of pressure at its outer and inner surfaces, and endanger its being forced, according to the state of the weather, either outwards or inwards, which would completely interfere with the delicacy of its vibrations. nature has guarded against * in many quadrupeds their insertion into this process is at some distance from the centre of the membrane. these muscular fibres are delineated in fig. , vol. i. p. . f home, lectures, &c., iii. . hearing. these evils by establishing a passage of communication be- tween the tympanum and the external air, by means of a tube (e,) termed the eustachian tube, which begins by a small orifice from the inner side of the cavity of the tympa- num, and opens by a wide mouth at the back of the nos- trils." this tube performs the same office in the ear, as the hole which it is found necessary to make in the side of a drum, for the purpose of opening a communication with the external air; a communication which is as necessary for the functions of the ear, as it is for the proper sounding of the drum. we find accordingly that a degree of deafness is induced whenever the eustachian tube is obstructed, which may happen either from the swelling of the membrane lining it, during a cold, or from the accumulation of secre- tion in the passage. it is also occasionally useful as a chan- nel through which sounds may gain admittance to the inter- nal ear; and it is perhaps for this reason that we instinct- ively open the mouth when we are intent on hearing a very faint or distant sound. on the side of the cavity of the tympanum, which is op- posite to the opening of the eustachian tube, is situated the beginning of another passage, leading into numerous cells, contained in the mastoid process of the temporal bone, and therefore termed the mastoid cells: these cells are likewise filled with air. the innermost side of the same cavity, that is, the side opposite to the ear-drum, and which is shown in * this opening is seen at e, in fig. , p. , representing a vertical and longitudinal section of the right nostril. the sensorial functions. more especially the membranous labyrinth, floating in the perilymph (p.) the form of this latter part is still more distinctly seen, in fig. , where it is represented in a po- sition exactly corresponding to the former figure, but whol- ly detached from the bony labyrinth, and connected only with the nervous filaments which are proceeding to be dis- tributed to its different parts. a simple inspection of these figures, in both of which the corresponding parts are marked by the same letters, will show at once the form and the connexions of the three semi- circular canals, (x, y, z,) each of which present, at their ori- gin from the vestibule, a considerable dilatation, termed an ampulla (a, a, a,) while, at their other extremities, where they terminate in the vestibule, there is no enlargement of their diameter: and it will also be seen that two of these ca- mals (x and y) unite into one before their termination. the the sensorial functions. of its arising from the cavity of the vestibule; and the other by that of the tympanic tube," because it begins from the inner side of the membrane which closes the fenestra ro- tunda, and forms the only separation between the interior of that tube, and the cavity of the tympanum. the trunk of the auditory nerve occupies a hollow space immediately be- hind the ventricle, and its branches pass through minute holes in the bony plate which forms the wall of that cavity, being finally expanded on the different parts of the mem- branous labyrinth.t great uncertainty prevails with regard to the real func- tions performed by the several parts of this very complex apparatus. it is most probable, however, that the sonorous vibrations of the air which reach the external ear, are di- rected down the meatus, and striking against the ear-drum which closes the passage, throw that membrane into vibra- tions of the same frequency; to which the action of its mus- cles, which appear intended to regulate its tension, may also contribute. the vibrations of the ear-drum, no doubt, ex- cite corresponding motions in the air contained in the cavity of the tympanum; which, again, communicates them to the membrane of the fenestra rotunda; while, on the other hand, the membrane closing the fenestra ovalis, receives similar impressions from the stapes, conveyed through the chain of tympanic ossicula, which appear to serve as solid conductors of the same vibrations. thus, the perilymph, or fluid con- tained in the labyrinth, is affected by each external sound, both through the medium of the air in the tympanum, and by means of the ossicula: the undulations thus excited pro- * scala tympani. f in fig. , the anterior trunk of the auditory nerve is seen (at g) dis- tributing branches to the ampullae (a, a,) the utricle (u,) and the calcareous body it contains; while the posterior trunk (n) divides into a branch, which supplies the sacculus (s) and its calcareous body (o) and a second branch (k) which is distributed over the cochlea. (d) is the nerve called the por- tio dura, which merely accompanies the auditory nerve, but has no relation to the sense of hearing. in fig. , the auditory nerve (n) is seen enter- ing at the back of the vestibule. hearing. duce impressions on the extremities of the nervous filaments, which are spread over the membranous labyrinth; and these impressions being conveyed to the brain, are immediately followed by the sensation of sound. - with regard to the purposes which are answered by the winding passages of the semicircular canals, and cochlea, hardly any plausible conjecture has been offered; yet no doubt can be entertained that the uses of all these parts are of considerable importance, both as to delicacy and correct- ness of hearing. there is an obvious correspondence be- tween the positions of the three semicircular canals, (two of which are vertical, and one horizontal, and of which the planes are reciprocally perpendicular to one another,) and the three dimensions by which the geometrical relations of space are estimated; and it might hence be conjectured that the ob- ject of this arrangement is to allow of the transmission of vi- brations of every kind, in whatever direction they may ar- rive. it is not an improbable supposition that the return into the vestibule, of undulations which have passed through these canals, has the effect of at once putting a stop to all farther motion of the fluid, and preventing the continuance of the impression which has been already made on the nerves. the same use may be assigned to the double spiral convolutions of the tubes of the cochlea: for the undulations of the fluid in the tympanic tube, received from the mem- brane of the fenestra rotunda, will meet those proceeding along the vestibular tube, derived from the membrane of the fenestra ovalis, and like two opposing waves, will tend to destroy one another. thus each external sound will pro- duce but a single momentary impression; the prolongation of the undulations of the fluid of the labyrinth being pre- vented by their mutual collision and neutralization.” * the preliminary steps in the process above described are not absolutely essential to hearing, for many instances have occurred in which the power of hearing has been perfectly retained after the membrane of the ear-drum, and also the ossicula had been destroyed by disease. a small aperture in the membrane does not interfere with its power of vibration; but if the whole the sensorial functions. § . comparative physiology of hearing. the structure of the organs of hearing in the lower ani- mals presents a regular gradation from the simple vestibule, with its membranous sac, supplied with nervous filaments, which may be regarded as the only essential part of this or- gan, through the successive additions of semicircular canals, fenestra ovalis, tympanic cavity, ossicula, ear-drum, meatus auditorius, cochlea, and concha, till we arrive at the combi- nation of all these parts in the higher orders of the mam- malia. the simpler forms are generally met with in aqua- tic animals, probably because the sonorous undulations of water are communicated more readily, and with greater force, than those of air, and require no accessory apparatus for their concentration. the lobster, for instance, has a ves- tibular cavity (seen at v, in fig. ,) containing a membra- nous sac, with a striated groove (g)" and receiving the fila- ments of the auditory nerve. this vestibule is protected by the shell on all sides, except at one part, where it is closed only by a membrane (e,) which may therefore be considered as corresponding to the fenestra ovalis. the outer side of this membrane in the astacus fluviatilis, or cray-fish, is seen at f in fig. ; while fig. , shows an ear-drum be destroyed, and the ossicula lost, an almost total deafness gene- rally ensues. after a time, however, the hearing may be in a great measure recovered, with an undiminished power of distinguishing musical tones. see two papers by sir astley cooper, in the phil. trans. for , p. ; and for , p. . * this groove is represented magnified in fig. . hearing. interior view of the same membrane (f,) with the vestibule (v) laid open, and the auditory nerve (n) passing through the shell to be distributed on the sacculus. it appears from a variety of observations that insects, both in their larva and their perfect state, possess the faculty of hearing; but no certain knowledge has been obtained of the parts which exercise this sense. the prevailing opinion among entomologists is that it resides in some part of the antennae; organs, which are supposed to have a peculiar sen- sibility to aerial undulations. this hypothesis is founded principally on the analogy of the crustacea, whose antennae contain the vestibular cavity already described; but on the other hand it is opposed by the fact that spiders, which hear very acutely, have no antennae; and it is also reported that insects, when deprived of their antennae, still retain the power of hearing.” none of the mollusca appear to possess, even in the small- est degree, the sense of hearing, if we except the highly or- ganized cephalopoda; for in them we find, at the lower part of the cartilaginous ring, which has been supposed to exhi- bit the first rudiment of a cranium, a tubercle, containing in its interior two membranous vesicles, contiguous to each other, and surrounded by a fluid. they evidently corre- spond to the vestibular sacs, and contain each a small calca- reous body, suspended from the vesicles by slender nervous filaments, like the clapper of a bell, and probably performing an office analogous to that instrument; for, being thrown into a tremulous motion by every undulation of the sur- rounding fluid, they will strike against the membrane, and communicate similar and still stronger impulses to the nerves by which they are suspended, thus increasing the impression made on those nerves. the mechanical effect of an apparatus of this kind is shown by the simple experiment, * camparetti has described structures in a great number of insects, which he imagined were organs of hearing; but his observations have not been con- firmed by subsequent inquirers, and their accuracy is therefore doubtful. see de blainville “de l'organisation des animaux,” i. . the sensorial functions. mentioned by camper, of enclosing a marble in a bladder full of water, and held in the hand; when the slightest shaking of the bladder will be found instantly to communicate mo- tion to the marble, the reaction of which on the bladder gives an unexpected concussion to the hand. the ear of fishes contains, in addition to the vestibule, the three semicircular canals, which are, in general, greatly developed.” an enlarged view of the membranous laby- rinth of the lophius piscatorius is given in fig. , show- ing the form and complication of its parts, which are repre- sented of twice the natural size. x, y, z, are the semicircular canals, with their respective ampullae (a, a, a.) m is the sinus medianus, or principal vestibular sac, with its ante- rior expansion, termed the utricle (u.) the sacculus (s) has, in like manner, a posterior appendage (c) termed the cysticule. the hard calcareous bodies (o, o, o] are three in number; and the branches of nerves ( , , ) by which they are suspended in the fluid contained in the membranes, are seen passing into them; while the ampullae are supplied by other branches (n, n, n.) in all the osseous fishes, the labyrinth is not enclosed in the bones of the cranium, but projects into its cavity; but in the larger cartilaginous fishes, *in the lamprey, these canals exist only in a rudimental state, appearing as folds of the membrane of the vestibule; and there are also no cretaceous bodies in the vestibular sac, hearing. as the ray and shark tribes, it is surrounded by solid bone, and is not visible within the cranium. in these latter fishes, we first meet with a rudiment of the meatus, in a passage extending from the inner side of the vestibule, to the upper and back part of the skull, where it is closed by a mem- brane, which is covered by the skin. aquatic reptiles have ears constructed nearly on the same plan as those of fishes: thus, the triton or newt has a vesti- bule containing only one cretaceous body, and three semi- circular canals, unprotected by any surrounding bone. in the frog, however, we first perceive the addition of a dis- tinct cavity, closed by a membrane, which is on a lºvel with the integuments, on each side of the head. from this cavity, which corresponds to that of the tympanum, there proceeds an eustachian tube; and within it, extending from the external membrane, which must here be regarded as an ear-drum, to the membrane of the vestibule, or fenestra ovalis, is found a bone, shaped like a trumpet, and termed the columella. this bone is seen at c in fig. , attached by its base (b) to the fenestra ovalis of the vestibule (v,) which contains the cretaceous body (o.) there is also a small bone ( ) attached in front to the columella. in the chelonia, the structure of the ear is essentially the same as in the frog, but the tympanum and columella are of greater length. in the saurian reptiles the cavity of the tympanum is still more capacious, and the ear-drum very distinctly marked, and these animals possess great delicacy of hearing. the labyrinth of the crocodile is enclosed in bone, and con- tains three calcareous bodies: it presents also an appendage the sensorial functions. which has been regarded as the earliest rudiment of a coch- lea; and there are two folds of the skin, resembling eye-lids, at the external orifice of the organ, which appear like the first step towards the development of an external ear. the structure of the ear in the crocodile is but an ap- proximation to that which we find prevailing in birds, where the organ is of large size compared with that of the head. the rudimental cochlea, as seen at k in fig. , which represents these organs in the turkey, is of large size, and slightly curved. in the cavity of the tympanum (t) is seen the columella, which extends to the fenestra ovalis; and beyond it, the semicircular canals (s) the bony cells (b) which communicate with the tympanum, the os quadratum (q,) the zygomatic process (z,) and the lower jaw (j.) the ear-drum is now no longer met with at the surface, but lies concealed at the bottom of a short meatus, the orifice of which is surrounded with feathers arranged so as to serve as a kind of imperfect concha, or external ear. in owls these feathers are a prominent and characteristic feature; and in these birds there is, besides, a membranous flap, acting as a valve to guard the passage. the chief peculiarity observable in the internal ears of mammalia is the great development of the cochlea, the tubes of which are convoluted, turning in a spiral, and as- suming the figure of a turbinated shell. from an extensive comparison of the relative size of the cochlea in different tribes of quadrupeds, it has been inferred that it bears a to- lerably constant proportion to the degree of acuteness of hearing, and that, consequently, it contributes essentially to the perfection of that faculty: bats, for instance, which are known to possess exquisite dehicacy of hearing, have a coch- lea of extraordinary size, compared with the other parts of the ear. the tympanic ossicula are completely developed only in the mammalia.” it is also in this class alone that * these tympanic ossicula are regarded by geoffroy st. hilaire as cor- responding to the opercular bones of fishes, where, according to his theory, they have attained the highest degree of development. he arring. we meet with a concha, or external ear, distinctly marked; and the utility of this part, in catching and collecting the sonorous undulations of the air, may be inferred from the circumstance, that a large and very moveable concha is ge- nerally attended with great acuteness of hearing. this is more particularly the case with feeble and timid quadrupeds, as the hare and rabbit, which are ever on the watch to catch the most distant sounds of danger, and whose ears are turned backwards, or in the direction of their pursuers; while, on the contrary, the ears of predaceous animals are directed forwards, that is, towards the objects of their pursuit. this difference in direction is not confined to the external ear, but is observable also in the bony passage leading to the tympanum. the cetacea, being strictly inhabitants of the water, have no external ear; and the passage leading to the tympanum is a narrow and winding tube, formed of cartilage instead of bone, and having a very small external aperture. in the dolphin tribe the orifice will barely admit the entrance of a pin; it is also exceedingly small in the dugong; these structures being evidently intended for preventing the en- trance of any quantity of water." it is apparently with the same design that in the seal the passage makes a circular turn; and that, in the ornithorhyncus paradorus, it winds round the temporal bone, and has its external orifice at a great distance from the vestibule. the internal parts of the organ of hearing in the whale, and other cetacea, are en- closed in a bone of extraordinary hardness, which, instead of forming a continuous portion of the skull, is connected to it only by ligaments, and suspended in a kind of osseous ca- vity, formed by the adjacent bones. the cochlea is less de- veloped than in quadrupeds, for it only takes one turn and a half, instead of two and a half. the existence of the se- • it is probable that in these animals the principal channel by which sounds reach the internal organ is the eustachian tube. vol. ii. the sensorial functions. micircular canals in the cetacea was denied by camper; but they have since been discovered by cuvier. several quadrupeds which are in the habit of burrowing, or of diving, as the sorea: fodiens, or water-shrew, are fur- nished with a valve, composed of a double membrane, capa- ble of accurately closing the external opening of the meatus, and protecting it from the introduction of water, earth, or other extraneous bodies.” in like manner the external ear of the hippopotamus, which feeds at the bottom of rivers, is guarded by an apparatus which has the effect of a valve. we find, indeed, the same provident care displayed in this as in every other department of the animal economy: every part, however minute, of the organ of this important sense, being expressly adapted, in every species, to the par- ticular circumstances of their situation, and to that degree of acuteness of perception, which is best suited to their respec- tive wants and powers of gratification.t • geoffroy st. hilaire; mémoires du muséum, i. . # the comparative physiology of worce, a function of which the object, in animals as well as in man, is to produce sounds, addressed to the ear, and expressive of their ideas, feelings, desires and passions, forms a natural se- quel to that of hearing; but sir charles bell having announced his intention of introducing it in his treatise on the hand, i have abstained from enter- ing into this extensive subject. ( ) chapter wi. vision, § . object of the sense of vision. to those who study nature with a view to the discovery of final causes, no subject can be more interesting or instruc- tive than the physiology of vision, the most refined and most admirable of all our senses. however well we may be acquainted with the construction of any particular part of the animal frame, it is evident that we can never form a correct estimate of the excellence of its mechanism, unless we have also a knowledge of the purposes to be answered by it, and of the means by which those purposes can be accom- plished. innumerable are the works of creation, the art and contrivance of which we are incompetent to understand, because we perceive only the ultimate effects, and remain ig- norant of the operations by which those effects are produced. in attempting to investigate these obscure functions of the animal or vegetable economy, we might fancy ourselves en- gaged in the perusal of a volume, written in some unknown language, where we have penetrated the meaning of a few words and sentences, sufficient to show us that the whole is pregnant with the deepest thought, and conveys a tale of sur- passing interest and wonder, but where we are left to gather the sense of connecting passages by the guidance of remote analogies or vague conjecture. wherever we fortunately succeed in deciphering any continued portion of the dis- course, we find it characterized by a perfection of style, and grandeur of conception, which at once reveal a master’s hand, the sensorial functions. and which kindle in us the most ardent desire of supplying the wide chasms perpetually intervening in the mysterious and inspiring narrative. but in the subject which now claims our attention we have been permitted to trace, for a consi- derable extent, the continuity of the design, and the length- ened series of means employed for carrying that design into execution; and the view which is thus unfolded of the mag- nificent scheme of creation is calculated to give us the most sublime ideas of the wisdom, the power, and the bene- volence of god. on none of the works of the creator, which we are per- mitted to behold, have the characters of intention been more deeply and legibly engraved than in the organ of vision, where the relation of every part to the effect intended to be produced is too evident to be mistaken, and the mode in which they operate is at once placed within the range of our comprehen- sion. of all the animal structures, this is, perhaps, the one which most admits of being brought into close comparison with the works of human art; for the eye is, in truth, a re- fined optical instrument, the perfection of which can never be fully appreciated until we have instituted such a comparison; and the most profound scientific investigations of the anato- my and physiology of the eye concur in showing that the whole of its structure is most accurately and skilfully adapt- ed to the physical laws of light, and that all its parts are finished with that mathematical exactness which the preci- sion of the effect requires, and which no human effort can ever hope to approach,-far less to attain. to the prosecution of this inquiry we are farther invited by the consciousness of the incalculable advantages we derive from the sense of sight, the choicest and most enchanting of our corporeal endowments. the value of this sense must, indeed, appearinestimable, when we consider of how large a portion of our sensitive and intellectual existence it is the intermediate source. not only has it given us extensive command over the objects which surround us, and enabled us to traverse and explore the most distant regions of the vision. globe, but it has introduced us to the knowledge of the bo- dies which compose the solar system, and of the countless hosts of stars which are scattered through the firmament, thus expanding our views to the remotest confines of crea- tion. as the perceptions supplied by this sense are at once the quickest, the most extensive, and the most varied, so they become the fittest vehicles for the introduction of other ideas. visual impressions are those which in infancy, fur- nish the principal means of developing the powers of the un- derstanding: it is to this class of perceptions that the philoso- pher resorts for the most apt and perspicuous illustrations of his reasonings; and it is also from the same inexhaustible fountain that the poet draws his most pleasing and graceful, as well as his sublimest imagery. the sense of vision is intended to convey to its posses- sor a knowledge of the presence, situation, and colour of external and distant objects, by means of the light which those objects are continually sending off, either spontane- ously, or by reflection from other bodies. it would appear that there is only one part of the nervous system so pecu- liarly organized as to be capable of being affected by lumi- nous rays, and conveying to the mind the sensation of light, and this part is the retina, so named from the thin and delicate membranous net-work, on which the pulpy extre- mities of the optic nerves, establishing an immediate com- munication between that part and the brain, are expanded. if the eye were so constructed as to allow the rays of light, which reach it from surrounding objects, simply to impinge on the retina as they are received, the only per- ception which they could excite in the mind, would be a general sensation of light, proportionate to the total quantity which is sent to the organ from the whole of the opposite hemisphere. this, however, does not properly constitute vision: for in order that the presence of a particular object in its real direction and position with respect to us, may be recognised, it is necessary that the light, which comes from it, and that light alone, produce its impression exclusively the sensorial functions. on some particular part of the retina; it being evident that if the light, coming from any other object, were allowed to act, together with the former, on the same part, the two ac- tions would interfere with one another, and only a confused impression would result. the objects in a room, for exam- ple, are all throwing light on a sheet of paper laid on the floor; but this light, being spread equally over every part of the surface of the paper, furnishes no means of distinguish- ing the sources from which each portion of the light has proceeded; or, in other words, of recognising the respective figures, situations, and colours of the objects themselves. we shall now proceed to consider the modifications to be introduced into the structure of the organ, in order to attain these objects. - § . modes of accomplishing the objects of vision. let us suppose that it were proposed to us, as a problem, to invent an apparatus, by which, availing ourselves of the known properties of light, we might procure the concentra- tion of all the rays, proceeding from the respective points of the object to be viewed, on separate points of the retina, and obtain likewise the exclusion of all other rays; and also to contrive that the points of the retina, so illuminated, shall have the same relative situations among one another, which the corresponding points of the surrounding objects have in nature. in other words, let us suppose ourselves called upon to devise a method of forming on the retina a faithful deli- neation, in miniature, of the external scene. as it is a fundamental law in optics that the rays of light, while they are transmitted through the same medium, pro- ceed in straight lines, the simplest mode of accomplishing the proposed end would be to admit into the eye, and con- vey to each particular point of the retina, only a single ray proceeding directly from that part of the object which is to be depicted on it, and to exclude all other rays. for car- vision. rying this design into effect we have the choice of two me. thods, both of which we find resorted to by nature under different circumstances. the first method consists in providing for each of these single rays a separate tube, with darkened sides, allowing the ray which traverses it, and no other, to fall on its re- spective point of the retina, which is to be applied at the opposite end of the tube. the most convenient form to be given to the surface of the retina, which is to be spread out to receive the rays from all these tubes, appears to be that of a convex hemi- sphere; and the most eligible distribution of the tubes is the placing them so as to constitute diverging radii, perpendicular, in every part, to the surface of the retina. this arrangement will be understood by reference to fig. , which represents a section of the whole organ: (t,t) being the tubes disposed in radii every where perpendicular to the convex hemispheri- cal surface of the retina (r.) thus will an image be formed, composed of the direct rays from each respective point of the objects, to which the tubes are directed; and these points of the image will have, among themselves, the same rela- tive situation as the external objects, from which they ori- ginally proceeded, and which they will accordingly faith- fully represent. the second method, which is nearly the inverse of the first, consists in admitting the rays through a small aperture into a cavity, on the opposite and internal side of which the retina is expanded, forming a concave, instead of a convex hemispherical surface. the mode in which this arrange- ment is calculated to answer the intended purpose will be easily understood by conceiving a chamber (as represented in fig. ,) into which no light is allowed to enter, except what is admitted through a small hole in a shutter, so as to fall on the opposite side of the room. it is evident that the sensorial functions. each ray will, in that case, illuminate a different part of the wall, and that the whole external scene will be there faith- fully represented; for the several illuminated points, which constitute these images, preserve among themselves the same relative situation which the objects they represent do in nature, although with reference to the actual objects they have an inverted position. this inversion of the image is a necessary consequence of the crossing of all the rays at the same point; namely, the small aperture in the shutter, through which they are admitted. one inconvenience attending the limiting of the illumina- tion of each point of the wall to that of a single ray, in the mode last pointed out, is that the image produced must ne- cessarily be very faint. if, with a view of remedying this defect, the aperture were enlarged, the image would, indeed, become brighter, but would at the same time be rendered more indistinct, from the intermixture and mutual interfe- rence of adjacent rays; for all the lines would be spread out, the outlines shaded off, and the whole picture confused. the only mode by which distinctness of image can be ob- tained with increased illumination, is to collect into one point a great number of rays proceeding from the corre- sponding point of the object to be represented. such a col- lection of rays proceeding from any point, is termed, in the language of optics, a pencil of rays; and the point into vision. viation from strict parallelism is wholly insensible; and let a, b, c, d, e, (fig. ,) represent these rays. there must evidently be one of these rays (c.) and only one, which by continuing its rectilineal course, would arrive at the point (r) intended to be the focus of the rays. this ray, then, may be suffered to pass on, without being subjected to any refraction; the surface of the medium should, therefore, be presented to the ray (at ) perpendicularly to its course, so that it may pass through at right angles to that surface. those rays (b and d) which are situated very near to this direct or central ray (c.) will require but a small degree of refraction in order to reach the focus (r:) this small refrac- tion will be effected by a slight degree of obliquity in the medium at the points (h and k) where those rays meet it. in proportion as the rays (such as those at a and e) are more distant from the central ray, a greater amount of refraction, and consequently a greater obliquity of the surfaces (g and ) will be required, in order to bring them to the same focus. the convergence of these rays, after they have passed this first surface, may be farther increased by interposing new surfaces of other media at the proper angles. if the new medium be still denser than the last, the inclination of its surface must be similar to that already described; if rarer, they must be in an opposite direction. this last case is il- lustrated in the figure, where m, n, o, p, q, represent the in- clinations of the surfaces of a rarer medium, calculated to increase the convergence of the rays, that is to bring them to a nearer focus (p.) the result of the continued change of direction in the refracting surface, is a regular curvilineal surface, which, in the present case, approaches very nearly to that of a sphere. hence by giving these refractive me- dia spherical surfaces, we adapt them, with tolerable exact- ness, to produce the convergence of parallel rays to a focus, and by making the denser medium convex on both sides (as shown in fig. ,) both surfaces will conspire in pro- ducing the desired effects. such an instrument is termed the sensorial functions. a double conver lens; and it has the property of collecting into a focus rays proceeding from distant points." having obtained this instrument, we may now venture to enlarge the aperture through which the light was admit- ted into our dark chamber, and fit into the aperture a dou- ble convex lens. we have thus constructed the well known optical instrument called the camera obscura, in which the images of external objects are formed upon a white sur- face of paper, or a semi-transparent plate of glass; and these images must evidently be in an inverted position with re- spect to the actual objects which they represent. such is precisely the construction of the eye, which is, to * the refraction by spherical surfaces does not, strictly speaking, unite a pencil of parallel or divergent rays into a mathematical point, or focus; for in reality the rays which are near the central line are made to converge to a point a little more distant than that to which the remoter rays converge: an effect which i have endeavoured to illustrate by the diagram fig. ; where, in order to render it obvious to the eye, the disparity is much exaggerated. but, on ordinary occasions, where great nicety is not required, this differ. ence in the degree of convergence between the central rays and those near the circumference of the lens, giving rise to what is termed the aberration of sphericity, is too small to attract notice. - vision. all intents, a camera obscura: for in both these instruments, the objects, the principles of construction, and the mode of operation are exactly the same; and the only difference is, that the former is an infinitely more perfect instrument than the latter can ever be rendered by the utmost efforts of hu- man art. with a view of simplifying the subject, i have assumed, in the account given in the text, that the rays which arrive at the eye are parallel, which in mathematical strictness they never are. the focus of the rays refracted by a convex lens is more remote in proportion as the rays are more divergent, or, in other words, proceed from nearer objects. this is illustrated by fi- gures , , and ; to which i shall again have occasion to refer in the sequel. § . structure of the eye. one of the many points of superiority which the eye pos- sesses over the ordinary camera obscura is derived from its spherical shape, adapting the retina to receive every portion of the images produced by refraction, which are themselves curved: whereas, had they been received on a plane surface, as they usually are in the camera obscura, a considerable portion of the image would have been indistinct. this sphe- rical form is preserved by means of the firm membranes which protect the eye, and which are termed its coats; and the transparent media which they enclose, and which effect vision. - (x,) which is chiefly made up of a tissue of blood vessels, for supplying nourishment to the eye. it has on its inner surface a layer of a dark coloured viscid secretion, known by the name of the pigmentum nigrum, or black pigment. its use is to absorb all the light which may happen to be ir- regularly scattered through the eye, in consequence of re- flection from different quarters; and it serves, therefore, the same purpose as the black paint with which the inside of optical instruments, such as telescopes, microscopes, and ca- merae obscurae, is darkened. within the pigmentum nigrum, and almost in immediate contact with it,” the retina (r) is expanded, forming an exceedingly thin and delicate layer of nervous matter, supported by a fine membrane. more than three-fourths of the globe of the eye are filled with the vitreous humour (v,) which has the appearance of a pellucid and elastic jelly, contained in an exceedingly de- licate texture of cellular substance. the crystalline hu- mour, (l.) which has the shape of a double convex lens, is formed of a denser material than any of the other humours, and occupies the fore part of the globe of the eye, immedi- ately in front of the vitreous humour, which is there hol- lowed to receive it. the space which intervenes between the lens and the cornea is filled with a watery secretion (a,) called the . ueous humour. this space is divided into an anterior and a posterior chamber by a flat circular partition ( ,) termed the iris. the iris has a central perforation (p,) called the pupil, and it is fixed to the edge of the choroid coat, by a white elastic ring (q) called the ciliary ligament. the poste- rior surface of the iris is called the uvea, and is lined with a dark brown pigment. the structure of the iris is very peculiar, being composed of two layers of contractile fibres; the one, forming concentric circles; the other, disposed like radii between the outer and inner margin.t when the * between the pigmentum and the retina there is found a very fine mem- brane, discovered by dr. jacobson: its use has not been ascertained. # see fig. , vol. i. p. . vision. fore part of the sclerotic coat. three of these are marked a, b, and c, in the figure: and the edge of the fourth is seen behind and above b. these straight muscles, as they are called, surround the optic nerve and the eye-ball, forming four longitudinal bands; one (a) being situated above for the purpose of turning the eye upwards; a second (c.) situated below, for turning it downwards; and the two others, on either side, for performing its lateral motions to the right or left. the cavity of the orbits being considerably larger than the eye-ball, the intervening space, especially at the back part, is filled up by fat, which serves as a soft cushion for its protection, and for enabling it to roll freely in all direc- tions. - besides these straight muscles, there are also two others (s and ) termed the oblique muscles, which give the eye- ball a certain degree of rotation on its axis. when these act in conjunction, they draw the eye forwards, and serve as an- tagonists to the combined power of the straight muscles. the upper oblique muscle (s) is remarkable for the artificial manner in which its tendon passes through a cartilaginous pulley (p) in the margin of the orbit, and then turns back again to be inserted into the eye-ball, so that the effect pro- duced by the action of the muscle is a motion in a direction exactly the reverse of that in which its fibres contract. this mechanism, simple as it is, affords one of the most palpable instances that can be adduced of express contrivance; for in no other situation could the muscle have been so conve- niently lodged as within the eye-ball; and in no other way could its tendon have been made to pull in a direction con- trary to that of the muscle, than by the interposition of a pulley, turning the tendon completely round. the fore-part of the globe of the eye, which is of a white colour, is connected with the surrounding integuments by a membrane, termed the conjunctiva.” this membrane, on * an abundant supply of nerves has been bestowed on this membrane for the purpose of conferring upon it that exquisite degree of sensibility which vol. ii. the sensorial functions. arriving at the base of the eye-lids, is folded forwards so as to line their inner surfaces, and to be continuous with the skin which covers their outer sides. the surfaces of the conjunctiva and of the cornea are kept constantly moist by the tears, which are as constantly secreted by the lacry- mal glands. each gland, (as shown at l, fig. ,) is si- tuated above the eye, in a hollow of the orbit, and the ducts (d) proceeding from it open upon the inner side of the up- per eye-lid (e.) this fluid, the uses of which are obviously to wash away dust, or other irritating substances which may happen to get introduced, is distributed over the outer sur- face of the eye by means of the eye-lids. each lid is sup- ported by an elastic plate of cartilage, shaped like a cres. cent, and covered by integuments. an orbicular muscle, the fibres of which run in a circular direction, immediately underneath the skin, all round the eye,” is provided for closing them. the upper eye-lid is raised by a separate muscle, contained within the orbit, immediately above the was necessary to give immediate warning of the slightest danger to so im- portant an organ as the eye from the intrusion of foreign bodies. that this is the intention is apparent from the fact that the internal parts of the eye possess but little sensibility compared with the external surface. * see fig. , vol. i. p. . - vision. upper straight muscle of the eye-ball. the eye-lashes are curved in opposite directions, so as not to interfere with each other when the eye-lids are closed. their utility in guarding the eye against the entrance of various substances, such as hairs, dust, or perspiration, and also in shading the eye from too strong impressions of light, is sufficiently ap- parent. the eye-lids, in closing, meet first at the outer corner of the eye; and their junction proceeds along the line of their edges, towards the inner angles, till the contact is complete: by this means the tears are carried onwards in that direction and accumulated at the inner corner of the eye, an effect which is promoted by the bevelling of the margins of the eye-lids, which, when they meet, form a channel for the fluid to pass in that manner. when they arrive at the inner corner of the eye, the tears are conveyed away by two slender ducts, the orifices of which, called the puncta lacrymalia (p, p,) are seen at the inner corner of each eye-lid, and are separated by a round projecting body (c.) connected with a fold of the conjunctiva, and termed the lacrymal caruncle. the two ducts soon unite to form one passage, which opens into a sac (s,) situated at the upper part of the sides of the nose, and terminating be- low (at n) in the cavity of the nostrils, into which the tears are ultimately conducted. when the secretion of the tears is too abundant to be carried off by this channel, they over- flow upon the checks; but when the quantity is not exces- sive, the tendency to flow over the eye-lid is checked by an oily secretion proceeding from a row of minute glands, si- tuated at the edge of the eye-lids, and termed the meibo- mian glands. the eye-brows are a farther protection to the eyes, the direction of the hairs being such as to turn away from them any drops of rain or of perspiration which may chance to fall from above. excepting in front, where the eyes are covered and pro- tected by the eye-lids, these important organs are on all vision. the accurate convergence of all the rays of light, which enter through the pupil, to their respective foci on the reti- na, is necessary for the perfection of the images there formed; but, for the complete attainment of this end, various nice ad- justments are still requisite. in the first place, the . berration of sphericity,” which is a consequence of the geometrical law of refraction, intro- duces a degree of confusion in the image; which is scarcely perceptible, indeed, on a small scale, but which becomes sensible in instruments of much power; being one of the greatest difficulties which the optician has to overcome in the construction of the telescope and the microscope. na- ture, in framing the human eye, has solved this diſficulty by the simplest, yet most effectual means, and in a manner quite inimitable by human art. she has, in the first place, given to the surfaces of the crystalline lens, instead of the spheri- cal form, curvatures more or less hyperbolical or elliptical; and has, in the next place, constructed the lens of an infinite number of concentric layers, which increase in their densi- ty, as they succeed one another from the surface to the cen- tre. the refracting power, being proportional to the density, is thus greatest at the centre, and diminishes as we recede from that centre. this admirable adjustment exact- ly corrects the deficiency of refraction, which always takes place in the central portions of a lens composed of a mate- rial of uniform density, as compared with the refraction of the parts more remote from the centre.t the second adjustment for perfect vision has reference to the variations in the distance of the focus which take place according as the rays arrive at the eye from objects at diffe- rent distances, and which may be called the berrations’of * see fig. , and the note referring to it, p. . f sir david brewster has ascertained that the variations of density pro- ducing the doubly refracting structure, in the crystalline lens of fishes, are related, not to the centre of the lens, but to the diameter which forms the axis of vision: an arrangement peculiarly adapted for correcting the spheri- cal aberrations, philos. trans. for , p. . vision. dr. young have rendered it probable that some change takes place in the figure of the lens, whereby its convexity, and perhaps, also, its distance from the retina, are increased. he has shown, by a very decisive experiment, that any change which may take place in the convexity of the cornea has but little share in the production of the effect; for the eye retains its power of adaptation when immersed in water, in which the form of the cornea can in no respect influence the refraction. but the rays of light are of different kinds; some exciting the sensation of red, others of yellow, and others again of blue; and these different species of light are refracted, under similar circumstances, in different degrees. hence, the more refrangible rays, namely, the violet and the blue, are brought to a nearer focus, than those which are less refran- gible, which are the orange and the red rays: and this want of coincidence in the points of convergence of these different rays, (all of which enter into the composition of white light,) necessarily impairs the distinctness of all the images pro- duced by refraction, shading off their outlines with various colours, even when the object itself is colourless. this de- ſect, which is incident to the power of a simple lens, and which is termed the chromatic ..?berration, is remedied almost perfectly in the eye, by the nice adjustment of the powers of the different refracting media, which the rays of light have to traverse before they arrive at the retina, pro- ducing what is called an achromatic combination;" and it is found that the eye, though not an absolutely achromatic in- strument, as was asserted by euler,t is yet sufficiently so for all the ordinary practical purposes of life. the object, then, of the whole apparatus appended to the optic nerve, is to form inverted images of external objects on the retina, which, as we have seen, is the expanded ex- * for the exposition of the principles on which these achromatic combi- nations of lenses correct this source of aberration, i must refer to works which treat professedly on optics. i for the rectification of this error we are indebted to dr. young. the sensorial functions. * tremity of that nerve. that this effect is actually produced, may be easily shown by direct observation; for if the scle- rotic and choroid coats be carefully dissected off from the posterior part of the eye of an ox, or any other large quad- ruped, leaving only the retina, and the eye so prepared be placed in a hole in a window-shutter, in a darkened room, with the cornea on the outside, all the illuminated objects of the external scene will be beautifully depicted, in an in- verted position, on the retina. few spectacles are more calculated to raise our admira- tion than this delicate picture, which nature has, with such exquisite art, and with the finest touches of her pencil, spread over the smooth canvass of this subtle nerve; a pic- ture, which, though scarcely occupying a space of half an inch in diameter, contains the delineation of a boundless scene of earth and sky, full of all kinds of objects, some at rest, and others in motion, yet all accurately represented as to their forms, colours and positions, and followed in all their changes, without the least interference, irregularity, or confusion. every one of those countless and stupendous orbs of fire, whose light, after traversing immeasurable re- gions of space, at length reaches our eye, is collected on its narrow curtain into a luminous focus of inconceivable mi- nuteness; and yet this almost infinitesimal point shall be sufficient to convey to the mind, through the medium of the optic nerve and brain, a knowledge of the existence and po- sition of the far distant luminary, from which that light has emanated. how infinitely surpassing all the limits of our conception must be the intelligence, and the power of that being, who planned and executed an instrument comprising, within such limited dimensions, such vast powers as the eye, of which the perceptions comprehend alike the nearest and most distant objects, and take cognizance at once of the most minute portions of matter, and of bodies of the largest magnitude! - vision. § . comparative physiology of pision. in the formation of every part of the animal machinery we may generally discern the predominance of the law of gradation; but this law is more especially observed in those organs which exhibit, in their most perfect state, the great- est complication and refinement of structure: for on follow- ing all their varieties in the ascending series, we always find them advancing by slow gradations of improvement, before they attain their highest degree of excellence. thus, the organ of vision presents, amidst an infinite variety of con- structions, successive degrees of refinement, accompanied by corresponding extensions of power. so gradual is the pro- gress of this development, that it is not easy to determine the point where the faculty of vision, properly so called, be- gins to be exercised, or where the first rudiment of its or- gan begins to appear. indications of a certain degree ºf sensibility to light are afforded by many of the lower tribes of zoophytes, while no visible organ appropriated to receive its impressions can be traced. this is the case with many microscopic animalcules; and still more remarkably with the hydra, and the actinia, which show by their movements that they feel the influ- ence of this agent; for, when confined in a vessel, they al- ways place themselves, by preference, on the side where there is the strongest light.” the peretillum cynomo- rium, on the other hand, seeks the darkest places, and con- tracts itself the moment it is exposed to light.t in a per- fectly calm sea, the medusae which are rising towards the surface, are seen to change their course, and to descend again, as soon as they reach those parts of the water which receive the full influence of the sun's rays, and before any part of * such is the uniform report of trembley, baker, bonnet, goëze, ha- now, roesel, and schaeffer. . f rapp; nov. act. acad. nat. cur. of bonn, xiv. . vol. ii. s the sensorial functions. º their bodies has come into contact with the atmosphere.” but, in all these instances a doubt may arise whether the observed actions be not prompted by the mere sensation of warmth excited by calorific rays which accompany those of light; in which case they would be evidence only of the operation of a finer kind of touch. the first unequivocal appearance of visual organs is met with in the class of annelida; although the researches of ehrenberg would induce us to believe that they may be traced among animals yet lower in the scale; for he has no- ticed them in several of the more highly organized infuso- ria, belonging to the order rotifera, and particularly in the hydatina senta, where he has found the small black points observable in other species, united into a single spot of larger size. nitsch, also, states that the cercaria viridis, possesses three organs of this kind. planariæ present two or three spots, which have been regarded as visual organs; and these have been found by baer to be composed, in the planaria torva, of clusters of black grains, situated underneath the white or transparent integu- ment.f the eyes of the nais proboscidea are composed, ac- cording to gruithuisen, simply of a small mass of black pig- ment, attached to the extremity of the optic nerve;f and or- gans apparently similar to these are met with in many of the inferior tribes of annelida. in all these cases it is a matter of considerable doubt whether the visual organs are constructed with any other intention than merely to con- vey general sensations of light, without exciting distinct per- ceptions of the objects themselves from which the light pro- ceeds; this latter purpose requiring, as we have seen, a spe- cial optical apparatus of some degree of complexity. an ap- proach to the formation of a crystalline lens takes place in the genus eunice of cuvier, (lycoris, sav.,) which, from the * grant; edin. journal of science: no. . f nov. act. acad. nat. cur. of bonn, xiii. . see also the memoir of dugès, entitled “recherches sur l'organisation etles moeurs des planaires,” * in the annales des sc. nat. xv. . # nov. act. acad. nat. cur. of bonn, xi. , vision. account given by professor muller," has four eyes, situated on the hinder part of the head, and covered with the epidermis, but containing in their interior a spherule, composed of an opaque white substance, surrounded by a black pigment, and penetrated by an optic nerve, which is continued to the brain. on the other hand, professor weber found in the hirudo medicinalis, or common leech, no less than ten minute eyes, arranged in a semicircle, in front of the head, and project- ing a little from the surface of the integument: they present externally a convex, and perfectly transparent cornea; while internally, they are prolonged into cylindrical tubes, con- taining a black pigment;t structures, apparently subservient to a species of vision of a higher order than that which con- sists in the simple recognition of the presence of light. no organs having the most distant relation to the sense of vision, have ever been observed in any of the acephalous, or bivalve mollusca; but various species of gasteropoda have organs which appear to exercise this sense, situated sometimes at the base, sometimes at the middle, and frequently at the ex- tremity of the tentacula. of the latter we have examples in the common slug and snail, where these tentacula, or horns, are four in number, and are capable of being protruded and again retracted, by ſolding inwards like the finger of a glove, at the pleasure of the animal. according to muller, the eye of the helix pomatia, represented at e, (fig. ;) is situ- ated a little to one side of the rounded extremity, or papilla (p,) of the tentaculum, and is attached to an oval bulb of a * annales des sciences naturelles, xxii. . i meckel, archiv. für anatomie und physiologie; , p. . # annales des sciences naturelles; xxii. . the sensorial functions. black colour. it receives only a slender branch (o) from a large nerve (nn) which is distributed to the papilla of the tentaculum, and appears to be appropriated exclusively to the sense of touch. the bulb, with the eye attached to it, is represented, in this figure, as half retracted within the tu- bular sheath of the tentaculum (ss;) but it can exercise its proper function only when fully exposed, by the complete unfolding and protrusion of the tentaculum. this eye con- tains, within its choroid coat, a semi-fluid and perfectly transparent substance, filling the whole of the globe; and muller also discovered at the anterior part, another transpa- rent body, having the shape of a lens.” a structure very similar to this was found to exist in the eye of the murer tritonis, with the addition of a distinct iris, perforated so as to form a pupil; a part which had also been observed, to- gether with a crystalline lens of very large size, in the vo- luta cymbium, by de blainville.f thus, the visual organs of these gasteropoda appear to possess every requisite for dis- tinct vision, properly so called. experiments are said to have been recently made, both by leuchs, and by steiſen- sand,t in which a snail was repeatedly observed to avoid a small object presented, near the tentaculum; thus affording evidence of its possessing this sense. the accurate investigation of the anatomy of the eyes of insects presents considerable difficulty, both from the mi- nuteness of their parts and from the complication of their structure; so that notwithstanding the light which has re- cently been thrown on this interesting subject by the patient and laborious researches of entomologists, great obscurity still prevails with regard to the mode in which these dimi- * muller thus confirms the accuracy of swammerdam's account of the anatomy of the eye of the snail, which had been contested by sir e. home (phil. trans. , p. ) and other writers. f principes d'anatomie comparée, i. . # quoted by muller; ibid. p. . these results also corroborate the testi- mony of swammerdam, who states that he had obtained proofs that the snail could see by means of these organs. vision. nutive beings exercise the sense of vision. four descrip- tions of visual organs are met with in the class of articu- lated animals; the first are the simple eyes, or stemmata, as they are termed, which appear as lucid spots, resembling those we have noticed in the higher orders of annelida; the second, are the conglomerate eyes, which consist of clus- ters or aggregations of simple eyes; the third, are the com- pound eyes, which are formed of a vast assemblage of small tubes, each having its respective apparatus of humours, and of retina, and terminating externally in a separate cornea, slightly elevated above the general surface of the organ: the fourth kind of eyes, which have not yet been distinguished by any particular appellation, are constituted by a number of separate lenses, and subjacent retinae, but the whole co- vered by a single cornea common to them all. few insects are wholly destitute of visual organs, either in their larva or perfect states.” the larvae of those insects which undergo a complete metamorphosis have only stem- mata; but those which are subjected only to a partial change of form, as the orthoptera, the hemiptera, and the aquatic neuroptera, have compound as well as simple eyes. perfect insects, with the few exceptions above noticed, have always compound eyes, generally two in number, placed on the sides of the head: and they are often accompanied by stem- mata situated between, or behind them, on the upper part of the head. these stemmata, when met with, are generally three in number, and are either placed in a row, or form a triangle. their structure has been minutely examined by professor muller, who found them to contain a hard and spherical crystalline lens, a vitreous humour, and a choroid coat, with its accompanying black pigment; the whole being covered externally by a convex cornea. the stemmata of * this is the case, however, with the genus clariger, among the coleoptera braula (nitzch) among diptera, and also some of the species of pupipara, nycteribia, and melophagus, which are all parasitic insects: there are also five species of ants, whose neuters have no eyes. (muller, annales des sc. nat. xvii. .) the sensorial functions. a caterpillar, which has eight of these eyes, are shown in fig. , connected together by a circular choroid membrane (xx) common to the whole: together with the separate branches (o o) of the optic nerve (n) belonging to each. all the arachnida possess eyes of this latter description; and from their greater size afford facilities for dissection, which are not met with among proper insects. their num- ber in spiders is generally eight, and they are disposed with great symmetry on the upper side of the head. fig. represents, on a magnified scale, one of the large stemmata, on the head of the scorpio tunensis, dissected so as to dis- play its internal parts; in which are seen the cornea (c.) de- rived from an extension of the integument ( ) the dense spherical crystalline lens (l;) the choroid coat with its pig- ment (x,”) forming a wide opening, or pupil; the vitreous hu- mour (v,) covered behind the retina (r,) which is closely ap- plied to it; and the optic nerve (o,) with which the retina is continuous. examples of the conglomerate eye occur in the myriapo- da: in the scolopendra, for instance, they consist of about twenty contiguous circular pellucid lenses, arranged in five lines, with one larger eye behind the rest, which kirby com- pares to a sentinel, or scout, placed at some little distance from the main body. in the julus terrestris, or common millepede, these eyes, amounting to , form a triangle, be- * marcel de serres states, that some of the stemmata of the insects which be examined contain a thin choroid, having a silvery lustre, as if intended as a reflector of the light which falls on it. vision. black pigment (x,) probably connected with a choroid coat, which, from the delicacy of its texture, has hitherto escaped observation. there exists opposite to the centre, or axis of each corneule, a circular perforation (p,) which performs the functions of a pupil.” dugès states, in- deed, that he has witnessed in this part movements of con- traction and dilatation, like those of the iris in vertebrated animals. he has likewise found that there is a small space (a) intervening between the extremity of each corneule and the iris, and filled with an aqueous humour. the compart- ments formed by the substance of the choroid (x) are conti- nued inwards towards the centre of the general hemisphere, the cylindrical spaces which they enclose being occupied each by a transparent cylinder (v.) consisting of an outer membrane, filled with a viscid substance analogous to the vi- treous humour. their general form and situation, as they lie embedded in the pigment, may be seen from the magnified sections; each cylinder commencing by a rounded convex base, immediately behind its respective pupil, and slightly tapering to its extremities, where it is met by a filament (n) of the optic nerve; and all these filaments, after passing for a certain distance through a thick mass of pigment, are united to the large central nervous bulb (g, fig. ,) which is termed the optic ganglion.t * this pupillary sperture was discovered by muller, and had eluded all the efforts of former observers to detect it; and it was accordingly the pre- vailing notion that the black pigment lined the whole surface of the cornea, and interposed an insuperable barrier to the passage of light beyond the cornea. it was evidently impossible, while such an opinion was entertained, that any intelligible theory of vision, with eyes so constructed, could be formed. + numberless modifications of the forms of each of these constituent parts occur in different species of insects. very frequently the vitreous humour (v,) instead of forming an clongated cylinder, has the shape of a short cone, terminating in a fine point, as shown in fig. . straus durckheim ap- pears to have mistaken this part for an enlarged termination of the optic nerve, believing it to be opaque, and to form a retina applied to the back of the corneule, which latter part he considered as properly the crystalline lens. in his elaborate work on the anatomy of the melolontha, he describes the vol. ii. the sensorial functions. it thus appears that each of the constituent eyes, which compose this vast aggregate, consists of a simple tube, fur- nished with all the elements requisite for distinct vision, and capable of receiving impressions from objects situated in the direction of the axis of the tube. the rays tra- versing adjacent corneules are prevented from mixing them- selves with those which are proper to each tube by the in- terposition of the black pigment, which completely surrounds the transparent cylinders, and intercepts all lateral or scat- tered light. thus has nature supplied the want of mobility in the eyes of insects, by the vast multiplication of their number, and by providing, as it were, a separate eye for each separate point which was to be viewed; and thus has she realized the hypothetical arrangement, which suggested itself in the outset of our inquiries, while examining all the possible modes of effecting this object. this mode of vision is probably assisted by the converging powers of each corneule, although in parts which are so mi- nute it is hardly possible to form an accurate estimate of these powers by direct experiment. in corroboration of this view i am fortunately enabled to cite a valuable observation of the late dr. wollaston, relative to the eye of the . stacus jluviatilis, or cray-fish, where the length of each compo- nent tube is short, compared with that of the libellula. on measuring accurately the focal distance of one of the cor- neules, dr. wollaston ascertained that it corresponds with filaments (f) of the optic nerve, in their progress inwards, as passing through a second membrane (k, fig. ,) which he denominates the common cho- roid, and afterwards uniting to form an expanded layer, or more general re- tina (n,) whence proceed a small number of short but thick nervous co- lumns (n,) still converging towards the large central ganglion (g,) in which they terminate. the use he ascribes to this second choroid is to intercept the light, which, in so diminutive an organ, might otherwise penetrate to the general retina and produce confusion, or injurious irritation. the co- lour of the pigment is not always black, but often has a bluish tint: in the common fly, it is of a bright scarlet hue, resembling blood. in nocturnal insects the transverse layer of pigment between the corneule and the vitre- ous humour is absent. vision. great exactness to the length of the tube attached to it; so that an image of an external object is formed precisely at the point where the retina is placed to receive it.” little is known of the respective functions of these two kinds of eyes, the simple and the compound, both of which are generally possessed by the higher orders of winged in- sects. from the circumstance that the compound eyes are not developed before the insect acquires the power of flight, it has been inferred that they are more particularly adapted to the vision of distant objects; but it must be confessed that the experiments made on this subject have not, hitherto, led to any conclusive results. dugès found, in his trials, that after the stemmata had been covered, vision remained appa- rently as perfect as before, while, on the other hand, when insects were deprived of the use of the compound eyes, and saw only with the stemmata, they seemed to be capable of distinguishing nothing but the mere presence or absence of light. others have reported, that if the stemmata be co- vered with an opaque varnish, the insect loses the power of guiding its flight, and strikes against walls or other obsta- cles: whereas, if the compound eyes be covered while the stemmata remain free, the insect generally flies away, rising perpendicularly in the air, and continuing its vertical ascent as long as it can be followed by the observer. if all the eyes of an insect be covered, it will seldom make any at- tempt whatsoever to fly. the eyes of insects, whether simple or compound, are immoveably fixed in their situations; but the compound eyes of the higher orders of the class of crustacea, are placed at the ends of moveable pedicles, so as to admit of being turned at pleasure towards the objects to be viewed. this, how- * this interesting fact was communicated to me by captain kater, who, together with mr. children, assisted dr. wollaston in this examination. f latreille describes a species of crab, found on the shores of the medi- terranean, having its eyes supported on a long jointed tube, consisting of two articulations, which enables the animal to move them in various direc- tions, like the arms of a telegraph. the sensorial functions. ever, is not the case with the entomostraca, comprising the various species of monoculi, in which the two eyes are brought so close to one another, as apparently to constitute a single organ, corresponding in its structure to the fourth class of eyes already enumerated; that is, the separate lenses it contains have a general envelope of a transparent mem- brane, or cornea. muscles are provided for moving the eye in its socket; so that we have here indications of an approach to the structure of the eye which prevails in the higher classes of animals. there is, however, a still nearer approximation to the latter in the eye of the cephalopoda; for sepia differ from all the tribes belonging to the inferior orders of mollusca in having large and efficient eyes, con- taining a hemispherical vitreous humour, placed immediate- ly before a concave retina, and receiving in front a large and highly convex crystalline lens, which is soft at its exte- rior, but rapidly increases in density, and contains a nucleus of great hardness: there is also a pigmentum nigrum, and a distinct iris, with a kidney-shaped pupil. this eye is re- markable for the total absence of a cornea; the integuments of the head being continued over the iris, and reflected over the edges of the pupil, giving a covering to the external sur- face of the lens: there is, of course, no chamber for contain- ing an aqueous humour. the globe of the eye is nearly spherical, but the sclerotica is double, leaving, at the poste- rior part, between its two portions, a considerable space, oc- cupied by the large ganglion of the optic nerve, with its nu- merous filaments, which are embedded in a soft glandular substance.” the eyes of fishes differ from those of sepiae principally in the addition of a distinct cornea, exterior to the lens and iris, but having only a slight degree of convexity. this, indeed, is the case with all aquatic animals; for, since the difference of density between the cornea and the external medium is but small, the refractive power of any cornea, * see cuvier, sur les mollusques; mémoir sur le poulpe, p. . in the octopus there are folds of the skin, which appear to be rudiments of eye-lids. the sensorial functions. or stria.” these lines, which mark the edges of the sepa- rate fibres, composing each lamina, converge like meridians from the equator to the two poles of the spheroid, as is shown in fig. . the fibres themselves are not cylindri- cal, but flat; and they taper at each end as they approach the points of convergence. the breadth of the fibres in the most external layer, at the equator, is about the , th part of an inch. the observation of another optical phenomenon, of a still more delicate kind, led sir david brewster to the farther discovery of the curious mode in which, (as is re- presented in fig. ,) the fibres are locked together at their edges by a series of teeth, resembling those of rack- work. he found the number of teeth in each fibre to be , ; and, as the whole lens contains about , , fibres, the total number of these minute teeth amounts to , , , .t some fishes, which frequent the depths of the ocean, be- ing found at between three and four hundred fathoms below the surface, to which it is impossible that any sensible quan- tity of the light of day can penetrate, have, like nocturnal quadrupeds, very large eyes. in a few species, which * see vol. i. p. . i as far as his observations have extended, this denticulated structure ex- ists in the lenses of all kinds of fishes, and likewise in those of birds. he has also met with it in two species of lizards, and in the ornithorhyncus, but he has not been able to find it in any of the mammalia, not even in the ce- tacea. (phil. trans. for , p. .) # see “observations sur les poissons recueillis dans un voyage aux iles baléares et pythiuses. par m. delaroche.” the sensorial functions. the skin constituting the outer eye-lid. this animal has the power of turning each eye, independently of the other, in a great variety of directions. the eyes of tortoises exhibit an approach to those of birds: they are furnished with large lacrymal glands, and with a very moveable membrana nicitans or third eye-lid. birds present a still farther development of all these parts: their eyes are of great size compared with the head, as may be seen from the large portion of the skull which is occupied on each side by the orbits. the chief peculiari- ties of the internal structure of these organs are apparently designed to accommodate them to vision through a very rare medium, and to procure their ready adjustment to ob- jects situated at very different distances. the form of the eye appears calculated to serve both these purposes; for the great prominence of its anterior portion, which has often the shape of a short cone, or cylinder, prefixed to the front of a hemispherical globe, and which is terminated by a very convex cornea, affords space for a larger quantity of aqueous humour, and also for the removal of the lens to a greater distance from the retina, whereby the vision of near objects is facilitated, while at the same time the refracting powers are susceptible of great variation. for the purpose of preserving the hemispherical form of the sclerotica, this membrane in birds is strengthened by a circle of bony plates, which occupy the fore-part, and are lodged between the two layers of which it consists. these plates vary in number from fifteen to twenty, and they lie close together, their edges successively overlapping each other. there is manifest design in this arrangement: for it is clear that a ring formed of a number of separate plates is better fitted to resist fracture than an entire bony circle of the same thickness. there is a dark-coloured membrane, called the marsu- pium, situated in the vitreous humour, the use of which is unknown, though it appears to be of some importance, as it vision. is found in almost every bird having extensive powers of vision.* the comparative anatomy of the eye offers, in- deed, a great number of special structures of which we do not understand the design, and which i have therefore pur- posely omitted to notice, as being foreign to the object of this treatise. in most birds the membrana nictitans, or third eye-lid, is of considerable size, and consists of a semi-transparent fold of the conjunctiva, lying, when not used, in the inner cor- ner of the eye, with its loose edge nearly vertical: it is re- presented at n, fig. , covering half the surface of the eye: its motion, like that of a curtain, is horizontal, and is effected by two muscles: the first of which, seen at q, in fig. , is called from its shape the quadratus, and arises from the upper and back part of the sclerotica: its fibres de- scending in a parallel course towards the optic nerve, where they terminate, by a semicircular edge, in a tubular tendon. this tendon has no particular attachment, but is employed for the purpose of serving as a loop for the passage of the long tendon of the second muscle (p,) which is called the pyramidalis, and which arises from the lower and back part of the sclerotica. its tendon (t,) after passing through the * it is shown at m, fig. , which is a magnified section of the eye of a goose. c is the cornea; , the iris; r, the ciliary processes, s, the sclerotic coat, and o, the optic nerve. vol. ii. the sensorial functions. channel above described, which has the effect of a pulley, is conducted through a circular sheath, furnished by the scle- rotica to the under part of the eye, and is inserted into the lower portion of the loose edge of the nictitating membrane. by the united action of these two muscles, the former of which serves merely to guide the tendon of the latter, and increase the velocity of its action, the membrane is rapidly drawn over the front of the globe. its return to its former position is effected simply by its own elasticity, which is sufficient to bring it back to the inner corner of the eye. if the membrane itself had been furnished with muscular fibres for effecting this motion, they would have interfered with its use by obstructing the transmission of light. the eyes of quadrupeds agree in their general structure with those of man. in almost all the inferior tribes they are placed laterally in the head, each having independent fields of vision, and the two together commanding an extensive por- tion of the whole sphere. this is the case very generally among fishes, reptiles, and birds. some exceptions, indeed, occur in particular tribes of the first of these classes, as in the uranoscopus, where the eyes are directed immediately upwards; in the ray and the callionymus, where their di- rection is oblique; and in the pleuronectes, where there is a remarkable want of symmetry between the right and left sides of the body, and where both eyes, as well as the mouth, are apparently situated on one side. among birds, it is only in the tribe of owls, which are nocturnal and predacious, that we find both eyes placed in front of the head. in the lower quadrupeds, the eyes are situated laterally, so that the optic axes form a very obtuse angle with each other. as we ascend towards the quadrumana we find this angle be- coming smaller, till at length the approximation of the fields of view of the two eyes is such as to admit of their being both directed to the same object at the same time. in the human species the axes of the two orbits approach nearer to parallelism than in any of the other mammalia; and the fields of vision of both eyes coincide nearly in their whole extent. vision. this is probably a circumstance of considerable importance with regard to our acquisition of correct perceptions by this sense. in the magnitude of the organ compared with that of the body, we may occasionally observe some relation to the cha- racter of the animal and the nature of its pursuits. herbi- vorous animals, and especially those whose bulk is great, as the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the hippopotamus, have comparatively small eyes; for that of the elephant does not exceed two inches in diameter. the eye of the whale is not much more than the th part of the length of the body. when the natural food of an animal is stationary and re- quires no effort of pursuit, the eye is generally small, and the sight less keen; while in the purely carnivorous tribes, which are actively engaged in the chase of living prey, the organ of vision is large and occupies a considerable portion of the head; the orbit is much developed, and encroaches on the bones of the face; while, at the same time, the bony par- tition separating at the globe of the eye from the temporal muscle is supplied by ligament alone: so that when that muscle is in strong action, the eye is pressed outwards, giving to the expression of the countenance a peculiar fe- rocity. while nature has thus bestowed great acuteness of sight on pursuing animals, she has, on the other hand, been no less careful to arm those which are the objects of pursuit, with powers of vision, enabling them to perceive their enemies from afar, and avoid the impending danger. thus, large eyes are bestowed on the rodentia and the ruminantia. those tribes which pursue their prey by night, or in the dusk of the evening, as for example the lemur and the cat, are furnished with large eyes. bats, however, form an ex- ception to this rule, their eyes being comparatively small; but a compensation has been afforded them in the superior acuteness of their other senses. in many quadrupeds a por- tion of the choroid coat is highly glistening, and reflects a the sensorial functions. great quantity of coloured light: the object of this structure, which is termed the tapetum, is not very apparent. among the lesser quadrupeds which burrow in the ground, we find many whose eyes are extremely minute, so much so, indeed, as to be scarcely serviceable as visual organs. the eye of the sorea, or shrew mouse, is very small, and surrounded by thick hair, which completely obstructs vi- sion, and requires to be removed by the action of the subcu- taneous muscles, in order to enable the animal to derive any advantage from its eyes. these organs in the mole are still more remarkably deficient in their development, not being larger than the head of a pin, and consequently not easily discovered.” it is therefore probable that this animal trusts chiefly to its sense of hearing, which is remarkably acute, for intimations of the approach of danger, especially as, in its subterranean retreats, the vibrations of the solid earth are readily transmitted to its ears. the mus typhlus, or blind rat of linnaeus; (the zemni of pallas,) which is an inhabitant of the western parts of asia, cannot be supposed to possess even the small degree of vision of the mole: for no external organ of this sense has been detected in any part of that ani- mal. the whole side of the head is covered with a conti- nuous integument of uniform thickness, and equally over- spread with a thick velvetty hair. it is only after removing the skin that a black spot is discovered on each side, of ex- ceedingly small size, and apparently the mere imperfect ru- diment of an eye, and totally incapable of exercising any of the functions of vision. those mammalia, whose habits are aquatic, having the eye frequently immersed in a dense medium, require a special provision for accommodating the refractive power of that organ to this variation of circumstances. accordingly, it is found that in the seal, and other amphibious tribes, the * magendie asserts that the mole has no optic nerve; but g. st. hilaire and carus recognise the existence of a very slender nervous filament, arising from the brain, and distributed to the eye of that animal. vision. structure of the eye approaches to that of fishes, the lens be- ing denser and more convex than usual, the cornea thin and yielding, and both the anterior and posterior segments of the sclerotic thick and firm; but the middle circle is very thin and flexible, admitting of the ready separation or ap- proximating of the other portions, so as to elongate or con- tract the axis of the eye; just as a telescope can be drawn out or shortened, in order to adapt it to the distance of the object to be viewed. the whole eye-ball is surrounded by strong muscles which are capable of effecting these requisite changes of distance between the cornea and the retina. the dolphin, which lives more constantly in the water, has an eye still more nearly approaching in its structure to that of fishes; the crystalline lens being nearly spherical, and the globe of the eye furnished with strong and numerous mus- cles. in birds which frequently plunge their heads under water the crystalline lens is more convex than in other tribes; and the same is true, also, of aquatic reptiles. ( ) chapter vii. perception. the object of nature in establishing the organizations we have been reviewing is to produce certain modified impres- sions on the extremities of particular nervous filaments pro- vided to receive them; but these impressions constitute only the commencement of the series of corporeal changes which terminate in sensation; for they have to be conveyed along the course of the nerves to the brain, or central organ of the nervous system,” where, again, some physical change must take place, before the resulting affection of the mind can be produced. the particular part of the brain, where this last physical change, immediately preceding the mental change, takes place, is termed the sensorium. abundant proofs exist that all the physical changes here referred to really oc- cur, and, also, that they occur in this order of succession: for they are invariably found to be dependent on the healthy state, not only of the nerve, but, also, of the brain; thus, the destruction, or even compression of the nerve, in any part of its course between the external organ and the sensorium, totally prevents sensation; and the like result ensues from even the slightest pressure made on the sensorium itself. although the corporeal or physical change taking place in the sensorium, and the mental affection we term sensation, are linked together by some inscrutable bond of connexion, * it is usual to designate the end of the nerve which is next to the senso- rium, as the origin of that nerve; whereas, it should more properly be re- garded as its termination; for the series of changes which end in sensation commence at the organ of sense, and are thence propagated along the nerve to the sensorium. perception. they are, in their nature, as perfectly distinct as the subjects in which they occur; that is, as mind is distinct from mat- ter; and they cannot, therefore, be conceived by us as having the slightest resemblance the one to the other. yet sensations invariably suggest to the mind ideas, not only of the existence of an external agent as producing them, but also of various qualities and attributes belonging to these agents; and the belief, or rather the irresistible conviction, thus forced upon us, of the reality of these external agents, which we conceive as constituting the material world, is termed perception. various questions here present themselves concerning the origin, the formation, and the laws of our perceptions. this vast field of curious but difficult inquiry, situated on the confines of the two great departments of human knowledge, (of which the one relates to the phenomena of matter, and the other to those of mind,) requires for its successful culti- vation the combined efforts of the physiologist and the me- taphysician. for although our sensations are purely men- tal affections, yet inasmuch as they are immediately depend- ent on physical causes, they are regulated by the physical laws of the living frame; whereas the perceptions derived from these sensations, being the results of intellectual pro- cesses, are amenable rather to the laws which regulate men- tal than physical phenomena. it is certain, from innume- rable facts, that in the present state of our existence, the operations of the mind are conducted by the instrumentality of our bodily organs; and that unless the brain be in a healthy condition, these operations become disordered, or altogether cease. as the eye and the ear are the instruments by which we see and hear, so the brain is the material in- strument by which we retrace and combine ideas, and by which we remember, we reason, we invent. sudden pres- sure on this organ, as in a stroke of apoplexy, puts a total stop to all these operations of the mind. if the pressure be of a nature to admit of remedy, and has not injured the tex- ture of the brain, recovery may take place; and immediately the sensorial functions. on the return of consciousness, the person awakes as from a dream, having no sense of the time which has elapsed since the moment of the attack. all causes which disturb the healthy condition of the brain, such as alcohol, opium, and other narcotic drugs, or which disorder more especially the circulation in that organ, such as those inducing fever, or inflammation, produce corresponding derangements of the intellectual powers; modifying the laws of the association of ideas, introducing confusion in the perceptions, irregularity in the trains of thought, and incapacity of reasoning, and leading to the infinitely diversified forms of mental halluci- nation, delirium, or insanity. even the strongest minds are subject to vicissitudes arising from slighter causes, which affect the general tone of the nervous system. vain, in- deed, was the boast of the ancient stoics that the human mind is independent of the body, and impenetrable to ex- ternal influences. no mortal man, whatever may be the vi- gour of his intellect, or the energy of his application, can withstand the influence of impressions on his external. senses; for, if sufficiently reiterated or intense, they will al- ways have power, if not to engross his whole attention, at least to interrupt the current of his thoughts, and direct them into other channels. nor is it necessary for producing this effect that cannon should thunder in his ears; the mere rat- tling of a window, or the creaking of a hinge will often be sufficient to disturb his philosophical meditations, and disse- ver the whole chain of his ideas. “marvel not,” says pas- cal, “that this profound statesman is just now incapable of reasoning justly; for behold, a fly is buzzing round his head. if you wish to restore to him the power of correct thinking, and of distinguishing truth from falsehood, you must first chase away the insect, holding in thraldom that exalted rea- son, and that gigantic intellect, which govern empires and decide the destinies of mankind.” although we must necessarily infer, from the evidence furnished by experience, that some physical changes in the brain accompany the mental processes of thought, we are in // perception. utter ignorance of the nature of those actions; and all our knowledge on this subject is limited to the changes which we are conscious are going on in the mind. it is to these mental changes, therefore, that our attention is now to be directed. in experiencing mere sensations, whatever be their as- semblage or order of succession, the mind is wholly passive: on the other hand, the mind is active on all occasions when we combine into one idea sensations of different kinds, (such as those which are derived from each separate sense,) when we compare sensations or ideas with one another, when we analyze a compound idea, and unite its elements in an order or mode of combination different from that in which they were originally presented. many of these active operations of mind are implied in the process of perception; for al- though it might be supposed that the diversity in the nature of our sensations would sufficiently indicate to us a corre- sponding variety in the qualities of the material agents, which produce their impressions on our senses, yet these very qualities, nay, even the existence of the objects them- selves, are merely inferences deduced by our reasoning powers, and not the immediate effects of those impressions on the mind. we talk, for instance, of seeing a distant body; yet the immediate object of our perception can only be the light, which has produced that particular impression on our retina; whence we infer, by a mental process, the existence, the position, and the magnitude of that body. when we hear a distant sound, the immediate object of our perception is neither the sounding body whence it emanates, nor the successive undulations of the medium conveying the effect to our ear; but it is the peculiar impression made by the vibrating particles of the fluid, which are in direct con- tact with the auditory nerve. it is not difficult to prove that the objects of perception are mere creations of the mind, suggested, probably instinctively, by the accompanying sen- sations, but having no real resemblance or correspondence either with the impressions themselves, or with the agencies vol. ii. the sensorial functions. which produce them; for many are the instances in which our actual perceptions are widely different from the truth, and have no external prototype in nature. in the absence of light, any mechanical pressure, suddenly applied to the eye, excites, by its effect on the retina, the sensation of vivid light. that this sensation is present in the mind we are certain, because we are conscious of its existence: here there can be no fallacy. but the perception of light, as a cause of this sensation, being inseparably associated with such sen- sation, and wholly dependent on it, and corresponding in all respects, both as to its duration and intensity, with the same circumstances in the sensation, we cannot avoid having the perception as well as the sensation of light: yet it is cer- tain that no light has acted. the error, then, attaches to the perception; and its source is to be traced to the mental process by which perception is derived from sensation. many other examples might be given of fallacious per- ceptions, arising from impressions made in an unusual man- ner on the nerves of the senses. one of the most remark- able is the appearance of a flash of light from the transmis- sion of the galvanic influence through the facial nerves. if a piece of silver, or of gold, be passed as high as possible between the upper lip and the gums, while at the same time a plate of zinc is laid on the tongue, or applied to the inside of the cheeks; and if a communication be then made be- tween the two metals, either by bringing them into direct contact, or by means of a wire touching both of them at the same time, a flash of light is seen by the person who is the subject of the experiment. this appearance is the effect of an impression made either on the retina, or on the optic nerve, and is analogous to that occasioned by a mechanical impulse, such as a blow directed to the same part of the ner- vous system, both being phenomena totally independent of the presence of light. a similar fallacy occurs in the per- ception of taste, which arises in the well known experiment of placing a piece of zinc and another of silver, the one on the upper and the other on the under surface of the tongue, perception. and making them communicate, when a pungent and disa- greeable metallic taste is instantly perceived: this happens because the nerves of the tongue, being acted upon by the galvanism thus excited, communicate the same sensation as that which would be occasioned by the actual application of sapid bodies to that organ. thus, it appears that causes which are very different in their nature, may, by acting on the same nerves, produce the very same sensation; and it follows, therefore, that our sensations cannot be depended upon as being always exactly correspondent with the quali- ties of the external agent which excites them. evidence to the same effect may also be gathered from the consideration of the narrowness of those limits within which all our senses are restricted. it requires a certain in- tensity in the agent, whether it be light, or sound, or che- mical substances applied to the senses of smell or taste, in order to produce the very lowest degree of sensation. on the other hand, when their intensity exceeds a certain limit, the nature of the sensation changes, and becomes one of pain. of the sensations commonly referred to the sense of touch, there are many which convey no perception of the cause producing them. thus, a slighter impression than that which gives the feeling of resistance produces the sensa- tion of itching, which is totally different in its kind. the sensation of cold is equally positive with that of warmth, and differs from it, not in degree merely, but in species; al- though we know that it is only in its degree that the exter- nal cause of each of these sensations differs. º the only distinct notions we are capable of forming re- specting matter, are that it consists of certain powers of attraction and repulsion, occupying certain portions of space, and capable of moving in space; and that its parts thereby assume different relative positions or configurations. but of mind, our knowledge is more extensive and more precise, because we are conscious of its existence, and of many of its operations, which are comprised in the general term thought. to assert that thought can be a property of mat the sensorial functions. ter, is to extend the meaning of the term matter to that with which we cannot perceive it has any relation. all that we know of matter has regard to space: nothing that we know of the properties and affections of mind has any relation whatsoever to space. a similar incongruity is contained in the proposition that thought is a function of the brain. it is not the brain which thinks, any more than it is the eye which sees, though each of these material organs is necessary for the production of these respective effects. that which sees and which thinks is exclusively the mind; although it is by the instrumentali- ty of its bodily organs that these changes take place. at- tention to this fundamental distinction, which, although ob- vious when explicitly pointed out, is often lost sight of in ordinary discourse, will furnish a key to the solution of many questions relating to perception, which have been considered as difficult and embarrassing. - the sensations derived from the different senses have no resemblance to one another, and have, indeed, no property in common, except that they are felt by the same percipient being. a colour has no sort of resemblance to a sound; nor have either of these any similarity to an odour, or a taste, or to the sensations of heat, or cold. but the mind, which receives these incongruous elements, has the power of giving them, as it were, cohesion, of comparing them with one another, of uniting them into combinations, and of form- ing them into ideas of external objects. all that nature presents is an infinite number of particles, scattered in diffe- rent parts of space; but out of these the mind forms indivi- dual groups, to which she gives a unity of her own crea- tion. all our notions of material bodies involve that of space; and we derive this fundamental idea from the peculiar sensa- tions which attend the actions of our voluntary muscles. these actions first give us the idea of our own bodies, of its various parts, and of their figure and movements; and next teach us the position, distances, magnitudes, and figures of the sensorial functions. time after the vibrations of the external medium have ceased; as is shown by the sensation of a musical note being the re- sult of the regular succession of aerial undulations, when the impression made by each continues during the whole inter- val between two consecutive vibrations. the impulses of light on the retina are unquestionably consecutive, like those of sound, but being repeated at still shorter intervals, give rise to a continuous impression. a familiar instance of the same principle occurs in the appearance of an entire lumi- nous circle, from the rapid whirling round of a piece of lighted charcoal; for the part of the retina which receives the brilliant image of the burning charcoal, retains the im- pression with nearly the same intensity during the entire revolution of the light, when the same impression is re- newed. for the same reason a rocket, or a fiery meteor, shooting across the sky in the night, appears to leave behind it a long luminous train. the exact time, during which these impressions continue, after the exciting cause has been withdrawn, has been variously estimated by different experi- mentalists, and is very much influenced, indeed, by the in- tensity of the impression.* * many curious visual illusions may be traced to the operation of this principle. one of the most remarkable is the curved appearance of the spokes of a carriage wheel rolling on the ground, when viewed through the intervals between vertical parallel bars, such as those of a palisade, or vene- tian window-blind. on studying the circumstances of this phenomenon, i found that it was the necessary result of the traces left on the retina by the parts of each spoke which became in succession visible through the apertures, and assumed the curved appearances in question. a paper, in which i gave an account of the details of these observations, and of the theory by which i explained them, was presented to the royal society, and published in the philosophical transactions, for , p. . about three years ago, mr. faraday prosecuted the subject with the usual success which attends all his philosophical researches, and devised a great number of interesting experi- ments on the appearances resulting from combinations of revolving wheels; the details of which are given in a paper contained in the first volume of the journal of the royal institution of great britain, p. . this again direct- ed my attention to the subject, and led me to the invention of the instrument which has since been introduced into notice under the name of the phantas- visual perceptions. when the impressions are very vivid, another phenome- non often takes place; namely, their subsequent recurrence, after a certain interval, during which they are not felt, and quite independently of any renewed application of the cause which had originally excited them. if, for example, we look steadfastly at the sun for a second or two, and then im- mediately close our eyes, the image or spectrum of the sun remains for a long time present to the mind, as if its light were still acting on the retina. it then gradually fades and disappears; but if we continue to keep the eyes shut, the same impression will, after a certain time, recur, and again vanish; and this phenomenon will be repeated at intervals, the sensation becoming fainter at each renewal. it is pro- bable that these reappearances of the image, after the light which produced the original impression has been withdrawn, are occasioned by spontaneous affections of the retina itself, which are conveyed to the sensorium. in other cases, where the impressions are less strong, the physical changes producing these spectra are perhaps confined to the senso- rium. these spectral appearances generally undergo vari- ous changes of colour, assuming first a yellow tint, passing then to a green, and lastly becoming blue, before they finally disappear. another general law of sensation is, that all impressions made on the nerves of sense tend to exhaust their sensibility, so that the continued or renewed action of the same exter- nal cause produces a less effect than at first: while, on the other hand, the absence or diminution of the usual excite- ment leads to a gradual increase of sensibility, so that the subsequent application of an exciting cause produces more than the usual effect. one of the most obvious exemplifica- tions of this law presents itself in the case of the sensations of timperature. the very same body may appear warm to mascope or phenakisticope. i constructed several of these at that period, (in the spring of ) which i showed to many of my friends; but in conse- quence of occupations and cares of a more serious kind, i did not publish any account of this invention, which was last year reproduced on the continent. vol. ii. the sensorial functions. the touch at one time, and cold at another, (although its real temperature has not varied,) according to the state of the organ induced by previous impressions: and a very different judgment will be formed of its temperature, when felt by each hand in succession, if the one has immediately before been exposed to cold, while the other has retained its natu- ral warmth. similar phenomena may be observed with regard to all the other senses: thus, the flavour of odorous, as well as sapid bodies, depends much on the previous state of the organ by which they are perceived; any strong-im- pression of taste made on the nerves of the tongue, render- ing them, for some time, nearly insensible to weaker tastes. sounds, which make a powerful impression on the auditory nerves, will, in like manner, occasion temporary deafness with regard to faint sounds. the converse of this is ob- served when hearing has been suddenly restored in deaf persons, by the operation of perforating the ear-drum.” the sensibility of the auditory nerves, which had not been ac- cessible to impressions of sound, is found to be increased to a morbid degree. this was remarkably exemplified in the case of a gentleman, who, for several years, had been very deaf, in consequence of the obliteration of the eustachian tube, so that he could scarcely hear a person speaking in a loud voice close to his ear. as soon as the instrument which had made the perforation was withdrawn, the by-standers began to address him in a very low tone of voice, and were surprised at receiving no answer, and at his remaining im- moveable in his chair, as if stunned by a violent blow. at length, he burst out into the exclamation, “for god’s sake, gentlemen, refrain from crying out so terribly loud! you are giving me excessive pain by speaking to me.” the sur- geon,t upon this, retired across the room; unfortunately, however, the creaking of his boots caused the gentleman to start up in an agony from his chair, at the same time apply- ing his hand instinctively to cover his ear; but in doing this, * see the note in p. of this volume. f m. maunoir, of geneva, on whose authority i have given this account. the sensor ial functions. nary sensibility, for the purpose of observing very faint ce- lestial objects. it often happened to him, when, in a fine winter's night, and in the absence of the moon, he was oc- cupied during four, five, or six hours in taking sweeps of the heavens with his telescope, that, by excluding from the eye the light of surrounding objects, by means of a black hood, the sensibility of the retina was so much increased, that when a star of the third magnitude approached the field of view, he found it necessary immediately to with- draw his eye, in order to preserve its powers. he relates that on one occasion the appearance of sirius announced itself in the field of the telescope like the dawn of the morn- ing, increasing by degrees in brightness, till the star at last presented itself with all the splendour of the rising sun, obliging him quickly to retreat from the beautiful but over- powering spectacle. the peculiar construction of the organ of vision allows of our distinguishing the effects of impressions made on parti- cular parts of the retina from those made on the rest, and from their general effect on the whole surface. these par- tial variations of sensibility in the retina give rise to the phe- nomena of ocular spectra, as they are called, which were first noticed by buffon, and afterwards more fully investi- gated by dr. robert darwin. a white object on a dark ground, after being viewed steadfastly till the eye has be- come fatigued, produces, when the eye is immediately di- rected to another field of view, a spectrum of a darker co- lour than the surrounding space, in consequence of the ex- haustion of that portion of the retina on which its image had been impressed. the converse takes place, when the eye, after having been steadfastly directed to a black object on a light ground, is transferred to another part of the same field; and in this case a bright spectrum of the object is seen. it is a still more curious fact that the sensibility of the re- tina to any particular kind of light, may, in like manner, be increased or diminished, without any change taking place in its sensibility to other kinds of light. hence the spectrum ocul ar spectra. of a red object appears green; because the sensibility of that portion of the retina, on which the red image has been im- pressed, is impaired with regard to the red rays, while the yellow and the blue rays still continue to produce their usual effect; and these, by combining their influence, produce the impression of green. for a similar reason, the spectrum of a green object is red; the rays of that colour being those which alone retain their power of fully impressing the re- tina, previously rendered less sensible to the yellow and the blue rays composing the green light it had received from the object viewed. the judgments we form of the colours of bodies are in- fluenced, in a considerable degree, by the vicinity of other coloured objects, which modify the general sensibility of the retina. when a white or gray object of small dimensions, for instance, is viewed on a coloured ground, it generally appears to assume a tint of the colour which is complemen- tary to that of the ground itself." it is the etiquette among the chinese, in all their epistles of ceremony, to employ paper of a bright scarlet hue: and i am informed by sir george staunton, that for a long time after his arrival in china, the characters written on this kind of paper appeared to him to be green; and that he was afterwards much sur- prised at discovering that the ink employed was a pure black, without any tinge of colour, and on closer examina- tion he found that the marks were also black. the green appearance of the letters, in this case, was an optical illu- sion, arising from the tendency of the retina, which had been strongly impressed with red light, to receive impres- sions corresponding to the complementary colour, which is green. a philosophical history of the illusions of the senses would afford ample evidence that limits have been intentionally as- signed to our powers of perception; but the subject is much * any two colours which, when combined together, produce white light, are said to be complementary to one another. the sensorial functions. too extensive to be treated at length in the present work.” i must content myself with remarking, that these illusions are the direct consequences of the very same laws, which, in ordinary circumstances, direct our judgment correctly, but are then acting under unusual or irregular combinations of circumstances. these illusions may be arranged under three classes, according as they are dependent on causes of a physical, physiological, or mental kind. the first class includes those illusions in which an impres- sion is really made on the organ of sense by an external cause, but in a way to which we have not been accustomed. to this class belong the acoustic deceptions arising from echoes, and from the art of ventriloquism; the deceptive appear- ances of the mirage of the desert, the looming of the horizon at sea, the fata morgana of the coast of calabria, the gi- gantic spectre of the brocken in the hartz, the suspended images of concave mirrors, the visions of the phantasmago- ria, the symmetrical reduplications of objects in the field of the kaleidoscope, and a multitude of other results of the simple combinations of the laws of optics. the second class comprehends those in which the cause of deception is more internal, and consists in the peculiar condition of the nervous surface receiving the impressions. ocular spectra of various kinds, impressions on the tongue and the eye from galvanism, and those which occasion sing- ing in the ears, arising generally from an excited circulation, are among the many perceptions which rank under this head. the third class of fallacies comprehends those which are essentially mental in their origin, and are the consequences of errors in our reasoning powers. some of these have al- ready been pointed out with regard to the perceptions of vision and of hearing, the formation of which is regulated * in the gulstonian lectures, which i was appointed to read to the royal college of physicians, in may, , i took occasion to enlarge on this sub- ject. a summary of these lectures was given in the london medical ga- zette, vol. x. p. . ii, lusions of the senses. by the laws of the association of ideas. but even the sense of touch, which has been generally regarded as the least lia- ble to fallacy, is not exempt from this source of error, as is proved by the well known experiment of feeling a single ball, of about the size of a pea, between two fingers which are crossed; for there is then a distinct perception of the presence of two balls instead of one. but limited as our senses are in their range of perception, and liable to occasional error, we cannot but perceive, that, both in ourselves, and also in every class of animals, they have been studiously adjusted, not only to the properties and the constitution of the material world, but, also, to the re- spective wants and necessities of each species, in the situa- tions and circumstances where it has been placed by the gra- cious and beneficent author of its being. if the sensorial functions had been limited to mere sensa- tion and perception, conjoined with the capacity of passive enjoyment and of suffering, the purposes of animal existence would have been but imperfectly accomplished; for, in or- der that the sentient being may secure the possession of those objects which are agreeable and salutary, and avoid or reject those which are painful or injurious, it is necessary that he possess the power of spontaneous action. hence, the faculty of poluntary motion is superadded to the other sensorial functions. the muscles which move the limbs, the trunk, the head, and organs of sense, all those parts, in a word, which establish relations with the external work, are, through the intermedium of a separate set of nervous filaments, totally distinct from those which are subservient to sensation,” made to communicate directly with the senso- rium, and are thereby placed under the direct control and guidance of the will. the mental act of volition is doubt- less accompanied by some corresponding physical change in that part of the sensorium, whence the motor nerves, or * on this subject i must refer the reader to the researches of sir charles bell, and magendie, who have completely established the distinction be- tween these two classes of nerves. the sensorial functions. those distributed to the muscles of voluntary motion, arise. here, then, we pass from mental phenomena to such as are purely physical; and the impression, whatever may be its nature, originating in the sensorium, is propagated along the course of the nerve to those muscles, whose contraction is required for the production of the intended action. of the function of voluntary motion, as far as concerns the moving powers and the mechanism of the instruments employed,” i have already treated at sufficient length in the first part of this work. - every excitement of the sensorial powers is, sooner or later, followed by a proportional degree of exhaustion; and when this has reached a certain point, a suspension of the exercise of these faculties takes place, constituting the state of sleep, during which, by the continued renovating action of the vital functions, these powers are recruited, and ren- dered again adequate to the purposes for which they were bestowed. in the ordinary state of sleep, however, the ex- haustion of the sensorium is seldom so complete as to pre- clude its being excited by internal causes of irritation, which would be scarcely sensible during our waking hours: and hence arise dreams, which are trains of ideas, suggested by internal irritations, and which the mind is bereft of the power to control, in consequence of the absence of all im- * a voluntary action, occurring as the immediate consequence of the ap- plication of an external agent to an organ of the senses, though apparently a simple phenomenon, implies the occurrence of no less than twelve succes- sive processes, as may be seen by the following enumeration. first, there is the modifying action of the organ of the sense, the refractions of the rays, for instance, in the case of the eye: secondly, the impression made on the extremity of the nerve: thirdly, the propagation of this impression along the nerve: fourthly, the impression or physical change in the sensorium. next follow four kinds of mental processes, namely, sensation, perception, associa- tion, and volition. then, again, there is another physical change taking place in the sensorium, immediately consequent on the mental act of voli- tion: this is followed by the propagation of the impression downwards along the motor nerve; then an impression is made on the muscle; and, lastly, we obtain the contraction of the muscle, which is the object of the whole series of operations. voluntary motion. pressions from the external senses.” in many animals, a much more general suspension of the actions of life, extend- ing even to the vital functions of respiration and circulation, takes place during the winter months, constituting what is termed hybernation. * the only indications of dreaming given by the lower animals occur in those possessed of the greatest intellectual powers, such as the dog, among quadrupeds, and the parrot, among birds. vol. ii. ( ) chapter viii. comparative physiology of the nervous system. § . nervous systems of invertebrated.animals. our knowledge of the exact uses and functions of the various parts which compose the nervous system, and espe- cially of its central masses, is unfortunately too scanty to enable us to discern the correspondence, which undoubtedly exists, between the variations in the functions and the di- versities in the organization. the rapid review which i propose to take of the different plans, according to which the nervous system is constructed in the several classes of animals, will show that these central masses are multiplied and developed in proportion as the faculties of the animal embrace a wider range of objects, and are carried to higher degrees of excellence. - in none of the lowest tribes of zoophytes, such as sponges, polypi, and medusae, have any traces of organs, bearing the least analogy to a nervous system, been discovered; not even in the largest specimens of the last named tribe, some of which are nearly two feet in diameter. all these ani- mals give but very obscure indications of sensibility; for the contractions they exhibit, when stimulated, appear to be rather the effect of a vital property of irritability than the result of any sensorial faculty. analogy, however, would lead us to the belief that many of their actions are really prompted by sensations and volitions, though in a de- gree very inferior to those of animals higher in the scale of being: but whatever may be their extent, it is probable that the sensorial operations in these animals take place without nervous system of invertebrata. the intervention of any common sensorium, or centre of ac- tion. it is at the same time remarkable that their move- ments are not effected by means of muscular fibres, as they are in all other animals, the granular flesh, of which their whole body is composed, appearing to have a generally dif- fused irritability, and perhaps also some degree of sensibi- lity; so that each isolated granule may be supposed to be endowed with these combined properties, performing, inde- pendently of the other granules, the functions both of nerve and muscle. such a mode of existence exhibits apparently the lowest and most rudimental condition of the animal functions. yet the actions of the hydra, of which i have given an account, are indicative of distinct volitions; as are also, in a still more decided manner, those of the infusoria. in the way in which the latter avoid obstacles while swim- ming in the fluid, and turn aside when they encounter one another, and in the eagerness with which they pursue their prey, we can hardly fail to recognise the evidence of volun- tary action. to seek for an elucidation of these mysteries in the struc- ture of animals whose minuteness precludes all accurate ex- amination, would be a hopeless inquiry. yet the indefati- gable ehrenberg has recently discovered, in some ºf the larger species of animalcules belonging to the order roli- jera, an organization, which he believes to be a nervous sys- tem. he observed, in the hydatina senta, a series of six or seven gray bodies, enveloping the upper or dorsal part of the oesophagus, closely connected together, and perfectly distinguishable, by their peculiar tint, from the viscera and the surrounding parts. the uppermost of these bodies, which he considers as a ganglion, is much larger than the others, and gives off slender nerves, which, by joining another ganglion, situated under the integuments at the back of the neck, form a circle of nerves, analogous to that which surrounds the oesophagus in the mollusca: from this circle two slender nervous filaments are sent off to the head, and a larger branch to the abdominal surface of the sensorial functions. the body. the discovery of a regular structure of muscu- lar bands of fibres, in these animalcules, is a farther evi- dence of the connexion which exists between nerves and muscles. we again meet with traces of nervous filaments, accom- panied also with muscular bands of fibres, in some of the more highly organized entozoa. in the ascaris, or long round worm, a slender and apparently single filament is seen passing forwards, along the lower side of the abdomen, till it reaches the oesophagus, where it splits into two branches, one passing on each side of that tube, but without exhibit- ing any ganglionic enlargement. this may be considered as the first step towards the particular form of the nervous system of the higher classes of articulated animals, where the principal nervous cord is obviously double throughout its whole length, or, if partially united at different points, it is always readily divisible into two, by careful manipula- tion. in addition to this characteristic feature, these cords present, in their course, a series of enlargements, appearing like knots; one pair of these generally corresponding to each of the segments of the body, and sending off, as from a cen- tre, branches in various directions. it is probable that these knots, or ganglia, perform, in each segment of the worm, an office analogous to that of the brain and spinal marrow of vertebrated animals, serving as centres of nervous, and per- haps, also, of sensorial powers. many facts, indeed, tend to show that each segment of the body of articulated animals, of an annular structure and cylindric form, such as the long worms and the myriapoda, has in many respects an inde- pendent sensitive existence, so that when the body is di- vided into two or more parts, each portion retains both the faculty of sensation, and the power of voluntary motion. as far as we can judge, however, the only external sense which is capable of being exercised by this simple form of nervous system, is that of touch; all the higher senses evidently re- quiring a much more developed and concentrated organiza- tion of nervous ganglia. nervous system of articulata. in this division of the animal kingdom, the primary ner- vous cords always pass along the middle of the lower sur- face of the body, this being the situation which, in the ab- sence of a vertebral bony column, affords them the best pro- tection. they may be considered as analogous to the spi- nal marrow, and as serving to unite the series of ganglia, through which they pass, into one connected system. on arriving at the oesophagus, they form round it a circle, or collar, studded with ganglia, of which the uppermost, or that nearest the head, is generally of greater size than the rest, and is termed the aesophageal, cephalic, or cerebral gan- glion, being usually regarded as analogous to the brain of larger animals. perhaps a more correct view of its func- tions would be conveyed by calling it the principal brain, and considering the other ganglia as subordinate brains. this large ganglion, which supplies an abundance of ner- vous filaments to every part of the head, seems to be the chief organ of the higher senses of vision, of hearing, of taste, and of smell, and to be instrumental in combining their impressions, so as to constitute an individual percipient animal, endowed with those active powers which are suited to its rank in the scale of being. - such is the general form of the nervous system in all the ..?nnelida; but in the higher orders of . cticulata we find it exhibiting various degrees of concentration. the pro- gress of this concentration is most distinctly traced in the crustacea.” one of the simplest forms of these organs oc- curs in a little animal of this class, which is often found in immense numbers, spread over tracts of sand on the sea shore, and which is called the talitrus locusta, or sand- hopper, (fig. .) the central parts #ºx of its nervous system are seen in fig. º , which represents the abdominal side of this animal laid open, and mag- nified to twice the natural size. the two primary nervous . • see the account of the researches of victor audouin, and h. m. ed- wards, on this subject, given in the ann. des sc. nat. xix. . the sensorial functions. cords, which run in a longitudinal direction, are here per- fectly distinct from one another, and even separated by a small interval: they present a series of ganglia, which are nearly of equal size, and equidistant from one another, one pair corresponding to each segment of the body,” and united by transverse threads: and other filaments, diverging late- rally, proceed from each ganglion. during the progress of growth, the longitudinal cords approach somewhat nearer to each other, but still remain perfectly distinct. the first : i l | - pair of ganglia, or the cephalic, have been considered, though improperly, as the brain of the animal. - the next step in the gradation occurs in the phyllosoma (leach,) where the ganglia composing each pair in the ab- domen and in the head, are united into single masses, while those in the thoracic region are still double. in the cymo- thoa, (fab.,) which belongs to the family of oniscus, there is the appearance of a single chain of ganglia, those on the one side having coalesced with those on the other; each pair composing a single ganglion, situated in the middle line; while the longitudinal cords which connect them still re- * these segments are numbered in this and the following figure in their proper order, beginning with that near the head. a is the external antenna; a, the internal antenna; and e, the eye. nervous system of crustacea. main double, as is shown in fig. , which represents the interior of this crustaceous animal, nearly of the natural size. but in the higher orders of crustacea, as in the lobster, these longitudinal cords are themselves united in the abdo- minal region, though still distinct in the thorax. in following the ascending series of crustaceous animals, we observe also an approximation of the remoter ganglia to- wards those near the centre of the body: this tendency al- ready shows itself in the shortening of the hinder part of the nervous system of the cymothoa, as compared with the talitrus; and the concentration proceeds farther in other tribes. in the palemon, for example, most of the thoracic ganglia, and in the palinurus (fab.,) all of them, have co- alesced into one large oval mass, perforated in the mid- dle, and occupying the centre of the thorax; and, lastly, in the maia squinado, or spider crab (fig. ,”) this mass * in this figure are seen the great thoracic ganglion (n,) from which pro- cecd the superior thoracic nerves (r.) those to the fore feet (r.) to the hinder illusions of the senses. by the laws of the association of ideas. but even the sense of touch, which has been generally regarded as the least lia- ble to fallacy, is not exempt from this source of error, as is proved by the well known experiment of feeling a single ball, of about the size of a pea, between two fingers which are crossed; for there is then a distinct perception of the presence of two balls instead of one. but limited as our senses are in their range of perception, and liable to occasional error, we cannot but perceive, that, both in ourselves, and also in every class of animals, they have been studiously adjusted, not only to the properties and the constitution of the material world, but, also, to the re- spective wants and necessities of each species, in the situa- tions and circumstances where it has been placed by the gra- cious and beneficent author of its being. if the sensorial functions had been limited to mere sensa- tion and perception, conjoined with the capacity of passive enjoyment and of suffering, the purposes of animal existence would have been but imperfectly accomplished; for, in or- der that the sentient being may secure the possession of those objects which are agreeable and salutary, and avoid or reject those which are painful or injurious, it is necessary that he possess the power of spontaneous action. hence, the faculty of poluntary motion is superadded to the other sensorial functions. the muscles which move the limbs, the trunk, the head, and organs of sense,_all those parts, in a word, which establish relations with the external worki, are, through the intermedium of a separate set of nervous filaments, totally distinct from those which are subservient to sensation,” made to communicate directly with the senso- rium, and are thereby placed under the direct control and guidance of the will. the mental act of volition is doubt- less accompanied by some corresponding physical change in that part of the sensorium, whence the motor nerves, or * on this subject i must refer the reader to the researches of sir charles bell, and magendie, who have completely established the distinction be- tween these two classes of nerves, the sensorial functions. those distributed to the muscles of voluntary motion, arise. here, then, we pass from mental phenomena to such as are purely physical; and the impression, whatever may be its nature, originating in the sensorium, is propagated along the course of the nerve to those muscles, whose contraction is required for the production of the intended action. of the function of voluntary motion, as far as concerns the moving powers and the mechanism of the instruments employed,” i have already treated at sufficient length in the first part of this work. - every excitement of the sensorial powers is, sooner or later, followed by a proportional degree of exhaustion; and when this has reached a certain point, a suspension of the exercise of these faculties takes place, constituting the state of sleep, during which, by the continued renovating action of the vital functions, these powers are recruited, and ren- dered again adequate to the purposes for which they were bestowed. in the ordinary state of sleep, however, the ex- haustion of the sensorium is seldom so complete as to pre- clude its being excited by internal causes of irritation, which would be scarcely sensible during our waking hours: and hence arise dreams, which are trains of ideas, suggested by internal irritations, and which the mind is bereſt of the power to control, in consequence of the absence of all im- * a voluntary action, occurring as the immediate consequence of the ap- plication of an external agent to an organ of the senses, though apparently a simple phenomenon, implies the occurrence of no less than twelve succes- sive processes, as may be seen by the following enumeration. first, there is the modifying action of the organ of the sense, the refractions of the rays, for instance, in the case of the eye: secondly, the impression made on the extremity of the nerve: thirdly, the propagation of this impression along the nerve: fourthly, the impression or physical change in the sensorium. next follow four kinds of mental processes, namely, sensation, perception, associa- tion, and volition. then, again, there is another physical change taking place in the sensorium, immediately consequent on the mental act of voli- tion: this is followed by the propagation of the impression downwards along the motor nerve; then an impression is made on the muscle; and, lastly, we obtain the contraction of the muscle, which is the object of the whole series of operations. voluntary motion. pressions from the external senses.” in many animals, a much more general suspension of the actions of life, extend- ing even to the vital functions of respiration and circulation, takes place during the winter months, constituting what is termed hybernation. * the only indications of dreaming given by the lower animals occur in those possessed of the greatest intellectual powers, such as the dog, among quadrupeds, and the parrot, among birds. vol. ii. s the sensorial functions. the body. the discovery of a regular structure of muscu- lar bands of fibres, in these animalcules, is a farther evi- dence of the connexion which exists between nerves and muscles. we again meet with traces of nervous filaments, accom- panied also with muscular bands of fibres, in some of the more highly organized entozoa. in the ascaris, or long round worm, a slender and apparently single filament is seen passing forwards, along the lower side of the abdomen, till it reaches the oesophagus, where it splits into two branches, one passing on each side of that tube, but without exhibit- ing any ganglionic enlargement. this may be considered as the first step towards the particular form of the nervous system of the higher classes of articulated animals, where the principal nervous cord is obviously double throughout its whole length, or, if partially united at different points, it is always readily divisible into two, by careful manipula- tion. in addition to this characteristic feature, these cords present, in their course, a series of enlargements, appearing like knots; one pair of these generally corresponding to each of the segments of the body, and sending off, as from a cen- tre, branches in various directions. it is probable that these knots, or ganglia, perform, in each segment of the worm, an office analogous to that of the brain and spinal marrow of vertebrated animals, serving as centres of nervous, and per- haps, also, of sensorial powers. many facts, indeed, tend to show that each segment of the body of articulated animals, of an annular structure and cylindric form, such as the long worms and the myriapoda, has in many respects an inde- pendent sensitive existence, so that when the body is di- vided into two or more parts, each portion retains both the faculty of sensation, and the power of voluntary motion. as far as we can judge, however, the only external sense which is capable of being exercised by this simple form of nervous system, is that of touch; all the higher senses evidently re- quiring a much more developed and concentrated organiza- tion of nervous ganglia. nervous system of articulata. in this division of the animal kingdom, the primary ner- vous cords always pass along the middle of the lower sur- face of the body, this being the situation which, in the ab- sence of a vertebral bony column, affords them the best pro- tection. they may be considered as analogous to the spi- nal marrow, and as serving to unite the series of ganglia, through which they pass, into one connected system. on arriving at the oesophagus, they form round it a circle, or collar, studded with ganglia, of which the uppermost, or that nearest the head, is generally of greater size than the rest, and is termed the aesophageal, cephalic, or cerebral gan- glion, being usually regarded as analogous to the brain of larger animals. perhaps a more correct view of its func- tions would be conveyed by calling it the principal brain, and considering the other ganglia as subordinate brains. this large ganglion, which supplies an abundance of ner- vous filaments to every part of the head, seems to be the chief organ of the higher senses of vision, of hearing, of taste, and of smell, and to be instrumental in combining their impressions, so as to constitute an individual percipient animal, endowed with those active powers which are suited to its rank in the scale of being. - such is the general form of the nervous system in all the ..?nnelida: but in the higher orders of . rticulata we find it exhibiting various degrees of concentration. the pro- gress of this concentration is most distinctly traced in the crustacea.” one of the simplest forms of these organs oc- curs in a little animal of this class, which is often found in immense numbers, spread over tracts of sand on the sea shore, and which is called the talitrus locusta, or sand- hopper, (fig. s.) the central parts of its nervous system are seen in fig. § , which represents the abdominal side of this animal laid open, and mag- nified to twice the natural size. the two primary nervous • see the account of the researches of victor audouin, and h. m. ed- wards, on this subject, given in the ann, des sc. nat. xix. . the sensorial functions. cords, which run in a longitudinal direction, are here per- fectly distinct from one another, and even separated by a small interval: they present a series of ganglia, which are nearly of equal size, and equidistant from one another, one pair corresponding to each segment of the body,” and united by transverse threads: and other filaments, diverging late- rally, proceed from each ganglion. during the progress of growth, the longitudinal cords approach somewhat nearer to each other, but still remain perfectly distinct. the first | . l } pair of ganglia, or the cephalic, have been considered, though improperly, as the brain of the animal. - the next step in the gradation occurs in the phyllosoma (leach,) where the ganglia composing each pair in the ab- domen and in the head, are united into single masses, while those in the thoracic region are still double. in the cymo- thoa, (fab.,) which belongs to the family of oniscus, there is the appearance of a single chain of ganglia, those on the one side having coalesced with those on the other; each pair composing a single ganglion, situated in the middle line; while the longitudinal cords which connect them still re- * these segments are numbered in this and the following figure in their proper order, beginning with that near the head. a is the external antenna; a, the internal antenna; and e, the eye. the sensorial functions. acquires still greater compactness, assumes a more globular form, and has no central perforation. these different forms of structure are also exemplified in the progress of the development of the higher crustacea: thus, in the lobster, the early condition of the nervous sys- tem is that of two separate parallel cords, each having a dis- tinct chain of ganglia, as is the case in the talitrus: then the cords are observed gradually to approximate, and the gan- glia on each side to coalesce, as represented in the cymo- thoa; and at the period when the limbs begin to be deve- loped, the thoracic ganglia approach one another, unite in clusters, and acquire a rapid enlargement, preparatory to the growth of the extremities from that division of the body, the abdominal ganglia remaining of the same size as before. the cephalic ganglion, which was originally double, and has coalesced into one, is also greatly developed, in corre- spondence with the growth of the organs of sense. the next remarkable change is that taking place in the hinder por- tions of the nervous cords, which are shortened, at the same time that their ganglia are collected into larger masses, pre- paratory to the growth of the tail and hinder feet; so that throughout the whole extent of the system the number of ganglia diminishes in the progress of development, while their size is augmented. all insects have the nervous system constructed on the same general model as in the last mentioned classes; and it assumes, as in the crustacea, various degrees of concentra- tion in the different stages of development. as an example we may take the nervous system of the sphina ligustri, of which representations are given in the larva, pupa, and ima- feet (f) and the abdominal nervous trunk (n ) the cephalic ganglion (c.) communicating by means of two nervous cords (o,) which surround the osophagus and entrance into the stomach (s,) with the thoracic ganglion (b ) and sending off the optic nerve (e) to the eyes (e,) and the motor nerves (m,) to the muscles of those organs; and also the nerves (a) to the internal antennae, and the nerves (x) to the external antennae (a.) nervous system of insects. go states, wholly detached from the body, and of their na- tural size, in figures , , and .” this system in the larva (fig. ) has the same simple form as in the annelida, or in the talitrus, for it consists of * these figures were drawn by mr. newport, from original preparations made by himself. the same numbers in each refer to the same parts; so that by comparing the figures with one another, a judgment may be formed of the changes of size and situation which occur in the progress of the prin- cipal transformations of the insect. numbers to indicate the series of ganglia which are situated along the under side of the body, and beneath the alimentary canal. of these the first five are the thoracic, and the last six the abdominal ganglia; while the cephalic, or cerebral ganglion ( ) is situated above the oesophagus and dorsal vessel, and communicates by two nervous chords with the first of the series, or sub-oesophageal ganglion ( ,) which is, in every stage of the insect, contained within the head, and distri- butes nerves to the parts about the mouth. the next ganglion ( ) becomes obliterated at a late period of the change from the pupa to the imago state: the third ( ) remains, but the two next ( , ) coalesce to form, in the ima- go, the large thoracic ganglion; while the two which follow ( and ,) be- come wholly obliterated before the insect attains the imago state, the inter- vening cords becoming shorter, and being, with the nerves they send out, carried forwards. the last four ( , , , ) of the abdominal ganglia re- main, with but little alteration, in all the stages of metamorphosis: in the larva, they supply nerves to the false feet. the nerves ( , ) which sup- ply the wings of the imago, are very small in the larva; and they arise by two roots, one derived from the cord, and one from the ganglion. the nerves sent to the three pairs of anterior, or true legs, are marked , , . the nervous system of the larva is exhibited in fig. , that of the pupa in fig. , and that of the imago in fig. . it will be seen that in the pupa the abdominal ganglia are but little changed; but those situated more forward ( , ) are brought closer together by the shortening of the inter- vening cord, preparatory to their final obliteration in the imago; a change which those in front of them ( , ) have already undergone. the pro- gressive development of the optic ( ) and antennal ( ) nerves may also be traced. mr. newport has also traced a set of nerves ( ) which arise from distinct roots, and which he found to be constantly distributed to the organs of respiration. a detailed account of the anatomy of the nervous system of the sphina: ligustri, and of the changes it endergoes up to a certain period, is given by mr. newport in a paper in the phil. trans, for , p. . he has since completed the inquiry to the last transformation of this and other insects, and has lately presented to the royal society an account of his researches. vol. ii. nervous system of insects. origin to the motor nerves, while the subjacent column sends out the nerves of sensation. in the next great division of the animal kingdom, which includes all molluscous animals, the nervous ganglia have a circular, instead of a longitudinal arrangement. the first example of this type occurs in the asterias, where the ner- vous system (fig. ) is composed of small ganglia, equal in number to the rays of the animal, and disposed in a cir- cle round the central aperture or mouth, but occupying si- tuations intermediate between each of the rays. a nerve is sent off from both sides of each ganglion, and passes along the side of the rays, each ray receiving a pair of these nerves. in the holothuria there is a similar chain of ganglia, encircling the oesophagus; and the same mode of arrangement prevails in all the bivalve mollusca, except that, besides the oesophageal ganglia, others are met with in different parts of the body, distributing branches to the viscera, and connected with one another and with the oesophageal ganglia, by filaments, so as to form with them one continuous nervous system. in the gasteropoda, which are furnished with a distinct head and organs of the higher nervous system of vertebrata. servient to voluntary motion. the former, soon after their exit from the spine, pass through a small ganglion (g,) and then unite with the nerves from the anterior column, com- posing, by the intermixture of their fibres, a single nervous nervous system of vertebrata. as well as the relative size of its several parts, vary much in the different classes and families of vertebrated animals. this will appear from the inspection of the figures i have given of this organ in various species, selected as specimens from each class, viewed from above; and in all of which i have indicated corresponding parts by the same letters of reference. the portion (m) of the brain, which appears as the im- mediate continuation of the spinal marrow (s,) is termed the medulla oblongata. the single tubercle (c.) arising from the expansion of the posterior columns of the spinal mar- row, is termed the cerebellum, or little brain. next follow the pair (t) which are termed the optic tubercles, or lobes," and appear to be productions from the middle columns of the spinal marrow. these are succeeded by another pair of tubercles (h,) which are called the cerebral hemispheres, and the origin of which may be traced to the anterior columns of the spinal marrow. there is also generally found, in front of the hemispheres, another pair of tubercles (o,) which, being connected with the nerves of smelling, have been called the olfactory lobes, or tubercles.t. these are the principal parts of the cerebral mass to be here noticed, for i purposely omit the mention of the minuter divisions, which, though they have been objects of much attention to anato- mists, unfortunately furnish no assistance in understanding the physiology of this complicated and wonderful organ. on comparing the relative proportions of the brain and of the spinal marrow in the four classes of vertebrated ani- mals, a progressive increase in the size of the former will be observed as we ascend from fishes to reptiles, birds, and mammalia. this increase in the magnitude of the brain arises chiefly from the enlargement of the cerebral hemi- spheres (h,) which, in the inferior orders of fishes, as in the • in the mammalia, and in man, they have been often designated by the very inappropriate name of corpora quadrigemina. f several cavities, termed pentricles, are occasionally found in the inte- rior of the principal tubercles of the brain; but their use is unknow". nerv ous system of vertebrata. . in the mammalia, as the lion (fig. ) they are lodged quite in the interior of the organ, and concealed by the expanded hemispheres (h;) their position only being marked by the same letter (t.) these changes are conse- quences of the increasing development of the brain, com- pared with that of the cavity in which it is contained, re- quiring every part to be more closely packed; thus, the lay- ers of the hemispheres in mammalia are obliged, from their great extent, to be plaited and folded on one another, pre- senting at the surface curious windings, or convolutions, as they are called (seen in fig. ,) which do not take place in the hemispheres of the inferior classes. the foldings of the substance of the cerebellum produce, likewise, even in birds, transverse furrows on the surface; and from the in- terposition of a substance of a gray colour between the la- minae of the white medullary matter, a section of the ce- rebellum presents the curious appearance (seen in fig. ,) denominated, from its fancied resemblance to a tree, the ..?rbor pitar. thus far we have followed an obvious gradation in the development and concentration of the different parts of the vol. ii. the sensorial functions. brain; but on arriving at man the eontinuity of the series is suddenly disturbed by the great expansion of the hemi- spheres, (fig. ,) which, compared with those of quadru- peds, bear no sort of proportion to the rest of the nervous system. both aristotle and pliny have asserted that the absolute, as well as the comparative size of the human brain is greater than in any other known animal: exceptions, how- ever, occur in the case of the elephant, and also in that of the whale, whose brains are certainly of greater absolute bulk than that of man. but all the large animals, with which we are familiarly acquainted, have brains considera- bly smaller; as will readily appear from an examination of their skulls, which are narrow and compressed at the part occupied by the brain; the greater part of the head being taken up by the development of the face and jaws. in man, on the other hand, the bones of the skull rise perpendicu- larly from the forehead, and are extended on each side, so as to form a capacious globular cavity for the reception and defence of this most important organ. it is chiefly from the expansion of the hemispheres, and the development of its convolutions, that the human brain derives this great aug- mentation of size.” * this will be apparent from the vertical section of the human brain, fig. ; where, as before, s is the spinal marrow; m, the medulla oblongata; c, the cerebellum, with the arbor vitae, t, the optic tubercles, or corpora quad- rigemina, dwindled to a very small size, compared with their bulk in fishes: r, the pineal gland, supposed by des cartes to be the seat of the soul; v, one of the lateral ventricles; a, the corpus callosum; and h, b, h, the hemi- spheres. several expedients have been proposed for estimating the relative size of the brain in different tribes of animals, with a view of deducing conclusions as to the constancy of the relation which is presumed to exist between its greater magnitude and the possession of higher intellectual faculties. the most celebrated is that devised by camper, and which he termed the facial angle, composed of two lines, one drawn in the direction of the basis of the skull, from the car to the roots of the upper incisor teeth, and the other from the latter point, touching the most projecting part of the forehead. cam- per conceived that the magnitude of this angle would correctly indicate the size of the brain, as compared with the organs of the principal senses which punctions of the brain. § . functions of the brain. physiologists have in all ages sought for an elucidation of the functions of the brain by the accurate examination of its structure, which evidently consists of a congeries of me- dullary fibres, arranged in the most intricate manner. great pains have been bestowed in unravelling the tissue of these fibres, in the hope of discovering some clew to the perplex- ing labyrinth of its organization: but nearly all that has been learned from the laborious inquiry, is that the fibres of the brain are continuous with those which compose the columns of the spinal marrow; that they pass, in their course, through masses of nervous matter, which appear to be analogous to ganglia; and that their remote extremities extend to the sur- face of the convolutions of the brain and cerebellum, which are composed of a softer and mºre transparent gray matter, termed the cortical or cineritious substance of the brain. it is a remarkable fact, that in vertebrated animals all the organs which are subservient to the sensorial functions are double, those on one side being exactly similar to those on the other. we see this in the eyes, the ears, the limbs, and all the other instruments of voluntary motion; and in like manner the parts of the nervous system which are connect- ed with these functions are all double, and arranged sym- metrically on the two sides of the body. the same law of symmetry extends to the brain: every part of that organ which is found on one side is repeated on the other; so that, strictly speaking, we have two brains, as well as two optic nerves and two eyes. but in order that the two sets of fibres may co-operate, and constitute a single organ of sen- sation, corresponding with our consciousness of individual- ity, it was necessary that a free communication should be compose the face: but the fallacy of this criterion of animal sagacity has been shown in a great many cases. the sensorial functions. established between the parts on both sides. for this pur- pose there is provided a set of medullary fibres, passing di- rectly across from one side of the brain to the other; these constitute what are called the commissures of the brain.” the question, however, still recurs:—what relation does all this artificial intertexture and accumulation of fibres bear to the mental operations of which we are conscious, such as memory, abstraction, judgment, imagination, volition? are there localities set apart for our different ideas in the store- house of the cerebral hemispheres, and are they associated by the material channels of communicating fibres? are the mental phenomena the effects, as was formerly supposed, of a subtle fluid, or animal spirits, circulating with great ve- locity along invisible canals in the nervous substance? or shall we, with hartley, suppose them to be the results of vibrations and vibratiuncles, agitating in succession the finer threads of which this mystic web has been construct- ed? but a little reflection will suffice to convince us that these, and all other mechanical hypotheses, which the most fanciful imagination can devise, make not the smallest ap- proach to a solution of the difficulty; for they, in fact, do not touch the real subject to be explained, namely, how the affections of a material substance can influence and be influ- enced by an immaterial agent. all that we have been able to accomplish has been to trace the impressions from the organ of sense along the communicating nerve to the senso- rium: beyond this the clew is lost, and we can follow the process no farther. * the principal commissure of the human brain, called the corpus callosum, is seen at a, fig. . dr. macartney, in a paper which he read at the late meeting at cambridge of the british association for the advancement of science, described the structure of the human brain, as discovered by his pe- culiar mode of dissection, to be much more complicated than is generally supposed. he observed that its fibres are interlaced in the most intricate manner, resembling the plexuses met with among the nerves, and establish- ing the most extensive and general communications between every part of the cerebral mass. punctions of the brain. the exact locality of the sensorium has been eagerly sought for by physiologists in every age. it would appear, from the results of the most recent inquiries, that it cer- tainly does not extend to the whole mass of the brain, but has its seat more especially in the lower part, or basis of that organ. it differs, however, in its locality, in different classes of animals. in man, and the mammalia which ap- proach the nearest to him in their structure, it occupies some part of the region of the medulla oblongata, probably the spot where most of the nerves of sense are observed to terminate. in the lower animals it is not confined to this region, but extends to the upper part of the spinal marrow. as we descend to the inferior orders of the animal kingdom, we find it more and more extensively diffused over the spi- nal marrow; and in the invertebrata the several ganglia ap- pear to be endowed with this sensorial property: but, be- coming less and less concentrated in single masses, the cha- racter of individuality ceases to attach to the sensorial phe- nomena; until, in zoophytes, we lose all traces of ganglia and of nervous filaments, and every part appears to possess an inherent power of exciting sensation, as well as perform- ing muscular contractions. beyond this point we can derive no farther aid from ana- tomy, since the intellectual operations of which we are con- scious bear no conceivable analogy with any of the configu- rations or actions of a material substance. although the brain is constructed with evident design, and composed of a number of curiously wrought parts, we are utterly unable to penetrate the intention with which they are formed, or to perceive the slightest correspondence which their configu- ration can have with the functions they respectively per- form. the map of regions which modern phrenologists have traced on the surface of the head, and which they sup- pose to have a relation to different faculties and propensities, does not agree either with the natural divisions of the brain or with the metaphysical classification of mental phenome- perceptions of animals. the impressions made by external objects on their sentient organs must be of a nature widely different from those which the same objects communicate to ourselves. while with re- gard to distance and magnitude our perceptions take the widest range, and appear infinitely extended when com- pared with those of insects, yet they may, in other respects, be greatly inferior. the delicate discrimination of the more subtle affections of matter is, perhaps, compatible only with a minute scale of organization. thus, the varying degrees of moisture or dryness of the atmosphere, the continual changes in its pressure, the fluctuations in its electrical state, and va- rious other physical conditions, may be objects of distinet perception to these minute animals. organs may existin them, appropriated to receive impressions, of which we can have no idea; and opening avenues to various kinds of knowledge, to which we must ever remain utter strangers. art, it is true, has supplied us with instruments for discovering and measuring many of the properties of matter, which our un- assisted senses are inadequate to observe. but neither our thermometers, nor our electroscopes, our hygrometers, nor our galvanometers, however skilfully devised or elaborately constructed, can vie in delicacy and perfection with that re- fined apparatus of the senses which nature has bestowed on the minutest insect. there is reason to believe, as dr. wol- laston has shown, that the hearing of insects comprehends a range of perceptions very different from that of the same sense in the larger animals; and that a class of vibrations too rapid to excite our auditory nerves, is perfectly audible to them. sir john herschel has also very clearly proved that, if we admit the truth of the undulatory theory of light, it is easy to conceive how the limits of visible colour may be established; for if there be no nervous fibres in unison with vibrations, more or less frequent than certain limits, such vibrations, though they reach the retina, will produce no sensation. thus, it is perfectly possible that insects, and other animals, may be incapable of being affected by any of the colours which we perceive; while they may be suscepti- vol. ii. * the sensorial functions. ble of receiving distinct luminous impressions from a class of vibrations which, applied to our visual organs, excite no sensation.” the functions of the antennae, which, though of various forms, are organs universally met with in this class of animals, must be of great importance, though obscurely known; for insects when deprived of them appear to be quite lost and bewildered. the torpedo, the gymnotus, and several other fishes, are furnished with an electrical apparatus, resembling the voltaic battery, which they have the power of charging and discharging at pleasure. an immense profusion of nerves is distributed upon this organ; and we can hardly doubt that they communicate perceptions, with regard to electricity, very different from any that we can feel. in general, in- deed, it may be remarked, that the more an organ of sense differs in its structure from those which we ourselves pos- sess, the more uncertain must be our knowledge of its func- tions. we may, without any great stretch of fancy, conceive ourselves placed in the situation of the beasts of the forest, and comprehend what are the feelings and motives which animate the quadruped and the bird. but how can we transport ourselves, even in imagination, into the dark re- cesses of the ocean, which we know are tenanted by multi- tudinous tribes of fishes, zoophytes, and mollusca? how can we figure to ourselves the sensitive existence of the worm or the insect, organized in so different a manner to ourselves, and occupying so remote a region in the expanse of creation? how can we venture to speculate on the perceptions of the animalcule, whose world is a drop of fluid, and whose fleet- ing existence, chequered, perhaps, by various transforma- tions, is destined to run its course in a few hours? confining our inquiries, then, to the more intelligible in- tellectual phenomena displayed by the higher animals, we readily trace a gradation which corresponds with the de- velopment of the central nervous organ, or brain. that the * encyclopædia metropolitana, article “light.” perceptions of animals. comparison may be fairly made, however, it is necessary to distinguish those actions which are the result of the exer- cise of the intellectual faculties, from those which are called instinctive, and are referrible to other sources. innumera- ble are the occasions in which the actions of animals appear to be guided by a degree of sagacity not derivable from ex- perience, and apparently implying a foreknowledge of events, which neither experience nor reflection could have led them to anticipate. we cannot sufficiently admire the provident care displayed by nature in the preservation both of the in- dividual and of the species, which she has intrusted, not to the slow and uncertain calculations of prudence, but to in- nate faculties, prompting, by an unerring impulse, to the performance of the actions required for those ends. we see animals providing against the approach of winter, the effects of which they have never experienced, and employ- ing various means of defence against enemies they have ne- ver seen. the parent consults the welfare of the offspring she is destined never to behold; and the young discovers and pursues without a guide that species of food which is best adapted to its nature. all these unexplained, and, perhaps, inexplicable facts, we must content ourselves with classing under the head of instinct, a name which is, in fact, but the expression of our ignorance of the nature of that agency, of which we cannot but admire the ultimate effects, while we search in vain for the efficient cause. in all the inferior orders of the animal creation, where in- stincts are multiplied, while the indications of intellect are feeble, the organ which performs the office of the brain is comparatively small. the sensitive existence of these ani- mals appears to be circumscribed within the perceptions of the moment, and their voluntary actions have reference chiefly to objects which are present to the sense. in pro- portion as the intellectual faculties of animals are multiplied, and embrace a wider sphere, additional magnitude and com- plication of structure are given to the nervous substance which is the organ of those faculties. the greater the power the sensorial functions. of combining ideas, and of retaining them in the memory, the greater do we find the development of the cerebral he- mispheres. these parts of the brain are comparatively small, as we have seen, in fishes, reptiles, and the greater number of birds; but in the mammalia they are expanded in a degree nearly proportional to the extent of memory, sa- gacity and docility. in man, in whom all the faculties of sense and intellect are so harmoniously combined, the brain is not only the largest in size, but beyond all comparison the most complicated in its structure.” a large brain has been bestowed on man, evidently with the design that he should exercise superior powers of intel- lect; the great distinguishing features of which are the ca- pacity for retaining an immense variety of impressions, and the strength, the extent, and vast range of the associating principle, which combines them into groups, and forms them into abstract ideas. yet the lower animals also possess their share of memory, and of reason: they are capable of ac- quiring knowledge from experience; and, on some rare oc- casions, of devising expedients for accomplishing particular ends. but still this knowledge and these efforts of intellect are confined within very narrow limits; for nature has as- signed boundaries to the advancement of the lower animals, which they can never pass. if one favoured individual be selected for a special education, some additional share of in- telligence may, perhaps, with infinite pains, be infused; but the improvement perishes with that individual, and is wholly lost to the race. by far the greater portion of that know- ledge which it imports them to possess is the gift of nature, who has wisely implanted such instinctive impulses as are necessary for their preservation. man, also, is born with instincts, but they are few in number, compared with those * all the parts met with in the brain of animals exist also in the brain of man; while several of those found in man are either extremely small, or alto- gether absent in the brains of the lower animals. soemmerring has enu- merated no less than fifteen material anatomical differences between the hu- man brain and that of the ape. perceptions of animals. of the lower animals; and, unless cultivated and improved by reason and education, would, of themselves, produce but inconsiderable results. that of which the effects are most conspicuous, and which is the foundation of all that is noble and exalted in our nature, is the instinct of sympathy. the affections of the lower animals, even between individuals of the same species, are observable only in a few instances: for in general they are indifferent to each other's joys or suffer- ings, and regardless of the treatment experienced by their companions. the attachment, indeed, of the mother to her offspring, as long as its wants and feebleness require her aid and protection, is as powerful in the lower animals, as in the human species: but its duration, in the former case, is con- fined, even in the most social tribes, to the period of help- lessness; and the animal instinct is not succeeded, as in man, by the continued intercourse of affection and kind offices, and those endearing relations of kindred, which are the sources of the purest happiness of human life. while nature has, apparently, frowned on the birth of man, and brought him into the world weak, naked, and de- fenceless, unprovided with the means of subsistence, and exposed on every side to destruction, she has, in reality, im- planted in him the germ of future greatness. the helpless- ness of the infant calls forth the fostering care and ten- derest affections of the mother, and lays the deep founda- tions of the social union. the latent energies of his mind and body are successively, though slowly developed. while the vital organs are actively engaged in the execution of their different offices, while the digestive apparatus is exer- cising its powerful chemistry, while myriads of minute ar- teries, veins, and absorbents are indefatigably at work in building and modelling this complex frame, the sentient principle is no less assiduously and no less incessantly em- ployed. from the earliest dawn of sensation it is ever busy in arranging, in combining, and in strengthening the im- pressions it receives. wonderful as is the formation of the bodily fabric, and difficult as it is to collect its history, still the sensorial functions. more marvellous is the progressive construction of the hu- man mind, and still more arduous the task of tracing the finer threads which connect the delicate web of its ideas, which fix its fleeting perceptions, and which establish the vast system of its associations, and of following the long se- ries of gradations by which its affections are expanded, pu- rified, and exalted, and the soul prepared for its higher des- tination in a future stage of existence. here, indeed, we perceive a remarkable interruption to that regular gradation, which we have traced in all other parts of the animal series; for between man and the most sagacious of the brutes there intervenes an immense chasm, of which we can hardly estimate the magnitude. the func- tions which are purely vital, and are necessary for even the lowest degree of sensitive existence, are possessed equally by all animals: in the distribution of the faculties of mere sensation a greater inequality may be perceived: the intel- lectual faculties, again, are of a more refined and nobler cha- racter, and being less essential to animal life, are dealt out by nature with a more sparing and partial hand. between the two extremities of the scale we find an infinite number of intermediate degrees. the more exalted faculties are possessed exclusively by man, and constitute the source of the immense superiority he enjoys over the brute creation, which so frequently excels him in the perfection of subor- dinate powers. in strength and swiftness he is surpassed by many quadrupeds. in vain may he wish for the power of flight possessed by the numerous inhabitants of air. he may envy that range of sight which enables the bird to dis- cern from a height at which it is itself invisible to our eyes, the minutest objects on the surface of the earth. he may regret the dulness of his own senses, when he adverts to the exquisite scent of the hound, or the acute hearing of the bat. while the delicate perceptions of the lower animals teach them to seek the food which is salutary, and avoid that which is injurious, man alone seems stinted in his pow- ers of discrimination, and is compelled to gather instruction intellectual facu lties of man. from a painful and hazardous experience. but if nature has created him thus apparently helpless, and denied him those instincts with which she has so liberally furnished the rest of her offspring, it was only to confer upon him gifts of in- finitely higher value. while in acuteness of sense he is surpassed by inferior animals, in the powers of intellect he stands unrivalled. in the fidelity and tenacity with which impressions are retained in his memory, in the facility and strength with which they are associated, in grasp of compre- hension, in extent of reasoning, in capacity of progressive improvement, he leaves all other animals at an immeasura- ble distance behind. he alone enjoys in perfection the gift of utterance; he alone is able to clothe his thoughts in words; in him alone do we find implanted the desire of examining every department of nature, and the power of extending his views beyond the confines of this globe. on him alone have the high privileges been bestowed of recognising and of adoring the power, the wisdom, and the goodness of the author of the universe, from whom his being has ema- nated, to whom he owes all the blessings which attend it, and by whom he has been taught to look forward to bright- er skies and to purer and more exalted conditions of exist- ence. heir to this high destination, man discards all alli- ance with the beasts that perish; confiding in the assurance that the dissolution of his earthly frame destroys not the germ of immortality which has been implanted within him, and by the development of which the great scheme of pro- vidence here commenced, will be carried on, in a future state of being, to its final and perfect consummation. the reproductive functions. the fluid, as if animated by two different volitions; and, ap- parently for the purpose of tearing asunder the last connect- ing fibres, darting through the thickest of the crowd of sur- rounding animalcules; and the moment this slender ligament is broken, each is seen moving away from the other, and beginning its independent existence. this mode of sepa- ration is illustrated by fig. , representing the successive changes of form during this progress. in this animalcule the division is transverse, but in others, for example in the porticella, (as shown in fig. ,) and in most of the larger species, the line of separation is longitudinal. each animal- cule, thus formed by the subdivision of its predecessor, soon grows to the size which again determines a farther spon- taneous subdivision into two other animalcules; these, in course of time, themselves undergo the same process, and so on, to an indefinite extent. the most singular circum- stance attending this mode of multiplication is that it is im- possible to pronounce which of the new individuals thus formed out of a single one should be regarded as the parent, and which as the offspring, for they are both of equal size. unless, therefore, we consider the separation of the parts of the parent animal to constitute the close of its individual ex- istence, we must recognise an unbroken continuity in the vitality of the animal, thus transmitted in perpetuity from the original stem, throughout all succeeding generations. this, however, is one of those metaphysical subtleties for which the subject of reproduction affords abundant scope, but which it would be foreign to the object of this work to discuss. reproduction. it is in the animal kingdom only that we meet with in- stances of this spontaneous division of an organic being into parts, where each reproduces an individual of the same spe- cies. all plants, however, are capable of being multiplied by artificial divisions of this kind; thus, a tree may be di- vided longitudinally into a great number of portions, or slips, as they are called, any one of which, if planted sepa- rately and supplied with nourishment, may continue to grow, and may, in time, reproduce a tree similar in all re- spects to the one from which it had originated. this inhe- rent power of reproduction exists even in smaller fragments of a plant; for, when all circumstances are favourable, a stem will shoot from the upper end of the fragment, and roots will be sent forth from its lower end; and, ultimately, a com- plete plant will be formed." these facts, which are well known to agriculturists, exhibit only the capabilities of ve- getative power under circumstances which do not occur in the natural course of things, but have been the effect of hu- man interference. reproductive powers of a similar kind are exhibited very extensively in the lower departments of the animal king- dom. the hydra, or fresh water polype, is capable of in- definite multiplication by simple division: thus, if it be cut asunder transversely, the part containing the head soon sup- plies itself with a tail; and the detached tail soon shoots forth a new head, with a new set of tentacula. if any of the ten- tacula, or any portion of one of them, be cut off, the mutila- * among the conditions necessary for these evolutions of organs are, first, the previous accumulation of a store of nourishment in the detached frag- ment, adequate to supply the growth of the new parts; and, secondly, the presence of a sufficient quantity of circulating sap, as a vehicle for the trans- mission of that nourishment. it has been found that when these conditions are present, even the leaf of an orange tree, when planted in a favourable soil, sends down roots, and is capable of giving origin to an entire tree. ac- cording to the observations of mirandola, the leaf of the bryophyllum, when simply laid on moist ground, strikes out roots, which quickly penetrate into the soil. (de candolle, physiologie végétale, ii. .) the leaves of the monocotyledonous plants often present the same phenomenon. the reproductive functions. tion is soon repaired; and if the whole animal be divided into a great number of pieces, each fragment acquires, in a short time, all the parts which are wanting to render it a complete individual. the same phenomena are observed, and nearly to the same extent, in the planaria. the . s- terias, the actinia, and some of the lower species of anne- lida, as the nais, are also capable of being multiplied by ar- tificial divisions, each segment having the power of supply- ing others, and containing within itself a kind of separate and individual vitality. a power of more partial regeneration of mutilated parts by new growths, which is very analogous to that of com- plete reproduction, exists in the higher orders of animals, though it does not extend to the entire formation of two in- dividuals out of one. the claws, the feet, and the antennae of the crustacea, and the limbs of the arachnida, are re- stored, when lost, by a fresh growth of these organs. if the head of a snail be amputated, the whole of that part of the animal, including the telescopic eyes, and other organs of sense, will be reproduced. even among the vertebrata we find instances of these renovations of mutilated parts; as hap- pens with respect to the fins of fishes: for broussonet found that in whatever direction they are cut, the edges easily unite; and the rays themselves are reproduced, provided the smallest part of their base has been left. the tails of newts, and of some species of lizards, will grow again, if lost: and, what is more remarkable, the eyes themselves, with all their complex apparatus of coats and humours, will, if removed, be replaced by the growth of new eyes as perfect as the for- mer. we have seen that the teeth of sharks and other fishes are renewed with the utmost facility, when by acci- cident they have been lost. among mammalia, similar powers exist, although they are restricted within much nar- rower limits; as is exemplified in the formation of new bones, replacing those which have perished. when we advert to the numberless instances of the reparation of injuries hap- pening to various parts of our own frame, we have abun- reproduction. dant reason to admire and be grateful for the wise and boun- tiful provisions which nature has made for meeting these contingencies. the multiplication of the species by buds, or gemmipa- rous reproduction, is exemplified on the largest scale in the vegetable creation. almost every point of the surface of a plant appears to be capable of giving rise to a new shoot, which, when fully developed, exactly resembles the parent stock, and may, therefore, be regarded as a separate organic being. the origin of buds is wholly beyond the sphere of our observation; for they arise from portions of matter too minute to be cognizable to our organs, with every assistance which the most powerful microscopes can supply. these imperceptible atoms, from which organic beings take their rise, are called germs. vegetable germs are of two kinds; those which produce stems, and those which produce roots: and although both may be evolved from every part of the plant, the former are usually developed at the airillie of the leaves; that is, at the angles of their junction with the stem; and also at the ex- tremities of the fibres of the stems; their development being determined by the accumulation of nourishment around them. they first produce buds, which expanding, and put- ting forth roots, assume the form of shoots; and the succes- sive accumulation of shoots, which remain attached to the parent plant," and to each other, is what constitutes a tree. what are called knots in wood are the result of germs, which, in consequence of the accumulation of nourishment around them, are developed to a certain extent, and then * in some rare instances the shoots are removed to a distance from the pa- rent plant, by a natural process: this occurs in some creeping plants, which propagate themselves by the horizontal extension of their branches on the ground where thay dip, and strike out new roots, giving rise to stems inde- pendent of the original plant. this also sometimes happens in the case of tuberous roots, as the potato, which contain a number of germs, surround- ed by nutritive matter, ready to be developed when circumstances are fa- vourable. these portions are called eyes; and each of them, when planted separately, are readily evolved, and give rise to an individual plant. the reproductive functions. cease to grow. the lemna, or common duckweed, which, consists of a small circular leaf, floating on the surface of stagnant pools, presents a singular instance of the develop- ment of germs from the edges of the leaves, and the subse- quent separation of the new plant thus formed. in this re- spect the process is analogous to the natural mode of multi- plication met with in the lower orders of zoophytes, such as the hydra. at the earliest period at which the young of this animal is visible, it appears like a small tubercle, or bud, rising from the surface of the parent hydra: it grows in this situation, and remains attached for a considerable period; at first deriving its nourishment, as well as its mechanical sup- port, from the parent; then occasionally stretching forth its tentacula, and learning the art of catching and of swal- lowing its natural prey. the tube, which constitutes its sto- mach, at first communicates by a distinct opening with that of its parent: but this opening afterwards closes; and the fila- ments by which it is connected with the parent becoming more and more slender, at length break, and the detached hydra immediately moves away, and commences its career of independent existence. this mode of multiplication, in its first period, corresponds exactly with the production of a vegetable by buds; and may therefore be classed among the instances of gemmiparous reproduction; although at a la- ter stage, it differs from it in the complete detachment of the offspring from the parent. another plan of reproduction is that in which the germs are developed in the interior of the animal, assuming, at the earliest period when they become animated, the form of the parent. in this case they are termed gemmules instead of buds. this mode of reproduction is exemplified in the pol- vow, which, as we have already seen, is an infusorial animal- cule of a spherical form, exhibiting incessant revolving move- ments.” the germs of this animal are developed, in great numbers, in its interior, having a globular shape, and visible, * vol. i. p. . this animal is delineated in fig. . the reproductive functions. of gemmules within the parent, channels are provided for their exit: but the gemmules of the . ctinia force their way through the sides of the body, which readily open to give them passage; after which, the lacerated part soon heals. in the instances which have now passed under our review, the progeny is, at first, in direct communication with its pa- rent, and does not receive the special protection of mem- branous envelopes, containing a store of nourishment for its subsequent growth. but in all the more perfect structures, both of animals and vegetables, the germ is provided with auxiliary coverings of this kind, the whole together com- posing what is called a seed, or an ovum; the former term being usually applied to vegetable, and the latter to animal productions; and, in both cases, the organ which originally contained them is termed the ovary. the formation and evolution of vegetable seeds take place, not indiscriminately, at every point, as we have seen is the case with simple germs, but only in particular parts of the plant. the filices, or fern tribes, may be taken as exam- ples of this mode of reproduction, the seeds being formed at the under surface of the leaves, apparently by a simple pro- cess of evolution; and when detached and scattered on the ground, being farther developed into a plant similar to the parent. the linnean class of cryptogamia includes all the plants coming under this description. in animals, likewise, it is only in the particular organs termed ovaries, that ova are formed, and they are generally divided into compart- ments, the whole being enclosed in a membranous covering, bearing a great resemblance to the seed-capsules of plants. the propagation of living beings by means of ova or seeds, is a process of a totally different class from their multipli- cation by mere slips or buds; and the products of the former oviparous. other species, again, imitate the hydra, in being what is termed gemmiparous, that is, producing gemmules (like the budding of a plant,) which shoot forth from the side of the parent, and are soon provided with cilia, enabling them, when separated, to provide for their own subsistence, although they are of a very diminutive size when thus cast off. s the reproductive functions. in contradistinction to those which are cryptogamous,) the whole of the double apparatus required for reproduction is contained in the flower. one set of organs contains the ru- diment of the seed, enclosed in various envelopes, of which the assemblage constitutes an ovary, and to which is ap- pended a tube, (the pistil,j terminated by a kind of spon- giole, (the stigma.) the fecundating organs are the sta- mens, which are columns, (or filaments,) placed generally near and parallel to the pistil, and terminated by a glandu- lar organ, (the anther.) this organ, when mature, con- tains, enclosed in a double envelope, a fine powder, (the pollen,) consisting of very minute vesicles, filled with a vis- cous liquor, (the ſovilla,) in which are seen extremely small granules. fecundation takes place by a portion of the pol- len being received by the stigma, and conveyed through the tubular pistil to the seed, which it impregnates by impart- ing to it the fluid it contains. by far the greater number of plants composing the vege- table kingdom have these two sets of organs contained in the same flower; or at least in flowers belonging to the same individual plant. in the animal kingdom this arrangement is also adopted, but only in a comparatively small number of tribes. in these the ova, in their passage from the ovary, along a canal termed the oviduct, are fecundated by receiving a secretion from another set of organs in the same system, which is conveyed by a duct, opening into the oviduct in some part of its course. in a limited number of plants, composing the class dioecia, the individuals of the same species are distinguished by their bearing flowers which con- tain only one of the kinds of reproductive apparatus: so that the stamens and the pistils are situated on separate plants: and the impregnation of the ovaries in the latter, can be ef- fected only by the transference of the pollen from the for- mer. a similar separation of offices is established among all the higher classes of the animal kingdom. in most fishes, and in all batrachian reptiles, the ova are impregnated after their expulsion from the body: in all other cases their reproduotion. impregnation is internal, and their subsequent development takes place in one or other of the four following ways. . the ovum, when defended by a firm envelope, which contains a store of nutriment, is termed an egg, and is de- posited in situations most favourable for the development of the embryo; and also for its future support when it emerges from the egg. birds, as is well known, produce eggs which are incased in a calcareous shell, and hatch them by the warmth they communicate by sitting on them with unwea- ried constancy. all animals which thus lay eggs are termed oviparous. . there are a few tribes, such as the piper and the sa- lamander, whose eggs are never laid, but are hatched in the interior of the parent; so that they bring forth living offspring, although originally contained in eggs. such ani- mals are said to be ovo-viviparous. there are other tribes, again, which, according to circumstances, are either ovipa- rous, or ovo-viviparous: this is the case with the shark. . piviparous animals are those in which no egg, pro- perly so called, is formed; but the ovum, after proceeding through the oviduct, sends out vessels, which form an at- tachment to the interior of a cavity in the body of the pa- rent, whence it draws nourishment, and therefore has at- tained a considerable size at the time of its birth. . marsupial animals are those, which, like the kangu- roo, and the opossum, are provided with abdominal pouches, into which the young, born at a very early stage of develop- ment, are received, and nourished with milk, secreted from glands contained within these pouches. as the young, both in this and in the last case, are nourished with milk prepared by similar glands, or mammae, the whole class of vivipa- rous and marsupial animals has received, from this charac- teristic circumstance, the name of mammalia. ( ) chapter ii. organic development. although the study of organic structures in their finished state must tend to inspire the most sublime conceptions of the great creator of this vast series of beings, extending from the obscurest plant to the towering tenant of the fo– rest, and from the lowest animalcule to the stately elephant and gigantic whale, there yet exists another department of the science of nature, removed, indeed, from the gaze of or- dinary observers, but presenting to the philosophic inquirer subjects not less replete with interest, and not less calculated to exalt our ideas of the transcendent attributes of the al- mighty. to a mind nurtured to reflection, these divine at- tributes, whether of power, of wisdom, or of beneficence, are no where manifested with greater distinctness, or ar- rayed in greater glory, than in the formation of these various beings, and in the progressive architecture of their wondrous fabric. our attention has already been directed, in a former part of these inquiries, to the successive changes which consti- tute the metamorphoses of winged insects,” and of batra- chian reptiles, phenomena which are too striking to have escaped the notice of the earliest naturalists: but the patient investigations of modern inquirers have led to discoveries still more curious, and have shown that all vertebrated ani- mals, even those belonging to the higher classes, such as birds, and mammalia, not excepting man himself, undergo, in the early stages of their development, a series of changes fully as great and as remarkable as those which constitute the * the researches of nordmann, on different species of lernaca, have brought to light the most singular succession of forms during the progress of development of the same individual animal. - organic development. transformations of inferior animals. they have also ren- dered it extremely probable that the organs of the system, instead of existing simultaneously in the germ, arise in re- gulated succession, and are the results not of the mere ex- pansion of pre-existing rudiments, but of a real formation by the union of certain elements; which elements are them- selves successively formed by the gradual coalescence or juxtaposition of their constituent materials. on contem- plating the infinitely lengthened chain of means and ends, and of causes and effects, which, during the construction and assemblage of the numerous parts composing the ani- mal machine, are in constant operation, adapting them to their various purposes, and combining them into one effi- cient and harmonious system, it is impossible not to be deep- ly impressed with the extent and the profoundness of the views of omniscient providence, which far exceed the ut- most boundaries of our vision, and surpass even the powers of the human imagination." the clearest evidence of enlarged and provident designs may be collected from observing the order in which the nascent organs are successively brought forwards, and added to the growing fabric: such order appearing, in all cases, to be that best calculated to secure the due performance of their appointed functions, and to promote the general objects of the system. the apparatus first perfected is that which is immediately necessary for the exercise of the vital actions, and which is therefore required for the completion of all the other structures; but provision is likewise made for the esta- * “sil’on applique,” says cuvier, when speaking of the anatomy of in- sects, “a chacune deces especes, parla pensée, ce qu'il seroit bien impos- sible qu'un homme entreprit de verifier en effet pour toutes, une organisa- sation a-peu-pres égale en complication a celle qui a €té décrite dans la chenille par lyonet, et tout récemment dans lehanneton par m. straus, et ce- pendant plus ou moins differente dans chaque insecte, l'imagination com- mencera a concevoir quelque chose de cette richesse effrayante, et de ces millions de millions de parties, et departies departies, toujours correlatives, toujours en harmonie, qui constituentle grand ouvrage de la nature.” (his- toire des progrès des sciences naturelles, iv. .) the reproductive functions. blishment of those parts which are to give mechanical sup- port to each organic system in proportion as it is formed; while the foundations are also preparing for endowments of a higher kind, by the early development of the organs of the external senses, the functions of which so essentially mi- nister to the future expansion of the intellectual faculties, embracing a wide range of perceptions and of active powers. thus, in the early, as well as in all the subsequent periods of life, the objects of nature vary as the respective necessi- ties of the occasion change. at first, all the energies of vi- tality are directed to the raising of the fabric, and to the ex- tension of those organs which are of greatest immediate utility; but still having a prospective view to farther and more important ends. for the accomplishment of this pri- mary object, unremitting exertions are made, commensurate with the magnitude of the design, and giving rise to a quick succession of varied forms, both with regard to the shape of each individual organ, and to the general aspect of the whole assemblage. in the phenomena of their early evolution, plants and animals present a striking contrast, corresponding to essen- tial differences in the respective destinations of these two orders of beings. the primary object of vegetable struc- tures appears to be the establishment of the functions of nu- trition; and we accordingly find that whenever the seed be- gins to germinate, the first indication of development is the appearance of the part called the plumula, which is a col- lection of feathery fibres, bursting from the enveloping cap- sule of the germ, and which, whatever may have been its original position, proceeds immediately to extend itself ver- tically upwards; while, at the same time, slender filaments, or radicles, shoot out below to form the roots. thus early are means provided for the absorption and the aeration of the nutrient matter, which is to constitute the materials for the subsequent growth of the plant, and for the support and protection of the organs by which these processes are to be carried on. but animal vitality, being designed to minister organic development. to a higher order of endowments, is placed in subordination to a class of functions, of which there exists no trace in ve- getables, namely, those of the nervous system. by intently watching the earliest dawn of organic formation, in the trans- parent gelatinous molecule, for example, which, with its three investing pellicles, constitutes the embryo of a bird, (for the eggs of this class of animals best admit of our fol- lowing this interesting series of changes,) the first opaque object discoverable by the eye is a small dark line, called the primitive trace, formed on the surface of the outermost pellicle. two ridges then arise, one on each side of this dark line;" and by the union of their edges, they soon form a canal, containing a deposite of semi-fluid matter, which, on acquiring greater consistence and opacity, discloses two slender and delicate threads, placed side by side, and parallel to one another, but separated by a certain space. these are the rudiments of the spinal cord, or the central organ of nervous power, on the endowments of which the whole cha- racter of the being to be formed depends. we may next discern a number of parallel equidistant dots, arranged in two rows, one on the outer side of each of the filaments al- ready noticed: these are the rudiments of the vertebrae, parts which will afterwards be wanted for giving protection to the spinal marrow, and which soon form, for this purpose, a series of rings embracing that organ.t the appearance of the elementary filaments of the spinal cord is soon followed by the development of its upper or anterior extremity, from which there arise three vesicles, each forming white tubercles; these are the foundations of the future brain. the tubercles are first arranged in pairs and in a longitudinal series, like those we have seen consti- tuting the permanent form of the brain in the inferior fishes: * the plica primitive of pander; the laminae dorsales of bacr. see a paper on embryology by dr. allen thomson, in the edin. new phil. journal for and . f these rings have, by speculative physiologists, been supposed to be analogous to those which form the skeleton of the annelida. - the reproductive functions. e which are coiled, as it were, into a knot; by which means the different cavities acquire relative situations more near- ly corresponding to their positions in the developed and finished organ. the blood vessels, in like manner, undergo a series of changes quite as considerable as those of the heart, and to- tally altering their arrangement and distribution. serres maintains that the primitive condition of all the organs, even those which are generally considered as single, is that of be- ing double, or being formed in pairs; one on the right, and another exactly similar to it on the left of the middle, or mesial plane, as if each were the reflected image of the other.” such is obviously the permanent condition of all the organs of sensation, and also of the apparatus for locomo- tion: and it has just been shown that those portions of the nervous system which are situated in the mesial plane, such as the spinal cord and the brain, consisted originally of two separate sets of parts, which are brought together, and con- joined into single organs. in like manner we have seen that the constituent laminae of the heart are at first double, and afterwards form, by their union, a single cavity. the ope- ration of the same law has been traced in the formation of those vascular trunks, situated in the mesial plane, which are usually observed to be single, such as the aorta and the vena cava: for each were originally formed by the coalescence of double vascular trunks running parallel to each other, and at first separated by a considerable interval; then approach- ing each other, adhering together, and quickly converted, * a remarkable exemplification of this tendency to symmetric duplication of organs occurs in a very extraordinary parasitic animal, which usually at- taches itself to the gills of the cyprinus brama, and which has been lately examined by nordmann, and named by him the diplozoon paradorum, from its having the semblance of two distinct animals of a lengthened shape, each bent at an obtuse angle, and joined together in the form of the letter x. the right and left halves of this cross are perfectly similar in their organization, having each a complete and independent system of vital organs, excepting that the two alimentary canals join at the centre of the cross to form a single cavity, or stomach. (annales des sciences naturelles, xxx. .) the reproductive functions. - vessels, spread over the membrane of the egg, and receiving the influence of atmospheric oxygen through the substance of the shell, which is sufficiently porous to transmit it; and these vessels, being brought into communication with the circulatory system of the chick, convey to its blood this vi- vifying agent. as the lungs cannot come into use till after the bird is emancipated from its prison, and as it was suffi- cient that they be in readiness at that epoch, these organs are among the last which are constructed: and as the me- chanism of respiration in this class of animals does not re- quire the play of the diaphragm, this muscular partition, though begun, is not completed, and there is no separation between the cavities of the thorax and the abdomen. the succession of organic metamorphoses is equally re- markable in the formation of the diversified apparatus for aeration, which is required to be greatly modified, at differ- ent periods, in order to adapt it to different elements: of this we have already seen examples in those insects which, after being aquatic in their larva state, emerge from the water when they have acquired wings; and also in the steps of transition from the tadpole to the frog. but similar, though less conspicuous changes occur in the higher vertebrated animals, during the early periods of their formation, corre- sponding to the differences in the modes of aeration em- ployed at different stages of development. in the primeval conditions this function is always analogous to that of aqua- tic animals, and requires for its performance only the sim- pler form of heart already described, consisting of a single set of cavitics: but the system being ultimately designed to exercise atmospheric respiration, requires to be gradually adapted to this altered condition; and the heart of the bird and the quadruped must be separated into two compart- ments, corresponding to the double function it will have to perform. for this purpose a partition wall must be built in its cavity; and this wall is accordingly begun around the interior circumference of the ventricle, and is gradually car- ried on towards the centre, there being, for a time, an aper- org anic development. ture of communication between the right and left cavities; but this aperture is soon closed, and the ventricle is now effectually divided into two. next the auricle, which at first was single, becomes double; not, however, by the growth of a partition, but by the folding in of its sides, along a middle line, as if it were encompassed by a cord, which was gradu- ally tightened. in the mean while the partition, which had divided the ventricle, extends itself into the trunk of the main artery, which it divides into two channels; and these afterwards become two separate vessels; that which issues from the left ventricle being the aorta; and the other, which proceeds from the right ventricle, being the pulmonary ar- tery; and each being now prepared to exercise its appropri- ate function in the double circulation which is soon to be established." a mode of subdivision of blood vessels, very similar to that just described, takes place in those which are sent to the first set of organs provided for aeration, and which re- semble branchiae. these changes may be very distinctly followed in the batrachia;t for we see, in those animals, the trunk of the aorta undergoing successive subdivisions, by branches sent off from it, and forming loops, which ex- tend in length and are again subdivided, in a manner not unlike the unravelling of the strands of a rope; each subdi- vision, however, being preceded by the formation of a dou- ble partition in the cavity of the tube; so that at length the whole forms an extensive ramified system of branchial arte- ries and veins. still all these are merely temporary struc- tures; for when the period of change approaches, and the branchiae are to be superseded in their office, every vessel, one after another, becomes obliterated, and there remain only the two original aorta, which unite into a single trunk lower down, and from which proceed the pulmonary arte- ries, conveying either the whole, or a portion of the blood, to the newly developed respiratory organs, the lungs. * the principal authorities for the facts here stated are baer and rolando. see the paper of dr. thomson already quoted. f sec thc investigations of rusconi, and of bacr., on this subject. or ganic development. vided only for this temporary use appears from the circum- stance of its falling off spontaneously in the course of three or four days after it has been so employed. but though the bird has now gained its liberty, it is still unable to provide for its own maintenance, and requires to be fed by its parent till it can use its wings, and has learned the art of obtaining food. the pigeon is furnished by na- ture with a secretion from the crop, with which it ſeeds its young. in the mammalia the same object is provided for still more expressly, by means of glands, whose office it is to prepare milk, a fluid which, from its chemical qualities, is admirably adapted to the powers of the digestive organs, when they first exercise their functions. the cetacea have also mammary glands; but as the structure of the mouth and throat of the young in that class does not appear adapted to the act of sucking, there has always been great difficulty in understanding how they obtain the nourishment so pro- vided. a recent discovery of geoffroy st. hilaire appears to have resolved the mystery with respect to the delphinus globiceps; for he found that the mammary glands of that ani- mal contain each a large reservoir, in which milk is accu- mulated, and which the dolphin is capable, by the action of the surrounding muscles, of emptying at once into the mouth of its young, without requiring from the latter any effort of suction." the rapid sketch which i have attempted to draw of the more remarkable steps of the early stages of organic deve- lopment in the higher animals, taken in conjunction with the facts already adverted to in various parts of this treatise, and particularly those relating to ossification, dentition, the formation of hair, of the quills of the porcupine, of the an- tlers of the stag, and of the feathers of birds, will suffice to show that they are regulated by laws which are definite, and preordained according to the most enlarged and profound * the account of this discovery is contained in a memoir which was read at the “institut." march , . the reproductive functions. views of the future circumstances and wants of the system. the double origin of all the parts of the frame, even those which appear as single organs, and the order of their forma- tion, which, in each system, commences with the parts most remote from the centre, and proceeds inwards, or towards the mesial plane, are among the most singular and unex- pected results of this train of inquiries.” we cannot but be forcibly struck with the numerous forms of transition through which every organ has to pass before arriving at its ultimate and comparatively permanent condition: we cannot but won- der at the vast apparatus which is provided and put in action for effecting all these changes; nor can we overlook the in- stances of express contrivance in the formation of so many temporary structures, which are set up, like the scaffold of an edifice, in order to afford the means of transporting the materials of the building in proportion as they are wanted; nor refuse to recognise the evidence of provident design in the regular order in which the work proceeds, every organ growing at its appointed time, by the addition of fresh par- ticles brought to it by the arteries, while others are carried away by the absorbents, and gradually acquiring the form which is to qualify it for the performance of its proper office in this vast and complicated system. * the first of these two laws is termed by serres, who has zealously pro- secuted these investigations, “la loi de symmetrie,” and the second, “la loi de conjugaison.” he maintains that they are strictly applicable to all the parts of the body having a tubular form, such as the trachea, the eustachian tube, the canals, and perforations of bones, &c. see the preliminary dis- course to his “anatomie comparée du cerveau,” p. ; and also his several memoirs in the “annales des sciences naturelles,” vols, xi. xii. xvi. and xxi. an excellent summary of the principal facts relating to the development of the embryo is given by mr. herbert mayo, in the third edition of his “outlines of human physiology.” ( ) chapter iii. decline of the system. to follow minutely the various steps by which nature conducts the individual to its state of maturity, would en- gage us in details incompatible with the limits of the pre- sent work. i shall only remark, in general, that during the period when the body is intended to increase in size, the powers of assimilation are exerted to prepare a greater abun- dance of nourishment, so that the average supply of mate- rials rather exceeds the consumption: but when the fabric has attained its prescribed dimensions, the total quantities furnished and expended being nearly balanced, the vital powers are no longer exerted in extending the fabric, but are employed in consolidating and perfecting it, and in qua- lifying the organs for the continued exercise of their re- spective functions, during a long succession of years. yet, while every function is thus maintained in a state of healthy equilibrium, certain changes are in progress, which, at the appointed season, will inevitably bring on the decline and ultimate destruction of the system.” the process of º * it would appear, from the researches of de candolle, that the vegetable system is not, like the animal, subject to the destructive operation of internal causes; for the agents which destroy vegetable life are always extraneous to its economy. each individual tree is composed of an accumulation of the shoots of every successive year since the commencement of its growth; and although, from the continued deposition of lignin, and the consequent obli- teration of many of its cells and vessels, the vitality of the interior wood may be destroyed, and it then becomes liable to decay by the action of foreign agents, yet the exterior layers of the liber still vegetate with undiminished vigour; and unless injured by causes extraneous to its own system, the life of the tree will continue to be sustained for an indefinite period. if, on the vol. ii. decline of the system. consolidation, begun from the earliest period of development, is still advancing, and is producing in the fluids greater thick- ness, and a reduction of their total quantity; and in the so- lids, a diminution in the proportion of gelatin, and the con- version of this element into albumen. hence, all the tex- tures acquire increasing solidity, the cellular substance becomes firmer and more condensed, and the solid structures more rigid and inelastic: hence, the tendons and ligamentous fibres growing less flexible, the joints lose their suppleness, and the contractile power being also impaired, the muscles act more tardily as well as more feebly, and the limbs no longer retain the elastic spring of youth. the bones them- selves grow harder and more brittle; and the cartilages, the tendons, the serous membranes, and the coats of the blood vessels, acquire incrustations of ossific matter, which inter- ſere with their uses. thus are all the progressive modifica- tions of structure tending, slowly but inevitably, to disqua- lify the organs for the due performance of their functions. among the most important of the internal changes con- sequent on the progress of age are those which take place in the vascular system. a large proportion of the numerous arteries, which were in full activity during the building of the fabric, being now no longer wanted, are thrown, as it were, out of employment; they, in consequence, contract, and becoming impervious, gradually disappear. the parts of the body, no longer yielding to the power applied to ex- tend them, oppose a gradually increasing resistance to the propelling force of the heart; while, at the same time, this force, in common with all the others, is slowly diminishing. thus do the vital powers become less equal to the demands made upon them; the waste of the body exceeds the supply, other hand, we were to regard each separate shoot as an individual organic body, and every layer as constituting a distinct generation of shoots, the older being covered and enclosed in succession by the younger, the great longevity of a tree would, on this hypothesis, indicate only the permanence of the species, not the indefinitely protracted duration of the individual plant. degline of the system. and a diminution of energy becomes apparent in every func- tion. such are the insensible gradations by which, while gliding down the stream of time, we lapse into old age, which in- sidiously steals on us before we are aware of its approach. but the same provident power which presided at our birth, which superintended the growth of all the organs, which infused animation into each as they arose, and which has conducted the system unimpaired to its maturity, is still ex- erted in adjusting the conditions under which it is placed in its season of decline. new arrangements are made, new energies are called forth, and new resources are employed, to accommodate it to its altered circumstances, to prop the shattered fabric, and retard the progress of its decay. in proportion as the supply of nutritive materials has become less abundant, a more strict economy is practised with re- gard to their disposal; the substance of the body is husband- ed with greater care; the absorbent vessels are employed to remove such parts as are no longer useful; and when all these adjustments have been made, the functions still go on for a considerable length of time without material altera- tion. the period prescribed for its duration being at length completed, and the ends of its existence accomplished, the fabric can no longer be sustained, and preparation must be made for its inevitable fall. in order to form a correct judgment of the real intentions of nature, with regard to this last stage of life, its phenomena must be observed in cases where the system has been wholly intrusted to the operation of her laws. when death is the simple consequence of age, we find that the extinction of the powers of life observes an order the reverse of that which was followed in their evolu- tion. the sensorial functions, which were the last perfect- ed, are the first which decay; and their decline is found to commence with those mental faculties more immediately dependent on the physical conditions of the sensorium, and more especially with the memory, which is often much im- decline of the system. paired, while the judgment remains in full vigour. the next faculties which usually suffer from the effects of age are the external senses, and the failure of sight and of hearing still farther contributes to the decline of the intellectual powers, by withdrawing the occasions for their exercise. the actual demolition of the fabric commences whenever there is a considerable failure in the functions of assimilation: but the more immediate cause of the rapid extinction of life is usually the impediment which the loss of the sensorial power, necessary for maintaining the movements of the chest, creates to respiration. the heart, whose pulsations gave the first indications of life in the embryo, generally retains its vitality longer than any other organ; but its powers being dependent on the constant oxidation of the blood in the lungs, cannot survive the interruption of this function; and on the heart ceasing to throb, death may then be considered as complete in every part of the system. it is an important consideration, with reference to final causes, that generally long before the commencement of this “last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history,” the power of feeling has wholly ceased, and the physical struggle is carried on by the vital powers alone, in the ab- sence of all consciousness of the sentient being, whose death may be said to precede, for some time, that of the body. in this, as well as in the gradual decline of the sensorial facul- ties, and the consequent diminution both of mental and of physical sensibility in advanced age, we cannot fail to re- cognise the wise ordinances of a superintending and bene- ficent providence, kindly smoothing the path along which we descend the vale of life, spreading a narcotic mantle over the bed of death, and giving to the last moments of de- parting sensation the tranquillity of approaching sleep. unity of design. go a series of changes precisely analogous to those of the tadpole. mammalia, during the early periods of their development, are subjected to all the transformations which have been now described, commencing with an organization corresponding to that of the aquatic tribes, exhibiting not only branchiae, supported on branchial arches, but also branchial apertures in the neck, and thence passing quickly to the conditions of structure adapted to a terrestrial existence. the development of various parts of the system, more especially of the brain, the ear, the mouth, and the extremities, is carried still far- ther than in birds. nor is the human embryo exempt from the same metamorphoses, possessing, at one period, branchiae and branchial apertures similar to those of the cartilaginous fishes," a heart with a single set of cavities, and a brain con- sisting of a longitudinal series of tubercles; next losing its branchiae, and acquiring lungs, while the circulation is yet single, and thus imitating the condition of the reptile; then acquiring a double circulation, but an incomplete diaphragm, like birds; afterwards, appearing like a quadruped, with a caudal prolongation of the sacrum, and an intermaxillary bone; and, lastly, changing its structure to one adapted to the erect position, accompanied by a great expansion of the cerebral hemispheres, which extend backwards so as com- pletely to cover the cerebellum. thus does the whole fab- ric arrive, by a gradual process of mutation, at an extent of elaboration and refinement, unattained by any other race of terrestrial beings, and which has been justly regarded as constituting the climax of organic development.t º * these facts are given on the authorities of rathke, baer, huschke, breschet, &c. ann. des sc. naturelles, xv. . see, also, the paper of dr. a. thomson, already quoted. + a popular opinion has long prevailed, even among the well informed, that misshapen or monstrous productions, or lusus natura, as they were termed, exhibit but the freaks of nature, who was believed, on these occa- sions, capriciously to abandon her usual course, and to amuse herself in the production of grotesque beings, without any special object. but it is now found that all defective formations of this kind are occasioned by the imper- unity of design. it must, i think, be admitted that the analogies, on which the hypothesis in question is founded, are numerous and striking; but great care should be taken not to carry it far- ther than the just interpretation of the facts themselves may warrant. it should be borne in mind that these facts are few, compared with the entire history of animal development; and that the resemblances which have been so ingeniously traced, are partial only, and fall very short of that universa- lity, which alone constitutes the solid basis of a strictly phi- losophical theory. whatever may be the apparent simila- rity between one animal and another, during different peri- ods of their respective developments, there still exists spe- cific differences, establishing between them an impassable barrier of separation, and effectually preventing any conver- sion of one species into another, however, nearly the two may be mutually allied. the essential characters of each species, amidst occasional varieties, remain ever constant and immutable. although gradations, to a greater or less ex- tent, may be traced among the races both of plants and ani- mals, yet in no case is the series strictly continuous; each step, however short, being in reality an abrupt transition from one type of conformation to another. in many in- stances the interval is considerable; as, for example, in the passage from the invertebrate to the vertebrated classes; and, indeed, in every instance where great changes in the nature and arrangement of the functions take place.” it is in vain to allege that the original continuity of the series is indi- cated by a few species presenting, in some respects, inter- mediate characters, such as the ornithorhyncus, between feet development of some parts of the embryo, while the natural process is carried on in the rest of the system; and thus it happens that a resemblance may often be traced, in these malformations, with the type or the permanent condition of some inferior animal. hence, all these apparent anomalies are, in reality, in perfect harmony with the established laws of organic develop- ment, and afford, indeed, striking confirmations of the truth of the theory here explained. * see a paper on this subject, by cuvier, in the ann, des sciences na- turelles, xx. . unity of design. a birds and mammalia, and the cetacea, between fishes and warm-blooded quadrupeds: for these are but detached links of a broken chain, tending, indeed, to prove the unity of the designs of nature, but showing also the specific character of each of her creative efforts. the pursuit of remote and often fanciful analogies has, by many of the continental phy- siologists, been carried to an unwarrantable and extravagant length: for the scope which is given to the imagination in , these seductive speculations, by leading us far away from the path of philosophical induction, tends rather to obstruct than to advance the progress of real knowledge. by confining our inquiries to more legitimate objects, we shall avoid the delusion into which one of the disciples of this transcenden- tal school appears to have fallen, when he announces, with exultation, that the simple laws he has discovered have now explained the universe; nor shall we be disposed to lend a patient ear to the more presumptuous reveries of another system-builder, who, by assuming that there exists in or- ganized matter an inherent wendency to perfectibility, fan- cies that he can supersede the operations of divine agency.f very different was the humble spirit of the great new- ton, who, struck with the immensity of nature, compared our knowledge of her operations, into which he had himself penetrated so deeply, to that of a child gathering pebbles on • “l'univers est expliqué, et nous le voyons, c'est un petit nombre de principes généraux et ſeconds quinous en ont donné la clef.” serres, ann. des sc. nat. xi. . f allusion is here made to the celebrated theory of lamarck, as exposed in his “philosophie zoologique.” he conceives that there was originally no distinction of species, but that each race has, in the course of ages, been derived from some other, less perfect than itself, by a spontaneous cffort at improvement, and he supposes that infusorial animalcules, spontaneously formed out of organic molecules, gave birth, by successive transformations, to all other animals now existing on the globe. he believes that tribes, ori- ginally aquatic, acquired by their own efforts, prompted by their desire to walk, both feet and legs, fitting them for progression on the ground; and that these members, by the long continued operation of the wish to fly, were transformed into wings, adapted to gratify that desire. if this be philoso- phy, it is such as might have emanated from the college of laputa. unity of design. prehension. it is impossible, however, to conceive that this enormous expenditure of power, this vast accumulation of contrivances and of machinery, and this profusion of ex- istence resulting from them, can thus, from age to age, be prodigally lavished, without some ulterior end. is man, the favoured creature of nature’s bounty, “the paragon of animals,” whose spirit holds communion with celestial powers, formed but to perish with the wreck of his bodily frame? are generations after generations of his race doomed to follow in endless succession, rolling darkly down the stream of time, and leaving no track in its pathless ocean? are the operations of almighty power to end with the pre- sent scene? may we not discern, in the spiritual constitu- tion of man, the traces of higher powers, to which those he now possesses are but preparatory; some embryo faculties which raise us above this earthly habitation? have we not in the imagination, a power but little in harmony with the fetters of our bodily organs; and bringing within our view purer conditions of being, exempt from the illusions of our senses and the infirmities of our nature, our elevation to which will eventually prove that all these unsated desires of knowledge, and all these ardent aspirations after moral good, were not implanted in us in vain? happily there has been vouchsafed to us, from a higher source, a pure and heavenly light to guide our faltering steps, and animate our fainting spirit, in this dark and dreary search: revealing those truths which it imports us most of all to know, giving to morality higher sanctions, elevating our hopes and our affections to nobler objects than belong to earth, and inspiring more exalted themes of thanksgiving and of praise. * i n id e x. abdomen of insects, i. . aberration, chromatic, ii. . aberration of parallax, ii. , . aberration, spherical, ii. , . absorption, vegetable, ii. , . absorption, animal, ii. , . absorption, lacteal, ii. . absorption of shell, i. . acalepha, i. ; ii. . acarus, i. . achatina zebra, i. . achromatic power, ii. . acephala, i. ; ii. , . acetabulum, i. s . acid secretions, ii. . acrida, ii. . acridium, i. . acoustic principles, ii. . actinia, i. , ; ii. , , , , . adipose substance, i. . adductor muscle, i. . aeration of sap, ii. . aeration, animal, ii. , . aeschna, i. . affinities, organic, ii. . agastric medusae, ii. . age of trees, i. . age, effects of, ii. . agouti, i. . agrion, ii. . air-bladder, i. . air cells of plants, i. . air cells of birds, ii. . air, rarefaction of, in birds, i. . air tubes in plants, i. . albumen, i. . alburnum, i. ; ii. . algæ, ii. . alimentary canal, ii. . alimentary canal, formation of, ii. : . vol. ii. alitrunk, i. . alligator, i. , ; ii. . amble, i. . ambulacra, i. . amici, i. ; ii. . amphibia, i. , . amphisbaena, i. , . amphitrite, i. . anabas, ii. . analogy, law of, i. ; ii. . anarrhichas, ii. . anchylosis, i. . ancillaria, i. . anemone, sea, i. . angler, i. ; ii. . anguis, i. , . animal functions, i. . animal organization, i. . animalcules. see infusoria. annelida, i. ; ii. , , , . annular vessels, i. . anodon, i. . ant, ii. , , . ant-eater, i. ; ii. . antelope, ii. , . antelope, horn of i. . antennae, i. ; ii. . antennulae, ii. . anther, ii. . anthias, ii. . anthophora, i. . antipathes, i. . antler of deer, i. . antrum maxillare, ii. . aorta, ii. , . aphrodite. ii. , , . aplysia, ii. , , . apodes, i. . apterous insects, i. . aquatic animals, i. . aquatic plants, ii. . index. aquatic larvae, i. . aquatic insects, i. . aquatic birds, i. . aquatic respiration, ii. . aqueous humour, ii. . arachnida, i. ; ii. , , , , . aranea. see spider. arbor vitae, ii. . arenicola, i. ; ii. . argonauta, i. . aristotle, ii. . aristotle, lantern of, ii. . arm, human, i. . armadillo, ii. . arteries, i. ; ii. . articulata, i. . ascaris, ii. , . ascidia, i. ; ii. . ass, i. . assimilation, i. ; ii. . astacus, ii. , . asterias, i. ; ii. , , , , , , . ateles, i. , . atlas of lion, i. . atmosphere, purification of, ii. . atmospheric respiration, ii. . atriplex, ii. . audouin, i. , , ; ii. , , . audubon, ii. . auricle, ii. , . auricula, i. . avicula, i. . axillae of plants, i. ; ii. . axelotl, ii. . babiroussa, ii. . bacculite, i. . baer, ii. , , . baker, ii. . - balaena. see whale. balance of affinities, ii. . balistes, i. . banks, i. . barbels of fish, ii. . bark, formation of, i. . barnacle, i. ; ii. . bat, i. ; ii. , . batrachia, i. ; ii. . batrachospermum, ii. . bauer, i. . bear, ii. . beard of oyster, ii. . beaver, i. ; ii. , , . bee, i. ; ii. . belchier, i. . bell (sir c.) ii. . bell (thomas) i. ; ii. . bellini, ii. . berberis, i. . berkeley, ii. . beroe, i. , . berzelius, ii. . bicuspid teeth, ii. . bipes canaliculatus, i. . birds, i. ; ii. , , , et passum. blind-worm, i. , . blood, ii. . blood vessels, ii. . blumenbach, ii. . boa, i. , . boar, i. ; ii. , . bombyx, i. , , ; ii. . bone, i. , , . bonnet, i. ; ii. , , , , . borelli, i. . bosc, i. . bostock, ii. . bound of deer, i. . bowerbank, ii. . boyle, ii. . bractea, i. . bradypus, i. ; ii. . brain, i. ; ii. , , . brain, formation of, ii. . branchiae, ii. , , . brassica, ii. , . braula, ii. . breschet, ii. . brewster, i. ; ii. , . brocken, spectre of, ii. . broussonnet, ii. . bruguiere, i. , . bryophyllum, ii. . buccinum, i. , , ; ii. , . buckland, ii. . buds, i. ; ii. . buffon, i. ; ii. , . bulb of hair, i. . bulb of feather, i. . bulbus arteriosus, ii. . bulbulus glandulosus, ii. . bulimus, i. . bulla, ii. . burrowing of the mole, i. . index. cabbage, ii. , . cachalot, i. ; ii. . caeca, ii. , . caecilia, ii. . calamary, i. . callionymus, ii. . calosoma, i. . cambium, ii. . camel, i. ; ii. , . cameleopard, i. , ; ii. . camera obscura, ii. . camerated shells, i. . campanularia, ii. . camper, ii. , , . canada rat, ii. . cancelli, i. . cannon bone, i. . capibara, ii. . capillaries, ii. . capsular ligaments, i. . caput medusae, i. . carapace, i , . carbon, non-absorption of, ii. . carbonic acid, ii. , . cardia, ii. . cardium, i. , , , . carduus, i. . carinated sternum, i. . carlisle, i. , ; ii. , . carnivora, i. ; ii. , . carp, i. , . carpus, i. . cartilage, i. . caruncle, lacrymal, ii. . carus, i. ; ii. , , , , . cassowary, i. ; ii. . cat, ii. , . caterpillar, i. , ; ii. . caudal vertebræ, i. . cavolini, i. . celandine, ii. . cells of plants, i. , . cellular texture, animal, i. . centaurea, i. . cephalic ganglion, ii. . cephalo-thorax, i. . cephalopoda, i. - ; ii. , . cerambyx, i. ; ii. , . cercaria, i. ; ii. . cerebellum, ii. . cerebral ganglion, ii. . cerebral hemispheres, ii. . cerithium, i. . ceroxylon, ii. . cetacea, i. , ; ii. , , , , , . chabrier, i. , . chain of being, i. ; ii. . chalcides, i. , . chameleon, i. ; ii. , , . chara, ii. , . chelidonium, ii. . chelonia, i. ; ii. , , , . chemistry, organic, ii. , . cheselden, ii. . chevreuil, i. . children, i. , ; ii. . chitine, i. . chladni, ii. . chondrilla, ii. . choroid coat, ii. . choroid gland, ii. . chromatic aberration, ii. . chromule, i. . chrysalis, i. . chyle, ii. , . chyme, ii. . cicada, i. . cicindela, ii. . cilia, i. , , , , , . ciliary ligament, ii. . cimbex, i. . cimex, ii. . cineritious, ii. . circulation, ii. , . cirrhi, ii. . cirrhopoda, i. . classification, i. ; ii. . clausilia, ii. . clausium, i. . clavicle, i. , , . claviger, ii. . claw in lion's tail, i. . clio, i. - ; ii. . cloquet, ii. . clypeaster, i. . cobitis, ii. . cobra de capello, i. ; ii. . coccygeal bone, i. . cochlea, ii. . cockchaffer. see melolontha. cockle, i. . see cardium. cod, lens of, i. ; ii. . coenurus, ii. . coexistence of forms, i. . coffin-bone, i. . coleoptera, i. ; ii. . index. collar-bone, i. . colours of insects, i. . colours, perceptions of, ii. . coluber, i. , ; ii. . columella, i. ; ii. . comatula, i. . commissures of brain, ii. . comparetti, ii. , . complementary colours, ii. . compound eyes, ii. . concha of the ear, ii. . condor, ii. . conger eel, ii. . conglomerate eyes, ii. . conjunctiva, ii. . consumption of animal matter, ii. contractility, muscular, i. . conus, i. . convolutions of the brain, ii. . convolvulus, ii. . cooper, ii. . coracoid bone, i. , . coral, i. . coral islands, i. . corium, i. . cornea, ii. . corneule, ii. . cornu ammonis, i. . coronet bone, i. . corpora quadrigemina, ii. . corpus callosum, ii. . corpus papillare, ii. . cortical substance, ii. . cossus, i. , , . cotunnius, ii. . cowrie, i. . crab, i. ; ii. , , , . cranium, i. , , . cranium of insects, i. . craw, ii. . cray-fish, ii. , . cribriform plate, ii. . crinoidea, i. . crocodile, i. , , ; ii. , , , , , . crop, ii. . cross-bill, ii. . crotalus, i. . crust, i. . crusta petrosa, ii. . crustacea, i. ; ii. , , , , . cryptogamia, i. ; ii. . crystalline lens, i. ; ii. . crystalline needles in biliary ducts, ii. . curculio, i. . cushions of insects, i. . cuticle, vegetable, i. . cuticle, animal, i. ; ii. . cuttle-fish. see sepia. cuvier, passim. cuvier, (f.) i. , . cyclidium, i. . cyclocala, ii. . cyclosis, ii. , . cyclostomata, ii. . cymbia, i. . cymothoa, ii. . cypraea, i. . cyprinus, i. , . cysticule, ii. . daldorff, i. ; ii. . darwin, i. . darwin (dr. r.,) ii. . davy, ii. , . davy (dr.) ii. . death, ii. . de blainville, i. , , ; ii. , , , , . de candolle, i. ; ii. , , , , , , . de candolle, (junior) ii. . decapoda, ii. . decline of the system, ii. . decollated shells, i. . deer, i. ; ii. . defrance, i. . de geer, i. . deglutition, ii. . delaroche, ii. , . de montegré, ii. . dermo-skeleton, i. . de saussure (th.,) ii. . des cartes, ii. , . de serres, ii. , , . design, evidence of, i. . design, unity of, ii. . development, vegetable, i. . development, animal, ii. . diaphragm, ii. , . diffusion of animals, ii. . digestion, i. ; ii. . digitigrada, i. . diodon, i. . dioecia, ii. . dionaba, i. . diplozoon, ii. . index. diptera, i. , ; ii. . diquemare, i. . distoma, ii. . divisibility of matter, ii. . dollinger, ii. . dolphin, ii. , , , . doras costatus, ii. . d'orbigny, i. . doris, ii. , . dormouse, ii. . dorsal vessel, ii. . dory, i. . dove, ii. , . down of plants, i. , . down of birds, i. . draco volans, i. . dragon-fly, i. , ; ii. . dreaming, ii. . dromedary, ii. . duckweed, ii. . dufour (léon,) ii. , . dugès, ii. , , , , . dugong, ii. , , . duhamel, ii. , . dumas, ii. . duméril, ii. . dumortier, i. . duodenum, ii. . dutrochet, i. , ; ii. . dytiscus, i. , , , ; ii. , . eagle, ii. . ear, ii. . ear-drum, ii. . earle, i. . earths in plants, ii. . earth-worm. see lumbricus. echinoderinata, i. . echinus, i. , ; ii. , , , . edwards, ii. , , . eel, i. ; ii. . egg, ii. . ehrenberg, i. , , ; ii. , . -, . ehrmann, ii. . elaboration, successive, ii. . elastic ligaments, i. . elater, i. . eleaine, i. . electric organs, i. . electricity, ii. . elements, organic, ii. . elephant, i. , , , ; ii. , , , , , , , . ellis, i. . elytra, analysis of, i. , . embryo, ii. . emu, i. . emydes, i. . enamel of teeth, ii. . endogenous plants, i. . entomoline, i. , . entomostraca, ii. . entozoa, i. ; ii. , , , , , . ephemera, i. ; ii. . epidermis, vegetable, i. . epidermis, animal, i. , . epiphragma, i. . equivocal generation, ii. . equorea, ii. . erato, i. . erect vision, ii. . erpobdella, i. ; ii. . eryx, i. . esox, i. . ethmoid bone, ii. . eudora, ii. . euler, ii. . eunice, ii. . euphorbium, ii. . euryale, i. . eustachian tube, ii. . evil from animal warfare, i. ; ii. excretion, ii. . excretion, vegetable, ii. , . exhalation by leaves, ii. . exocetus, i. . exogenous plants, i. . eye, i. ; ii. , , . eye, formation of, ii. . eye-lids, formation of, ii. . fabricius, i. . facial angle, ii. . fairy rings, ii. . fallacies of perception, ii. . fangs of serpents, ii. . faraday, ii. . fasciola, ii. . fasciolaria, i. . fat, i. . fata morgana, ii. . , feathers, i. . , . fecula, i. . index. fecundation, ii. . feelers, i. ; ii. . feet-jaws, i. . feet of birds, i. . femur, i. , , . fenestrae of ear, ii. . ferns, i. ; ii. . fibre, animal, i. , . fibula, i. . fig-tree, ii. . fig marygold, ii. . filaments of feathers, i. . filaria, i. . filices, i. ; ii. . final causes, i. , , et passim. fins of fishes, i. . fins of cetacea, i. . fishes, i. , ; ii. , , , , , et passim. fissiparous reproduction, ii. . flea, i. . flight, i. , . flourens, ii. . flower, ii. . fluidity, organic, i. . flustra, i. , , . flying fish, i. . flying lizard, i. . flying squirrel, i. . focus, ii. . fohmann, ii. . follicles, i. ; ii. . fontana, ii. . food of plants, ii. . food of animals, ii. . foot of mollusca, i. . forces, physical, i. . fordyce, ii. . fovilla, ii. . french bean, ii. . frog, i. ; ii. , , , . fucus vesiculosus, i. . functions, i. , ; ii. . fungi, ii. . furcular bone, i. . furcularia, i. . fusiform roots, ii. . future existence, ii. , . gaede, ii. . gaimard, i. . galeopithecus, i. . galileo, i. . gallinae, ii. . gallop, i. . galvanism, ii. . ganglion, ii. . gasteropoda, i. ; ii. , , . gastric juice, ii. . gastric teeth, ii. , . gastric glands, ii. . gastrobranchus, i. , ; ii. , . gay lussac, ii. . gecko, i. ; ii. . gelatin, i. . gemmiparous reproduction, ii. . gemmule, i. ; ii. . geometer caterpillars, i. . germs, vegetable, i. ; ii. . geronia, ii. . gillaroo trout, ii. . gills, i. ; ii. , . gimbals, i. . gizzard, ii. , . glands, vegetable, i. ; ii. . glands, animal, ii. . glands in crocodile, ii. . glands, gastric, ii. . gleichen, ii. . globules, i. , . glossa, ii. . glossopora, ii. . gmelin, i. . gnat, ii. . goat, ii. . goeze, ii. . gonium, i. . goose, ii. , . gordius, i. , . gorgonia, i. . gradation of being, i. ; ii. . grampus, ii. . grallae, i. , . grant, i. , , , , , , , , ; ii. . gray, i. , , . growth, vegetable, i. ; ii. , . gruithuisen, ii. . gryllo-talpa, i. ; ii. . gryllus, ii. . guinea-pig, i. . gulstonian lectures, ii. . , gum, ii. . gurnard, ii. . gymnotus, i. ; ii. . haºmatopus, ii. . haidinger, i. . index. kaleidescope, ii. . kanguroo, i. , , ; ii. , . kater, ii. . kerona, i. . kidd, i. ; ii. , , . kiernan, ii. . kieser, i. , . kirby, i. ; ii. , . knight, ii. . knots in wood, ii. . koala, i. . kolpoda, i. . labium of insects, ii. . labrum of insects, ii. . labyrinth, ii. . lacerta, i. . lacrymal organs, ii. . lacteals, ii. , . lamarck, i. ; ii. , . lamina spiralis, ii. . lamouroux, i. . lamprey, i. ; ii. , , . lancets of diptera, ii. . language of insects, ii. . lark, i. . larva, i. , . lassaigne, i. ; ii. . latham, ii. . latreille, i. ; ii. , , . laws of nature, i. . law of mortality, i. . law of coexistence of forms, i. . law of gradation, ii. . law of analogy, i. ; ii. . leach, i. . leaves, ii. , . leech. (see hirudo.) lemur, i. , ; ii. , . lens, crystalline, i. ; ii. , . lenticellae, i. . lepas, i. ; ii. . lepidoptera, i. , ; ii. , . lepisma, i. , . lernaea, i. ; ii. , . leuchs, ii. . leucophra, ii. . leuret, ii. . lewenhoeck, i. ; ii. . libellula, i. , ; ii. . liber, i. ; ii. . lichen, ii. . life, i. , . ligaments, i. . ligamentum nuchae, i. , . light on plants, i. ; ii. . lignine, i. ; ii. . lilium, i. . limax, ii. , . limpet. see patella. link, i. . lion, i. , , ; ii. , , . lister, ii. , . liver, ii. , . lizard, ii. , , , . lobster, i. ; ii. , , , , . lobularia, i. . loche, ii. . locomotion, i. . locusta, ii. . loligo, i. s, ; ii. . longevity of trees, ii. . . lophius, i. ; ii. , . loxia, ii. . lucanus, i. . lumbricus marinus, i. , . lumbricus terrestris, ii. , s , , . lungs, ii. , . lycopodium, i. . lycoris, ii. . lymphatics, ii. . lymphatic hearts, ii. . lyonet, i. , , . macaire, ii. , , , . macartney, i. ; ii. , , . macavoy, ii. . mackerel, i. . macleay, i. . madder, i. . madrepore, i. . magendie, ii. , . magilus, i. . maia, ii. , . malleus, ii. . malpighi, ii. . manmae, ii. , . mammalia, i. ; ii. , , . man, i. ; ii. . man of war, portuguese, i. . manatus, ii. . mandible, i. . mantis, ii. . mantle, i. , . many-plies stomach, ii. . marcet, ii. , , , . index. newport, i. ; ii. , , , , . . newt, jºi. . nightshade, ii. . nitrogen, ii. , . nordmann, ii. , . notonecta, i. , . nursling sap, ii. . nutrition, ii. , , , . nutrition in lower orders, ii. . nutrition in higher orders, ii. . nutritive functions, i. . nycteribia, ii. . octopus, i. ; ii. . ocular spectra, ii. . odier, i. . oesophagus, ii. , s , . oken, i. , . olfactory nerve, ii. . olfactory lobes, ii. . olivae, i. , . oniscus, ii. . onocrotalus, i. . operculum of mollusca, i. . operculum of fishes, ii. . ophieephalus, ii. . ophidia, i. . ophiosaurus, i. , . ophiura, i. . opossum, ii. , . optic axis, ii. . optic ganglion, ii. . optic lobes, ii. . opuntia, i. . orache, ii. . orbicular bone, ii. . orbicular muscle, i. . orchidete, i. . organic mechanism, i. , . organic development, ii. . ornithorhyncus, i. ; ii. , , , , . orobanche, ii. . orthoceratite, i. . orthoptera, i. , . os hyoides, ii. , . osler, i. , , , , . osseous fabric, i. . ossicula, tympanic, ii. . ossification, i. , . ostracion, i. . ostrich, i. , , ; ii. , , , . otter, sea, ii. . ovary, ii. , . oviduct, ii. . oviparous animals, ii. . ovo-viviparous animals, ii. . ovula, i. . ovum, ii. . owen, i. . owl, ii. , , . ox, horn of, i. . oxygen, ii. . oyster, i. , , . oyster-catcher, ii. . paces of quadrupeds, i. . pachydermata, i. ; ii. , . package of organs, i. . pain, ii. . palemon, ii. . paley, i. , ; ii. . palinurus, ii. . pallas, i. ; ii. . palms, i. . palm squirrel, ii. . palmer, ii. . palpi, i. ; ii. . pancreas, ii. . pander, ii. . panniculus carnosus, i. . panorpa, i. . paper nautilus, i. . papilio, i. ; ii. . papilla, ii. , . par vagum, ii. . parakeet, ii. . parallax, aberration of, ii. . parrot, ii. , . pastern, i. . patella, i. ; ii. , . patella of knee, i. s . patellaria, ii. . paunch, ii. . pearl, i. . peccari, ii. . pediculus, i. . pelican, i. ; ii. . pelvis, i. . pencil of rays, ii. . penguin, i. . penitentiary, ii. . pennatula, i. ; ii. . penniform muscle. i. . pentacrinus, i. . perca, i. , ; ii. , , , . perception, i. ; ii. , . index. perch. see perca. perennibranchia, ii. . perilymph, ii. . periostracum, i. . peristaltic motion, ii. . péron, i. ; ii. . pfaff, ii. . phalanges, i. s . phalena, ii. , . phanerogamous plants, ii. . phantasmagoria, ii. . phantasmascope, ii. . phaseolus, ii. . phenakisticope, ii. . philip, ii. s, . phoca, i. . pholas, i. , . phosphorescence of the sea, i. ; ii. . phrenology, ii. . phyllosoma, ii. - . physalia, i. . physiology, i. . physsophora, i. . phytozoa, i. . pierard, ii. . pigeon, ii. , . pigmentum of skin, i. . pigmentum of the eye, ii. . pike, i. . pileopsis, i. - . pineal gland, ii. . pinna, i. , . pistil, ii. °. pith of plants, i. . pith of quill, i. . placuna, i. . planaria, ii. , , - , , °, . planorbis, i. , . plantigrada, i. . plastron, i. . pleurobranchus, ii. . pleuronectes, i. ; ii. . plexus, nervous, i. . pliny, ii. . plumula, ii. . plumularia, ii. . pneumo-branchise, ii. . pneumo-gastric nerve, ii. - , - podura, i. . poisers, i. . poison of nettle, ii. . poli, i. , . pollen, ii. °. polygastrica, ii. . polypi, i. ; ii. , , , . polystoma, ii. . polythalamous shell, i. . pontia brassica, i. . pontobdella, i. . poppy, ii. . porcupine quills, i. . porcupine, i. ; ii. , . porifera, i. . porpita, i. . porpus, ii. , . porterfield, i. . potato, ii. . prehension of food, ii. , . priestley, ii. , , . pristis, i. ; ii. . pritchard, ii. . privet hawk moth, ii. . proboscis of insects, ii. . proboscis of mollusca, ii. . proboscis of elephant, i. . progressive motion, i. . prolegs, i. promontory of ear, ii. . proteus, i. : : ii. , . prothorax, i. . prout. ii. , . provençal, ii. : . proximate principles, ii. . pterocera, i. . pteropoda, i. - . pteropus, ii. . pubic bone, i. s . pulmonary organs, ii. . puncta lacrymalia, ii. . l’unctum saliens, ii. ). puna, i. , . pupil. ii. . . pupipara, ii. . pyloric appendices, ii. . pylorus, ii. sº, : . pyramidalis muscle, ii. . python, i. . quadratus inuscle, ii. . quadrumana, i. ; ii. . quadrupeds, i. . (muazrga, i. . (anail, i. . quills of porcupine, i. . quills of feathers, i. . . quoy, i. - . rabbit, i. ; ii. , ~. index. racoon, i. . radiata, i. . radicles, ii. . radius, i. . ranunculus, i. . rapp, ii. . rat, ii. , . rathke, ii. . rattle-snake, i. . ray, i. . ray, i. , , ; ii. , . rays of fins, i. . razor-shell-fish, i. . reamur, i. , , , , ; ii. , , . receptacles of food, ii. . receptaculum chyli, ii. , . reed of ruminants, ii. . refraction, law of, ii. . regeneration of claw, i. . rennet, ii. . reparation, ii. , , . repetition of organs, i. . reproduction, i. ; ii. . reptiles, i. ; ii. . resinous secretions, ii. . respiration, i. ; ii. , , . rete muscosum, i. . reticulated cells, i. . reticule of ruminants, ii. . retina, ii. , , . returning sap, ii. . revelation, ii. . reviviscence, i. ; ii. . rhea, i. . rhinoceros, i. ; ii. , , , , . rhipiptera, i. . rhizostoma, ii. . rhyncops, ii. . ribs, i. ; ii. . ricinus, i. . rings of annelida, i. . rodentia, i. ; ii. , , , , , . raesel, ii. . roget, ii. , , . rolando, ii. . roosting, i. . roots, i. ; ii. . ross, i. . rostrum, ii. . rotifer, i. s, ; ii. , , , . irour, ii. . rudimental organs, i. ; ii. . rudolphi, i. . rumford, i. . ruminantia, i. ; ii. , . rusconi, ii. . sabella, i. . sacculus of ear, ii. . sacrum, ii. . st. ange, ii. . st. hilaire, passim. salamander, i. ; ii. , , . salicaria, ii. . saline substances in plants, ii. . saliva, ii. . salmon, ii. . sand-hopper, ii. . sap, ii. . sauria, i. ; ii. . savigny, i. , ; ii. , . saw-fish, ii. . scala tympani et vestibuli, ii. . scales of lepidoptera, i. . scales of fishes, i. . scansores, i. ; ii. . scapula, i. . scarabaeus, ii. . scarf skin, i. . scarpa, i. ; ii. , . schaeffer, ii. . schneiderian membrane, ii. . schultz, ii. . sciurus, i. ; ii. . sclerotica, ii. . scolopendra, i. ; ii. , . scoresby, i. . scorpion, ii. , . scuta, abdominal, i. . scutella, i. . scyllaea, i. . sea-hare, ii. , , . sea-mouse, ii. , , . sea-otter, ii. . seal, i. ; ii. , , . sebaceous follicles, i. . secretion, ii. , , . seed, ii. . segments of insects, i. . semblis, ii. . semicircular canals, ii. . senecio, ii. . sennebier, ii. , . sensation, ii. . sea, phosphorescence of, i. ; ii. ) index. sensibility, variations of, ii. . sensitive plant, i. . sensorial power, ii. . sensorium, ii. . sepia, i. ; ii. , , , . seps, i. . series of organic beings, i. . serous membranes, i. . serpents, i. ; ii. , , . serpula, i. ; ii. . serres, ii. , . sertularia, i. ; ii. . serum, i. . sesamoid bones, i. . setae, i. . shark, ii. , , , , , , . sheep, ii. , , . shell, i. , . sheltopusic, i. . shrapnell, ii. . shrew, ii. , . shuttle bone, i. . silica, ii. , . silk worm, i. ; ii. . silurus, ii. , . sinistral shells, i. . siphonaria, i. . siren, i. ; ii. . skate, ii. , , . skeleton, i. , . skeleton, vegetable, i. ; ii. . skimmer, ii. . skin, ii. . skull. see cranium. slack, i. . sleep, ii. . b slips, propagation by, ii. . §. ! , , ; ii. . slug, ii. , . smell, ii. . smith, ii. . snail, ii. , , . snake-lizard, i. . snout, i. . snow, red, i. . soemmerring, ii. . soils, fertility of ii. . solar light, ii. . solen, i. . solipeda, ii. . solly, ii. . sorex, ii. , , . sound in fishes, i. . sound, ii. . spallanzani, i. ; ii. , , , , , . spatangus, i. , , spectra, ocular, ii. , . spectre of the brocken, ii. . speed of quadrupeds, i. . spermaceti, i. . spherical aberration, ii. . sphincter muscle, i. . sphinx, ii. , , . spicula, in sponge, i. . spider, i. , ; ii. . spider-crab, ii. . spider-inonkey, i. , . spine, i. , . spinal cord, or spinal marrow, ii. , . spiracles, ii. . spiral threads in plants, i. . spiral vessels, i. . spiral growth of plants, i. . spiral valve in fishes, ii. . spirits, animal, ii. . spirula, i. . spir, ii. . spleen, ii. . splint bone, i. . spokes, curved spectra of, ii. . sponge, i. ; ii. . spongiole, i. ; ii. , . spotted cells of plants, i. . spring-tail, i. . spur of cock, i. . squalus. see shark. squalus pristis, ii. . squirrel, i. , ; ii. . stability of trees, i. . stability of human frame, i. . stag, skeleton of, i. . stamen, ii. . stapes, ii. . star-fish, i. . see asterias. starch, i. ; ii. . staunton, ii. . stearine, i. . steifensand, ii. . stems, vegetable, i. . stemmata, ii. . stentor, ii. . sternum, i. - . stevens, ii. . stigma, vegetable, ii. . stigmata of insects, ii. . sting of bee, i. . stipula’, i. . index. stomach, ii. , &c. stomata, i. ; ii. . stones, swallowing of, ii. . stone-wort, ii. . stork, i. . strationys, i. , . straus durckheim, i. , ; ii. strepsiptera, i. . striated structures, i. . strombus, i. ; ii. . styloid bone, i. . subbrachieni, i. . suckers, i. , , . sugar, ii. . sun, action of on plants, i. . surveyor caterpillars, i. . sus aethiopicus, ii. . suture, i. . sudammerdam, i. ; ii. , . swan, i. - , ; ii. . swimming of fishes, i. - . swimming bladder, i. s. symmetry, lateral, i. ; ii. . sympathy, ii. . sympathy of ants, ii. . sympathetic nerve, ii. . synovia, i. . syphon of shells, i. . systemic circulation, ii. . tabanus, i. ; ii. . tadpole, i. ; ii. , , . taenia, ii. , s , . tail, i. , , , ; ii. , . talitrus, ii. . tapetum, ii. . tapeworm, ii. , , . tapir, i. ; ii. . tarsus, i. , , , . taste, ii. . teeth, ii. . tegmina of orthoptera, i. . telegraphic eyes, ii. . tellina, i. . temperature, animal, ii. . tendons, i. , . tendrils, i. . tentacula, i. , ; ii. . terebella, i. , . terebra, i. . teredo, i. ; ii. . testacella, ii. . testudo, i. ; ii. . tetrodon, i. , . textures, vegetable, ii. . textures, animal, ii. . thetis, ii. . thoracic duct, ii. , . thorax, i. ; ii. . thorns, i. . thought, ii. . threads, elastic, in plants, i. . tibia, i. , , s . tick, i. . tiedemann, ii. . tiger, i. ; ii. , , , . tipula, i. . tone, musical, ii. . tongue of insects, ii. . tongue, strawberry, ii. . torpedo, i. ; ii. . tortoise, i. ; ii. . tortryx, i. , . toucan, ii. , . touch, ii. s, . tracheap of animals, ii. , . tracheae of plants, i. . tradescantia, ii. . trapezius muscle, i. . trembley, i. ; ii. , . treviranus, i. , ; ii. . trichecus, i. . trichoda, ii. . trigla, ii. . trionyx, i. . tristoma, ii. . triton, i. , . tritonia, ii. s . trituration of food, internal, ii. . trochanter, i. . trochilus, ii. . trophi, ii. . trot, actions in, i. . trunk-fish, i. . trunk of elephant, i. . tuberose roots, ii. . tubicolae, i. . tubipora, i. . tubularia, ii. . turbinated shells, i. . turbinated bones, ii. . turkey, ii. , . turritella, i. . turtle, i. ; ii. , . tusks, ii. . tympanum, ii. . type, i, ; ii. . typhlops, i. . index. ulna, i. . ungual bone, i. . unio batava, i. . unity of design, ii. . uranoscopus, ii. . urceolaria, i. . urchin, sea. see echinus. utricle of labyrinth, ii. . uvea, ii. . valves, i. , ; ii. ss, . vampire bat, ii. . van helmont, ii. . vane of feather, i. . variety, law of, i. , ; ii. . varley, ii. . vascular circulation, ii. . vascular plexus, ii. . vauquelin, ii. , . vegetable kingdom, i. , . vegetable organization, i. . vegetable nutrition, ii. . weins, i. ; ii. . welella, i. . velocity of fishes, i. . velvet coat of antler, i. . vena cava, ii. . ventricle of heart, ii. , . ventricles of brain, ii. . veretillum, ii. , . vertebra, i. ; ii. . vertebrata, i. . verticillated arrangement, i. . vesicles of plants, i. . vespertilio, i. ; ii. , . vessels of plants, i. . vessels of animals, i. ; ii. , , . westibule of ear, ii. . vibrations, ii. . vibrio, i. °, . vicq d'azyr, i. . willi, ii. . viper, i. : ii. . vision, ii. . vision, erect, ii. . visual perceptions, ii. . vital functions, i. ; ii. . vital organs, ii. . vitality, i. . vitreous humour, ii. . vitreous shells, i. . the viviparous reproduction, ii. . voltaic battery of torpedo, ii. . voluntary motion, i. ; ii. . volute, i. ; ii. , . volvox, i. , ; ii. . voracity of hydra, ii. . vorticella, i. , ; ii. , . vulture, ii. , . wading birds, i, , . walking, i. , . waller, ii. . walrus, i. ; ii. . warfare, animal, i. ; ii. . warm-blooded circulation, ii. . water, not the food of plants, ii. . water-beetle. see dytiscus. water-boatman, i. , . wax, vegetable, ii. . web-footed birds, i. . weber, ii. , . whale, i. ; ii. , , , . whalebone, ii. . wheel animalcule, i. . wheel spokes, spectre of, ii. . whelk. see buccinum. whiskers, ii. . whorls of plants, i. . whorls of shells, i. . willow, i. . wings, i. , . | winged insects, i. . withers, i. . | wolf-fish, ii. . | wollaston, i. ; ii. , , . wombat, i. . woodhouse, ii. . woodpecker, ii. °. woody fibres, i. , . worms. see annelida and en- tozoa. yarrell, ii. °. young, ii. . zebra, i. . zemni, ii. . zoanthus, i. , . zoocarpia, i. . zoophytes, i. ; ii. , °. zostira, ii. . zygodactyli, i. . e. n. ix. c a r e y, l e a, & b l a n c h a r d, have lately published the second edition, very much altered and improved, op humian physiology, illustrated by numerous engravings. by r oble y dung lis on, m. d., &c., &c. this work, although intended chiefly for the professional reader, is adapted to the comprehension of every one, the anatomical and other descriptions being elucidated by wood-cuts, and by copperplate engravings. it comprises a full investigation of every function executed by the various organs of the body in health, and is calculated to con- vey accurate impressions regarding all the deeply interesting and mysterious phenomena that are associated with the life of inan—both as an individual, and a species—and a knowledge of which is now regarded indispensable to the formation of the well educated gentleman. “it is the most complete and satisfactory system of physiology in the english language. it will add to the already high reputation of the author.”—-american journal of the me. dical sciences. “we feel warranted in recommending the work to the student of physiology, as bein one of the very best text books with which we are acquainted; while we are persua its very superior merits will command for it a place in every medical library.”—ibid. “a work, like this, so abounding in important facts, so correct in its principles, and so free from errors arising from a prejudice to favourite opinions, will be cordially re- ceived and extensively consulted by the profession, and by all who are desirous of a knowledge of the functions of the human body; and those who are the best qualified to judge of its merits, will pronounce it the best work of the kind in the english lan- guage.”—silliman. “this is a work of no common standing; it is characterized by much learning and re- search, contains a vast amount of important matter. and is written by a scholar and a man of taste. we are inclined to think that it will be placed, by general consent, at the head of the systems of physiology, now extant in the english language. nor are we prepared to say that, all things considered, its superior exists in any language. it has a character of its own, and is a true anglo-american production, unsophisticated by gar- nish foreignism.”—transylvania journal. sta * * * -** * º |||||||| ( the borrower will be charged an overdue fee if this book is not returned to the library on or before the last datestamped below. non-receipt of overdue notices does not exempt the borrower from overdue fees. harvard college widener library cambridge, ma ( ) - * - - º - - - - ** y a º -. --- - º - - - * - - - -** rober.t troup paine to in a rew are ix co ll - g. e. a legac- in his name being a ppliei) in part to an annual inci-e a* . or trip, library | - -- - - - - ------ -----> ----- ------------- · · · * (--~~ _ _ _ ! … --★ → • • • • the bridgewater treatises on the power, wisdom, and goodness of god as manifested in the creation. treatise ii. on the adaptation of external nature to the physical condition of man. by j. kidd, m. d. thou madest him to have domimion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet. psalm viii. . on the adaptation of external n at u r e to the - physical condition of man, principally with reference to the supply of his wants, * º and the exercise of his intellectual facult £ , r_ ~~~ ***** —zº- regius professor of medicine in the university of oxford, º §§hiladelphia: ca r ey, l e a & b l a n ch a r d. thil . . a. * * /º - y %. - ſº º * * tº º' … recºcº . * * * * , , - o **- - * --- * * * * - * - " --> * > . - - -- - .." a *, *~~$ * j e s's * **, * , s * *.*.*, * - - - *- - *; - •----, * - ** ... •º * .***** n.'s a -.' * * * *'s to his grace the archbishop of canterbury. my lord, having been appointed to write the following treatise by the late president of the royal society, in consequence of your grace's recommendation, it was natural that i should be desirous of publicly acknowledging the high honour thus conferred upon me. i therefore request you to accept my respectful thanks for permitting me to inscribe this treatise with your grace's name: assuring you that, however inadequately i may have been found to answer your expectation in the execution, i have not applied myself to the task committed to me, without the exertion of much thought, and the strongest desire of so executing it, as to justify your grace's favour- able opinion. i have the honour to be, my lord, with the greatest respect, your grace's most obliged and obedient servant, j. kidd. oxford, march , . a pref ace. the occasion which gave rise to this and the accompanying treatises is explained in the following notice: but the author of the present treatise thinks it right to add, that, although encouraged by the honour of having been recommended by his grace the archbishop of canterbury, he should have shrunk from his present attempt, had he considered that any exact elucidation of the details of science was required in the execution of it. as, however, the intention of lord bridgewater, and the very extent and diversified nature of the subject, seemed to him almost necessarily to exclude any great exactness of elucidation, and to require a popular rather than a scientific exposition of facts; and as the whole tenour of his pursuits during the last thirty years of his life accorded with the character of the proposed subject; he the more readily undertook a task, to the execution of which he could not but look forward with much pleasure. and if he should in any instance stimulate the reader to examine the question with any portion of the interest and satisfaction with which he has himself examined it, he is confident that he shall not have laboured in vain. it will be for others to determine whether a judicious selection and a sufficiently natural arrangement of the ma- terials of the following treatise have been adopted: but to those, who may think that many of the subjects have been treated too cursorily, the author begs leave to point out the extensive range afforded by so wide a field of inquiry; and the consequent necessity of compression in each particular; the subject of this treatise being in fact an epitome of the subjects of almost all the others. he also considers it right to state, that it is the immediate object of the treatise itself to unfold a train of facts, not to maintain an argument; to give a general view of the adaptation of the external world to the physical condition of man, not to attempt formally to convince the reader that this adaptation is a proof either of viii preface, the existence and omnipotence of the deity, or of his bene- ficence and wisdom; though undoubtedly it is hoped by the writer, as it was intended by the munificent individual who originally proposed the general subject of this and the accompanying treatises, that such a conviction, if not already existing, may be produced by its perusal. without questioning, therefore, on the present occasion, the intellectual powers or the moral motives of those who profess themselves sceptics with respect to either natural or revealed religion, the author addresses himself exclusively to those who are believers in both the one and the other. with respect indeed to a disbelief in the basis of natural religion, he must ever feel assured, as in another place he has expressed himself, that, however easy it may be to account for the external profession of a disbelief in god, the supposition of the exist- ence of intellectual atheism involves an intellectual absurdity. with respect to the truth of revelation, although the subject of this treatise is not directly connected with that question, he would still wish to consider himself as addressing those only who with himself believe that the objects which sur- round us in our present state of existence, and which are so obviously intended to advance the general powers and facul- ties of man, without advancing the powers and faculties of any other animal, are purposely destined to produce an ulterior and higher effect; the nature of which effect is to be learnt from the doctrines of revelation alone. and he has thought it right to say thus much on the general subject of religion, not merely for the purpose of recording his own sentiments; but that, in professing to address those only who believe in revealed as well as in natural religion, if on any occasion he should assume the truth of revelation, he may not be with justice accused of taking that for granted, of which the reader doubts. not ice. the series of treatises, of which the present is one, is pub- lished under the following circumstances: the right honour able and reverend francis henry, earl of bridgewater, died in the month of february, ; and by his last will and testament, bearing date the th of february, , he directed certain trustees therein named to invest in the public funds the sum of eight thousand pounds ster- ling; this sum, with the accruing dividends thereon, to be held at the disposal of the president, for the time being, of the royal society of london, to be paid to the person or persons nominated by him. the testator further directed, that the person or per- sons selected by the said president should be appointed to write, print, and publish one thousand copies of a work on the power, wisdom, and goodness of god, as manifested in the creation; illustrating such work by all reasonable arguments; as for instance the variety and formation of god’s creatures in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms; the effect of diges- tion, and thereby of conversion; the construction of the hand of man, and an infinite variety of other arguments; as also by dis- coveries ancient and modern, in arts, sciences, and the whole extent of literature. he desired, moreover, that the profits arising from the sale of the works so published should be paid to the authors of the works. the late president of the royal society, davies gilbert, esq. requested the assistance of his grace the archbishop of canter- bury and of the bishop of london, in determining upon the best mode of carrying into effect the intentions of the testator. act- ing with their advice, and with the concurrence of a nobleman immediately connected with the deceased, mr. davies gilbert appointed the following eight gentlemen to write separate trea- tises on the different branches of the subject, as here stated: -* - - - - * - -- ... y = º - - - . * -- --- - --- -------------- * -- ~~~~ - \ v.a. . °). - q" robert troup paine t- -- a - war--> co ll - : e. a legacy. in his name being applied in part to an annual increasi. or tri-litºr-in- received april, . thou madest him to have domimion ower the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet. psalm viii. . º on the adaptation of exte r nal n at u r e to the physical condition of man, principally with reference to the supply of his wants, * and the exercise of his intellectual facult —zº- regius professor of medicine in the university of oxford, §§hiladelphia: ca rey, l e a & blan chard. thil . . . * ... y ºr /. & * ** **** - * : - . . . o • a * ***{- ºr --- * -- * . ."...º- ..., , . sº • ***, *. , , § ºa, * *----- *- - *** --- **, * * to his grace the archbishop of canterbury. my lord, having been appointed to write the following treatise by the late president of the royal society, in consequence of your grace's recommendation, it was natural that i should be desirous of publicly acknowledging the high honour thus conferred upon me. i therefore request you to accept my respectful thanks for permitting me to inscribe this treatise with your grace's name: assuring you that, however inadequately i may have been found to answer your expectation in the execution, i have not applied myself to the task committed to me, without the exertion of much thought, and the strongest desire of so executing it, as to justify your grace's favour- able opinion. i have the honour to be, my lord, with the greatest respect, your grace's most obliged and obedient servant, j. kidd. oxford, march , . a pref ace. the occasion which gave rise to this and the accompanying treatises is explained in the following notice: but the author of the present treatise thinks it right to add, that, although encouraged by the honour of having been recommended by his grace the archbishop of canterbury, he should have shrunk from his present attempt, had he considered that any exact elucidation of the details of science was required in the execution of it. as, however, the intention of lord bridgewater, and the very extent and diversified nature of the subject, seemed to him almost necessarily to exclude any great exactness of elucidation, and to require a popular rather than a scientific exposition of facts; and as the whole tenour of his pursuits during the last thirty years of his life accorded with the character of the proposed subject; he the more readily undertook a task, to the execution of which he could not but look forward with much pleasure. and if he should in any instance stimulate the reader to examine the question with any portion of the interest and satisfaction with which he has himself examined it, he is confident that he shall not have laboured in vain. it will be for others to determine whether a judicious selection and a sufficiently natural arrangement of the ma- terials of the following treatise have been adopted: but to those, who may think that many of the subjects have been treated too cursorily, the author begs leave to point out the extensive range afforded by so wide a field of inquiry; and the consequent necessity of compression in each particular; the subject of this treatise being in fact an epitome of the subjects of almost all the others. he also considers it right to state, that it is the immediate object of the treatise itself to unfold a train of facts, not to maintain an argument; to give a general view of the adaptation of the external world to the physical condition of man, not to attempt formally to convince the reader that this adaptation is a proof either of viii preface, the existence and omnipotence of the deity, or of his bene- ficence and wisdom; though undoubtedly it is hoped by the writer, as it was intended by the munificent individual who originally proposed the general subject of this and the accompanying treatises, that such a conviction, if not already existing, may be produced by its perusal. without questioning, therefore, on the present occasion, the intellectual powers or the moral motives of those who profess themselves sceptics with respect to either natural or revealed religion, the author addresses himself exclusively to those who are believers in both the one and the other. with respect indeed to a disbelief in the basis of natural religion, he must ever feel assured, as in another place he has expressed himself, that, however easy it may be to account for the external profession of a disbelief in god, the supposition of the exist- ence of intellectual atheism involves an intellectual absurdity. with respect to the truth of revelation, although the subject of this treatise is not directly connected with that question, he would still wish to consider himself as addressing those only who with himself believe that the objects which sur- round us in our present state of existence, and which are so obviously intended to advance the general powers and facul- ties of man, without advancing the powers and faculties of any other animal, are purposely destined to produce an ulterior and higher effect; the nature of which effect is to be learnt from the doctrines of revelation alone. and he has thought it right to say thus much on the general subject of religion, not merely for the purpose of recording his own sentiments; but that, in professing to address those only who believe in revealed as well as in natural religion, if on any occasion he should assume the truth of revelation, he may not be with justice accused of taking that for granted, of which the reader doubts. notic e. the series of treatises, of which the present is one, is pub- lished under the following circumstances: the right honour able and reverend francis henry, earl of bridgewater, died in the month of february, ; and by his last will and testament, bearing date the th of february, , he directed certain trustees therein named to invest in the public funds the sum of eight thousand pounds ster- ling; this sum, with the accruing dividends thereon, to be held at the disposal of the president, for the time being, of the royal society of london, to be paid to the person or persons nominated by him. the testator further directed, that the person or per- sons selected by the said president should be appointed to write, print, and publish one thousand copies of a work on the power, wisdom, and goodness of god, as manifested in the creation ; illustrating such work by all reasonable arguments; as for instance the variety and formation of god’s creatures in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms; the effect of diges- tion, and thereby of conversion; the construction of the hand of man, and an infinite variety of other arguments; as also by dis- coveries ancient and modern, in arts, sciences, and the whole extent of literature. he desired, moreover, that the profits arising from the sale of the works so published should be paid to the authors of the works. the late president of the royal society, davies gilbert, esq. requested the assistance of his grace the archbishop of canter- bury and of the bishop of london, in determining upon the best mode of carrying into effect the intentions of the testator. act- ing with their advice, and with the concurrence of a nobleman immediately connected with the deceased, mr. davies gilbert appointed the following eight gentlemen to write separate trea- tises on the different branches of the subject, as here stated: thou madest him to have domimion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under. his feet. psalm viii. . * on the adaptation of exte r nal n at u r e - physical condition of man, principally with reference to the supply of his wants, * and the exercise of his intellectual facult , r <--~ e - -zºr % wax (? &ze. regius professor of medicine in the university of oxford, * §hiladelphia: ca rey, lea & blanchard. thil . . - º “... : * * s * … ----. --- *- --> , ' ' 's '' ) is sº *s-, . . y : ". - * , *...* - * - - sºs. *.*, *, * * *'s ºr - . /. % . -- : . reº- * - * * * * -- - - - * * - * * - - **, * to his grace the archbishop of canterbury. my lord, having been appointed to write the following treatise by the late president of the royal society, in consequence of your grace's recommendation, it was natural that i should be desirous of publicly acknowledging the high honour thus conferred upon me. i therefore request you to accept my respectful thanks for permitting me to inscribe this treatise with your grace's name: assuring you that, however inadequately i may have been found to answer your expectation in the execution, i have not applied myself to the task committed to me, without the exertion of much thought, and the strongest desire of so executing it, as to justify your grace's favour- able opinion. i have the honour to be, my lord, with the greatest respect, your grace's most obliged and obedient servant, j. kidd. oxford, march , . a pref ace. the occasion which gave rise to this and the accompanying treatises is explained in the following notice: but the author of the present treatise thinks it right to add, that, although encouraged by the honour of having been recommended by his grace the archbishop of canterbury, he should have shrunk from his present attempt, had he considered that any exact elucidation of the details of science was required in the execution of it. as, however, the intention of lord bridgewater, and the very extent and diversified nature of the subject, seemed to him almost necessarily to exclude any great exactness of elucidation, and to require a popular rather than a scientific exposition of facts; and as the whole tenour of his pursuits during the last thirty years of his life accorded with the character of the proposed subject; he the more readily undertook a task, to the execution of which he could not but look forward with much pleasure. and if he should in any instance stimulate the reader to examine the question with any portion of the interest and satisfaction with which he has himself examined it, he is confident that he shall not have laboured in vain. it will be for others to determine whether a judicious selection and a sufficiently natural arrangement of the ma- terials of the following treatise have been adopted: but to those, who may think that many of the subjects have been treated too cursorily, the author begs leave to point out the extensive range afforded by so wide a field of inquiry; and the consequent necessity of compression in each particular; the subject of this treatise being in fact an epitome of the subjects of almost all the others. he also considers it right to state, that it is the immediate object of the treatise itself to unfold a train of facts, not to maintain an argument; to give a general view of the adaptation of the external world to the physical condition of man, not to attempt formally to convince the reader that this adaptation is a proof either of viii preface, the existence and omnipotence of the deity, or of his bene- ficence and wisdom; though undoubtedly it is hoped by the writer, as it was intended by the munificent individual who originally proposed the general subject of this and the accompanying treatises, that such a conviction, if not already existing, may be produced by its perusal. without questioning, therefore, on the present occasion, the intellectual powers or the moral motives of those who profess themselves sceptics with respect to either natural or revealed religion, the author addresses himself exclusively to those who are believers in both the one and the other. with respect indeed to a disbelief in the basis of natural religion, he must ever feel assured, as in another place he has expressed himself, that, however easy it may be to account for the external profession of a disbelief in god, the supposition of the exist- ence of intellectual atheism involves an intellectual absurdity. with respect to the truth of revelation, although the subject of this treatise is not directly connected with that question, he would still wish to consider himself as addressing those only who with himself believe that the objects which sur- round us in our present state of existence, and which are so obviously intended to advance the general powers and facul- ties of man, without advancing the powers and faculties of any other animal, are purposely destined to produce an ulterior and higher effect; the nature of which effect is to be learnt from the doctrines of revelation alone. and he has thought it right to say thus much on the general subject of religion, not merely for the purpose of recording his own sentiments; but that, in professing to address those only who believe in revealed as well as in natural religion, if on any occasion he should assume the truth of revelation, he may not be with justice accused of taking that for granted, of which the reader doubts. not ice. the series of treatises, of which the present is one, is pub- lished under the following circumstances: the right honour able and reverend francis henry, earl of bridgewater, died in the month of february, ; and by his last will and testament, bearing date the th of february, , he directed certain trustees therein named to invest in the public funds the sum of eight thousand pounds ster- ling; this sum, with the accruing dividends thereon, to be held at the disposal of the president, for the time being, of the royal society of london, to be paid to the person or persons nominated by him. the testator further directed, that the person or per- sons selected by the said president should be appointed to write, print, and publish one thousand copies of a work on the power, wisdom, and goodness of god, as manifested in the creation ; illustrating such work by all reasonable arguments; as for instance the variety and formation of god’s creatures in the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms; the effect of diges- tion, and thereby of conversion; the construction of the hand of man, and an infinite variety of other arguments; as also by dis- coveries ancient and modern, in arts, sciences, and the whole extent of literature. he desired, moreover, that the profits arising from the sale of the works so published should be paid to the authors of the works. the late president of the royal society, davies gilbert, esq. requested the assistance of his grace the archbishop of canter- bury and of the bishop of london, in determining upon the best mode of carrying into effect the intentions of the testator. act- ing with their advice, and with the concurrence of a nobleman immediately connected with the deceased, mr. davies gilbert appointed the following eight gentlemen to write separate trea- tises on the different branches of the subject, as here stated: x the rew. thomas chalmers, d.d. professor of divinity in the university of edinburgh. on the adaptation of external nature to the moral and intellectual constitution of man. john kidd, m. d. f. r. s. regius professor of medicine in the university of oxford. on the adaptation of external nature to the physical condition of man. the rew. william whewell, m. a. f. r. s. fellow of trinity college, cambridge. on astronomy and general physics. sir charles bell, k. h. f. r. s. the hand : its mechanism and wital endowments as evincing design. peter mark roget, m. d. fellow of and secretary to the royal society. on animal and vegetable physiology. the rev. william buckland, d. d. f. r. s. canon of christ church and professor of geology in the university of oxford. on geology and mineralogy. the rev. william kirby, m. a. f. r. s. on the history, habits, and instincts of animals. william prout, m. d. f. r. s. on chemistry, meteorology, and the function of digestion. his roy al highness the duke of sussex, president of the royal society, having desired that no unnecessary delay should take place in the publication of the above mentioned treatises, they will appear at short intervals, as they are ready for publica- tion. c o n t e n t s. page chap. i. introduction - - - - sect. i. the physical condition of man . - ib. ii. the general constitution of external nature chap. ii. the physical character of man - sect. i. the physical character of man, compared with that of other animals - - ib. ii. differences in the form of the infant and of the the adult; particularly with reference to the spine - - - - - iii. physical superiority of man, on what principle to be estimated - - - iv. early and gradual developement of the intellec- tual faculties of man - - - chap. iii. on the powers of the human hand, con- sidered as a corporeal organ - chap. iv. on the brain, considered as the organ of the intellectual faculties - chap. w. the nervous system of animals in general sect. i. the nervous system of the inferior animals ib. ii. the nervous system of man - - iii. indications of natural talent and disposition deducible from the structure of the brain iv. the general doctrine of physiognomy, as con- nected with the form of the body - w. the developement of the human brain, com- pared with that of other animals - vi. cursory view of the extent of human power over the objects of the external world chap. vi. adaptation of the atmosphere to the wants of man - - - sect. i. the general constitution of the atmosphere ib. ii. light - - - - - iii. heat - • - - - iv. the general uses of water - - w. baths - - - - - vi. the fluidity of water - - wii. the natural sources of water - viii. the air of the atmosphere, as connected with respiration - - - ix. effects of the motion of the air, as connected with human health, &c. - - x. effects of the motion of the air, as connected with the arts, &c. - - - xii contents. page chap. vii. adaptation of minerals to the physical g condition of man - - - sect. i. the general characters of minerals - ib. ii. application of minerals to architecture and sculpture - - - - iii. gems and precious stones - - iv. the distribution and relative proportions of sea and land; and the geological arrange- ment and physical character of some of the superficial strata of the earth - w. beds of gravel - - - vi. metals - - - - vii. common salt, &c. - - - chap. viii. adaptation of vegetables to the physi- cal condition of man - - sect. i. general observations on the vegetable king- ib dom - - - - . ii. the cocoa-nut tree, including the formation of coral reefs - - - iii. vegetables as a source of food - iv. vegetables as applicable to medicine - v. vegetables as applicable to the arts, &c. chap. ix. adaptation of animals to the physical condition of man - - - sect. i. general observations on the animal kingdom ib. ii. geographical distribution of animals - iii. the camel - - - - iv. domestication of animals - - w. animals as a source of food - - vi. manufacture of sal ammoniac - - vii. animals as a source of clothing, &c. - chap. x. adaptation of the external world to the exercise of the intellectual faculties of man - - - - sect. i. on the rise and progress of human know- . ledge - - ib. ii. opinions of lucretius on the constitution of matter in general; and on the nature of light, heat, water, and air - - iii. opinions of the ancients on the organization and classification of animals - - iv. on those animal forms called monsters, or lusus naturae - - - chap. xi. conclusion - - - - appendix - - - - - on the adaptation of external nature to the physical condition of man. chapter i. introduction. section i. the physical condition of man. when hamlet, in contemplating the grandeur of creation, breaks forth into that sublime apostrophe on man—“how noble in reason! how infinite in facul- ties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!” who does not feel elated by the description? who does not feel conscious of its truth? nor is its truth the less admissible, because the poet, in concentrating the powers of his imagination on the excellences of that work of creation which bears the stamp of the creator's image, has omitted to present to our view the reverse of the impression, the frailty namely of our fallen nature: for although, on moral and religious considerations, each indivi- b introduction. exist, civilized or savage, so many are his natural states. if any indeed could be pre-eminently called his natural state, it would be that of civilization: for not only does experience show that his natural ten- dency is towards such a state; but we know, from the highest authority, that the existence of man is connected with a moral end; (with more indeed than a moral end; since morals have immediately a rela- tion to this life only, while man is destined for a fu- ture;), and a moral end is hardly attainable in an uncivilized state of society. section ii. the general constitution of external jnature. the more familiar objects of that external world by which man is surrounded are usually distributed into three kingdoms, as they are called; the animal, vegetable, and mineral: but for the purpose of this treatise it will be necessary to take into our account the phenomena of the atmosphere also. the atmosphere principally consists of the air which we respire; (a form of matter so subtle, in all its states, as to be invisible;) together with a variable proportion of water, of which a part is always retained in close combination with the air; and, like the air itself, exists always in an invisible state. there are also diffused through the atmosphere those still more subtle agents, heat and electricity. but all these, though of so subtle a substance, are in their occa- sional effects the most powerful agents of nature. for, omitting the consideration of their silent but wonderful operation, as exhibited in the process of vegetation, and in many other processes less open to observation, let us consider the occasional effects of air in the violence of a tornado; or of water, in the inundation of a rapid river: or let us contemplate the effect of either an indefinite diminution or increase of heat; on the one hand, the natural process of animal introduction. decomposition arrested by its abstraction, so that the imbedded mammoth remains at this moment in the same state that it was four thousand years ago; and in which, under the same circumstances, it undoubt- edly would be, four thousand or four millions years hence; on the other hand, the possibility of the dissi- pation of all the constituent parts of matter, or their fixation in the state of glass, resulting from the agency of indefinitely increased heat: or, lastly, let us consider the tremendous effects of condensed elec- tricity in the form of lightning:—and we shall neces- sarily acknowledge that though in their usual state the constituents of the atmosphere are among the most tranquil agents of nature, yet, when their power is concentrated, they are the most awfully energetic. in the mineral kingdom the most characteristic property of the several species appears to be a dis- position to a peculiar mode of mutual attraction among the particles composing the individuals be- longing to them; from which attraction, when exerted under the most favourable circumstances, result that symmetry and regularity of form, to which the term crystal has been applied. the transparency and de- gree of hardness of crystals are various, and depend much upon external circumstances. the form is fundamentally the same for each species, though ca- pable of being modified according to known laws; and the substance is chemically the same throughout its whole extent. every atom of a crystallized mass of gypsum consists of water, lime, and sulphuric acid, united in the same proportions as are found to exist in the whole mass, or in any given part of it. the individuals of the vegetable kingdom differ very remarkably from those of the mineral, both in form and substance. in their form we see nothing like the mathematical precision of crystallization; and in their substance they differ widely, according to the part of the vegetable which is examined: so that, independ- ently of previous knowledge of the species, we could hardly discover any natural relation between the introduction. this obscurity arising of course from the points of re- semblance apparently balancing, or more than balan- cing, the points of difference. let us for instance, in the atmospherical kingdom, take a fragment of a perfectly transparent crystal of pure ice; and, under ordinary circumstances, it would be difficult, either by the sight or the touch, to distinguish it from a fragment of transparent quartz, or rock crystal; in- deed the transfer of the original term xpdoraxxos, from the one to the other, shows the close resemblance of the two. some minerals again so nearly resemble vegetables in form, as to have given rise to specific terms of appellation, derived from the vegetable king- dom; as flos ferri, mineral agaric, &c. and, lastly, many of the animals called sea-anemones so far re- semble the flower called by the same name, that their real character is at first very doubtful to those who are unacquainted with the animals of that genus. but, omitting these rare and equivocal instances, and avoiding the confinement of abstract definitions, we may safely affirm that, of all the kingdoms of nature, the individuals of the animal kingdom have the most extensive and important relations to the surrounding universe. and i need not here insist on the obvious inference, that if among the kingdoms of nature ani- mals hold the first rank, in consequence of the im- portance of these relations, among animals them- selves the first rank must be assigned to man. chapter ii. the physical character of man. section i. the physical character of man, compared with that of other animals. although, when viewed in the aggregate of his faculties, moral as well as physical, man confessedly holds the first rank among animals; yet, if we ex- clude from our consideration those intellectual pow- ers and moral qualities by which he is essentially characterized, and confine our view to his mere ani- mal nature, we find that he scarcely differs in any important point from any of the species of the higher classes. in each there is the same necessity for air, and sleep, and food; and the nature of the food and the mode of its digestion are not materially different: the nutrient fluid extracted by the process of diges- tion is converted into blood of the same character, and distributed in the same manner through the sys- tem: the constituent parts of the body and their mode of growth are almost precisely the same; for the bone, muscle, tendon, skin, hair, and brain of the horse, or deer, or tiger, or bear, scarcely differ in their physical or chemical characters from the cor- responding parts in man: similar secretions, as the bile, tears, and saliva, are separated by similarly constructed organs; and similar parts become simi- larly diseased: the special senses of sight, hearing, taste, and smell, are exercised through the medium of similar organs, simply modified according to the particular wants of individual species: the sources of mere bodily pain or pleasure are generally the same: the instinctive affections, passions, and propensities physical character of man. strument precisely because he is already superior to all other animals. and the converse is equally true, that, with intellectual powers of even a higher order than those which they already possess, human beings could not live in a state of society, could hardly in- deed exist in any state, unless furnished with such an instrument as the hand. section ii. differences in the form of the infant and of the adult; particularly with reference to the spine. and yet, notwithstanding the confessed superiority of man, if we view him only in the infancy of his in- dividual existence, what is there that is calculated to give an earnest of his future vigour and activity, either with respect to bodily or mental powers; and what are all the advantages of the external world to a creature so utterly helpless, so utterly incapable of using or even passively enjoying them? in fact, with the exception of a very few instinctive rather than voluntary acts, such as that of deriving its nutriment from the mother's breast, the infant is, from the fee- bleness of its powers, incapable of efficient exertion; and depends entirely on the assistance of those around it. the physical differences, observable in comparing the structure of the infant with that of the adult, which enable the one to execute many operations of which the other is incapable, exist to a certain extent in every part of the body; but are perhaps more re- markable in the spine than in any other part: and the spine therefore may be selected as a fit term of comparison. in considering the office of the adult spine, with a view to the present subject, we find that great strength, combined with great flexibility, is particu- larly requisite. with reference to strength, the py- ramidal form of this natural column is obviously physical character of man. conducive to the purpose intended; and the arrange- ment of the solid matter, of which it is composed, is such as to contribute to the same effect: for that solid matter, instead of being collected into one compact mass, is diffused in such a manner as to resemble the structure of sponge; and it is well known, with re- ference to the strength of artificial columns, that, the same quantity of matter being given for each, and their height being the same, those columns which are hollow are stronger than those which are solid. again, the whole column is made up of numerous parts, called vertebrae, which are so firmly bound together as to lessen the chance of being broken in the act of bending; and these vertebrae being ap- plied to each other, throughout, by broad horizontal surfaces, are thus best calculated to support the per- pendicular pressure of the superincumbent parts. the effect of general strength is further accom- plished by the mutual locking in of the projecting portions, or processes, of the several vertebrae; and the same effect is accomplished to an additional ex- tent among these vertebrae which belong to the tho- rax or chest, by the mode of articulation between them and the ribs; each rib being united, not entirely to a single vertebra, but partially to two contiguous vertebrae, near their line of junction. the flexibility of the spine is secured to the utmost requisite extent, by the great number of articulations or joints which it possesses, amounting to more than twenty; as well as by the elasticity of the substance constituting those joints: and the projecting parts or processes of the several vertebrae, which serve for the insertion of the muscles and tendons which are to move the whole, are differently disposed in the neck, the back, and the loins; so as to be accommo- dated to the degree and kind of motion required in each : thus the vertebrae of the neck admit of a late- ral motion to a greater extent than those of the back; and the vertebrae of the back admit of flexion and extension to a greater degree than those of the neck; physical character of man. while the vertebrae of the loins, being intended for support rather than flexibility, have their processes so distributed, as to contribute principally to the for- mer of those effects. thus far we have considered the conditions of the adult spine, and have seen that they are calculated most admirably both for flexibility and for strength. let us now examine the same column in the age of early infancy; and here we shall see, that, although at that period the parts, in which the conditions of strength and flexibility are so remarkably developed in the adult state, are not yet formed, or not com- pleted; those parts which are essential to the security of the life of the individual are nearly in as perfect a state as at the age of manhood: so that in the midst of the most decided marks of weakness and imper- fection in the rest of the column, there is an extraor- dinary instance of strength and perfect growth, in precisely that part of it which could not have been left in an incomplete state, without manifest, imme- diate, and constant danger to the individual. in other words, the bodies and processes of the several vertebrae on which the strength and flexibility of the spine depend, are in early infancy still in a soft or cartilaginous state; while the amnular portions, which with their intervening ligaments constitute the spinal canal, are completely ossified; so as to give as great a degree of security to the spinal marrow as at the age of manhood. nor need we spend much time in ascertaining the final cause of this remarkable difference. is it not indeed obvious on a moment’s reflection, that the very helplessness and imperfect state of the physical powers in infancy, so ill understood and appreciated, though so beautifully described by lucretius, con- tribute to the fuller developement of the moral cha- racter, not only of the individual, but of his parents also, and of all his immediate connexions. the mu- tual affection, for instance, that takes place and is cemented between the infant and its mother, during - physical character of man. the lengthened period in which the latter nurses her offspring; the stimulus, which is given to the exer- tions of the other parent in supplying the increasing wants of those who depend on him for support; and the general feeling and expression of good-will and attachment, which bind together the numerous indi- viduals of the same family; all coincide to increase the sum of human happiness and virtue. whereas, were the infant born with all its powers complete, and capable of exerting those powers as soon as born, independently of the assistance of parent, or sister, or brother; what would then remain of those en- dearing relations, but the empty name how incorrect then is the conclusion of the poet in that otherwise most beautiful passage of his poem " “the new-born babe, which, like the shipwrecked mariner, lies prostrate on the ground, naked and destitute of every assistance required for the support of life, pierces the surrounding air with its incessant cries; as if foreseeing the long train of miseries which it must hereafter encounter. and yet the tender foal and lamb not only begin to crop the grass, but play about the mother almost as soon as born. the nurse's soothing lullaby is not wanted by them, nor the excitement of the rattle or of any other toy: nor do they require a change of dress accommodated to the changing temperature of the surrounding atmo- sphere; nor arms for their defence, nor walled cities for their protection; kind nature supplying to them in bountiful profusion whatever is necessary to satisfy their wants.” as if it might not have been reason- ably and safely concluded, that that same power, (call it “nature,” or by any other name,) which provided so amply for the early wants of the lower species of animals, had some good and special reason for leav- ing the human infant in a temporary state of help- less weakness. * tum porro puer, ut sevis projectus ab undis navita, nudus humijacet, infans, indigus omni physical character of man. section iii. physical superiority of man, on what principle to be estimated. from this helplessness in his early years, and from the occasional inferiority of some of his physical organs to the corresponding organs of brutes, it has sometimes been absurdly asked what claim man has, from his physical structure or powers, to be placed first in the scale of animal beings. his strength, what is it to that of the elephant or of the horse, or even of some species of reptiles or fish? his powers of sight and motion, what are they to those of the bird? his sense of odours, to that of the dog! his touch, to that of the spider! and yet, even if we entirely omit the consideration of the soul, that immaterial and immortal principle which is for a time united to his body, and view him only in his merely animal character, man is still the most excellent of animals. how confined are the powers of other animals, considered generally, when compared with those of the human species. the comb of the bee indeed is in its construction wonder- ful; and so is even the nest of the bird, or the habita- tion of the beaver: but these animals could never be taught to fabricate, or to use, the simplest of those machines or instruments, which man, even in a very partially civilized state, is in the daily habit of making vitali auxilio, cum primum in luminis oras nixibus ex alvo matris natura profudit; vagitudue locum lugubri complet, ut aequum 'st cui tantum in vita restet transire malorum. at variae crescunt pecudes, armenta, feraeque; nec crepitacula eis opu' sunt, nec cuiquam adhibenda 'st alma, nutricis blanda atque infracta loquela: nec varias quaerunt westeis pro tempore coeli. denique non armis opus est, non moenibus altis, queis sua tutentur, quando omnibus omnia large tellus ipsa parit, naturaque daedala rerum. lib. v. — . c physical character of man. and employing: much less could they be taught to perform those complicated operations which result from their employment. but, it may perhaps be said, it is the mind, the in- tellectual power of man, which enables him to pro- duce the effects in question. his mind indeed enables him to conceive the plan of those operations which he executes, but it does no more: and were his form deficient by one of the smallest of its present mem- bers, he would be rendered nearly helpless. take from his hand but one of the fingers, and he could do nothing. it is the human hand which gives the power of execution to the human mind; and it is the rela- tive position of one of the fingers to the other four, which principally stamps the character of the hand; for the thumb, by its capability of being brought into opposition with each of the other fingers, enables the hand to adapt itself to every shape; and gives it that complete dominion which it possesses over the vari- ous forms of matter.” give all the intelligence therefore that you please to the horse, or to the elephant, yet with hoofs in- stead of hands it is physically impossible that they could construct the simplest instrument: nor could the organs even of the beaver, were that animal gift- ed with the highest intellectual powers, enable it to effect much more than it is capable of effecting at present. man then is in every sense superior, in organiza- tion as well as in intellectual powers, to all other animals; and the degree of resemblance to him, as thus superior, is the main principle of classification adopted at the present day: and upon the whole it will be found that, in proportion as the powers and relations of animals are extensive, their structure re- sembles that of man. and, with respect to the de- grees of this resemblance, it may be observed that * the term poltroon, if not of fancied etymology, (pollice truncatus,) verifies this statement; the roman soldier who had been deprived of his thumb, being deemed unfit for service. physical character of man. an unnecessary anxiety, have laboured to vindicate the supposed insult thus offered to the dignity of hu- man nature, by searching for some fixed and invari- able difference in the structure of corresponding parts of each. but the question is puerile: for let us even suppose that the whole and every part of the structure of the ape were the same as that of man; let every bone, and every muscle, and every fibre of the one corre- spond exactly with those of the other, not only in form and situation, but also in size and proportion; let the brain itself, that tangible instrument of the intellee- tual powers, be in structure the counterpart of the human; yet, unless in its functions it resembled that of man, in other words, unless there were associated with it his intellectual peculiarities and the moral and religious sense, to what dreaded conclusion would the closest resemblances lead? however near the approximation in their form, in their nature there must ever be an immeasurable distance between the two. the ape, compared with man, may indeed be among other animals “proximus huic:” still however it must be added, “longo sed proximus intervallo.” section iv. early and gradual developement of the intellectual faculties of man. the helplessness of infancy then is but temporary: and a new scene soon opens to the contemplation of those who have sufficient opportunities of watching the developement of the human character: for, long as is the period, compared with the natural term of his own life, and longer still, compared with the cor- responding period in the life of other animals, before man attains the full stature of his mind as well as of his body; he at a very early season begins to mani- fest the superiority of his intellectual nature: he very soon begins to collect those materials for future physical character of man. use, which, though he will never hereafter be able to call to mind the moment or the circumstances of their accession, he will use as effectually as if he had originally acquired them by industrious and direct attention. it does not fall within the intention of this treatise to attempt to ascertain the period when the first dawn of intelligence enlightens the countenance of the infant; but, undoubtedly, among its earliest beams are those expressive smiles, which, although they are occasioned by the aspect of the mother, and are per- haps only connected with the expectation of an ani- mal pleasure, namely the simple enjoyment of nou- rishment, yet are soon elicited by other individuals also, who may understand how to win the attention, and amuse the faculties of the infant mind. - it seems as if there were implanted in the young of all animals, of the higher orders, an instinctive propensity to those actions which are naturally de- termined by their specific form when fully developed; in order perhaps, among other purposes, to give oc- casion for that exercise of the limbs which is neces- sary to the health of the individual. hence the young ram couches his head, and tilts at his adversary, long before his horns have appeared; and the young pheasant assails his antagonist with his projected legs, long before his spurs have begun to bud. and, following this analogy, may we not reasonably sup- pose that the sports of childhood have a natural tend- ency to prefigure the occupations of manhood; and that by the extension of the same principle, independ- ently of the impulse given by systematic education, or spontaneous imitation of their parents and others, there are instinctive differences in the amusements of children of different temperaments, connected with their future destinations in life? thus while the boy is engaged in the mimicry of military parade or equestrian exercises, the girl devotes her time to more feminine occupations, and busies herself in act- ing the various duties with her nursery or house- c physical character of man. hold will hereafter require. the recorded attempt to conceal achilles in female attire, whether founded in fact, or, as is probable, merely a fictitious anec- dote, will serve to illustrate the present point; inas- much as the use of the means, said to have been em- ployed by ulysses to detect the hero, was evidently suggested by the principle just now advanced. at this early period of life then, the judgment being not sufficiently matured for deeper observation, the mind is satisfied with a view of #. form and surface of objects presented to it; with their anatomy, as it were, rather than with their physiology: but, in the mean time, it is thus acquainting itself undistractedly with those sensible qualities, with which it must ne- cessarily be familiar before it can proceed to reason on causes and relations. and although it may ap- pear at first view that a very disproportionately long period of our life is devoted to the mere exercise of the senses, it is yet highly probable that important mental operations may be simultaneously going on, though we are at the time unconscious of them: for something analogous is observable throughout the whole course of our existence. how few there are, for instance, who, at any period of life, can call to mind a tenth part of what they have even recently heard or observed. and if this may be correctly affirmed of the adult age of life, and of those indivi- duals whose original powers of mind are great, how much more strongly will it apply to those whose original powers of mind are not above the common standard, or not yet matured by age. so that there can be very little doubt that the general principles and rules, which regulate the reasoning and conduct of men on ordinary occasions, have been originally deduced by each individual from much of what has been long forgotten. it has been asserted by persons,” whose intellectual ... * lord chief justice hale; (see boswell's life of johnson, vol. ii. p. , to. london, ;) not to mention living authorities. physical character of man. powers were of the highest order, and whose indus- try was as remarkable as their abilities, that more than six or eight hours in each day could not be employed effectively by the generality of young men for the purpose of mental improvement. if this how- ver be the case, and as a general position it probably is not very far from the truth, in vain does the ambi- tious student rob nature of that sleep which provi- dence has made necessary for the renovation of the exhausted powers of our mind, as well as of our body; and in vain also does he attempt to combine simultaneously the efforts of mental attention with bodily exercise, or to pursue his severer studies during the hour of meals: in both which cases, they, who adopt the custom, not only err in employing too continuous an application of the powers of the mind; but in impeding to a certain and often very inconve- nient degree the process of natural respiration; and, consequently, of other functions of the body, particu- larly of digestion. how main a point ought it to be therefore with those who superintend the education of young persons, to avoid the application of too great a strain on the natural spring of the intellectual powers. it is questionable whether at any period of life the correspondence between the external world and the sensitive and intellectual faculties of man, is so rapid, so vivid, and so effectual, as during that space which is intermediate to infancy and adolescence: and this fact, if it be so, may be explained by that principle of our nature, on which depends the love of novelty; namely, that susceptibility of the nerves which makes them capable of being stimulated more vehemently by new, than by accustomed impressions: for cer- tainly this principle is likely to be more exercised in proportion as we are nearer the period of infancy; since every impression is then either absolutely new, or has not yet rendered the nerves dull by too fre- quent a repetition of its application. another happy instance of the harmony that exists between the na- powers of the human hand, ture of man and the external world, is the readiness and confidence with which at this early period of life the impressions of sense are received. where all is new, and therefore equally matter of wonder, there is yet no room for doubt. nature teaches the mind to receive every thing without distrust, and to rely implicitly on those inlets to knowledge, the impres- sions of sense, which are destined to be its only guides in the first years of life. scepticism is not the tendency of childhood: and perhaps it is with reference to the º between the eye of faith and the eye of sense at this early period of life, that our saviour pronounces a blessing upon those who receive the evidences of our religion with the sim- plicity of little children. chapter iii. on the powers of the human hand, considered as a corporeal organ. at length however, having passed the preparatory discipline both of natural and of parental education, and having arrived at the maturity of his powers, man is fitted to exercise his empire over the external world. but before we consider the character of the mate- rials provided for the supply of his various wants, or for the exercise of his intellectual faculties, let us examine more closely than hitherto the condition of those corporeal organs, by the agency of which he is enabled to produce the results intended. there can be no doubt that those organs are, if not exclusively, at least pre-eminently, the brain and the hand ; of the latter of which, not only are the uses of the several parts and of the whole made practi- cally manifest every moment of our lives; but its antecedent capabilities are so open to the investigat- considered as a corporeal organ. ing eye of reason, as to afford one of the readiest subjects of physical demonstration. and although, with respect to the brain, we not only have no satis- factory evidence, but cannot even form a probable conjecture, of the use or mode of action of any par- ticular part; yet we cannot doubt that it is the instru- ment by which our intellectual powers hold commu- nion with external nature. i shall dedicate therefore this and the following chapter to the consideration of the general history of these organs. it would be an invasion of the province of others to give an anatomical description of the several con- stituent parts of the human hand: but in saying that its adaptation to the various purposes to which it is applicable is so open to the investigating eye of rea- son, as to afford one of the readiest subjects of physi- cal demonstration, a tacit reference was made to that remarkable part of the writings of galen, in which he expatiates upon the capabilities of this wonderful instrument: and that that extraordinary writer could hardly have selected a better subject, for the exercise of his powers in intellectual analysis, will be readily granted on a perusal of the following passages; provided they correctly represent the spirit of the original. in that portion of his works which bears this title, “on the use of the various parts of the body,” after having defined what is to be understood by the term part, or member, as applied to an animal body, galen proceeds in the following manner:* “but all these parts of the body were made for the use of the soul, that sentient and intelligent principle which animates the body, and of which the body is merely the organ; and on this account the component parts of animals differ according to the nature of this principle: for some animals are bold and fierce; others are timid and gentle: some are gregarious, and co-operate for their mutual sustenance and defence; others are soli- * lib. i. cap. . powers of the human hand, tary, and avoid the society of their fellows: but all have a form or body accommodated to their natural dispositions and habits. thus the lion has powerful fangs and claws; the hare has swiftness of foot, but in other points is defenceless. and the fitness of this arrangement is obvious: for those weapons with which the lion is furnished are as appropriate to his nature, as they would be useless to the timid hare; whose safety, depending entirely on flight, requires that swiftness of foot for which she is so remarkable. but to man, the only animal that partakes of divine intelligence, the creator has given, in lieu of every other natural weapon or organ of defence, that in- strument, the hand; an instrument applicable to every art and occasion, as well of peace as of war. man therefore wants not a hoof, or horn, or any other natural weapon; inasmuch as he is able with his hand to grasp a much more effective weapon, the sword or spear. besides which, natural weapons can be employed only in close conflict; while some of the weapons employed by man, as javelins or ar- rows, are even more effectual at a distance. and, again, though man may be inferior to the lion in swiftness, yet by his dexterity and skill he breaks in to his use a still swifter animal, the horse; mounted on whose back he can escape from or pursue the lion, or attack him at every advantage. he is en- abled moreover by means of this instrument to clothe himself with armour of various kinds, or to entrench himself within camps or fenced cities. whereas were his hands encumbered with any natural ar- mour, he would be unable to employ them for the fabrication of those instruments and means, which give him such a decided advantage over all the other animals of creation. “nor have we yet enumerated the most important of those privileges which the hand imparts to man. with this he weaves the garment that protects him from the summer's heat, or winter's cold; with this he forms the various furniture of nets and snares, considered as a corporeal organ. which give him dominion over the inhabitants as well of the water as of the air and earth: with his hand he constructs the lyre and lute, and the numerous instruments employed in the several arts of life; with the hand he erects altars and shrines to the im- mortal gods; and, lastly, by means of the same in- strument he bequeaths to posterity, in writing, the intellectual treasures of his own divine imagination: and hence we, who are living at this day, are en- abled to hold converse with plato and aristotle, and all the venerable sages of antiquity.” in reasoning on the utility of the hand, as charac- teristic of the human species, galen thus expresses himself:* “man being naturally destitute of corpo- real weapons, as also of any instinctive art, has re- ceived a compensation, first in the gift of that pecu- liar instrument the hand, secondly in the gift of rea- son; by the employment of which two gifts he arms and protects his body in every mode, and adorns his mind with the knowledge of every art. for since, had he been furnished with any natural weapon, he would have possessed the use of this alone on all oc- casions; or had he been gifted with any instinctive art, he would never have attained to the exercise of other arts; hence he was created destitute of those insulated and individual means and arts, which cha- racterize other animals; inasmuch as it is manifestly preferable to have the power of making use of va- rious means and various arts. rightly, therefore, has aristotle defined the hand to be the instrument antecedent to, or productive of, all other instruments: and rightly might we, in imitation of aristotle, define reason, as opposed to instinct, to be the art antece- dent to, or productive of, all other arts. for as the hand, though itself no particular organ, is yet capa- ble of being adapted to all other organs, and is con- sequently antecedent to them; so reason, though itself no particular art, is yet capable of comprehend- * lib. i. cap. . powers of the human hand, ing and applying all; and may therefore be consider- ed as an art antecedent to all others. thus man alone, of all animals, possessing in his soul this general and original capacity, is justly endued in his body with this general and original instrument.” * “let us then scrutinize this member of our body; and inquire, not simply whether it be in itself useful for all the purposes of life, and adapted to an animal endued with the highest intelligence; but whether its entire structure be not such, that it could not be im- proved by any conceivable alteration. “in the first place, it possesses in an eminent de- gree a leading quality of an organ of grasp; since it readily applies itself to, and securely holds, bodies of every form and size that are capable of being moved by human strength. nor need we inquire whether it be better for this purpose that it should be divided into several parts; or, that it should be altogether undivided: for is it not apparent without further rea- soning, that had it been undivided, it could have grasped only just such a portion of every object pre- sented to it, as was equal to itself; but that, being divided into many parts, it can both easily grasp bodies much larger than itself; and can accurately search out, and lay hold of, the smallest particles of matter! for to the former it is capable of generally applying itself so, as to encompass them by the sepa- ration of the fingers; while in laying hold of very minute objects, the entire hand is not employed, but only the tips of two of the fingers: because from the grasp of the whole hand minute objects would easily escape. “thus then the hand is framed in the manner most convenient for laying a firm hold on objects both greater and less than itself. and in order to enable it to apply itself to objects of various shapes, it is evidently most convenient that it should be divided into many parts, as it is: and it seems to be better * lib. i. cap. . considered as a corporeal organ. constituted for this purpose than any similar instru- ment; for it not only can apply itself to substances of a spherical form, so as to touch them with every part of itself; but it also can securely hold substances of a plane or of a concave surface; and, conse- quently, it can hold substances of any form. “and, because many bodies are of too great a size to be held by one hand alone, nature has there- fore made each hand an assistant to its fellow; so that the two, when together laying hold of bodies of un- usual bulk, on opposite sides, are fully equivalent to a single hand of the very largest dimensions: and, on this account, the hands are inclined towards, and in every point are made equal to, each other; which is at least desirable, if not necessary, in instruments intended to have a combined action. “take then any one of those unwieldly bodies, which a man can only lay hold of by means of both his hands, as a millstone or a rafter; or take one of the smallest objects, as a millet-seed or a hair, or a minute thorn; or, lastly, reflect on that vast multitude of objects of every possible size, intermediate to the greatest and the least of those above mentioned; and you will find the hands so exactly capable of grasp- ing each particular one, as if they had been expressly made for grasping that alone. thus the smallest things of all we take up with the tips of the fingers; those which are a little larger we take up with the same fingers, but not with the tips of them; sub- stances still larger we take up with three fingers, and so on with four, or with all the five fingers, or even with the whole hand: all which we could not do, were not the hand divided, and divided precisely as it is. for suppose the thumb were not placed as it is, in opposition to the other four fingers, but that all the five were ranged in the same line; is it not evi- dent that in this case their number would be useless? for in order to have a firm hold of any thing, it is necessary either to grasp it all round, or at least to grasp it in two opposite points; neither of which d powers of the human hand, would have been possible, if all the five fingers had been placed in the same plane: but the end is now fully attainable, simply in consequence of the position of the thumb; which is so placed, and has exactly such a degree of motion, as, by a slight inclination, to be easily made to co-operate with any one of the four fingers. and no one can doubt that nature pur- posely gave to the hands a form adapted to that mode of action, which they are observed to have ;” while in the feet, where extent of surface is wanted for support, all the toes are arranged in the same plane. f but, to return to a point which we were just now considering, it is not merely necessary in laying hold of minute objects to employ the extremities of the fingers opposed to each other, but that those extre- mities should be exactly of the character they are, namely soft, and round, and furnished with nails: for if the tips of the fingers were of bone, and not of flesh, we could not then lay hold of such minute bo- dies as thorns or hairs; or if they were of a softer and moister substance than flesh, neither then could such small bodies have been secured. for, in order that a body may be firmly held, it is necessary that it be in some degree infolded in the substance holding it; which condition could not have been fulfilled by a hard or bony material; and on the other hand, a ma- terial too soft would easily yield to substances of which it attempted to lay hold, and would continu- ally let them escape: whereas the extremities of the fingers are just of that intermediate degree of con- sistence, which is calculated for their intended use. i “but, since tangible substances vary much in their degree of hardness, nature has adapted the structure of the extremities of the fingers to that cir- cumstance: for they are not formed either entirely of flesh, or of the substance called nail; but of a most convenient combination of the two: thus those parts which are capable of being mutually brought in appo- * lib. ii. cap. . + lib. i. cap. . f lib. i. cap. . considered as a corporeal organ. sition, and which are employed in feeling for minute objects, are fleshy; while the nails are placed exter- nally, as a support to the former. for the fingers are capable of holding soft substances, simply by the fleshy or soft part of their extremity; but they could not hold hard substances without the assistance of nails; deprived of the support of which the flesh would be forced out of its position. and on the other hand, we could not lay hold of hard substances by means of the nails alone; for these being them- selves hard, would easily slip from the contact of hard bodies. “thus then the soft flesh at the tips of the fingers compensating for the unyielding nature of the nails, and the nails giving support to the yielding softness of the flesh, the fingers are hereby rendered capable of holding substances that are both small and hard. and this will be more evident, if you consider the effect of an unusual length of the nails; for where the nails are immoderately long, and consequently come in contact with each other, they cannot lay hold of any minute object, as a small thorn or a hair: while, on the other hand, if, from being unusually short, they do not reach to the extremities of the fin- gers, minute bodies are incapable of being held through defect of the requisite support: but if they reach exactly to the extremities of the fingers, they then, and then only, fulfil the intention for which they were made. the nails, however, are applicable to many other purposes besides those which have been mentioned; as in polishing and scraping, and in tear- ing and peeling off the skin of vegetables, or animals: and in short, in almost every art where nicety of execution is required, the nails are called into action.” in alluding to the sceptics of his time, the language of galen is as follows. * “whoever admires not the skill and contrivance of nature, must either be defi- * lib. iii. cap. . powers of the human hand, cient in intellect, or must have some private motive, which withholds him from expressing his admiration. he must be deficient in intellect, if he do not per- ceive that the human hand possesses all those quali- fications which it is desirable it should possess; or if he think that it might have had a form and construc- tion preferable to that which it has: or he must be prejudiced, by having imbibed some wretched opi- nions, consistently with which he could not allow that contrivance is observable in the works of nature.” galen then thus sums up this part of the argument. “the contrivances of nature are so various, and so consummately skilful, that the wisest of mankind, in endeavouring to search them out, have not yet been able to discover them all.”f and nearly in the same words, expressive of the same sentiment, does solo- mon say—“then i beheld all the work of god, that a man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun: because though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it; yea farther; though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be able to find it.”f i may be permitted, perhaps, to subjoin a passage from another part of the same work of galen, though not confined to the same subject; in which, after having noticed many evidences of design in the con- struction of the human body, particularly the adap- * galen adds: “such persons we are bound to pity, as being originally infatuated with respect to so main a point; while at the same time it behooves us to proceed in the instruction of those happier individuals, who are not only possessed of a sound intel- lect, but of a love of truth.” on another occasion, in reprobating such cavillers, he says: (lib. iii. cap. .) “but if i waste more time on such profligates, virtuous men might justly accuse me of polluting this sacred ar- gument, which i have composed as a sincere hymn to the praise and honour of the creator; being persuaded that true piety to him consists, not in the sacrifice of whole hecatombs of oxen, nor in the offer of a thousand varieties of incense; but in believing within ourselves, and in declaring to others, how great he is in wisdom, power, and goodness.” # lib. x. cap. . f eccles. viii. . considered as a corporeal organ. tation, in the number and size of the parts, to the effect to be produced, he breaks out into this remark- able apostrophe; * “how can a man of any intelli- gence refer all this to chance, as its cause: or, if he deny this to be the effect of foresight and skill, i would ask, what is there that foresight and skill do effect? for surely where chance or fortune act, we see not this correspondence and regularity of parts. i am not very solicitous about terms; but if you choose to call that chance which has so nicely con- structed and so justly distributed all the parts of an animal body, do so; only remember and allow, that in so doing you do not fairly exercise the privilege of framing new terms: for in this way you may call the meridian splendour of the sun by the name of night; and the sun itself, darkness. what! was it chance that made the skin give way so as to produce a mouth' or, if this happened by chance, did chance also place teeth and a tongue within that mouth' for, if so, why should there not be teeth and a tongue in the nostrils, or in the ear?” or, to carry on a similar appeal, “did chance dispose the teeth themselves in their present order; which if it were any other than it is, what would be the consequence? if, for instance, the incisors and canine teeth had oc- cupied the back part of the mouth, and the molar or grinding teeth had occupied the front, what use could we have made of either? shall we then ad- mire the skill of him who disposes a chorus of thirty- two men in just order; and can we deny the skill of the creator, in disposing the same number of teeth in an order so convenient, so necessary even for our existence ” he then extends the argument to the teeth of other animals, as corresponding with the nature of their food; and also to the form of their feet, as having a relation to the character of their teeth. “never,” says cuvier, one of the most experienced *lib. xi. cap. and . d on the brain. physiologists of the present age, “never do you see in nature the cloven hoof of the ox joined with the pointed fang of the lion; nor the sharp talons of the eagle accompanying the flattened beak of the swan.” in corresponding expressions galen exclaims, *“how does it happen that the teeth and talons of the leopard and lion should be similar; as also the teeth and hoofs of the sheep and goat; that in ani- mals which are by nature courageous, there should be found sharp and strong weapons, which are never found in those animals that are by nature timid: or, lastly, that in no animal do we meet with a com- bination of powerful talons with inoffensive teeth ! how should this happen, but that they are all the work of a creator, who ever kept in mind the use and mutual relation of different organs, and the final purpose of all his works?” chapter iv. on the brain, considered as the organ of the intellectual faculties. it can no more be doubted that many of the phe- nomena of nature, and the important practical and º conclusions deduced from them, would ave been hitherto concealed from human know- ledge, had man failed to exercise those intellectual faculties with which the creator has endued him; than that political communities would have failed to exist, and social life to be adorned with the arts of civilization, had all mankind determined to pursue the mode of life adopted by savage tribes: nor can it be doubted that the creator, in imparting to man * lib. xi, cap. . ed. kühn, vol. iii. p. . lin. – . and p. . lin. – . on the brain. thought and reason:* the truth of which assertion is evident from various metaphorical terms expressive both of intellectual defect and of intellectual excel- lence. it may be presumed that, without the aid afforded by the study of anatomy or natural history, the most cursory observer might discover that the indications of intelligence manifested by the various classes of animals generally correspond in degree with their approximation in physical structure to man; and that, if we confine our view to the four highest classes, namely, fish, reptiles, birds, and quadrupeds, and consider them with reference to their respective degree of docility; fish and reptiles, which are the lowest in the scale, will readily be allowed to be in- ſerior to birds, which are a degree higher in the scale; and these again will with equal readiness be allowed to be inferior to quadrupeds, which are the highest. and it would be acknowledged upon a more accu- rate investigation, that, although there are at first sight some seeming exceptions to the regularity of gradation, the apparent anomalies vanish when put to the test of a philosophical examination. should it be said, for instance, that the bee or the ant shows greater indications of intelligence than many species much higher in the scale of animal creation, it may be answered that those indications are manifested in actions which are referable to instinct, rather than intelligence; actions namely, which being essential to the existence of the individuals, and the preserva- tion of the species, are apparently determined by some internal impulse which animals unconsciously obey. nor does it militate against such a notion of instinct, that when accidental impediments prevent * “—and his pure brain, which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling house, doth, by the idle comments which it makes, foretell the ending of mortality.” king john, act , scene . on the brain. the regular evolution of the comb, taking that as an instance, the bee accommodates the arrangement of its fabric to the impediment which is placed in its way: for such a modification of instinct is as clearly necessary in the case of an occasional impediment, as instinct itself is necessary for the general purpose. in speaking of instinct i purposely avoid a formal definition of the term: for any attempt to define with accuracy a principle, of the real nature of which we are ignorant, usually leaves us in a state of greater darkness than we were before; of which the follow- ing extraordinary attempt, with reference to the very principle now under consideration, is a sufficient illus- tration. it is quoted from an author of the name of wagner, in a work on the brain of man and other animals, written by wenzel and his brother; and is as follows: “the instincts of animals are nothing more than inert or passive attractions derived from the power of sensation: and the instinctive opera- tions of animals nothing more than crystallizations produced through the agency of that power.” of the general position, then, that the brain is the instrument of intelligence, and that the degree of in- telligence characteristic of different classes of ani- mals is proportional to the approximation of their structure to that of man, it may for the present be presumed that no one doubts, * “instinctus animalium nihil aliud sunt, quam attractiones mortua a sensibilitate profecte; et eorum artificia nihil aliud quam crystallizationes per sensibilitatem producte.” wenzel, de penitiori structura cerebri. tubinge, fol. , p. , lib, x, chapter v. the nervous system of animals in general. section i. the nervous system of the inferior animals. as the peculiarities in the structure of the human brain cannot be understood without a reference not only to the brain but to the nervous system at large of other animals; it will be necessary to take such a survey of that system as may be sufficient for the present purpose. in the lowest species of animals, which appear to be devoid of any specific organs of digestion, motion, or sensation; whose economy indeed only enables them to contribute, in a mode as yet unknown, to the nutrition and preservation of the individual, or to the continuation of the species, no distinct nervous sys- tem has yet been discovered, or at least satisfactorily demonstrated: it is presumed rather than known that in such animals there exists a variable number of small insulated masses of nervous matter called ganglions, which are connected with each other, and with different parts of the body, by means of slender filaments that radiate from these masses in various directions. in ascending the scale of animal existence we meet with species, in which, though devoid of organs of sense and motion, there exist distinct organs of digestion; and in such species the upper part of the passage leading from the mouth to the stomach is usually surrounded by a kind of collar, from whence distinct nerves are distributed to the other parts of the body. in ascending still higher the scale of animal exist- nervous system of animals. ence we find, together with a greater symmetry of structure in the whole individual, additional compo- nent parts of the nervous system, and a greater de- gree of regularity in the distribution of these super- added parts. thus in those classes of animals which include the leech, the centipede, and the bee, whose bodies are naturally divisible into distinct segments, we find a series of ganglions placed opposite the re- spective segments, and sending out nerves which are appropriated to the muscles of voluntary motion attached to these segments: and the several ganglions are reciprocally united by intervening portions of a nervous cord, which is continued from one extremity of the body to the other; so as to present the appear- ance of a thread in which knots have been tied at stated intervals. and in those species of these classes which have eyes, as is the case with insects, there are additional ganglions near the head; from which arise the nerves of vision, and, probably, of touch. if, in ascending still higher the scale of animal existence, we examine the nervous system of fish, reptiles, birds, and quadrupeds, we find that those parts which are subservient to the nutrition of the individual, and to the continuation of the species, are supplied with ganglions and nerves corresponding in their general character and mode of distribution with the nervous system of the lower classes: and that the arrangement of the nerves of voluntary motion merely differs from that of the intermediate classes, in being more elaborate; the individual nerves all communicating with a continuous cord which ex- tends from one extremity of the body to the other; but which, instead of floating loosely in the general cavity of the body, as in insects, &c. is contained in a canal essentially consisting of a series of parts called vertebrae, which taken together form what is called the spine or backbone. from the structure of this spine these classes are called vertebrated: and it is deserving of notice that these classes alone have a cranium, or skull. nervous system of animals. the nervous cord above described is known more familiarly under the name of the spinal marrow, a term which is derived from its resemblance, in some of its physical characters, to the oil contained in the interior of the bones of man and various other ani- mals. that portion of the spinal cord which is contigu- ous to the head is continued into the cavity of the skull; and is there apparently lost in a more or less regular mass of nervous matter called the brain: which is small, and simple in its structure, in fish; larger, and more complicated, progressively, in rep- tiles, birds, and quadrupeds; largest, and most com- plicated, in man. from the lower surface of the brain arise several pairs of nerves which are princi- pally distributed upon the organs of the distinct senses, and the muscles of the face: and it is worthy of observation, that while the muscles of mere animal motion, as of the trunk and extremities, are derived from the spinal marrow ; the muscles of the face, which may be called pre-eminently the muscles of moral and intellectual expression, are derived from the brain itself. in ascending then from fish, the lowest of the four classes of vertebral animals, to quadrupeds which constitute the highest class, the general mass of the brain upon the whole increases in proportional size; and at the same time it also more and more resem- bles that of man both in its general form, and in the character and proportions of its several parts. but the human brain, when fully developed, contains parts which do not exist in the brain of those animal species which approach nearest to man in the struc- ture of this part.* * it may be convenient here to state that the human brain is naturally divisible into two parts, called the cerebrum and cere- bellum ; of which the former is eight or nine times larger than the latter. the cerebrum, which occupies nearly the whole of the cavity of the skull, consists of two parts, called hemispheres: and it should be particularly borne in mind that it is with refer- ence to the great size of its hemispheres that the human brain exceeds that of all other animals. nervous system of animals. it cannot be uninteresting in an inquiry like the present to add, with respect to those occasional de- viations from the common form, called monsters and lusus naturae, that nature never elevates the brain of an individual of a lower to that of a higher class; though the brain of an individual of a higher is fre- quently not developed beyond the degree of a lower: and this law of the developement of the brain is, with reference at least to the distinction of classes, corre- spondent with that of the general form. thus a lusus naturae or monster in the class of quadrupeds, for instance, or of birds, may have two heads, or eight legs; but the supernumerary parts will be always those of its own class, indeed of its own species: and therefore it is absurd to suppose that if there be no mixture of species in the same class, there should ever be a confusion of two distinct kingdoms of na- ture. - - horace, than whom no one better understood the principles of imaginative or artificial poetry, knew that abrupt combinations of heterogeneous subjects would certainly offend a correct taste, because unna- tural: for taste, it may be affirmed, is, in one of its essential attributes, a feeling in harmony with natu- ral combinations; whether the individual combina- tion be that of sounds, or colours, or forms, or of in- tellectual images, or moral sentiments: and nature, which may be pre-eminently called the réz's won rich, though she may occasionally surprise the mind by unusual combinations of organs natural to the species, never so couples together i. organs, as that the limbs of animals of one species should be united with those of another species; in short, as horace himself expresses the conception, non ut. serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.” * the subject of lusus nature, or monsters, will be resumed towards the conclusion of this treatise. e * nervous system of animals. section ii. the nervous system of man. the nervous system of man, without any refer- ence to that of other animals, naturally resolves itself into three sufficiently distinct divisions: of which one is appropriated to those parts, which characterize him as simply an organized being; another, to his powers of voluntary motion; the third, or the brain, to the organs of the several senses, and, probably, to the manifestation of the intellectual powers and moral affections. of the two first of the foregoing divisions it is not necessary to speak more at large; because no doubt exists in the minds of physiologists as to the nature of their offices. but this is not the case with respect to the brain; which therefore demands a greater share of our attention. of all the parts of the nervous system taken col- lectively, the brain has been mostgenerally considered as the organ of the mind: and it has long been a fa- vourite speculation to endeavour to ascertain what part of this organ is subservient to the existence and exercise of those intellectual powers and moral feel- ings, which to a greater or less extent are possessed by many other animals as well as man. it is pre- sumed at least that of the existence of intellectual powers or moral feelings in brutes no one can doubt, who has been at all accustomed to observe the cha- racters and habits of animals;* so that when in com- mon language it is asserted that man differs from other animals in possessing reason, while they are irrational, the term reason must be taken in its most * aristotle, in his history of animals, distinctly affirms such an existence—ing ri yºgi, reis waii-ret; zal r&n ºaxay &ay *xrn rā, ºrieſ ºr ºvzºv reiray, ºrie iri rºz &ºgºra, ixu ºarstanics; ra; st eggs—p. , lin. - . ed. bekker. nervous system of animals. extended sense, as implying the aggregate faculties of man, both moral and intellectual. i will not here insist on the evidence of the intel- lectual powers of brutes, as deducible from the effects of what we call instinct; because in all those actions which are the result of instinct, animals appear to be guided by a natural and irresistible impulse from within, which leads them to seek or to avoid that which will be either useful or injurious to them; and enables them to perform the most complicated acts, as the building of a nest or the construction of a comb, though they may never even have seen the same acts performed by other individuals of their species. i would rather insist on that evidence of their intel- lectual powers, which is derived from their conduct, when, in consequence of having been removed from their natural sphere of action, they are impelled by external and accidental circumstances. thus the wariness of old animals in avoiding the pursuit or arts of man, and the sagacity with which a prac- tised hound will cut off an angle in order to shorten his distance, may be considered as proofs of a con- siderable degree of intellectual rather than of in- stinctive prudence in brutes. the playfulness of the young of most quadrupeds, often indeed observable in the adult animal also, may be regarded as no obscure proof of the exercise of the intellectual faculty which we call imagination; for that playfulness almost always consists in the repre- sentation of mutual hostility, though the real disposi- tion at the same time is any thing but hostile. the dog for instance, under such circumstances, snarls and bites, but with evident intention not to hurt. of the existence of moral feelings in brutes, there is still more decided proof than of the existence of intellect. thus the expression of joy in a dog at sight of his master is not to be mistaken, and the expression of fear in a horse at the sound of the whip is equally unequivocal in its character. again, animals be- come attached not only to individuals of their own nervous system of animals. species, but to individuals of even a different order or class; and they evidently feel regret upon separa- tion from these their companions. on the supposition that the brain is the organ of the intellectual powers, physiologists have been led to compare the proportions of the whole and of its several regions in man and brutes; in order to arrive at a knowledge of such facts as might serve for a basis for ascertaining which, are the parts essential to its action as such an organ. it has been supposed by some that the intellectual faculties may be in pro- portion to the absolute size of the brain; such an opinion being grounded on the fact, that the human brain is larger than that of the horse or ox. but on the other hand, the brain of the whale or of the ele- phant taken in its whole mass is larger than that of man; though the intelligence even of the elephant bears no proportion to that of the human mind. again, the brain of the monkey or of the dog is smaller than that of the ox or the ass; yet with respect to their intellectual faculties the former ap- proximate much more closely to man than the latter. neither do the dispositions or qualities of animals appear to be connected with the absolute size of their brain: for animals most different and even opposite in disposition may be ranged in the same class with reference to the size of this organ; the tiger and the deer, for instance, among quadrupeds; and among birds, the hawk and the pigeon. it would appear probable from some instances, that the proportional size of the brain with reference to the size of the body would give a more uniform result. thus a crocodile twelve feet in length, a ser- pent eighteen feet in length, and a turtle that weighs from three hundred to five hundred pounds, have not any of them a quantity of substance in their brain equal to half an ounce; and the slight degree of in- tellectual power manifested by these animals corre- sponds with such a proportion. but on examination it appears that the proportional size of the brain is nervous system of animals. not a more certain criterion than the absolute size. the brain of the elephant, for instance, is smaller in proportion to its body than that of any other quad- ruped: and yet what quadruped exceeds the elephant in sagacity' and, in comparing many of the inferior animals with man in this respect, it is found that not only do different genera of the same order differ very widely from each other in the proportion of their brain to their body, as the bat and the fox; but that the proportion is sometimes inversely as the degree of intellect of the animal: thus, as far as we are capable of judging, the intellect of the fox is infinitely greater than that of the bat, and yet the brain of the former, proportionally to its body, is only one half the size of the latter. occasionally the disproportion is still greater in different species of the same genus, and even in different varieties of the same species: thus in some dogs the brain compared with the body is as one to fifty, while in others it is as one to three hundred. - again, it appears that the brain of some of the genera of the lowest orders in a class is proportion- ally larger than that of some of the genera of the highest orders. thus, in the mammalia, the brain of the dolphin, which animal is in the lowest order of that class, is in proportion to its body four times as large as the brain of the fox, which is an animal of one of the highest orders. and the brain of the mouse and of the mole are nearly, if not quite as large, in proportion to their body, as that of man. and the same circumstance occurs even in the se- cond class, or birds; for the brain of the sparrow is in proportion to the body as large as, nay even larger, than that of man. lastly, for it is unnecessary, and would be tedious, to enter further into the detail of this part of the sub- ject, there does not appear to be any connexion be- tween the degree of intellectual faculties and the mutual proportions of the several constituent parts of the brain; or between the degree of the intellectual - e nervous system of animals. faculties and the mutual proportions of the brain and nerves. so that it appears, from a review of what has been advanced, that no criterion of the degree of intellect is found in the absolute size of the brain; nor in its relative size, as compared with that of the body of the individual; nor in the relative size of its constituent parts, or of the whole of it, to the nerves. section iii. indications of natural talent and ſº deduci- ble from the structure of the brain. if the entire history of the brain were a primary object in this treatise, it would be right here to inves- tigate in detail the observations and theory of dr. gall respecting this organ: but on the present occa- sion it will be unnecessary to refer to that theory further than may be required by the course of the argument. he simple enunciation of dr. gall's theory is this, that “the brain in general is the instrument by which the intellectual faculties, and the moral sentiments and propensities, are manifested; particular parts of it being the organs of those several faculties, senti- ments, and propensities: and that according to the state of these organs will be the faculties, sentiments, and propensities of each individual.” to those who have objected to this theory, that it leads towards the doctrines of fatalism, and the ma- terial nature of the soul, it has been answered; first, that as, according to the theory, no individual, who is endued with intellect, is deficient in the organs of those moral sentiments, which, if cultivated, will be sufficient to counteract whatever bad propensities he may have, the theory cannot consistently be accused of inculcating the doctrine of fatalism: and secondly, that without inquiring what the soul is, or in what manner it is united to the body in this life, which dr. nervous system of animals. with the rest, were much quicker in apprehending what was taught them: and further, by observing in different individuals of the same species of animals, as dogs, that some were fierce, some mild: again, that in birds of the same species some continued to sing their own notes only, while others would listen to, and imitate, artificial music : and with reference to the last mentioned instance particularly, he argued that the difference could not arise from the greater or less degree of perfection in the organ of hearing, for it is the same in both; but must be looked for in the brain, to which the organ of hearing conveys sounds; and in which, and not in the ear itself, they are perceived. there are moreover numerous in- stances which show that the sense of hearing is by no means in proportion to the degree of perfection in the construction of the ear. thus, the dog hears with indifference the sweetest melody: and yet the construction of his ear approximates more to that of man than the construction of the ear of even the most musical birds. and on this point dr. gall asks, if the organ of hearing determine the power of sing- ing, why should the female bird be mute, seeing that in this part of its bodily construction it differs not from the male' it is equally observable that in men the talent for music is not in proportion to any supe- riority in the organ of hearing; in the construction of which indeed there is little if any apparent differ- ence between any two individuals. partial insanity and partial idiocy are among the circumstances which dr. gall considers as favouring his theory. the frequency of the former must be a fact well known to all : the latter is not uncommon; and even persons of considerable intelligence occa- sionally exhibit very obscure traces of this or that particular faculty. other arguments in favour of his system he draws from the temporary effects pro- duced by cerebral inflammation on the state of the mental powers: in the case, for instance, of idiots, who during the inflammatory action have manifested nervous system of animals. a considerable degree of understanding; but after the cessation of that action have relapsed into their for- mer state of fatuity. it would seem, in the instances here adduced by dr. gall, that the mental faculties which had been previously in a state of fatuity, are rendered for the time rational, in consequence of a degree of excite- ment which in individuals not labournig under fa- tuity would have probably produced delirium: and, as a rational state of the faculties may be considered, to use a mathematical expression, as a mean pro- portional to fatuity and delirium, it might be expect- ed that the same cause which would raise a rational state of the faculties to delirium, would raise an idiotic only to a natural state: as, in a similar man- ner, wine is observed to modify the characters of individuals of different temperaments, by elevating them for the moment: “it keeps the unhappy from sinking, and makes e'en the valiant more brave.” it would occupy too much time to enter into the detail of this interesting part of dr. gall's system: nor was more originally intended than to introduce the subject to the consideration of those, who happen not to have reflected on it before, in such a manner as to enable them to form some judgment of the merits of a theory, the character of which has been injured to the full as much by its injudicious friends as by its professed enemies. of this theory it may perhaps be affirmed with truth, that, considered as an abstract philosophical speculation, it is highly in- genious, and founded upon unobjectionable prin- ciples: and that while the general conclusion is inevitable with respect to the collective functions of the brain, there is nothing unreasonable in supposing that specific parts serve specific purposes. the rock, on which dr. gall and his implicit advocates have split, is the attempt to fix the local boundaries of the several faculties of the soul. had he satisfied him- nervous system of animals. destructiveness, that organ would be found highly developed in such an individual; and yet, upon ac- tual inspection, this were not found to be the case. here, although the disciple of dr. gall might be dis- appointed in finding no such developement, a plain reasoner would not be so disappointed: for is it not obvious that avarice, or shame, or jealousy, might in a moment operate so powerfully as to lead an indi- vidual to the crime of murder, whose nature and habits were as far as possible removed from the pro- pensity to that crime; and who, consequently, ac- cording to dr. gall's own principles, would be devoid of any undue developement of the organ of murder? with respect to ourselves indeed, the study of the system may be attended sometimes with the happiest consequences: for if, from the contemplation of it, we can be strengthened in our conviction of the fact, which both reason and revelation teach us, that each individual is liable to particular temptations depend- ing on his specific temperament, we shall thus have one additional memento of our frailty, one additional incentive to watch over, and combat “the sin which doth so easily beset us.” section iv. the general doctrine Á, physiognomy, as connected with the form of the body. ; as the indiscreet zeal, not only of dr. gall, but of physiognomists in general, has thrown unmerited discredit on that department of speculative philo- sophy which they have cultivated, it may be worth while to examine the subject on other authority than that of professed physiognomists. - there are many phenomena, then, connected with the moral and intellectual faculties of man, both in a healthy and diseased state, which, by showing the reciprocal influence of the two distinct parts of our nature, the soul and the body, render it probable that nervous system of animals. the energies of the former, although it be itself im- material, may be manifested by means of a material instrument. the existence of this reciprocal influ- ence, which indeed we might expect from their inti- mate though mysterious union, cannot be denied. thus grief or expectation destroys appetite; and mental application to any fovourite pursuit makes us insensible of the want of food: and, on the other hand, a disordered state of the digestive organs evidently impedes the free exercise of the mental powers; or oppresses the soul with those dreadful, though really groundless apprehensions, which have been termed hypochondriacal from the situation of the organs, the morbid state of which is supposed to give rise to those apprehensions. again, intoxication confuses the memory and judgment; and the repeat- ed abuse of wine permanently debilitates the mind, and often terminates in confirmed insanity. the state of the air affects the mental energies and moral feelings of many individuals, to a degree inconceiv- able to those who are not thus subject to its influ- ence. and the impression of fear has been known suddenly to arrest the symptoms of endemic ague and epilepsy. the general idea that this connexion of the soul and body may be traced in the conformation of the latter, it will be at once remembered, is by no means new: and the anecdote of the unfavourable judg- ment passed on the moral disposition of socrates, from i. character of his countenance, will readily recur to the mind on this occasion. aristotle has even entered into some details on the forms and shades of colour of the hair and features, and indeed of various other parts of the body, as indicative of particular temperaments or constitutions of the mind.“ *for an exposition of aristotle's views on this subject, consult a work of galen, entitled iie pitqn thx +yxhx heo n, in which the question of the connexion between the faculties of the soul and the conformation of the body is discussed. galen. op. kühn, vol. iv. p. – . nervous system of animals. within us constantly struggling for the mastery; and that, spite of our better part, and against the strongest feelings of conscience and determination of judg- ment, we still are for ever yielding to the worse shall we deny that the tendencies to evil are dif- ferent in character in different individuals; and by that denial shall we attempt to falsify the testimony of experience as to the fact itself; and the conclu- sions of antecedent reasoning as to its probability: for, if all men were avaricious for instance, or am- bitious in the same points, where would be the field for the display of other qualities; and how could the affairs of the world be conducted? but whatever may be the real state of the case— whether the brain act as a simple organ by the simul- taneous operation of all its parts; or whether those parts act independently in the production of specific effects—no one can doubt that the organ itself is the mysterious instrument by means of which, princi- pally, if not exclusively, a communication is main- tained between the external world and the soul. nor can it be doubted, indeed it is a matter of fact which is constantly open to our observation, that the degree of approximation in the structure of the brain of other animals to that of man bears a very obvious relation to the degree of intelligence manifested by the various classes of animals: so that, in just rea- soning, it must on every consideration be admitted to be the instrument by which the various degrees of intelligence are manifested. it is a matter also of observation, that the powers of the mind are capable, like those of the body, of being strengthened by exercise and cultivation: and, further, that not only do the mental faculties gradually manifest themselves from the moment of birth on- wards; but that the physical developement of the brain advances proportionally up to a certain period. but on this point it will be desirable to make a few more particular remarks. nervous system of animals- section v. the developement of the human brain, compared with that of other animals. the brain of all vertebral animals, including even man, is nearly identical in structure in the early pe- riod of the embryo state of those animals. but at the period of birth there is a very remarkable diſ- ference between the degree of developement of the human brain, and of that of the inferior animals. in quadrupeds for instance, the brain, according to wenzel, is fully developed at the moment of the birth of the individual; contains, that is, at that time, all the parts in as perfect a state as they are in the adult animal of the same species (wenzel, p. :) while, with respect to the human species, it is asserted by wenzel, and his statement is confirmed by the obser- vations of others, that although the brain makes con- tinual and rapid advances to its ultimate magnitude and perfect state, from the period of conception to the seventh year after birth, yet all the parts have not attained their full size till the age of seven years (p. .) and this difference is exactly what might be antecedently expected, from the comparatively greater degree of intelligence manifested by the young of other animals, of the higher orders at least, than by the human infant. - but it is very worthy of observation, that those parts of the human brain, which are formed subse- quently to birth, are entirely wanting in all other animals, including even quadrupeds, which wenzel has examined (p. :) and that during the evolution of the parts peculiar to the human brain, the pecu- liar faculties of the human intellect are proportion- ally developed: and finally, that, till those parts are developed, those faculties are not clearly perceptible (wenzel, p. .) but at the age of seven years the human being essentially possesses, although not yet nervous system of animals. matured by exercise and education, all those intel- lectual faculties which are thenceforward observable: and at that age the brain is perfect in all its parts. and, from the age of seven years to the age of eighty, the changes of the human brain with respect to size, either collectively or in its several parts, are so trifling as hardly to be worth notice (p. – .) in comparing either individual actions or the com- plicated operations of man, with those of other ani- mals, it is observable, that the actions and operations of the adult human being as much excel in design and method the actions and operations of all other adult animals, as those of the infant are excelled in precision and adroitness by the young of all other animals (p. .) and both these facts correspond with the relative constitution of the brain at the re- spective periods; the brain of other animals being perfect at birth, which is not the case with the infant; while the brain of the adult human being manifests a higher degree of organization than that of any other animal, and is therefore physically fitted for functions of a higher order. it appears then highly probable, both from the in- tuitive conviction of mankind at large, and from a comparative examination of the structure and deve- lopement of the brain in man and other animals, that the intellectual superiority of man, physically consi- dered, depends on the peculiarities of the human brain: and with respect to the rest of his body, it is certain that the hand is the instrument which gives him that decidedly physical superiority which he pos- sesses over all other animals. in all other respects there is no physiological difference, of any import- ance at least to the present argument, between man and the higher orders of animals: and the peculiari- ties of his physical condition, with reference to the form and general powers of his body, rest therefore on those two organs, the hand and the brain. and as the adaptation of the external world to the physi- f nervous system of animals. cal condition of man must have a special reference to those peculiarities in his structure which distin- guish him essentially from other animals, it has therefore been thought important to dedicate a con- siderable portion of this treatise to the investigation of the characters of the two organs above mentioned. section vi. cursory view of the ectent of human power over the objects of the external world. having examined, as far as is necessary for the purpose of this treatise, the animal character of man, both with respect to the points in which he partakes of the nature of other species, and those in which he is elevated above them; let us proceed to consider the adaptation of the external world to the physical condition of that being to whom the creator has given dominion over all his other works; whom alone, of all the living tenants of the earth, he has endued with a mind capable of conceiving, and cor- poreal powers capable of executing those wonderful combinations, which make him lord of the world which he inhabits; which enable him to compel the properties of inert matter to bend to his behests; and to direct not only the energies of the inferior animals, but even those of his fellow creatures, to the purposes which he may have in view. in contemplating, for instance, as in all the pride of its appointments it advances through the waves, the majestic movements of a man-of-war, let us trace its whole history, and thence admire the extent of human power over the material world. look at the rude canoe of the new zealander, or call to mind the nearly as rude coracle of our own forefathers, and compare those simple and puny products of an infant art with the complicated and gigantic triumph of naval architecture now before you; and no wonder if, observing the ease and precision of its movements, nervous system of animals. the unlettered savages of the islands of the pacific conceived the stupendous machine to be some form of animated matter; whose fierce nature and awful power were announced by the tremendous roar and destructive effects of its artillery. or, passing from inert matter to living and intel- lectual agents, let us in imagination first view the tumultuary and predatory incursions of the aboriginal borderers of the ohio, or even of the more civilized tribes of modern arabia; revenge or booty their sole objects, without any plan of civil government or na- tional aggrandizement; and then let us contemplate the profound views and combinations of the macedo- nian monarch—that military meteor, whose course, though occasionally eccentric, was yet constantly regulated by the preponderating attraction of his original design; and whose plans, though marked by temporary and local devastation, yet secured the foundation of the durable and general prosperity of future generations. the theme is too vast and too sublime for the present effort, even had it never been before attempted; but the genius of the learned author of the “commerce and navigation of the an- cients” has admirably developed the great and pro- found views of alexander, ignorantly described by pope as the reveries of insane ambition; and has significantly alluded to the successful accomplish- ment of his wonderful attempt, in that beautifully appropriate legend placed under the engraving of the head of his hero, “aperiam terras gentibus.”f or let us investigate the career of the equally ex- traordinary conqueror of the present century. view him overcoming every moral and physical difficulty in the pursuit of his gigantic and fearful project of universal empire: uniting distant and hostile nations * the very reverend w. vincent, d. d. late dean of west- minster. f q. curt. lib. ix. cap. . nervous system of animals. in confederacies against their own liberties; changing their long established dynasties, in order to set over them kings of his own family. view him absorbed in his heartless calculations on the advantages to be obtained, for his personal aggrandizement, by the endless sacrifice of human life; breaking into the peaceful occupations of domestic scenes, and deso- lating the happiness of myriads of his subjects, not to ward off the dangers of hostile invasion, nor to lay the foundation of the future good of his country, but solely to gratify his own insatiable thirst of power; and yet by the magic of his name rallying round his standard, even to the last, the remnants of his former reckless schemes of inordinate ambition. in meditating on the astonishing scene presented to the imagination by the description of a career so strange, we might almost be in doubt whether these effects were produced by a mere human mind; or marked the presence of a superhuman intelligence, permitted for a time to exercise a guilty world. but whatever he were, he is gone; and his place will know him no more. one moral reflection in the mean time forces itself upon the mind; partly appli- cable to himself, and partly to mankind at large. inebriated with prosperity, and regardless of the power which could alone uphold him, he fell from his towering height; and was banished far from the theatre of his former ambition, and almost, indeed, from the haunts of men. but, haply, the prolongation of his life in the silent retirement of that sequestered island was mercifully intended to lead him to a calm reflection on the real value of sublunary possessions: for how very visionary and like a dream must all his former life have frequently appeared to him, when standing on the brow of some precipitous rock, the natural boundary of his insulated prison, he mused on the interminable expanse of the atlantic; and com- pared his present desolation with his former glory. or, if the terrors of omnipotence failed even then to reach his obdurate heart, his example at least re- adaptation of the atmosphere. mains a merciful beacon to others; who may learn from his doom, that there is a power which can say, as easily to the tempestuous ocean of ambition, as to the natural deep, “hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.” chapter vi. adaptation of the atmosphere to the wants of man. section i. the general constitution of the atmosphere. in the foregoing part of this treatise the physical condition of man has been considered under the view of the general capabilities of his nature, rather than of his actual state: but it is evident on a moment's reflection that his actual state will be very different at different periods of time, or in different parts of the world at the same period: and this observation applies no less to communities than to individuals. how great the contrast, with reference to the case of individuals, between the intellectual powers and at- tainments of a newton and a native of new holland; and in the case of communities, how great the con- trast between any of the kingdoms of modern europe, and the rude tribes from whence they were originally derived. in proceeding then to illustrate the adaptation of the external world to the physical condition of the human species, we must view individuals or commu- nities under all possible circumstances of existence, and make the illustration of as general application as the nature of the subject evidently demands. and, in order to effect something like a systematic arrangement of the immense mass of , materials whence the following illustration is to be deduced, it adaptation of the atmosphere is proposed to investigate separately the four king- doms or divisions of nature, the general characters of which were given in the commencement of this treatise; beginning with the atmospherical and end- ing with the animal kingdom. - if it were possible, with the bodily as with the men- tal eye, to behold the constitution of the atmosphere which surrounds our earth, we should view a com- pound probably the most complex in nature: for into this circumambient ocean of air, as it is called by lucretius,” are carried up whatever exhalations arise not only from the earth itself, but from every organized form of matter whether living or in a state of decomposition that is found upon the earth's sur- face; the dews of morning, the balms of evening, the fragrance of every plant and flower; the breath and characteristic odour of every animal; the vapour invisibly arising from the surface of the whole ocean and its tributary streams; and, lastly, those circum- scribed and baneful effluvia, however generated, which when confined to definite portions of the at- mosphere produce those various forms of fever which infest particular districts: or those more aw- ful and mysterious miasmata, which, arising in some distant region, and advancing by a slow but certain march, carry terror and death to the inhabitants of another hemisphere. such is the complex character of the atmosphere; and, indeed, from this assemblage of vapours con- tained in it, it has received its peculiar appellation; being the receptacle, or magazine, as it were, ofter- restrial exhalations.# all these various exhalations however may be con- sidered as foreign to the constitution of the air, being neither constantly nor necessarily present anywhere; all, with the exception of that aqueous vapour which * “semper enim quodcunque fluit de rebus; id omne aëris in magnum fertur mare.” lib. v. , . t"atºwy rºafea. to the physical condition of man. is continually rising from the surface of the earth, as well as of the ocean and every lake and river. but, in addition to this aqueous vapour, the air is also charged to a variable extent with light and heat and electricity: of which the two first are so obviously adapted to the wants of man as to demand imme- diate attention. electricity is probably of equal im- portance in its relation to man; but the true charac- ter of that relation has not yet been sufficiently developed to call for a distinct consideration on the present occasion. section ii. light. the metaphorical expressions of all ages and na- tions, with respect to light, sufficiently evince the value in which that inestimable gift is held. in the sacred scriptures indeed, not only are temporal blessings compared to light, and temporal evils to darkness; but holy deeds are frequently described under the character of the former; and unholy deeds under the character of the latter: and, with respect either to classical or oriental literature, a thousand instances might easily be adduced illustrative of the same metaphorical use of the terms in question. when, after a dark and tempestuous night, the mariner first perceives the dawn of returning day; although that dawn discover to his view the evil plight to which the storm has reduced his vessel, why does he still hail day's harbinger as his greatest relief, but because without the aid of light he could not possibly extricate himself from the difficulties of his situation? or, when the child, awakened from its sleep, finds itself alone in darkness, why is it over- whelmed with terror, and why does it call out for protection, but from the influence of those undefined fears, which naturally occur to the mind under the privation of light? adaptation of the atmosphere there is something so congenial to our nature in light, something so repulsive in darkness, that, pro- bably on this ground alone, the very aspect of inani- mate things is instinctively either grateful or the reverse, in consequence of our being reminded by that aspect of the one or of the other: so that on this principle, perhaps, particular colours throughout every province of nature are more or less acceptable in proportion as they approach nearest or recede farthest from the character of light, whether reflected immediately from the heavenly bodies, or from the azure of the sky, or from the thousand brilliant hues with which the setting or the rising sun illuminates its attendant clouds. in illustration of the principle just advanced, gold and silver among metals might be opposed to lead and iron; and, among flowers, the brilliancy of the crocus, the lily, or the rose, to the lurid aspect of henbane or belladonna. and though something of a moral character may in these instances determine the preference; yet there is nothing unreasonable in supposing, that, as the instincts of the inferior animals regulate their tastes and distates to natural objects; so there may also be in the case of human beings congruities, or the reverse, between the sense im- pressed and the object impressing it. in fact, with respect to that sense, the organ of which is the ear, it is known that infants shrink back from deep sounds, and express delight at acute sounds, long before any intellectual or moral feeling can sway them; and, correspondently with this assertion, the lullaby of the nurse partakes, among all nations, of the same essential character. it is a fact equally deducible from observation, that particular flavours and odours are maturally acceptable, or the reverse, to children. and again, with reference to the sense of touch, smooth surfaces almost universally give a pleasing impression; which is not imparted i. rugged sur- faces. why then may it not be the same with respect to the physical condition of man. to the sense of sight, in the case either of colour or of form? the abundant supply of light from its natural source the sun, and the ease with which it is pro- ducible by artificial means during the absence of that luminary, render us habitually less sensible of its real value, than undoubtedly we should be, were we to experience a long continued privation of it. and as to the regularly periodical privation of it which we experience in consequence of the alternation of night with day, this is so far from being an evil, that it is obviously beneficial; inasmuch as, in consequence of this very absence, sleep is both directly and indi- rectly conciliated: without which gift of heaven, all our faculties would soon be exhausted, and all our happiness consequently extinguished. ... . the beneficial influence of sleep on our whole frame is too obvious in its effects to require any for- mal demonstration: but it will be interesting to con- sider its relation to the absence of light. it appears then that, by a fundamental law of our nature, a sense of uneasiness invariably follows a long con- tinued exercise of our powers, either corporeal or mental : and, unless this sense of uneasiness have been produced by too inordinate exercise, it is soon relieved by that state of the system which we call sleep; during the continuance of which, provided it be sound and of a perfectly healthy character, all the voluntary muscles of the body become relaxed, and the nervous system remains comparatively inactive; the whole body acquiring by this temporary cessa- tion of its energies a renovated accumulation of those powers, which are necessary for the purposes of active and intellectual life. - in order to dispose us to yield to the sensation of approaching sleep, the periodical succession of night to day has been ordained by nature. for, with the approach of darkness cease all the usual stimuli of that sense, which is accommodated to the impulse of light, and which calls our faculties into action more g - adaptation of the atmosphere frequently than any other; nor is the intention of nature less evident, because, either from avarice or the dissipation of luxury, some individuals protract the labours or the pleasures of the day beyond the natural period assigned for those purposes; since these are unnatural exceptions to the observance of the general law. - although it would be difficult to prove directly that there is any necessary connexion between darkness and sleep, yet this connexion is rendered at least highly probable by the effect usually produced on the approach of darkness upon animals in general, but more remarkably on birds; for, with the excep- tion of those whose habits are nocturnal, all birds betake themselves to sleep as soon as night ap- proaches: and if darkness should anticipate night by many hours, as happens when any considerable eclipse of the sun takes place in the middle of the day, we still find the birds of the field as well as our domesticated fowls give the same indications of com- posing themselves to sleep, as at the regular period of sunset. if it should be said that this does not more serve to prove a connexion between darkness and sleep with reference to these animals, than to prove the effect of a long continued association resulting from their habit of going to roost at sunset; it may be asked, why should darkness, unless from some in- herent cause, lead them to compose themselves to sleep at the hour of noon, instead of the usual hour of evening; since, on the one hand, periodical states of the animal system do not usually recur before the termination of the habitual period; and, on the other hand, the individuals cannot at so early an hour have experienced such a degree of exhaustion as would of itself invite to sleep in stating that the voluntary action of the muscles ceases during sound sleep, we ought not to omit the remarkable fact that those muscles which are not under the empire of the will continue their action uninterruptedly through the deepest sleep. of all to the physical condition of man. the muscles of involuntary motion, this observation holds most remarkably with respect to the heart; the continued action of which organ during sleep is a phenomenon worthy of the deepest attention of a f. mind. all other organs of the body ave their periods either of absolute or comparative rest; the senses are in a measure periodically locked. up by sleep during one quarter at least, if not one third of our whole existence ; the limbs of the most athletic individual lose their power of motion after a few hours of unremitted exertion; even the brain, which during the hours of sleep and the interruption of all the common functions of the body frequently represents to the internal senses the most busy scenes of active life—even the brain may be exhausted by unusual fatigue, or other causes, and may thus in- volve the general system in the stupor of apparent death—but the heart, unless on such occasions as the momentary interruption of a swoon, never rests: so that, whether we look back to that period of our existence, when, in our yet imperfect state, there could scarcely be discovered the faint outline of those members, which in after life constitute man's strength and beauty, the presence of the heart may be recog- nised by the impulse of its vibratory motion, though its form is yet undefined, or at least indistinguishable; or whether, on the other hand, we look forward to the latest moments of protracted disease, or expiring old age, the same organ is the last part of our frame which continues to give immediate proof of vital motion. the privation of light is rarely, if ever, total; for though the empire of time is divided in nearly equal proportion between day and night, there are com- paratively few nights in which there is not diffused through the air a sufficient quantity of light for many of the purposes of life. nor, with respect to those persons who either were born blind, or became blind in early infancy, is the absence of light felt with any degree of severity; for, in such instances, although - adaptation of the atmosphere the individual may be made to understand that he wants some faculty which those around him possess, there cannot be however any consciousness of priva- tion where there never had been actually any enjoy- ment; or where there was no recollection of it, if it had for a time existed. and even in the case of in- dividuals who have been deprived of sight long sub- sequently to birth, although the recollection of the former enjoyment must more or less imbitter their present state; yet so long as the offices of surround- ing friends are the means of administering to their comfort, more especially if those offices are fulfilled with kindness, the mind soon becomes reconciled to the privation: for it is a fact, repeatedly observed, that blind persons under such circumstances are usually cheerful. nor ought we to forget the com- pensation which nature affords to those who are de- prived of sight, in the consequently quickened acti- vity of some of the other senses. flet us however suppose for a moment that, all the faculties and recollections of man remaining unaltered, and the general processes of nature continuing, if possible, the same as they are now, the existence of light were withdrawn from this earth: what would then be the condition of mankind how could those occupations of life be pursued which are necessary for the supply of our simplest wants? who in that case should yoke the ox to the plough, or sow the seed, or reap the harvest? but indeed under such a supposition there would soon be neither seed for the ground, nor grain for food: for, if deprived of light, the character of vegetation is completely altered; and its results, as far as general utility is concerned, destroyed. or suppose, further, that these necessary supplies of life were no longer required, on account of some consequent alteration in our physical consti- tution; or that they were procured for us by any unknown means; yet, in all the higher enjoyments of our nature, how cheerless, how utterly miserable adaptation of the atmosphere plant as excludes the admission of light beyond the exterior leaves. and, again, if a branch of ivy or of any spreading plant happen to penetrate during the progress of its vegetation into a dark cellar, or any similar subterraneous situation, it is observable, that, with the total loss of colour, its growth advances with great rapidity, but its proportions alter to such a degree as often to mask its original form. and, lastly, which in a practical point of view is of the greatest importance, if a plant which has grown without the influence of light be chemically ex- amined, its juices, it might almost be said its whole substance, would be found to consist of little else than mere water; and, whatever odour it may have, is characteristic, not of its original nature, but of its unnatural mode of growth; becoming, in short, very like that of a common fungus. the total result is, that all the native beauties and uses of a vegetable growing under these circumstances are lost: the eye is neither delighted by any variety or brightness of colour; nor is the sense of smell gratified by any fragrance: the degeneracy of its fibre into a mere pulp renders it unfit for any mechanical purpose; and the resinous and other principles on which its nutritive and medicinal virtues depend, cease to be developed. in some instances, however, the bleach- ing or etiolation of plants is useful in correcting the acrid taste which belongs to them in their natural state; as in the case of endive and of celery. the effect of light upon vegetation has been se- lected in the preceding paragraph as affording the most powerful instance of the adaptation of this natural agent to the physical condition of man. its effects upon individuals of the mineral and animal kingdom are neither so easily to be traced, nor are nearly so important in their consequences, at least in a practical point of view; and therefore it is not proposed to bring them forward in a more particular manner. - the observation of those modifications which light to the physical condition of man. * undergoes when reflected from the surfaces of bodies has given rise to one of those impressive arts which are capable of contributing no less to the refinement of society at large, than to the gratification of the individuals who cultivate or admire them. for who can look on the productions of such masters as guido, raphael, or michael angelo, without imbib- ing a portion of the spirit which animated those mas- ters in the execution of their inimitable works? or, if we quit the regions of imagination and of history, and descend from the higher efforts of the art into the retirement of domestic life, who can successfully describe those emotions which are excited by the portrait of a beloved object, a child or parent now no more ; or by the representation of that home and its surrounding scenery, in which the careless and happy hours of childhood were passed ?. the intrinsic source of the pleasure which we ex- perience from the contemplation of a painting is probably to be sought for in that principle of our nature, of more extensive influence perhaps than is generally supposed, which derives a gratification from perceiving the resemblance of actual or pro- bable truth; or even, and sometimes in a higher de- gree, from the delineation of fictitious characters and scenes: and hence the art of painting is easily made the vehicle of the ludicrous and the florrible, no less than of the sublime and the beautiful: and, hence also, the painter may incur a considerable degree of moral responsibility in the exercise of his art. but this view of the subject, though fertile in reflections of great moment, and practically too much neglect- ed, does not belong to the purpose of the present treatise. section iii. heat. from the consideration of the subject of light, the mind passes by a natural transition to that of heat: adaptation of the atmosphere for these agents, though not necessarily or always, are in reality very often associated together: and they are each of them characterised by the want of that property which almost seems essential to matter, namely weight. in their relation to the physical ex- istence of man and animal life in general, there is this difference between them—the presence of light is only indirectly necessary; the presence of heat is directly necessary. different degrees of heat indeed are requisite for different species of animals: but if the heat to which any individual animal be exposed be much below that which is natural to the species, and be continued for a sufficient length of time, all the vital functions are eventually destroyed; or, as in the case of the hibernation of particular species of animals, are at least partially suspended. the degree of heat adapted to the human frame is so nicely adjusted to the bodily feelings of man, that, if we take a range of fifty degrees of fahrenheit's thermometer as indicating the average extent of va- riation to which the body is exposed in this climate, it will be found that a difference of two or three de- grees, above or below a given point, will generally be sufficient to create an uncomfortable sensation. the late mr. walker, whose experiments on the artificial production of cold are well known to the philosophical world, ascertained that the point of ° or ° of fahrenheit is that, which, upon an average of many individuals, is in this climate the most con- genial, as far as sensation is concerned, to the human body. but it is a merciful provision of nature, con- sidering the numerous vicissitudes of human life, that man is capable of resisting very great and even sudden alterations of temperature without any seri- ous inconvenience. thus an atmosphere so cold, as to depress the mercury in fahrenheit's thermometer to the d degree below the freezing point of water, has been borne under the protection of very mode- rate clothing. and, on the other hand, an atmosphere of a temperature as high as the dth degree of to the physical condition of man. fahrenheit, which is within a few degrees of the boiling point of water, was borne by the late dr. fordyce, during ten minutes.* and it is highly worthy of notice, as connected with the general in- tention of this treatise, that, during the same time, a thermometer which had been fixed under his tongue indicated only the th degree of fahren- heit:f so that the body remained very nearly of its natural temperature, during its exposure to an at- mosphere exceeding its own temperature by full degrees.j. his uniformity of animal temperature, under such circumstances, is in a great measure owing to the process of evaporation, which takes place from the general surface of the body, and from the air-vessels of the lungs: for if animals are confined in a cham- ber, the atmosphere of which is so moist that no evaporation can take place from the surface of their bodies, it has been found that their temperature is as capable of being steadily and uniformly raised, by increasing the heat of the room in which they are placed, as if they were inanimate matter. the application of heat to the various purposes of life has a very extensive range; and with reference to the daily preparation of the more common forms of our food, whether animal or vegetable, distin- guishes the habits of man from those of every other species. without the power indeed of commanding the application of heat in its various degrees, many of the most important arts of civilized society would fail. - without that power, how could clay be hardened into the state of brick, of which material most of the habitations in many large cities are constructed? without the aid of the same agent, how could quick- lime, the base of every common cement, be produced from limestone? without the application of the higher * phil. trans. . vol. lxv. p. . # ibid. p. . f for an account of similar experiments carried to a further extent, see p. , &c. of the same volume of the phil. trans, adaptation of the atmosphere degrees of heat, metals could neither be reduced from their ores, nor the reduced metals worked into convenient forms. neither, without the same aid, could that most useful substance glass be produced; a material, which, in comparison hardly known to the ancients, has in modern times become almost indispensably necessary to persons of the poorest class, as a substance of daily use for various econo- mical purposes. but if we consider the properties of this valuable compound, with reference to the aid derived from it in the investigations of science, there are few substances of higher importance to the phi- losopher. among the most useful of those properties are its impermeability to fluids, either in a liquid or aeriform state; its ready permeability to light, to- gether with its power of modifying the qualities of that fiuid; and its resistance to almost all those che- mical agents, which are capable of destroying the texture of most other substances with which they remain long in contact. in considering the extensive utility of the thermo- meter and barometer, in their common and most convenient forms, it is evident that their practical value almost entirely depends on the transparency of glass, and on its impermeability to air: for if the glass, of which they are made, were opaque, the variations in the level of the quicksilver contained within them would be imperceptible to the eye; and could not be indirectly ascertained, unless by very circuitous and difficult means: and, on the other hand, if the glass were permeable to air, the varia- tion in the level of the quicksilver, in the case of the barometer at least, would necessarily be prevented. the same properties of transparency and impermea- bility to air very greatly enhance, if they do not solely constitute the value of glass, in all those phi- losophical experiments which are carried on under what is called the exhausted receiver. but the most important result of the transparency of glass is the modification which light undergoes in to the physical condition of man. its passage through lenticular masses of that material. when, for instance, in consequence of disease or advancing age, the eye no longer retains the power of discerning objects distinctly, how much of hourly comfort, as well as of intellectual enjoyment, would be lost, were we not able to supply the natural defect by the artificial aid of glasses of the requisite form and density. and, again, how many important facts in the physiology of animals and vegetables, as also in the constitution of inanimate bodies, would have remained for ever undiscovered, but for the aid of the microscope; the magnifying powers of which depend on the transparency, and form, and the right adjustment of those pieces of glass through which the objects subjected to observation are viewed! and, lastly, how shall we estimate the value of those discoveries, to say nothing of the constantl accumulating mass of observations connected º, them, which the world owes to that wonderful in- strument the telescope by the aid of which not only has the knowledge of our own sidereal system been extended, in consequence of the discovery of new planets belonging to it; but it seems to have been rendered highly probable that those obscurely defined luminous masses, which sir william herschel termed nebulae, observable within the limits of indi- vidual constellations, are really the accumulated light of innumerable stars seen through the medium of a space hitherto immeasurable: and that the milky way itself is an extended accumulation of similar nebulae; the collected light of which, at some inconceivable point of distance, may appear to the inhabitants of still more distant spheres, as a mere speck. dare the mind attempt to penetrate beyond this general statement, and to speculate upon the characters of its detail? what if there be a resemblance, or even an analogy, between the structure and inhabitants of this earth and of the other planets of our system? what if every fixed star which we either see with adaptation of the atmosphere the naked eye or by the aid of the telescope, or whose existence we can conceive on probable grounds by the mind's eye, be itself the centre of a system consisting, like our own, of numerous subor- dinate spheres, and every one of these inhabited by responsible agents, like ourselves; to whose uses both inorganic elements and animals and vegetables, analogous if not similar to our own, may be subser- vient? what if the moral history and state of the inhabitants of those numberless spheres be like that of man!—but the view, which the investigation of this question seems capable of unfolding, is too awful for the eye of reason; and, however its discussion might magnify our conviction of the infinite power and goodness of the creator, is not to be approached perhaps without culpable presumption. let us therefore return to considerations more ap- propriate to the character of human knowledge: and, having referred to the effects produced by heat on various forms of matter, let us inquire what facilities nature has placed within our reach for the purpose of exciting and maintaining heat itself. the chemist in his laboratory, surrounded by the numerous and various agents which he is constantly employing, can never have any difficulty in producing the vestal ele- ment. by concentration of the sun's rays he may inflame any combustible substance: by compression of common air in a small cylinder of glass, or metal, he may ignite a piece of fungus, or inflame a piece of phosphorus, attached to the extremity of the piston which is employed to compress the air. he may in- stantaneously produce flame by pouring concentrated nitric acid on oil of turpentine, or on certain saline compounds; by the simple trituration of phosphorus, or other chemical agents; by directing a small stream of inflammable air on minute particles of platina loosely aggregated in a state somewhat resembling sponge; or, not to accumulate too many instances, he may delight himself for the thousandth time by ig- to the physical condition of man. niting a fine wire of steel, in passing the electric current along it by means of the voltaic apparatus.* there are few individuals however who have commonly such magic instruments at hand: and, even if they had, it is probable that they would want both the leisure and inclination to preserve them in a state fitted to produce at any moment the intended effect; for, though each successive year has of late given birth to some new form of apparatus calculated to produce instantaneous light, we find ourselves constantly recurring to the flint and steel, which our forefathers of many generations have used; and which will doubtless be the staple apparatus of our latest posterity. the more important part of the present inquiry remains to be considered, the means namely of main- taining heat, when once excited, to a sufficient extent and degree of intensity for the various purposes of * it will not perhaps be deemed impertinent, to relate an in- stance of the sagacity of the late. dr. wollaston, in connexion with the present subject. it happened to the author of this treatise, at a comparatively early period of his life, to deliver a letter of introduction to dr. wollaston at a moment when that philosopher was engaged in conducting an electric current, by means of the voltaic apparatus, through three portions of fine steel wire, differing from each other in diameter. with that vivacity of manner, which in him resulted rather from the simple consciousness of the acquisition of truth, than from the ignoble triumph of individual superiority, he asked which of those wires would first become of a red heat; and being answered, at a hazard rather than from any reasonable ground of conjecture, that a red heat would perhaps first take place in the thickest of the three —“i expect it will,” he said, “and that the finest wire will never reach a red heat; for i conclude that, from its extreme fineness, the heat excited in it will be dissipated by radiation so rapidly, as to prevent the accumulation of a quantity sufficient for its ignition.” it need hardly be added that the conjecture was verified. as an instance of the minute scale on which dr. wollaston was in the habit of carrying on his philosophical investigations, it may be mentioned that the preceding experiment was con- ducted in a single cell of a single and moderately sized woltaic trough. h adaptation of the atmosphere social and civilized life. to this important purpose, among others, the products of the vegetable world, both in a fossil and recent state, are destined; and in examining the origin and general history of some of these products, particularly with reference to com- mon coal, we shall meet with an interesting example of those provisions of nature which dr. #. has denominated prospective contrivances. in the early periods of civilization, and while the population of a country bears a small proportion to the extent of soil occupied, the indigenous forests easily supply an ample quantity of fuel: or, in the absence of those larger species of the vegetable king- dom which may be described under the term of tim- ber, the humblest productions of the morass, though not the most desirable, are, however a sufficient sub- stitute. thus the sphagnum palustre and other mosses, by their successive growth and decay, form the combustible substratum of those extensive and at present uncultivated tracts in ireland, which, till they shall have happily been reclaimed by the industry of a yet barbarous population, contribute by the turf and peat which they afford, to the comfort of myriads of individuals; who, were it not for this source of sup- ply, would be, in their present state, in total want of one of the principal necessaries of life. in many populous districts of this island, the abo- riginal forests, which formerly so amply supplied the surrounding inhabitants, have long since been cleared from the surface of the earth: and their site is now occupied by cultivated lands and a condensed popu- lation. the former source of fuel has consequently in such parts long since failed: but the clearing of the surface has in many places detected that invalu- able mineral combustible, which, usually bearing in itself indubitable marks of a vegetable origin, from the traces of organization still apparent in almost every part of its substance, was deposited ages before it was wanted, as a future substitute for the fuel which in the mean time has been derived from the actually existing vegetable kingdom. to the physical condition of man. it is not intended here to enter into the general consideration of those geological formations called coal fields, which are the repositories of this useful mineral : but there is one circumstance in their his- tory so evidently calculated to facilitate the labour of man in obtaining this substance, and to extend its supply, and so remarkably though not exclusively characteristic of those particular formations, that, though not obvious to a general observer, it cannot fail to arrest the attention of those to whom it is pointed out. a coal field may be represented, in a popular description, as consisting of a succession of alternating strata of coal and sand-stone, &c.; which, having been originally deposited in a basin-shaped cavity, in such a manner as to be at the same time parallel to the concave surface of the basin and to each other, have been subsequently broken up by some force that has thrown the planes of the rup- tured masses into various directions. now, had the strata remained undisturbed, a very considerable proportion of the coal which is now quarried would most probably never have been obtained by human industry: for, the strata dipping down from the cir- cumference towards the centre of the basin, that perpendicular depth, beyond which it is practically impossible to work the coal, would soon have been reached in the operation of mining. but, in conse- quence of the rupture and consequent dislocation of the strata, many of those portions which were origi- nally deposited at such a depth beneath the surface as would have rendered the working of them impos- sible, have been thrown up to the very surface; and thus have become available to the miner. section iv. the general uses of water. one of the earliest political punishments of ancient rome affords an indirect but very remarkable proof, adaptation of the atmosphere of the immediate importance of the elements of fire and water* to human life: for this punishment con- sisting, in part, in an interdiction from the use of wa- ter, compelled the individual so punished to fly from his native neighbourhood, in order to obtain that me- cessary article of support elsewhere: and, hence, banishment and interdiction from fire and water be- came synonymous terms. there are few who have not experienced the uneasy sensation occasioned by even a temporary privation of this necessary: and the death that ensues upon a continued privation of it is, perhaps, of all modes of death the most dread- ful. this we learn from the occasional accounts of individuals who have escaped from shipwrecks, in which their companions had perished amidst the agonies of thirst. and it is said of those unhappy victims of a barbarous punishment, in persia, (who being immured in masonry as to every part of their body but the head, are left to perish in that state,) that they terminate their last hours, perhaps days, in incessant cries for water. - the necessity of this element for our support may be antecedently inferred, on philosophical principles, from an examination of the physical composition of any animal body; of which, in by far the greater number of instances, more than three-fourths of the whole weight are due to the presence of water. this water of composition may be easily separated by the application of a moderate degree of heat, or even by spontaneous evaporation at a common temperature, sk gy will hardly be required for applying the term element to a substance, which though it has long been experi- mentally ascertained to be a compound, will in a popular view be always considered as a simple body; especially if it be remem- bered that even among the ancients this term did not necessarily imply that the substance so called was absolutely a simple or un- compounded body. it was sufficient with them, that, in all the known processes and phenomena of nature, the substance pre- sented itself under the same essential form: but they were pre- pared to allow that elementary bodies (grouxºis) might possibly be resolved into absolutely simple principles (éexaſ.) to the physical condition of man. without any further decomposition of the body; the muscles and skin consequently shrinking to such an extent, as to give the whole frame the appearance of a skeleton, enveloped, as it were, in parchment. such a result is occasionally observable in human bodies which have been deposited in dry cemeteries; and is by no means uncommon in the case of small animals, as rats, for instance, which having been acci- dentally wedged in between a wall and a wainscot, are subsequently found in the state above described. an experiment of a very simple character in itself, and very easily made, will serve to ascertain, not only the proportional quantity of water of composi- tion contained in some forms of animal matter, but also the properties communicated by the presence of that element thus combined. every one has noticed the opaline or milky appearance and the remarkable elasticity of cartilage, or gristle, as it is more com- monly called: which characters depend on the wa- ter contained in it; for if a piece of gristle, the weight of which has been previously ascertained, be exposed to the air of a warm room, it will at the end of a few hours have lost a portion of its weight; and will have become nearly transparent, and entirely inelastic: and if, in this state, it be immersed in water, it will gradually recover its original weight, and also its elasticity and opaline appearance. if, instead of gristle, a piece of boiled white of egg be employed, the same results will be observable; for, together with loss of weight and elasticity, it will become brittle, and nearly as transparent as pure amber: and on the other hand, by subsequent immersion in water, its original properties will be soon restored. by experiments nearly as simple as those above men- tioned it may be demonstrated, that all the liquid and solid parts of an animal, with some few exceptions, contain or consist of more than three-fourths of their weight of water: the importance of which element in the mere composition of our body is hence direct- ly evident. h adaptation of the atmosphere but if we would have a familiar illustration of its importance in the daily and hourly occurrences of life, let us in imagination accompany an individual of moderate rank and condition in society, from the time of his rising in the morning till the hour of sleep at night, in order to observe the utility of water in administering either directly or indirectly to his va- rious wants and habits. how great is the comfort, to say nothing of the salubrity of the practice, which results to him from the application of water to the surface of the body, by means either of the bath or any simpler process! and, again, the change of the linen in which he is partiarly clothed is rendered equally comfortable and salutary, in consequence of its having been previously submitted to the process of washing. the infusion of coffee or of tea, which is probably an essential part of his earliest meal, could not have been prepared without water: neither could the flour of which his bread consists, have been kneaded; nor the food of his subsequent meal, the broths and most of the vegetables at least, have been rendered digestible, without the aid of the same fluid; and with respect to his common beverage, whether milk, or any form of fermented liquor, water still constitutes the main bulk of that beverage. so far the use of water is directly and immediately necessary to his comfort and subsistence: but its in- direct and remote necessity is equally observable in all that surrounds him. there is scarcely an article of his apparel, in some part of the preparation of which water has not been necessarily employed; in the tanning of the leather of his shoes; in the dress- ing of the flax of which his linen is made ; in the dyeing of the wool of his coat, or of the materials of his hat. without water the china or earthen cups, out of which he drinks, could not have been turned on the lathe; nor the bricks, of which his house is constructed, nor the mortar by which they are cemented, have been formed. the ink with which he writes, and the paper which receives it, could not to the physical condition of man. have been made without the use of water. the knife with which he divides his solid food, and the spoon with which he conveys it when in a liquid form to his mouth, could not have been, or at least have not probably been formed, without the application of water during some part of the process of making them. by water the medical principles of various vege- table and mineral substances are extracted, and ren- dered potable; which could not be introduced into the animal system in a solid state: and this element itself becomes occasionally a most powerful medi- cinal instrument by its external application, in every one of its forms; whether as a liquid, under the name of the cold or warm bath; or in the form of ice, in restraining internal inflammation and hemorrhage; or in the state of steam, as in the application of the vapour bath. section w. baths. the custom of bathing, whether in a medium of a high or of a low temperature, appears to be in a great measure derived from the gratification of a natural feeling: for we find it prevalent in every country and in every stage of society, not only with reference to its medicinal effects, but as a mere lux- ury. thus at every season of the year, when the sky is serene at least, the inhabitants of hot climates plunge into their native streams for the sake of the refreshment imparted to the surface of their bodies; and the same refreshment is equally sought by the natives of colder climates during the heat of their short summer: in each of which instances the plea- surable sensation is the principal motive for the prac- tice. but on some occasions a more permanent good is sought; and the hope of immediate pleasure is so far from being the motive, that a sensation very nearly allied to pain, and in many instances less tolerable adaptation of the atmosphere than pain itself, is encountered in the shock of the cold bath, with a view to the preservation or restora- tion of health. it may be said perhaps that the glow of warmth which usually succeeds this shock is in itself a pleasure; as indeed it is: but it may be presumed that very few individuals experience any pleasure from the shock itself, or would consent to encounter it but for its pleasurable and beneficial consequences. for the enjoyment of the cold bath nature affords the immediate resource of springs and rivers, in al- most every part of the world; but the enjoyment of the warm bath is in general not easily attainable; warm springs being comparatively of rare occur- rence: the pleasure of the warm bath however is so congenial to man's feelings, that it is sought for by savages as well as by the inhabitants of the most luxurious cities; and is as acceptable in tropical as in cold climates. it is at all times interesting to contemplate the ex- pedients which human ingenuity discovers for the accomplishment of its purposes: but such a contem- plation is more particularly interesting when it de- velopes the revival of a principle, the knowledge of which had been buried during many centuries of intervening ignorance; and thus justifies the reflec- tion of moral wisdom: “multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere.” “the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.” in a most amusing and instructive account of pompeii, which forms one of the volumes published under the name of the library of entertaining knowledge, is a dissertation on the baths of the an- cients; which will amply repay, by the information it conveys, the time occupied in its perusal. in that dissertation is contained a description of the remains of some public baths, discovered in the excavations of pompeii: and with reference to the disposition of to the physical condition of man. the furnace of the baths a fact is stated, which is peculiarly applicable to our present purpose. it is evident that, in consequence of the enormous quantity of water which was daily heated in their public baths, the attention of the ancients must ne- cessarily have been directed to the most economical mode of applying the fuel by which the heat of the furnace was maintained: and the following extract from the above mentioned account of pompeii will show that, even in a small town of ancient italy, an economical principle was well understood and ap- plied eighteen centuries since, which has only been of late revived in modern science. it is stated in that account, (p. ,) that “close to the furnace, at the distance of four inches, a round vacant space still remains, in which was placed the copper for boiling water (caldarium ;) near which, with the same interval between them, was placed the copper for warm water (tepidarium ;) and at the distance of two feet from this was the receptacle for cold wa- ter (frigidarium.) a constant communication was maintained between these vessels; so that as fast as hot water was drawn off from the caldarium, the void was supplied from the tepidarium, which, being already considerably heated, did but slightly reduce the temperature of the hotter boiler. the tepidarium in its turn was supplied from a gene- ral reservoir: so that the heat which was not taken up by the first boiler passed on to the second ; and, instead of being wasted, did its office in pre- paring the contents of the second for the higher tem- perature which it was to obtain in the first. it is but lately that this principle has been introduced into modern furnaces; but its use in reducing the consumption of fuel is well known.” in the same account of pompeii is afforded a striking instance, with reference to the vapour bath, not only of the similarity of the means employed for producing a similar effect, by individuals between whom no communication can be traced or even sup- adaptation of the atmosphere posed; but also a similarity of custom, with refer- ence to the enjoyment of social intercourse, between communities not less widely separated from each other by time and space, than by degree of civiliza- tion; between the luxurious inhabitants of imperial rome eighteen centuries ago, and the savage tribes of north-western america at the present day. the author of the account of pompeii states (p. — ) on the authority of tooke's russia, “that the russian baths, as used by the common people, bear a close resemblance to the vapour bath (laconicum) of the romans. they usually consist of wooden houses, situated, if possible, by the side of a running stream. in the bath-room is a large vaulted oven, which, when heated, makes the paving stones lying upon it red hot; and adjoining to the oven is a kettle fixed in masonry for the purpose of holding boiling water. in those parts of the country where wood is scarce, the baths sometimes consist of wretched ca- verns, commonly dug in the earth close to the bank of some river. the heat in the bath-room is usually from ° to ° of fahrenheit; and may be much increased by throwing water on the glowing hot stones in the chamber of the oven. the russian baths therefore are vapour-baths; and it appears that even the savage tribes of america are not wholly unacquainted with the use of the vapour- bath, lewis and clarke, in their voyage up the mis- souri, have described one of these in the following terms: “we observed a vapour-bath, consisting of a hollow square of six or eight feet deep, formed in the river bank by damming up with mud the other three sides, and covering the whole completely, ex- cept an aperture about two feet, wide at the top. the bathers descend by this hole, taking with them a number of heated stones, and jugs of water; and, after being seated round the room, throw the water on the stones till the steam becomes of a tempera- ture sufficiently high for their purposes.” * sauer, in his account of billings's expedition, describes the same kind of bath as used in north-western america (p. .) to the physical condition of man. it appears then, from the foregoing statement, that the peasants of russia, and the savages of north america, are in the habit of employing the same means for converting water into vapour, which were employed by the romans at the most luxurious pe- riod in their history: and to the peasants of russia and the savages of north america, may be added the natives of new zealand and other islands of the pacific ocean; merely with this qualification, that they employ the steam, so raised, not for the purpose of a vapour-bath, but of dressing their food. it is worthy of notice, as illustrative of the social feeling inherent in human nature, that, equally among the uncivilized natives of america as among the luxurious inhabitants of ancient italy, “it is very uncommon for an individual to bathe alone; he is generally accompanied by one, or sometimes several, of his acquaintance: bathing indeed is so essentially a social amusement, that to decline going in to bathe, when invited by a friend, is one of the highest indig- nities that can be offered to him” (p. .) section vi. the fluidity of water. º familiarized as we are to the consequences re- sulting from that property of water, whereby its particles move so easily among themselves as to yield to the least impulse, provided there be space for yielding, we rarely perhaps meditate on its import- ance: and yet it is entirely owing to this property that a free communication is capable of being main- tained between distant parts of the world by means of the ocean at large, and between different parts of the same country by means of navigable rivers; or by those more than rivals of navigable rivers, artifi- cial canals.” * it has been stated, on credible authority, that an agent of a great proprietor of canals being incidently asked, during a legal examination, for what purpose he conceived rivers had been adaptation of the atmosphere rarely also, perhaps, do we meditate on the equally important fact, that, throughout the greater part of the world this element usually exists in a liquid state: and important indeed is that fact; for, of the three states under which it is capable of existing, namely of ice, water, and vapour, if its predominant state had been that of ice or of vapour, philosophers might º have conjectured, but the world could never ave seen realized, the mighty results of commerce as depending on the art of navigation. from the same physical character of water, above described, namely, its fluidity, manifesting itself ac- tively instead of passively, are daily produced results of equal importance to society, and equally surprising in themselves. who indeed can adequately describe the advantages derived from water in aiding the powers of mechanism, from the half-decayed and moss-grown wheel that scarcely sets in motion the grinding-stone of the village mill, to the astonishing momentum of the steam engine which kneads a hun- dred tons of heated iron with as much ease as the hands of the potter knead a lump of clay ! and here, since it is of the utmost importance to mankind that this element should usually exist in a liquid state, let us pause awhile to investigate the means employed by nature to prevent its rapid con- version either into vapour or into ice. for although its partial existence in both those states is perhaps eventually as necessary to the general good of the world as its more common state of water, yet, if its sudden or rapid conversion into either were not pre- vented, great temporary evil would necessarily ensue from our privation of it as a liquid. it has been already mentioned that the atmosphere constantly, holds in solution or suspension a great body of water, in a state of minute division: but the quantity that can be carried up into the atmosphere by the process of evaporation is limited in two ways; : answered, “that, no doubt, they were intended to feed canals.” adaptation of the atmosphere points, namely, that the average temperature of lakes and rivers is during the heat of summer more or less above the th degree of fahrenheit's scale; that water itself at about the th degree is of its greatest density; and that under all common cir- cumstances it freezes, or becomes solid, at the d degree. if we suppose then the temperature of a pool or lake to equal at any given moment the th degree of fahrenheit; and a gradual reduction of its temperature to take place from that moment by the effect of a constantly diminishing temperature of the air; under such circumstances the following phe- nomena would occur. the particles of the water at the surface becoming more condensed, that is heavier, as they became cooler, would sink towards the bot- tom, and be replaced by the hitherto subjacent par- ticles; which in their turn, undergoing a similar de- crease in their temperature and condensation, would consequently subside towards the bottom; till at length the whole mass of water had arrived at the temperature of about °. from this point any pro- gressive decrease of temperature would have an ex- pansive effect upon the particles of water near the surface; which, being thus rendered relatively lighter than the particles of the subjacent mass, would not subside; but, remaining on the surface, would con- tinue to be expanded and made still lighter till they had reached the temperature of °; at which de- #. under ordinary circumstances, they would reeze. but the coat of ice thus formed would be, in some measure, a barrier to the effect of the colder atmosphere upon the bulk of the water beneath; which consequently would remain for a compara- tively longer time in a liquid state; and would be easily procured for general purposes, by making par- tial openings through the frozen surface. now if the density of water continued to increase in a regu- lar º to the moment of congelation, it would necessarily happen, from the sinking of the particles gradually thus condensed, that at some to the physical condition of man. given moment the temperature of the whole mass, still in a liquid state, would have arrived at the freez- ing point; and consequently the whole mass would have been frozen, or become solid, at the same mo- ment. the possibility of such a simultaneous con- gelation is not merely a philosophical deduction, it sometimes actually occurs. thus, under certain cir- cumstances, particularly if kept entirely free from agitation, water, still retaining its liquid form, may be cooled down to a point several degrees below that of congelation; when, upon a slight agitation, the whole mass is converted at once into the state of ice. section vii. the natural sources of water. for the supply of a substance of such immediate necessity to the very existence of man, and of such extensive utility in promoting his comforts, nature has provided the amplest means; all however ulti- mately derived from that mass of water which has been carried up into the atmosphere by evaporation from the sea: so that if that evaporation were to fail, all forms of animal and vegetable matter, with the exception of those which belong to the ocean itself, would soon perish; for under such circumstances the earth would be deprived of those seasonable showers, without which its vegetable productions could not be sustained; and every spring would soon fail, and every river be dried up : for rivers are in most in- stances formed by the progressive accumulation of various torrents; and these are produced by that por- tion of rain which, having fallen upon the ridges and inclined surfaces of hills and mountains, descends more rapidly than the soil can absorb it: and springs result, in a manner that will be hereafter mentioned, adaptation of the atmosphere from the accumulation of that portion of the rain, which sinks beneath the surface on which it has fallen. but it is evident that if the vegetable world were to perish, the animal world could not long survive. nor are the laws by which the moisture, contained in the atmosphere, is precipitated from it in dews or rain, among the least admirable instances of the pro- vision made by nature for a constant supply of the wants of man. the mechanism, if the term be allowable, by which the formation of clouds and the occasional descent of rain are regulated, resides in the variable- ness of the state of the heat and electricity of the atmosphere: in consequence of which a given mass of air is incapable of retaining, in solution or suspen- sion, the same quantity of moisture which it did be- fore; and hence that moisture is precipitated in the form of dews and fogs; or, being previously con- densed into accumulated masses of clouds, is dis- charged from those clouds in the form of rain. it almost seems puerile to illustrate the adaptation of the present laws and order of nature to the wants of man, by the supposition of the consequences that would ensue from a failure of those laws; and yet, as in actual life we often feel not the value of the good which we possess, till admonished by the prospect of its loss; so, with reference to the constitution of nature, we may more forcibly be impressed with the conviction of its general harmony and subserviency to our wants, by the supposition of its being different from what it is, than by the direct contemplation of its actual state. in supposing then that means had not been provided for the regular discharge of por- tions of that mass of water which has been carried up into the atmosphere by the process of evapora- tion, the existence of that mass would have been of little avail to man: for mere contact of an atmo- sphere, however moist, could not promote vegetation to the physical condition of man. to any useful extent;" and the formation of springs and rivers would be as effectually prevented by rain ceasing to fall from the atmosphere, as if the material of the rain itself did not exist in it. of the modes in which nature disposes of the rain that has fallen on the earth, and of the formation of natural springs and rivers, more particular notice will be taken hereafter: but it may be observed by the way, that, although there is scarcely any sub- stance which water is not capable of dissolving to a certain extent, and consequently no natural form of water is pure, yet in almost every instance the natu- ral forms of water are not only innocuous, but salutary. section viii. the air of the atmosphere, as connected with respiration. if we suppose the atmosphere deprived of heat, and light, and moisture, and of all those other hetero- geneous particles which are either naturally or acci- dentally contained in it; there still remains the me- dium which is the receptacle or vehicle of those various substances: and this medium is indeed that, which in common apprehension is understood to be the atmosphere itself. of the vital importance of atmospherical air no formal proof can be required; for every one capable of the least reflection must know that its presence is almost constantly necessary to the existence of man, from the moment of his birth to that of his death. of all other external aids we may be deprived for a comparatively long time without danger, or even * niebuhr asserts, what is confirmed by other travellers, that many tracts in egypt and palestine, formerly well cultivated and fertile, are at present mere deserts for want of irrigation. (descript. de l'arabie, p. .) i adaptation of the atmosphere without much inconvenience; of light and heat for instance, and of food and sleep; but we cannot be deprived of the air which we breathe even for a very few minutes, without dreadful distress; or, if for more than a very few minutes, without the extinction of life. this vital importance of the air depends, princi- pally, on its capability of assisting to withdraw from the body, chiefly through the agency of the lungs, portions of that peculiar principle called carbon; the permanent retention of which would be incompatible with the continuance of life. and the union of this principle with one of the constituent parts of atmo- spherical air is probably effected in the lungs during the process of respiration; the compound passing off in the act of expiration, in the state of an aeriform fluid, called carbonic acid gas. . but, in order to give a clear idea of the nature of the process of respiration, it will be necessary to explain more particularly not only the constitution of that portion of the atmosphere which supports this process, but some of its chemical relations to other substances. atmospherical air then, considering it in its adaptation to the process of respiration, consists of a mixture or combination of two aeriform fluids, which are very different from each other in charac- ter, but intimately blended together in the proportion of four to one. of these two fluids, that which is in the smaller proportion is not only capable of support- ing life, when respired or breathed alone; but is capable of supporting it for a much longer period than an equal volume of atmospherical air would have supported it: and if, instead of being employed for the process of respiration, it be made the medium of supporting combustion, the consequent phenomena are still more remarkable; for the combustible body not only burns for a longer time than it would have done in the same quantity of atmospherical air, but it burns with an intensity much more vivid; the light of the flame being in many instances too powerful to to the physical condition of man. be easily borne by the eye. on the other hand, that constituent part of atmospherical air, which is in the greater proportion, not only will not support either life or flame, even for a short time, but extinguishes both, almost in an instant. by numerous experiments, which it is at present unnecessary to describe, it has been ascertained, that many of the metals are capable of attracting and combining with this respirable part of the air: during which process the metallic body assumes an earthy character, and becomes increased in weight; while the weight of the air, in which the experiment has been conducted, becomes diminished exactly to the amount in which that of the metal has been increased: and, at the same time, the residuary portion of the air which has been employed in the experiment equals only about four fifths of the original volume; and is now incapable of supporting either life or flame. but, by processes well known to chemists, the metallic substance may be made to yield a quan- tity of air equalling that which has been lost during the experiment, the metal at the same time returning to its original state and weight; while the air, thus separated, if added to the residual portion, not only restores the volume and weight of the original quan- tity; but also its power of supporting life and flame. if, instead of a metal, certain inflammable sub- stances be employed, similar changes are effected on the air; and the inflammable substance, together with an increase of weight and other alterations, acquires acid properties; and hence that respirable portion of the air has, from a greek derivation, been called oxygen; as being the effective cause of the acidification of those inflammable bodies. it has moreover been ascertained that, during combustion, a piece of pure charcoal weighing twenty-eight grains combines with as much oxygen gas as would weigh seventy-two grains: and, as the volume of the gas employed remains the same at the end of the experiment that it was at the beginning, provided it to the physical condition of man. it appears then, from the foregoing statement, that the peasants of russia, and the savages of north america, are in the habit of employing the same means for converting water into vapour, which were employed by the romans at the most luxurious pe- riod in their history: and to the peasants of russia and the savages of north america, may be added the natives of new zealand and other islands of the pacific ocean; merely with this qualification, that they employ the steam, so raised, not for the purpose of a vapour-bath, but of dressing their food. it is worthy of notice, as illustrative of the social feeling inherent in human nature, that, equally among the uncivilized natives of america as among the luxurious inhabitants of ancient italy, “it is very uncommon for an individual to bathe alone; he is generally accompanied by one, or sometimes several, of his acquaintance: bathing indeed is so essentially a social amusement, that to decline going in to bathe, when invited by a friend, is one of the highest indig- nities that can be offered to him” (p. .) section vi. the fluidity of water. familiarized as we are to the consequences re- sulting from that property of water, whereby its particles move so easily among themselves as to yield to the least impulse, provided there be space for yielding, we rarely perhaps meditate on its import- ance: and yet it is entirely owing to this property that a free communication is capable of being main- tained between distant parts of the world by means of the ocean at large, and between different parts of the same country by means of navigable rivers; or by those more than rivals of navigable rivers, artifi-. cial canals.” * it has been stated, on credible authority, that an agent of a great proprietor of canals being incidently asked, during a legal examination, for what purpose he conceived rivers had been to the physical condition of man. given moment the temperature of the whole mass, still in a liquid state, would have arrived at the freez- ing point; and consequently the whole mass would have been frozen, or become solid, at the same mo- ment. the possibility of such a simultaneous con- gelation is not merely a philosophical deduction, it sometimes actually occurs. thus, under certain cir- cumstances, particularly if kept entirely free from agitation, water, still retaining its liquid form, may be cooled down to a point several degrees below that of congelation; when, upon a slight agitation, the whole mass is converted at once into the state of ice. section vii. the natural sources of water. for the supply of a substance of such immediate necessity to the very existence of man, and of such extensive utility in promoting his comforts, nature has provided the amplest means; all however ulti- mately derived from that mass of water which has been carried up into the atmosphere by evaporation from the sea: so that if that evaporation were to fail, all forms of animal and vegetable matter, with the exception of those which belong to the ocean itself, would soon perish; for under such circumstances the earth would be deprived of those seasonable showers, without which its vegetable productions could not be sustained; and every spring would soon fail, and every river be dried up: for rivers are in most in- stances formed by the progressive accumulation of various torrents; and these are produced by that por- tion of rain which, having fallen upon the ridges and inclined surfaces of hills and mountains, descends more rapidly than the soil can absorb it: and springs result, in a manner that will be hereafter mentioned, adaptation of the atmosphere from the accumulation of that portion of the rain. which sinks beneath the surface on which it has fallen. but it is evident that if the vegetable world were to perish, the animal world could not long survive. nor are the laws by which the moisture, contained in the atmosphere, is precipitated from it in dews or rain, among the least admirable instances of the pro- vision made by nature for a constant supply of the wants of man. the mechanism, if the term be allowable, by which the formation of clouds and the occasional descent of rain are regulated, resides in the variable- ness of the state of the heat and electricity of the atmosphere: in consequence of which a given mass of air is incapable of retaining, in solution or suspen- sion, the same quantity of moisture which it did be- fore; and hence that moisture is precipitated in the form of dews and fogs; or, being previously con- densed into accumulated masses of clouds, is dis- charged from those clouds in the form of rain. it almost seems puerile to illustrate the adaptation of the present laws and order of nature to the wants of man, by the supposition of the consequences that would ensue from a failure of those laws; and yet, as in actual life we often feel not the value of the good which we possess, till admonished by the prospect of its loss; so, with reference to the constitution of nature, we may more forcibly be impressed with the conviction of its general harmony and subserviency to our wants, by the supposition of its being different from what it is, than by the direct contemplation of its actual state. in supposing then that means had not been provided for the regular discharge of por- tions of that mass of water which has been carried up into the atmosphere by the process of evapora- tion, the existence of that mass would have been of little avail to man: for mere contact of an atmo- sphere, however moist, could not promote vegetation to the physical condition of man. to any useful extent;* and the formation of springs and rivers would be as effectually prevented by rain ceasing to fall from the atmosphere, as if the material of the rain itself did not exist in it. of the modes in which nature disposes of the rain that has fallen on the earth, and of the formation of natural springs and rivers, more particular notice will be taken hereafter: but it may be observed by the way, that, although there is scarcely any sub- stance which water is not capable of dissolving to a certain extent, and consequently no natural form of water is pure, yet in almost every instance the natu- ral forms of water are not only innocuous, but salutary. section viii. the air of the atmosphere, as connected with respiration. if we suppose the atmosphere deprived of heat, and light, and moisture, and of all those other hetero- geneous particles which are either naturally or acci- dentally contained in it; there still remains the me- dium which is the receptacle or vehicle of those various substances: and this medium is indeed that, which in common apprehension is understood to be the atmosphere itself. of the vital importance of atmospherical air no formal proof can be required; for every one capable of the least reflection must know that its presence is almost constantly necessary to the existence of man, from the moment of his birth to that of his death. of all other external aids we may be deprived for a comparatively long time without danger, or even * niebuhr asserts, what is confirmed by other travellers, that many tracts in egypt and palestine, formerly well cultivated and fertile, are at present mere deserts for want of irrigation. (descript. de l'arabie, p. .) i adaptation of the atmosphere without much inconvenience; of light and heat for instance, and of food and sleep; but we cannot be deprived of the air which we breathe even for a very few minutes, without dreadful distress; or, if for more than a very few minutes, without the extinction of life. this vital importance of the air depends, princi- pally, on its capability of assisting to withdraw from the body, chiefly through the agency of the lungs, portions of that peculiar principle called carbon; the permanent retention of which would be incompatible with the continuance of life. and the union of this principle with one of the constituent parts of atmo- spherical air is probably effected in the lungs during the process of respiration; the compound passing off in the act of expiration, in the state of an aeriform fluid, called carbonic acid gas. . but, in order to give a clear idea of the nature of the process of respiration, it will be necessary to explain more particularly not only the constitution of that portion of the atmosphere which supports this process, but some of its chemical relations to other substances. atmospherical air then, considering it in its adaptation to the process of respiration, consists of a mixture or combination of two aeriform fluids, which are very different from each other in charac- ter, but intimately blended together in the proportion of four to one. of these two fluids, that which is in the smaller proportion is not only capable of support- ing life, when respired or breathed alone; but is capable of supporting it for a much longer period than an equal volume of atmospherical air would have supported it: and if, instead of being employed for the process of respiration, it be made the medium of supporting combustion, the consequent phenomena are still more remarkable; for the combustible body not only burns for a longer time than it would have done in the same quantity of atmospherical air, but it burns with an intensity much more vivid; the º: ful to of the flame being in many instances too power to the physical condition of man. be easily borne by the eye. on the other hand, that constituent part of atmospherical air, which is in the greater proportion, not only will not support either life or flame, even for a short time, but extinguishes both, almost in an instant. by numerous experiments, which it is at present unnecessary to describe, it has been ascertained, that many of the metals are capable of attracting and combining with this respirable part of the air: during which process the metallic body assumes an earthy character, and becomes increased in weight; while the weight of the air, in which the experiment has been conducted, becomes diminished exactly to the amount in which that of the metal has been increased: and, at the same time, the residuary portion of the air which has been employed in the experiment equals only about four fifths of the original volume; and is now incapable of supporting either life or flame. but, by processes well known to chemists, the metallic substance may be made to yield a quan- tity of air equalling that which has been lost during the experiment, the metal at the same time returning to its original state and weight; while the air, thus separated, if added to the residual portion, not only restores the volume and weight of the original quan- tity; but also its power of supporting life and flame. if, instead of a metal, certain inflammable sub- stances be employed, similar changes are effected on the air; and the inflammable substance, together with an increase of weight and other alterations, acquires acid properties; and hence that respirable portion of the air has, from a greek derivation, been called oxygen; as being the effective cause of the acidification of those inflammable bodies. it has moreover been ascertained that, during combustion, a piece of pure charcoal weighing twenty-eight grains combines with as much oxygen gas as would weigh seventy-two grains: and, as the volume of the gas employed remains the same at the end of the experiment that it was at the beginning, provided it adaptation of the atmosphere be brought to the same degree of temperature and atmospherical pressure, it appears that the carbon is as it were held in solution by the gas: and as this chemical compound of carbon and oxygen possesses acid properties, it is called carbonic acid gas. a volume of this gas, then, which weighs one hun- dred grains, consists of twenty-eight grains of carbon chemically combined with seventy-two grains of oxygen: and it has certain properties, by which, without the labour of actual analysis, it may be re- cognised from any other gas; among the more im- portant of which, for our present purpose at least, is the readiness with which it communicates a wheyish appearance to lime-water, when made to pass through that liquid. making use of this character as a test, any individual may easily satisfy himself that during the process of respiration a quantity of carbonic acid gas passes from his lungs: for if, after having inhaled a portion of atmospherical air uncontaminated with any mixture of it, he breathe slowly through a nar- row tube, the further extremity of which is immersed beneath the surface of a portion of lime-water, he will observe that as the bubbles of air rise through the lime-water, that liquid becomes opaque; and the opacity thus communicated to the water can be shown to be the result of a compound formed by the union of the carbonic acid, which has evidently been given out from the lungs, with the lime previously held in solution in the lime-water. let it now be kept in mind that a hundred cubic inches of carbonic acid gas, under ordinary circum- stances, weigh a little more than forty-six grains; and that a quantity of the same gas weighing a hun- dred grains contains twenty-eight grains of carbon; and the following statement will be easily intelligible. it appears, from experiments which have been made for the purpose, that during the process of respiration in an individual of ordinary size and health, about twenty-seven cubic inches and a half of carbonic acid gas are given off from the lungs in the course to the physical condition of man. of one minute; which at the end of twenty-four hours would amount to , cubic inches, or in round numbers , ; and as cubic inches weigh grains, , would weigh , grains. then, since a quantity of carbonic acid gas weighing grains contains twenty-eight grains of carbon, a quantity weighing , grains would contain grains, or nearly eleven ounces, at grains to an ounce: so that a quantity of carbon equalling two- thirds of a pound in weight is daily discharged from the blood by means of the simple process of respira- tion. in an illustration of the general question of the adaptation of external nature to the physical condi- tion of man, it is clearly immaterial whether, during the process of respiration, the carbonic acid is sup- posed to be produced by the union of the carbon of the animal system with the oxygen of the air respired; or whether, as is possible, the carbonic acid, having been previously formed in the body at large, is given off in the form of carbonic acid gas from the lungs, while the oxygen gas of the atmosphere is absorbed by those organs. the main point to be considered is, the fact of the removal of that quantity of carbon, which could not be retained with safety to the life of the individual: and when we consider that the entire quantity of the carbon, thus discharged, is collected from every the most interior and remote part of the body, how worthy of admiration is the economy of nature in producing the intended effect! the air is the medium through which the carbon is to be dis- charged; and yet the constitution of the body is such, that the air could scarcely be introduced into any of its internal parts without occasioning the most serious consequences, if not death itself: but by means of the circulation of the blood, that beautiful contrivance intended primarily for sustaining the nourishment and warmth and life of every part, the noxious principle is conveyed to the lungs; where it is of necessity brought, if not actually, yet virtually, adaptation of the atmosphere into contact with the air; and thus it is effectually removed from the system. section ix. effects of the motion of the air, as connected with human health, &c. in the history of water we had an opportunity of observing how extensive are the benefits arising to mankind from that physical property, by which its particles are capable of moving with the greatest ease among each other: nor are the benefits less considerable, which arise from the same property in the element now under consideration; especially when aided by those alterations in its volume, which follow upon every change of temperature: for from these combined causes arise those currents of air, which administer, in various modes, as well to the luxury and comforts of man, as to his most important wants. who does not see the miseries that would result from a stagnant atmosphere? to the houseless and half-clothed mendicant indeed, who under exposure to a wintry sky instinctively collects his limbs into an attitude as fixed as marble, lest by their motion he should dissipate the stratum of warmer air imme- diately surrounding his body—to such an individual indeed, under such circumstances, a stagnant atmo- sphere becomes a benefit of the highest value; not only by preventing or moderating the painful sensa- tion of cold; but by preventing the dissipation of that degree of heat which is necessary for the pre- servation of the vital principle, which in his unshel- tered state might otherwise possibly be soon extin- guished. but let circumstances be reversed; and, instead of the wretched beggar exposed to an incle- ment sky, let us picture to ourselves an asiatic prince surrounded by all the luxuries which power and opulence can procure, but oppressed by the sultry to the physical condition of man. atmosphere of a burning sun; how grateful to his feelings is the refreshing coolness occasioned by the artificial agitation of the surrounding air: in order to extend the means of obtaining which gratification, fountains of water are customarily introduced into the interior rooms of indian and arabian palaces, the evaporation of the spray of which gives a re- freshing coolness to the air. or let us recur to scenes more familiar, and more illustrative of the effect produced; to the bedside of the almost exhausted invalid, whose existence is alone made tolerable by the assiduous supply of fresh streams of air: there let us witness, in the thankful smile which animates his pallid countenance, the soothing sensation which the languid sufferer experiences. even for such a momentary solace, what, of all his most valuable possessions, would not every one of those miserable victims have surrendered, who once perished in that dreadful dungeon of calcutta! in many instances nature tempers the high degree of heat belonging to particular climates, by the pe- riodical recurrence of cooling winds at stated hours of the day. thus, in the islands and on the coasts in general of the tropical regions of the earth, the alter- nations of what are called the sea and the land breeze are of the highest importance to the comfort and health of the inhabitants: of which the following statement, taken from an official paper on the medi- cal topography of malacca, furnishes a sufficient il- lustration.* “the malay peninsula possesses, though within the tropics, and almost under the equator, a very equable temperature and mild climate. what- ever be the prevailing wind, the sea breeze gene- rally sets in from the south between ten and twelve in the morning, and continues till six or seven in the evening; when, after a short calm, the land wind begins to blow from the north-east: and so constant * printed at the government press, pinang, . see the edin. med. and surg. journal, for july, , p. . to the physical condition of man. bitants attest the dreadful consequences of a confined atmosphere: the influence of which often affects not only the present sensations and comforts, but even the intellectual, and eventually the moral character, of those who are habitually exposed to it. it appears, from recent inquiries, that the physical and intellectual and moral degradation, so often ob- servable in the inhabitants of mountain valleys in general, but noticed particularly in the valleys of the rhone, may be referred with probability, among other causes, to a stagnant atmosphere; and to the reverberation of heat from the sides of the mountains which bound those valleys, co-operating with an al- ternation of piercing winds: the degree of that de- gradation at least is always proportional to the action of those causes. - it is not necessary here to dwell minutely on the disgusting alteration which the human beings, now particularized, undergo: those who are desirous of such information may consult a very recent work by dr. james johnson.* all that is here intended is a statement of the general fact. and it appears that, in the milder instances, the principal alteration which takes place is an enlargement of the thyreoid gland; which enlargement is by medical men called bron- chocele, and by the inhabitants of the alps goitre.f in the instances of extreme alteration, the stature rarely reaches the height of five feet; the skin becomes un- naturally discoloured, and disfigured by eruptions; the limbs distorted; and the cretin, for so he is de- nominated in this state, is frequently, in addition, both deaf and dumb, and entirely idiotic. between the state of simple goitre and that of most perfect * change of air, &c. by james johnson, m. d. london, vo. . # such an enlargement we often in this country witness in individuals, who, in every other respect, are so far from being deformed, that they are frequently remarkable both on account of their beauty, and the symmetry and full developement of their whole body. k adaptation of the atmosphere cretinism the degree of alterations are innumerable. and, as indicating the connexion between this unna- tural state of the individual, and the atmosphere which he habitually respires, the following observa- tion is worthy of attention. “in the vallais,” and “in the lower gorges or ravines that open on its sides, both cretinism and goitre prevail in the most intense degrees: as we ascend the neighbouring mountains, cretinism disappears, and goitre only is observed; and when we reach a certain altitude, both maladies vanish.” among the physical effects of the motion of the air, that of sound is among the most remarkable and important: of the intimate nature of which, however, and of the laws that regulate its transmission, i should not speak more particularly, even if i felt myself competent to the task; being a subject of too ab- struse a character in itself to claim a close investi- gation in a treatise like the present: besides which, it will be examined in a separate treatise by others. whatever may be the moral effects either of simple sounds, or of certain combinations of sounds, and such effects though apparently of a fugitive charac- ter are occasionally very powerful, there can be no doubt that particular sounds act physically on our frame. thus the gentle murmur of running water, or the repetition of any simple tone, even though not agreeable in itself, is calculated to sooth the whole nervous system so as to induce sleep. there are few perhaps who have not experienced such an effect, from long continued attention to a public speaker; and an apparent, though probably not the legitimate, proof of the effect having been produced by the sound of the voice of the speaker is derived from the fact, that, upon his ceasing to speak, the sleeper usually awakes. there are few, again, who have not known from personal experience that certain tones affect the teeth with that peculiar and unplea- * change of air, &c. p. . to the physical condition of man. sant sensation familiarly described under the term, set on edge. even in the appalling sensation excited by thunder, the mind is probably overawed by the physical effect produced on the nervous system by the crash, rather than by any apprehension of dan- ger from the thunder itself: for that sensation is usually excited even in those who are most assured that no danger is to be expected from the loudest crash of the thunder, but only from the lightning which accompanies it. nor is it unreasonable to suppose that an analogy exists between the sense of hearing and the other senses, with reference to the objects of their several sensations: and since in the case of taste, of sight, of smell, and of touch, some objects are on reasonable grounds conjectured to be naturally offensive, while others are agreeable to the respec- tive senses; why, it may be asked, should not the same relations hold with respect to the ear and the peculiar objects of its sensation? evelyn well ob- serves, that the bountiful creator has left none of the senses which he has not gratified at once with their most agreeable and proper objects. of all the objects of sense, sound perhaps, as a principle of mental association, the most powerfully excites a recollection of past scenes and feelings. shakspeare briefly elucidates this principle in these lines: “yet the first bringer of unwelcome news hath but a losing office; and his tongue sounds ever after as a sullen bell, remembered knolling a departed friend.” henry iv. part ii. act i. scene . the author of the “pleasures of memory” not less forcibly illustrates the same principle. “the intrepid swiss, who guards a foreign shore, condemned to climb his mountain cliffs no more, if chance he hear the song so sweetly wild, which on those cliffs his infant hours beguiled, melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, and sinks a martyr to repentant sighs.” rogers, &c. page , line . adaptation of the atmosphere nor is the principle less powerfully illustrated in that most beautiful psalm beginning with the words, “by the waters of babylon we sat down and wept:” for who can read that affecting apostrophe, “how shall we sing the lord's song in a strange land,” without entering into all the pathos of the scene re- presented by the sacred poet to the imagination? it is said to be the opinion of the hindoos, and though not of much value in argument, there is at least a metaphysical elegance in the opinion, that the remarkable effects of music on the human mind depend on its power of recalling to the memory the airs of paradise, heard in a state of pre-existence. but, if an individual instance of the truth of the present position were to be selected, it would not be possible perhaps to find one more impressive than that which has been recorded of the late emperor of the french. it is said that at that period of his life, when the consequences of his infatuated conduct had fully developed themselves in unforeseen reverses, napoleon, driven to the necessity of defending him- self within his own kingdom with the shattered rem- nant of his army, had taken up a position at brienne, the very spot where he had received the rudiments of his early education; when, unexpectedly, and while he was anxiously employed in a practical ap- plication of those military principles which first exer- cised the energies of his young mind in the college of brienne, his attention was arrested by the sound of the church clock. the pomp of his imperial court, and even the glories of marengo and of austerlitz, faded for a moment from his regard, and almost from his recollection. fixed for a while to the spot on which he stood, in motionless attention to the well known sound, he at length gave utterance to his feel- ings; and condemned the tenour of his whole subse- quent life, by confessing that the hours, then brought back to his recollection, were happier than any he had experienced throughout the whole course of his tempestuous career. he might perhaps with truth to the physical condition of man. i have added, when looking at the various objects of the surrounding scenery, “i feel the gales, that from ye blow, a momentary bliss bestow.” perhaps also during this moment, and in making a confession so humiliating, he actually did experience that moral state represented by milton to have been felt by the fallen angel— “thrice he essayed (to speak;) and thrice, in spite of scorn, tears, such as angels weep, burst forth—” but the effect produced on his mind seems to have been momentary; at least it certainly did not alter his course of action. and too probably he was at that time rather tormented by remorse, than softened by repentance; a state but little favourable to the adoption of better counsels, even if he could then have retrieved his fortunes by such a change. section x. effects of the motion of the air, as connected with the arts, &c. i proceed now to consider the effects of the atmo- sphere, while in a state of motion, in aiding the vari- ous arts and operations of civilized society: in which the action is sometimes explicable on mechanical, sometimes on chemical or on physical principles. it would not be a short or easy task to enumerate the various substances which require to be deprived of all sensible moisture, in order to be applicable to the immediate purposes of life; or in order to be ca- pable of being preserved in a state fit for future use: and the separation of that moisture which they may contain in their natural state, or which they may have accidentally contracted, can in general only be ef- fected by exposure to the open air; but as that por- tion of the air, which is in contact with the moistened k adaptation of the atmosphere substance, would soon be so far saturated with the vapour arising from it as to be incapable of absorb- ing more, it must necessarily be replaced by succes- sive portions of fresh air; in order that the substance may be thoroughly dried: and hence we see the ad- vantage of currents of air, or, in common language, of the wind, for the purposes in question. without the aid of such currents, the grass newly mown would often with difficulty be converted into hay: and with still more difficulty would that conversion take place should it during the process, as is most likely to happen, be exposed to rain. the same diffi- culty would occur, but attended with much more se- rious effects, in the case of sheaves of wheat or bar- ley, which having been once drenched with rain would be rendered unfit for producing bread, unless the moisture were soon dissipated: and with respect to the process of reducing the corn itself to the state of meal, that is, in common language, of grinding it; although many other mechanical means are capable of being applied to that purpose, who does not see the advantages of the common windmill, even where other means are available, which in many places they would not be? but windmills would themselves be unavailable, were there no currents of air to set them in motion. in the drying of moistened linen, and of paper newly made; in the seasoning, as it is called, of wood; and on numerous other occasions, the same advan- tages occur from the same cause, and are explicable in the same way. but there is one instance, of very familiar occurrence, where the effect of a free venti- lation is productive of the greatest comfort. at the breaking up of a long protracted frost, during which the air has been enabled to absorb and retain in an insensible state an unusual quantity of moisture, that moisture, as soon as the thaw takes place, is deposited upon the surface of every thing with which it comes in contact: and there can be scarcely an individual, from the peasant to the noble, who has not often ex- adaptation of the atmosphere vanced state of science and naval architecture, a motionless state of the atmosphere, or a calm, might be fatal to all their speculations. every one who has lived for a time on the sea coast must have observed with what anxiety the owner of the smallest fishing boat watches the variations in the state or direction of the wind, as connected with the practicability of putting out to sea. if the wind be in an unfavoura- ble quarter, or if it blow not with sufficient force to swell his sails, he saunters in listless inactivity along the beach: but if the wished for breeze spring up, #. scene is at once changed, and all is alacrity and . in some parts of the world providence has com- pensated for the disadvantages arising from the ge- neral uncertainty of the wind, by the continued regu- larity of its direction through stated seasons: in con- sequence of which, the merchantman calculates upon the commencement and duration of his voyage with a degree of security and confidence, which sets him comparatively at ease as to the event. these periodi- cal currents of air indeed have been named from this very circumstance the trade winds: and, in illustra- tion of their adaptation to the purposes of commerce, a morestriking instance perhaps could not be adduced than the following, which is given in a volume, en- titled, “four years' residence in the west indies,” written by a gentleman of the name of bayley.” in the description of the island of st. vincent it is there stated that a little sloop, the private signal of which was unknown to any of the merchants, sailed into the harbour one morning, and immediately attracted the notice of the surrounding crowd; and the history of its unexpected appearance is thus given. “every one has heard of the little fishing smacks employed in cruising along the coast of scotland; which carry herrings and other fish to leith, edinburgh, or glas- gow, worked by three or four hardy sailors, and * london, vo. , p. . to the physical condition of man. generally commanded by an individual having no other knowledge of navigation than that which en- ables him to keep his dead reckoning, and to take the sun with his quadrant at noon day. “it appears that a man who owned and com- manded one of these coasting vessels had been in the habit of seeing the west india ships load and unload in the several ports of scotland; and, having learned that sugar was a very profitable cargo, he determined, by way of speculation, on making a trip to st. vincent, and returning to the scottish market with a few hogsheads of that commodity. the na- tives were perfectly astonished—they had never heard of such a feat before; and they deemed it quite impossible that a mere fishing smack, worked by only four men, and commanded by an ignorant master, should plough the boisterous billows of the atlantic, and reach the west indies in safety; yet so it was. the hardy scotchman freighted his vessel; made sail; crossed the bay of biscay in a gale; got into the trades; and scudded along before the wind, at the rate of seven knots an hour, trusting to his dead reckoning all the way. he spoke no vessel during the whole voyage, and never once saw land until the morning of the thirty-fifth day; when he descried st. vincent's right a-head: and setting his gaft-topsail, he ran down, under a light breeze, along the windward coast of the island; and came to an- chor about eleven o’clock under the circumstances before mentioned.” such a vessel, and so manned, could hardly have performed the voyage here described, had it not been aided by the current of the trade wind: and what then must be the advantage of such a wind, when, instead of aiding the puny enterprise of a single and obscure individual, it forwards the annual fleets of mighty nations. most important therefore to the roman empire was the discovery of hippalus, which enabled its fleets to stretch across at once from the african to the indian coast by means of the south- adaptation of minerals. i water from whence clouds of rain, and consequently springs and rivers are derived, we have also seen that it at the same time prevents, by the effect of its pressure on their surface, the unlimited evaporation and consequent exhaustion of the ocean, and other sources, from whence that mass of water is supplied. and, again, while the agitation of the air contributes to the health of man, by supplying those currents which remove or prevent the accumulation of local impurities, it at the same time facilitates that inter- course between different nations in which the wel- fare of the whole world is ultimately concerned. and lastly, while in passing from the lungs in the act of expiration it essentially forms the voice, it at the same time removes from the system that noxious principle, the retention of which would be incom- patible with life. chapter vii. adaptation of minerals to the physical condition of man. section i. the general characters of minerals. it has been shown in the foregoing chapter, that the constituent parts of the atmosphere are few in number, and of great simplicity in their composition; that some of them usually exist in the state of invi- sible vapour, and consequently are without sensible form and colour: and that others, as light, and heat, and electricity, are not only without form and co- lour, but are also of such tenuity as to be incapable of affecting the most delicately constructed balance; in common language, are without weight. we are now entering on a department of nature, which con- adaptation of minerals sists of objects characterized by properties very different from those we have been lately considering; remarkable, as a class, for the mathematical pre- cision of their form, the brilliancy and variety of their colour, and for their great weight; most of them being many times heavier than the heaviest element of the atmosphere. few mineral substances, however, exist in such a state of purity as to exhibit the simple characters of their individual properties; the class consisting of a great variety of species, which are capable of enter- ing into union with each other, and of which the natural combinations are extremely numerous. but, as might be anticipated from the general analogy of nature, the advantages arising to mankind from this mixture of character are infinitely greater than if the individual minerals had existed in a state of pu- rity, and uncombined with each other. thus, to take the most familiar, and perhaps the most important instance, almost all natural soils consist principally of mixtures of the three earths called silez, lime, and alumine; none of which, unmixed with either of the other two, or at least with some equivalent substance, would serve the purposes of agriculture. again, all the common forms of clay consist prin- cipally of various combinations of the two earths called silew and alumine; and although many of those properties which make clay valuable are com- municated by the alumine, the silex contributes very considerably towards the general utility of the compound. section ii. application of minerals to architecture and sculpture. among the earliest arts of civilized life may be justly reckoned the rudiments of architecture: for it may be with truth affirmed that, with very few ex- ceptions, wherever man exists in a state of society, to the physical condition of man. he is found to protect himself from the vicissitudes of the weather, not only by the immediate clothing of his body, but by means of independent habita- tions; to which, if at no other time, at the close of the day at least, he betakes himself; in order to enjoy that periodical rest which is requisite for the renew- ed exertion of his bodily powers: and very few are the situations which do not afford convenient mate- rials for the purposes of building. in whatever situation then man may be placed, he will most probably have the means of procuring the comfort of a fixed habitation. nor is it long before he adds a certain degree of luxury to utility: for wherever the simple architecture of the dwelling is not decorated with some ornamental additions, we may be certain that society exists in a very low state of civilization; so that sculpture, as an artificial re- finement, seems to be a natural consequence of archi- tecture. and, perhaps, the superiority attainable by education and habit is not displayed in any of the arts of life so strikingly as in these. from the simple tent of the bedouin to the majestic ruins of palmyra, among which it is pitched; or from the rude hut of the modern acropolis to the awful grandeur of the parthenon which overshadows it; how infinite are the gradations which mark the progress of these arts! and with respect to statuary, that highest depart- ment of the art of sculpture, what emotions is it not capable of raising in the mind, particularly when employed in representing the passions or any of the attributes of man if, for instance, the mind of the savage could be instantaneously elevated to the feel- ing of correct taste, what would be the sensations of the islander of the southern pacific, in turning from the view of his hideously-formed and grim idol, to the contemplation of that glory of the vatican, — “the lord of the unerring bow, the god of life, and poesy, and light; l adaptation of minerals the sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow all radiant from his triumph in the fight: — in whose eye and nostril, beautiful disdain, and might, and majesty, flash their full lightnings by, developing in that one glance the deity.” i will not here attempt to trace the history of architecture, considered as an art characteristic of civilized society: for in such an attempt our reason- ing must often be founded on conjecture instead of facts; than which nothing is more unsatisfactory and irksome to a philosophically contemplative mind. it will be more congenial to the purpose of this treatise to point out the means afforded by nature for the advancement of an art, which in its origin is neces- sary to some of the chief wants and comforts of indi- viduals; and which is subsequently conducive, by the exercise of the highest faculties of the mind, not only to national utility and glory, but also to national security.t with respect to the inferior animals, the instinctive propensity to construct receptacles for themselves or their offspring is obvious: and if on any ground we may attribute the principle of instinct to man, it seems justifiable on that which we are now consider- ing. omitting, however, those more remarkable in- stances of instinct which direct the bee, the ant, the spider, the swallow, or the beaver, in the fabrication of the structures which they put together with such nice art; if we merely consider the simple burrow of the rabbit or the mole, we seem to acquire a strong presumption that man would not be destitute of a similar instinct: and it may reasonably be supposed that, by whatever intellectual power or internal sen- sation the savage is directed so to adjust the various joints and muscles of his limbs as to balance his body when in danger of falling, by a similar power he is * childe harold, canto iv. stanza . f in the construction for instance of military fortifications, and piers, and bridges, &c. to the physical condition of man. enabled so to adjust the rude boughs of which his hut is composed, that by mutually supporting one another they may at the same time serve for a support to the grass, or moss, which is thrown over them for the purpose of forming a shelter.” numerous traces of such an instinct are observable in the amusements of children; as in the arrangement of loose stones in the form of enclosures; and in the formation of banks and dikes by the heaping up of the sand of the sea beach ; and, should it be asserted that such amuse- ments are not to be referred to instinct, but are to be classed simply under the principle of imitation, (as may certainly many of the amusements of children,) it may be answered, that, if not original instincts, they may be considered as at least instinctive imita- tions of the necessary engagements of after life. it has been sometimes supposed that the inclining branches of an avenue of elms or other trees sug- * the following statement, from lewis and clarke's travels, will show how much may be effected by human ingenuity and industry though aided by the slightest means: “the columbian indians possess very few axes; and the only tool employed in their building, from the felling of the tree to the delicate work- manship of the images, (adorning their canoes,) is a chisel made of an old file : and this is worked without the aid of a mallet. but with this they finish a canoe fifty feet long, and capable of holding between twenty and thirty persons, in a few weeks.” p. . to the preceding statement may with propriety be added the following translation of the account which accompanies the twelfth plate in the first volume of de bry: “the method of making boats in virginia is truly wonderful: for although the natives have no instruments of iron, or in any way resembling those of european nations, they still have the power of making boats fully capable of being conveniently navigated. having selected a large and lofty tree, they surround it with a fire just above the roots; taking care to smother any flame, lest it should injure the rising part of the stem. in this way they burn through the greater part of the stem; and, by thus weakening it, occasion its downfal. by a similar process they burn away the branches and the upper part of the tree; and, raising the trunk thus pre- prepared on forked props, so as to support it at a convenient height for working, they scrape away the bark by means of large shells; and then excavate it in a longitudinal direction by alternately burning and scraping it.” adaptation of minerals gested the idea of the gothic aisle; but such a suppo- sition seems both unnecessary in itself, and incorrect as to the probable order of occurrences: for whoever has read the travels of pallas through different parts of the russian empire, or of other oriental travellers, will find ample proof of the existence of the gothic style of architecture long before our earliest euro- pean churches were built: and it is just as probable, if not more so, that the gothic aisle suggested the idea of the elm avenue, as that this suggested the idea of the gothic aisle. - the mineral substances employed in the structure of human habitations necessarily differ in different parts of the world, in consequence of the difference of the materials afforded by the subjacent strata; and, accordingly, an experienced eye will conjecture, almost with certainty, the character of the subjacent strata, from the nature of the materials employed in the buildings erected on the surface: or, conversely, if the nature of the subjacent strata be antecedently known, the character of the stone employed in the buildings of the vicinity will, almost to a certainty, be known also ; and, on this principle, as much sur- prise would be excited in the mind of a well-informed geologist by the prevalence of granite in the build- ings of kent or sussex, as of limestone near the land's end in cornwall. the nature, however, of the material employed in building is in some measure determined by the par- ticular stage of civilization of the inhabitants. thus in the early periods of civilization, and before the aboriginal forests of a country have been cleared, wood has usually been the principal and almost the only substance employed. in proportion as the po- pulation of a country increases, wood becomes more and more scarce; and then brick and stone begin to be employed : but when the population has increased to a very considerable extent, those materials almost entirely supersede the use of wood, unless in the in- terior of the building: and hence, in this densely to the physical condition of man. peopled island, the half-timbered dwellings of our ancestors are daily becoming more picturesque.* the value of building stone depending greatly on its hardness, but the difficulty of working it being in- creased proportionally to its degree of hardness, it ought not to escape our notice, in a treatise, of which it is the professed object to illustrate the adaptation of external nature to the physical condition of man, that many of the common forms of building stone, though soft while yet undetached from the quarry, become hardened very considerably by exposure to the air: which change in their state enhances their value in a twofold sense; for, in consequence of their . previous softness, they are more easily worked; while their subsequent hardness insures the greater durability of the building in which they are employed. and, again, though many varieties of stone are so easily worked, even after a long exposure to the air, as to have acquired in consequence the name of free- stone; yet even with respect to such as are of the hardest and toughest quality, an equal degree of ease in working them is easily attainable by practice. to an unpractised workman, for instance, nothing is more difficult than to give a determinate form, by the hammer or chisel, to granite, slate, or flint; and yet a little experience enables the mason to work all these to the greatest nicety: and that person would indeed be very incurious, who, although he might not naturally be disposed to notice mechanical processes, did not feel an interest in observing the form which the roofing-slate takes under the bill of the slater; or the ease with which the gun-flint is formed into its peculiar shape by a few strokes of a light hammer. but, after the stones have been detached from the quarry, and have been worked into a convenient form for building, it is in the greater number of in- stances necessary to the stability of the intended * throughout the interior of russia and of siberia the greater part of the buildings in every town were, within a few years, entirely of wood. l adaptation of minerals structure, that they should be consolidated together by some intermediate substance: for it would very rarely happen that the separate stones could be ob- tained of such a size as to be capable of remaining fixed by their own weight. sometimes this effect is produced by means merely mechanical, as in the case of the construction of the larger circle of stone- henge; where the upper extremity of two contiguous perpendicular stones, being pared away so as to form what is called a tenon, is let into a corresponding cavity called a mortise cut into each extremity of the horizontal stone that unites them. as such cyclopean masonry would be far too ex- pensive for common purposes; and as the labour and expense of uniting together, by cramps of iron or other mechanical means, the very great number of stones requisite for the construction of even a small building, would be endless; we at once see the im- portance of any medium that will fully and readily effect that union, without much expense of time or money: and how completely the substance called ‘mortar answers the intended purpose, the slightest observation will make manifest. as the employment of this useful substance appears to have existed an- tecedently to history, it is not worth while to spend any time in conjecturing how it was first discovered: but it is quite in unison with the intention of the pre- sent treatise to observe, that, of the three materials of which it is principally made, namely lime, sand, and water, the first is readily obtained by the simple ap- plication of heat to any common form of limestone, a process which is occasionally going on in every limekiln; and the means of obtaining the two others are almost every where at hand. hitherto the materials, applicable to the arts of architecture and sculpture, have been considered as adapted to the common or necessary wants of man- kind: but in what may not improperly be called the poetry of those arts, they are capable, in their appli- cation, of eliciting the highest powers of the imagi- to the physical condition of man. - w nation: for surely this may with propriety be affirm- ed of such sublime productions as the parthenon in architecture, or the belvedere apollo in sculpture. nor are we obliged to seek for such productions solely in the classic ages of antiquity: for, to say nothing of palladio, michael angelo, canova, thor- valdson, and other ornaments of modern europe, our own country has given birth to works of the highest excellence in either department of the art. nor need this assertion be made with any hesitation, while in architecture that imperishable monument of genius, the eddystone lighthouse, attests the fame of smea- ton; and in sculpture, the pure and simple taste of chantrey has, in that most exquisite work contained within the walls of litchfield cathedral, thrown a truth and beauty over the image of death, which none of his predecessors had ever attained.* who can peruse the journal of smeaton, and not admire the penetration, the resources, and the activity of his genius' consider the nature of the task which he had engaged to perform; his limited and uncer- tain opportunities of action; the failures of others who had preceded him in a similar undertaking; the consequent necessity of new principles, and new combinations, in his plan of operations; the formida- ble dangers he was continually under the necessity of encountering; and, lastly, the awful responsibility of the undertaking itself: consider all these points, and it may be safely affirmed that, as an instance of the conjoined effects of personal enterprise, fortitude, and perseverance, the eddystone lighthouse stands unrivalled. on a small, precipitous, and completely insulated rock, deriving its very name from the irregular and impetuous eddies which prevail around it; elevated but a few feet above the level of the surrounding * one exception to this assertion perhaps exists, in a work on a similar subject by banks; in the church of ashbourne, der- byshire. adaptation of minerals ocean, even in its calmest state; and exposed at all times to the uninterrupted swell of the atlantic ; by the joint violence of the wind and waves of which, a preceding structure had been in a moment swept away, leaving not a wreck behind; on such a spot was this new wonder of the world to be erected. former experience is here of little avail, and com- mon principles and means have been already tried in vain; the architect is thrown almost entirely on his own resources; and they do not fail him. in order to combat the force of those overpowering elements to which the future structure is to be con- stantly exposed, he looks about for that natural form which is found most permanently to resist a similar conflict; and viewing with a philosophic eye the ex- panded base of the oak, and the varying proportions of its rising stem, he made the happy selection of this object as the type of the proportions of his in- tended work. “on this occasion,” he himself says,” “the natural figure of the waist or bole of a large spreading oak presented itself to my imagination. let us for a mo- ment consider this tree: suppose at twelve or fifteen feet above its base, it branches out in every direc- tion, and forms a large bushy top, as we often ob- serve. this top, when full of leaves, is subject to a very great impulse from the agitation of violent winds; yet partly by its elasticity, and partly by the natural strength arising from its figure, it resists them all, even for ages, till the gradual decay of the material diminishes the coherence of the parts, and . they suffer piecemeal by the violence of the storm: but it is very rare that we hear of such a tree being torn up by the roots. let us now consider its par- ticular figure—connected with its roots, which lie hid below ground, it rises from the surface thereof with a large swelling base, which at the height of * a narration of the building, &c. of the eddystone light- house, london, , p. . to the physical condition of man. one diameter is generally reduced by an elegant curve, concave to the eye, to a diamter less by at least one third, and sometimes to half of its original base. from thence its taper diminishing more slow, its sides by degrees come into a perpendicular, and for some height form a cylinder. “after that, a preparation of more circumference becomes necessary for the strong insertion and es- tablishment of the principal boughs, which produces a swelling of its diameter. now we can hardly doubt but that every section of the tree is nearly of an equal strength in proportion to what it has to re- sist: and were we to lop off its principal boughs, and expose it in that state to a rapid current of water, we should find it as much capable of resisting the action of the heavier fluid, when divested of the greatest parts of its clothing, as it was that of the lighter when all its spreading ornaments were ex- posed to the fury of the winds: and hence we may derive an idea of what the shape of a column of the greatest stability ought to be, to resist the action of external violence, when the quantity of matter is given whereof it is to be composed.” but invention and composition do not constitute the whole of the character of genius, in the practi- cal arts at least. industry, both that which resists the listlessness arising from continuity and sameness of pursuit; and, still more, that which, though re- peatedly repressed by unexpected impediments, as repeatedly recovers its elasticity; unconquerable and indefatigable industry, like that of the ant, is likewise requisite. and such industry did smeaton manifest: and his industry has hitherto been completely crown- ed with success. the eddystone has withstood the war of winds and waves through the greater part of a century, unshaken in a single point; and if of any human work we dare affirm as much, we might affirm of this, “manet aeternumque manebit.” we now turn to the efforts of genius, of another, and, intrinsically, a higher order—to that beautiful adaptation of minerals from that mineral of which drawing pencils are made, and which is usually, though not with propriety, called plumbago and black lead; and yet nothing has been more clearly proved than that equal weights of these several substances, if submitted to the process of combustion, will produce nearly equal proportions of carbonic acid gas; which has already been stated to be a chemical combination of definite proportions of carbon and oxygen; the diamond, which is the purest form of carbon, burning away without leaving any residuum; the other two leaving a very small pro- portion of ashes, in consequence of their containing foreign matter. and here we can hardly fail to notice a very re- markable instance of what may be called the econo- mical provisions of nature. how rarely, and in what small quantities are the diamond and plumbago found; and how abundantly does coal predominate in many parts of the world ! the borrodale mine of plumbago in cumberland is the most considerable source of that substance throughout europe; and the province of golconda almost alone supplies the whole world with diamonds: and, probably, the accumulated weight of all the plumbago and of all the diamonds, which have ever been derived from those and other sources, would not equal a hundredth part of the weight of coal which is daily quarried in great britain. suppose now that the case had been reversed; and what would have been the conse- quence diamond and plumbago, though really com- bustible substances, yet from their slow combustibility could never have answered, in the place of coal, as a fuel for general purposes; and, on the other hand, without that large supply of coal which nature has provided, what would have become of the domestic comforts and commercial speculations of the greater part of europe, during the two last centuries' the value of the diamond is not derived solely from its transparency and lustre. its remarkable hardness is another and a most useful property be- to the physical condition of man. longing to it; for, in consequence of its great degree of hardness, it is capable of cutting and polishing not only the hardest glass, but even the hardest gems: and if we consider how useful a substance glass is, how universally employed as a means of at the same time admitting light and excluding the air from the interior of our houses; but that in consequence of its hardness and brittleness it would with great diffi- culty be divided by any common mechanical instru- ment, so as accurately to fit the frames in which it is fixed for the above purposes, we at once see the value of a substance which easily and readily accom- plishes that end. a small diamond no larger than a mustard seed, brought to a point and fixed in a con- venient handle, enables the glazier to cut a plate of glass into pieces of any shape that he pleases: and the same instrument will serve his daily use for many successive years. nor is it among the least of the glories of this gem, that it gave occasion to that remarkable conjecture of sir isaac newton respecting its chemical nature. that philosopher having ob- served, that the refractive power of transparent sub- stances is in general proportional to their density; but that, of substances of equal density, those which are combustible possess the refractive power, in a higher degree than those which are not, concluded from a comparison of the density and refractive power of the diamond, that it contained an inflam- mable principle; which opinion was subsequently confirmed by direct experiment. it will be remem- bered by the chemical reader that on the same ground he made the same conjecture with respect to water, and with the same success. and never, per- haps, did the eye of philosophy penetrate more un- expectedly the thick veil which is so often found to hide the real character of various forms of matter: for, imperishable as from its name the adamant was supposed to be, who would have antecedently ex- pected that it might be dissipated into air by the process of combustion? and, with respect to the m adaptation of minerals other subject of his conjecture, if any principle was opposed to combustibility in the opinion of mankind it was water—“aquae contrarius ignis.” section iv. the distribution and relative proportions of sea and land; and the geological arrangement and physical character of some of the superficial strata of the earth. as it is clearly a just object of the present treatise to select the most familiar and most obvious instances of the principle intended to be illustrated, i shall in entering upon the abstruse department of geology, consider only those phenomena which offer them- selves to the eye in every part of the world; and which are either at once intelligible, or easily de- monstrable, to the commonest observer. of such phenomena the most prominent are the general distribution of the sea and the land; and the relative proportions of their superficial extent. with reference to the sea, although we may never know all the ends which are answered by its saltness, and why its depth should be greater in some parts than others; and although we can perhaps form no more than a conjecture as to the advantages derivable from the tides; (the prevention, for instance, of a stagnant state of the water;) or from the accumula- tion of ice near the poles; (the cooling, probably, of the general mass of the atmosphere, and the conse- quent production of currents of air;) yet of its mode of distribution, and of the relative extent of its sur- face, we readily apprehend the reason; simply in considering that all those forms of water which con- tribute to the fertilization of the earth, or the support of animal life, are derived from the ocean. were the superficial extent of this therefore much less than it is, the quantity evaporated would not be suf- ficient for the intended purposes; or, were the dis- adaptation of minerals mulation produce rivers. and, as best calculated to secure the permanent effect, the substance of these mountains is in general so hard, and impermeable to water, that, with reference to the present system of the earth, they may justly be characterized by the epithet “everlasting.” but if, instead of being thus durable, they were of a soft or friable substance, they would soon cease to exist as mountains; and if they were porous, instead of compact, they would absorb much of that rain which now contributes to the formation of rivers. from that portion of the rain which, in compara- tively flat districts, sinks beneath the surface of the earth, reservoirs of water are formed : from which, either spontaneous springs arise, or into which, arti- ficial excavations called wells are sunk: and of the utility of such reservoirs, those beds of gravel which occur in every part of the world afford upon the whole the best illustration. section v. beds of gravel. few subjects would at the first view appear more barren of interest than a bed of gravel; consisting, as it usually does, of nothing but fragments of broken pebbles and sand, heaped together in apparently in- extricable confusion. yet such beds, dispersed as they are very generally over the surface of the re- gular strata, administer materially to the wants of man; in affording him the means of supplying him- self readily with that important necessary of life, water. from the irregularity in the form and size of the component parts of gravel, and from the slight de- gree of cohesion by which they are united, the whole mass is necessarily porous: and hence, readily trans- mitting the rain which falls on its surface, becomes charged with water to an extent proportional to the quantity of rain which has penetrated it; being to the physical condition of man. enabled to retain the water thus accumulated, in consequence of its resting on some substratum, as clay, which is impermeable to water: so that, if an excavation sufficiently deep be made into any part of the gravel, the water immediately drains into this excavation, and rises at length to the level of the general mass of water contained in the whole bed; by which easy process, in such instances at least, those reservoirs, called wells, are formed: and these reservoirs are never exhausted, so long as the whole bed of gravel retains any considerable proportion of water. a very ready illustration of this fact is afforded by the familiar instance of those excava- tions which children are accustomed to make in the sand of the sea beach, while yet charged with mois- ture during the ebbing of the tide. the inhabitants of a town which, like oxford, is built partly on a comparatively shallow bed of gravel, and partly on a deep stratum of clay, can well ap- preciate the value of the former substratum of their habitations, with reference to the facility of procuring water: for while they, whose dwellings are built on the gravel, can readily obtain water by sinking a well immediately on the spot; they whose dwellings are on the clay, must either procure water from a distance, or incur a very serious, and, finally per- haps, useless expense, in attempting to penetrate the clay.” with respect to its general uses, gravel seems only to be employed in the repairing of roads and walks; in the composition of some kinds of mortar; and as a convenient occasional ballast for sailing vessels: so that, if we confine our view to the means afforded by gravel beds of supplying the ordinary wants of man, their history may be comprised in a * from the observation of an analogous arrangement in the general strata of the earth, namely, that those which are per- vious to water alternate with those which are impervious to water, mr. william smith, “the father of english geology,” became acquainted with the origin of springs, and the true prin- ciples of draining. m adaptation of minerals few words. not so, if we view them with reference to their origin, and the nature of their occasional contents: and little dreams any one, save the pro- fessed geologist, what a mine lies hid, in those con- fused heaps of ruin, for the exercise of man's intel- lectual faculties. few subjects indeed have afforded ampler scope for philosophical reflection. in proof of which, i need do no more than refer to the labours and ingenuity of cuvier on the continent, and of professor buckland in our own country: of whom the one, by a scientific examination of the organic remains of gravel beds, in addition to those of some of the regular strata, has brought to light not only numerous individual species, but whole families of animals, which have ceased to exist ages and ages". since: and the other, with no less labour and inge- nuity, has all but exhibited some of these animals to our view in the very act of devouring and digesting their food. s how often, and with what intense interest, has not the scientific geologist perused the original essays of cuvier; in which, setting out from the casual ...] vation of a simple fragment of a fossil bone belonging to some extinct species, he has established not only the class and order, but even the size and propor- tions of the individual to which it belonged, and the general nature of its food. and how often, in addi- tion to professed geologists, has not an attentive audience of academical students listened with admi- ration to the clear and vivid eloquence of the other of those philosophers, the geological professor of oxford, while he unfolded that beautiful chain of facts by which he traced his antediluvian animals to their native caves; and exposed to view, to the mental eye at least, and almost to the corporeal, their particular habits, and even the relics of their last meal. and, lest there should be any doubt as to the nature of this meal, he discovered, by a most philo- sophical, for i will not say fortunate conjecture, un- equivocal proofs of the actual remains of it; not only to the physical condition of man. in its original, but also in its digested state. i here allude particularly to his verification of the masses of digested bone which he has most satisfactorily shown to have passed through the whole tract of the digestive organs of his favourite hyenas; and which are so nearly identical, in every character, with the similar masses that daily traverse the same organs of the living species, as to make it difficult even for an experienced eye to ascertain the difference be- tween them. it is natural that i should feel a pleasure in re- cording the well-earned fame of a friend with whom i have lived in habits of intimacy for more than twenty years; and whom, in the commencement of his career, i had the good fortune to lead into that avenue of science, on which he has subsequently thrown more light than perhaps any other english geologist; with the exception indeed of one, the reverend w. conybeare, the admiration of whose comprehensive and commanding views, as well in fossil as in general geology, is not confined to his own countrymen; the members of the french insti- tute having attested their sense of his pre-eminent talents by the high honour of selecting him, a few ears since, as one of their foreign associates—an onour particularly distinguished by the uncommon circumstance, that it was not only unsolicited, but unexpected, by himself. on one point, however, of professor buckland's general theory of the organic remains met with in gravel beds, and in certain natural caverns, i not only differ from him, but think it right to express the ground of that difference. dr. buckland's argu- ments in favour of his opinion that the animals of the gravel beds, and the caverns, habitually frequent- ed the spots where these remains are found, are not only ingenious, but are occasionally supported by facts which almost necessarily lead to that conclu- sion: and it is not intended to attempt to invalidate them. they do not indeed stand in the way of the to the physical condition of man. on that occasion, in the midst of a very general de- struction of individuals to preserve species, we should in reason expect, among the organic remains of that catastrophe, a preponderance, at least, of the remains of existing species: since, although some species may have been lost subsequently to the deluge, these na- turally would be comparatively few. but the fact is just the reverse; for by far the greater number of the organic remains of the gravel, as of the caverns, belong to species not known now to exist. and with respect to those remains which appear capable of being identified with living species, cuvier allows that they belong to orders of animals, the species of which often differ only in colour, or in other points of what may be called their external or superficial anatomy; and cannot therefore be satisfactorily identified by the remains of their bones alone. i do not consider it right to enter into a more ex- tended examination of the question on the present occasion: but, could it be proved that visible traces of the mosaic deluge must necessarily exist, argu- ments might be adduced to show both where those traces ought to be expected, and that they do ac- tually exist. but the deluge itself was evidently a miracle, or an interference with the laws which usually regulate the operation of second causes: and whoever admits the force of the reasoning, contain- ed in butler's analogy of natural and revealed re- ligion, will be disposed to allow that the visible evi- dence of the catastrophe may have been purposely obscured, in order to exercise our faith in an exclu- sive belief of the moral evidence. i would not lay undue weight on the negative proof arising from the absence of human remains, although they have been in vain searched for, even in parts of the world to which it may fairly be pre- sumed that the human race had penetrated at the period of the mosaic deluge; but undoubtedly such a negative proof is not without considerable weight; especially when taken in connexion with the theory adaptation of minerals of a continental geologist, m. de beaumont, of whose powers of philosophical generalization professor sedgwick speaks in language the most expressive. “i am using,” he says, “no terms of exaggeration, when i say that, in reading the admirable researches of m. de beaumont, i appeared to myself, page after page, to be acquiring a new geological sense, and a new faculty of induction.” after having taken a general survey of m. de beaumont's observations and views, mr. sedgwick alludes to an opinion which he himself had expressed in the preceding year, that what is commonly called diluvial gravel is probably not the result of one but of many successive periods. “but what i then stated,” he adds, “as a probable opinion, may, after the essays of m. de beaumont, be now advanced with all the authority of established truth—we now connect the gravel of the plains with the elevation of the nearest system of mountains; we believe that the scandinavian boulders in the north of germany are of an older date than the diluvium of the danube: and we can prove that the great erratic blocks, de- rived from the granite of mont blanc, are of a more recent origin than the old gravel in the tributary valleys of the rhone. that these statements mili- tate against opinions, but a few years since held al- most universally among us, cannot be denied. but, in retreating when we have advanced too far, there is neither compromise of dignity, nor loss of strength; for in doing this, we partake but of the common for- tune of every one who enters on a field of investiga- tion like our own. all the noble generalizations of cuvier, and all the beautiful discoveries of buckland, as far as they are the results of fair induction, will ever remain unshaken by the progress of discovery. it is only to theoretical opinions that my remarks have any application.” page . * see professor sedgwick's address to the geological society, , p. . to the physical condition of man. mr. sedgwick then proceeds to argue that different gravel beds having been formed at different periods, it may happen from the nature of diluvial action, that mixtures of the materials of different beds may occur; and consequently that “in the very same de- posit we may find the remains of animals which have lived during different epochs in the history of the earth.” page . he then shows how, from the double testimony of the widely existing traces of diluvial action, and the record of a general deluge contained in the sacred scriptures, the opinion was naturally formed that all those traces were referable to one and the same ac- tion: though we ought in philosophical caution to have hesitated in adopting that opinion, because “among the remnants of a former world, entombed in these ancient deposits, we have not yet found a single trace of man, or of the works of his hands.” page . lastly, he strenuously denies that the facts of geological science are opposed to the sacred re- cords, or to the reality of an historic deluge; and for himself, utterly rejects such an inference: and argues justly, that there is an accordance between the ab- sence of human remains in these diluvial beds of gravel, and the supposed antiquity of their forma- tion, inasmuch as the phenomena of geology, and the testimony of both sacred and profane history, “tell us in a language easily understood, though writ- ten in far different characters, that man is a recent sojourner on the surface of the earth.” page . section wi. jmetals. the atmosphere, and the vegetable, and animal kingdoms, being three out of the four general depart- ments of the external world, are most extensively necessary to the welfare, if not to the very existence, of every individual: but even communities of men, in an uncivilized state indeed, have existed, and in adaptation of minerals some parts of the earth are still existing, without any further aid from the mineral kingdom than that, which the common soil affords to the growth of the food which supports them. but a civilized state of society is the natural destination of man; and such a state of society is incapable of arising or being maintained, without the aid of mineral substances: and this assertion holds more particularly with re- spect to the metallic species. in that department of civilized intercourse which consists in the exchange of the commodities of life, what other substance could be an equivalent substi- tute for gold and silver, or even copper, as a medium of that exchange? in what constant use, and of what immense importance, are some of the commonest me- tals in agriculture, and in the arts; or for the various purposes of domestic life! nor have any substances more successfully exercised the powers of the mind, in the discovery or improvement of physical truths; or more largely contributed to the benefit of man- kind by the practical application of those truths. we owe it to the researches of philosophy, not only that new and highly valuable metals have been discover- ed; but that the general value of the metals pre- viously known, has been advanced by extended and improved applications of their inherent properties, or by the invention of new metallic combinations or alloys. if a convincing and familiar proof of the extensive application of the metals to the common purposes of life were required, we need only refer to the case of many a common cottager, who could not carry on his daily concerns and occupations without the as- sistance of several of the metals. he could not, for instance, make his larger purchases, nor pay his rent, without silver, gold, and copper. without iron he could neither dig, nor plough, nor reap; and, with respect to his habitation, there is scarcely a part of the structure itself, or of the furniture contained in it, which is not held together, to a greater or less to the physical condition of man. extent, by means of the same metal; and many arti- cles are either entirely of iron, or of iron partially and superficially coated with tin. zinc, and copper, and antimony, and lead, and tin, are component parts of his pewter and brazen utensils. quicksilver is a main ingredient in the metallic coating of his hum- ble mirror: cobalt and platina, and metals perhaps more rare and costly than these, as chrome, are em- ployed in the glazing of his drinking cups and jugs. and if he be the possessor of a fowling-piece, which commonly he would be, arsenic must be added to the foregoing list, as an ingredient in the shot with which he charges it; for it is arsenic which enables the shot, during the process of its granulation, to ac- quire that delicately spherical form by which it is characterized. so that the whole number of metals made use of by society at large for common pur- poses, amounting to less than twenty, more than half of these are either directly used by the mere pea- sant, or enter into the composition of the furniture and implements-employed by him. in estimating the value of those mineral substances which were considered in the preceding chapter, as applicable to the common purposes of life, their de- gree of hardness is the property of principal consi- deration: but, in addition to this, metallic bodies pos- sess some peculiar properties which very greatly increase their value. thus, under a force acting per- pendicularly on their surface, as under repeated blows of the hammer, or compression by rollers, many of them are capable of being expanded to a greater or less extent; some of them to such an extent as to become thinner than the thinnest paper; which pro- perty in its various degrees is expressed by the term malleability: others, though not possessing any great degree of malleability, may be drawn-out into a wire, sometimes so fine as scarcely to be visible by the naked eye; which property is expressed by the term ductility. all of them are capable of being expanded or contracted in every direction by an increase or n adaptation of minerals decrease of their temperature; the degree of this expansibility, as of its opposite effect, depending on the degree of the temperature. and lastly, in con- nexion with certain points of temperature, all the metals are capable of existing either in a solid or in a liquid state; and their property of passing from a solid to a liquid state, in consequence of the agency of heat, is called their fusibility. into the detail of the different degrees in which these properties are possessed by different metals, it belongs to the chemist to enter. what we have at present to consider is, the advantage accruing to society from these properties themselves, and from their existence in that particular degree in which they actually do exist in the different metals: to show, for instance, that those metals which possess malleability in a greater ratio than ductility, or duc- tility in a greater ratio than malleability, are of infi- nitely greater value than if the converse were true: and so with respect to the property of fusibility. thus gold, being comparatively scarce, and princi- pally valuable on account of its colour, its resplen- dency, and its remarkable power of resisting the action of the air, and of various agents which readil tarnish or rust the more common metals, (all ...}. properties reside on the mere surface,) a given quan- tity of such a metal is consequently more valuable in proportion to the degree of its malleability; because it may be extended over a greater surface: and no metal possesses this property in so high a degree as gold; so that, as far as the eye is the judge, the most ordinary substance may be made to represent the most costly, at a comparatively trifling expense: while in the degree of its ductility, which in gold would be, for general purposes, of little moment, it is inferior to most of the metals.” *it should be kept in mind that this observation is applied to unalloyed or pure gold; for, when alloyed, this metal is capable of being drawn out into a comparatively fine wire. dr. wollas- to the physical condition of man. iron, again, is malleable to a degree which renders it most valuable as a material for fabricating all kinds of instruments for mechanical, domestic, or philoso- phical purposes; and it is capable of being hardened by well known processes sufficiently for the numerous and important works of the carpenter and mason, and the equally important purposes of war, agriculture, and the arts. a greater degree of malleability, in a metal employed for such purposes as those for which iron is usually employed, especially as this metal is very easily corroded by rust, would clearly have added nothing to its practical value: while its degree of ductility, which exceeds that of every other metal, combined with its capability of being hardened in various degrees, occasionally confers a value on it greatly superior to that of gold. from the difference in the degree of fusibility of different metals, aided by the disposition which they have to unite so as to form an alloy, arises the possi- bility of covering one metal in a solid state with a superficial coating of another metal in a state of fusion. i am not aware that this method is employed, at least to any extent, in any other instances, than in the application of tin to the surface of copper or of iron : but, were there an hundred similar instances, they would not lessen the value of this, as affording an illustration of that principle which has been borne in mind throughout this treatise. consider only the respective degree of abundance of each of the three metals just mentioned, and the difference in some of their qualities with respect to external agents, and we shall have ample reason for being assured that, on this as on every other occasion, we may say of the creator of material things—“in wisdom hast thou made them all.” ton indeed suggested a method of drawing out even pure gold into an exceedingly fine wire, by enclosing it in a mass of a highly ductile metal, drawing out the mixed metal into fine wire, and disengaging the gold from the metal in which it was enclosed, by any acid which would dissolve the latter without affecting the gold itself. adaptation of minerals and not only is it true that “the world by difference is in order found;” but the difference is so adjusted in every instance, that, if it were varied, the value of the substances in which the difference is observable would be de- stroyed. thus, of the three metals now under con- sideration, iron and copper, from the degree of their malleability, are easily formed into those various vessels which are of daily use for culinary and other purposes; while tin possesses the property of mallea- bility in comparatively a slight degree: and, corres- pondently with the extent of their use, iron and cop- per are found in great abundance and in almost every part of the world; while tin is of very rare occurrence. again, the two former metals are easily rusted; and, from the poisonous quality of the rust of copper, fatal effects on human health and life would be frequently occurring, used so extensively as that metal is for the construction of vessels in which our food is prepared, were it not defended by that super- ficial coating of tin, which is commonly applied to the inner surface of such vessels; tin being neither easily rusted, nor capable of communicating any poisonous quality to substances brought into contact with it. let us then suppose that the respective degree of malleability, or of fusibility, were reversed in these metals; and observe the inconvenience that would ensue. let the tin have that degree of mallea- bility, for instance, which would render it capable of supplying the place of the iron, or the copper, in the construction of various economical vessels and in- struments; yet, from the small quantity in which it occurs in the world, the supply of it would soon be either exhausted, or its price would be so enhanced that it could not be purchased except by the rich. and, even if the supply were inexhaustible, yet, from the softness of the metal, the vessels made of it would be comparatively of little use; and from the low temperature at which it melts, it could not be readily to the physical condition of man. used for the generality of those purposes to which copper and iron are commonly applied. on the other hand, let the copper or the iron be as fusible as tin; and let the tin be as refractory under the action of heat as iron and copper are: in that case, how could the tin be applied with any degree of economy to the surface of either of the other two; while they them- selves would be unfit, from their easy fusibility, to withstand that degree of heat to which they are necessarily exposed in many of the economical uses to which they are applied ? there remains to be considered one property of metals with respect to their fusibility, which is of the highest practical importance; for on this property depends the possibility of uniting together portions of the same, or of * metals, without fusion of the metals themselves. if two metals be melted into one uniform mass, the compound is called an alloy; and in the greater number of instances, if not in all, the alloy is more readily fusible than either of the component metals: and hence it easily becomes a bond of union between the two metals, or different portions of either of them. such an alloy, when so employed, is called a solder. in considering the pre- sent subject, we cannot overlook a remarkable ana- logy between metallic substances and building stones, with reference to one mode in which they may re- spectively be united to each other, so as to form one solid mass; mortar being to stones what solder is to metals. thus, in uniting two metallic surfaces by means of solder, it is requisite that the latter should be in a fluid state, or melted; and, in uniting the sur- faces of two bricks or stones by means of mortar, the latter must be, if not in absolutely a fluid, yet in a soft and yielding state: and the final hardening of each is the efficient cause of permanent union. the period indeed requisite for the due consolidation of the uniting medium is very different; the solder be- coming fixed in a few seconds, the mortar requiring some hours, perhaps days, for its consolidation: but, n adaptation of minerals in the end proposed, there is no essential difference; for the mortar, if originally tempered well, and well applied, as firmly unites the stones, as solder the metals: so that mortar might be called a slowly acting solder; and solder, an extemporaneous or quickly acting mortar. it would appear a paradox, if not an absurdity, to affirm abruptly that a liability to rapid decay is among the most important properties of any sub- stance in general use: and yet this may be truly affirmed of iron. for though, in one sense, its liability to rust diminishes the value of this useful metal, because it is consequently almost impossible to pre- serve it very long in an entire state; yet, indirectly, this property, though detrimental to individuals, is beneficial to the community: for, in the first place, the presence of iron ore is so general, and its quantity so abundant, that there is no probability of any failure in its supply: and, in the next place, numerous branches of trade are kept in continued employ, both in working the ore, and in meeting the constantly renewed demand for implements made of iron, owing to the rapid corrosion of this metal. among the metals there is one, the history of which ought not to be overlooked on the present oc- casion, from the very circumstance that its value in a great measure depends on the absence of most of those properties which render all other metals valu- able. quicksilver is the metal in question: and what an anomaly does it not present in the general history of metals; existing, under all common variations of temperature, in a fluid state, while all other metals, with which we are familiar, are, under the same variations, solid; nor indeed are they capable of be- coming fluid, but by an elevation of temperature to which they are hardly liable to be exposed, unless designedly: lastly, in consequence of its fluidity, destitute of malleability and ductility; which are among the most valuable properties of the metals taken collectively. this state of fluidity, however, to the physical condition of man. is the very point on which the value of this metal in a great measure turns: for hence it is successfully employed for many purposes, to which, were it solid, it would be inapplicable. how valuable is its use in the construction of the common thermometer and barometer; the value, in the case of the former in- strument, depending entirely on its fluidity, and on the physical characters of the fluid itself—the equable ratio, for instance, of its contraction and expansion under widely varying degrees of temperature; and its property of remaining fluid through a greater range of temperature than any other known sub- stance.* and, in the case of the barometer, what fluid is there which could supply the place of quick- silver, with any degree of convenience since, from the great specific gravity of this metal, a column of the perpendicular height of about thirty inches, suffi- ciently answers the intended purpose; which column in the case of almost every other fluid, would amount to as many feet. and as, in such a case, the column must necessarily be contained in a glass tube, in order to make the alterations in its height visible, how would it be possible to render such an instru- ment portable and yet, if not portable, it would often be of no use when most wanted. in those numerous philosophical experiments in which it is requisite to insulate portions of various gaseous substances, for the purpose of examining their properties, how could the experimentalist pro- ceed without the use of the metal now under consi- deration; which by its fluidity readily yields its place to the various kinds of gas which are to be trans- ferred to vessels previously filled with the quicksilver; and, having no chemical affinity for the greater * quicksilver does not become solid till exposed to a tempera- ture about seventy degrees below the freezing point in the scale of fahrenheit; nor does it pass rapidly into a state of vapour till exposed to a temperature equal to nearly three hundred and seventy degrees above the boiling point of water, on the same scale. adaptation of minerals number of gaseous substances, is calculated to retain them in an insulated and unaltered state for an in- definite length of time? nor let us forget to observe, how the properties of the metal, which is necessarily in contact with the gaseous substances in question, conspire with the properties of the glass vessels con- taining those gaseous substances, to facilitate the observations of the philosopher: for, if the glass were not both a transparent body, and equally devoid as the quicksilver of any chemical affinity for the gas contained in it, the metal itself would be of little use for the purpose intended: since we are not acquainted with any other substance that could supply the place of glass—with the exception perhaps of rock crystal; which however could only be procured in small quantity any where, and could not be worked into a convenient form but at a most enormous expense. section vii. common salt, &c. it does not appear that the mineral kingdom con- tains a single species capable of being employed as food: but there is one mineral species, which indi- rectly contributes to the nourishment of many other animals as well as man; and that is common salt: the flavour of which, to a certain extent, is not only grateful to the palate, but, practically speaking, man- kind could not exist, or at least never have existed, without the constant use of it. thus, though em- ployed in very small quantities at a time by any in- dividual, and almost exclusively for the purpose either of preserving or rendering his food more palatable, this substance may fairly be classed among the principal necessaries of life: and, correspondent- ly with this statement, we find that nature has sup- plied it in abundance, indeed in profusion often, in various parts of the globe: for, to say nothing of those apparently inexhaustible masses which occur to the physical condition of man. inhaling its sweetness; or in catching the breeze that has passed over the blossom of the bean or of the woodbine, does not again enjoy the very delights of his early childhood it may be said indeed that the pleasure of such recollections is for the most part of a moral and in- tellectual nature; and, so far, is foreign to our pre- sent object; but the pleasure of the original enjoy- ment appears to be principally of a physical charac- ter; and is no doubt intended to produce, at the moment, a highly beneficial, though merely physical effect: for while the eye of the child is attracted by the unexpected forms and colours of the plants and flowers presented to his view, and his mind is insti- gated to gratify the eager desire of possessing them, he necessarily subjects his limbs to that degree of exercise and fatigue, which contributes to the gene- ral health of his body. nor let such pleasures be un- dervalued in their consequence: they give that mode- rate stimulus to the whole system, which even the early age of infancy requires; and, by shutting out the listlessness that would arise from inactivity, they become eventually the source of moral and in- tellectual improvement. - with reference to the primary wants of mankind at large, the vegetable kingdom is of the highest im- portance. let the earth cease to produce its accus- tomed fruits, and every form of animal life must be soon annihilated: for all animals either derive their nourishment directly from vegetable food, or feed on those animals which have themselves fed on vegeta- bles. and, without the aid of the same productions, we should be deprived of various substances which are now employed for clothing, and fuel, and the construction of our habitations. but the adaptation of the vegetable kingdom to the arts and conveniences of life is visible in numerous other instances: and the principal difficulty, in illustrating this point, is the selection of appropriate examples, and the order of their arrangement. adaptation of vegetables section ii. the cocoa-nut tree, including the formation of coral reefs. for the purpose of introducing in a more particu- lar manner the general subject of this chapter, and as an impressive example of the important ends which nature often accomplishes by the simplest means, i propose to consider the mode in which the cocoa-nut tree is spontaneously propagated in the coral islands of the indian archipelago and else- where: nor will it be an undue anticipation of a sub- sequent department of this treatise, if i previously give a brief description of the process by which those islands have themselves been brought into existence. the account of their origin indeed belongs more strictly to the history of the animal than of the vege- table world; but the two subjects are so naturally connected, that it would be injudicious to separate them. it may be collected from the observations of the french navigator, m. péron, (ann. du mus. tom. vi. p. , &c.) that almost all those countless islands of the pacific ocean, which are found to the south of the equator between new holland and the western coast of america, are either entirely or in part made up of coral: and all the adjacent ocean abounds with coral reefs, which, constantly augmenting, are con- stantly changing the state of bays, and ports, and gulfs; so that new charts are continually required for the same coasts. from barrow also it appears, (barrow's cochin china, p. ,) that the formation of coral reefs or isles is very common in the tropical parts of the eastern and pacific ocean. and cap- tain flinders says that the quantity of coral reefs between new holland and new caledonia and new guinea, is such, that this might be called the coral- lian sea. (flinders's voyage, vol. ii. p. .) to the physical condition of man. many more references might be made, to others as well as the above mentioned voyagers, in order to show that the formation of coral islands is effected by nature on a very extensive scale: but, for the present purpose, the preceding references may be considered sufficient. let us now therefore describe the general character and mode of formation of these islands. forster says” that the low islands of tropical seas are commonly “narrow, low ledges of coral rock, including in the middle a kind of lagoon; and having here and there little sandy spots, somewhat elevated above the level of high water, on which cocoa- nuts thrive:” correspondent with which description is the account given by captain cook, on the occa- sion of discovering one of these coral reefs; which was at first mistaken by him for land. “this proved to be,” he says, “another of those low or half-drown- ed islands, or rather a large coral shoal, of about twenty leagues in circuit. a very small part of it was land, which consisted of little islets ranged along the north side, and connected by sand banks and breakers. these islets were clothed with wood, among which the cocoa-nut trees were only distin- guishable. we ranged the south side of this shoal at the distance of one or two miles from the coral bank, against which the sea broke in a dreadful surf. in the middle of the shoal was a large lake, or inland sea, in which was a canoe under sail.” (cook's voyage, to. . vol. i. p. , .) coral, considered as an individual substance, is a natural form of carbonate of lime, produced by an animal of the polype kind. the particles of carbon- ate of lime, however produced, are cemented to- gether so firmly by a glutinous secretion of the same animal, as to acquire a degree of consistence, which not only forms a safe habitation for a race of ani- malcules, from their soft texture most obnoxious to * forster's voyage round the world, p. , . o to the physical condition of man. live, their structures adhere to each other by virtue either of the glutinous remains within, or of some property in salt water; and the interstices being gradually filled up with sand and broken pieces of coral washed by the sea, which also adhere, a mass of rock is at length formed. future races of these animalcules erect their habitations upon the rising bank, and die in their turn; to increase, but princi- pally to elevate, this monument of their wonderful labours. the care taken to work perpendicularly, in the early stages, would mark a surprising instinct in these diminutive creatures. their wall of coral, for the most part in situations where the winds are con- stant, being arrived at the surface, affords a shelter; to leeward of which their infant colonies may be safely sent forth: and to this, their instinctive fore- sight, it seems to be owing, that the windward side of a reef, exposed to the open sea, is generally, if not always, the highest part; rising almost perpendicu- larly, sometimes from the depth of two hundred and perhaps many more fathoms. to be constantly covered with water seems necessary to the existence of the animalcules; for they do not work, except in holes upon the reef, beyond low water mark: but the coral sand, and other broken remnants thrown up by the sea, adhere to the rock, and form a solid mass with it, as high as the common tides reach. that elevation surpassed, the future remnants, being rarely covered, lose their adhesive property; and, remaining in a loose state, form what is usually call- ed a key upon the top of the reef. the new bank is not long in being visited by sea birds; salt plants take root upon it, and a soil begins to be formed; a cocoa-nut, or the drupe of a pandanus, is thrown on shore; land birds visit it, and deposit the seeds of shrubs and trees; every high tide, and still more, every gale, adds something to the bank; the form of an island is gradually assumed; and, last of all, comes man to take possession.” * flinders's voyage, vol. ii. p. , . adaptation of vegetables in the base of a coral island of the above descrip- tion, captain flinders distinguished not only the sand, coral, and shells, formerly thrown up, in a more or less perfect state of cohesion; but also small pieces of wood, pumice stone, and other extraneous bodies, which chance had mixed with the calcareous sub- stances when the cohesion began, and which in some cases were still separable from the rock without much force.* such sand banks are found in different stages of progress; some being overflowed with every returning tide; some raised above high water mark, but destitute of vegetation; some, lastly, habitable and abounding in trees. let us here pause for a moment to contemplate the wonderful effect produced by apparently the most inadequate means. and wonderful indeed is the effect, even if the process above described were now to cease for ever; but much more, if we look to its probable extension: for, reasoning on what has already been accomplished, and on what is at this moment rapidly advancing, it is evidently probable that a new habitable surface of land may be eventu- ally produced, equal in extent to the whole of eu- rope, and produced by the agency of a tribe of ani- mals, which occupy very nearly the lowest steps in the scale of animal creation, and which in every other respect are the most inefficient and helpless of creatures. for, fixed as they are, both individually and collectively, to a completely local habitation; or, rather, buried as it were in a strong mass of coral, and literally “each in his narrow cell for ever laid,” their general appearance and mode of growth so little resemble the animal character, that, for a long time, many of the species were considered as of ve- getable origin; and are, even now, very commonly called zoophytes, or animated plants. * flinders's voyage, vol. ii. p. . to the physical condition of man. nor let us fail to observe, in the foregoing account, the physical fitness for each other of two very differ- ent departments of nature. the same geographical climate which gives birth to those animals, whose, labours produce this previously unexpected habitable surface, gives birth also to those vegetables, which, at the same time that they are capable of growing on so loose and poor a soil, are capable besides of supplying its future inhabitants not only with nutri- tious food, both in a liquid and a solid form, but with materials for constructing their habitations, and for many other useful purposes. and in the mean time the fowls of the air, and the very winds and waves, are all employed in administering to the beneficent intentions of providence. of little use would be a new habitable surface, were it never to be tenanted by human beings; and in vain would man attempt to colonize that surface, were it barren of vegetable productions: but the seeds of various plants, as we have seen in the foregoing descriptions, are either brought by birds, or drifted by the wind and waves, to a soil calculated to support them. among the vegetable productions of coral islands, the cocoa-nut tree stands pre-eminent in value; con- taining in itself nearly all those important properties, which are found at large in that natural family of plants, the palms: and valuable indeed are those pro- perties, if we may rely on the accounts which have been given of them by different authors; and of the truth of those accounts there is no sufficient reason to doubt. johnston,” speaking of the abundance of the cocoa-nut tree in india, where he says it occurs to a greater extent than the olive in spain, or the willow in holland, affirms that there is no part of the tree which is not applied to some useful purpose. not only the cabins of the poorer natives, but large houses, are constructed entirely with materials afforded by this tree; the trunk, when split, supply- * johnstonus de arboribus, p. , &c. o to the physical condition of man. mentioned, it is said that in the number of cocoa trees cultivated in ceylon, along a line of coast of about miles, was ten millions, and that that number was increased in following years; that this tree is fruitful from its eighth to its sixty-fourth year, and sometimes bears from eighty to one hundred nuts annually; that elephants are fed on cocoa-nut leaves; and that the ashes of the tree contain so great a proportion of potash, that the native washer- men of ceylon use them instead of soap.” in the nouv. dict. d’hist. nat. tom. vii. p. , &c. it is stated, that, as in other palms, if the extre- mity of the sheath from whence the flowers of the cocoa arise be cut off while young, a white sweet liquor distils from it, which is used extensively as a beverage in india under the name of palm wine; that this liquor, if concentrated by boiling, deposits a sugar; that if exposed to the air it acquires vinous properties at the end of twelve hours, and at the end of twenty-four hours becomes vinegar; that an oil may be obtained from the nut, m. is not inferior to sweet almond oil, and which is used almost exclu- sively in india; and that the shell is formed into cups and various other small articles. almost all that has been said of the cocoa tree might be repeated of the date tree, making an allow- ance for the specific differences of the two: and with respect to the palms in general, humboldt says it would not be easy to enumerate the various advan- tages derived from them. “they afford wine, vine- gar, oil, farinaceous food, and sugar; timber also, and ropes, and mats, and paper; and,” he adds, that “no trees are so abundant in fruit, even without the aid of cultivation; and that the franciscan monks, who live in the vicinity of palm plantations, near the banks of the orinoco, observe that the native indians give evidence of a fruitful palm year, by the corre- * wern. mem. vol. v. p. – . ig adaptation of vegetables sponding improvement in their health and appear- ance.”* i shall conclude this part of the subject with a translation from the flora atlantica of desfontaines, for the introduction of which no apology, i trust, is necessary. in describing the natural scenery of groves of palm, the author concludes with the fol- lowing beautiful passage. “these palm groves, being impervious to the sun's rays, afford a hospitable shade, both to man and other animals, in a region which would otherwise be intolerable from the heat. and under this natural shelter, the orange, the lemon, the pomegranate, the olive, the almond, and the vine grow in wild luxuriance; producing, notwithstanding they are so shaded, the most delicious fruit. and here, while the eyes are fed with the endless variety of flowers which deck these sylvan scenes, the ears are at the same time ravished with the melodious notes of numerous birds, which are attracted to these groves by the shade, and the cool springs, and the food which they there find.”f section iii. vegetables as a source of food. it appears from various statements of authority, that the species of vegetables already known amount to about sixty thousand:i though there is reason to believe the actual number is above a hundred thou- * humboldt, distrib. géogr. plant. p. — . # “palmeta radiis solis impervia, umbram in regione calidis- sima hospitalem incolis, viatoribus, aeque ac animantibus mini- strant. eorum denso sub tegmine, absºlue ordine crescunt aurantia, limones, punica, oleae, amygdali, vites, quae cursu geniculato saºpe truncos palmarum scandunt. hae omnes fructus suavissimos, licet obumbratae, ferunt; ibique mira florum et fructuum varietate pascuntur oculi; simulque festivis avium cantilenis, quas umbra, aqua, victus alliciunt, recreantur aures.” desfontaines, flora atlantica, tom. ii. append. p. . f conversations on vegetable physiology, vol. ii. p. . to the physical condition of man. sand:* and, from the general analogy of nature, we may fairly conclude that no species exists without its use in the economy of the earth. of many indeed we witness the direct use, either for the various pur- poses of civilized society, or for the sustenance of animal life: but for the present let us confine our attention to the latter point in their history; and, although whatever is adapted to the sustenance of animal life in general, is indirectly adapted in a great measure to the actual condition of man, and would therefore justly come within the scope of this trea- tise; yet, that we may not extend the subject too far, let us consider those species only which constitute the direct food of man; subject indeed frequently to such culinary preparations as make our food not only more palatable, but also more nutritious. among the numerous species of vegetables which supply food to man, by far the greater proportion consists of those which may be considered upon the whole as mere luxuries; or at most, as affording an agreeable and sometimes useful variety. of those species which afford that kind of nutritive matter which is contained in what has been emphatically called the staff of life, or bread, the number is very small; leguminous plants, and wheat, and rice, the fruit and pith and other parts of some of the palms and bananas, and such farinaceous roots as the po- tato, &c. comprising nearly the whole amount. it would be unnecessary to point out more parti- cularly the importance of some of the foregoing species, to any one at all conversant with the general mode of life of europeans as to food: and a slight acquaintance with the history of the world is suffi- cient to show us, that, what wheat and the potato are to europe, rice is to a considerable portion of asia, africa, and america; and the products of the date and cocoa, palms, &c. to the inter-tropical countries of the whole earth. but there are some * decandolle, théorie elém. de la botanique, vo. , p. . to the physical condition of man. sisting of eight closely printed quarto_pages, which appears to have been furnished by dr. rush of penn- sylvania university, is well worth the perusal.” if we consider the subordinate wants of the animal economy, we must in reason allow that those suc- culent fruits and vegetables, which are abundantly produced in almost all parts of the world, are de- stined by providence for an important end with reference to the food of man. the very form and arrangement of our teeth, and the structure of our stomach, show, that our system is naturally adapted to a mixed food: and although those of our teeth, which resemble the corresponding teeth of carnivo- rous animals, are so little developed as to make it in that respect doubtful whether nature intended us to live on flesh; yet our stomach, and the rest of our apparatus of digestion, aided moreover by culinary preparation, certainly approximate us fully as much to the carnivorous as to the herbivorous classes. it is obvious, moreover, that we have an ample array of teeth for cutting and grinding vegetable matter. this then being the case, we might antecedently ex- pect that our natural taste would lead us to enjoy the flavour of vegetable, as well as animal food; and that nature would supply us with a variety of the one as well as of the other; for variety itself is salutary. and on this as on every occasion, we have an opportunity of seeing how providence not only meets all the wants of mankind, but meets them in such a way as their local situation requires. thus wheat, which contains a more strengthening principle of nutrition than the product of the palms and arrow- root, and is therefore better calculated to support the hardier efforts of the inhabitants of temperate or cold climates, will not grow readily in inter-tropical *the tree commonly called the sycamore, which is really a species of maple, yields a sweet sap which has occasionally been used to supply the place of malt in brewing. sylva, d ed. by a. hunter, york, , vol. i. p. . p adaptation of vegetables climates;* and, reciprocally, the palms and cognate plants of inter-tropical regions cease to be productive, if cultivated much beyond the tropics.f and the orange, the lemon, the water-melon, the grape, and the fig, which are easily cultivated in warm climates, i by the abundance of their juice, are enabled both to allay the sensation of present heat and thirst, and to repair the loss of that natural moisture of the body, which is continually passing from it in the form of either sensible or insensible perspiration. even in the temperate climate of our own island, how many days are there, during the summer, in which such fruits are most refreshing: and to gratify the desire of that refreshment we import such species as are capable of bearing a long voyage; among which the orange is a very principal article of import: nor would it be easy to calculate the myriads of that fruit which are annually consumed in this country. but the cognate fruit, the lemon, at the same time that, on account of the grateful and aromatic flavour of its juice, it is occasionally as eagerly sought as the orange, serves a still higher purpose: for the acid contained in it has been successfully employed, as an antidote and a remedy for one of the most dreadful diseases to which mariners are subject. sea scurvy in fact has all but disappeared since the general adoption of this remedy." * desfontaines, flora atlantica, tom. ii. appendix, p. . # wern. mem. vol. v. p. . f an interesting fact is related in the “conversations on ve- getable physiology” respecting an artificial mode of ripening the fig, “in hot climates the fig-tree produces two crops of fruit: and the peasants in the isles of the archipelago, where the fig- tree abounds, bring branches of wild fig-trees in the spring, which they spread over those that are cultivated. these wild branches serve as a vehicle to a prodigious number of small in- sects of the genus called cynips, which perforate the figs in order to make a nest for their eggs; and the wound they inflict acce- lerates the ripening of the fruit nearly three weeks; thus leavi time for the second crop to come to maturity in due season. (vol. ii. p. , ) § it is probable that fresh vegetables of any kind are sufficient adaptation of vegetables that disease; paroxysms of dreadful rigour or shivering; nausea; intense headach, with delirium; paralytic affections of the limbs; and burning heat of the whole body, terminating in profuse perspira- tion: and whoever has witnessed such symptoms, recurring in the same individual at stated intervals, has probably seen their return at once arrested by a few doses of peruvian bark, in the state of powder; the effect of which remedy, in subduing a violent disease, compared with the small quantity of it em- ployed for that purpose, has been not inelegantly though playfully illustrated by that passage of the georgics, in which the husbandman is taught to allay the occasional contests and agitations of the bees, by scattering a handful of dust among them. “hi motus—atgue hac certamina tanta pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescent.” and, if the vegetable kingdom had failed to afford any other medicinal substance than this, mankind would still have had ample cause for thankfulness. but, even in the instances of those remedies from which nothing beyond a present or temporary allevi- ation is expected, the benefit usually accruing cannot easily be estimated at too high a rate; and one re- medy there is, of this nature, for which mankind is indebted to the vegetable kingdom exclusively. how often has not opium lulled the most excruciating ago- nies of pain? how often has it not restored the balm of sleep to the almost exhausted body; or quieted those nervous agitations of the whole system, the terrors of which none perhaps can duly appreciate but those who have experienced them . there are however diseased or unnatural states of the body, in which no direct remedy can be applied, and all soothing means would not only be ineffectual, but fatal: in such states those substances, which are directly opposed in quality to opium, and irritate instead of soothing the surfaces to which they are applied, are valuable precisely on that account: they to the physical condition of man. rouse the system, for instance, from a state of lethargy, which otherwise would probably terminate in death; or they stimulate the stomach to reject any substance of a poisonous nature, which may have been either intentionally or accidentally introduced into it, and they thus contribute to the preservation of life. remedies of this character, though not ex- clusively belonging to the vegetable kingdom, are frequently afforded by it. but, in enumerating the medicinal auxiliaries which mankind derive from the vegetable kingdom, let me not omit the restorative virtue of that gift of heaven, which, though by its abuse it may intoxicate the mental faculties and undermine the general health of the body, is calculated most assuredly, when rightly used, not only to revive the drooping energies, but to rekindle the almost expiring spark of life. survey the wretched subject of what is called typhus, while oppressed by those symptoms which justify the use of this restorative; when the glazed eye and squalid skin, the feeble circulation and muttering delirium, announce the near approach of death, unless the proper medicine be interposed; and then watch the beneficial effect of this divine remedy. they who have witnessed the progress of typhus fever in some of its forms, and in individuals who have lived in crowded and ill ventilated habitations, will acknow- ledge that in very many instances wine alone has, humanly speaking, rescued the patient from the grave. nor will it be irrelevant to the general subject of this treatise to consider the natural origin of wine: by which i mean, not the mode or time of its disco- very; either of which it would be as useless as vain to attempt to investigate, since this liquid was in common use at a period long antecedent to history: but by its natural origin i mean the circumstances under which it is usually produced. there is a law in nature, by which organized bodies, vegetables as well as animals, are disposed to undergo spontaneous p adaptation of vegetables decomposition very soon after they have ceased to live; the ultimate result of which is, a resolution into their elementary principles; in other words, they putrefy and perish. but even in this state, in which they are deprived of all their former properties, they administer to the good of man; and, under the name of manure, are known as the principal means of fer- tilizing the ground; from whence all his food is ulti- mately obtained. the circumstances, however, which accompany this change in vegetables, differ very much from those which attend the corresponding change in animals; and may be well illustrated by a reference to the process of making any common wine. if a sufficient quantity of the juice of ripe grapes, or of any other saccharine fluid, be exposed to a moderately warm temperature, an internal move- ment of its particles soon begins to take place; which is technically called fermentation: and during the period when this is going on, the sugar of the liquor is, in part, converted into wine. if the fermentation be now arrested by the proper means, the whole mass of the liquid may be preserved in nearly the same state for a longer or shorter period, in propor- tion to the quantity of wine contained in it: but if, after the vinous fermentation, as it is called, has been completed, the temperature be to a certain degree increased, the wine is converted into vinegar by a continuance of the process of fermentation: and, ulti- mately, the acid taste and odour of the vinegar are lost; and the whole mass of the liquor becomes first vapid, and then putrid. that such a process as putrefaction should take place in organized bodies after their death, might in reasoning be antecedently expected; for the purpose of ...; to the growth of their successive generations in the case of vegetables;* and to pre- * “haudigitur penitus pereunt quaecunque videntur: quando alid ex alio reficit natura, nec ullum rem gigni patitur, nisi morte adjutam aliena.” lucket. i. . — . adaptation of vegetables section w. vegetables as applicable to the arts, &c. in considering the application of natural sub- stances to the various purposes of life, it is often interesting to compare the simplicity of the original contrivance with the complicated manipulations of the process by which, at the present day, a material, destined for a specific use, is brought into a fit state for that use. let fine writing-paper be taken as an instance; and let us compare the history of a piece of such paper with that of the simple material on which many oriental manuscripts are written—the mere leaf of a tree, probably some species of palm, —which after having been cut into the requisite size and form, seems to have undergone no other prepara- tion than simple pressure; partly with the view of forcing out its natural moisture, and partly of smooth- ing its surface. how different the history of the paper that is daily fabricated in any of the large ma- nufactories of this country; and how little would its origin and numerous changes of state be conjectured from its present appearance heaps of linen rags of every colour, when indeed that colour can be dis- tinguished through the dirt which adheres to them, are brought from almost every quarter of europe; each rag having probably been part of some article of dress, which, as it grew viler by use, passed from a more to a less respectable possessor; till it at length became the tattered and threadbare covering of the poorest mendicant. - from such a material is the finest paper made: and, in the commencement of the process, each indi- vidual rag undergoes an examination with respect to its size, and is cut into two or more pieces ac- cording to that size. separate heaps are then me- chanically shaken together, and sifted, in order to clear them from adhering dust: they are subsequently adaptation of vegetables the circumstance. thus the quantity of indigo, ac- cumulated in the extensive repositories of the east india company, is frequently so great as to make the occasional observer wonder that it should ever find a market: and the following statement will show how important this single substance is as an article of commerce. during the last five years, the quan- tity of indigo imported into london amounts to at least one hundred and twenty thousand chests; the average weight of the contents of each chest equal- ling two hundred and seventypounds, and the average price of each pound being five shillings. the esti- mated value therefore of the indigo contained in the one hundred and twenty thousand chests would be rather more than eight millions sterling. if i am correct in supposing that blue, red, and wellow, are the colours most abundantly supplied by vegetables, it cannot fail to strike a mind of the least reflection, that these are precisely the elementary colours which a dyer would have antecedently se- lected, in order to be enabled to practise his art to the greatest advantage; since from these three, all other colours or tints may be obtained. and with respect to black, which must practically be consi- dered as a distinct colour, though not admitted as such theoretically, it is worthy of observation, that, although scarcely any vegetable substance yields it directly; yet, by the intervention of almost any form of iron, and this metal is in some shape or other pre- sent every where, it may readily be produced from a very numerous class of vegetable substances. in almost every instance where a vegetable substance has an austere and bitter taste, it will with iron give a dye of a black colour. thus the bark of the oak, and of many other trees, and that vegetable excres- cence called the gall-nut, produce an ink by the ad- dition of any saline form of iron. from the earliest and least civilized times, and through every intermediate stage of society to the present period of refinement, the productions of the to the physical condition of man. vegetable world have been in constant request for the most common purposes of life. the simplest dwellings, not only of the uninstructed savage, but of the peasantry of many parts of modern europe, are constructed almost entirely of wood; the simplest implements of husbandry, the plough, the spade, and the hoe, could hardly be employed without the aid of a wooden frame-work or handle: and the same observation holds good with reference to the tools of the most necessary arts of life. how great would be the inconvenience, and how increased would be the labour of the carpenter, or the smith, or the mason, if, instead of wood, the handles of his imple- ments were of iron nor are substances of vegetable origin of less importance, or less generally employed, in many of the higher arts of life. examine the structure of a man of war—its hulk, of oak; its masts, of fir; its sails and ropes, of flax; its calking, of tow and of tar. all is of vegetable origin from the top-mast head to the keel j. with the exception indeed of the iron which is occasionally used in the construction, no metallic substance is necessarily employed; for the copper sheathing, though highly useful, is certainly not necessary. it would require volumes to describe all the eco- nomical uses to which vegetables are applied. how many important trades arise from this source. how many families, now existing in opulence, originally derived their surnames from their occupation, and that occupation connected with vegetable materials; for instance, cooper, carpenter, dyer, tanner, turner, wheeler, weaver, barker, hayward, gar- dener, cartwright, miller, fletcher, bowyer and then, to answer the various purposes to which they are to be applied, how widely do the qualities of different vegetable productions differ from each other! how well the rigid fibre and compact texture of the oak enable the bulky vessel to resist the buffet- ing of the waves | the ash, the beech, the fir, the yew, each has those appropriate qualities which make adaptation of vegetables it individually preferable to the rest. the flexibility of the hemp and flax renders them capable of being woven and formed into sails and cordage; and, ex- posed as the sails and rigging are to the vicissitudes of the weather, how well are they protected by being covered over with tar, itself of vegetable origin some woods very readily split with that regularity of surface which we observe in common laths; and of the utility of that kind of material in almost every kind of building no one can well be ignorant. other woods, as the willow, very readily bend, with a con- siderable degree of elasticity, in every direction; and hence are of value in the fabrication of what is known under the general name of wicker-work.” in this department, again, though not to the same extent as in the case of some of the metals, is seen the effect of human labour in advancing the value of the original material. compare, for instance, the mercantile value of a piece of fine lace with the ori- ginal value of the material of which it is made. there are many plants, which, though they neither produce fruit of any value nor are capable of being applied to any of the common purposes of the arts, are yet of the highest value as a natural defence to cultivated lands against the incursions of cattle; and sometimes even against the attacks of disciplined troops. the quickset of our common hedges is an instance of the former application; and of its utility in this country no one can doubt, unless he happen to live exclusively in those districts, as in certain parts of *the art of making wicker-work is often successfully culti- vated at a very early period of civilization. thus, in the neigh- bourhood of california, some of captain beechey's officers were supplied with “water brought to them in baskets, which the indians weave so close, that, when wet, they become excellent substitutes for bowls.” (beechey's voyage, p. .) and we know that, not long after the conquest of britain by caesar, the sºnamental wicker-work of the natives was highly prized at me. to the physical condition of man. the cotswold and similar ranges of hills, where stone supplies a more ready material for a fence. of the extent of its application, it would not be easy to make a correct estimate; but, when we consider how many public roads, and how many private enclosures are bounded by a fence of quickset, it becomes probable that the linear extent of hedges of this kind is, in england alone, equal to many times the circumfe- rence of the whole earth. in describing one of the most important fortresses in the deccan, captain seely, in his account of the temples of ellora, states that the town, which stands about one thousand and twenty yards from the fort, is surrounded by a hedge of prickly pear, nearly eighteen feet high, and thick in proportion. this natural defence around the towns and villages on the western side of india is very common; and it offers to a predatory body of horse or foot a formidable barrier: for the sharp and long thorns, which project from the stem and leaf, not only act as an immediate defence; but, if broken off, they exude a liquid which often produces severe inflammation.* in a part of normandy, lying between caen and falaise, is a district called “le bocage,” (petit bois,) which “derives its name from the high and bushy hedges with which it abounds; and which are de- signed to afford shelter from the stormy winds of the atlantic. there are but few trees in those parts; but the hedges, being from eight to ten feet in height, are sufficient to protect the crops from the boisterous sea breezes: and they thence bear the name of brise- vent.”f - the last point in the history of vegetables which i propose to consider is their application as fuel; and many nations entirely derive their supply of fuel, for culinary and other domestic purposes, from the ve- getable kingdom alone: and even where such a sup- * p. . # conversations on vegetable physiology, vol. ii. p. . q adaptation of animals be correctly stated that out of about a hundred thou- sand species of animals, the number supposed to have been hitherto discovered, eighty thousand are of the class of insects:* it will be evident that the mass of mankind is ignorant of the very existence of nearly four-fifths of the whole animal kingdom: for, with the exception of the fly, the bee, the wasp, the ant, and perhaps ten or twelve more species, few but professed naturalists are acquainted with the specific differences of this class of animals; so small are they in size, and so apparently insignificant to a common observer. but, if we have reason for believing that not a single animal species exists without its use in the general economy of nature, we have a certainty that there are many, the absence of which would be almost incompatible with the continuance of the ex- istence of the human race. if, for instance, the duties of the shepherd and herdsman could no longer be exercised, in consequence of the extinction of the two species of which they have now respectively the care, into what misery would not the population of a great part of the world be plunged, cut off at once from some of the most substantial forms of animal food, and the most general and effectual sources of clothing ! and, if we consider the subject in another point of view, how fitly are the natures of these species, from the individuals of which such immense advantage accrues to man, accommodated to that end if, for instance, the sheep and the ox were carnivorous, instead of herbivorous, how could the species be preserved : or, supposing for a moment that a suffi- cient quantity of animal food could be procured for them, under that supposition how could it be conve- niently distributed to the flocks and herds scattered over a thousand hills; which now, without any con- mollusca which constitute the food of the whale: thus producing a dependent chain of animal life, one particular link of which being destroyed, the whole must necessarily perish. * the number is probably greater. to the physical condition of man. sequent trouble to the shepherd or the herdsman, leisurely crop the grass, as they slowly traverse the surface from their morning to their evening range of pasture. , let us suppose, again, that the horse were to be- come extinct. in that event how greatly would be in a moment altered the condition of the whole civil- ized world! for by what other means could there be kept up that general communication, between distant parts of the same empire, the rapidity and facility of which contribute at the same time to national pros- perity, and to individual wealth and comfort; since that recent invention, the steam carriage, though capable of supplying the place of horses along the course of regular roads, would be inapplicable in most other situations? consider, again, the position of contending armies, whose fate often is determined by the evolutions of united squadrons of this noblest of all the inferior animals; and sometimes even by the speed of the individual charger whose rider con- veys the command which is to determine those evo- lutions: or, to descend into the less important though not less interesting scenes of domestic life, let us imagine, what we may perhaps have witnessed, the ecstasy of an afflicted parent, who has been enabled by the speed of this all but friend of man to reach the couch, and to receive the dying embraces of a be- loved child; or to obtain those means of human aid, which haply may have averted the stroke of impend- ing death. but in this, as in many similar instances, we can at once perceive (what we may always in reasoning presume) that an alteration in the constitution of any department of nature would be incompatible with that harmony of the whole, the existence of which is evident to all those who are capable of observing and interrogating philosophically the phenomena of cre- ation. and if it should be said that some species of animals have actually become extinct, and others are gradually becoming more and more rare; yet, in q adaptation of-an im als such instances, we shall find the fact to be either the result of a providential adjustment, if the expression may be permitted; or, of the original rarity of the species themselves, as in the case of that uncouth bird the dodo;* or, as might possibly happen, with respect to that still more remarkable animal of new holland, the ornithorhynchus paradoxus: in each of which instances the locality of the species appears to have been always extremely limited. on the other hand there are species of animals, which, though so minute, and so far removed from common observation, as to be scarcely known to mankind at large, much less employed for any useful purpose, would yet be productive of great inconve- nience were they permitted to increase indefinitely: and hence, although they may perhaps previously accomplish some important end in the scheme of nature, they are destined to be the food of other animals, which, being much larger than themselves, necessarily consume them in great quantity. there is hardly a bird, or a reptile, or a fish, the contents of whose stomach would not bear witness to the truth of the assertion just made: and even among quadrupeds there are many species, as the mole, the hedgehog, the manis, and the ant-eater, which, from the nature of their food, are grouped into a distinct family, called insectivorous. * it is not without reason that the epithet uncouth has been applied to the dodo; for two distinguished naturalists, in their day, maintained for many years that such a form had never ex- isted, but in the imagination of the painter. one of these indivi- duals however at length had an opportunity of inspecting the well-known specimen of the head of the dodo, which is preserved in the ashmolean museum at oxford; and was then convinced that such a bird had existed. but so far was he from producing the same conviction in the mind of his friend, by the description of the specimen, that he incurred the charge of an intentional deception; and the result was, that an interminable feud arose between them: for though they were attached to the same insti- tution, and lived within its walls, (not indeed without other com- panions, or absolutely under the same roof, as their prototypes in the eddystone light-house,) they never again spoke to each other. to the physical condition of man. section ii. geographical distribution of animals. among the strongest evidences of an intentional adaptation of the external world to the physical con- dition of man, may be classed the geographical dis- tribution of animals, taken in connexion with certain points in their general history. thus the elephant, which lives exclusively on vegetable food, is found naturally in those climates only, where vegetation is so luxuriantly abundant as easily to meet the large supply, which numerous individuals of such enormous bulk require: and then the tractability and docility of the animal are such, that its amazing strength may be easily directed to forward the purposes of man; and often is so directed, in the conduct of military operations, as well as on various ordinary occasions: and lastly, the increase of the species advances slowly; for, in by far the greater number of instances, only one individual is produced at a birth. now had the elephant been equally adapted to colder cli- mates, where vegetation is comparatively scant, the difficulty of supporting the individual animals in such climates would have diminished the value of the species: or, were elephants as intractable and indo- cile, as they are the reverse, what destruction would they not be continually dealing around them; witness the scene which took place a few years since in a public menagerie of london; where a company of musketeers was introduced, in order to subdue a single individual of this species, which had become infuriated from accidental circumstances ! or, lastly, had the elephant been as prolific as the swine, (and it should be observed that they are branches of the same natural order,) how could the increased num- bers of individuals have been maintained, in the case of a species which is not naturally capable of emigrating to a different climate? adaptation of animals section iii. the camel. of all animals, the camel perhaps is most exactly adapted both to those peculiar regions of the earth in which it is principally, if not exclusively, found; and to those purposes for which it is usually employed by man: to whose wants indeed it is so completely accommodated, and apparently so incapable of ex- isting without his superintendence, that while on the one hand we find the camel described in the earliest records of history, and in every subsequent period, as in a state of subjugation to man, and employed for precisely the same purposes as at the present day; on the other hand, it does not appear that the species has ever existed in a wild or independent state. with scarcely any natural means of defence, and nearly useless in the scheme of creation, (as far as we can judge) unless as the slave of man, it forms a re- markable parallel to the sheep, the ox, and other of the ruminating species; which are also rarely, if ever, found, but under the protection of man, and to that protection alone are indebted, indeed, for their existence as a distinct species. let us compare then the form, and structure, and moral qualities of the camel, with the local character of the regions in which it is principally found; and with the nature of the services exacted of it by man. the sandy deserts of arabia are the classical country of the camel; but it is also extensively em- ployed in various other parts of asia, and in the north of africa: and the constant communication that exists between the tribes which border on the intervening sea of sand, could only be maintained by an animal possessing such qualities as characterize the camel—“the ship of the desert,” as it has empha- tically been called. laden with the various kinds of adaptation of animals for the ordinary consumption of the animal during many days. and, as opportunities occur, the camel instinctively replenishes this reservoir; and is thus enabled to sustain a degree of external drought, which would be destructive to all other animals but such as have a similar structure: nor is any other animal of the old world known to possess this peculiar structure. but if we pass to the inhabited regions of the andes in the new world, we there meet with several species of animals, as the lama, the vigogna, and the alpaca, which, though much smaller than the camel, correspond generally in their anatomy with that animal, and particularly with reference to the structure of the stomach: they resemble also the camel in docility; and, to complete the parallel, they were employed by the aboriginal inhabitants in the new world for the same purposes as the camel in the old. of the two species of camel, the bactrian and arabian, the latter is that with the history of which we are best acquainted; and though there is reason to believe, that, whatever is said of the qualities of the one might with truth be affirmed of the other also, on the present occasion whatever is said is referable to the arabian species.* the camel, then, not only consumes less food than the horse, but can sustain more fatigue. a large camel is capable of carrying from seven to twelve hundred weight, and travelling with that weight on its back, at the rate *the bactrian species, which has two bosses on its back, is more peculiar to tartary and northern asia. the arabian, which has only one boss, is not confined to the country from which it is named, but is the same species with that which pre- vails in northern africa. as in the case of all domesticated animals the varieties of these two species are numerous: and it is a variety of the arabian species, of a small height, to which the ancients gave the name of dromedary, from its employment as a courier; but in the magnificent work of st. hilaire and cuvier, (hist. nat. des mammiferes,) the term dromedary is :* in a specific sense, for all the varieties of the arabian inel. to the physical condition of man. of above ten leagues in each day. the small courier camel, carrying no weight, will travel thirty leagues in each day, provided the ground be dry and level. individuals of each variety will subsist for eight or ten successive days on dry thorny plants; but after this period require more nutritious food, which is usually supplied in the form of dates and various artificial preparations: though, if not so supplied, the camel will patiently continue its course, till nearly the whole of the fat, of which the boss on its back consists, is absorbed; whereby that protuberance becomes, as it were, obliterated. the camel is equally patient of thirst as of hunger: and this happens, no doubt, in consequence of the supply of fluid which it is capable of obtaining from the peculiar reservoir contained in its stomach. it possesses moreover a power and delicacy in the sense of smell, (to that sense at least such a power is most naturally referrible,) by which, after having thirsted for seven or eight days, it perceives the existence of water at a very considerable distance: and it manifests this power by running directly to the point where the water exists. it is obvious that this faculty is exerted as much to the benefit of their drivers, and the whole suite of the caravan, as of the camels themselves. such are some of the leading advantages derived to man from the physical structure and powers of this animal: nor are those advantages of slight mo- ment which are derived from its docile and patient disposition. it is no slight advantage, for instance, considering the great height of the animal, which usually exceeds six or seven feet, that the camel is easily taught to bend down its body on its limbs, in order to be laden: and, indeed, if the weight to be placed on its back be previously so distributed, as to be balanced on an intervening yoke of a convenient form, it will spontaneously direct its neck under the yoke, and afterwards transfer the weight to its back. st. hilaire and cuvier, from whom the substance of to the physical condition of man. and when, in consequence of the discovery of the cape of good hope, alexandria ceased to be the main emporium of india and europe, venice declin- ed in its riches and power; and the portuguese, the dutch, and lastly the english, acquired the political influence which venice had lost: so true is the ob- servation of sir william temple, that whatever na- tion is in possession of the commerce of india must necessarily have a preponderating influence in the affairs of the whole world.* but, although the rout by the cape has in a great measure superseded that by alexandria, the com- mercial intercourse carried on by means of the cam- el between opposite confines of the african and asi- atic deserts is still sufficiently extensive to make the inportance of that animal very considerable: so that even now, as ages and ages since, the riches of an individual are estimated by the number of camels he may possess: and he still uses his camels either in war, or for the transport of merchandize, or for the purpose of selling them.f but it would be found, upon pursuing the history of the camel, that, while under the point of view which has been just considered, this animal contributes more largely to the advantages of mankind than any other species of the ruminating order, it scarcely is inferior to any one of those species with respect to * for an account of the traffic between india and europe, see niebuhr, descript. de l'arabie, p. . &c. # it cannot be considered an irrelevant, and certainly not in it- self an uninteresting digression, here to observe that there was a period in the commercial history of england, within the last century even, when the horses served the purpose in this island, which the camel serves in arabia and other parts of the world: and a distinct trade then existed, that of the packer; the occupa- tion of which was to make up bales of goods in a form convenient for carriage on the back of the pack-horse; and the trace of that mode of conveyance is still to be recognised in the sign of many inns in those parts of england where that mode of conveyance was prevalent. the same mode of conveyance is still very ex- tensively employed in the north-eastern parts of the russian do- minions. r adaptation of animals other advantages on account of which they are prin- cipally valuable. thus the arab obtains from the camel not only milk and cheese and butter, but he ordinarily also eats its flesh, and fabricates its hair into clothing of various kinds. the very refuse indeed of the digested food of the animal is the principal fuel of the desert; and from the smoke of this fuel is obtained the well-known substance called salam- moniac, which is very extensively employed in the arts; and of which indeed, formerly, the greater part met with in commerce was obtained from this source alone, as may be implied from its very name.* section iv. domestication of animals. nature has implanted a disposition in almost all animals to be domesticated by man; and also a capa- bility of becoming adapted to the various climates into which they accompany him; and this disposition and adaptation necessarily extend the utility of these animals. there is, moreover, a consequent effect of domestication which is obvious to the commonest ob- server; and which extends still farther the benefits arising from the practice. in a state of nature, al- most all the individuals of the same species of ani- mals have, at any given period of their life, so close a resemblance to each other in form, size, and col- our, that it is difficult to distinguish them at a little distance: but whenever any species has been long domesticated, or subjugated to the dominion of man, we usually find a proportional variety in those parts. in proof of the foregoing assertion it will be sufficient to make a comparison between wild and tame rab- bits; or between the domestic and wild cat; and to refer to the differences observable in all those ani- .* ammon, an ancient name of that part of the african desert situate to the west of egypt, supplied formerly much of the sal ammoniac of commerce. to the physical condition of man. mals which are constantly under the care of man, as the horse, the dog, and the ox. the alteration which is produced in such cases, and which depends partly on climate and food and general regimen, but still more on the intermixture of the breed, is in many instances of the highest utility to man. suppose for a moment that, in the case of the horse, any one of the existing varieties, the dray-horse for instance, or the shetland pony, were from henceforth to determine the permanent character of the species; and observe what would be the consequence. what a waste of power, and what an inconvenient increase of trouble and expense, both with respect to the stable-room and food, would there be in using the dray-horse, where the shetland i. would be sufficient; and, on the other hand, ow ill would the shetland pony supply the place of the dray-horse, where enormous weights were to be set in motion! again, in the case of the dog, were all other varie- ties of this most useful animal to be annihilated, and only one form to prevail, its value would be propor- tionally lessened. if no variety of the dog existed but the small spaniel or the terrier, the miserable in- habitant of the north could no longer travel over his native tracts of frozen snow: nor could the victim of alpine frost in switzerland be hereafter rescued from a premature death, as he often now is, by the sagaci- ty and strength of the mastiffs of that region. and, in another element, how many a life, which must have been otherwise lost, has been saved from a wa- tery grave by the joint sagacity and powerful strength of the newfoundland dog! what would the shepherd do without the assistance which he now derives from his faithful companion? instead of that compact pha- lanx which we have often seen advancing over the distant downs, under the direction of the shepherd's dog; and from time to time, in obedience to its intel- ligent commander, still altering its direction in ad- vancing, as steadily as a ship in sail obeys the helm; adaptation of animals strongest animals shrink from the defiance of the dog; but he never saw the dog shrink from the de- fiance of any other animal.” section v. animals as a source of food for man. although the inhabitants of very warm climates live priſicipally and often entirely on vegetables; in the colder climates animal food usually makes a part of the daily sustenance of all who are not oppressed by poverty: and nature has not only provided amply for this want, but has afforded the easiest means of supplying it. the disposition of those animals, which afford the great bulk of the supply that is required, as the sheep, the ox, and the swine, is such, that they are not only disposed to live gregariously, but are readily brought under obedience, so as to be inoffensive either to the person or property of man: and their docility in this respect is particularly worthy of our attention, because, from the observa- tions of m. frederic cuvier, (mém. du mus. tom. xiii. p. , ,) it appears that herbivorous animals are not, as is generally supposed, naturally more mild and tractable than the carnivorous; in fact they are by nature less mild and tractable. the flesh of all those species, which have been above mentioned, is, generally speaking, acceptable to the human palate; and is in a great measure necessary to the support of those who are habitually exposed to great exertions and fatigue: but there are many occasions on which such food could not with any convenience be obtained, even by those to * linnaeus, in enumerating the characters of the lion, makes, by implication, a somewhat similar observation with respect to e dog. “leo esuriens predatur, equis et aliis majoribus * ;—canibus coercetur.” linn. system. gmelin. tom. i. p. .) to the physical condition of man. whom the expense is not a matter of any considera- tion. in situations, for instance, which are far re- moved from any town, there are very few, with the exception of the possessors of extensive landed pro- perty, who can be conveniently supplied with animal food from their own flocks and herds: and in the case of the crews of ships, which are accustomed to make long voyages, it would be utterly impossible to find room in any vessel for such a number of live animals, and still less for the food which those animals would require, as would be competent to supply the daily consumption of all on board. but in all these instances the difficulty is obviated by the preservative quality of common salt: for we know that, by the aid of salted provisions, guarded by the regular use of vegetable acids, a ship's crew may be maintained in good health for an indefinite length of time. and then, with reference to the general question, there are almost all the herbivorous species of birds, together with the auxiliary, supply of their eggs; and those numerous species both of river and of sea fish, which contribute very largely to the support of the human race, not solely by affording food, but by affording a lucrative employment to the fisherman. i omit the consideration of the turtle, the lobster, the prawn, the oyster, and a few other species; because the aggregate consumption of such kind of food is comparatively small; and those animals, as articles of food, may be considered rather as luxuries than necessaries. of the animals which supply us with food, the flesh or muscular fibre is that part which is most accept- able to the palate: and it is worthy of consideration that the flesh of those animals, of whose living ser- vices we stand hourly in need, as the horse and the dog, are so unpalatable that we are not tempted to eat them unless in cases of dreadful necessity. many individuals however, through poverty, are content, and some by peculiarity of taste are inclined, to feed on the lungs or liver, or other of the viscera of adaptation of animals animals. and modern researches and experiments have taught us that even the bones may be rendered digestible, either by the effect of long boiling under a high degree of artificial pressure, as in the appa- ratus called papin's digester, or in consequence of the removal of their earthy basis by means of any convenient acid; and we have also learnt, from similar sources, that common saw-dust, by certain chemical processes, may be made nutritious: but we may fairly argue, from the provisional care of nature, that mankind will never be generally reduced to such circuitous means of obtaining their necessary food. in the mean time we may console ourselves with the reflection, that in the event of any temporary or local difficulty, we may find a supply of food where antecedently to the researches above men- tioned we should never have dreamed of looking for it. vitruvius mentions, in speaking of the construction of garden walks, that the fragments of charcoal, which were a common substratum of such walks, had occasionally afforded a most important magazine of fuel in a protracted siege: and in such an emer- gency the bones of animals might continue a supply of food, after the flesh had been eaten. section vi. jmanufacture of sal ammoniac. even in the present abundance of animal food the refuse is not wasted; and all that is thrown aside, as unpalatable or indigestible, is subsequently collected, for the purpose of obtaining a material, very exten- sively employed, and of considerable value in the arts, known familiarly under the name of sal ammoniac. perhaps in the whole circle of the arts there is scarcely any process more interesting, if all the attendant circumstances be considered, than the fabrication of this substance: and the interest prin- cipally arises from this peculiarity in the nature of to the physical condition of man. the process, that, among the numerous products which are evolved in its different stages, there is scarcely one which is not sufficiently useful to pre- vent the necessity of its being thrown away. any one, who is in the habit of walking much in the streets of london, will frequently see some half- clothed wretched individual stooping down and holding open an apron, into which he throws from time to time pieces of broken bone and other offal, which he has disengaged from the interstices of the stones that form the carriage pavement. the un- sightly load thus obtained is conveyed to the sal ammoniac manufactory; and when a sufficient mass of bones has been accumulated from this and other sources, they are thrown into a caldron of water, and are boiled for the purpose of clearing them of the grease with which they are enveloped: which grease, subsequently collected from the surface of the water on which it floats, is employed in the com- position of soap. the bones thus cleaned are thrown into large retorts, surrounded by burning fuel, and submitted to the process called destructive distillation; whereby, in consequence of the application of a sufficient de- gree of heat, the matter of the bone is resolved into its constituent elements, from which new compounds are formed. of these, some pass off in the state of vapour or gas, while the fixed principles remain in the retort. among the more remarkable products which pass off are carbonic acid gas, commonly known by the name of fived air; and various combinations of hydrogen and carbon, forming different kinds of in- flammable air; together with water holding carbonate of ammonia (salt of hartshorn) in solution; and a peculiar oil. of these products, the fixed air and inflammable air are disregarded, and suffered to escape. the oil is employed to feed lamps placed in small chambers, the sides of which become in- crusted with the smoke arising from the combustions adaptation of animals which smoke being collected, becomes an article of sale under the name of lamp black; a substance of considerable importance as the basis of printing ink, &c. it would be tedious, and uninteresting to the ge- neral reader, to describe all the intermediate steps of the process: and it is sufficient for the present purpose to state that, towards the conclusion of it, two new compounds are formed, namely muriate of ammonia and sulphate of soda: of which the sulphate of soda is separated by the process of crystallization, and is sold to the druggists under the common name of glauber's salt; and the muriate of ammonia, (sal ammoniac,) the great object of the whole manufac- ture, is finally obtained in a separate state by the process called sublimation. the form of the bones, submitted to destructive distillation in this process, is not altered; and the unvolatilized mass, remaining in the retorts, consists of the earthy and saline matter of these bones, blackened by the carbon which is evolved from their animal matter. exposure to an open fire drives off this carbon, and leaves the bones still unaltered in form, but nearly blanched: and these bones, sub- sequently reduced to powder, and mixed with a sufficient quantity of water to give them the requisite degree of consistence, are formed into vessels, which . employed in the process of refining gold and sltver. it was stated that, during the destructive distilla- tion of bone, the carbonic acid and inflammable gases are suffered to escape: but of these the latter might be employed in supplying light to gas burners; and then, out of the numerous products of the com- plicated process which i have been describing, the carbonic acid would be the only substance not em- ployed for some useful purpose. chapter x. adaptation of the external world to the exercise of the intellectual faculties of man. section i. on the rise and progress of human knowledge. in the preceding part of this treatise the physical character and condition of man were first considered; and, afterwards, the adaptation of external nature to the supply of his bodily wants. it remains for us to consider the adaptation of the various objects of the material world to the exercise of his intellectual faculties. - - but, in contemplating the connexion which exists between the external world and the exercise of the mind of man, who shall attempt to describe the na- ture and boundaries of that yet unmeasured plain of knowledge, in which man is constantly either intel- lectually expatiating, or practically exerting himself? who, without wandering into the mazes of metaphy- sical speculation—always amusing in the pursuit, but never, perhaps, satisfactory in the result—who shall develope the obscure steps by which science first finds access to the mind? in reflecting indeed on the state of civilized society during its earlier periods, there is nothing more wonderful in the intellectual history of mankind, than the skilful management of many processes in the arts, the true nature of which was not understood till ages and ages afterwards. thus, although zinc was scarcely known as a distinct metal till about a century since; and almost within the same period, one of its commonest ores, cala- mine, was held in so little estimation in great britain that it was frequently used merely as ballast for ship- s exercise of the ping, (watson's essays, vol. iv. p. . ) yet that same ore was used before the time of aristotle for the pur- pose of making brass, and to that purpose is princi- pally applied at the present day. the process also of making wine was known in the earliest periods of history; although the principles on which it is pro- duced were not well understood till a few years since. another remarkable fact in the history of human science, which, though frequently observed, has not yet been explained, is the occasional arrest of its progress at a point immediately bordering on disco- veries which did not take place till many ages subsequently.” this may be affirmed, in a certain sense at least, with respect to glass: for this sub- stance, though very early discovered, hardly came into general use for ordinary purposes till compara- tively a very late period. but a more remarkable instance occurs with respect to the art of printing: and whoever looks at the stereotype stamps, as they may be called, which have been discovered at her- * the substance of the following note, though not directly il- lustrative of the subject now under consideration, is not irrele- vant to it; and is sufficiently curious in itself to justify its in- troduction to the notice of the reader. in dr. thomson's annals of philosophy for , p. , is an account of a paper read at the royal society, relative to some experiments made on torpedoes at rochelle, in which it is stated that were torpedoes abound, boys are in the habit of playing the following trick to those who are not in the secret. they per- suade the ignorant boy to pour water in a continued stream upon the torpedo; and the consequence is that an electrical shock is conveyed along the stream to the body of the boy. plutarch notices the same fact in almost the same terms. “it is affirmed by those,” he says, “who have often made the experi- ment, that, in pouring water on a live torpedo, the hand of the rson who is pouring the water will be sensible of a shock, which has apparently been conveyed through the water to his hand.” "eno ri is repºrt, wära, adrās irrator aaw évertes, as izzirº Ǻra (népkº, the torpedo,) carazziław, wris wºof ºval- €er, airgériota roº widows *vareizevres irº rºw zeies, asi rhy &ps, ºugxworres, as tours, rºares retressivew zal ree- werevºres. plut. moralia, oxon, to, , tom. iv. p. , . exercise of the if any one should too curiously object that there can be no direct proof of a similarity of impression, from the same object, on the senses of men in general; it might be answered, that neither is there any direct proof to the contrary: while we have many antece- dent reasons for believing that there really is such a similarity of impression. the structure for instance of the several organs of taste, smell, hearing, and sight, is essentially the same in all individuals; and the functions of those organs may therefore be pre- sumed to be the same: and from the similarity of the natural expression of disgust, which peculiar odours and flavours usually excite in numerous individuals, it cannot be reasonably doubted that their respective senses are similarly affected by those agents. if, again, any one should further object that we can have no absolutely firm ground for a reliance on the senses themselves, it might fairly be answered, that although, from the time of pyrrho to that of berke- ley, there have been always speculative sceptics with respect to the testimony .# the senses, there probably has never been a practical sceptic on that point. it is stated in the life of pyrrho by diogenes laertius, that though that philosopher asserted the nonexist- ence of matter, and pretended therefore to universal indifference, he was sometimes overcome by his feel- ings, and would then act as other men act on such occasions; and, when reminded of the inconsequence of his conduct with reference to his doctrine, he would excuse himself by asserting, that it is difficult entirely to put off human nature, (* x w-, -v-: do i f--o w ~ ~ f -- № ~ ~ ~~ |- ---- | | r- a ppend ix. having considered in the preceding pages the general opinions of aristotle respecting the physiology and classification of animals, i propose in this appendix to make a selection from his descrip- tions of some natural groups and individual species of animals, for the purpose of comparing them with the corresponding descriptions of cuvier; confining myself, however, exclusively to the mamma- lia, which constitute the first class of vertebrated animals. . and, as an introduction to that selection, i shall prefix a comparative view of the observations of the same two authors on some points connected with the general physiology of animals; presenting the whole in the form of two parallel columns, as the most convenient mode of exhibiting the comparison. in each column i shall en- deavour to give a #. but faithful translation of the original pas- sages, followed by the original passages themselves.” owever extensive may have been the information of the ancients in that department of natural science which is now under considera- tion; and however capable a mind like that of aristotle must have been of deducing general conclusions from a systematic examination of facts, sufficiently numerous and various, for the purpose of effect- ing a natural classification of animals, it could not reasonably be ex- pected that, antecedently to the knowledge of the circulation of the blood, and of the true character of respiration, and also of the phy- siology of the absorbent and nervous systems, a natural classifica- tion could have been accomplished on principles so satisfactory as at the present day. and those individuals pay a very absurd ho- mage to antiquity, who, on occasions like the present, would place the pretensions of the ancients upon an equality with those of the moderns: for the question does not regard the original powers of the mind, but the amount of accumulated knowledge on which those powers are to be exercised; and it would indeed be extraor- dinary, if, inverting the analogy of individuals, the world should not be wiser in its old age, than it was in its infancy. in comparing, then, the zoology of aristotle with that of the * in order to abridge as much as possible the number and length of the extracts, i have occasionally merely stated a conclusion drawn from several separate para- graphs. in such instances i must claim credit for having rightly understood, and fairly represented, the context. y appendix. moderns, it has not been my intention to prove that the classifica- tion of the one is built upon equally clear and extensive demon- strations as that of the other; but to show, as in harmony with the general object of this treatise, that, even in the very dawn of science, there is frequently sufficient light to guide the mind to at least an approximation to the truth—to a much nearer approxima- tion, indeed, than could have been antecedently expected by those who are not accustomed to reflect philosophically on the unifor- mity of the laws of nature. thus, as has been already mentioned, the advancement of science has shown the existence of such a ge- neral coincidence and harmony of relation between the several component parts of an individual animal, that even a partial ac- quaintance with the details of its structure will frequently enable the inquirer to ascertain its true place in the scale of organization. and hence, although aristotle knew nothing of the circulation of the blood, or of the general physiology of the nervous system, and even comparatively little of the osteology of animals, yet subse- quent discoveries have scarcely disturbed the order of his arrange- ment. he placed the whale, for instance, in the same natural di- vision with common quadrupeds, because he saw that like them it is viviparous, and suckles its young, and respires by lungs and not by gills; and with viviparous quadrupeds it is still classed: the circulation of its blood, as well as the arrangement of its nerv- ous system, being essentially the same as in that class of animals. and, notwithstanding the difference of its form, its osteology, which holds an analogy throughout with that of quadrupeds, is the same actually in a part where it would be least expected: for, with the remarkable exception of the sloth, all viviparous quadru- peds have exactly seven cervical vertebrae, and so has the whale; whereas fish, to the general form of which the whale closely ap- proximates, having no neck, have no cervical vertebrae; and the deficiency of the neck in fish was recognised by aristotle." general physiology. jiristotle. cuvier, tom. i. in some animals there is a | every organized body has its mutual resemblance in all their peculiar form; not only generally parts; as the eye of any one man|and exteriorly, but even in the resembles the eye of every other|detail of the structure of each of man: and it is the same with re-lits parts; and all the individuals spect to the constituent parts of which agree in the detail of their horses, or of any other animals, structure are of the same species. which are said to be of the same species: for in individuals of the same species each part resembles * * aixtra o'el;;zu izgºs. p. . appendix. järistotle. food: but in some animals these parts are wanting. mira i rajra, *xxx xeira. wiela igu ra arxārra rºw ºwn weis rewrots, # ſºrt tº ºrigit- tapea rºg reºpºs—ow 'yae zrāvuy irãext roore. p. . there are fibres of the peculiar kind in the blood; by the remo- val of which that fluid is pre- vented from coagulating; but if they are not removed, it does co- agulate. and through defect of these fibres the blood of the deer and of some other animals does not coagulate. "err bi zai &axo yáves irº, wire ral wiy in aftarr– , ižai- govºſvay is roº *res of rāy- yvrai rā ai,x*, i&; : azº ičage- gårt, rºyyvra. p. . 'ew air oi, tº v waiia-ray aftºrs ºwy #uri, i. ; rº rº, ix. xat weex}; zai sovéaxide; zai &axw rivă, cºx intrº iris' % ral od wāywrai air&n rê aiwa weia's raig &axois, &axe rà air rā, śāz- |ay wagerxyzia, tº rà, arv- arážov.* p. . the particular senses are five in number, sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. of these the sense of touch is alone common cuvier, tom. i. il n'y a que les derniers des animaux ou les excrémens res- sortent par la bouche, et dont l'intestin ait la forme d'un sac sans issue. p. . the blood contains a principle called fibrine; which, within a short time after the blood has been withdrawn from the body, manifests itself in the form of membranes or filaments. (le fluide nourricier, ou le sang)—contient la fibrine et la élatine presque toutes º: se contracter et à prendre les formes de membranes ou de fila- mens qui leur sont propres, du moins suffit-il d’un peu de repos pour qu’elles s'y manifestent. p. . the most general external sense is that of touch; its seat is the surface of the whole body. many animals are without the * it is deserving of notice, that the animals whose blood is said not to coagulate are such as are usually killed in hunting; and it is understood by physiologists in general, that excessive exercise and violent mental emotions, both which occur in hunted ani- mals, prevent the blood from coagulating. two of the species here mentioned by aris- w a - totle (re?: and &ntrov; or aayaºs) are mentioned by homer as commonly hunted: > / a / -acylvazzoy wºol , ; aiyas in ºveoricas, # : weixas hºi aayats dyss. p. . aristotle and cuvier compared. .aristotle. as man possesses contrivance, and wisdom, and comprehension; so some animals possess a cer- tain natural power, which, though not the same as, in some respects resembles, those faculties. ‘oº yºe is , .ºrg rizºn zai zoºie: zai vivºrs, ºra; ivious ró, ºar irri ri; iriea totairn Øvrix; ,auts. p. . all animals which have red blood have a spine or back-bone: but the other parts of the bony system are wanting in some spe- cies, and present in others. the spine is the base or origin of the bony system: it is composed of vertebrae, which are all perforat- ed; and extends from the head to the hips: and the cranium is a continuation of its upper or ante- rior extremity. º ºw */ iidyra : tº Ǻa ra value: > - v v * irri, izi, iëzy—rº ’ &xxa uá- gua, rö, ärró, inique ºf irriv, • ” cºx # p > w twºol; owz garriv. p. . aéxh - - - / : ; ; xt; irri, is rāori rai, #xov- win rrá. "üyxeirai # # x ; in z r . > w - ºpovºx.oy, rairs, ’ &r rº, re- - \ , f axis ºftzet we?; re izziz. oiki, f • , ºpérèvao wºrris virenºvo airly, ºva ro ris cºax; a roºm / rvvex; irru roi; irzérous a pow- - - / xots, xzxtirai zęavuoy. p. . cuvier, tom. i. in a great number of animals there exists a faculty, different from intelligence, which is called instinct. il existe dans un grand nom- bre d’animaux une faculté diffé- rente de l’intelligence; c'est celle qu'on nomme instinct. p. . the first general division of animals includes all those which have a spine or back-bone con- sisting of separate portions called vertebrae. the animals of this division are called vertebrated. they have all of them red blood: their body is composed of a head, trunk, and members: the spine, which is composed of vertebrae, having each an annular perfora- tion, and moveable on each other, commences at its upper or ante- rior extremity from the head; the lower or posterior extremity usu- ally terminating in a tail. dans la première deces formes [générales.] qui est celle de l'homme et des animaux qui lui ressemblent le plus, le cerveau, &c. sont renfermés dans une en- veloppe osseuse, qui se compose du craane et des vertèbres. p. . nous appelerons les animax de cette formeles animaux vertébrés. p. . leur sang est toujours rouge. p. . leur corps se com- pose toujours de la tête, du trone et des membres. l'épine est composée de vertèbres mobiles les unes sur les autres, dont la première porte la tête, et qui ont toutes une partie annulaire. p. , . le plus souvent l’épine se prolonge en une queue. p. . aristotle and cuvier compared. jºristotle. wājy wºreard?” zzi hen; zai izºs wai xiiros xel- . p. , . animals of the largest size are found among those which are red- blooded. all animals which have colourless blood are smaller in size than those which have red blood; with the exception of a few marine animals, as some of the sepiae.* totrº piest rø aftytº ra. .Éva arºs ra. aoir& ré, ºwy &ar, ré ré air attºº ra ’ &via- p., iival. p. . iiávra. ; ra. &valua, ixárra rºwiyºn irri rāv #vailway &ay raß, ;xiva, iv r? x trºutičova &value ivray, oio, rā, waxazia, # a, p. . all red-blooded animals have the five senses. *a*gwre; air oºr—zzi &ra tº- *** zai ºoriza, warra?aitra ey w z #xorra, ravra, ºrézas (airéârsts.) p. . cuvier, tom. i. tortues—serpens—poissons. tom. i. .-ii. . wertebrated animals, all of which have red blood, attain to a much larger size than those whose blood is colourless. c’est parmieux (les animaux vertébrés) que se trouvent les plus grands des animaux. p. . le sangest toujours rouge. p. . vertebrated animals have al- ways two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, the integuments of the tongue and those of the whole body. les sens extérieurs sont tou- jours deux yeux, deux oreilles, deux marines, les tégumens de la langue, et ceux de la totalité du corps. p. . mammalia. ..ſºristotle. no animal which is not vivi- cuvier, tom. i. the animals of the class mam- parous has breasts: and even of malia are essentially viviparous; viviparous animals those only inasmuch as a direct communica- have them which produce their tion is established between the young alive at once, without the embryo and the parent immedi- intervention of an egg. ately after conception. the milk is not, as the blood | the new-born , offspring is is, a fluid which animals possess mourished for a time by milk, * see a curious engraving in montfort, hist. nat des mollusques, tom. ii. p. , re- presenting a gigantic sepia grasping a ship and its rigging. z appendix. .aristotle. from their birth, but a subsequent secretion; and is contained in the breasts. and all those animals have breasts which are essenti- ally or directly viviparous; as man, and such quadrupeds as are covered with hair; and also ceta- ceous animals, as the dolphin, the seal, and the whale. ośy rôy tº Čºorozoörray ($ t ºarrows,) oś ra (*ore- zoºvraz ºratºre, &aa’ ra idº; iv adreſs &orexiº xzi º żorozº ºrgāror. p. . tày i (£ew, aziv ºxº Ǻoroxt? # , #y airº, *gºrov $orozºvac. p. . aiaz #ygow a tºpvré, tort roi; ºots' warseiyives : zai &rozizékévoy &rarry, ra, irº, #sort, tº yºxº -- y ºf * >y * - . –ez: , a was exei to /c:xa, Éy reſ; was reis, warrow, ' xit ºra, &oroxii zai iſ aireſ; a £º, olor ra ri reixas #zet, ºwie &fea- ºrog zai ºrros, zal ra. th, oio, . apis zai pazn zai pājaiva' wal vàe raúra warrow, ºxi, zai yº- xaz. p. . man. ...aristotle. all animals which have limbs cuvier, tom. i. which is a special and temporary secretion from the mammae ; or- gans, so exclusively peculiar to this class, as to have determined the distinctive appellation mam- malia. this class includes all the common viviparous quadru- peds; together with the seal, and the dolphin, and other cetacea. la génération dans tous les mammiferes est essentiellment vivipare; c'est-à-dire que le foe- tus, immédiatement après la con- ception, descend dans la matrice, enfermé dans ses enveloppes— qui établissent entre lui et sa mère une communication, d'où il tire sa nourriture. p. , . les petits se nourissent pen- dant quelque temps, après leur naissance, d'une liqueur particu- lière à cette classe (le lait,) la- quelle est produite parles mam- melles—qui ont valu ä cette classe son nom de mammiferes, attendu que lui étant exclusive- ment propres, ellesla distinguent mieux qu'aucun autre caractère extérieur. p. . de la classe des mammiferes sont l’homme— les singes—le cheval—les pho- ques—le dauphin—les baleines, &c. p. – . cuvier, tom. i. the muscles which extend the resembling those of man, have foot and thigh of man are more their legs and thighs and hips |powerful than those of any other sparingly covered with flesh;|animal: and hence the calf of the whereas in man these parts are leg is particularly prominent. more fleshy than any other. the part called the pelvis, situ- |ate between the hips, is alto- gether proportionally larger in man than any other animal. of all animals man has, in no quadruped has so large a aristotle and cuvier compared. järistotle. proportion to his size, the largest brain; and the smallest interval between his eyes; and the most delicate sense of touch and of taste. no animal but man has its breasts in the front of the chest; the elephant, like the human fe- male, has two breasts, but they are placed on the side. no animal but man has the faculty of articulate speech; which consists of vowels pro- nounced by means of the larynx, and of consonants formed by the tongue and lips: the dolphin, therefore, which has a voice in consequence of its possessing lungs, and a larynx, cannot ar- ticulate, because its tongue is not readily moveable, and it has no lips. iiárra : tº reregroëa -tºn tº oxian *zi-xal &aaeza—fatt * x , &mizza— : &ºeares toūwarrior wagºn y *ze, zziº, uéxiata row caſuaro; tº izzía ral row; ºneous zai tº: zyńwas. p. . "ezet : (ºyzipaxoſ) &rayra. % ºzen aiuz—zara, ºysée; ' éºoſa, º żºgwro; ratio-row #y- x: 'axoy. p. . t & ’ ºutcara. #xazirror cata: ºysée; .Évrºzºv , x rāy ºwy. ixit ’ &zet- as a révºy ******os røy aizé%arsay rºy & phy, pavršća, rºw yºry. p. , . # it odºy is rà ®aro; º' - mazav, ’ own. ºw weivée, ºxx' cuvier, tom. i. brain as man. his eyes are so placed as to be necessarily di- rected only forwards. in the de- licacy of the sense of taste and touch man excels all other ani- mals. the female breasts are placed in front of the chest. he possesses an advantage pe- culiar to himself in the organs of voice; for he alone is capable of uttering articulate sounds; a power which apparently depends on the form of his mouth, and the great flexibility of his lips. les muscles qui retiennent le pied et la cuisse (de l’homme) dans l'état d'extension sont plus vigoureux (que ceux d’aucun mammifére;) d'où résulte la sail- lie du mollet et de la fesse—le bassin est plus large. p. . aucun quadrupède n'approche de lui pour la grandeur et les replis des hémisphères du cer- veau. p. . ses deux yeux sont dirigés en avant; il ne voit point de deux cótés à la fois comme beaucoup de quadrupé- des. la délicatesse de l'odorat doit influer sur celle du goût, et l'homme doit d'ailleurs avoir de l'avantage, a cet égard, au moins sur les animaux dont la langue est revétue d'écailles; enfin, la finesse de son toucher résulte, et de celle de ses tégumens &c. p. . ses mammelles, au nombre de deux seulment, sout situées sur la poitrine. p. . aristotle and cuvier compared. ...aristotle. like man they have two mam- mae on the chest; and their in- ternal anatomy resembles the human. some of the apes (witnzo) resemble man in many points, as to their face: for they have nos- trils and ears; and both their front and back teeth not much unlike those of man. oi ºrignºot—iºſovº rows ré- a; (#zov'rt') sizi y oio, ztig's *yéxa, xal of xtoxoi &rarse oi răzzue&v, ºzo; *axérares, zzi ré x ral roº woº; zuº wotov, wały iri re ºxo; rô tº zºº; ini ra. hazara rivoy, zagãºrte - wag' reiro ? in xeev rºangárs. goy, zazós zzi &uv?: ; *- yo' arrieway. %gºrzº roi; worly #x’ **pa, xx; &; zeezi xzi as worl, zai ovyxºzºrris & wet zºº. exº-"exit rai Ágºziovas **** *res, was, -ric xact z*zrrst zai º ovºrovº zai to: rzáxn &zzee &yºgaroº-wº; : rewrois zāgas xzi xxt{xovs zai ºvzas *otovº &végéra), xx}, warra, taºra, ixi tº ºngw %arseer. t º' &va roß zdra roxi asſºora #zu, &zzree re reredwox–xx; ri rajra, zai tº roës wé- a; #zeſ, suolov, zigzł– a re- aff rºw was is zéévoy rared revy ºr agaxon # %r ral ºr irzia #xeſ & re-reatºrovyºv. p. , . t & ’ intº; tatesºvra. Śweta #zov” & ** warra, tº rotag. ra. p. . "exit ' is ré rvā s. % ºxas warró, axéâr. p. . z cuvier, tom. i. in the character of their intes- tines, in the direction of their eyes, and in the position of their breasts, they resemble man; and the structure of their fore-arms and hands enables them to imi- tate us in many of their gestures and actions. the higher species of apes have flat nails; and teeth very much resembling the human both in number and arrangement, and also in form: and they have no tail. les quadrumanes diffèrent de notre espèce par le caractère très-sensible, que ses pieds de derrière ont les pouces libres et opposables aux autres doigts, et que les doigts des pieds sont longs et flexibles comme ceux de la main; aussi toutes les espèces grimpent-elles aux arbres avec facilité, tandis qu’elles ne se tienment et ne marchent debout qu’avec peine, leur pied ne se posant alors que sur le tranchant extérieur, et leur bassin étroit ne favorisant point l'équilibre, p. . elles ont toutes des intestins assez semblables aux nôtres, les yeux dirigés en avant, les mam- ſºle. sur la poitrine. p. . appendix. .aristotle. tº : weizarov tº woxx ; **otirara, tº roº , rov wai was ºverica, & &re retary- via izu, xzi ºrra; a'ozeg o oxy- £ewwoº, zal rows areorgiovº zai rows you plovº. p. . the hedgehog .aristotle. porcupines and land-echini, or hedgehogs, are covered with spines, which are properly to be considered in these animals as a kind of rigid and indurated hair; for these spines do not serve the purpose of feet, as they do. in sea-echini. tetzøy yée r iſºo; ºrio, rai re; ºzavºdºus reizes, oies •ixte- oraioi ºvºi, izivol xxi oi # re- zis' retz's yêe zeta, wagºzºv- ow, &xx of robºy, &rse of rà, £axarriav. p. . the mole. .aristotle. all viviparous animals have eyes, except the mole; and even this animal, although it has nei- ther the faculty of sight, nor eyes readily visible, cannot be said to be altogether without eyes; for if its skin be taken off, you may distinguish not only the natural situation of the eyes, but that cuvier, tom. i. la liberté de leurs avantbras et la complication de leurs mains leur permettent à toutes beau- coup d'actions et de gestes sem- blables à ceux de l’homme. p. . les singes—ont à chaque ma- choire quatre dents incisives droites, et à tous les doigts des ongles plats; deux caractères quiles rapprochent de l'homme plus que les genres suivans; leurs molaires n'ontaussi, comme les nôtres, que des tubercules mousses. p. . and porcupine. cuvier, tom. i. hedgehogs have their bodies covered with quills instead of hair; and so have porcupines. les herissons et les porcé- pics ont le corps couvert de pi- quans au lieu de poils. p. et . - cuvier, tom. i. the eye of the mole is so small, and so concealed by the skin, that for a long time this animal was supposed to be with- out eyes. the blind rat-mole has no visible trace of external eyes; but in taking off the skin, a very small black point is observable, which appears to aristotle and cuvier compared. .aristotle. black central part of the eye it- self in which the pupil is con- tained; as if these organs had been imperfectly developed, and the skin had grown over them. if the skin, which is thick, be stripped off from the head, you may perceive on its inner surface, and in the usual region, distinct eyes; which, though small and shrunk, as it were, have all the essential parts of those organs, namely, a pupil placed in the centre of the black part of the eye, and that black part sur- rounded by the white.* zgoriza révra(ze. axºews) wasy &raráxazoº, roºroº : reira, **w ruv' *zew , -in rus, ºxas ' • jz izuz. xas wiy yee of ' % oša' $ , ti, r, pavičy ×ovº p- taxae;’ &paigºrro; i re; ie- waroº yºu rāy re zºea, tºy ºutcº- ray zai rāy aagøy tº ºxava zara rºw réroy zal r}, x&gay rhy qºast roi; ??coſ; drészewºz, #y rà iºras, dº iv rá yeyºre, ºrn- govºziva, zai iwipvoºrov toº big- accºrog. p. . 'apalestivtos : roº bicuaros $vros razºo; &zrº räg zeºaxis xara rºy zºea, rhy #a rā, śauáray irati, tirty of - axuoi is peacºvot, révr’ i.ey- rt; rajrø re ºften roi; x %is' Ézovo, y ré ré učazy zai rā in- rès re; ºzºavos, rāy waxovºvny cuvier, tom. i. have the organization of an eye, without the possibility of being employed as such, because the skin passes over it not only in an entire state, but as thick and as closely covered with hair as in any other part of the face. this may probably be the animal which, according to m. olivier, gave the idea to the ancients of describing the mole as totally blind.ſ son ceil est si petit, et telle- ment caché par le poil, qu'on en a nié long-temps l'existence. p. . le rat-taupe aveugle—n'a même point du tout d'oeil visible au dehors; mais quand on enlève sa peau, on trouve un très-petit point noir qui parait organisé comme un ceil, sans pouvoir ser- vir à la vision, puisque la peau passe dessus sans "s'ouvrir ni s’amincir, et sans y avoir moins de poils qu'autre part.—il se pourrait, commele dit m. olivier, qu'il eñt donné aux anciens l'idée de faire la taupe tout-à-fait aveu- gle. p. . zágºy, zal tº zvºnioy. p. , . * kvaxártov (p. ) is evidently synonymous with asuköy. (p. .) t by an examination of aristotle's description it is evident that the ancients knew the true state of the case, namely, that the mole has eyes. . appendix. .iristotle. liquid food. its intestines have appendages, presenting the ap- pearance of four stomachs: and and it has two mammae placed by the side of the chest, near the axillae. the cub of the elephant sucks with its mouth, and not with its proboscis. "erri i wształszrvxer (; ;x*- qaz)—ra: ts rig: rev, **rºys *}la:#aririga. izi, rº, re?&n. p. . ‘o ixipa; irra; *ś, #xt, rirraga; it'izarks, i. zar. seyāºrai tº re-pº (xsairs. ' &zzie zºna,) zegi, ºi revra, *axew; % rows wiyáaevs. p. . tek : ixipart, *vºršč -ire- rai cargºs xai izzvºs, zazi zeň- ºrga air; &rse zuei. wearáyi- rai re zºº zai aaºğāvil revrº zai its r, a riºsa, arger?;&eral rhy reophy, zai rºy wear zai rā' £neer, advoy rar &ay. p. . 'o . ixt?as irrige, get rvuºtatis #xeſ, &ers pairerêa rérracas zolaia; # . p. , "exii. ; row; warrows d, ºrigi rā; aar- x xas–odz iſ tº ºráðst xxx agº; rø wráðsi. p. . et . "o ordwes & ray yántal, ºnx&s. r; writzari kai of r ºvzrāg. p. . camper says that in almost all points the anatomy of the ele- phant is correctly represented by aristotle; the apparent inconsist- encies arising from his having dissected a young elephant. tom. ii, p. , &c. cuvier, tom. i. their developement. the probos- cis, terminating in an appendage like a finger, gives to the elephant a degree of address equal to that which the hand of the ape im- parts to that animal. the ele- phant uses this proboscis for the purpose of conveying solid food or pumping up liquids into its mouth. the intestines of the ele- phant are voluminous; it has two mammae placed under the breast, and its cub sucks with the mouth, and not with the trunk. (les éléphans) ont cinq doigts à tous les pieds, bien complets dans le squelette, mais tellement encroutés dans la peau calleuse qui entoure le pied, qu'ils n'ap- paraissent au dehors que parles ongles attachés sur le bord de cette espèce de sabot. p. , . deux défenses qui sortent de la bouche et prennent souvent unaccroissement énorme. p. . tantôt une, tantôt deux máche- lières de chaque cété, quatre ou huit en tout, selon les époques. p. . une trompe cylindrique —terminée par un appendice en forme de doigt—donne à l'éle- phant presque autant d'adresse que la perfection de la main puet en donner au singe. il s'en sert pour saisir tout ce qu'il veut por- ter a sa bouche et pour pomper sa boisson. p. . les intes- tins sont trèsvolumineux—les mamelles, au nombre de deux seulement, placées sous la poi- trine. le petit tette avec la bouche et non avec la trompe. p. . appendix. . ristotle. two branches; at four years, more; cuvier, tom. i. varies according to the age and and in this way the number ofspecies of the animal. branches increases till the ani- mal is six years old ; afterwhich the number is not increased. the horn at first grows as it were in the skin, and has a soft villous covering; and after it has attained its full growth the ani- mal exposes itself to the sun, in order to ripen and dry up this covering. tere areèz #raiaa xaiºereza -sza ui, izri xtgate?éga, evz àupa erré izrir et yàe#zti reò; zee vºiev; #xi r#; av» via yére ;. >/ - >/ - - - #-ri #via evx au pa èevra xazi | axéeata, oiov xaux aos. p. . tâ, è re rearéôav xai iraiuov xai .•orézov rà u# #rrt-big- xi , xai arri rö, brºxov xna s #xu, ºoxee reººarº xai ai# xai éxapo; xai aoûg. p. . kai rtrraga; #xu évouoias xot- »ias à òù zai »éye rat unevx - (ºuv. p. . t &, d' èxévta xieas à)' º»ov uèv ºxº rreeeèv uévov éxapos, r ' xxa xoixa uºxet rivès, rà èv xatov o regº w. rà uèv o v xoî- ° » ix ro $éeuavos répvxs uax- les ruminans-ont l'air d'être presque tous construits sur le même modèle, et les chameux seuls présentent quelques petites exceptions aux caractères com- muns. le premier de ces carac- tères est de n'avoir d'incisives qu'à la mâchoire inférieure. p. . tout le reste des ruminans (excepté les chameux, &c.) a, au moins dans le sexe mâle, deux cornes, c'est-à-dire, deux proéminences plus ou moins lon- gues des os frontaux. p. . les quatre pieds sont terminés par deux doigts et par deux sa- bots, qui se regardent par une face aplatie, en sorte qu'ils ont l'air d'un sabot unique, qui aurait été fendu. p. . le nom de ruminans indique la propriété singulière de ces animaux, de mâcher une seconde fois les alimens-propriété qui tient à la structure de leurs esto- macs. ils en ont toujours qua- tre. p. . - dans le genre des bœufs, &c. les cornes sont revêtues d'un '|étui-on donne en particulier le nom de corne à la substance de cet étui, et lui-même porte celui de corne creuse. p. . dans er reel òè [ ]* reºre zreel e- " there can be no doubt from the struct le genre des cerfs, les proémi- ure of the horns of oxen, &e. that the rela- - •a - - - ºve (º)ought tobe retained and ue tà xoî»o, ix roô bieuaros is evidently op- appen dix. .aristotle. for they have lungs: and hence, if caught in a net, and unable to come to the surface for the pur- pose of breathing, they are suffo- eated. the dolphin utters a kind of murmur when it is in the air; for it has a voice, inasmuch as it has lungs, and an air tube leading to them; but having no lips, and its tongue being not sufficiently moveable, it is unable to utter an articulate sound. the dolphin has mammae, not placed in the anterior part of the body, but near the vent. the mildness and docility of the dolphin are remarkable. these fish swim in large flocks, and their swiftness is so remark- able that they have been known to spring over the decks of ships. the cetaceous animal called mysticetus has no teeth, but hairs instead, like hogs’ bristles. as apis i zai paxatva zai rº **** *śrn, ºra, º zu agayya, x^ +vvºršča, Ço orozoözty. 'azazvii. ; warra goa ext, - wnrºez, zal %irst roy &# . *a*ova. y #zovruz. p. l . ato ral azº&avészewo, º xpi; i, zeit *xrºots &worriyira, raxia's to an ºvaryiv. p. . cuvier, tom. i. able apparatus, from which they are called blowers, by means of which they discharge through their nostrils a large volume of water which they take into their mouth with their food. p. . they have no prominent la- minae in their glottis; and hence their voice is nothing more than a simple lowing. p. . their mammae are placed near the vent. p. . the general organization of the dolphin's brain shows that it possesses the decility usually at- tributed to it. p. . the common dolphin, which is found in large flocks in every sea, and is remarkable for its swiftness of motion, so that it occasionally darts over the decks of ships, appears evidently to be the dolphin of the ancients. p. . the upper jaw of the balaenae is furnished with thin transverse laminae closely set, formed of a kind of fibrous horn terminating in a bristly fringe at the border. p. . les cétacés se tiennent con- stamment dans les eaux; mais comme ils respirent par des pou- mons, ils sont obligés de revenir souvent à la surface pour y pren- dre de l'air. p. . les cétacés ordinaires se distinguent par l'ap- pareil singulier qui leur a valu !. nom commun de souffleurs. c'est qu’engloutissant, avec leur proie, de grands volumes d'eau, illeur fallait une voie pour s'en débar- rasser; elle s'amasse dans un sac aristotle and cuvier compared. cuvier, tom. i. placé à l'orifice extérieur de la cavité du nez, d'où elle est chas- sée avec violence-au travers d' une ouverture percée au-dessus. de la tête. p. , . il n'y a point de lames saillan- tes dans leur glotte, et leur voix. doit se réduire á de simples mu- gissemens. p. . leurs mamelles sont prés de l'anus. p. . toute l'organisation de son cerveau annonce que le dauphin ne doit pas être dépourvu de la | docilité que les anciens lui attri- | buaient. p. . | cet animal, répandu en gran- | des troupes dans toutes les mers, et célèbre par la vélocité de son mouvement, qui le fait s'élancer | quelquefois sur le tillac des navi- res, paraît réellement avoir été le dauphin des anciens. p. . | aristotle. 'aqºinºt è xai , òexpis reiyuè» •ai av(u, grav i#aºa, iv r éfet -irri yae route pov #xsi yàe xai arasvuovx x xt àerneiav, &aaa z ùv yaarrav ou x dxoxºxvtzºvn» oöðà xtia» o rs &eêee» ri ris pa - vºs rous v. p. o . 'o à apis #xet uao roù* )io, oºz &va à' &axa a angiov tai» &eºeor. p. o. t av à axaazia v rasio va a - /etat antes ia zreei roög expîv a eaºtnros xai museétntos- o l. &g p. "hàn ' zrrau òe aſpivov uey&- a y dy a» &ux xxi uixe.ºv. aé- xerai ji xai zreei axvr#ros dévrivra ro (ºov &zravaov yae oxsi sivat @ov tézio roº, xai rav ivº)eav xai rºv xeeoaiw», xxi barsgaaaorrai à xxeiov usyé»ar i ovoºs. p. . "e ri òè xai , uös rà xiiros èév- vas uiv iv r, réuart oüx éxsi reixas à ºuoias veiats. p. | la mâchoire supérieure-a ses deux côtés garnis de lames trans- verses minces et serrées,—for- mées d'une espéce de corne fibreuse, effilées á leur bord. p. from the preceding comparison it appears that, with respect to those points in the history of animals, the knowledge of which was equally accessible to both writers, the descriptions of aristotle are hardly inferior in accuracy to those of cuvier. nor does this ob- servation hold with reference to the more common animals only: it appendix. is equally remarkable with reference to those which are of compar- ative rarity; in support of which assertion i would refer, among other instances, to the description of the sepia, and of the chame- leon, and of the evolution of the egg of the bird during incubation. but i have perhaps already extended this comparison too far, and will therefore here conclude. finis. -------- -------- * arward gicallibrary - --- º ---------- tº / c, *---- Čt `----, / c. *--- (ibe (olígöom of the eagt $erieg edited by l. cran mer-byng dr. s. a. kapadia the way of contentment “brief be my life as heaven wills give me, o gods, the true heart of a flower; the morning-glory who fulfils her perfect destiny within the hour, with the same energy that thrills the sturdy fir-trees that for centuries tower.” from miss walsh's master singers of old japan. wisdom of the east the way of contentment translated from the japanese of kaibara ekken by ken hoshino new york e. p. dutton and company introd uction the scene is laid on board a small ship, plying between the japanese ports of nagato and chikuzen ; the time being the middle of the seventeenth century. among the passengers grouped on deck, enjoying the hot sun and balmy air, happens a loquacious samurai, who starts lecturing his fellows upon the ethics of the great confucius. at first every one listens, but as he drones on, they vote him an intolerable bore, and gradually slip away, until at last he is left with an audience of only one. but this solitary person, by his attentive attitude, more than atones for the rudeness of the others; not a word escapes him, not a gesture, until, finally the lecturer, flushed with his own exertions, comes forward, and condescendingly enquires the name of the one man capable of appreciating the discourse. “kaibara ekken" is the quiet answer. introduction the prince. there for forty years he remained, serving three kuroda princes in succession. on his seventieth birthday he retired into private life, in order to spend the remaining years of his life in literary work. the majority of his books are the product of that period, six volumes of books on meditation alone being completed in his eighty-fourth year, the year he died. if the nara and heian period ( to , ) is the golden age of japanese classics, the toku- gawa or yedo period is that of the chinese. since its first introduction in the reign of onintenno (a.d. ) chinese learning and con- fucianism never flourished in our country as it did in the early half of the yedo period. iyeyasu, the founder of the tokugawa sho- gunate, was not only a great statesman and soldier, but also a patron of literature and art ; he it was who revived the learning which, during the four hundred years of perpetual warfare, had been all but lost, even in the monasteries themselves. to confucius scholars he gave every encouragement, and during his reign chinese learning became the legitimate study of the samurai class, chinese caligraphy the official medium. while the ethics of confucius were the introduction recognised standard of morality, it followed that those who became most adept in their study rose from whatever position they were formerly in, to become councillors and officers of the shogun's court, or the chief advisers of minor feudal lords. the seventeenth century is so rich with the names of great scholars and teachers, such as hayashi razan, who was honoured by the personal favour of iyeyasu; fujiwara seika, yamazaki, ansai, ito zinsai, kinoshita zunan, arai hakuseki and muro kyuso, that it is very difficult to say exactly what position ekken occupies amongst them. neither as philosopher or scholar do i personally consider him the equal of some of his contemporaries, nor can i place him as the greatest writer; but as a teacher and a social reformer, he can easily claim precedence of all the men of his day. as before stated, the peaceful reigns of iyeyasu and his successors gave a great impetus to learning among the men of the ruling class, nevertheless, the common people were but little enlightened by this influx of foreign learning, for they had neither teachers nor books, that is books which they could read, no scholar of the introduction acquainted with the chinese letters in which they are written . . . and the people in the provinces have no teachers. . . . to instruct the common people with the original books is no easy matter. . . . methinks the teachings of the sages are both high and deep, and to explain them with the “women's letters” is like looking at the heavens through a small tube, or sounding the depths of the ocean with a reed. yet, in order to reach even the most distant place, one has to start from where one is. . . . consequently, though knowing that my attempt will be laughed at by all the scholarly men of the age, i have written this book plainly in plain letters. “the blessings which heaven has showered upon me are numerous, in spite of the fact that i have done nothing to deserve his great kind- ness. may my humble attempt to teach the poor and ignorant atone for a small fraction of my sins against him whose treasures i have wasted in the many years of my existence.” contrary to ekken's own expectation, this new literary style was at once recognised by the learned men as the most effective means of teaching the poor and humble, and to promulgate confucianism. the foremost of those who fol- lowed his example were two great scholars of the shogun's court, arai hakuseki and muro kyuso. introduction among the scholars of the period were two schools of thought, that of chu and of wang yang ming. the former believed that no man can reach the highest by intuition alone, but must follow the precepts of the sages; while the latter taught that a man should search his innermost heart for guidance, holding that all good and proper actions spring from a pure and selfless heart. in brief, the latter wanted to be free from the thousands of rites and cere- monial laws which had been laid down by long- dead sages, and so obtain free scope for their own thoughts and actions. ekken adhered to the chu philosophy, which he considered to be the nearest to that of con- fucius and mencius, and disdained the other as illegitimate learning. yet he was far from being, like so many of his contemporaries, a blind conservative. in his book on doubts, he quotes many sayings of chu with which he was in dis- agreement. he writes, “let us not be afraid to doubt even the sayings of the ancients, if they are doubtful, but let us hold fast to those we believe to be true.” in regard to buddhism, he writes, “he who follows buddha is not only an undutiful son introduction towards his fathers, but a sinner in the sight of heaven and the gods.” for a confucian to whom the concern of life was everything, it was but natural that the popular buddhism which spoke so much of “illusion * and “burden of life " should be objectionable. to the gods of the land he paid a profound respect, and taught his countrymen to do like- wise. in confucianism, shintoism found not only a friend, but also an ally. while two great religions—buddhism and christianity—were per- secuted when they were introduced into japan (the former in the sixth century, and the latter in the seventeenth century) confucianism was ever welcomed by the people. and the reason was not far to seek, for what confucianism em- phasised, shintoism held dear, namely the allegi- ance to a ruler, fidelity to parents, and veneration of one's ancestors. the humanitarian principles of confucianism were not at all at variance with the patriotic code of shintoism, the chief concern of both being with things temporal rather than with those spiritual. no wonder then that scholars, whether they be followers of chu or disciples of yang ming, introduction humanity he loved, for he held that all men were brothers, flowers, birds, plants and animals also, for in them he saw the infinite love of heaven. to him the world was a place of hap- piness and joy, life both a privilege and a reality. to make people realise the preciousness of their hearts and bodies, he taught how to live happily and how to preserve good health. according to some, the world is a place of con- tinuous struggle, both physical and intellectual, and the weaker have no chance of enjoyment. consequently, many religions endeavour to con- sole men by a negation, teaching that life, how- ever lived, is naught but a delusion; while others strive to give light to a suffering people, by the belief that this life is but the gateway to a wider and happier one. confucianism stands midway between these two extremes, for it emphasises that men can be happy in the fulfilling of human duties, irrespec- tive of the result achieved. in the precept of the popular morals, ekken writes thus: “the judgment of heaven is of two kinds, ordinary and extraordinary. usually, men who do good reap happiness, while those who do evil introduction mountains and peaks, nooks and valleys, visiting eight hundred villages. here i must mention the name of his wife, hatsuko, who was a woman of extraordinary talent and wide learning. she accompanied him on his extensive travels. it is said that many of the diaries on his travels were written by her. he was much interested in agricultural affairs, and studied minutely on the subject, and wrote several books on plants and vegetables grown in japan. unlike the majority of the scholars of the day, who thought very little of farming, he looked upon it as the most important industry of the country, and held agricultural knowledge the essential one for one who wished to govern well. not only did he endeavour to advance the welfare of his people by giving agricultural knowledge, but also he strove to increase their happiness by giving them the sanitary knowledge. from childhood his own health was delicate, and he studied medical science deeply, in order to benefit himself and others. on that subject he read every book that was available. at one time a brother of his fell desperately ill, the doctors holding out no hope for his recovery, but ekken mixed a prescription of a chinese physician introduction ability, is a sinner towards heaven and earth. a son of a physician should take up his father's profession if he is gifted, but not otherwise. in three generations the art will become most proficient.” ekken lived in an age when learned men, because of their excessive zeal for confucianism, looked upon the chinese civilisation with ad- miration and reverence, yet he was an advocate of the principle of the preservation of national characteristics. in the “book of civil art ’’ he writes: “that shi (poems in the chinese style) do not harmonise with the character of our people, while uta (poems in the japanese style), though they seem shallow, yet in reality are deep and pregnant with human interest, are refined in expression, and the best means of expressing our own thoughts. to learn chinese poems there- fore,” he says, “instead of japanese uta, is to reverse the order.” in the face of those scholars who were contented to call their own country “the barbarous country of the east” he writes thus: “since the country of the rising sun is favour- ably situated in the course of the sun and moon, introduction the numerous branches of study required. no longer men deem it worth while to listen to the teachings of the hoary sages of the past. conse- quently, the amiable relations between master and servant, superior and inferior, elder and younger, are sacrificed upon the altar of the god called “individual right; ” nevertheless, modern thinkers cannot drown the voice of ekken, which still repeats the old, old truth, old, yet ever new : “children, you may think an old man’s words wearisome, yet when your father or grandfathers teach, do not turn your head away, but listen. though you may think the tradition of your house stupid, do not break it into pieces, for it is the embodiment of the wisdom of your fathers. you may think the teachings of the sages dry and primitive, but do not scorn them, for how- ever simple their teachings may appear, yet they are the true path to true manhood, and will make you a loyal subject, obedient son, kind husband and faithful friend. what more do you want } but if you find any new teaching both good and true, then accept it, only do not trample under- foot the sacred human relations. if you violate your obligations to your family, to society, to the state, and to humanity as well as to yourself, introduction graphs being omitted to avoid repetition, others grouped into one. i am much indebted to lieutenant evelyn aldridge (aldridge evelyn) r.n., who has given me most valuable assistance in the compiling of this book. ken hoshino. blagdon. the way of contentment i the philosophy of pleasure among the myriad types which live by the benefi- cence of heaven and earth, the most precious is man, well termed the soul of the universe. to be born a man is a privilege, yet if through ignorance we do not follow the true path of man- kind, we become wanderers in the wilderness of distress, and daily do our hearts grow harder towards our neighbours and more disobedient towards our parents. what is worse, we live like beasts and then die and decay like plants. remember the words of ganshi’sui : “it is great fortune to be born a man; let us not fritter away our lives meaninglessly.” to live as men should live we must, from child- the philosophy of pleasure hood, study the wisdom of the sages, and learn to make ourselves and others happy by deeds of benevolence. heaven is benevolent, and in our hearts has implanted that virtue which is the source of all goodness. therefore to be benevo- lent is to do the will of heaven. in us all, whether wise or foolish, exists one harmonious spirit—the spirit of pleasure. but while the wise know of its existence, the foolish do not, for their hearts are heavy with selfish desires. this harmonious spirit exists not only in man, but also in the birds, the beasts, and the fishes, and even in plants. beasts play, birds sing, and fishes jump ; while plants flourish, bloom, and ripen. they know how to enjoy that spirit : man oftentimes does not. do not imagine that pleasure is to be sought for solely on the surface, for as long as our hearts are not caked in selfishness the pleasure—which is stored in them by nature—flows out. but even as our bodily activity is sustained by food, so the pleasure which is within must be fed from outside through the organs of the senses. thus we get pleasure in seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, the true path pleasure; but is also to betray your own little- ness to the world. suppress anger and selfish desires; be broad- minded and think no evil of others. by this way you can keep yourself calm and happy, for there is no discord which can then jar your harmonious spirit. men, in this world, do many unworthy deeds. do your best to lead the crooked into the true path. but if they neither listen, nor repair their ways, let them alone—they are fools, and to be pitied. with such even the sages could do nothing—do not allow yourself to be tormented by the stupidity of others. it is not wisdom to lose your heart’s pleasure because of the wicked who cannot reform. remember that from its earliest beginnings the world has never been free from fools, so endeavour not to give way to anger and resentment because unworthy men would work you mischief. to be born unintelligent, or to incur misfortune through the acts of un- worthy men, is the will of heaven. let us not then distress ourselves, nor lose our pleasure, even though our own children, brothers and relations, happen to be selfish, ignoring our best efforts to make them otherwise, the philosophy of pleasure one whose heart is not here, sees and yet sees not. he may stand before a landscape radiant with beauty and charm—yet sees it not. for such a one the spring has no glory, the autumn no beauty. his heart remains unmoved at the sight of moon and flowers. sitting before the open books of the sages, he reads them not. endeavouring to satisfy his selfish desires, he leaves the pure pleasures behind, and lives a life distressing both to himself and others. how sad it is to permit a short life to slip away in the performing of naught but despicable deeds ! the poor man who is foolish seeks pleasure and finds it not, because his heart is laden with envy and malice. the rich man who is foolish seeks pleasure in the spending of his treasure ; but being idle, extravagant, and covetous, fails to find it. pleasure cannot be ours as long as we wander from the true path of mankind. in your heart, therefore, seek the true path, and then the pleasure shall be added. if we make our heart the fountain-head of pleasure, our eyes and ears the gates of pleasure, and keep away base desires, then our pleasure shall be plentiful; for we can become the masters of mountains, water, moon, and flowers. we do the philosophy of pleasure contentment. to be content with simple things is to enjoy life. the older the man, the more content he should be in either his poverty or riches. both wise and foolish seek after pleasure, for it is human to do so—but their pleasure is not the same. in the book of raiki it is written : “the wise man finds his delight in following the true path : the foolish in following his own desires. if one suppresses his selfish desires while following the path, there is no discord, only pleasure; but if one forgets the path through coveteousness, there is confusion and no pleasure. therefore the pleasure of the foolish is untrue.” heaven and earth do not lose their sublime harmony because of the thunder or storm, so, likewise, men should not lose their calmness and content because of misfortune or hardship. though one may lose his position and wealth, and is forgotten by the world, nevertheless let him not lose his peace of mind; but believe that all is heaven’s will. tsuchi-mikado-in writes: , i am born to this world of sorrow, with these griefs to bear. why, o, my tears, understandest thou not this f" five great blessings the same sentiment is expressed in the follow- ing verse : “such has been the world's way, from the countless ages past ; why then give myself to sorrow " again : “i shall console my troubled heart, with the thought that it is the world's way, and the world belongs to us all.” the longer we live in this world the more things we find which do not please. the five great blessings are: long life, peace, riches, love of doing good, and death without pain in old age—it is very rare we hear of a man who has had them all. even riches cannot buy health or freedom from care. if we realise this we shall enjoy our life, whatever our lot. the poor man who is content is far wealthier than the rich who cannot find satisfaction in his possessions. those who have wealth and position are not always the most endowed with wisdom. nor do the poor and humble of necessity possess inferior minds; on the con- trary, there are more men of talent among the humble than among the exalted. well said the philosophy of pleasure wealth his pure happiness will depart, for heaven and earth will no longer permit him to enjoy its blessing. not only do men love and respect the man who is benevolent and merciful; but even plants seem to lean towards him in friendship. to travel through different provinces and see a variety of sceneries is to widen our knowledge and help uplift our thoughts. in visiting strange lands where we see un- familiar mountains and rivers, where we learn from the natives many peculiar customs, climb up mountains and through rocks and heather, taste famous local products, and stand before wide seas, the pleasure we obtain is infinite, and what we have seen and heard during these delightful excursions does not pass away, but remains with us always. the memories of these pleasant journeyings are ever with us, even in old age, and bring back the delights we experienced years before. little wonder then we identify the word “recollection ” or omoide with every kind of pleasant happening. the word “patience" is popularly used for the word “forgive ’’; but the word signifies forbearance, and suppression of selfishness and the coming of spring tains, constant flow of the rivers, depths and vastness of the oceans, the moving of animals, the singing of birds, and the growth of plants, are the joys of the earth. happy are they who find their joy in the contemplation of these manifestations of the virtue of heaven and earth. their pleasure ground is as wide as their eyes can reach, and the time in which they may enjoy themselves lies betwixt spring and spring. can the joy of any one, even that of princes and lords, be compared with theirs ? the spring has come with the first day of the new year. perhaps it is but my fancy that the sun is warmer, the atmosphere calmer to-day, in the new year, than it was yesterday in the old. every house, even that of the poorest, is beauti- fully decorated. in every household children, rising early, offer honourable saké to their parents, congratulating them on the coming of the new year, and wishing they may enjoy long life. then they themselves, in celebration, drink saké. unlike other days, people call at each other's houses, giving and receiving hos- pitality. everywhere prevail happiness and peace. the philosophy of pleasure about the hour of four the sky gradually grows light, and the softly coming east wind starts the thaw. mist rises from the distant valleys, spread- ing like a sheet of white cloth. here and there, under fences and hedges, snow can still be seen, a reminder of the year which has just past. the plum blossoms which have kept us waiting for so long, are now out—first of all spring flowers— their sweet fragrance filling the air. warblers have come out from the deep ravines, and are filling the earth with their melody. they are both the harbingers of spring and the first gifts of the season. the happy thought has struck me that, following these we shall receive many precious gifts from the prosperous and beneficent spring. the pine trees which have lived thou- sands of years seem younger and more loving to-day, though we have been good friends all the year. the sky of early spring is clear and bright, and the mountain tops in the early morning are hidden in mist. as an ancient poet has said, “spring is at its best at dawn,” the morning is most attractive at this time of the year. -- the light of the sun is impartial, and even the most humble patch of ground without a fence a pageant of flowers is not neglected by it. every description of plant is growing, and each seems confidently to await its time to blossom forth. as the days get longer, men seem to have more leisure time. children are flying kites, which may be seen high up above the clouds; both grown-up men and children are absent- mindedly looking up at them. the sight is amusing. the surface of the sea is calm, and the moun- tains seem very far away. one can see gossamer threads rising like faint mists in the fields, they are called ito-yu (smoke of the sun) or yaba (field-horse). the flowers that come after the plum blossoms are chinese peaches; the red peach blossoms resemble the evening glow, while the white sumomo flowers are like snow. following these come cherry blossoms—they are the flowers that move men's hearts; among the many flowers we have in our land, not one is so sweet or beauti- ful, and as they begin to smile all other flowers appear very insignificant. unfortunately, wind and rain come too frequently at this time of the year, and keep us in dread lest one night the blossoms of our garden may be scattered. it the philosophy of pleasure is sad that flowers so beautiful live only for a few days. an ancient poet left us the following verse, the sentiment of which we re-echo : “lo then, i shall not see thy downfall, o mountain cherry; $ºw- but say farewell while thou art yet fair.” as the spring advances, the sun waxing warmer and the winds softer, hundreds of flowers bloom, while fragrant herbs compete with them in beauty. red flowers are seen among the fresh green leaves of willows. the poet chikii described this spring time in a few words: “wild flowers, singing birds—spring everywhere.” indeed, there is no place where spring is not. in the spring many pleasures may be enjoyed. to ramble with congenial companies through woods and fields—though some may call us vagabonds—praising the beauties of nature, is certainly one of many delightful experiences; while to gaze at flowers, after refreshing our- selves with saké, is another. how delightful it is to sit under a tree and toast the moon in wine! at such a time one can but recall the words of the ancient poet : flowers and the moon “one hour of a spring evening is worth a hundred pieces of gold, for flowers have their fragrance, and the moon its shade.” or again: “loving flowers, i rise early ; loving the moon, i retire late.” the ancients loved the moon and flowers more than we do; to-day men think more of sleep than they do of either flowers or moon. field fires often break out in the mountains at this time of year, and the sight is very wonder- ful. the fire burns for days without exhausting itself. at about the middle of the third month, golden eightfold yamabuki may be seen dancing in the wind. camellias—the only spring flowers that live for any length of time—are also in bloom, and a grove of these trees presents a beautiful spectacle. roses growing under stone walls seem to await the advent of summer, now so near. by the feast of tobi the life of the flowers is at an end; those which greet us are only the ones that lie scattered over the ground. ninety days of spring seems a long time, yet it passes only too quickly. when one is old every spring . the philosophy of pleasure is precious, as the ones yet to be enjoyed are so few. though the flowerless branches of trees are all we have to remind us of the beautiful past, yet the colour of spring still remains in the sky. happily, too, the wisteria blooms during the closing hours of the season, to soften our regret at parting with spring. the spring, whose longer stay we could have so much appreciated, has now gone, and summer reigns in its stead. the sky seems unusually pleasant, and the leaves of trees are young and happy. under the shade of trees one can find a pleasant retreat even at glaring noon. those who enjoy quiet conversations prefer this time to the flowery season of spring. the voice of the cuckoo has been heard ; it seems to come when the voices of other warblers have become feeble. in china the note of the cuckoo is disliked, while with us it has been ap- preciated from the earliest times. thousands of odes have been sung in its praise. in some parts of the country we hear them all night, yet never feel annoyed with their notes. in others they are so rare, that we prize each occasion on which summer. we hear them, and when the bird has flown away we regret, and yet regret not, for it has only sped to another village to delight those who love it as much as we do. the most beautiful flowers to be seen at this time of the year are u-no-hana, which bloom among the hedges, giving the appearance of snow; therefore the fourth month is called the month of u. generally speaking, there is little rain in this month, while the sky is clear and the sun warm, also the days are growing long, which makes it the ideal time for an outing. next month there is so much rain, that we are often compelled to spend whole days in the house. as summer deepens, there is not a tree which does not flourish, nor shrub that does not thrive. their leaves so richly green are no less beautiful than the flowers. in the spring flowers do not blossom all at the same time, and seldom in one great mass; but in the summer everything is green at the same time. to gaze upwards at green mountains and peaks which raise their heads in the sky is the source of infinite delight. in my garden every kind of plant, large and small, is growing freely and contentedly, accord- the philosophy of pleasure it, one forgets the trivial joys and sorrows of the world. how fortunate we are to be able to see the autumn moon year after year ! that eight-cornered country belongs to our great lord, yet it shows its beautiful face to the humble as well as to the most exalted. what a happy world it is in which one may enjoy the moon and the flowers to one's heart's content. some one has truly said, that the moon should be seen in the company of those who have a similar sympathy towards nature as ourselves, and not in the society of the vulgar. but such friends are rare, so it is best to be content to admire it alone. was it not the priest saigio who said: “the moon should be seen when alone.” or again, to quote the poet rihaku : “the moderns do not see the moon as the ancients saw it.” yet it is the same moon as the ancients saw that we now see. men come and go like passing streams: but the moon remains throughout the ages. in looking at the moon, we can link the past with the present, and the present with the future. in it we can see the reflection of the men who have gone before us, and the image of those who will come after us. to rest under a willow tree, bathed the philosophy of pleasure when, in the late autumn, these flowers are gone, and the maple leaves are not yet at their best, chrysanthemums brave the frost and blazon their superb colours. were they mere common flowers which blossomed in the company of others, they would yet retain pride of place amongst them all. the poet genshin thus spoke of them : “of all flowers i do not love the chrysanthemum the best, yet i love it, ior when it has gone there are no other flowers left in the world.” the poem in question does not, however, do full justice to the beauty of that flower. in the book of manyoshu there is no mention of the chrysanthemum; while in the book of kokinshu we find it praised. did the poets who wrote “manyoshu” forget this flower, or was it not introduced into the country in their time ! - to-day people seem to prefer the rich tree- peony to the refined and noble chrysanthemum. well said tyoshi : “men's hearts are reflected in the things they love.” “men know how to praise the autumn moon, but fail to appreciate the beauty of the autumn sun,” said chinbiko. since autumn is the season when the restful spirit begins to prevail autumnal twilights betwixt heaven and earth, the sky seems high and serene, the scenery which surrounds us, gigantic. not only is the light of the moon clear and transparent ; but so also is that of the sun. notice how beautifully an autumn sun sheds its rays over the blades of grass. as evening approaches the beauty of the sun heightens, and it presents its most glorious spectacle when sinking over the western hills, or when dipping into the sea. if at dawn spring is at her best, autumn is so in the evening. to watch the faint haze drifting over the hedges, or to listen to the songs of insects and the sighing of the wind, an autumn evening is more than sweet. “not by the glory of the days in spring, when flowers bloom in gorgeous array, is my heart touched. but the sadness of an autumn eve moves it by its pathos.” the chinese praise the spring most among the seasons, and have written much about its charms; while our people, from the very earliest times, have ever been attached to the autumn. there has been much poetical controversy between the lovers of the two seasons. to settle which winter has come there lonely. at this moment one feels as if all the beauty of the world had gone. but then the snow begins to fall, and one awakens the next morning to find the village and the moun- tains transformed into silver, while the once bare trees seem alive again with flowers. before evening the snow ceases, and the rising moon sheds its silvery rays upon a silver world. the sight is beautiful and tranquil, though—alas ! not appreciated by many. on these wintry days some people sit vacantly and stiffly by the fire, while others enjoy the reading of books. those who in youth have not wasted their time can now pass the winter evenings pleasantly in the society of their books, while those who have neglected their studies find the time hanging heavily on their hands. it is well to study before it is too late. the winter being nearly over there remain but a few days to the end of the year. people now seem busy, they walk hurriedly through the streets. to think that another year has rolled away, that another year is added to my old age, fills the heart with melancholy, yet the new year should be welcomed with rejoicing. looking back, i feel that the year has gone by the philosophy of pleasure rather too hastily, yet my heart is filled with gratitude, for during it no misfortune has fallen upon me. even the passing of an autumn or a spring is to be regretted; how much more, then, the passing of an entire year ! i hear that the people of china do not sleep away the last night of a year, but remain awake to watch the passing of the old year and the birth of the new ; they call this “watch night.” at a moment like this men's feelings vary; a pessimist may grieve, while a man of understanding rejoices. though the scenery is the same, to one it appears gloomy, while to the other cheerful. to summarise the four seasons: spring is the time when the active spirit commences to rise, giving birth to animals and plants, therefore the scenery of spring is gay and bright, the hearts of men merry and joyful. in summer the spirit of activity prevails between heaven and earth, and everything, therefore, grows freely. but in the autumn the active spirit gives place to a calm and restful spirit; consequently autumn scenery is pure and serene and heart- moving. earthps night of sleep in the winter the passive spirit prevails, and everything remains hidden. the antithesis of spring is autumn : of summer, winter. thus while to all things spring gives birth, summer growth, and autumn maturity, winter alone seems inactive and meaningless. yet this (seemingly meaningless) winter has its meaning, for during its months not only is the great work of a year in process of being finished, but also is the great work of the next spring being prepared. not only is it the end, but also is it the beginning. it resembles the night's sleep, which restores our strength and energy. without the winter's rest the spring activity would be impossbile, as without a night's rest the activity of the morrow would be impossible. it is well for us to follow the example of nature, and during the winter quietly to train our minds. the course of the sun and moon is constant. every year, without failure, the four seasons come to give life to all. the faithfulness of heaven and earth is very precious, and to be reverenced. happy are they who meditate on, feel, and enjoy, the truthfulness of heaven, for to them is given the key of all knowledge. the philosophy of pleasure on books the pleasure to be found in reading books is profound. they make the heart calm and tran- quil, even though it may be far removed from either mountains or trees. they make you rich without necessity of acquiring this world’s goods. no pleasure is a fit substitute for the pleasure to be derived from reading. books enable one to become familiar with the laws of nature (literally: to acquaint oneself with the positive and negative laws of heaven and earth). they recall the days of the remotest past, enabling us to roam freely over the entire world. great is the power of books the books that give us the greatest pleasure are those of the sages; next to them come books of history. it is , years since the time of jimmutenno, the first mikado, and it is , years since the reign of ko, emperor of china; yet all the events which transpired during these long periods are recorded in books, and in the perusal of them one feels as if one had lived many thousands of years. great is the pleasure of books l “the man who is not well versed in the history the gift of heaven of ancient and modern times,” said kantaishi, “is but an animal clothed in man’s robe.” the hearts of those whose knowledge is limited only to the present and things around them are narrow and dark. they are like that of a man who has never been awakened from sleep. un- fortunate are they who know not the pleasure of books. those who read books concerning both ancient and modern times have broad minds, and their understandings are clear. whenever we, who are wedded to the pursuit of learning, open a book, a great happiness wells in our hearts—this happiness is the gift of heaven. as a rule, flowers which have many beautiful petals bear no fruit ; consequently, learned men seldom leave behind them any wealth. heaven sends poverty to men of learning, in order to make their genius (in original “jewel ”) shine ; therefore let them not seek after riches. to possess clear windows, a clear table, a good writing-brush, ink-slab and ink-stick, in addition to a light to burn, is one of the great joys of life; as sotoba said, there are many poor students who cannot afford to get these materials. in the olden days there were men who read by the philosophy of pleasure over again in order to help myself and warn others. once more i shall repeat it : “let us not fritter away our lives meaninglessly without enjoying them. if we heed the path in the morning our existence is justified, and we may, then, die peacefully in the evening. ekken kaibara atsunobu, age . twelfth month of the seventh gear of hoei ( ). the path of man birds and animals do not possess these faculties. to be born man, the soul of the universe, is indeed a great blessing. once born, it is necessary for man to learn the path of mankind. to do this he must reverence and follow the teachings of the sages —men made perfect ; while the teachings of the four classics and five kings are eternal mirrors, which, like the sun and moon, shed their lustre over the whole world. why then do some people fail to recognise this ? is it not because they deliberately ignore the teachings of the sages and content themselves with mere food and raiment : such people, indeed, are not far removed from birds and beasts, and cannot be called the soul of the universe. indeed, he who fails to study and follow the precepts of the sages is as one who has never been born. the path of knowledge stretches far and deep, yet it starts close at hand—in service to our parents and in love for humanity. so don’t imagine it must be sought far afield on strange and mysterious ground. if even the ancient sages were instructed by their masters, how can we ordinary men expect to acquire knowledge without teachers, or, precept on popular morals what is infinitely harder, find the path of mankind unaided ? in studying the wisdom of the sages it is imperative to have one definite aim—that of becoming a true man. the ancients said that he who could will could always accomplish, and that determination was half the battle. once we have a definite aim we become as bowmen with arrows trained on the target, or as travellers already moving towards their destination. in formulating our aims, let us be courageous rather than timid, and seek the truth even as the hungry man seeks food, the thirsty water, allowing nothing to hinder us as we press on towards the goal. chu said: “unless the aim be single it cannot succeed.” then let he who ventures in the quest for true wisdom be single-minded, with the concentration of a sitting hen or of a cat watching her prey. it is true that a samurai must acquire both the civil and military arts, but let him not forget that they are but the branches of that of which moral learning is the trunk. again, our aim in life should be for the highest, otherwise we shall be content with small successes, and accom- plish nothing worthy of mention. aiming to the way of heaven and earth which we already possess. therefore, their teachings are suitable for all men, be they japanese or chinese, eastern savages or southern barbarians. some one once said: “it is enough for a scholar to know the way of man, why does he speak of the way of heaven ” let me answer: “the way of heaven and earth is the source of the way of mankind. without knowing the way of heaven and earth we cannot know the roots from which the truth sprang, or why natural principles are inherent in men. without knowing the unity of heaven and man, we cannot understand the way of man.” learning has two aspects, knowledge and action based on that knowledge. learning may be compared with the eyes, and doing with the feet. though our sight be clear, we cannot walk if our feet are paralysed; and however strong their feet walking, is difficult to the blind. to know and not to do is as if our eyes saw the way but our feet refused to follow in it. in order of precedence knowledge comes first, but in order of importance action, for while nothing can be done without knowledge, yet knowledge not acted upon is useless. precept on popular morals as it is written in the book of chuyo, in order to advance our learning and live up to it we must study widely, enquire minutely, think deeply, discern clearly and act faithfully. seeing and hearing are the means of studying widely. in order to seek the truth we must read the books of the sages, listen to the words of others, and think of the past as well as of the present. the way of mankind is written in the books of the sages, and if we read them carefully we can distinguish black from white. the truth of the universe is infinite. without knowing it we often fail in our conduct. seek first the truth which is in our hearts, then the wider truth to be gleaned from the thousands of outside things which we may make our own. the reading of books is the best way of studying widely, but to adhere too fixedly to individual words and phrases and thus neglect their under- lying meaning is to study narrowly. if you come across anything that is puzzling, then question your teachers and friends about it until it becomes clear. by hard thinking one can often solve questions which even the explanations of others have failed to make clear. without hard thinking putting into practice we cannot find the truth. in learning, self- acquirement is very important. by clear discrimination we should be able to distinguish evil from good. if by study, enquiry, or thought, we have learned the truth, we should then put it into practice in both our speech and action. let what we say be true and what we do discreet. regulate the emotions, and suppress anger and selfish desires. shake off evil, and cling to good. discovering our faults, let us not hesitate to correct them. toward others let us be considerate. if they do not follow us, rebuke them not, but rather reflect that the fault must be ours. all this is the way of true action, and without studying and enquiring we cannot see the way clearly. without thinking and discerning we cannot acquire the way, and without putting what we have learned into practice it bears no fruit. always study yourself. seek good friends and follow their best advice. since the object of learning is to correct our faults, let us not be afraid to admit them, as well as our mistakes, before others. we are not sages, and we cannot always be right, precept on popular morals the beginning of learning is to acquire the way of the five cardinal virtues and the five human relations, then the way of managing a home and governing a people. after this we should learn all things and all creations, for none of them can escape from the sphere of our own hearts. yet in learning we must not confuse the order of precedence, but must always com- mence from the nearest. in studying a thing or a reason, we should keep our hearts cool. also, we should not be content with stripping off one fold from the object of our study, for often below the first there are still hundreds of folds. uncover a fold to-day, and uncover another to-morrow, till you see the in- side of the thing. under the skin there is flesh; under the flesh bone; and under the bone mar- row. a shallow-minded person contents himself with uncovering one fold, thinking then that he has laid bare the whole. confucius said: “the ancients learned for themselves, but men of to-day learn for others.” to learn for ourselves is the true learning, while to learn for others is the ostentatious learning. the main object of learning is not to become famous, but to discipline ourselves and thus be- a true scholar come true men. we take food in order to satisfy our hunger, not to satisfy that of others. the sage said to shiro : “be thou a true scholar, and not a little scholar.” by true scholar he meant a scholar who lives up to the learning of the sages; and by the little scholar he implied a scholar who learns for his own fame and profit without the will to live up to it. a man's learning is to observe the five human relations, aided by the three virtues, wisdom, benevolence and courage. by wisdom we know the human relations, by benevolence we uphold and exercise them, and by courage we practise them with fidelity. confucius said: “learn and cease not until you die.” let us then continue learning, and be true men as long as we can breathe, ii in learning we should reverence our teachers. by exalting our teachers we can exalt the way. by exalting the way we can make the people reverence the way. therefore princes, in spite of their exalted position, never looked down upon their teachers as being subjects. in olden days, when kings received the lessons on the “great the holy learning they may believe themselves to be students of the moral philosophy and rejoice in that belief. again, there are men who covet the name of moral philosophy, yet who do not possess the reality of it. what we should aim to possess is the fruit of the moral philosophy rather than its name. thirdly, there is a learning which seeks truth in our own hearts, thus ignoring the laws of the sages and the precepts of the ancients. this learning is better than none. but it is not the holy learning. though the school has its masters and teachers, it is a private learning. if one wishes to follow the true learning, one should make the teachings of confucius and mencius the foundation, and the philosophy of chu the steps leading from that foundation. this is the straight learning. to-day there are many bad schools. choose therefore well, and yield not to infatuation. scholars who love literature and yet neglect to grow in virtue are like men who eat saké lees while throwing away the wine itself. common people oftentimes despise learning, because of the vanity of scholars and their con- tempt for others. scholars therefore should meditate on themselves, for it is most regrettable that learning should make men so unworthy. precept on popular morals therefore it is said that the human heart is not safe. the path heart is the one that is good and lofty, which rises from the fountain of our nature— benevolence, justice, courtesy and wisdom. yet the path heart is weak, and is liable to be hidden away, while the human heart comes boldly in the front. therefore it is said that the path heart is weak. discerning these two, men should, by strengthening the path heart, endeavour to save the human heart from danger. by making the path heart the master of the situation, can we alone moderate our desires and our emotions. in speaking of eating and drinking, it is the human heart that craves for food and wine, while it is the path heart that warns us not to indulge immoderately. if one's craving for wine and food is strong, and ignores the voice of the path heart, he eats and drinks excessively, losing his cecency and weakening his stomach. “the human heart is in danger, for the path heart is weak,” is the sentence which vividly pictures the situation. realising this, let us endeavour to suppress the human heart, in order that our desires and emotions may be fitly and harmoni- ously governed. a free conscience since we possess the nature of benevolence, justice, courtesy and wisdom, conscience arises. do not suppress this conscience, but allow it to flow freely instead of obstructing it, just as we should make a channel for streams or allow fire to kindle instead of extinguishing it. if we do not obstruct our consciences, we can rule the four seas; but if we obstruct them we can hardly serve even our parents. in the book of eki it is written: “that the great virtue of heaven and earth is called life.” this great virtue of heaven is called benevolence and is imparted in our hearts. as we are the children of heaven and earth, we should love all creatures that heaven has made, especially humanity. in loving humanity we should do so in this order. first, before all others, our parents and brothers, because they are the foundation on which to practise benevolence. our masters and lords are on the same plane with our parents. after them should come our relations, dependents and friends. then extend your love to all man- kind. after humanity we should love birds, animals, fish and insects, and then plants. do not kill birds or animals, nor cut down trees, purposelessly. but killing birds or animals for precept on popular morals a good reason, or punishing wicked men, is simple justice, and not contrary to benevolence. con- fucius said: “even to cut down a tree or to kill a bird or an animal is undutiful (toward heaven) if it is not done at the right time.” thus there is nothing that we should not love. yet to love all humanity alike without any discrimination as to the degree of intimacy or people's relative importance, is against justice and benevolence. the benevolent man loves others as he loves himself, and does not give others the things which he himself dislikes. endeavouring to raise him- self, he uplifts others. he is selfless. therefore no effort is required for him to be kind and merci- ful. but for a man who is learning, an effort is required before he is able to love others as him- self. considering others’ likes and dislikes, ac- cording to his own preferences, he should give the things he himself likes and refrain from giving the things he himself dislikes. this is called consideration. a man who wants to be benevo- lent must always exercise consideration. let love and compassion be the chief concerns of the man who governs a people, for he is both father and mother to them. let the hearts of the people be his heart, so that he may give the according to reason fundamental error may spring from that very thing.” ii do not concern yourself too much about the praise or condemnation of the world, but be guided by reason and the law of your life. if your conduct is in accordance with your reason, you need not be afraid of the blame of the whole world, and if it is contrary to your reason, then do not rejoice even if the world praises you. a true man is he who is praised by good men and blamed by bad. a man who is praised by all men—good as well as bad—is oftentimes a hypocrite. a man will often stop doing good when he is ridiculed by others, while he would not dream of ceasing to acquire wealth for a similar reason, which shows he is not sincere in his love for good, though absolutely so in his love of wealth. a true man must love “good '' exactly as a little man loves “wealth.” if one depends too much upon his cleverness, he is liable to become haughty and bring mis- fortune to himself. if he relies too much upon his courage, he invites defeat. if he is too precept on popular morals confident of his bodily strength, he brings sickness and loses his life. if he is too conscious of his wisdom, he commits mistakes which lead to his downfall. all misfortunes come from excessive reliance on one's strength and power. repentance is a good thing as long as it serves as a warning for the future, through the lesson of error he received. therefore kagi said: “the remembrance of the past is the teacher of the future.” but to worry too much over past faults is to break up our peace of mind and invite sickness. when we realise the error of our ways let us repent once and for all, and not worry over it after that. only be warned not to com- mit the same error over again. that which accords to the will of heaven, the heart of man, and the great path is public- mindedness. the one who is public-minded receives protection from gods, good-will from men without seeking it. that which is against the will of heaven, the heart of man, and the great path is narrow-mindedness. the wealth which one gains through unjust means profits him but little, for he will reap the anger of heaven, hatred of men, and bring shame to himself. the two spirits a man must always have in his heart the spirit of reverence and the spirit of peaceful joy. when a man has not reverence, he becomes sel- fish and degenerates, and when he has not the spirit of joy, he is troubled and disheartened at the advent of distress and cannot follow the path of reason. therefore, these two quali- ties, reverence and joy, are like two wheels of a car or two wings of a bird, never opposing each other, but the one always helping the other. do not lose the spirit of reverence, no matter how wicked are the people with whom you come in contact; nor the habit of peaceful joy when great misfortune comes. most of our faults in life are caused by the partiality of our temperament. if our temper is too quick, we must endeavour to curb it; if we are too slow, we must strive to become swifter. one called seimontio was in the habit of using a soft leather girdle (symbol of gentleness) in order to warn him to curb his passions, for he was of very hasty temperament. another called toanni used a bow-string (symbol of swiftness) for his girdle, in order that it might warn him not to be too slow. if one tries hard like these men, one is bound to succeed. . precept on popular morals events in their lives, while others receive for- tune or misfortune purely accidentally. though seeking happiness, one cannot find it if heaven wills otherwise. without seeking it one can obtain it if heaven so wills. let us do the best we can, and await the judgment of heaven. if its commands are extraordinary ones let us resign ourselves without murmur. it is foolish for men to fight against the will of heaven, and strive to avoid the unavoidable by flattery and fulsomeness. on speech there is an old saying that “speech is the voice of the heart ; the man who utters a word indis- criminately cannot even drive a horse.” there is another proverb, that “sickness enters from the mouth, and misfortune comes out of the same place.” the man who is careful what he says avoids misfortune, even as he who is careful what he eats and drinks is free from sickness. if one is careful what he says, he naturally becomes less talkative. if you have committed a fault, confess it, instead of striving to hide it under a mass of less words, more weight high-sounding words and phrases, for that doubles the fault. it is often best not to explain everything to a listener, for by so doing your words will be far more tasteful to him. likewise, in remonstrating with others, do not mention their faults too openly, nor use hard language if we slander others an inch, they will slander us ten. to slander others is to slander ourselves. it is like spitting against heaven. the sin that comes out of us will return like the revolution of a wheel. do not listen to the many mysterious tales so current among the people. many miraculous stories concerning the buddhas and gods are false, for men, in order to enhance their virtue, manufacture wonderful tales concerning them, little realising that they are blaspheming the gods rather than exalting them. do not speak about mysterious things, even though you fancy you may have witnessed them, for such vision is no more than a defect in the eyes or the mind. many things which appear mysterious, in reality are not so at all. the foolish like to exaggerate every rumour, while the wise man, though he may hear, never precept on popular morals repeats it. all rumours stop at the gate of the wise, even as a rolling ball stops on hollow ground. one should use just measure in praising or blaming others. to exaggerate the little good in others is dishonesty and flattery, and to exaggerate the small faults of others is slander. a good man does not praise others without sufficient cause. but he does not overlook even small talents in others, but helps them to use them. words uttered when overjoyed often lack sincerity, as those spoken when angered, do courtesy. refrain therefore from speaking when either joyous or angered. on practice (to put one's principles into practice) a man should love good as we love beautiful colours, and hate evil as we hate offensive smells. knowing good and evil in our hearts, and yet doing evil instead of good, is practising self- deception. if one is false to himself he will be false in all his doings. he is like a house which has no foundation. words and deeds are the expression of our- selves. therefore, let our words be true and the laws of courtesy circumspect our actions. in dividing action and word they become seeing, hearing, speaking, and doing. every one of these four has its settled laws, which are called courtesy (etiquette). to speak, see, hear, and do anything contrary to the etiquette is committing impropriety. courtesy and etiquette are like a rule used by a carpenter. if he does not employ his rule, he cannot use timbers properly. one who lacks propriety is nearer to being a bird or a beast than a man. fidelity, loyalty, charity, reverence, gentleness, humility, courage and honour are the expressions of our innate nature, unmixed with selfish motives. if the desire for fame and gain is mixed up with our actions, however good they may be, they are not genuine. in serving our lord, we must not think of our own promotion or how to gain his personal favour, but we must serve him with the utmost fidelity, entirely eliminating self. if we discover a fault, let us not hesitate to overcome it. not to know our faults is ignorance, but not to correct them is wickedness. a man can see things a hundred miles away, and yet cannot observe his own eyelashes. a man, however wise he may be, often fails to see precept on popular morals his own shortcomings. therefore, the true wis- dom is to search yourself, listen to the advice of others, and correct your faults. to know others is hard, but to know yourself is still harder. therefore, we should welcome anyone who will point out our shortcomings and faults. we express our thanks for gifts of fish or wine, why then should we not be grateful for good advice to hear and take good advice is like calling in a doctor, and allowing him to cure us; but to refuse good advice is equivalent to a sick man refusing a doctor’s ministrations. the fault of a true man resembles an eclipse of the sun, and can be seen of all men, yet though the light be temporarily hidden, it soon reappears, becoming more radiant than ever. to-day there are many men who delight in hearing their own praises. therefore, they sur- round themselves with hosts of flatterers. if a father remonstrates with his son, the latter says that the former is a dotard ; and if a subject remonstrates with his master, the latter says the former has insulted him. if this evil spreads, then there will be no man who will take the trouble to remonstrate with another. when brought into contact with the goodness yourself to blame of others, let us follow their pious example, and when brought into contact with the evil of others let us reflect upon ourselves, so that both good and evil may serve as instruments increasing our virtue. if others ignore your efforts to bring them back to the path of righteousness, reflect on yourself. if you love others, and yet they do not love you, think that you have not loved them enough. if you are courteous to others, and they are not courteous to you, decide that your courtesy is not sufficient. if you strive to govern a people well, and yet they are not governed well, think that your wisdom is lacking. if you adopt this attitude others will gradually follow. a faithful servant (retainer) never serves two lords, and a virtuous woman (never serves) two husbands. a true man and a true woman who serve their lords with single-mindedness regard fidelity and chastity as more important than their lives. a man who lacks fidelity and a woman who lacks chastity are unworthy, how- ever accomplished they may be in other things. they who desert their husbands and lords in time of troubles, leave behind them dishonoured names. do not think that life consists of flesh precept on popular morals and blood alone; the good or bad name which we leave behind us is part of our lives. all who live must die. even though we may live a hundred years and acquire many worldly goods, our lives will be wretched if spent in unrighteous- iness. there are three things that a man must per- form and desire. the first is the pursuit of an occupation, the second the preservation of health, and the third the doing of righteousness. if we do not pursue some occupation we cannot escape from starvation. if we fail to preserve our health by regulating food and drink and the seven emotions, and by protecting ourselves from the attack of natural outside elements, we cannot complete the long life which is allotted to us; and if we do not perform righteous acts, we stray from the path of mankind. by pursuing an occupation diligently, we can become rich; and by taking care of our health, we can live long; yet if we fail to live uprightly, we are not much superior to birds and animals. of these three, the preservation of health is more important than the pursuit of an occupation. the aim of work is to make ourselves rich. but suppose a man said to you, “give me your life, and i will for righteousness’ sake i give you my lands and honourable titles.” would you give up your life thus our lives are more important than wealth. yet why do men who prize their lives so highly sacrifice them freely to their lords and parents : will any samurai desert his companion when the latter is attacked by an enemy do we not witness the fact that house servants give their lives to save their masters ? this shows the relative import- ance betwixt righteousness and life. one who will not give his life up for righteousness' sake is one who does not know the relative values of righteousness and life. if you receive kindness from others never forget that kindness, but return it. if you do kindness to others forget all about it. the small-minded man forgets the kindness of others, but never forgets what kindness he has shown to them and expects some return. endeavour always to repay the debts you owe to heaven and earth, your parents, your master, and sages, by loving humanity. then pay homage to the gods. the ancients said, “the people are the master of gods.” therefore, the great and wise kings sustained their people first before they gave their attentions to the gods. the true man is due to narrowness of heart that we cannot forgive others, and it is the baseness of our hearts which makes us hope to be forgiven by others. the true man reproaches himself, but not others; therefore he seeks good in himself, but not in others. the man who reproaches himself as he does others will go through life with few mistakes. let us see the virtue in men above us and strive to copy them. we should not be satisfied with our virtue when regarding men lower than ourselves. with regard to riches we should contemplate men less fortunate than ourselves, and be satisfied with our lot. to do good is easy, but not to seek a reputa- tion for so doing is difficult. but doing good without consideration of reputation is true goodness. not to abuse others is easy, but not to repay the abuse of others is difficult. in our hearts let us observe the path which was taught us by the ancient sages, but in etiquette let us follow the way of the world at the time in which we live. to live in this age and yet to adhere to ancient customs is too injurious to the path of mankind. only adopt the ancient etiquette which is applicable to the present. the reward of patience are not bound to give at least a measure of love and respect. when others are rude let us not blame them as long as they do not injure our honour. if we forgive discourtesy in others we do not lose the peace of our hearts. as an old saying has it: gladness is the reward of patience (literally: after having passed through forbearance gladness comes). do not endeavour to teach others those things with which they are not gifted, but teach them those things for which they have talent. never try to put others into your own private mould (literally: your heart). do not trust a man altogether just because he has proved himself efficient in one thing, for he may well be deficient in others. do not, on the other hand, mistrust a man altogether because he has proved himself incapable in one thing, for he may well be capable in others. do not scorn your neighbour because he cannot do some things as well as yourself, for there are others which he may do infinitely better. a good physician uses the humblest herb for his medical purpose. a good carpenter does not throw away a crooked tree. a wise man finds some use in every man, no man in the precept on popular morals world is absolutely useless, provided he be rightly employed. do not truckle before a man of high rank, nor exalt yourself when you stand before a man of humble position. confucius reverenced great men, for he honoured the exalted position with which they were entrusted. mencius looked down on even great men, for he did not yield to their power. we should make both of them our examples. in associating with men we give presents. this is the courtesy with which men express their love and respect. without this means we cannot express our feeling in love and respect. in olden days men used to offer the green stuff gathered in running water to the gods. to-day, when we see our teacher for the first time, we present him with our entrance fee. these presents are the outward sign of our respect towards both gods and men, and must be well chosen. a poor man need not endeavour to present others with money, as an old man should not offer to others his physical strength. in conversation we should reflect on our age and position as well as others’, and use discretion in what we say. this is an important piece of etiquette. if we meet a man with whom we jº) #. § º annd th - . (~~~~)--~~~~------ ---- - - - - -- the wisdom of the chinese their philosophy in sayings and proverbs copyright, by brentano's ( % , ( et). |q) o the - plimpton • press • norwood - mass - u • s • a contents page preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ii confucius: analects . . . . . . . . . . confucius: the doctrine of the mean confucius: great learning . . . . . . mencius: the real man . . . . . . . . lao tzú: tao-teh-king . . . . . . . . . lao tzú: wu-wei . . . . . . . . . . . . ioi lao tzú: precepts and sayings . . . . . i i i chuang tzú . . . . . . . . . . . . . . yang chu . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . kang-hsi’s sacred edict . . . . . . . . kuan-yi-wu; yu tse; tse-chan . . . . . the poetry of the chinese . . . . . . proverbs and maxims . . . . . . . . . i i moral maxims . . . . . . . . . . . . . bibliography and sources . . . . . . . preface w e say, in china: “confucius! confucius! how great confucius! before confucius there never was a confucius. since confucius there never has been a confucius. how great is confucius!” * - in the western world someone has said: “confucius invented wisdom,” and when you find sayings of his like this one – “when you know a thing, to hold that you know it, and when you do not, to admit the fact, — this is knowl- edge,” you are willing to allow him the title. confucius and his greatest follower mencius were reformers in the true sense of the word. their whole aim was to construct personal char- acter, and they demanded that the moral and spiritual nature should be substituted for the might of the strong. no rank was too high, no class too humble, to be taught this universal principle; and with no other personal authority than their own honest con- viction, these men went forth to demand of kings and peoples the square acceptance of its claims. p refa c e when confucius was thirty-three years of age he visited lao tzú, who was then eighty- seven; and it is recorded that the great founder of taoism was not much impressed by the younger man. lao tzú was a mystic; his wu wei means “do nothing,” the supposed meaning of which is: get in harmony with the great spirit of things and you will be unconsciously impelled to right action — in other words, do nothing with self- will. confucius, on the other hand, was a prac- tical man, a teacher of ethics, who thought by self-conscious direction one could arrive at proper action. to lao tzú, confucius seemed a materi- alist, so it is not strange that the young man did not impress the older one. both these great men, though they differ in method, are the substance of the chinese conscious- ness, the race-mold or type; they have left their mark upon their people. they were illumined men, lighted with the spirit to see and do right. they had the power to make clear the path for others; they went about introducing the noble thoughts that lead to the higher life, and they inspired true confidence by practicing what they preached. both sages inspired great followers; the great exponent of confucius was mencius, who proved pr e fa c e himself worthy of his master; the great expo- ment of the doctrines of lao tzú was chuang tzü, himself a mystic, and by nature fitted for the interpretation of the mystical teachings of the tao which could be translated as “way,” — meaning the spiritual “way” or path trodden by those having a close contact with nature. lao tzú said: “go back to mother nature, for lying on her bosom, you will be guided on the proper way.” - i hope that this book of wise sayings, selected and collected by mr. brown, will be the power for showing some people in the western world the way back to mother nature and her tao. i am sure that the great american people, broad-minded and fair, are only too willing to investigate and give value to the thoughts of my people. ly hoi sang author of “a collection of pearls.” introduction sir robert hart in his book, “the east- . ern question,” says of the chinese: “they are well-behaved, law-abiding, intelligent, economi- cal, and industrious; they can learn anything and do anything; they are punctiliously polite; they worship talent, and they believe in right so firmly that they scorn to think it requires to be supported or enforced by might; they delight in iiterature, and everywhere they have their little clubs and coteries for learning and discussing each others’ essays and verses; they possess and prac- tice an admirable system of ethics, and they are generous, charitable, and fond of good works; they never forget a favor, they make rich re- turn for any kindness, and though they know that money will buy service, a man must be more than wealthy to gain public esteem and re- spect; they are practical, teachable, and won- derfully gifted with common sense; they are excellent artisans, reliable workmen, and of a good faith that everyone acknowledges and ad- ii i n t r o d u ct i o n i tem of philosophy, in fact, beginning with a well- defined idea, and finishing with what is called a logical conclusion. the chinese philosophy is called “not com- plete” because of this lack of developed methods, logic — observation — induction and deduction. what philosophy is complete? is iife complete? has the whole sum of human experience been exhausted, and can man experience no more? is the evolution of human consciousness at an end? the mind of man is not made; it is in the mak- ing. every day something is added to our con- sciousness that was not there before. truth is being revealed by a slow growth of consciousness, not by prophecy. prophecy offers to answer for evolution and all collectivism sooner or later becomes absolutism. most methods of philosophy have absolutism and prophecy at their base — religions are an example of this; philosophy should be free from aca- demic methods; so also should the arts be free in their expression. the great spirit never gave an individual an inspiration that at the same time he did not give the symbol of expression with it. º this is an age in which technique is overde- veloped, in fact it has almost taken the place of i i n t r o du ct i o n inspiration. conscious creation through the will is the order of the day, and every other person you meet is a “self-willed genius.” pictures are painted with method, but no soul; poetry is written, but the only inspiration in it is a new idea of how to construct in language: as though the symbol and not the idea is poetic. books of philosophical essays are written, fol- lowing some method of reasoning, containing myriads of words and mountains of confusion, but not one new idea. here again method seems to be taking the place of inspiration. to have common sense in your day is to be a philosopher. socrates said, “do not call me wise — i am not a wise man, i am only a searcher after wisdom.” confucius said the same thing many years be- fore: “be not self-deceived in wisdom, look far- ther.” lao tzü, b.c. , the chinese mystic, would correspond to the early christian mystics; he came to spiritual understanding through the higher spiritual emotion and not through intel- lect. professor gobelenz said of lao tzú's great work, the “tao teh king”: “one of the most eminent masterpieces of the chinese language; one of the profoundest books of philosophy the world has ever produced.” the chinese language is admirably adapted to i n t r o d u c t i o n i the epigrams and proverbs expressed in this beau- tiful work; his mysticism is hard to penetrate, but is filled with the most valuable spiritual guid- ance. as he himself says, “only one who is eternally free from passions can comprehend its spiritual essence.” confucius was a great moral teacher; he was more interested in the social structure than lao tzú. he taught that virtue and high moral con- duct are developed through behavior; lao tzú — that the spiritual is everything. confucius said, “do not do to others what you would not have them do to you.” his idea of love was not sentimental, it was more practical; he was a practical idealist. he said, “do justice to thy neighbor.” his whole system is based on nothing more than understanding human nature and perfect- ing the individual through moral education. to him the attainment of perfect virtue was the true aim of living. his moral philosophical sayings are worthy to stand alongside of the greek, latin, or hebrew teachers. he deserves to be mentioned with moses, for he dedicated his life to the improvement of his fellow-man. he set forth seven rules necessary for improvement. they are: the investigation i n t r o d u c t i o n plete anthology, are represented by what appears to be their most prominent expression. their philosophy explains itself; their ideas are about iife and things, the same as our own. their race consciousness is very old and their views of life and things are mellowed by long experience. through a long contact and complete inti- macy with nature, a philosophy of life was im- parted to them. they unconsciously gave ex- pression to the inward feelings and emotions that the cosmic law — the all divine — functioning in the material, imparted to them. their thought added to our western thought should result in an eclecticism of great value to us both. the wisdom of the chinese confucius. b. c. analects on governing chi kang tzú questioned confucius on a point of government, saying: “ought not i to cut off the lawless in order to establish law and order? what do you think?”—confucius replied: “sir, what need is there of the death penalty in your system of government? if you showed a sincere desire to be good, your people would likewise be good. the virtue of the prince is like unto wind; that of the people, like unto grass. for it is the nature of grass to bend, when the wind blows upon it.” true goodness yen yüan inquired as to the meaning of true goodness. the master said: “the subdual of self, and reversion to the natural laws governing con- duct — this is true goodness. if a man can for i c o n f uc i u.s. i b. c. man; could i see a man possessing honesty of soul, that would satisfy me. is it possible there should be honesty of soul in one who pretends to have what he has not; who, when empty, pretends to be overflowing; who, when in want, pretends to be in affluence? exalted virtue tzú chang asked how to attain exalted vir- tue. the master said: “make conscientiousness and truth your guiding principles, and thus pass on to the cultivation of duty to your neighbor. this is exalted virtue.” on being distinguished tzú chang asked: “what must a man do in order to be considered distinguished?”—the mas- ter said: “what do you mean by the term dis- tinguished?”—tzú chang replied: “i mean one whose fame fills both his own private circle and the state at large.” — the master said: “that is notoriety, not distinction. the man of true dis- tinction is simple, honest, and a lover of justice and duty. he weighs men's words, and observes the expression of their faces. t º t . t h e w i s d om of t h e c h in e s e “he is anxious to put himself below others. such a one is truly distinguished in his private and his public life. as to the man who is merely much talked about, he puts on an appearance of charity and benevolence, but his actions belie it. he is , self-satisfied and has no misgivings. “neither in private nor in public life does he achieve more than notoriety.” noble character the master said: “the higher type of man makes a sense of duty the groundwork of his character, blends with it in action a sense of har- monious proportion, manifests it in a sense of un- selfishness, and perfects it by the addition of sincerity and truth. then indeed is he a noble character.” the higher type of man seeks all that he wants in himself; the inferior man seeks all that he wants from others. the higher type of man is firm but not quarrel- some; sociable, but not clannish. c o n f uc i u.s. i b. c. the wise man does not esteem a person more highly because of what he says, neither does he undervalue what is said because of the person who says it. is not he a sage who neither anticipates deceit nor suspects bad faith in others, yet is prompt to detect them when they appear? power of example the master wished to settle among the nine eastern tribes. someone said: “how can you? they are savages.” the master replied: “if a higher type of men dwelt in their midst, how could their savage condition last?” the nine points the noble sort of man pays special attention to nine points. he is anxious to see clearly, to hear distinctly, to be kindly in his looks, respect- ful in his demeanor, conscientious in his speech, earnest in his affairs; when in doubt, he is care- ful to inquire; when in anger, he thinks of the consequences; when offered an opportunity for gain, he thinks only of his duty. t h e w i s do m o f t h e c h in e s e the five qualities tzo chang asked confucius a question about moral virtue. confucius replied, “moral virtue simply consists in being able, anywhere and everywhere, to exercise five particular qualities.” asked what these were, he said: “self-respect, magnanimity, sincerity, earnestness, and benevo- lence. show self-respect, and others will respect you; be magnanimous, and you will win all hearts; be sincere, and men will trust you; be earnest, and you will achieve great things; be benevolent, and you will be fit to impose your will on others.” - w righteousness tzo lu asked: “does not the princely man value courage?” the master said: “he puts righteous- ness first. the man of high station who has courage without righteousness is a menace to the state; the common man who has courage with- out righteousness is nothing more than a brigand.” on hate tzt, kung asked: “has the nobler sort of man any hatreds?” the master replied: “he has. he c o n f uc i u. s. i b.c. hates those who publish the faults of others; he hates men of low condition who vilify those above them; he hates those whose courage is un- accompanied by self-restraint; he hates those who are audacious but narrow-minded.” “and you, tzú,” he added, “have you also your hatreds?” “i hate,” replied the disciple, “those who think that wisdom consists in prying and med- dling; courage, in showing no compliance; and honesty, in denouncing other men.” the four words there were four words of which the master barred the use: he would have no “shall’s,” no “must's,” certainly no “i’s.” confucius on himself at fifteen, my mind was bent on learning. at thirty i stood firm. at forty i was free from delusions. at fifty i understood the laws of providence. at sixty my ears were attentive to the truth. at seventy i could follow the prompt- ings of my heart without overstepping the mean. i i t h e wi s d o m of t h e ch in e s e the failure to cultivate virtue, the failure to examine and analyze what i have learnt, the inability to move toward righteousness after be- ing shown the way, the inability to correct my faults — these are the causes of my grief. i do not expound my teaching to any who are not eager to learn; i do not help out any- one who is not anxious to explain himself; if, after being shown one corner of a subject, a man cannot go on to discover the other three, i do not repeat the lesson. if the pursuit of riches were a commendable pursuit, i would join in it, even if i had to become a chariot-driver for the purpose. but seeing that it is not a commendable pursuit, i engage in those which are more to my taste. the master said: “in me, knowledge is not innate. i am but one who loves antiquity and is earnest in the study of it.” if i am walking with two other men, each of them will serve as my teacher. i will pick out the good points of one and imitate them, and the bad points of the other and correct them in myself. t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h n es e acquire new knowledge whilst thinking over the old, and you may become a teacher of others. study without thought is vain; thought (on knowledge) without study is perilous. shall i tell you what true knowledge is? when you know, to know that you know, and when you do not know, to know that you do not know– that is true knowledge. the scholar who is bent on studying the principles of virtue, yet is ashamed of bad clothes and coarse food, is not yet fit to receive instruc- tion. prominence instead of being concerned that you have no office, be concerned to think how you may fit yourself for office. instead of being concerned that you are not known, seek to be worthy of being known. * self-control w hen you see a good man, think of emulat- ing him; when you see a bad man, examine your own heart. - c o n f uc i u.s. i b. c. i chi wěn tzú used to reflect thrice before he acted. when told of this, the master said: “twice would do.” the master said: “alas! i have never seen a man who could see his own faults and arraign himself at the bar of his own conscience.” meditation w ords of just admonition cannot fail to com- mand a ready assent. but practical reformation is the thing that really matters. words of kindly advice cannot fail to please the listener. but sub- sequent meditation on them is the thing that really matters. i can make nothing of the man who is pleased with advice but will not meditate on it, who assents to admonition but does not reform. life and death chi lu inquired concerning men's duty to spirits. the master replied: “before we are able to do our duty by the living, how can we do it by the spirits of the dead?” chi lu went on to inquire about death. the master said: “before * * … *" c o n f uc i u.s. i b.c. when a man is generally detested, or when he is generally beloved, closer examination is neces- sary. only two classes of men never change: the wisest of the wise and the dullest of the dull. shadows and virtues speaking to tzú lu, the master said: “have you ever heard of the six shadows which attend six great virtues?” “no,” he replied. “sit down then, and i will tell you. love of goodness with- out the will to learn casts the shadow called foolishness. love of knowledge without the will to learn casts the shadow called insensibility. love of candor without the will to learn casts the shadow called rudeness. love of daring with- out the will to learn casts the shadow called tur- bulence. love of firmness without the will to learn casts the shadow called eccentricity.” your goody-goody people are the thieves of virtue. c o n f uc i u.s. i b. c. insufficiency, a man of every virtue who thought he had none, solid in character yet making him- self a cipher, trespassed against but never re- taliating, — such was the humble state of mind in which my late friend spent his life.” tzú hsia said: “the man who can appreciate moral worth and disengage his mind from sen- sual passion; who can put forth his utmost strength to serve his parents, and lay down his life to serve his prince; who speaks sincerely in his intercourse with friends — such a man, though the world may call him untaught, has in my opinion received the best and highest education.” ssu-ma, lamenting, said: “all other men have brothers; i alone have none.” tzú hsia said to him: “i have heard it said that life and death are divine dispensations, that wealth and rank de- pend on the will of god. the higher type of man is unfailingly attentive to his own conduct, and shows respect and true courtesy to others. thus all within the world are his brethren. how then should he grieve at having no brothers?” confucius the doctrine of the mean confucius the doctrine of the mean on truth truth is the law of god. acquired truth is the law of man. he who intuitively apprehends truth is one who, without effort, hits what is right, and without thinking understands what he wants to know; whose life is easily and natu- rally in harmony with the moral law. such a one is what we call a saint or a man of divine nature. he who acquires truth is one who finds out what is good and holds fast to it. in order to acquire truth, it is necessary to obtain a wide and extensive knowledge of what has been said and done in the world; critically to inquire into it; carefully to ponder over it; clearly to sift it; and earnestly to carry it out. realization of truth truth means the realization of our being; and moral law means the law of our being. truth is the beginning and end (the substance) t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e of existence. without truth there is no exist- ence. it is for this reason that the moral man values truth. - truth is not only the realization of our own being: it is that by which things outside of us have an existence. the realization of our being is moral sense. the realization of things outside of us is intellect. these, moral sense and intel- lect, are the powers and faculties of our being. they combine the inner and subjective and outer or objective use of the power of the mind. there- fore with truth everything done is right. absolute truth thus absolute truth is indestructible. being indestructible, it is eternal. being eternal it is self-existent. being self-existent, it is infinite. being infinite it is vast and deep. being vast and deep it is transcendental and intelligent. it is because it is vast and deep that it con- tains all existence. it is because it is transcen- dental and intelligent that it embraces all exist- ence. it is because it is infinite and eternal that it fills all existence. c o n f u c i us i in vastness and depth it is like the earth. in transcendental intelligence it is like heaven. infinite and eternal, it is infinitude itself. such being the nature of absolute truth, it manifests itself without being evident; it pro- duces effects without action; it accomplishes its ends without being conscious. truth and intelligence the intelligence which comes from the direct apprehension of truth is intuition. the appre- hension of truth wihch comes from the exercise of intelligence is the result of education. where there is truth, there is intelligence; where there is intelligence, there is truth. truth and the cosmic laws it is only he, in the world, who possesses abso- lute truth who can get to the bottom of the law of his being. he who is able to get to the bot- tom of the law of his being will be able to get c o n f u c i us truth and foreknowledge it is an attribute of the possession of absolute truth to be able to foreknow. when a nation or family is about to flourish, there are sure to be lucky omens. when a nation or family is about to perish, there are sure to be signs and prodigies. these things manifest themselves in the instru- ments of divination and in the agitation of the human body. when happiness or calamity is about to come, it can be known beforehand. when it is good, it can be known beforehand. when it is evil, it can also be known beforehand. therefore he who possesses absolute truth is like a spiritual being. moral law i know now why there is no real moral life. the wise mistake moral law for something higher than what it really is; and the foolish do not know enough what moral law really is. i know now why the moral law is not understood. the noble natures want to live too high, high above their moral ordinary self; and ignoble natures do not live high enough, i.e., not up to their moral ordinary true self. c o n f u c i us doubt. he must be prepared to wait a hundred generations after him for the coming of a man of perfect divine nature to confirm it without any misgiving. force of character force of character is a wonderful thing. wherefore the man with the true force of moral character is one who is easy and accommodating and yet without weakness or indiscrimination. how unflinchingly firm he is in his strength! he is independent without any bias. when there is moral social order in the country, if he enters public life he does not change from what he was when in retirement. when there is no moral social order in the country he holds on his way without changing even unto death. how un- flinchingly firm is he in his strength, holding to the moral law there are men who seek for some abstruse meaning in religion and philosophy and live a life singular in order that they may leave a name to posterity. this is what i never would do. there are again good men who try to live in con- formity with the moral law, but who, when they t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e have gone halfway, throw it up. i never could give it up. lastly, there are truly more men who uncon- sciously live a life in entire harmony with the universal moral order and who live unknown to the world and unnoticed of men without any concern. it is only men of holy, divine natures who are capable of this. understanding the moral law the moral law is to be found everywhere, and yet it is a secret. the simple intelligence of ordi- nary men and women of the people may under- stand something of the moral law; but in its utmost reaches there is something which even the holiest and wisest of men cannot understand. the ignoble natures of ordinary men and women of the people may be able to carry out the moral law; but in its utmost reaches even the wisest and holiest of men cannot live up to it. the universe and the moral mind great as the universe is, the man with the infinite moral nature in him is never satisfied. c o n f u c i us for there is nothing so great but the mind of the moral man can conceive of something still greater which nothing in the world can hold. there is nothing so small but the mind of moral man can conceive of something still smaller which nothing in the universe can split. the book of songs says: “the hawk soars to the heavens above and fishes dive to the depths below.” that is to say, there is no place in the highest heavens above nor in the deepest waters below where the moral law does not reign. the moral law takes its rise in the relation be- tween men and women; but in its utmost reaches it reigns supreme over heaven and earth. t practice of the moral law the moral law is not something away from the actuality of human life. when men take up something away from the actuality of human life as the moral law, that is not the moral law. when a man carries out the principles of con- scientiousness and reciprocity he is not far from the moral law. what you do not wish others should do unto you, do not do unto them. t h e w i s d om of t h e ch in e s e four points of the moral law there are four things in the moral life of a man not one of which i have been able to carry out in my life. — to serve my father as i would expect my son to serve me: that i have not been able to do. to serve my sovereign as i would expect a minister under me to serve me: that i have not been able to do. to act toward my elder brother as i would expect my younger brother to act toward me: that i have not been able to do. to be the first to behave toward friends as i would expect them to behave toward me: that i have not been able to do. improvement in the discharge of the ordinary duties of life and in the exercise of care in ordinary conversa- tion, whenever there is shortcoming, never fail to strive for improvement, and when there is much to be said, always say less than what is necessary; words having respect to actions and actions hav- ing respect to words. is it not just this thorough genuineness and absence of pretense which char- acterizes the moral man? ------- - - - - - - - e- t h e w s do m of t h e ch in e s e pointment of god, whereas the vulgar person takes to dangerous courses, expecting the uncer- tain chances of luck. self—analysis in the practice of archery we have something resembling the principle in a man's moral life. when the archer misses the center of the target he turns round and seeks for the cause of his failure within himself. - beginning at the bottom the moral life of man may be likened to travel- ing to a distant place: one must start from the nearest stage. it may also be likened to ascend- ing a height: one must begin from the lowest step. the book of songs says: “when wives and children and their sires are one, 'tis like the harp and lute in unison. when brothers live in concord and at peace the strain of harmony shall never cease. the lamp of happy union lights the home, and bright days follow when the children come.” c o n f u c i us i moral law and nature the moral laws form one system with the laws by which heaven and earth support and con- tain, overshadow and canopy all things. these moral laws form the same system with the laws by which the seasons succeed each other and the sun and moon appear with the alternations of day and night. it is this same system of laws by which all created things are produced and de- velop themselves each in its order and system without injuring one another; by which the opera- tions of nature take their course without conflict and confusion, the lesser forces flowing every- where like river currents, while the great forces of creation go silently and steadily on. it is this — one system running through all — that makes the universe so impressively great. gifts of the morally perfect it is only the man with the most perfect divine moral nature who is able to combine in himself quickness of apprehension, intelligence, insight, and understanding: qualities necessary for the exercise of command; magnanimity, generosity, benignity, and gentleness: qualities necessary for t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h n e s e the exercise of patience; originality, energy, strength of character, and determination: quali- ties necessary for the exercise of endurance; dig- nity, noble seriousness, order, and regularity: qualities necessary for the exercise of self-respect; grace, method, delicacy, and lucidity: qualities necessary for the exercise of critical judgment. thus all-embracing and vast is the nature of such a man. profound it is and inexhaustible, like a living spring of water, ever running out with life and vitality. all-embracing and vast, it is like heaven. profound and inexhaustible, it is like the abyss. as soon as such a man shall make his appear- ance in the world, all people shall reverence him. whatever he says, all people will believe it. whatever he does, all people will be pleased with it. thus his name and fame will spread and fill all the civilized world, extending even to savage countries. wherever ships and carriages reach; wherever the labor and enterprise of man pene- trate; wherever the heavens overshadow and the earth sustains; wherever sun and moon shine; wherever frost and dew fall, all who have life c o n f u c i us and breath will honor him. therefore we may say, “he is the equal of god.” when calamities or blessings are about to befall, the good or the evil will surely be fore- known to him. he, therefore, who is possessed of the completest sincerity, is like a spirit. spiritual forces the power of spiritual forces in the universe — how ctive it is everywhere! invisible to the eyes and impalpable to the senses, it is inherent in all things, and nothing can escape its operation. it is a fact that there are these forces which make men in all countries fast and purify them- selves, and with solemnity of dress institute services of sacrifice and religious worship. like the rush of mighty waters, the presence of un- seen powers is felt, sometimes above us, some- times around us. the ordinance of god is what we call the law of our being. to fulfill the law of our being is what we call the moral law. the moral law when reduced to a system is what we call religion. t h e w i s d o m of t h e ch in e s e confucius remarked: “there was the emperor shun. he was perhaps what may be considered a truly great intellect. shun had a natural curios- ity of mind, and he loved to inquire into near facts [literally, “near words,” meaning here ordi- nary topics of conversation in everyday life]. he looked upon evil merely as something nega- tive; and he recognized only what was good as having a positive existence. taking the two extremes of negative and positive, he applied the mean between the two extremes: in his judgment, employment, and dealings with people. “this was characteristic of shun's great intel- iect.” knowledge of morals some men are born with the knowledge of these moral qualities; some acquire it as the result of education; some acquire it as the result of hard experience. but when the knowledge is acquired, it comes to one and the same thing. some exer- cise these moral qualities naturally and easily; some because they find it advantageous to do so; some with effort and difficulty. but when the achievement is made, it comes to one and the same thing. t h e w is do m of t h e ch n es e who, while living in the present age, reverts to the ways of antiquity, such a man is one who will bring calamity upon himself. life of the moral man the life of the moral man is plain and yet not unattractive; it is simple and yet full of grace; it is easy and yet methodical. he knows that accomplishment of great things consists in doing small things well. he knows that great effects are produced by small causes. he knows the evidence and reality of what cannot be perceived by the senses. thus he is enabled to enter into the world of ideas and morals. a man may be able to renounce the possession of kingdoms and empire, be able to spurn the honors and emoluments of office, be able to tram- ple upon bare, naked weapons; with all that he shall not be able to find the central clue in his moral being. men all say,"we are wise”; but when driven forward and taken in a net, a trap, or a pitfall, there is not one who knows how to find a way of c o n f u c i us escape. men all say, “we are wise”; but in finding the true central clue and balance in their moral being (i.e., their normal, ordinary, true self) and following the line of conduct which is in ac- cordance with it, they are not able to keep it for a round month. )=====−=−=−=−=−== confucius the great learning t h e w is d o m of t h e c h in e s e the true scholar when the opportunity of gain is presented to him, he thinks on virtue. he is reverent in sacri- fice; in mourning, absorbed in the sorrow he should feel. he who cherishes love of comfort is not fit to be a scholar. the main object of study is to unfold the aim; with one who loves words, but does not improve, i can do nothing. the scholar's burden is perfection; is it not heavy? it ends but with life; is it not enduring? learning is like raising a monument; if i stop with this basket of earth, it is my own fault. it is like throwing earth on the ground; one basket at a time, yet i advance. - the true scholar is not a mere utensil. leav- ing virtue without proper culture; failing thor- oughly to discuss what is learned; being unable to move toward the righteousness of which knowl- edge is gained; and being unable to change what c o n f u c i us is not good, – these are the things that (in my scholars) give me anxiety. if a man keeps cherishing his old knowledge, so as ever to acquire new, he may be a teacher of others. i marked yen-yuen's constant advance; i never saw him pause. often the blade springs, but the plant does not go on to flower; often the plant flowers, but produces no fruit. having completed his studies, the scholar should devote himself to official functions. he should say: “i am not concerned that i have no place; i am concerned how i shall fit myself for one. i am not concerned at not being known; i seek to be worthy to be known.” mencius. b. c. the real man mencius. b. c. the real man a real man is one whose goodness is a part of himself. of the qualities of the sage, none is greater than that of being a helper of men to right living. he is ashamed of a reputation be- yond his desert. having found the right way within himself, he rests in it, firm and serene, holding intimate converse with it, and reaching to its fountain-head. he obeys the right and waits for the appointed. his words are plain and simple, yet of widest bearing. his aim is self- culture, yet it gives peace to all men. all things are already complete in us. there is no greater delight than to be conscious of right within us. if one strive to treat others as he would be treated by them, he shall not fail to come near the perfect life. every duty is a charge, but the charge of oneself is the root of all others. the disease of men is to neglect their own fields and go to weeding those of others, to exact much from others and lay light burdens on themselves. t h e w s do m of t h e c h n es e over-readiness of speech comes of not having been reproved. even those who strive to be perfect stand in need of reproof. a true scholar holds possession of himself, neither by riches nor poverty forced away from his virtue. the warning voice within let not a man do what his sense of right bids him not to do, nor desire what it forbids him to desire. this is sufficient. the skillful artist will not alter his measures for the sake of a stupid workman. - r when right ways disappear, one's person must vanish with one's principles. the honor which man confers is not true honor. those to whom chaou mang gave rank, he can degrade again. he whose good name comes from what he is, needs no trappings. the ancients cultivated the nobility of heaven, leaving that of men to follow in its train. serv- ing heaven consists in nourishing the real con- stitution of our being, anxious neither about death nor life. m e n c i u.s. i b. c. the discipline of heaven w hen heaven is about to confer a great office on any man, it first disciplines his mind with suffering, and his bones and sinews with toil. it exposes him to want and subjects him to extreme poverty. it confounds his undertakings. by all these methods it stimulates his mind, hardens him, an º' supplies his incompetencies. concerning desires to nourish the heart there is nothing better than to make the desires few. here is a man whose desires are few; in some things he may not be able to keep his heart, but they will be few. here is a man whose desires are many; in some things he may be able to keep his heart, but they will be few. the child-heart the great man is he who does not lose his child-heart. he does not think beforehand that his words shall be sincere, nor that his acts shall be resolute; he simply abides in the right. t h e w is d o m o f t h e c h in e s e the right path (tao) is near, yet men seek it afar off. the labor of duty is easy, yet men seek it in what is difficult. the way is wide; it is not hard to know. go home and seek it, and you shall not lack teachers. equanimity if one treat me unreasonably, i will say: “i must have been wanting in kindness or propriety. how else should this have happened?” then i will mend my ways. if the other continue per- verse, i must have self-respect enough to say, “i must have failed to do my best.” if all is vain, i say, “why vex myself about a wild beast?” thus the wise has lifelong vigilance, but not one morning's serious trouble. the end of wisdom is to seek the lost mind the virtues are not poured into us, they are . natural: seek, and you will find them; neglect, and you will lose them. to every faculty and m e n c i u.s. i b.c. relation belongs its normal law; but without its fit culture it will decay. how lamentable to lose this mind and not know how to seek it! of all seeds their virtue is in their ripeness. only he who has studied his mental constitution knows his nature; knowing his nature, he knows heaven. greatness they are great men who follow that part of them which is great. let one stand in his nobler part, and the meaner will not be able to take it from him. this is simply what makes greatness. the superior man desires a wide sphere that he may give peace to multitudes; but what his nature makes his own, cannot be greatened by the largeness of his sphere, nor lessened by its obscurity. what is a good man? a man who commands our liking, is what is called a good man. he whose goodness is part of himself, is what is called a real man. he whose goodness has been filled up, is what is called a beautiful man. he whose completed goodness is brightly dis- played, is what is called a great man. t h e w i s do m of t h e c h in e s e when this great man exercises a transforming influence, he is what is called a sage. when the sage is beyond our knowledge, he is what is called a spirit-man. abstract good principles are not enough to give the kingdom peace; laws cannot execute themselves. if the good and wise be not trusted, the state will come to naught. the people are the most important element in a state; the ruler is the least. the empire is not given by one man to another. the choice of heaven is shown in the conduct of men. it is an old rule that the oppressor may be put to death without warning. king seuen asked about relatives of the ruler, when high ministers. mencius replied that, if he had great faults and would not hear advice, they should dethrone him. the king changed countenance. the disciple kung-too said: “all are equally men, but some are great men, and some are little men; how is this?” mencius replied: “those who follow that part of themselves which is great are great men; those who follow that part which is little are little men.” m e n c i u.s. i b. c. kung-too pursued: “all are equally men, but some follow that part of themselves which is great, and some follow that part which is little; how is this?” mencius answered: “the senses of hearing and seeing do not think, and are ob- scured by external things. when one thing comes into contact with another, as a matter of course it leads it away. to the mind belongs the office of thinking. by thinking, it gets the right view of things; by neglecting to think, it fails to do this. * “these, the senses and the mind, are what heaven has given to us. “let a man first stand fast in the supremacy of the nobler part of his constitution, and the inferior part will not be able to take it from him. it is simply this which makes the great man.” the wise the wise embrace all knowledge, but they are most earnest about what is of the greatest im- portance. the benevolent embrace all in their love, but what they consider of the greatest importance is to cultivate an earnest affection for the virtuous. even the wisdom of yaou and m e n c i u.s. i b. c. qualities of the great to dwell in the wide house of the world; to stand in true attitude therein; to walk in the wide path of men; in success, to share one's principles with the people; in failure, to live them out alone; to be incorruptible by riches or honors, unchangeable by poverty, unmoved by perils or power, — these i call the qualities of a great man. appointments of the great the exercise of love between father and son, the observance of righteousness between sov- ereign and minister, the rules of ceremony be- tween guest and host, the display of knowledge in recognizing the talented, and the fulfilling the heavenly course by the sage, – these are the appointments of heaven. but there is an adap- tation of our nature for them. the superior man does not say in reference to them, “it is the appointment of heaven.” for the mouth to desire sweet tastes, the eye to desire beautiful colors, the ear to desire pleas- t h e w is do m o f t h e ch n es e ant sounds, the nose to desire fragrant odors, and the four limbs to desire rest and ease, – these things are natural. but there is an appoint- ment of heaven in connection with them, and the superior man does not say of his pursuit of them, “it is my nature.” in the empire there are three things univer- sally acknowledged to be honorable. nobility is one of them, age is one of them, virtue is one of them. in courts nobility holds first place, in villages age, and for usefulness to one's generation, and controlling the people, neither is equal to virtue. when one subdues men by force, they do not submit to him in heart but because not strong enough to resist. when one subdues men by virtue, they are pleased to the heart's core and sincerely submit. responsibilities of the government when men die of famine, you say it is the season that is to blame. what does this differ from saying, when you have caused a man's death, “it was not i, but the weapon”? t h e w i sd om of t h e ch in e s e misfortunes issue where diseases enter, — at the mouth. what is whispered in the ear is heard miles away. the gods cannot help one who loses oppor- tunities. dig your well before you are thirsty. swim with one foot on the ground. forbearance is the jewel of home. a great man never loses the simplicity of a child. prefer right to kindred (in patronage). he who soars not, suffers not by a fall. if you receive an ox, give back a horse. act with kindness, but do not exact gratitude. give by day, and your reward shall spring by night. - by virtue alone in itself, one never reaches rule over men's hearts. he must make his virtue sustain others. m e n c i u.s. i b.c. good-will subdues its opposite, as water fire. friendship with a man is friendship with his virtue. a people's limits do not consist in dikes and borders. the security of a state is not in the strength of mountains and streams. no advan- tages compare with the accord of men. they who expect to live without enemies, yet have no kindness for others, are like one who should try to hold a heated body without dip- ping it in water. men expect by their own darkness to enlighten others. the artisan may give a man compass and square, but he cannot make him skillful in the use of them. what misery they shall suffer who talk of the evil in others. a man must first despise himself, then others will despise him. a family must first overthrow itself, then others will overthrow it. a state must first smite itself, then others will smite it. t h e w i s do m o f t h e ch in e s e incessant falls teach men to reform, and dis- tresses rouse their strength. life springs from calamity, and death from ease. men of special virtue and wisdom are wont to owe these powers to the trials they have endured. if you have not passed the bitterness of star- vation, you know not the blessings of abundance; if not through the parting of death, you know not the joy of unbroken union; if not through calamity, the pleasure of security; if not through storms, the luxury of calm. the white clouds pass; the blue heaven abides. noble natures are calm and content. - the song of a dying bird is plaintive; the words of a dying man are just. how can man reward the care of heaven? mock not, o young man, at gray hairs! how long can the opening flower keep its bloom? the wise place virtue in thought. m e n c i u.s. i b. c. a good word has heat enough for three winters; a hard one wounds like six months of cold. to yield to heaven is to save one's self. if there is too much rice in the kitchen, there are starving people on the road. to help another helps yourself. drink less and learn more. the spirits know your secret sins. kwan said: “now the whole kingdom is drowning; how is it that you do not save it?” mencius replied: “a drowning kingdom must be rescued by right principles, not like a drowning person, by the hand.” have you watched the growing grain after the season of drought, how, when the rain falls, it stands up refreshed? who can keep it back? these shepherds of men all love to destroy men. were there but one who did not, the people would hasten to obey him as rushing waters that cannot be stayed. t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h n e s e “venerable man,” said the king, “since you have come here a distance of a thousand li, you have doubtless something to say for the profit of my kingdom.” mencius replied: “o king, why talk of profit? i have humanity and justice for my teaching, nothing more. if these be put last, and profit first, your officers will not be content till they have stripped you of all.” the wise questions himself, the fool others. when the prince goes to school, he is like other boys. the highest official is subject to the law. whoso is too subservient to masters will reap shame. a good subject cannot serve two masters; lay not two saddles on one horse. a minister who fears death will not be faithful. judge not by appearance; the sea cannot be scooped up in a tumbler. think reasonably, be strong for virtue, lean on humanity, and in all things be content. lao tzu. b. c. , from the tao-teh king t h e w is do m of t h e c h n e s e uttered is not its eternal name. without a name, it is the beginning of heaven and earth; with a name, it is the mother of all things. only one who is eternally free from earthly passions can apprehend its spiritual essence; he who is ever clogged by passions can see no more than its outer form. the spiritual and material hese two things, the spiritual and the ma- terial, though we call them by different names, in their origin are one and the same. this same- ness is a mystery, - the mystery of mysteries. it is the gate of all spirituality. tao eludes the sense of sight and is therefore called colorless. it eludes the sense of hearing and is therefore called soundless. ---- it eludes the sense of touch and is therefore called incorporeal. these three qualities cannot be apprehended, and hence they may be blended into unity. la o tz u. o b. c. the form of tao its upper part is not bright, and its lower part is not obscure. - ceaseless in action, it cannot be named, but returns again to nothingness. we may call it the form of the formless, the image of the imageless, the fleeting and the inde- terminable. - would you go before it, you cannot see its face; would you go behind it, you cannot see its back. the force of tao the mightiest manifestations of active force flow solely from tao. tao in itself is vague, impalpable, – how im- palpable, how vague! yet within it there is sub- stance. how profound, how obscure! yet within it there is a vital principle. this prin- ciple is the quintessence of reality, and out of it comes truth. –––. --------- * * * *-**-----------------------------—- t h e w i s do m of t h e c h n e s e from of old until now, its name has never passed away. it watches over the beginning of all things. how do i know this about the beginning of things? through tao. the infinite there is something, chaotic yet complete, which existed before heaven and earth. oh, how still it is and formless, standing alone with- out changing, reaching everywhere without suffer- ing harm! it must be regarded as the mother of the uni- verse. its name i know not. to designate it i call it tao. endeavoring to describe it, i call it great. the greatness of tao therefore tao is great; heaven is great; the earth is great; and the sovereign also is great. in the universe there are four powers, of which the sovereign is one. t h e w s do m o f t h e c h in e s e receive no hurt, but find rest, peace, and tran- quillity. tao is a great square with no angles, a great vessel which takes long to complete, a great sound which cannot be heard, a great image with no form. highest and lowest the highest goodness is like water, for water is excellent in benefiting all things, and it does not strive. it occupies the lowest place, which men abhor. and therefore it is near akin to tao. natural law and tao all things alike do their work, and then we see them subside. when they have reached their bloom, each returns to its origin. returning to their origin means rest or fulfillment of destiny. this reversion is an eternal law. to know that iaw is to be enlightened. not to know it, is misery and calamity. he who knows the eternal law is liberal-minded. being liberal-minded, he is just. being just, he is kingly. being kingly, he is akin to heaven. being akin to heaven, he possesses tao. possessed of tao, he endures la o tz u. o b.c. i forever. though his body perish, yet he suffers no harm. the first cause the world has a first cause, which may be re- garded as the mother of the world. when one has the mother, one can know the child. he who knows the child and still keeps the mother, though his body perish, shall run no risk of harm. the way of heaven it is the way of heaven not to strive, and yet it knows how to overcome; not to speak, and yet it knows how to obtain a response; it calls not, and things come of themselves; it is slow to move, but excellent in its designs. it is the way of heaven to take from those who have too much and give to those who have too little. but the way of man is not so. he takes away from those who have too little, to add to his own superabundance. what man is there who can take of his own superabundance and give it to mankind? only he who possesses tao. t h e w i s do m of t h e c h in e s e on self-assertion he who is self-approving does not shine. he who boasts has no merit. he who exalts him- self does not rise high. judged according to tao, he is like remnants of food or a tumor on the body, - an object of universal disgust. therefore one who has tao will not consort with such. on perfect virtue perfect virtue acquires nothing, therefore it obtains everything. perfect virtue does nothing, yet there is nothing which it does not effect. perfect charity operates without the need of anything to evoke it. perfect duty to one's neighbor operates, but always needs to be evoked. perfect ceremony operates and calls for no outward response, nevertheless it induces respect. knowledge is but a showy ornament of tao, while ofttimes the beginning of imbecility. la o t z u. o b. c. the superior scholar when the superior scholar hears of tao, he diligently practices it. when the average scholar hears of tao, he sometimes retains it, sometimes ioses it. when the inferior scholar hears of tao, he loudly laughs at it. were it not thus ridi- culed, it would not be worthy of the name of tao. display the wearing of gay, embroidered robes, the carrying of sharp swords, fastidiousness in food and drink, superabundance of property and wealth, – this i call flaunting robbery; most assuredly it is not tao. begin harmony with your age temper your sharpness, disentangle your ideas, moderate your brilliance, live in harmony with your age. this is being in conformity with the principle of tao. such a man is impervious alike to favor and disgrace, to benefits and in- juries, to honor and contempt. and therefore he is esteemed above all mankind. la o tz u. o b. c. shrinking were they, like one fording a stream in winter. cautions were they, like one who fears an attack from any quarter. circumspect were they, like a stranger guest; self-effacing, like ice about to melt; simple, like unpolished wood; vacant, like a valley; opaque, like muddy water. on the nature of things among mankind the recognition of beauty as such implies the idea of ugliness, and the recognition of good implies the idea of evil. there is the same mutual relation between ex- istence and non-existence in the matter of crea- tion; between difficulty and ease in the matter of accomplishing; between long and short in the matter of form; between high and low in the matter of elevation; between treble and bass in the matter of musical pitch; between fore and after in the matter of priority. nature is not benevolent; with ruthless indif- ference she makes all things serve their purposes, like the straw dogs we use at sacrifices. the sage is not benevolent; he utilizes the people with the like inexorability. heaven and earth are long-lasting. the rea- son why heaven and earth can last long is that t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h i n e s e they live not for themselves, and thus they are able to endure. thirty spokes unite in one nave; the utility of the cart depends on the hollow center in which the axle turns. clay is molded into a vessel; the utility of the vessel depends on its hollow interior. doors and windows are cut out in order to make a house; the utility of the house de- pends on the empty spaces. thus, while the existence of things may be good, it is the non-existent in them which makes them serviceable. cast off your holiness, rid yourself of sagacity, and the people will benefit a hundredfold. dis- card benevolence and abolish righteousness, and people will return to filial piety and paternal love. renounce your scheming, and abandon gain, and thieves and robbers will disappear. these three precepts mean that outward show is insufficient, and therefore they bid us be true to our proper nature, to show simplicity, to em- brace plain dealing, to reduce selfishness to moderate desire. la o tz u. o b. c. he who knows others is clever, but he who knows himself is enlightened. he who overcomes others is strong, but he who overcomes himself is mightier still. he is rich who knows when he has enough. he who acts with energy has strength of pur- pose. he who moves not from his proper place is long-lasting. he who dies, but perishes not, enjoys true longevity. if you would contract, you must first expand. if you would weaken, you must first strengthen. if you would overthrow, you must first raise up. if you would take, you must first give. this is called the dawn of intelligence. he who is most perfect, seems to be lacking; yet his resources are never outworn. he who is most full seems vacant; yet his uses are inexhaustible. t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e extreme straightness is as bad as crookedness. extreme cleverness is as bad as folly. extreme fluency is as bad as stammering. those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know. he who acts, destroys; he who grasps, loses. therefore the sage does not act, and so does not destroy; he does not grasp, and so he does not lose. the sage does not care to hoard. the more he uses for the benefit of others, the more he possesses himself. the more he gives to his fellow-men, the more he has of his own. lao t u wu-wei do nothing by self-will, but rather conform to the infinite will, and everything will be done for you. who is there that can make muddy water clear? but if allowed to remain still, it will be- come clear of itself. who is there that can secure a state of absolute repose? but let time go on, and the state of repose will gradually arise. tao is eternally inactive, and yet it leaves nothing undone. if the princes and kings could but hold fast to this principle, all things would work out their own reformation. if, having re- formed, they still desire to act, i would have them restrained by the simplicity of the nameless tao. - the simplicity of the nameless tao brings about an absence of desire. the absence of ioi l. a. o. t z u io and you will revert to a condition which man- kind in general has lost. leave all things to take their natural course, and do not interfere. on self-display all things in nature work silently. they come into being and possess nothing. they fulfill their functions and make no claim. when merit has been achieved, do not take it to yourself; for if you do not take it to yourself, it shall never be taken from you. keep behind, and you shall be put in front; keep out, and you shall be kept in. goodness strives not, and therefore it is not rebuked. he that humbles himself shall be preserved entire. he that bends shall be made straight. t h e w i s do m o f t h e c h in e s e the best soldiers are not warlike; the best fighters do not lose their temper. the greatest conquerors are those who overcome their enemies without strife. the greatest directors of men are those who yield place to others. this is called the virtue of not striving, the capacity for direct- ing mankind; this is being the compeer of heaven. it was the highest goal of the ancients. on ruling the people not exalting worth keeps the people from rivalry. not prizing what is hard to procure keeps the people from theft. not to show them what they may covet is the way to keep their minds from disorder. he who respects the state as his own person is fit to govern it. he who loves the state as his own body is fit to be intrusted with it. in the highest antiquity, the people did not know that they had rulers. in the next age, they loved and praised them. in the next, they feared them. in the next, they despised them. t h e w i s do m o f t h e c h in e s e available as soldiers, i would not use them. i would have the people look on death as a griev- ous thing, and they should not travel to distant countries. though they might possess boats and carriages, they should have no occasion to ride in them. though they might own weapons and armor, they should have no need to use them. i would make people return to the use of knotted cords. they should find their plain food sweet, their rough garments fine. they should be con- tent with their simple homes, and happy in their simple ways. if a neighboring state was within sight of mine — nay, if we were close enough to hear the crowing of each other's cocks and the barking of each other's dogs — the two peoples should grow old and die without there ever hav- ing been any mutual intercourse. lao tzu precepts and sayings by many words wit is exhausted; it is better to preserve a mean. he who grasps more than he can hold, would be better without any. if a house is crammed with treasures of gold and jade, it will be impossible to guard them all. the excellence of a dwelling is in its site; the excellence of a mind in its profundity; the ex- cellence of giving is charitableness; the excel- lence of speech is truthfulness; the excellence of government is order; the excellence of action is ability; the excellence of movement is timeliness. he who prides himself upon wealth and honor hastens his own downfall. iii ii t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e he who strikes with a sharp point will not himself be safe for long. he who embraces unity of soul by subordinat- ing animal instincts to reason will be able to escape dissolution. he who strives his utmost after tenderness can become even as a little child. if a man is clear-headed and intelligent, can he be without knowledge? the sage attends to the inner and not to the outer; he puts away the objective and holds to the subjective. between yes and yea, how small the difference! between good and evil, how great the difference! what the world reverences may not be treated with respect. he who has no faith in others shall find no faith in them. ------------- ---------- l a. o. t z u ii to see oneself is to be clear of sight. mighty is he who conquers himself. he who raises himself on tiptoe cannot stand firm; he who stretches his legs wide apart can- not walk. racing and hunting excite man's heart to madness. the struggle for rare possessions drives a man to actions injurious to himself. the heavy is the foundation of the light; re- pose is the ruler of unrest. the wise prince in his daily course never de- parts from gravity and repose. though he possess a gorgeous palace, he will dwell therein with calm indifference. how should the lord of a million chariots conduct himself in the empire? levity loses men's hearts; unrest loses the throne. i t h e w i s d o m of t h e ch in e s e the skillful traveler leaves no tracks; the skill- ful speaker makes no blunders; the skillful reck- oner uses no tallies. he who knows how to shut, uses no bolts; yet you cannot open. he who knows how to bind, uses no cords; yet you can- not undo. among men, reject none; among things, reject nothing. this is called comprehensive intelli- gence. the good man is the bad man's teacher; the bad man is the material upon which the good man works. if the one does not value his teacher, if the other does not love his material, then despite their sagacity they must go far astray. this is a mystery of great import. the course of things is such that what was in front is now behind; what was hot is now cold; what was strong is now weak; what was com- plete is now in ruin. therefore the sage avoids excess, extravagance, and grandeur. t h e w is do m of t h e c h n e s e i have heard that he who possesses the secret of life, when traveling abroad, will not flee from rhinoceros or tiger; when entering a hostile camp, he will not equip himself with sword or buckler. the rhinoceros finds in him no place to insert his horn; the tiger has nowhere to fasten its claw; the soldier has nowhere to thrust his blade. and why? because he has no spot where death can enter. to see small beginnings is clearness of sight. to rest in weakness is strength. he who knows how to plant, shall not have his plant uprooted; he who knows how to hold a thing, shall not have it taken away. sons and grandsons shall worship at his shrine, which shall endure for generations. knowledge in harmony is called constant. constant knowledge is called wisdom. increase of life is called felicity. the mind directing the body is called strength. l. a. o. t z u be square without being angular. be honest without being mean. be upright without being punctilious. be brilliant without being showy. good words shall gain you honor in the market- place, but good deeds shall gain you friends among men. to the good i would be good; to the not-good i would also be good in order to make them good. with the faithful i would keep faith; with the unfaithful i would also keep faith, in order that they may become faithful. even if a man is bad, how can it be right to cast him off? requite injury with kindness. the difficult things of this world must once have been easy; the great things of this world must once have been small. set about difficult l. a. o. t z u i earth. a journey of a thousand miles began with a single step. the sage knows what is in him, but makes no display; he respects himself, but seeks not honor for himself. - to know, but to be as though not knowing, is the height of wisdom. not to know and yet to affect knowledge, is a vice. if we regard this vice as such, we shall escape it. the sage has not this vice. it is because he regards it as a vice that he escapes it. use the light that is in you to revert to your natural clearness of sight. then the loss of the body is unattended with calamity. this is called doubly enduring. * in the management of affairs, people con- stantly break down just when they are nearing a successful issue. if they took as much care at the end as at the beginning, they would not fail in their enterprises. t h e w i s do m of t h e c h n e s e he who lightly promises, is sure to keep but little faith. he whose boldness leads him to venture, will be slain; he who is brave enough not to venture, will live. of these two, one has the benefit, the other has the hurt. but who is it that knows the real cause of heaven's hatred? this is why the sage hesitates and finds it difficult to act. the violent and stiff-necked die not by a natural death. true words are not fine; fine words are not true. chuang tzu. oo b. c. right and wrong chuang tzu. oo b. c. right and wirong those who would have right without its cor- relative, wrong, or good government without its correlative, misrule, – they do not apprehend the great principles of the universe nor the con- ditions to which all creation is subject. one might as well talk of the existence of heaven without that of earth, or of the negative prin- ciple without the positive, which is clearly absurd. the true standard if you adopt, as absolute, a standard of even- ness which is so only relatively, your results will not be absolutely even. if you adopt, as abso- lute, a criterion of right which is so only rela- tively, your results will not be absolutely right. those who trust to their senses become slaves to objective existences. those alone who are guided by their intuitions find the true standard. so far are the senses less reliable than the intui- i t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e tions. yet fools trust to their senses to know what is good for mankind, with alas! but ex- ternal results. on consciousness a drunken man who falls out of a cart, though he may suffer, does not die. his bones are the same as other people's, but he meets his accident in a different way. his spirit is in a condition of security. he is not conscious of riding in the cart; neither is he conscious of fall- ing out of it. ideas of life, death, fear, etc., can- not penetrate his breast; and so he does not fear from contact with objective existences. ' and if such security is to be got from wine, how much more is it to be got from god? it is in god that the sage seeks his refuge, and so he is free from harm. knowledge and attainment he who knows what god is, and who knows what man is, has attained. knowing what god is, he knows that he himself proceeded there- from. knowing what man is, he rests in the knowledge of the known, waiting for the knowl- t h e w is d o m o f t h e c h in es e the soul but whether or not we ascertain what are the functions of this soul, it matters but little to the soul itself. for, coming into existence with this mortal coil of mine, with the exhaustion of this mortal coil its mandate will also be exhausted. to be harassed by the wear and tear of life, and to pass rapidly through it without possibility of arresting one's course, – is this not pitiful in- deed? to labor without ceasing, and then, with- out living to enjoy the fruit, worn out, to depart suddenly, one knows not whither, — is not that a just cause for grief? objective and subjective what advantage is there in what men call not dying? the body decomposes and the mind goes with it. this is our real cause for sorrow. can the world be so dull as not to see this? or is it i alone who am dull, and others not so? . . . there is nothing which is not objective; there is nothing which is not subjective. but it is im- possible to start from the objective. only from subjective knowledge is it possible to proceed to c h u a n g t z u. o o b. c. objective knowledge. hence it has been said: “the objective emanates from the subjective; the subjective is consequent upon the objective. this is the alternation theory.” nevertheless, when one is born, the other dies. when one is possible, the other is impossible. when one is affirmative, the other is negative. which being the case, the true sage rejects all distinctions of this and that. he takes his refuge in god, and places himself in subjective relation with all things. on life and death life follows upon death. death is the begin- ning of life. who knows when the end is reached? the life of man results from converg- ence of the vital fluid. its convergence is life; its dispersion, death. if, then, life and death are but consecutive states, what need have i to complain? - therefore all things are one. what we love is animation. what we hate is corruption. but corruption in its turn becomes animation, and animation once more becomes corruption. t h e w is do m of t h e c h in e s e predestination involves a real existence. chance implies an absolute absence of any principle. to have a name and the embodiment thereof, - this is to have a material existence. to have no name and no embodiment, — of this one can speak and think; but the more one speaks, the farther off one gets. the unborn creature cannot be kept from life. the dead cannot be tracked. from birth to death is but a span; yet the secret cannot be known. chance and predestination are but a priori solutions. infinite when i seek for a beginning, i find only time infinite. . when i look forward to an end, i see only time infinite. infinity of time past and to come implies no beginning and is in accordance with the laws of material existences. predesti- nation and chance give us a beginning, but one which is compatible only with the existence of matter. c h u a n g t z u. o o b. c. i a man's knowledge is limited; but it is upon what he does not know that he depends to extend his knowledge to the apprehension of god. the ultimate end is god. he is manifested in the laws of nature. he is the hidden spring. at the beginning he was. this, however, is inex- plicable. it is unknowable. but from the un- knowable we reach the known. a vulgar proverb says that he who has heard but part of the truth thinks no one equal to himself. and such a one am i. “when formerly i heard people detracting from the learning of confucius or underrating the heroism of poh i, i did not believe. but now that i have looked upon your inexhaustibility — alas for me! had i not reached your abode, i should have been forever a laughingstock to those of comprehensive enlightenment!” to which the spirit of the ocean replied: “you cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. you cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, a creature of a season. you cannot speak of tao to a pedagogue; his t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h i n e s e scope is too restricted. but now that you have emerged from your narrow sphere and have seen the great ocean, you know your own insignifi- cance, and i can speak to you of great principles.” finality dimensions are limitless; time is endless. conditions are not invariable; terms are not final. thus the wise man looks into space, and does not regard the small as too little, nor the great as too much; for he knows that there is no limit to dimension. he looks back into the past, and does not grieve over what is far off, nor rejoice over what is near; for he knows that time is without end. he investigates fullness and decay, and does not rejoice if he succeeds, nor lament if he fails; for he knows that conditions are not invariable. he who clearly apprehends the scheme of existence does not rejoice over life, nor repine at death; for he knows that terms are not final. natural instincts the people have certain natural instincts: to weave and clothe themselves, to till and feed t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e when chuang tzú was about to die, his dis- ciples expressed a wish to give him a splendid funeral. but chuang tzú said: “with heaven and earth for my coffin and shell; with the sun, moon, and stars as my burial regalia; and with all creation to escort me to the grave, – are not my funeral paraphernalia ready to hand?” “we fear,” argued the disciples, “lest the carrion kite should eat the body of our master;” to which chuang tzú replied: “above ground i shall be food for kites; below i shall be food for mole-crickets and ants. why rob one to feed the other?” a man who knows that he is a fool is not a great fool. a dog is not considered a good dog because he is a good barker. a man is not considered a good man because he is a good talker. get rid of small wisdom, and great wisdom will shine upon you. put away goodness, and you will be naturally good. a child does not learn to speak because c h u a n g t z u. o o b. c. i taught by professors of the art, but because it lives among people who can themselves speak. the best language is that which is not spoken, the best form of action is that which is without deeds. spread out your knowledge, and it will be found to be shallow. the perfect man ignores self; the divine man ignores action; the true sage ignores reputation. severance the perfect man is a spiritual being. were the ocean itself scorched up, he would not feel hot. were the milky way frozen hard, he would not feel cold. were the mountains to be riven with thunder, and the great deep to be thrown up by storm, he would not tremble. birth is not a beginning; death is hot an end. let knowledge stop at the unknowable. that is perfection. yang chu. oo b. c. fame and wanity º yang chu. oo b. c. fame and wanity yang chu, when traveling in lu, put up at meng sun yang's. meng asked him: “a man can never be more than a man; why do people still trouble them- selves about fame?” - yang chu answered: “if they do so, their object is to become rich.” meng: “and when they have become rich, why do they not stop?” yang chu said: “they aim at getting honors.” meng: “why then do they not stop when they have got them?” yang chu: “on account of their death.” meng: “but what can they desire still after their death?” yang chu: “they think of their posterity.” meng: “but how can their fame be available to their posterity?” yang chu: “for fame's sake they endure all kinds of bodily hardship and mental pain. they t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e dispose of their glory for the benefit of their clan, and even their fellow-citizens profit by it. how much more so do their descendants! how- beit it becomes those desirous of real fame to be disinterested, and disinterestedness means poverty; and likewise they must be unostenta- tious, and this is equivalent to humble condition.” how then can fame be disregarded, and how can fame come of itself? the ignorant, while seeking to maintain fame, sacrifice reality. by doing so, they will have to regret that nothing can rescue them from danger and death, and not only learn the difference be- tween ease and pleasure and sorrow and grief. if anybody has real greatness, he is poor; if his greatness is spurious, he is rich. the really good man is not famous; if he be famous, he is not really a good man, for all fame is nothing but falsehood. one hundred years is the limit of a long life. not one in a thousand ever attains to it. yet if kang-hsi’s sacred edict t h e w i s d o m of t h e c h in e s e the modest gain, the self-satisfied lose the more unlikely i am to be successful, the more diligently will i study. * what have i to do with fate? teach children that in friendship one should be one, and two, two; there must be no decep- tion. let the root be good, and the fruit shall not be evil. culture in manners will make the blustering soldier view the shi and shu as his coat of mail. becoming manners shall bring back the lovely unity of ancient virtues. do you think that, by bearing with insulting persons, i shall fall into dishonor? k a n g - h s i's s a c r e d e d i ct i should right principles be separated from right manners, they would no longer be right prin- ciples. but without sincerity manners are mere apish bowing and scraping. those who say conscience may be good enough, but it does not supply one with food, are fit materials for the cord and the bamboo. set not others at variance. suppress slanders, and protect the innocent. frame not indict- ments to defraud and oppress. maintain a love of harmony, that throughout your families the common speech shall be, “let us help one another.” then shall the world be at peace. let young and old be as one body, their joys and sorrows as of one family. let the instructed lead the way by example. let the unity of the empire extend to myriad countries, and spread harmony through the world. t h e w i s d o m of t h e ch in e s e though at the height of fame, you ought in the watches of the night to lay your hand on your breast and ask yourself, “have i cause of shame or not?” kuan-yi-wu. oo b. c. on life allow the ear to hear what it likes, the eye to see what it likes, the mouth to say what it iikes, the body to enjoy the comforts it likes to have, and the mind to do what it likes. now, what the ear likes to hear is music, and the prohibition of it is what i call obstruction to the ear. what the eye likes to look at is beauty, and its not being permitted to regard this beauty i call obstruction of sight. what the nose likes to smell is perfume, and its not being permitted to smell i call obstruc- tion to scent. what the mouth likes to talk about is right and wrong; and if it is not permitted to speak, i call it obstruction of the understanding. the comforts the body enjoys to have are rich food and fine clothing, and if it is not per- mitted, then i call that obstruction of the senses of the body. i yu tse. b. c. on fame he who renounces fame has no sorrow. fame is the follower of reality. now, however, as people pursue fame with such frenzy, does it not really come of itself if it is disregarded? at present fame means honor and regard. lack of fame brings humbleness and disgrace. again, ease and pleasure follow upon honor and regard. sorrow and grief are contrary to human nature; ease and pleasure are in accord with it. these things have reality. tse-chan. b.c. sublimity of righteousness that in which man is superior to beasts and birds is his mental faculties. through them he gets righteousness and propriety, and so glory and rank fall to his share. you are only moved by what excites your sense, and indulge only in licentious desires, endangering your lives and inatures. hear my words. repent in the morning, and in the evening you will have already gained the wage that will support you. * the poetry of the chinese the poetry of the chinese : ssü–k'ung tu, a.d. – freighted with eternal principles athwart the night's void, where cloud masses darken, and the wind blows ceaselessly around, beyond the range of conceptions let us gain the center. and there hold fast without violence, fed from an inexhaustible supply. like a water-wheel awhirl, like the rolling of a pearſ; yet these but illustrate, to fools, the final state. * the earth's great axis spinning on, the never-resting pole of sky — let us resolve their whence and why, and blend with all things into one; i t h e p o e t r y of t h e c h n e s e ... tsen-tsan. a.d. n ight is at hand; the night winds fret afar, the north winds moan. the waterfowl are gone to cover o'er the sand dunes; dawn alone shall call them from the sedges. some bright star mirrors her charms upon the silver shoal; and i have ta'en the lute, my only friend; the vibrant chords beneath my fingers blend; they sob awhile, then as they slip control, immortal memories awake, and the dead years through deathless voices answer to my strings, till from the brink of time's untarnished springs the melting night recalls me with her tears. po chu-i. a.d. myself what of myself? i am like unto the sere chrysanthemum that is shorn by the frost-blade and, torn from its roots, whirled away on the wind. t h e p o e t r y o f t h e c h in e s e austerities mean cramp and weariness, and genuflections to the rites a headache. 'tis but a tangle of marsh-lights after all, we cannot seize the shadow of the wind. what if the gods made answer to our prayers? with shouts of laughter i should drive the crowd. a speck upon your ivory fan you soon may wipe away; but stains upon the heart or tongue remain, alas, for aye. the voice of the cricket is heard in the hall, the leaves of the forest are withered and sere; my sad spirits droop at those chirruping notes, so thoughtlessly sounding the knell of the year. yet why should we sigh at the change of a date, when life's flowing on in a full, steady tide? come, let us be merry with those that we love; for pleasure in measure there is no one to chide. t h e w i s d om of t h e ch in e s e chia i. b.c." called the poe of china in disma, gloomy, crumbling halls, betwixt moss-covered, reeking walls an exiled poet lay. on his bed of straw reclining, half despairing, half repining, when, athwart the window sill, in flew a bird of omen ill, and seemed inclined to stay. to my book of occult learning suddenly i thought of turning, all the mystery to know of that shameless owl or crow, that would not go away. “wherever such a bird shall enter, "tis sure some power above has sent her,” so said the mystic book, “to show the human dweller forth must go,” but where it did not say. * from “the lore of cathay,” by w. a. p. martin, by courtesy ol fleming h. revell & co. y, , by y sy * t h e p o e t r y o f t h e ch in e s e pan chih yu. b.c. the sappho of china of fresh, new silk, all snowy white, and round as harvest moon, a pledge of purity and love, a small but welcome boon. while summer lasts, borne in the hand, or folded on the breast, "twill gently soothe thy burning brow, and charm thee to thy rest. but, ah! when autumn frosts descend and winter's winds blow cold, no longer sought, no longer loved, "twill lie in dust and mold. this silken fan, then, deign accept, sad emblem of my lot, caressed and fondled for an hour, then speedily forgot. proverbs and maxims absent-mindedness f elling a tree to catch the blackbird. asking a blind man the road. dragging the lake for the moon in the water. adding fuel to put out the fire. accuracy deviate an inch, lose a thousand miles. business better go than send. surety for the bow, surety for the arrow. great profits, great risks. before buying, calculate the selling. easy to open a shop; hard to keep it open. without a smiling face do not become a mer- chant. compensations the beautiful bird gets caged. t h e w is do m o f t h e ch in e s e difficulties easier said than done. out of the wolf's den into the tiger's mouth. divine providence man without divine assistance cannot move an inch of distance. education easy to learn, hard to master. husbandry and letters are the two chief profes- sions. n all pursuits are mean in comparison with learning. who teaches me for a day is my father for a lifetime. scholars are their country's treasure and the richest ornaments of the feast. extensive reading is a priceless treasure. family in a united family happiness springs up of itself. t h e w is do m o f t h e ch in e s e heedlessness in at one ear, out at the other. man cannot reach perfection in a hundred years; he can fall in a day with time to spare. * honesty just scales and full measure injure no man. never do what you wouldn’t have known. however much you promise, never fail to pay, or do not vary your promise for any price. humanity kindness is greater than law. guide the blind over the bridge. husbands and wives if they match by nature, marry them. every family has a goddess of mercy. naught must divide the married pair; its weight the steelyard cannot spare! p r o v e r b s a n d m a x ims procrastination never waste time. procrastination is the thief of time. practical religion god loves all men. better do a kindness near home than go far to burn incense. to save one life is better than to build a seven-story pagoda. self-control think twice — and say nothing. youth in the boy see the man. the mark must be made in youth. wine leisure breeds lust. wine is the discoverer of secrets. intoxication is not the wine's fault, but the man's. - - t h e w is do m of t h e c h in e s e woman the good-looking woman needs no paint. never quarrel with a woman. three tenths of good looks are due to nature; seven tenths to dress. - - service injure others, injure yourself. one generation plants the trees; another sits in their shade. skill unskilled fools quarrel with their tools. better master of one than jack of all trades. virtue better die than turn your back on reason. look not on temptation, and your mind will be at rest. it is a little thing to starve to death; it is a serious matter to lose one's virtue. p r o v e r b s a n d m a x ims general when men come face to face, their differences vanish. do not neglect your own in order to weed another's field. time flies like an arrow, days and months like a shuttle. --- moral maxims moral maxims the man of first-rate excellence is virtuous independently of instruction; he of the middling class is so after instruction; the lowest order of men are vicious in spite of instruction. in the days of affluence always think of pov- erty; do not let want come upon you and make you remember with sorrow the days of plenty. without the wisdom of the learned, the clown could not be governed; without the labor of the clown, the learned could not be fed. the cure of ignorance is study, as meat is that of hunger. the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. m o r a l m a x im s among mortals who is faultless? do not love idleness and hate labor; do not be diligent in the beginning and in the end lazy. if there be no faith in our words, of what use are they? if riches can be acquired with propriety, then acquire them; but let not unjust wealth be sought for with violence. wine and good dinners make abundance of friends, but in the time of adversity not one is to be found. let every man sweep the snow from before his own doors and not trouble himself about the frost on his neighbor's tiles. though a tree be a thousand chang in height, its leaves must fall down and return to its root. t h e w s do m o f t h e c h in e s e worldly reputation and pleasure are destruc- tive to virtue; anxious thoughts are injurious to the body. better be upright with poverty than depraved abundance. he whose virtue exceeds his talents is a good man; he whose talents exceed his virtue is a in earl orle. in a field of melons do not pull up your shoe; under a plum tree do not adjust your cap (be very careful of your actions under circumstances of suspicion). the man of worth is really great without being proud; the mean man is proud without being really great. it is said in the ye-king that “of those men whose talent is inconsiderable, while their station is eminent, and of those whose knowledge is small, while their schemes are large, there are few who do not become miserable.” m o r a l m a x im s though a man may be utterly stupid, he is very perspicacious when reprehending the bad actions of others; though he may be very intel- ligent, he is dull enough while excusing his own faults; do you only correct yourselves on the same principle that you correct others, and excuse others on the same principle that you ex- cuse yourselves. the artful are loquacious, the simple are silent; the artful toil, the simple enjoy ease; the artful are rogues, the simple virtuous; the artful are miserable, the simple happy. oh, that all in the empire were artful and simple! punish- ments would then be abolished. superiors would enjoy tranquillity, and inferiors would be obedi- ent. the manners would be pure, and vile actions become extinct. do not anxiously hope for what is not yet come; do not vainly regret what is already past. if your schemes do not succeed, of what use is it to regret their failure? if they do not m o r a l m a x im s i i when a man of a naturally good propensity has much wealth, it injures his acquisition of knowledge; when a worthless man has much wealth, it increases his faults. in enacting laws, rigor is indispensable; in executing them, mercy. - do not consider any vice as trivial, and there- fore practice it; do not consider any virtue as unimportant, and therefore neglect it. if men's desires and wishes be laudable, heaven will certainly further them. those who have discharged their duty as children, will in their turn have dutiful children of their own; the obstinate and untoward will again produce offspring of the same character. to convince you, only observe the rain from the thatched roof, where drop follows drop without the least variation. m o r a l m a x ims i for you to injure others; but what think you of others returning those injuries on yourself? the tender blade is nipped by the frost; the frost is dissipated by the sun; and worthless man will always suffer rubs from others as bad as them- selves. knowing what is right, without practicing it, denotes a want of proper resolution. poverty and ruin must in the end be propor- tioned to a man's wickedness and craft; for these are qualities which heaven will not suffer to prevail. were riches and honor the proper result of crafty villainy, the better part of the world must fatten on the winds. the best cure for drunkenness is, whilst sober, to observe a drunken man. the opening flower blooms alike in all places; the moon sheds an equal radiance on every moun- tain and every river. evil exists only in the heart of men; all other things tend to show the benevolence of heaven towards the human race. t h e w i s d om of t h e c h in e s e a man without thought for the future must soon have present sorrow. when you put on your clothes, remember the labor of the weaver; when you eat your daily bread, think of the hardships of the husbandman. a man is ignorant of his own failings as the ox is unconscious of his great strength. the poverty of others is not to be ridiculed, for the decrees of destiny are in the end equal; nor are the infirmities of age a fit subject for laughter, since they must at last be the portion of us all. when the day that is passing over us is gone, our lives are proportionably contracted. what reason, then, have the fish to be merry, when the water in which they swim is ebbing away? an immoderate use of dainties generally ends in disease, and pleasure, when past, is converted into pain. it is better to avert the malady by care than to have to apply the physic after it has appeared. m o r a l m a x im s i though the white gem be cast into the dirt, its purity cannot be (lastingly) sullied; though the good man live in a vile place, his heart can- not be depraved. as the fir and the cypress withstand the rigors of the winter, so resplen- dent wisdom is safe in difficulty and danger. if a man wish to attain to the excellence of superior beings, let him first cultivate the vir- tues of humanity; for if not perfect in human virtue, how shall he reach immortal perfection? man is born without knowledge, and when he has obtained it, very soon becomes old; when his experience is ripe, death suddenly seizes him. a man's prosperous or declining condition may be gathered from the proportion of his waking to his sleeping hours. unsullied poverty is always happy, while im- pure wealth brings with it many sorrows. t h e w i s d o m of t h e ch in e s e the goodness of a house does not consist in its lofty halls, but in its excluding the weather; the fitness of clothes does not consist in their costliness, but in their make and warmth; the use of food does not consist in its rarity, but in its satisfying the appetite; the excellence of a wife consists not in her beauty, but in her virtue. the fame of men's good actions seldom goes beyond their own doors, but their evil deeds are carried to a thousand miles distance. the sincerity of him who assents to everything, must be small; and he who praises you inordi- nately to your face, must be altogether false. if sincerity be wanting between the prince and his minister, the nation will be in disorder; if between father and son, the family will be dis- cordant; if between brothers, their affection will be loosened; if between friends, their intercourse will be distant. though powerful medicines be nauseous to the taste, they are good for the disease; though can- m o r a l m a x im s did advice be unpleasant to the ear, it is profit- able to the conduct. to show compassion towards the people by remitting the severity of the taxes, is the virtue of the prince; and to offer up their possessions, sinking their private views in regard for the public, is the duty of the people. though the life of a man be short of a hundred years, he gives himself as much anxiety as if he were to live a thousand. - if a man does not receive guests at home, he will meet with very few hosts abroad. without a clear mirror a woman cannot know the state of her own face; without a true friend a man cannot discern the errors of his own actions. a man should choose a friend who is better than himself; if only like himself, he had better have none. there are plenty of acquaintances in the world, but very few real friends. m o r a l m a x i m. s i mencius said: “all men concur in despising a glutton, because he gives up everything that is valuable for the sake of pampering what is so contemptible.” what man shall dare to oppose him whose words are consistent with reason, and whose actions are squared by the rule of rectitude? to the contented, even poverty and obscurity bring happiness, while to the ambitious, wealth and honors are productive of misery. as the light of a single star tinges the moun- tains of many regions, so a single unguarded ex- pression injures the virtue of a whole life. the evidence of a single glance should not be relied on as true, nor are words spoken behind a man's back deserving of much credence. though a poor man should live in the midst of a noisy market, no one will ask about him; o t h e w i s d om of t-h e ch in e s e though a rich man should bury himself among the mountains, his relations will come to him from a distance. knowledge is boundless, but the capacity of one man is limited. plausible words are not so good as straightfor- ward conduct; a man whose deeds are enlight- ened by virtue, need not be nice about his expressions. a single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years' mere study of books. by a single day's practice of virtue, though happiness may not be attained, yet misery may be kept at a distance; by a single day of ill doing, happiness is prevented. no medicine can procure long life even to the ministers of the emperor; no money can pur- chase for any man a virtuous posterity. bibliography and sources bibliography and sources samuel couling, m.a., the encyclopædia sinica. oxford university. sir j. f. davis, chinese moral maxims. london. . de groot, the religious systems of china. sir r. k. douglas, the literature and language of china. h. a. giles, history of chinese literature. appleton and co., new york. dr. w. a. p. martin, the lore of cathay. fleming h. revell and co., new york. william scarborough, chinese proverbs. lon- don. . arthur h. smith, proverbs and common sayings of the chinese. . d. t. suzuki, brief history of chinese philosophy. probsthain & co. london. . the chinese classics. translated by prof. james legge. oxford university press. the sacred books of china. translated by prof. james legge. oxford university press. ." + })-----→ "-** |-*----~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~ ~ ~) · · · · -** • • • • • • -- (~~~~). — — ^ ^•*.*) - - p r a ct i c a l w is do m lette r s to young men letters to young men by sir walter raleigh francis osborn lorld burlleigh sir matthew hale william, earl of bedford new y o r. k. a. wessels company (ph. # j Ó. . ºne. a. wessels company {ard col. - * - {& hec o £ is n a ºn %. -tº- ( a. “y p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m estate; for so shalt thou make thyself a bond-slave to him that thou trustest, and leave thyself always to his mercy: and be sure of this, thou shalt never find a friend in thy young years, whose conditions and qualities will please thee after thou comest to more discretion and judgment, and then all thou givest is lost, and all wherein thou shalt trust such a one, will be discovered. such therefore as are thy inferiors, will follow thee but to eat thee out, and when thou leavest to feed them, they will hate thee; and such kind of men, if thou pre- serve thy estate, will always be had. and if thy friends be of better quality than thy- self, thou mayest be sure of two things: the first, that they will be more careful to keep thy counsel, because they have more to lose than thou hast: the second, they will esteem thee for thyself, and not for that which thou dost possess. but if thou [ iol p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m be subject to any great vanity or ill (from which i hope god will bless thee), then therein trust no man; for every man's folly ought to be his greatest secret. and although i persuade thee to associate thy- self with thy betters, or at least with thy peers, yet remember always that thou ven- ture not thy estate with any of those great ones that shall attempt unlawful things; for such men labour for themselves, and not for thee; thou shalt be sure to part with them in the danger, but not in the honour; and to venture a sure estate in present, in hope of a better in future, is mere madness: and great men forget such as have done them service, when they have obtained what they would, and will rather hate thee for saying thou hast been a means for their advancement, than ac- knowledge it. i could give thee a thousand examples, [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m and i myself know it, and have tasted it in all the course of my life; when thou shalt read and observe the stories of all nations, thou shalt find innumerable ex- amples of the like. let thy love therefore be to the best, so long as they do well; but take heed that thou love god, thy country, thy prince, and thine own estate, before all others: for the fancies of men change, and he that loves to-day, hateth to-morrow ; but let reason be thy school-mistress, which shall ever guide thee aright. great care to be had in the choosing of a wife.-the next and greatest care ought to be in the choice of a wife, and the only danger therein, is beauty, by which all men in all ages, wise and foolish, have been betrayed. and though i know it vain to use reasons or arguments to dissuade thee from being captivated therewith, there being few or [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m none that ever resisted that witchery, yet i cannot omit to warn thee, as of other things, which may be thy ruin and de- struction. for the present time, it is true, that every man prefers his fantasy in that appetite, before all other worldly desires, leaving the care of honour, credit, and safety, in respect thereof. but re- member, that though these affections do not last, yet the bond of marriage dureth to the end of thy life. remember, sec- ondly, that if thou marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which per- chance will neither last nor please thee one year; and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all; for the desire dieth when it is attained, and the affection perisheth when it is satisfied. remem- ber, when thou wert a sucking child that then thou didst love thy nurse, and that thou wert fond of her; after a while thou [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m didst love thy dry-nurse, and didst forget the other; after that thou didst also despise her: so will it be with thee in thy liking in elder years; and therefore, though thou canst not forbear to love, yet forbear to link; and after a while thou shalt find an alteration in thyself, and see another far more pleasing than the first, second, or third love; yet i wish thee above all the rest, have a care thou dost not marry an uncomely woman for any respect; for comeliness in children is riches, if nothing else be left them. and if thou have care for thy races of horses, and other beasts, value the shape and comeliness of thy children, before alliances or riches. have care therefore of both together, for if thou have a fair wife, and a poor one, if thine own estate be not great, assure thyself that love abideth not with want; for she is the companion of plenty and honour. this [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m stranger, and most times to an enemy; for he that shall marry thy wife, will despise thee, thy memory, and thine, and shall possess the quiet of thy labours, the fruit which thou hast planted, enjoy thy love, and spend with joy and ease what thou hast spared, and gotten with care and tra- vail. yet always remember, that thou leave not thy wife to be a shame unto thee after thou art dead, but that she may live according to thy estate; especially if thou hast few children, and them provided for. but howsoever it be, or whatsoever thou find, leave thy wife no more than of necessity thou must, but only during her widowhood; but leave thy estate to thy house and children, in which thou livest upon earth whilst it lasteth. to con- clude, wives were ordained to continue the generation of men, not to transfer them, and diminish them, either in con- [ ] practical wis dom tinuance or ability; and therefore thy house and estate, which liveth in thy son, and not in thy wife, is to be preferred. thy best time for marriage will be towards \ thirty, for as the younger times are unfit, either to choose or to govern a wife and family, so if thou stay long thou shalt hardly see the education of thy children, who being left to strangers, are in effect lost: and better were it to be unborn, than ill-bred; for thereby thy posterity shall either perish, or remain a shame to thy name and family. bestow therefore thy youth so, that thou mayest have comfort to remember it, when it hath forsaken thee, and not sigh and grieve at the account thereof. whilst thou are young thou wilt think it will never have an end; but be- hold, the longest day hath his evening, and that thou shalt enjoy it but once— that it never turns again; use it therefore [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m as the spring-time which soon departeth, and wherein thou oughtest to plant, and sow all provisions for a long and happy life. the wisest men have been abused by flatterers.—take care thou be not made a fool by flatterers, for even the wisest men are abused by these. know therefore, that flatterers are the worst kind of traitors; for they will strengthen thy imperfections, encourage thee in all evils, correct thee in nothing, but so shadow and paint all thy vices and follies, as thou shalt never, by their will, discern evil from good, or vice from virtue. and because all men are apt to flatter themselves, to entertain the additions of other men's praises, is most perilous. do not therefore praise - thyself, except thou wilt be counted a vain- glorious fool, neither take delight in the praise of other men, except thou deserve [ ] practtgate w i s d o m it, and receive it from such as are worthy and honest, and will withal warn thee of thy faults; for flatterers have never any virtue, they are ever base, creeping, cow- ardly persons. a flatterer is said to be a beast that biteth smiling; it is said by isaiah in this manner: “my people, they that praise thee, seduce thee, and disorder the paths of thy feet:” and david desired god to cut out the tongue of a flatterer. but it is hard to know them from friends, they are so obsequious and full of protes- tations; for as a wolf resembles a dog, so doth a flatterer a friend. a flatterer is compared to an ape, who because she cannot defend the house like a dog, labour as an ox, or bear burdens as a horse, doth therefore yet play tricks and provoke laughter. thou mayest be sure that he that will in private tell thee thy faults, is thy friend, for he adventures thy dislike, [ ] practical w isdom country; for there is nothing more dis- honourable, next to treason itself, than to be an accuser. notwithstanding i would not have thee for any respect lose thy reputation, or endure public disgrace: for better it were not to live, than to live a coward, if the offence proceed not from thyself: if it do, it shall be better to compound it upon good terms, than to hazard thyself; for if thou overcome, thou art under the cruelty of the law, if thou art overcome, thou art dead or dis- honoured. if thou therefore contend, or discourse in argument, let it be with wise and sober men, of whom thou must learn by reasoning, and not with ignorant per- sons; for thou shalt thereby instruct those that will not thank thee, and will utter what they have learned from thee for their own. but if thou know more than other men, utter it when it may do [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m thee honour, and not in assemblies of ignorant and common persons. speaking much, also, is a sign of vanity; for he that is lavish in words, is a niggard in deeds ; and as solomon saith, “the mouth of a wise man is in his heart, the heart of a fool is in his mouth, because what he knoweth or thinketh, he utter- eth.’ and by thy words and discourses, men will judge thee. for as socrates saith, “such as thy words are, such will thy affections be esteemed; and such will thy deeds as thy affections, and such thy life as thy deeds.” therefore be advised what thou dost discourse of, what thou maintainest; whether touching religion, state, or vanity; for if thou err in the first, thou shalt be accounted profane; if in the second, dangerous; if in the third, indiscreet and foolish. he that cannot refrain from much speaking, is like a city [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m and i myself know it, and have tasted it in all the course of my life; when thou shalt read and observe the stories of all nations, thou shalt find innumerable ex- amples of the like. let thy love therefore be to the best, so long as they do well; but take heed that thou love god, thy country, thy prince, and thine own estate, before all others: for the fancies of men change, and he that loves to-day, hateth to-morrow; but let reason be thy school-mistress, which shall ever guide thee aright. great care to be had in the choosing of a wife.-the next and greatest care ought to be in the choice of a wife, and the only danger therein, is beauty, by which all men in all ages, wise and foolish, have been betrayed. and though i know it vain to use reasons or arguments to dissuade thee from being captivated therewith, there being few or —l [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m none that ever resisted that witchery, yet i cannot omit to warn thee, as of other things, which may be thy ruin and de- struction. for the present time, it is true, that every man prefers his fantasy in that appetite, before all other worldly desires, leaving the care of honour, credit, - and safety, in respect thereof. but re- member, that though these affections do not last, yet the bond of marriage dureth to the end of thy life. remember, sec- ondly, that if thou marry for beauty, thou bindest thyself all thy life for that which per- chance will neither last nor please thee one year; and when thou hast it, it will be to thee of no price at all; for the desire dieth when it is attained, and the affection perisheth when it is satisfied. remem- ber, when thou wert a sucking child that then thou didst love thy nurse, and that thou wert fond of her; after a while thou [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m without walls, and less pains in the world a man cannot take, than to hold his tongue; therefore if thou observest this rule in all assemblies, thou shalt seldom err–restrain thy choler, hearken much and speak little; for the tongue is the in- strument of the greatest good and greatest evil that is done in the world. according to solomon, life and death are in the power of the tongue: and as euripides truly affirmeth, “every unbridled tongue, in the end, shall find itself unfor- tunate; ” for in all that ever i observed in the course of worldly things, i ever found that men's fortunes are oftener made by their tongues than by their virtues, and more men's fortunes overthrown thereby also, than by their vices. and to con- clude, all quarrels, mischief, hatred, and destruction, arise from unadvised speech, and in much speech there are many errors, [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m out of which thy enemies shall ever take the most dangerous advantage. and as thou shalt be happy, if thou thyself ob- serve these things, so shalt it be most profitable for thee to avoid their com- panies that err in that kind; and not to hearken to tale-bearers, to inquisitive per- sons, and such as busy themselves with other men’s estates; that creep into houses as spies, to learn news which concerns them not; for assure thyself such persons are most base and unworthy, and i never knew any of them prosper, or respected amongst worthy or wise men. take heed also that thou be not found a liar; for a lying spirit is hateful both to god and man. a liar is commonly a coward, for he dares not avow truth. a liar is trusted of no man, he can have no credit, either in public or private; and if there were no more arguments than this, [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m know that our lord, in st. john, saith, ‘that it is a vice proper to satan, lying being opposite to the nature of god, which consisteth in truth; and the gain of lying is nothing else, but not to be trusted of any, nor to be believed when we say the truth. it is said in the proverbs, “that god hateth false lips; and he that speaketh lies shall perish.” thus thou mayst see and find in all the books of god, how odious and contrary to god a liar is ; and for the world, believe it, that it never did any man good, except in the extremity of saving life; for a liar is of a base, un- worthy, and cowardly spirit. three rules to be observed for the preservation of a man's estate.— amongst all other things of the world, take care of thy estate, which thou shalt ever preserve, if thou observe three things; first, that thou know what thou hast; [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m what every thing is worth that thou hast; and to see that thou art not wasted by thy servants and officers. the second is, that thou never spend any thing before thou have it; for borrowing is the canker and death of every man’s estate. the third is, that thou suffer not thyself to be wounded for other men’s faults, and scourged for other men's offences; which is, the surety for another; for thereby millions of men have been beggared and destroyed, paying the reckoning of other men’s riot, and the charge of other men's folly and prodigality; if thou smart, smart for thine own sins, and above all things, be not made an ass to carry the burdens of other men. if any friend desire thee to be his surety, give him a part of what thou hast to spare ; if he press thee farther he is not thy friend at all, for friendship rather chooseth harm to itself, than offer- [ j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m eth it. if thou be bound for a stranger, thou art a fool; if for a merchant thou puttest thy estate to learn to swim; if for a church-man, he hath no inheritance; if for a lawyer, he will find an evasion by a syllable or word, to abuse thee; if for a poor man thou must pay it thyself; if for a rich man he needs not : therefore from suretyship, as from a manslayer or en- chanter, bless thyself; for the best profit and return will be this—that if thou force him for whom thou art bound, to pay it himself, he will become thy enemy; if thou use to pay it thyself, thou wilt be- come a beggar. and believe thy father in this, and print it in thy thought—that what virtue soever thou hast, be it never so manifold, if thou be poor withal, thou and thy qualities shall be despised: besides, poverty is oftentimes sent as a curse of god, it is a shame amongst men, an im- [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m prisonment of the mind, a vexation of every worthy spirit; thou shalt neither help thyself nor others; thou shalt drown thee in all thy virtues, having no means to show them ; thou shalt be a burden and an eye-sore to thy friends; every man will fear thy company, thou shalt be driven basely to beg, and depend on others, to flatter unworthy men, to make dishonest shifts: and, to conclude, poverty provokes a man to do infamous and detested deeds. let not vanity, therefore, or persuasion draw thee to that worst of worldly miseries. if thou be rich, it will give thee pleasure in health, comfort in sickness, keep thy mind and body free, save thee from many perils, relieve thee in thy elder years, re- lieve the poor and thy honest friends, and give means to thy posterity to live and de- fend themselves and thine own fame. [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m where it is said in the proverbs, that “he shall be sore vexed that is surety for a stranger, and he that hateth suretyship is sure’: it is farther said, ‘the poor is hated even of his own neighbour, but the rich have many friends.” lend not to him that is mightier than thyself, for if thou lendest him, count it but lost. be not surety above thy power, for if thou be surety think to pay it. what sort of servants are fittest to be entertained.—let thy servants be such as thou mayest command, and entertain none about thee but yoemen, to whom thou givest wages; for those that will serve thee without thy hire, will cost thee treble as much as they that know thy fare: if thou trust any servant with thy purse, be sure thou take his account ere thou sleep; for if thou put it off, thou wilt then afterwards for tediousness, neg- [ o j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m lect it. i myself have thereby lost more than i am worth. and whatever thy servant gaineth thereby, he will never thank thee, but laugh thy simplicity to scorn; and besides, ’tis the way to make thy servants thieves, which else would be honest. brave rags wear soon est out of fashion.—exceed not in the humour of rags and bravery, for these will soon wear out of fashion; but money in thy purse will ever be in fashion ; and no man is esteemed for gay garments, but by fools and women. riches not to be sought by evil means.-on the other side, take heed that thou seek not riches basely, nor attain them by evil means; destroy no man for his wealth, nor take any thing from the poor: for the cry and complaint thereof will pierce the heavens. and it is most i j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m detestable before god, and most dishon- ourable before worthy men to wrest any thing from the needy and labouring soul. god will never prosper thee in aught, if thou offend therein: but use thy poor neighbours and tenants well, pine not them and their children to add superfluity and needless expenses to thyself. he that hath pity on another man's sorrow, shall be free from it himself; and he that de- lighteth in, and scorneth the misery of another, shall one time or other fall into it himself. remember this precept, “he that hath mercy on the poor lendeth unto the lord, and the lord will recompense him what he hath given.” i do not under- stand those for poor, which are vagabonds and beggars, but those that labour to live, such as are old and cannot travel, such poor widows and fatherless children as are ordered to be relieved, and the poor tenants i | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m that travail to pay their rents and are driven to poverty by mischance, and not by riot or careless expenses; on such have thou compassion, and god will bless thee for it. make not the hungry soul sorrow- ful, defer not thy gift to the needy, for if he curse thee in the bitterness of his soul, his prayer shall be heard of him that made him. what inconveniences happen to such as delight in wine.—take especial care that thou delight not in wine, for there never was any man that came to honour or preferment that loved it; for it transformeth a man into a beast, decayeth health, poisoneth the breath, destroyeth natural heat, brings a man’s stomach to an artificial heat, deformeth the face, rot- teth the teeth, and to conclude, maketh a man contemptible, soon old, and despised of all wise and worthy men; hated in thy [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m breath in the morning, and an utter for- getfulness of all things. whosoever loveth wine, shall not be trusted of any man, for he cannot keep a secret. wine maketh man not only a beast, but a madman; and if thou love it, thy own wife, thy children and thy friends will despise thee. in drink, men care not what they say, what offence they give, forget comeliness, commit disorders; and to conclude, offend all virtuous and honest company, and god most of all, to whom we daily pray for health, and a life free from pain; and yet by drunkenness and gluttony (which is the drunkenness of feeding), we draw on, saith hesiod, a swift, hasty, untimely, cruel, and an in- famous old age. and st. augustine des- cribeth drunkenness in this manner: * ebrietas est blandus daemon, dulce vene- num, suave peccatum; quod qui habet [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m chief doth it not design whom have not plentiful cups made eloquent and talking * * when diogenes saw a house to be sold, whereof the owner was given to drink, “i thought at the last, quoth diogenes, “he would vomit a whole house.’ let god be thy protector and director in all thy actions.—now, for the world, i know it too well, to per- suade thee to dive into the practices thereof; rather stand upon thine own guard against all that tempt thee there- unto, or may practise upon thee in thy conscience, thy reputation, or thy purse; resolve that no man is wise or safe, but he that is honest. serve god, let him be the author of all thy actions, commend all thy endeavours to him that must either wither or prosper them; please him with prayer, lest if he frown, he confound all thy fortunes and [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m labours like the drops of rain on the sandy ground: let my experienced advice, and fatherly instructions, sink deep into thy heart. so god direct thee in all his ways, and fill thy heart with his grace. [ ] ſ francis osborn's advice to a son p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m francis osborn's advice to a son wº ducation. — though i can never pay enough to your grand- father's memory, for his tender care of my education, yet i must observe in it this mistake; that by keeping me at home, where i was one of my young masters, i lost the advantage of my most docile time. for not undergoing the same discipline, i must needs come short of their experience, that are bred up in free schools; who, by plotting to rob an orchard, etc., run through all the subtleties required in taking of a town; being made, by use, familiar to secrecy and compliance with opportunity; qualities never after to be attained at cheaper rates than the hazard of all: whereas these see the danger of trusting others, and the rocks [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m they fall upon, by a too obstinate adhering to their own imprudent resolutions; and all this under no higher penalty than a whipping: and 'tis possible this indulgence of my father might be the cause i afforded him so poor a return for all his cost. let not an over-passionate prosecution of learning draw you from making an honest improvement of your estate; as such do, who are better read in the bigness of the whole earth, than that little spot, left them by their friends, for their support. a mixed education suits employment best : scholars and citizens, by a too long plodding in the same track, have their ex- perience seldom dilated beyond the circle of a narrow profession; of which they carry so apparent marks, as bewray in all places, by their words and gestures, the ped and company they were brought up in ; so that all ways of preferment are [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m stopped against them, through others’ pre- judice, or their own natural insufficiency; it being ordinary in their practice to mis- take a wilful insolence for a resolute con- fidence, and pride for gravity; the short- ness of the tether their long restraint confined them to, not affording convenient room to take a decent measure of virtue and vice. so by using others as they were dealt with themselves, repute is lost when they come to command; it being justified in history, that slaves after they have forgot all fear of the sword, cannot shake off the terror of the whip. there- fore few not freely educated, can wear decently the habit of a court, or behave themselves in such a mediocrity, as shall not discover too much idolatry towards those in a superior orb, or disdain in rela- tion to such, as fortune rather than merit hath possibly placed below them. [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m i have observed in collegiate discipline, that all the reverence to superiors, learned in the hall or chapel, is lost in the irrever- ent discourse you have of them in your chambers; by this, you leave the principal business of youth neglected, which is, to be perfect in patience and obedience; habits nowhere so exactly learned, as in the foundations of the jesuits, could they be fetched thence without prejudice to religion or freedom. if a more profitable employment pull you not too soon from the university, make some inspection into physic; which will add to your welcome wherever you come; it being usual, especially for ladics, to yield no less reverence to their physi- cians, than their confessors: neither doth the refusal of fees abate your profit pro- portionably to the advancement it brings to your credit: the intricacy of the study is not [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m great, after an exact knowledge in anatomy and drugs is obtained; not hard, by reason of the late helps. yet i advise you this, under such caution, as not to imagine the diseases you read of, inherent in yourself; as some melancholic young men do, that make their first experiments upon their own bodies, to their perpetual detriment; there- fore you may live by, not upon physic. huge volumes, like the ox roasted at bartholomew fair, may proclaim plenty of labour and invention, but afford less of what is delicate, savoury and well con- cocted, than smaller pieces: this makes me think, that though, upon occasion, you may come to the table, and examine the bill of fare, set down by such authors; yet it cannot but lessen ingenuity, still to fall aboard with them ; human sufficiency being too narrow, to inform with the pure soul of reason, such vast bodies. [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m when i consider with what contradic- tion reports arrived at us, during our late civil wars, i can give the less encourage- ment to the reading of history: romances, never acted, being born purer from sophis- tication than actions reported to be done, by which posterity hereafter, no less than antiquity heretofore, is likely to be led into a false, or at best, but a contingent belief. caesar, though in this happy, that he had a pen able to grave into neat language what his sword at first more roughly cut out, may in my judgment, abuse his reader: for he, that for the honour of his own wit, doth make people speak better than can be sup- posed men so barbarously bred were able, may possibly report they fought worse than really they did. of a like value are the orations of thucydides, livy, tacitus, and most other historians; which doth not a little prejudice the truth of all the rest. [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m were it worthy or capable to receive so much illumination from one never made welcome by it, i should tell the world, as i do you, there is as little reason to believe men know certainly all they write, as to think they write all they imagine: and as this cannot be admitted without danger, so the other, though it may in shame be de- nied, is altogether as true. a few books well studied, and thor- oughly digested, nourish the understanding more than hundreds but gargled in the mouth, as ordinary students use: and of these choice must be had answerable to the profession you intend : for a states- man, french authors are best, as most fruitful in negotiations and memoirs, left by public ministers and by their secretar- ies, published after their deaths: out of which you may be able to unfold the rid- dles of all states: none making more [ ol p rta cttc atwtsdo m indiscretion may let slip : neither is it a small advantage to gain so much time for deliberation, which is fit farther to urge: it being besides, too much an honouring of their tongue, and undervaluing your own, to profess yourself a master therein, especially since they scorn to learn yours. and to show this is not grounded on my single judgment, i have often been in- formed, that the first and wisest earl of pembroke, did return an answer to the spanish ambassador, in welsh, for which i have heard him highly commended. it is an aphorism in physic, that un- wholesome airs, because perpetually sucked into the lungs, do distemper health more than coarser diet, used but at set times: the like may be said of company, which if good, is a better refiner of the spirits, than ordinary books. propose not them for patterns, who - [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m make all places rattle, where they come, with latin and greek; for the more you seem to have borrowed from books, the poorer you proclaim your natural parts, which only can properly be called yours. follow not the tedious practice of such as seek wisdom only in learning; not at- tainable but by experience and natural parts. much reading, like a too great repletion, stopping up, through a concourse of diverse, sometimes contrary opinions, the access of a nearer, newer, and quicker invention of your own. and for quota- tions, they resemble sugar in wine, mar- ring the natural taste of the liquor, if it be good; if bad, that of itself: such patches rather making the rent seem greater, by an interruption of the style, than less, if not so neatly applied as to fall in without drawing: nor is any thief in this kind [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m sufferable, who comes not off, like a lacedemonian, without discovery. the way to elegancy of style, is to em- ploy your pen upon every errand; and the more trivial and dry it is, the more brains must be allowed for sauce : thus by check- ing all ordinary invention, your reason will attain to such a habit, as not to dare to present you but with what is excellent; and if void of affection, it matters not how mean the subject is: there being the same exactness observed, by good archi- tects, in the structure of the kitchen, as the parlour. when business or compliment calls you to write letters, consider what is fit to be said, were the party present, and set down that. avoid words or phrases likely to be learned in base company; lest you fall into the error the late archbishop laud [ ] p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m . did; who though no ill speaker, yet blunted his repute by saying in the star chamber, men entered the church as a tinker and his bitch do an alehouse. the small reckoning i have seen made, especially in their lifetime, of excellent wits, bids me advise you, that if you find any delight in writing, to go on : but, in hope to please or satisfy others, i would not black the end of a quill: for long experience hath taught me, that builders always, and writers for the most part, spend their money and time in the pur- chase of reproof and censure from en- vious contemporaries, or self-conceited posterity. be not frequent in poetry, how excellent soever your vein is, but make it rather your recreation, than business: because though it swells you in your own opinion, it may render you less in that of wiser [ ] pract to altwº tsdom really diseased, who by such boldness do sometimes hear of a remedy. the art of music is so unable to refund for the time and cost required to be per- fect therein, as i cannot think it worth any serious endeavour: the owner of that quality being still obliged to the trouble of calculating the difference between the morose humour of a rigid refuser, and the cheap and prostituted levity and forward- ness of a mercenary fiddler. denial being as often taken for pride, as a too ready compliance falls under the notion of os- tentation: those so qualified seldom know- ing when it is time to begin, or give over; especially women, who do not rarely de- cline in modesty, proportionably to the progress they make in music. wear your clothes neat, exceeding rather than coming short of others of like fortune; a charge borne out by acceptance [ ] practical w isdom wherever you come; therefore spare all other ways rather than prove defective in this. never buy but with ready money; and be drawn rather to fix where you find things cheap and good, than for friendship or acquaintance, who are apt to take it unkindly, if you will not be cheated. for if you get nothing else by going from one shop to another, you shall gain experience. next to clothes, a good horse becomes a gentleman : in whom can be no great loss, after you have got the skill to choose him; which once attained, you may keep yourself from being cozened, and pleasure your friend: the greatest danger is haste : i never loved to fix on one fat, for then i saw him at the best, without hope of im- provement: if you have fallen on a bar- gain not for your turn, make the market your chapman, rather than a friend. [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m gallop not through a town, for fear of hurting yourself or others; besides the in- decency of it, which may give cause to such as see you, to think your horse or brains none of your own. wrestling and vaulting have ever been looked upon by me as more useful than fencing, being often out-dared by resolu- tion, because of the vast difference between a foyn and a sword, a house and a field. swimming may save a man, in case of necessity; though it loseth many, when practised in wantonness, by increasing their confidence; therefore, for pleasure exceed not your depth; and in seeking to save another, beware of drowning yourself. though machiavel sets down hunting and hawking in the bill of advice he pre- scribes to a prince, as not only the whole- somest and cheapest diversions, both in relation to himself and his people, but the [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m best tutors to horsemanship, stratagems and situations on which he may have after occasion to place an army. yet these are so much under the disposition of chance, the most delightful part being wholly man- aged according to the sense of the crea- ture, that by such cross accidents, as do not seldom intervene, storms of choler are often raised, in which many humours flash out, that in a greater serenity pru- dence would undoubtedly conceal: so as i could name some reputed owners of a habit of policy, more ruffled, and farther put out of their bias, by a small rub lying in the way of their pleasure, than a greater could cause in that of their profit. and as sinister events in these pastimes deject a man below the ordinary level of discre- tion, so a happy success doth as often wind him up to such a jovial pin, that he becomes a familiar companion to those [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m who can inform his judgment in little, but what signifies nothing, and whom in a more reserved temper he would think it tedious to hear, yet cannot after shake off their acquaintance, without incurring the censure of pride or inconstancy. neither am i led to this opinion by any particular disaffection, but out of the greater rever- ence i bear to the wisdom of sir philip sidney, who said, that next hunting he liked hawking worst. however though he may have fallen into as hyperbolical an extreme, yet who can put too great a scorn upon their folly that to bring home a rascal deer, or a few rotten coneys, submit their lives to the will or passion of such as may take them, under a penalty no less slight than there is discretion shown in exposing them. such as are betrayed by their easy nature, to be ordinary security for their [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m he that lends upon public faith is se- curity for his own money, and can blame none more than himself, if never paid; common debts, like common lands, lying ever most neglected. honesty treats with the world upon such vast disadvantage, that a pen is often as useful to defend you as a sword, by making writing the witness of your con- tracts; for where profit appears, it doth commonly cancel the bands of friendship, religion, and the memory of anything that can produce no other register than what is verbal. in a case of importance, hear the reasons of others pleaded, but be sure not to be so implicitly led by their judgments, as to neglect a greater of your own, as charles of england did, to the loss of his crown; for as the ordinary saying is, count money after your father, so the same prudence [ ] pract to altwº tsdom quisitive after the blemishes than the beauties of a proud person; whereas the humble soul passeth the strictest guards with more faults, like the fair-mouthed traveller, without scorn or searching. though it be common with the king of heaven to punish the wicked and re- ward the good, yet we find him said to re- sist no vice but pride, nor exalt other vir- tue than humility, that being the only sin we read of ever brake into his court un- washed by forgivenness, where she became the first precedent of god’s lessening his family, and the foundress of hell. nor are his vicegerents upon earth more aus- picious to a lofty look, for any affection they do naturally bear to it or its owners, though sometimes they dissemble their dislike, out of the use they make of such good parts as have the ill-fortune to be so accompanied, this vice being taken as in- [ j p r a c t i c a l w sd o m fidence, or honesty, dejected eyes confess- ing, to most judgments, guilt or folly. impudence is no virtue, yet able to beggar them all, being for the most part in good plight when the rest starve, and capable of carrying her followers up to the highest preferments: found as useful in a court as armour in a camp. i do not find you guilty of covetousness, neither can i say more of it, but that like a candle ill made, it smothers the splendour of an happy fortune in its own grease. yet live so frugally, if possible, as to reserve something that may enable you to grapple with any future contingency ; and provide in youth, since fortune hath this proper with other common mistresses, that she deserts age, especially in the company of want. 'tis generally said of the fox, that he supplants the badger, and nestles himself [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m in his den. what may be pure nature in him, wise seneca adviseth for the highest prudence—rather to purchase a house ready built, than endure the tedious and troublesome expectation and charge at- tending the most diligent and able con- triver, who cannot find so much pleasure in seeing his ideas brought into form, as he shall meet discontent from the mistakes of his commands, greatness of the expense, and idleness of the workmen, who, the better to draw men into this labyrinth, make things appear more cheap and easy than any undertaker of such a task ever yet found, knowing, if once engaged, the spurs of shame and necessity will drive him on ; when the buyer may take or leave, having a world to choose in, and the choicest conveniences at another's cost, without participating of their dis- grace for such faults as curiosity may find, [ ) practtgatwtsdom and he himself might have fallen into had he been operator, since nothing was ever yet so exactly contrived, but better inform- ation, or a new discovery of a more com- modious fashion or situation did arraign of defect—which altogether proves it the best advice, rather to endure the absurdi- ties of others gratis, than to be at the cost to commit greater yourself. keep no more servants than you have full employment for; and if you find a good one, look upon him under no severer aspect than that of an humble friend, the difference between such an one and his master residing rather in fortune than in nature. therefore, do not put the worst constructions upon anything he doth well, or mistakes. thus, by proportioning your carriage to those below, you will the better bring your mind to a safe and easy deportment to such as fate hath set above [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m you. to conclude, servants are ever sharers with their masters in prosperity, and not seldom an occasion of their de- struction in bad times, by fomenting jeal- ousy from without, or treachery within. leave your bed upon the first desertion of sleep; it being ill for the eyes to read lying, and worse for the mind to be idle: since the head during that laziness is com- monly a cage for unclean thoughts. it is nowhere wholesome to eat so long as you are able; especially in england, where meat, aptest to inveigle the stomach to an over-repletion, comes last. but in case you transgress at one meal, let no persuasion tempt you to a second repast, till by a fierce hunger you find yourself quite discharged of the former excess. an exact observance of this hath, under god, made me reach these times, and may through his mercy preserve you for better. [ o j practtgatwtsdom drink, during the operation of the dis- temper, will act all the humours habitual in madmen; amongst both which i have seen some very zealous and devout, who, the fit once over, remained no less pro- fane. this proves godliness capable of being feigned, and may raise an use of circumspection, in relation to such as pro- fess more than is suitable to human frailty. beware what company you keep, since example prevails more than precept, though by the erudition dropping from these tutors, we imbibe all the tinctures of virtue and vice: this renders it little less than impossible for nature to hold out any long siege against the batteries of custom and opportunity. º let your wit rather serve you for a buckler to defend yourself, by a handsome reply, than the sword to wound others, though with never so facetious a reproach, [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m to extort, in point of honour, an unsav- oury word, never suitable to the mouth of a gentleman, sword-men advise, to second it with a blow by way of prevention, lest he striking first, which cannot but be ex- pected, you should be cast behind-hand. but this their decree not being confirmed by act of parliament, i cannot find it suit- able with prudence or religion, to make the sword umpire of your own life and another's, no less than the law, upon no more serious an occasion, than the vindi- cation of your fame, lost or gained, by this brutish valour, in the opinion of none that are either wise or pious; it being out of the reach of question, that a quarrel is not to be screwed up to such a height of indiscretion, without arraigning one or both parties of madness : especially since formal duels are but a late invention of the devil’s, never heard of in relation to pri- - [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m vate injuries; among the romans the gladiators fighting for their pleasure, as the horatii and curatii for the safety of the people. it cannot be denied, but that story lays before us many killed for private revenge, but never accompanied with so ridiculous a formality as the sending of challenges, which renders the dead a greater murderer than he is that kills him, as being without doubt the author of his own death. this makes me altogether believe, that such wild manhood had its original from romances, in which the giant is designed for death and the knight to marry the lady, whose honour he hath pre- served; not so gently treated by the eng- lish law, where if his legs or friends be not the better, he is hanged and his estate confiscated, to the perpetual detriment of his family: besides the sting of conscience, and a natural fear, like that of cain’s, at- [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m tending blood, by which the remainder of life is made tedious and miserable to such unfortunate men, who seem in all honest company to smell too strong of blood, to be taken into any intimate relation. prosecute not a coward too far, lest you make him turn valiant to your disadvan- tage; it being impossible for any standing even in the world’s opinion, to gain glory by the most he can have of those that lie under such a repute; besides, valour is rather the product of custom, than nature, and often found where least expected; do not therefore waken it to your prejudice, as i have known many that would still be insult- ing, and could not see when they were well. speak disgracefully of none at ordin- aries, or public meetings; lest some kins- man, or friend, being there, should force you to a base recantation, or engage you in a more indiscreet quarrel: this renders [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m travel.—some to starch a more serious face upon wanton, impertinent, and dear- bought vanity, cry up travel as the best accomplisher of youth and gentry, though detected by experience in the generality, for the greatest debaucher; adding affect- ation to folly, and atheism to the curiosity of many not well principled by education: such wanderers imitating those factors of solomon, that together with gold, returned apes and peacocks. they, and only they, advantage them- selves by travel, who, well fraught with the experience of what their own country affords, carry over with them large and thriving talents, as those servants did, commended by our saviour: for he that hath nothing to venture but poor, despica- ble, and solitary parts, may be so far from improvement, as he hazards quite to lose and bury them in the external levity of [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m rebated, no less than your charge of diet defrayed; inconsiderable in such a retinue as persons of their magnitude are forced to entertain. or if your genius, tempted by profit, incline to the life of a merchant, you have the law of nations, and articles of a recip- rocal amity, to protect you from other in- conveniences, than such as indiscretion draws upon rash and unadvised strangers. now if it be your fortune, on any such like accounts to leave your native country, take these directions from a father, wearied, and therefore possibly made wiser, by ex- perience. let not the irreligion of any place breed in you a neglect of divine duties; remem- bering god heard the prayers of daniel in babylon, with the same attention he gave to david in sion. shun all disputes, but concerning re- [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m ligion especially; because that which com- mands in chief, though false and erron- eous, will, like a cock on his own dung- hill, line her arguments with force, and drive the stranger out of the pit with in- significant clamours. all opinions, not made natural by complexion, or imperious education, being equally ridiculous to those of contrary tenets. though it may suit no less with your years, than mine that advise you, to follow such fashions in apparel, as are in use as well at home as abroad, those being least gazed on that go as most men do; yet it cannot be justified before the face of dis- cretion, or the charity due to your own countrymen, to esteem no doublet well made, nor glove worth wearing, that hath not passed the hands of a french tailor, or retains not the scent of a spanish per- fumer. a vanity found incident to eng- [ o j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m land, and the people our ordinary account reckons east of us; a strong presumption, the last arrived within the pale of civility, else they would be more confident of their own inventions, had they not still fresh in memory, from whence they derived the arts of building, clothing, behaviour, etc. a fancy, though foolish, yet easier excused, did it not ascend to the more rare and use- ful endowments of the mind, so far as to put a miraculous estimation upon the writings of strangers, and a base alloy on better of their own. so he that beyond sea frequents his own countrymen, forgets the principal part of his errand, language; and possibly the op- portunity to get experience how to manage his expense ; frugality being of none so perfectly learned, as of the italian and scot; natural to the first, and as necessary to the latter. the english also are ob- [ | p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m served abroad more quarrelsome with their own nation than strangers, and therefore marked out as the most dangerous companions. an injury in foreign air is cheaper passed over than revenged, the endeavour of which hath, not seldom, drawn on a greater. play is destructive and fatal to estates everywhere, but to the persons of game- sters abroad, rendering them the objects of cheating and quarrels; all bystanders being apt to attest to the prejudice of a stranger. where you never mean to return, ex- tend your liberality at the first coming, as you see convenient, during your abodes; for what you give at parting is quite lost. make no ostentation of carrying any considerable sum of money about you; lest you turn that to your destruction, [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m which under god is a stranger's best preservation: and remove not from place to place, but with company you know : the not observing whereof is the cause of so many of our countrymen’s graves never being known, having been buried in as much obscurity as killed. inns are dangerous, and so are all fresh acquaintance, especially where you find their offer of friendship to outbid a stranger's desert: the same may be said of servants; not to be entertained upon ordinary com- mendations. next to experience, languages are the richest lading of a traveller; among which french is most useful, italian and spanish not being so fruitful in learning (except for the mathematics and romances), their other books being mutilated by the fathers of the inquisition. gover nment.—contract not the com- [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m mon distemper, incident to vulgar brains, who still imagine more ease from some untried government, than that they lie under; not having passed the first form of experience, where we may learn, that tyranny is natural to power. if happy for the present, it is no better than madness to endeavour a change; if but indifferently well, folly: for though a vessel may yield the more for tilting or stirring, it renders all in it unpleasant to the present use: the die of war seldom turning to their advantage, that first cast it; such therefore as cannot make all well, discharge their conscience in wishing it so; government being the care of provi- dence, not mine. but if it be your for- tune to fall under such commotions, imi- tate not the wild irish or welsh, who during the eclipses, run about beating ket- tles and pans, thinking their clamour and [ p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m vexations available to the assistance of the higher orbs, though they advance nothing but their own miseries, being often maimed, but at best laid by, without respect or reward, so soon as the state is returned to its former splendour: common soldiers resembling cocks, that fight for the benefit and ambition of others, more than their own: this proves it the whole- somer counsel, to stay within doors, and avoid such malignant effects, as people at- tribute to the supposed distempers of the superior planets. but if forced to take a stream, let it be that which leads to the desires of the metropolis, the chief city being for the most part preserved, who ever prevails in a civil commotion, abound- ing in money and friends, the readiest commodities to purchase quiet. be not the pen or mouth of a multitude congregated by the jingling of their fetters; [ ) pract to altwtsdom lest a pardon or a compliance knock them off, and leave you, as the soul of that de- formed body, hanging in the hell of the law, or to the vengeance of an exasperated power; but rather have patience and see the tree sufficiently shaken, before you run to scramble for the fruit; lest instead of profit and honour, you meet with a cudgel or a stone; and then, if possible, seem to fall in rather out of compulsion, than de- sign; since the zeal of the rabble is not so soon heated by the real oppressions of their rulers, but may be easily cooled by the specious promises and breath of au- thority. wherefore nurse not ambition with your own blood, nor think the wind of honour strong enough to blow away the reproachful sense of a shameful, if possibly that of a violent death; for if solomon’s rule be true, that a living dog is better than a dead lion, a quick evasion [ j p r a ct i c a l w sd o m cannot but be deemed more man-like than a buried valour. a multitude inflamed under a religious pretence, are at first as unsafely opposed, as joined with ; resembling bears exasper- ated by the cry of their whelps, and do not seldom, if unextinguished by hope or delays, consume all before them, to the very thing they intend to preserve: zeal, like the rod of moses, devouring all for diabolical, that dares but appear before it in the same shape: the inconsiderate rab- ble, with the swine in the gospel, being more furiously agitated by the discontented spirits of others, than their own; who cannot be so happy in a sea of blood and devastation, the dire effects of war, as in peace, though invaded with some oppres- sion; a scab that breaks out oftentimes in the most wholesome constituted bodies of states, and may with less smart be con- [ ) p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m head of the baptist the frolic to a feast. own the power, but not the fault of the magistrate: nor make law, assigned for a buckler to defend yourself, a sword to hurt others; lest partiality should allure you to pass the sentence of approbation upon any thing unwarrantable in its own nature. neither let any formalities used at a mimical tribunal (as that was, set up in the case of naboth) persuade you to more than a passive compliance: since such may seem to make greater, rather than diminish the wages of their iniquity, that seek to cover rapine with a gown; which the sword might patronise with more decency: and this observed, the people might cheaper receive all their in- jury at the first hand, which these retailers of wickedness utter at more intolerable rates: the result of all is, ahab might better have committed murder single, than [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m render so many accessory, under the formal pretence of a religious fast, etc. before you fix, consult all the objections discretion is able to make ; but once re- solved desert not your party upon access of a fever, as many melancholy spirits did these wars; who, by their often and un- seasonable flittings, wore themselves so out on both sides, as they were not worth owning, when success undertook for them, that they did turn in earnest: irresolution rendering pardon more difficult from either faction, than it could have proved, had they remained constant to any : divesting themselves of the ensigns of fidelity, looked upon by all with the eyes of pity, and which often meet with honour, seldom fail of forgiveness, from a noble enemy, who cannot but befriend virtue, though he hath found it in arms against him. yet if you perceive the post you have con- [ | p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m tracted, to totter, through undermining treachery or weakness, you may purchase your preservation by all honest endeavors; for he that prolongs his life by the for- feiture of a trust he has undertaken, hus- bands it worse than if he buried it in the field of honour, traitors in all ages being equally detested on both sides. think it no disparagement to your birth or discretion to give honour to fresh fam- ilies, who cannot be denied to have as- cended by the same steps those did we style ancient, new being a term only respecting us, not the world; for what is was before us, and will be when we are no more : war follows peace, and peace war, as summer doth winter, and foul weather fair: neither are any ground more in this mill of vicissitudes, than such obstinate fools as glory in the repute of state-mar- tyrs after they are dead, which concerns [ ] p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m them less than what was said one hundred years before they were born, it being the greatest odds their names shall not be registered, or if they be, after death, they are no more sensible of the honour, than alexander’s great horse, or any beast else, his master's indulgence or the writer’s are pleased to record. neither, in a strict sense, do they deserve such honour for being able to date their possessions from before the conquest, since, if any be due, it wholly belongs to them that were buried in the ruins of their country’s liberty, and not to such as helped to make their graves, as in all likelihood most did whom the normans suffered to remain. therefore, it is madness to place our felicity out of our own reach, or to measure honour or repute by any other standard than the opinion we conceive of it ourselves, it being impossible to find a general agree- [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m ment in any good or evil report, the reign of queen elizabeth being no less traduced, than that of richard the third is justified. be not, therefore, liquorish after fame, found by experience to carry a trumpet, that doth for the most part congregate more enemies than friends. if you duly consider the inconstancy of common applause, and how many have had their fame broken upon the same wheel that raised it, and puffed out by their breath that kindled the first report of it, you would be as little elevated with the smiles as dejected by the frowns of this gaudy goddess, formed, like venus, out of no more solid matter than the foam of the people, found by experience to have pois- oned more than ever she cured; being so volatile, as she is unable of fixation in the richest jewels of nature, virtue, or grace; the composition of that body wholly con- [ ] p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m not easy to be discerned whether the re- quest or denial were most decent. do not hackney out your promise to the full stage of desire, lest, tiring in per- formance, and becoming a bankrupt in power, you forfeit repute, and purchase certain enemies for uncertain friends. yet when the suffrages of many, in relation to your particular profit, are to be purchased, wise men's practice hath proved it no in- discretion to be lavish in this kind; where the dishonour of non-performance with others is quite buried in the greater benefit accruing to yourself, it being as ordinary for hope to exceed modesty in asking, as an engaged power comes short of the ability, if not the will, to perform: therefore, in this case, you must supply with thanks what you are not able to do in effect. be not nice in assisting, with the ad- vantages nature or art may have given you, [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m such as want them, who do not seldom in exchange part with those of fortune to such as can manage their advice well, as they only do that never give counsel till called, nor continue it longer than they find it acceptable. if one in power ask your advice in a business of consequence, it may appear rashness, if not folly, to answer suddenly upon the place, it not being impossible but that the design of his question may as well be to try your sufficiency, as to strengthen his own. however, so much time as may be borrowed with safety from the emergency of any occasion, is likelier to increase than abate the weight of a re- sult, and in this interim you may gain leisure to discover what resolution suits best the mind of the party, who is com- monly gratified most by such as comply nearest with his own judgment, which it [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m - is ever wisdom to observe, where all the counsels given are indifferent. nor will it savour of so much respect to his person, or care of his affairs, to determine extem- pore, as upon premeditation, it being the custom of great ones to value things, not proportionable to their worth, but the sweat and time they cost. it is not safe for a secretary to mend the copy his master hath set him, unless owned as from his former inspirations, lest he should grow jealous that you valued your conceptions before his, who measures his sufficiency by the altitude of his em- ployment, not the depths of his natural parts. this made the lord chancellor egerton the willinger to exchange incom- parable doctor d. for the less sufficient, though in this more modest, mr. t. b. but in case his affairs be wholly left to your management, you must not only look [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m to correspond for his miscarriages, but as obstinately renounce any honour that may be given you to his prejudice, imputing all to his single sufficiency, yourself owning no higher place than that of the execu- tioner of his commands; for though many great men, like properties or puppets, are managed by their servants, yet such are most dear to them, as can so carry their hand in their actings, that they make them appear less fools than in truth they are— easily done, by giving them the honour to concede or deny in public, without inter- posing any other arguments against it than may become the mouth of a servant, how- ever you may order him in private. court him always you hope one day to make use of, but at the least expense you can, observing the condition of men in power, to esteem better of such as they have done courtesies for, than those they have [ j p rta cttgate w i s d o m avoid in your pleadings such unneces- sary digressions as some of the long-robe do ordinarily make from the merit of the cause to the defamation of the contrary party; a quicksand wherein coke, that leviathan of the law, mired his repute: nor could he divest this vanity after he was made a judge : from which height it cast him to the hazard of his neck, had not the soft nature of king james broke his fall. nor doth the antiquity of it plead a better excuse, than that he retained the effeminate and weaker part, leaving the roman elegancy unimitated. at a conference, to speak last is no small advantage, as mr. john hampden wisely observed, who made himself still the goal-keeper of his party, giving his opposite leisure to lose their reasons in the loud and less significant tempest, com- monly arising upon a first debate; in [ ioo j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m which, if he found his side worsted, he had the dexterous sagacity to mount the argu- ment above the heads of the major part, whose single reason did not seldom make the whole parliament so far suspicious of their own, as to approve his, or at least give time for another debate, by which he had the opportunity to muster up more forces; thus, by confounding the weaker, and tiring out the acuter judgments, he seldom failed to attain his ends. if you be to vote in any public assem- bly, avoid as much as you may, giving concession under your hand to any private man’s written opinions; for you cannot, without experiment, believe how much your own judgment will be altered, and , how crude your former reasons will appear to yourself, after they are ruminated and digested by debate. having since these wars been admitted [ ioi j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m to councils, where many of no great ca- pacity have assisted, i never knew any thing come so exactly framed out of one man's sense, that did not receive a palpa- ble amendment from the debates of some- times much inferior judgments. nay, i have known some that have had the for- tune to start the idea, which, when it hath been presented to them again in a perfect result, have not been able to see the bottom of the wisdom of it, without much difficulty and admiration: neither is this miraculous, but natural; for the ful- ler, dyer, weaver, etc., understand not each other's trades, yet between them all a good piece of cloth is made. before i came to have leisure to observe them, i thought princes and ministers of state something above human—not hear- ing a word fall from them upon which i did not put a politic construction; but [io j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m growing more familiar with them, i found their discourses mingled with the same follies ours are, and their domestical affairs carried on with as little, if not less discretion sometimes than ordinary men’s. he that seeks perfection on earth leaves nothing new for the saints to find in heaven ; for whilst men teach, there will be mistakes in divinity; and as long as no other govern, errors in the state: there- fore be not liquorish after change, lest you muddy your present felicity with a future greater, and more sharp inconvenience. religion.—read the book of god with reverence, and in things doubtful take fixation from the authority of the church, which cannot be arraigned of a damnable error, without questioning that truth, which hath proclaimed her proof against the gates of hell. this makes me [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m wish that our samsons in success, who have stripped her of her ornaments (riches, powers and honours, which the ancient piety left her to cover her nakedness withal), and given them to vain expounders of riddles, may not one day have cause to repent, when they find themselves an- noyed, no less than the eyes of truth put out by the dust and rubbish the fall of so great and antique a frame is likely to make. therefore be content to see your judgment wade rather than swim in the sense or the scriptures, because our deep plungers have been observed to bring up sandy assertions, and their heads wrapt about with the venomous weeds of error . and schism, which may for the present discountenance the endeavours of modester learning, yet will, no doubt, sink and van- ish, after some time and experience had of their frequent mistakes, as those of our [ioa j practicaltwtsdom bold expositors of the revelation have most shamefully done. despise not a profession of holiness, because it may be true; but have a care how you trust it, for fear it should be false: the coat of christ being more in fashion than in practice, many pulpit-men, like physicians, forbidding their patients that you may ordinarily find on their own trenchers. i can approve of none for magisterial divinity, but that which is found floating in the unquestioned sense of the scriptures; therefore, when cast upon a place that seems equally inclined to different opinions, i would advise to count it as bowlers do for dead to the present understanding, and not to torture the text by measuring every nicety, but rather turn to one more plain, referring to that all disputes, without knocking one hard place against another, [ ios ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m as they have done since this iron age, till an unquenchable fire of contention is kindled, and so many jarring and uncertain sounds of religion heard, as men stand amazed, not knowing which to follow—all pretending to be in the right, as if it were possible for truth to contradict herself. and yet it was no unhappy rencontre in him that said, “a good religion might be composed out of the papists’ “charity,” the puritans’ “words,” and the protestants’ “faith.” for where works are thought too chargeable, outward profession too cumbersome, the third renders itself sus- pected; the two first being only palpable to sense and reason, stand firm like a rock; whereas the other shakes under the weight of every fancy, as peter did when he walked upon the sea: to speak english, in good works none can be deceived but the doer, in valuing them too high; in the [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m two latter, all but god, who only knows the heart. religions do not naturally differ so much in themselves, as fiery and uncharitable men pretend, who do not seldom persecute those of their own creed, because they profess it in other terms. then do not only ask thy conscience what is truth but give her full leisure to resolve thee; for he that goes out of the way with her consent, is likelier to find rest, than he that plods on without taking her directions. therefore do nothing against the coun- sel of this guide, though she is observed in the world to render her owners obnoxious to the injury and deceit of all that con- verse without her; nothing being more hard and chargeable to keep than a good conscience. let no seeming opportunity prevail so far upon your curiosity, as to entice you [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m to an inspection into your future fortune, since such inquisitiveness was never an- swered with good success; the world, like a lottery, affording multitudes of crosses for one prize, which reduced all into a sum, must, by a necessary consequence, render the remainder of life tedious, in re- moving present felicities, to make room for the contemplations of future miseries. do not pre-engage hope or fear by a tedious expectation, which may lessen the pleasure of the first, yet cannot but ag- gravate the weight of the latter, whose arrival is commonly with a less train of inconveniences, than this harbinger strives to take up room for; evil fortune being no less inconstant than good: therefore render not thyself giddy, by poring on despair, nor wanton with the contempla- tion of hope. stamp not the impress of a divine ven- [ | p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m geance upon the death or misfortunes of others, though never so prodigious, for fear of penning a satire against yourself, in case you should fall under the same chance: many things being taken up as dropped out of an immediate celestial hand, that fell from no higher pitch than where god in his providence hath placed such events, as wait upon all times and occasions, which prayers and prudence are not able always to shroud you from ; since upon a strict inquiry, it may appear, that in relation to this world, the godly have as little cause to brag, as the wicked to complain. conclusion.—bear always a filial rev- erence to your dear mother, and let not her old age, if she attain it, seem tedious unto you ; since the little she may keep from you, will be abundantly recompensed, not only by the prayers, and by the tender [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m care she hath, and ever will have of you; therefore in case of my death (which weariness of this world will not suffer me to adjourn, so much as by a wish), do not proportion your respect by the mode of other sons, but to the greatness of her desert, beyond requital in relation to us both. continue in love and amity with your sister, and in case of need, help her what you are able; remembering, you are of a piece, and hers and yours differ but in name; which i presume, upon want of issue, will not be denied to be imposed on any child of hers, you shall desire to take for your own. let no time expunge his memory that gave you the first tincture of erudition; to which he was more invited by love than profit, no less than his incomparable wife: therefore if god make able, requite them, ii iol practical w tsdom and in the meanwhile register their names among those you stand most obliged to. what you leave at your death, let it be without controversy; else the lawyers will be your heirs. be not solicitous after pomp at my burial, nor use any expensive funeral cere- mony; by which mourners, like crows, devour the living under pretence of hon- ouring a dead carcase: neither can i ap- prehend a tombstone to add so great a weight of glory to the dead, as it doth of charge and trouble to the living; none being so impertinent wasters, in my opin- ion, as those that build houses for the dead : he that lies under the hearse of heaven is convertible into sweet herbs and flowers, that may rest in such bosoms, as would shriek at the ugly bugs, that may possibly be found crawling in the magnifi- cent tomb of henry the seventh; which [ i i i p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m also hinders the variety of such contingent resurrections as unarched bodies enjoy, without giving interruption to that, which he that will not again die, hath promised to such as love him and expect his ap- pearing. besides, that man were better forgotten, who hath nothing of greater moment to register his name by than a grave. neither can i apprehend such horror in death, as some do that render their lives miserable to avoid it, meeting it oftentimes by the same way they take to shun it. death, if he may be guessed at by his elder brother sleep (born before he was thought on, and fell upon adam ere he fell from his maker), cannot be so terrible a messenger, being not without much ease, if not some voluptuousness. be- sides nothing in this world is worth com- ing from the house-top to fetch it, much : [ | p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m less from the deep grave; furnished with all things, because empty of desires. and concerning a future account, i find the bill to swell rather than shrink, by continuance; or if a stronger propensity to religion resides in age, than youth (which i wish i had no cause to doubt of), it relates more to the temperature of the body, than an improvement of the mind; and so unworthy of any other reward, than what is due to the effects of human infirmities. to conclude, let us serve god with what reverence we are able, and do all the good we can, making as little unnecessary work for repentance as is possible: and the mercy of our heavenly father supply all our defects in the son of his love. amen. [ | p r a ct i c a l w sd o m or that thou shouldst have cause to derive thy whole felicity and welfare rather from others than from whence thou receivedst thy breath and being; i think it fit and agreeable to the affection i bear thee, to help thee with such rules and advertise- ments for the squaring of thy life, as are rather gained by experience than by much reading. to the end, that entering into this exorbitant age, thou mayest be the better prepared to shun those scandalous courses whereunto the world, and the lack of experience, may easily draw thee. and because i will not confound thy memory, i have reduced them into ten precepts; and, next unto moses’ tables, if thou im- print them in thy mind, thou shalt reap the benefit, and i the content. and they are these following:— i. when it shall please god to bring thee to man’s estate, use great providence [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m plentiful than sparing, but not costly. for i never knew any man grow poor by keeping an orderly table. but some con- sume themselves through secret vices, and their hospitality bears the blame. but banish swinish drunkards out of thine house, which is a vice impairing health, consuming much, and makes no show. i never heard praise ascribed to the drunk- ard, but the well-bearing his drink; which is a better commendation for a brewer’s horse or a drayman, than for either a gen- tleman, or a serving-man. beware thou spend not above three of four parts of thy revenues; nor above a third part of that in thy house. for the other two parts will do no more than defray thy extraor- dinaries, which always surmount the ordin- ary by much : otherwise thou shalt live, like a rich beggar, in continual want. and the needy man can never live happily nor [ o j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m inclinations. marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry themselves. and suffer not thy sons to pass the alps, for they shall learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. and if by travel they get a few broken languages, that shall profit them nothing more than to have one meat served in divers dishes. neither, by my consent, shalt thou train them up in wars; for he that sets up his rest to live by that profession, can hardly be an honest man, or a good christian. besides it is a science no longer in request than use. for soldiers in peace, are like chimneys in summer. iii. live not in the country without corn and cattle about thee. for he that putteth his hand to the purse for every expense of household is like him that keep- eth water in a sieve. and what provision thou shalt want, learn to buy it at the best [ j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m hand. for there is one penny saved in four, betwixt buying in thy need, and when the markets and seasons serve fittest for it. be not served with kinsmen, or friends, or men entreated to stay; for they expect much, and do little ; nor with such as are amorous, for their heads are intoxicated. and keep rather two too few, than one too many. feed them well, and pay them the most ; and then thou mayest boldly require service at their hands. iv. let thy kindred and allies be wel- come to thy house and table. grace them with thy countenance, and farther them in all honest actions. for by this means, thou shalt so double the band of nature, as thou shalt find them so many advocates to plead an apology for thee behind thy back. but shake off those gldw-worms, i mean parasites and sycophants, who will feed and fawn upon thee in the summer of [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m prosperity; but, in an adverse storm, they will shelter thee no more than an arbour in winter. v. beware of suretyship for thy best friends. he that payeth another man's debt, seeketh his own decay. but if thou canst not otherwise choose, rather lend thy money thyself upon good bonds, although thou borrow it. so shalt thou secure thy- self, and pleasure thy friend. neither borrow money of a neighbour or a friend, but of a stranger; where, paying for it, thou shalt hear no more of it. otherwise thou shalt eclipse thy credit, lose thy freedom, and yet pay as dear as to another. but in borrowing of money, be precious of thy word; for he that hath care of keeping days of payment, is lord of another man’s purse. vi. undertake no suit against a poor man, even with receiving much wrong: for besides that thou makest him thy ii j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m compeer, it is a base conquest to triumph where there is small resistance. neither attempt law against any man, before thou be fully resolved that thou hast right on thy side and then spare not for either money or pains. for a cause or two so followed and obtained, will free thee from suits a great part of thy life. vii. be sure to keep some great man thy friend, but trouble him not for trifles. compliment him often with many, yet small gifts, and of little charge. and if thou hast cause to bestow any great gratu- ity, let it be something which may be daily in sight. otherwise, in this am- bitious age, thou shalt remain like a hop without a pole, live in obscurity, and be made a football for every insulting com- panion to spurn at. viii. towards thy superiors be hum- ble, yet generous. with thine equals, [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m | familiar, yet respective. towards thine inferiors show much humanity and some familiarity; as to bow the body, stretch forth the hand, and to uncover the head, with such like popular compliments. the first prepares thy way to advancement. the second makes thee known for a man well bred. the third gains a good re- port; which, once got, is easily kept. for right humanity takes such deep root in the minds of the multitude, as they are more easily gained by unprofitable cour- tesies than by churlish benefits. yet i advise thee not to affect or neglect popu- larity too much. seek not to be essex: shun to be raleigh. - ix. trust not any man with thy life, credit, or estate. for it is mere folly for a man to enthral himself to his friend, as though, occasion being offered, he should not dare to become an enemy. [i j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m x. be not scurrilous in conversation, nor satirical in thy jests. the one will make thee unwelcome to all company; the other pull on quarrels, and get thee hated of thy best friends. for suspicious jests, when any of them savour of truth, leave a bitterness in the minds of those which are touched. and, albeit i have already pointed at this inclusively; yet i think it necessary to leave it to thee as a special caution ; because i have seen many so prone to quip and gird, as they would rather lose their friend than their jest. and if perchance their boiling brain yield a quaint scoff, they will travail to be delivered of it as a woman with child. these nimble fancies are but the froth of wit. [ lt sir matthew hale’s nad- vice to his grand- children ~~ ~~~~ - - - - - - ) ) ) ---æ***æ, æ-- p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m sir matthew hale’s ad- vice to his grand- children *ya oncerning company, and the choice of it.-there is a certain magic or charm in company, for it will assimilate, and make you like to them, by much conversation with them; if they be good company, it is a great means to make you good, or confirm you in good- ness; but if they be bad, it is twenty to one but they will infect and corrupt you. and therefore you must have a special care in the choice of your company, es- pecially when you come abroad in the world, to oxford, or the inns of court; for you must know that when a young gentleman or gentlewoman, especially if [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m he or she have an estate or fortune, comes abroad in the world, especially to the inns of court, or oxford, there are a sort of beasts of prey that lie in wait for them, as wolves and foxes lie in wait for young lambs, namely, a sort of necessitous and indigent sharks, gamesters, drinkers, and debauched persons; and these will attack you under forty disguises, if you be not aware of them, and will confound you; and therefore i must needs again and again give you warning hereof: for these are a sort of harpies and ravens, that pur- sue your very life, or at least your estates and reputations, and yet many times under pretence of love and kindness. first.—therefore be very wary and shy in choosing, and entertaining, or fre- quenting any company or companions; be not too hasty in committing yourself to them : stand off awhile till you have in- [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m quired of some that you know by experi- ence to be faithful, what they are; observe what company they keep ; be not too easy to gain acquaintance, but stand off and keep a distance yet awhile, till you have observed and learnt touching them. men or women that are greedy of ac- quaintance, or hasty in it, are oftentimes snared in ill company before they are aware, and entangled so that they cannot easily get loose from it after when they would. when you are sent to oxford, you will be put under a tutor that is able to advise you. the first thing i shall do with you, if i live to send you to the inns of court, is to inquire and find out some person with whose acquaintance i dare trust you; - a man of discretion, fidelity, and prudence. before you entertain any new acquaint- ance in the university, advise with your [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m tutor, whether he thinks him fit for you, and the like you are to do with that per- son that i shall commend you to, when you come to the inns of court. for they having more experience, and more oppor- tunity to satisfy themselves therein, than you can have, will be able better to advise you in the choice of your company than you can yourselves. secondly.—do not choose for your friends and familiar acquaintance those that are of an estate or quality too much above yours. the inconveniences thereof are these. you will hereby accustom yourselves to live after their rate in clothes, in habit, and in expenses, whereby you will learn a fashion and rank of life above your degree and estate, which will in the end be your undoing. or, if you live not up to their rate of clothes, diet, or ex- pense, you shall be despised both by them [ p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m ‘and others; so that which way soever you take, you shall be a fool, or be esteemed so by all that observe you. therefore give all persons of higher rank or greater estate than yourselves all due respect; but make not choice of such for your intimate acquaintance, or daily companions. thirdly.—on the other side, consort not with beggary, base or necessitous companions; for these will be both to your discredit and disprofit; for it is a thousand to one but they will make a prey of you. it is true, they will flatter you, and give you goodly titles (esquire at the least); they will set you up at the upper end of the table; but the design all the while is to shark upon you, to make you pay their reckonings, and supply their wants. indeed you shall be honoured by them, in outward appearance, as the best man in the company, but you must pay [ | p r a ct i c a l w s d o m in that company that committed it, you can neither avoid the suspicion of being a partner in it, but you must be put upon your trial to clear yourself. these are the common and necessary inconveniences of such company; and the only way to avoid these and the like inconveniences, is wholly to avoid such company. fifthly.—and what i have said con- cerning your quarrelsome company, i say concerning intemperate drinkers, or de- bauched companions: you must avoid them, as you will avoid the company of him that is infected with the plague, and the reasons of it are these that follow. it is a thousand to one but they will corrupt you into the same quality and ill condition with themselves: there is a kind of magic or witchcraft in evil company, that makes others like themselves. they will use all the tricks and artifices imaginable to make [ j ** º * p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m to commit it. the places of judicature which i have long held in this kingdom, have given me opportunity to observe the original cause of most of the enormities that have been committed for the space of near twenty years; and by a due observa- tion i have found, that if the murders and manslaughters, the burglaries and robber- ies, the riots and tumults, the adulteries, fornications, rapes, and other great enor- mities, that have happened in that time, were divided into five parts, four of them have been the issues and product of ex- cessive drinking at taverns, or alehouse meetings. therefore, if you meet any person given to excess of drinking, if he invite you to go to a tavern or alehouse, or any such house of disorder, or if he be- gin to set you, or any else, into a posture of drinking, remember that your grand- father tells you such a person is not for [ ol p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m - tion, and example, will habituate you to virtue, wisdom, and goodness, as much and oftentimes much more than a man’s own reading and observation. such a con- versation makes your time as profitably spent in their company as at your book, and will confirm and establish you in ways of piety and virtue. i have observed among young men, that possibly are not vicious nor given to any ill course, the kinds of choice of company. some affect such company as are younger than themselves, and are such as have less learning, prudence, or understanding, than they themselves have ; and this they do, not so much to inform and better them, for then it is a worthy design, but out of a natural desire to be the best, and the wis- est, and the learnedest in the company they choose, and to overmatch any of them therein. but this is, though a harm- [ l p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m less, yet an imprudent choice of company; for such a man shall never advance much in knowledge, wisdom, or goodness, that converseth only with such as are no pro- ficients therein. there be that choose such for their companions, that are equals in age, and parts, or education, to them; and this is a much better choice than the former; because natural emulation in equals many times advanceth learning and wisdom, and goodness, especially if there be a wise inspector and superintendent to all the company; and besides, equality of age and education seems a common natural invitation to consortship and ac- quaintance, and therefore it is by no means wholly to be condemned, but rather much to be cherished, if they are no otherwise than good and virtuous. again, there be others that neither disdain the company of inferiors either in age or parts, nor decline [ l p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m eligible company that exceed you in age, learning, and experience, and choose out of that number a person for your principal confidant, and intimate acquaintance, still taking care that he be a sober, pious, and virtuous man. eighthly.—you must take notice that there is a great difference to be made be- tween these three—namely, an acquaint- ance, a companion, an intimate friend. for i may choose such a man for my acquaintance, which yet i would not choose to make my ordinary companion; and such a man for my ordinary companion, which yet i would not make my choice and intimate friend; so that such a friend- ship is of a narrower consideration than an ordinary companion, and such a com- panion is of a narrower consideration than an acquaintance. therefore, although i would not have you too hasty in being [ pract to altwº tsdom acquainted, nor yet to multiply your ac- quaintance too much, for that may be troublesome, chargeable, and inconvenient to you; and although in the choice of your acquaintance, i would have you avoid all such kind of persons as i have before in this chapter warned you to forbear, yet i cannot advise you better, especially when you come to some ripeness of age, than to propound to you that course, which i knew an excellent person to observe, who, though he made choice of few ordinary companions, and fewer intimate friends, yet did single out some for acquaintance, that might be useful to him in all the con- cerns and instances of his life: he selected such or such a person for his physician or . apothecary ; such or such a person for his lawyer or attorney: such a person for ad- vice or assistance in building, surveying, planting, husbandry and the like ; and in [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m this used a great deal of prudence in his choice; and as any occasions offered themselves, so he applied severally to those men for their assistance, and was not to seek for advice or assistance upon any such emergency: and of these, as he made his choice with great consideration and prudence, so he rarely changed those he had thus chosen for their assistance upon variety of occasions. and this may be convenient to be done by any man of estate and business in the world. concerning your carriage to your inferiors, superiors, and equals.— before i shall fall to particulars, i shall spend a few words in general, touching your carriage to all men. first.—you must know, that there is no person that lives, but may, at some time or other, have occasion to make use of another's help and assistance or kind- [ j practical wis dom to do you a mischief; and therefore it will be your wisdom to oblige as many as you can, without detriment to yourself, and to disoblige none without great necessity. esop's fables, though they seem but light and trivial, yet many of them contain ex- cellent morals; i shall mention two to this purpose. a little ant being fallen into the water, and like to be drowned, a pigeon flying by, and observing the ant’s extremity, let fall a little branch into the water to relieve the ant, upon which she got, and so saved herself and got to the land. a short time after, a fowler aimed to shoot the pigeon : the little ant being near at hand, and re- membering the kindness the pigeon had showed her, and observing the design of the fowler, bit him by the foot, whereby the fowler lost his aim and the pigeon escaped. [i ol p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m again he tells us, that a lion sleeping in the forest, a little mouse running up and down awakened and so angered the lion, that the lion in a rage clapped his paw upon the mouse, intending to have crushed him : the fable tells us the mouse entreated the lion to spare him; for, said he, if thou kill me, it is but an inglorious act for a lion to kill a mouse, but if thou spare me, it is possible it may be to thy advantage; the lion thereupon let him go. shortly after the lion was taken in a net that the hunters laid for him, and could by no means extricate himself; but the mouse passing by, and remembering the former kindness of the lion, bit asunder the threads of the net, and so delivered the lion. the fables show us these few observa- bles: that many times small and incon- siderable instruments may procure great [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m or give him more than a man is able; for as touching such i shall give you a caution hereafter; but i speak of those ordinary, easy, familiar kindnesses and respects, which may be performed without any con- siderable damage to yourself. and in showing of these kindnesses, i would have you perform them cheerfully and readily, and they will oblige the more. it is a true saying of old sir francis bacon, that for the most part, men are more taken with unprofitable courtesies than with churlish benefits. fourthly.—there is no one thing in the world that doth make a man more enemies, or doth disoblige more, than a proud and haughty carriage; it is a thing that gives a general distaste to all man- kind, and to all dispositions; to poor and to rich, to great and to small, to them that are humble, and to them that are proud as * [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m they ; and as it makes a man many ene- mies, so it gives his enemies a great ad- vantage against him, it makes a man ridic- ulous, and exposeth a man not only to hazard, but also to contempt and scorn. . on the other hand, a decent yet humble deportment, especially in a man of worth, place, and estate, makes almost every man his friend; but certainly it makes no man his enemy. therefore in all your deportment and carriage, avoid pride, haughtiness, arro- gancy, contempt of others; and let your carriage be gentle, courteous, and with a decent and becoming humility to all men. it is true, the demonstration of humility is not of one and the same standard or measure unto persons of differing qualities; namely, to superiors and inferiors. a man of a truly humble spirit and humble car- riage is not bound to show the same ex- [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m ternal tokens of respect to a beggar as to a prince ; to a servant, as to his master: but still there must be a real humility, and perfect avoiding of pride in every instance; though the external demonstration of that humility may, and must be varied, accord- ing to the variety of the condition of the person whom it concerns. i stand bare in the presence-chamber of the king; but i do not so in the presence-chamber of a lord. i stand bare to a great man, i put off my hat only to an equal, but i do neither to one that begs an alms of me; yet i may in all use the same humility of mind, and also of deportment, though under a different ceremony and external gesture. custom hath made a difference, and so may an humble man, and yet still be the same humble man in all those dif- fering external postures, and as free from pride, not only in his mind but also in his - - [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m carriage, when he talks with a beggar, as with a prince. and you must take this always along with you as a great truth, that pride, or haughtiness of mind or carriage, is not only displeasing to men, but displeasing to the great god of heaven and earth. i do not in my remembrance find any expres- sion in the holy scriptures, declaring so much indignation of the glorious god against any one sin, as against pride. ‘surely he scorneth the scorners, but he giveth grace unto the lowly ’: which text is rendered by st. james and by st. peter, “god resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.” the god of heaven sets himself against the proud, to abase and bring them down. a proud man hath the great god of heaven and earth for his enemy and opposer: and no man, no prince, no angel, can bear up against his [ | p r a ct i c a l w sd o m opposition, which will most certainly overmatch him. the short of all this general direction is this: i would have you have but few intimate familiar friends in whom you repose, especially, trust and confidence; but yet have as many friends at large as you can, and as few enemies, and order your conversation accordingly. now as to the particular directions. and first, in relation to your inferiors. avoid in an especial manner all con- tentions, as much as you can, with in- feriors; rather forgive and pass by a small injury than use any revenge, even by court of law or otherwise; for if you pre- vail, you shall gain little by your victory where there is little to make recompense; and you shall be counted an oppressor, or at best, a very hard and cruel man; but if you be worsted, it will cast a very great contempt upon you, to be overmatched by [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m your inferior. but if the case be of such a nature that you are in a manner enforced to repair yourself against an injury com- mitted by your inferior (or indeed by any person); observe that you make not your- self your own judge or avenger, but com- plain to the civil magistrate. when you have gotten the better upon such a com- plaint, do not prosecute an inferior to the utmost extremity, but take a reasonable satisfaction; or if he be very poor, forgive it altogether: you have this great advan- tage by it, that by how much the more it was in your power to use your advantage upon him, by so much the more your mercy and goodness in forgiving him will appear and oblige him to you, and not only make him cautious of injuring you for the future, but also the more ready to serve you in all offices of kindness. overmuch familiarity will make them [ | practtc atwtsdom - by this means they will both fear and love you. never use any words or carriage, that may savour of contumely, reproach, or scorn, to the most inferior persons in the world, no, not to a beggar. if you do not give them an alms, tell them so, but give no reproachful words to the meanest person in the world. in relation to your equals observe these directions: be courteous and respectful to them both in words and gestures; offer them the precedence, and take not place of an equal, unless it be earnestly pressed upon you; for such a small trifle will procure you many friends, and will not abate any thing of your respect. it is a foolish and ridiculous thing for any man or woman to be contending or shuffling for precedence. give it to any, rather than take it against their mind. it will not abate the value that others will have [ p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m of you, and among wise and discreet per- sons it will give you the reputation of a discreet person. in your choice of a companion, rather choose an equal than an inferior or superior. but touching this, i shall say more in the next general head. in relation therefore to superiors. su- periors are in seversl kinds: as superiors in age ; superiors in estates; superiors in authority, as magistrates; superiors in place, as noblemen; superiors in relation, as parents, husbands, masters: and touch- ing your carriage to all superiors, observe these directions. first.—give all due respect and rever- ence to your superiors; as by uncovering the head, making obeisance, giving them the place and precedence, giving them leave to speak before you, not catching the words out of their mouths before they [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m have the better in the suit, yet you make him an implacable enemy, that will be always watching an opportunity to be quits with you, and, one time or other, it is a thousand to one but he will do you a dis- pleasure. therefore let your suit at law, with a man greater or more powerful than yourself, be your last refuge, and that in case of great and extreme necessity. thirdly.—never make a man that is much your superior in wealth or honour your ordinary companion, for the reasons given before in the foregoing chapter. fourthly.—visit your superior at his house sometimes, to testify your respect; but let it be very seldom, and that not at meals, but in an afternoon: for your often visits will be but troublesome; and your visiting at meals, besides other inconven- iences, will draw you into this great one, that you will draw the like inconvenience - [ ) p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m upon yourself, in which if you do not equal his, it will make you ridiculous; and if it do equal his, it will be too chargeable for you to bear. and what i say touching visits of su- periors, i would have you observe as to equals; for one entertainment invites an- other, which if it fall out often, will be not only a perpetual trouble, but an occa- sion of excessive expense. if my friend come to me to eat with me uninvited, he must content himself with welcome, and what he finds; but if it once come to an invitation, the preparation must be more costly than ordinary, or it answers not expectation. fifthly.—and therefore never invite any great man to your house to an enter- tainment; for possibly his ordinary meals are as good as your feast, or better, and then you shall be laughed at for your par- [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m simony; and if you go to exceed, you shall be laughed at for your prodigality; however your purse shall suffer beyond what it is well able to bear. sixthly.—never receive any kindness from any man, either superior or equal, which you are not able to repay without great charge and detriment to yourself; for then you are in very great danger to be made his slave or his enemy: and, many times, great kindnesses from great men are but preambles to some great kindness to be done to them, and if they are disap- pointed therein they become the most bitter enemies. i have oftentimes known, when extraordinary respect and favours or kindnesses are shown from great men to their inferiors, that within a little time after, a message hath been sent, or desire made to be bound for him or to sell him such a parcel of land that lies convenient [ j practical w is dom for him, or to do him such piece of ser- vice as is either unseemly or dangerous; and then the man that received the kind- ness is either so taken or mollified by the kindness received, that he must perform that which is requested; or if he be so hardy as to deny it, the great man becomes his great enemy. therefore be wary how you receive great kindnesses from great men, lest they be attended with an ex- pectation of such services from you, as are either unfit, or unsafe, or inconvenient to be performed by you. seventhly.—it is an excellent rule of sir francis bacon to his son, that if there be occasion for an inferior to make a present to his superior, that it be not too costly, nor such as is in danger to be quickly forgotten; but the present to be small, and such as may have continuance and always in view, as some slight picture, [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m or a staff, or a book: but never present a judge with any thing of what kind soever; for if he be wise and just, he will suspect your business, and reject your present as a bribe; and if he be unjust and receive your present, you may be overcome by your adversary, and so lose your gift and your cause too : and bribery is a base offence, both in the giver and in the taker. and thus much shall serve touching your civil deportment to your inferiors, equals, and superiors. [ j advice of william, earl of bedford, to his sons p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m advice of william, earl of bedford, to his sons *ya gnorance and vice are the usual effects of an unlearned and undis- ciplined education. of my passionate desire to free you and your brother from both these, i suppose i have given you and the world sufficient testimony, sure i am, i have satisfied myself; and you may guess how violent my longings are to ad- vance your piety and understanding, that is, to render you perfect men, in that, death is only displeasing, when i think of dying before i see this my desire accom- plished, or at least so far as my hopes may be greater than my fears: and as death every day makes his approaches nearer and nearer (god knows how soon he will [ || p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m make a long separation between us); and in this other regard too, that whilst i live i shall always be with thee. be this, then, received, either as a legacy for the will of a dying, or the advice of a living father, if it be observed or obeyed in either capacity, i shall think myself neither dead nor ab- sent; i put it into your hands with a prayer, that god will give it his blessing, and then you have mine. it was the wisest saying of the wisest man, the fear of god is the beginning of wisdom. holiness then is the introduc- tion of all wisdom; so it shall be the first of my advice, fear god, and if holiness give knowledge, knowledge will give thee happiness, long life, riches, and honour. length of days is in the right hand of wisdom, and in her left hand are riches and honour, said the wise king: how ex- alted a thing, then, is religion, which is [ p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m the mother of so great blessings, and who will pity thy complaints for the want of any of these, if they be obtained by the pleasure of (that which will also crown thee with heaven) an holy life; be pious, and thou art all these ; fear god, and thou shalt not fear man, or devil, for it will set thee above the reach of fortune, or malice. religion.—for thy religion, distinguish not thyself by, be not factious for, nor serve under any sect whatsoever; be thou a christian, the most pure, certain, noblest worshipper of god of all others. but if thou art pressed to give up thy name to any one profession, inquire after and em- brace that whose principles conduce most to piety, that which comes nearest the doctrine of christ. and in the examina- tion of questions in religion, though i am no divine, yet i dare venture to guide your conscience thus far. be careful still [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m follow it constantly, and be sure to give it honour by your conversation. loyalty.—next to the fear of god, the apostle commands honour to the king, which if it be not the sum of the second table, as the other is of the first, it cannot be denied to be the principal and main pillar thereof. and let me tell thee, if thou dost honour thy father and thy mother, thou canst neither be rebel nor schismatic, disloyal to the sovereign power, or disobedient to the church. duty. to parents.-as for your duty to me, i doubt not but it will grow up with your understanding; and when you know how nice and curious my care hath been over your education, even to the least circumstance, my prying into your inclina- tion, observing the bent of your soul, her very first putting forth, heightening the good, and checking the ill, placing guards [i j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m upon your senses and conversation, not only pointing out the way to virtue, by putting your feet into it, and teaching you to tread it (i speak not of fashioning or adorning your body, for i would not have you to measure my love and care by gay clothes, noble diet, and recreation, though you enjoyed these in some measure); when you come to know and judge of this, i have reason to expect, and therefore may boldly challenge, that if you were to choose a father, you would seek me out. should you now so behave yourself, that as if i were to choose a son, to adopt a gentle- man into my family to inherit my name and fortunes, you only i should pitch upon ; besides the joy of beholding it, i should have a requital even to my wish. nor were it possible for you to die in my debt for your education, if you observe this, with like care to bring up your chil- [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m dren also, if it shall please god to give you that blessing; and because i have an ambition to oblige posterity, i do here charge this duty upon you, that you also lay the like charge upon yours, and they on their children successively. for in- genuous manners first made us noble, marked out and advanced our family first to honour; with equal reason and more facility, will such manners preserve us noble, which is most certainly effected by education, otherwise the estate i leave you will be but as rich trappings upon an ass, and render you more ridiculous : wherefore, whatsoever you leave your heirs (and now i speak to your posterity in you), be sure to give them a learned and liberal education; there being, in my judgment, no other way to secure you from falling from honour, and the despite of fortune. this which i have said con- [ p r a ct i c a l w sd o m cerning your duty to me, is also applicable to the memory of your excellent mother, for a personal observance you cannot pay her. i most strictly charge you often to call to mind, that you and your brother have entered into a solemn engagement unto me, under your hands, to imitate the honours and excellencies of that dear saint, the best of wives, the best of mothers and friends. be religious in the performance of it, as you expect my blessing. re- member she had more pangs in your bringing up, than bringing forth, and she hath been an excellent nurse to your mind, regarding more the health and straitness of that, than of your body, though this were cared for with the greatest tenderness imaginable. the truth is, you owe her so much, that you cannot clear your ob- ligation by any other way; nothing can discharge you, and acquit you to her also, [ ) p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m but by being such to yours, as she has been to you, and thus her memory is hon- oured, and i profess myself satisfied. affection to brothers and sisters. —as for your carriage towards your brothers and sisters, i must need say, that your natural kindness towards them now, gives me great hopes that you will be a loving brother hereafter. and be so, as you expect the blessing of god, and my favour. besides, your interest will require this from you, because a numerous, wealthy, and ancient family, entire, and agreeing within itself with all its depend- ants and relatives, cannot easily be wronged in such a country as this. i know very well how little it can suffer, and how , much it can do; but then it must be as i said, entire. the dying father's bundle of arrows in the fable, has an excellent moral, to show how invincible love and [ | practical w tsdom union are. and that you may rightly un- derstand me, this love of yours to them, must not only be in affectionate words, kind entertainment, and the like, but in a hearty real performance of all good offices that may tend to the advantage of their estates and reputation; study to do them good, and stay not for opportunities of fered, snatch them rather and prevent their wishes. this is a noble way of obliging, and by this means you may make them your friends, a dearer name by far than that of brother or sister, and which, perhaps, may be repaid to yours, though yourself may not need the return; for i must tell you, kind offices have been re- membered when the bestower has been rotten: and a grandchild hath been thanked, sometimes relieved, for the grandfather's kindness: insomuch as the courtesy to your brother may prove a charity to your [ o j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m tect it from abuse. i should say more concerning this, but i refer you to my more secret instructions, where you shall have, god enabling me, a particular of those friends and servants to your family, whose counsels you may follow, and whose service you may trust. you are now setting your foot into the world, but before you place it, look about you, and consider that you can hardly set it but upon a snare, or a thorn, which calls upon you both for care, and courage: with these, take my experience for your guide; and, if you follow not my directions ex- actly, which free you from all danger, yet tread as near as you can, you shall suffer the less ; slip you may, fall you cannot. manners.—i have observed that the greatest mischief to our manners, proceed- eth from a mistake of the nature of things; learn, therefore, first to make a right judg- [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m - ment of things; esteem not a feather, and slight a jewel; know that nothing is beauti- ful, great, or your own, but only virtue and piety; riches are not great revenues, noble houses, money, or plate; but not to want that which is necessary to support a moderate and ingenuous condition: that glory, is to be well spoken of for doing good; honour, a reverence for being vir- tuous ; power and command, an ability to oblige noble persons; nobility, heroic actions, or to be like noble ancestors: generosity, a natural inclination to virtue; health, such a constitution of the body as renders the mind vigorous; beauty, a fair soul lodged in no unhandsome body; strength, not to be weary in virtuous actions; pleasure, those pure, firm, lasting delights, which arise from those things alone which belong to the understanding and soul. all which definitions of things [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m of things, and have kept off the servile yoke which opinion hath laid upon most men, by imposing false names, and gov- erning the world by that cheat, and that you can plainly see a rich man to want those things which he has, and a high content in poverty, discern a great man in all his liberty, chained like a slave to his lusts and idleness, and another free in his fetters: this done, to fit you for conversa- tion, receive these following directions. first, because the eye doth make the first report of the man, and as she tells her tale, so for the most part the presence is liked or disliked, sometimes very unjustly. to avoid prejudice, be sure to put your- self into good fashion; and, without flat- tery, i may tell you, but do not hear it without thankfulness to god, you have a body every way fit to bear a graceful presence, answerable to your rank and [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m quality. but take heed of affectation and singularity, lest you act the nobleman instead of being one. and whether you stand, sit, or move, let it be with such a becoming, pleasing gravity, as that your very behaviour may commend you, and prevail for a good opinion with the be- holder. before you speak, let your mind be full of courtesy; the civility of the hat, a kind look, or a word from a person of honour, has bought that service which money could not. and he that can gain or preserve a friend, and the opinion of civility, for the moving of the hat, or a gentle look, and will not, is sillily severe; spare not to spend that which costs noth- ing; be liberal of them, but be not prodi- gal, lest they become cheap. i remember sir francis bacon calls behaviour the gar- ment of the mind; it is well resembled, and rightly expresses the behaviour i [ p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m various, it is requisite that your abilities be various also. as in all things else, so in this of speech, be a strict observer of decorum. speak not scholastically to a lady, nor courtly to a plain man. and take heed of surfeiting the ears of your hearers, seeing that the best discourse, like sweetmeats, quickly cloys, if it become constant food; and like perpetual music, loses its charms. therefore, still leave your company in an appetite to hear more, baiting them sometimes with short offers, so cunningly as that they may invite you, and press you to speak on ; did i fear in you a poverty of speech, or should you find at any time a slender stock, i should entreat you to a good husbandry; above all things avoid commonplaces, they are fulsome and ridiculous. if your genius leads you, and i hope it does, to affect a pleasantness of wit, this [ j p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m mirth or triumph over a fool, whom to overcome can be no victory, when the contention itself was dishonourable. if you meet with a proud, vain, self-con- ceited man, it may become you well to put such a one out of countenance, so it be done handsomely, and like a person of honour, for all men are well pleased to see a vain man well rallied. be not dogmatical and peremptory in your opinion—it will be long before that become you; but having spoken, as you think, reason, if it be not allowed of, speak it again, and leave it calmly to cen- sure. be very careful of falling into pas- sion: for why should you be angry, that another is not able or willing to understand you. let me tell you, it is the sign of a very feeble spirit not to be able to endure contradiction; and therefore, if you have a mind to gain reputation upon any by [ l p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m dispute, try if he can be moved; if he may be, then anger him, but without of fence; you cannot wish for a greater advantage than his passion will give you; for anger, in dispute, is like an unquiet horse in a dusty way,+it raises so much dust in the eyes of the understanding, that it blinds it, and puts it out. it will lay the enraged disputant so open, that you may hit him where you please, and he cannot put by one fallacy. besides, many have overcome by suffering the enemy to beat himself out of breath. but if you would render yourself pleasing to any person you have a mind to oblige, propose then such a subject as you know he is very skilled in, most men being desirous and pleased to show their own excellency; and you will not lose by it neither; for the experienced soldier shall tell you more of the art of war, and a well-practised [ ) p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m employment.—i will now oversee your employment, which at present is your study; and i shall be less careful herein, upon a presumption of your tutor's care and sufficiency in the kind hath pre- vented me; however, i shall tell you what i have heard a very learned man to speak concerning books and the true use of them. you are to come to your study as to the table, with a sharp appetite, whereby that which you read may the better digest. he that has no stomach to his book will very hardly thrive upon it. and because the rules of study do so exactly agree with those of the table, when you are from your tutor, take care that what you read be wholesome, and but suf- ficient. not how much, but how good, is the best diet. sometimes, for variety, and to refresh and please the palate of your understanding, you may read something [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m table, so you rise from your book, with an appetite; and being up, disturb not the concoction, which is infinitely improved by a rumination or chewing of the cud. to this end, recollection with yourself will do well, but a repetition with another far better; for thereby you will get a habit of readily expressing yourself, which is a singular advantage to learning; and by the very discoursing of what you learn, you again teach yourself: besides, some- thing new, and of your own, must of ne- cessity stream in. for your choice of your books, be ad- vised by your tutor; but, by my consent, you should not have above one or two at the most in every science, but those very choice ones. i will commend one book to you, we begin with it when we are boys, yet it will become the oldest and gravest man's hand,-it is tully's offices; [ ] p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m e wander, but compel it to be fixed and present. if any other thought comes across thee in thy study, keep it off, and refer it to some other time: this wander- ing of your spirit you know i have often reproved, therefore, whatsoever you do, do it, and nothing else. suffer not thy memory to rest; she loves exercise, and grows with it; every day commend something notable to her custody; the more she receives, the better she keeps ; and when you have trusted any thing to her care, let it rest with her awhile, then call for it again, especially if it be a fault corrected. you must not err twice; and by this frequent calling her to account, she will be always ready to give you satisfaction; and the sooner, if what she was entrusted with was laid up orderly, and put, as it were, in the several boxes of a cabinet. [ | p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m if thou wouldst seem learned, the best way is to endeavour to be learned; for if thou dost not strive to be that which thou desirest to be, thou desirest to no purpose, which gives me occasion to recommend this following advice to your especial regard. it is an extreme vanity to hope to be a scholar, and yet to be unwilling to take pains: for what excellent thing is there that is easily composed ? its very diffi- culty doth imply, and, as it were, doth invite us to something worthy and rare. consider it is a rose that thorns do com- pass; and the forbidden object sharpens the desire in all other things. thus a difficult mistress makes a lover more pas- sionate; and that same man hates an offered and a prostitute love. i dare say, if learning were easy and cheap, thou wouldst as much slight her; and, indeed, [ ) p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m who would have any thing common with a carter or a cobbler something there is, doubtless, in it, that none but noble and unwearied spirits can attain her; and these are raised higher, and heightened by its difficulty, and would not gain her other- wise. something there is in it, that no money or jewels can buy her. no, noth- ing can purchase learning but thy own sweat: obtain her, if thou canst, any other way. not all my estate can buy thee the faculty of making but one quick epigram —the trifling part of her; wherefore i entreat thee, to raise thy spirit, and stretch thy resolution. and so often as thou goest to thy book, place before thy eyes what crowns, sceptres, mitres, and other ensigns of honour, learning hath conferred upon those that have courted her with labour and diligence; besides the rare pleasure of satisfaction, which, of itself, is [ ] p r a c t i c a l w i s d o m an honourable reward. and let me tell thee, a learned holy man (and such a one would i fain have thee to be) looks like an angel in flesh—a mortal cherubim. and because letters are great discoverers of the man, therefore, when you write, let your style be genteel, clean, round, even, and plain, unless the subject or matter re- quire a more manly and vigorous expres– sion. i cannot allow you a curiosity, unless it be like a lady’s dress, negligently neat. go not to counsel for every word, yet neglect not to choose. be more care- ful to think before you write than before you speak; because letters pass not away as words do; they remain upon record, are still under the examination of the eye, and tortured they are, sometimes, to con- fess that of which they were never guilty. that is rare, indeed, that can endure read- ing. understand the person well to whom [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m ness, swelling, poverty, and looseness in your style; let it be rather riotous than niggardly. the flowing pen may be helped, but the dry never. especially shun obscurity, because it must go a-beg- ging for an interpreter: and why should you write to entreat him to understand you if he can. be this your general rule, both in your writing and speaking- labour for sense, rather than words; and for your book, take this also, study men and things. perhaps you will expect, after all these instructions, i should commend unto you some copy or example to imitate. as for the greek and latin tongues, i leave it to your tutor's choice. in the english, i know no style i should sooner prefer to your imitation, than that of sir francis bacon, that excellent unhappy man. and to give you direction for all imitation in [ ) p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m too. i shall add but one caution more, and that is this—as he can never run well who shall resolve to set his foot in the footsteps of one that went before, so neither shall any man write well, who pre- cisely and superstitiously ties himself to another's words. and with this liberty i wish you still happy. and such will all your studies be, if you constantly put in practice this my last admonition, which i reserved purposely for this place. it is, that you be careful every night, before you go to bed, to per- form your devotions, to withdraw yourself into your closet, or some private part of your chamber, and there call memory, your steward, to account what she has heard or read that day worthy of observa- tion; what she hath laid up, what she spent; how the stock of knowledge im- proves, where and how she decays. a [ | p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m notable advantage will this bring to your studies at present, and hereafter, if that way employed, to your estate. but if this course be strictly observed each night between god and your soul, there will the true advantage appear. fail not, therefore, what employment soever you have, every night, as in the presence of god and his holy angels, to pass an inquisition on your soul what ill it hath done, what good it hath left undone; what slips, what falls it hath had that day; what temptation hath prevailed upon it; and by what means, or after what manner. ransack every cor- ner of thy dark heart, and let not the least peccadillo, or kindness to a sin, lurk there, but bring it forth, bewail it, protest against it, detest it, and scourge it by a severe sorrow. thus each day's breach between god and your soul being made up, with more quiet and sweet hope thou mayest [ o j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m dispose thyself to rest. certainly, at last, this inquisition, if steadily pursued, will vanquish all customary sins, whatever they be. i speak it upon this reason, because i presume thou wilt not have the face to appear before god every night confessing the same offence; and thou wilt forbear it, lest thou mayest seem to mock god, or despise him, which is dreadful but to imagine. this finished, for a delightful close to the whole business of the day, cause your servant to read something that is excellently written or done, to lay you to sleep with it, that, if it may be, even your dreams may be profitable or learned. this you will find, by your own experi- ence, true, that things will appear more naked to the eye of the soul, when the eye of the body is shut ; which, together with the quiet of the night, that time is rendered a most fit season for contemplation and [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m contrivance. as a great advantage, not only to your book, but health and business also, i cannot but advise and enjoin you to accustom yourself to rise early ; for, take it from me, no lover of his bed did ever yet form great and noble things. now, though i allowed eight hours for your bed, with the preparation to it and from it, yet this was rather to point out the utmost limits beyond which you should not go, rather than to oblige you to ob- serve such a proportion exactly. borrow, therefore, of these golden morning flowers, and bestow them on your book. a noble person, of all others, has need of learning, and therefore should contribute most time to it; for, besides that it gilds his honour, and sets off his birth, it becomes his em. ployment, which a nobleman, of all others, must not want, if he will secure his soul, honour, and estate, all which are in most [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m of your mind, which i recommend to your yearly practice during your life. this, if you flatter not yourself, will be your best looking-glass, and must needs have a sin- gular influence upon your religion, and serve your soul extremely well to very high purposes; for, by this means, your growth or decay in virtue will be discovered, and, consequently, ways for the increase of that growth, or for repairing those decays and breaches in the soul, will more readily be found out, and more easily cured. when you have found both your forces and infirmities, then look with one eye upon them, and with the other on the realms you live in, whereby, comparing yourself with the general state of affairs, you shall soon discern whether there may be a correspondency and compliance be- tween you and them, that you may there- upon either draw yourself within your [ j p r a ct i c a l w i s d o m private walls, to enjoy the happiness of an holy, quiet, and innocent repose, in case , the times are rough and dangerous to sail in ; or else, if calm and suitable, to engage yourself in some public employment, for the service of your country and advance- ment of your family: though, if i may guess at the future constitution of your mind by what i observe at present, were the times never so calm and inviting, you should not be easily enticed to embark yourself into the world or engage in busy and great employments. your best course, in my judgment, were to say your prayers at home, manage your little affairs inno- cently and discreetly, and enjoy, with thankfulness, what god has bestowed upon me. but it may so happen that your inclinations may be active, and your parts correspondent, and that good fortune may find you out in your privacy, and [ j practtgal w tsdom court you to employment, if she does, refuse her not, but embrace her with these cautions: first, be sure to ballast yourself well, by calling in to your aid all the ad- vantages of learning, art and experience; then consider to fit your sails to the bulk of your vessel, lest you prove a slug, or overset. and because commonwealths have their shelves and rocks, therefore get the skill of coasting and shifting your sails: i mean, to arrive at your journey’s end by compassing and an honest com- pliance. yet, if honesty be the star you sail by, doubt not of a good voyage, at least be sure of a good harbour. [ j ****** ••••• •••••••••••••••• • ••••• • • ~~~~ - - te ! tel || ------ - | iiiiliiii - iiii - - - - - - - - - - - º-t-i-t- ~~~~~~ nº- º -º-º-º-º: - lilillºlillºlillºlillº *== --- illº - - º n - | - } º º - - -i- º o. - - † |nº|h º/a - º - - - --- º º º -- - *- ºlº - - - - -t- titt "i = = ill - - -- a ------- ------- -i i t – e - - - - _-------------- the great epic of israel the great epic of israel the web of myth, legend, history, law, oracle, wisdom and poetry of the ancient hebrews by amos kidder fiske, a.m. author of “the myths of israel,” “midnight talks at the club,” “beyond the bourn,” etc., etc. thew pork sturgis & walton company i all rights reserved harvard c. , , , , ºy º, ºr . fre a the tº ºry of jo —n riºs g ra...ier copyright by sturgis & walton company set up and electrotyped. published february, to his devoted wife caroline child fiske the author dedicates this volume preface it is the purpose of this volume to encourage a revival of the reading or study of the ancient scriptures of the jews, not by scholars or those who make a professional use of them, but by the people at large. to this generation they have as a whole become unattractive and fallen into neglect, except for a conventional and enforced respect, on account of the false light in which they have been left for so many centuries. the pres- ent object is to put them in their true light and give them a new interest for the modern man. the common intelligence will no longer accept the dogma that they are divine revelation, except as divine revelation is to be traced in all human development; or that they are the specially in- spired word of god and contain in all parts infal- lible truth, to be unquestioningly accepted, for the common intelligence has come to know better. it has been taught to discriminate and to apply reason, and its liberty is not to be excluded from this one field. all truth may be accounted di- vine, all great thoughts and noble sentiments may be regarded as inspired, but no more in this liter- ature than in others, ancient and modern. the v viii preface voice of god did not vociferate in one small coun- try for a few centuries and then fall into silence. the spirit of god did not inform men in that one place and time and then withdraw itself to the re- mote bounds of the universe. it was and is and will be from everlasting to everlasting and forever the same, in all time and place, and it pervades all life. the author pretends to no new discovery. what he has to say is derived from the researches of many scholars who have wrought with growing assiduity and with increasing light during the greater part of the past century. the results are known to teachers and preachers, who still shrink from teaching and preaching the truth freely and candidly, as some at least of them know it to be. current theology and divinity are too much under the duress of old dogma to speak out. the lore of scholars is open to those who choose to study it, but for the most part it is too detailed, too ar- gumentative, too heavy or too dry, for the com- mon reader, and it works slowly through a reluc- tant clergy and an unlearned laity. the present writer is under no bonds. he has no fear or shrinking. he loves the truth and de- sires to spread it abroad, knowing that only good can come of the light, while darkness harbors much that is evil. it is not originality that he professes, but independence, not special ability, but the dower of common sense and a capacity preface ix for setting forth clearly what he learns and thinks, to be “understanded of the people.” it is from interest that he has studied this subject, and he writes in the hope of exciting interest in others and contributing to the spread of knowledge of the truth as it is revealed through human experience. he does not encumber his pages by citing authori- ties or dealing with controversy, having only room to give results as sifted and judged by himself. but the fruits of long and varied research and all the references that may be desired, to a recent date, are stored in the “encyclopaedia biblica,” to which all are directed for details, reasons and conclusions. comparatively little has been added since its publication. nothing could be farther from the writer's wish than to impair or undermine the foundations of religious faith. to be abiding these must be of truth and they must rest upon knowledge and rea- son, as they are revealed to man in his progress onward and upward. unlike material piling they must be kept sound not by being buried in darkness and dampness, but by being exposed to light and air. judaism, like other religions, consecrated its scriptures. christianity borrowed from both judaism and heathenism in framing its dogmas, and it accepted the consecration of the jewish scriptures for the sake of these. but ju- daism has advanced, and christianity has ad- vanced, in spite of clinging to outworn dogmas x preface and the consecration of councils in dark ages. the church still needs to advance and to preserve all that is sacred in its literature; but illumination is the test of sanctity. no mass bound up in past ages is all sacred nor can it contain all that is sa- cred. it should be tried and that which is good should be held fast. the consecrated writings of the jews are here treated as an epic of the people of israel in their great days. such in effect they really are, and they are so presented in the order of their develop- ment for better understanding and greater interest. the chief claim to originality in this work lies in so presenting them. the author hopes it will serve its desired end of making them more read, better understood and more profitable to the soul of man. , contents page the peculiar people . . . . . . . . . . . ii literary development of israel . . . . . . . . iii the making of the epic . . . . . . . . . . iv the myths of israel . . . . . . . . . . . - v heroic and historic legends . . . . . . . . . vi david and solomon . . . . . . . . . . . . vii theocratic account of the two kingdoms . . . . . i o viii prophets of the kingdoms . . . . . . . . . . i ix prophets of the exile and after . . . . . . . contents page x the jewish law . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi the priestly history . . . . . . . . . . . xii illustrative tales, ruth, jonah, fsther . . . . xiii lyrics, songs and hymns . . . . . . . . . . xiv wisdom and philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . xv the book of job . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvi the book of daniel . . . . . . . . . . . xvii the great epic in review . . . . . . . . . . the great epic of israel the great epic of israel i the peculiar people the most remarkable thing in what we call ancient history is the peculiar intellectual, moral and religious development of a small people who occupied a narrow territory, shut in from the med- iterranean sea, on the pathway between the great empire of the tigris and the euphrates and that of the nile. compared with those empires the nation formed by this people was not ancient, and in national resources and power it was utterly in- significant. the land which it acquired by con- quest and held with difficulty had long before been overrun by the armies of babylonia and egypt, and held in possession by one or the other of those great powers, whose civilisation was old before israel was born. records and inscriptions dis- covered within the last twenty-five years show that palestine was subject to egypt and ruled by its governors as late as oo b. c., when the nile region had been a seat of power, learning and re- ligion for more than two thousand years, and the the great epic of israel land of the euphrates had been its rival for many centuries. in a fortunate interval of quiescence between these great “world powers,” a part of the people who became known as israel escaped from a con- dition of servitude and oppression within the borders of egypt, and made their way through the deserts of arabia, with only petty tribes native to the region to contend with, and with ac- cretions from others got possession of a strip of territory east of the jordan. lingering there until they gained cohesion and strength, they finally crossed the river and after bloody conflicts with the tribes occupying the land known as canaan, and in later times as palestine, succeeded in estab- lishing themselves in possession. for a long time their hold was precarious. broken into tribes or clans, they had no regularly organized government, and when attacked by hostile neighbours, as they frequently were, they depended upon leaders, or “heroes,” who rose to command them in battles of defence or vengeance. finally, when they had grown sufficiently in numbers and in strength, and experience had taught them the necessity of na- tional power, with civil and military organisation, if they were to survive and flourish, they estab- lished a kingdom, a little more than , years before the christian era. in the meantime they had learned much from their strongest neighbours, the philistines and the phoenicians, especially the the peculiar people latter, with whom they maintained relations of amity while the former were their bitter enemies. coming from beyond the river they were called hebrews or those “from beyond.” they adopted and modified the language of the conquered ca- naanites, borrowed writing from the phoenicians and some time after the establishment of the king- dom developed a literature. where these people originally came from is not certainly known. we have little more than their own traditions, preserved in their own peculiar way, to guide us in seeking for their origin. they were probably nomadic tribes of arabians, akin to the edomites, moabites and ammonites, which had wandered with flocks and herds, perhaps to the borders of the euphrates valley and to the confines of egypt, and some of which in a time of fam’ne had been kept in the latter country until they fell into a state of servitude, or forced labor, under its rulers. they certainly had traditions of escape or deliverance from this servitude and of the struggle through the deserts to freedom, and for centuries they cherished fear and hatred for egypt, while their earliest writers took pride in giving them a mythical ancestry in the chal- dean empire. it was a century and more after the kingdom was established and some time after it had been divided by the tearing away of the larger and more flourishing part by revolt on the death of sol- the great epic of israel omon, that the remarkable literary development of this people began. just when the hebrew lan- guage took form in writing cannot be ascertained, but like all primitive peoples israel preserved its first traditions by oral transmission. like others it had its myths and legends, its tales of deliverers from bondage or peril and of heroes in warfare, and these were chanted in songs or narrated in stories from generation to generation until they became a common stock of material for coming writers. like all ancient people also, it had its religion, its conception of deity and his relation to man, and in regard to this its most striking peculiarity appears. in spite of successive versions during several centuries, the mass of literature which constitutes the great epic of its national life still contains traces of a time when it shared with other early races a belief in many gods representing the pow- ers of nature. its designation for the deity, elo- him, is a plural and a relic of that time. one of the most ancient fragments embedded in its liter- ature speaks of the “sons of god” who had con- verse with the daughters of men and begat giants and men of renown, after the manner of other old mythologies. the use of the word “sons of god” here is equivalent to “gods,” as “sons of prophets” was used to designate members of schools or coteries of prophets, “children of is- rael” or of moab was used for israelites or mo- the peculiar people abites, and “sons of men " had the same mean- ing as men. another ancient fragment, properly translated, speaks of wine as cheering gods and men, and there is also a relic of the old polythe- istic faith in the myth of the garden of eden where “the lord god” is represented as saying of adam, “the man is become as one of us to know good and evil.” in the early patriarchal stories and the legends of heroes the deity, originally a tribal god called by the name of yahweh, (“jehovah”), was some- times represented as appearing on the earth in the form of a man. he was evidently conceived of in this guise in the eden myth when he “walked in the garden in the cool of the day” and talked with adam. in this guise he appeared and talked with abram under the oaks of mamre while on his way to sodom to ascertain if its iniquity was as bad as it had been reported to be. sometimes he is represented as sending an “angel,” or mes- senger, who was a kind of similitude of his own per- sonality, as in the case of the “angel of god” who appeared to the mother of samson and prom- ised the child's birth. again in the jacob myth he is described as testing that personage by wrest- ling with him all night and giving him a new name. there are other instances of his appearing in the guise of a human being, but in later conceptions he became invisible, and the sight of him was sup- posed to be dangerous, if not fatal. moses is the great epic of israel represented as being vouchsafed a look at his back after he had passed by while the hand of the god covered the man as he stood in a cleft of the rock- often he is described as speaking to man while he remained himself invisible, and often as man- ifesting his presence in fire, or light or darkness or some natural phenomenon. in the mixture of tradition, legend and myth connected with the escape or deliverance from egypt, this deity is represented as peculiarly the god of israel and as having his abode on mount sinai, or horeb, where he awaited his time for rescuing the people from their bondage. he had no relation to the rest of mankind except as a mighty enemy to those who were enemies of his people. they had their own gods, whose reality and whose rights in their own domain were not disputed. it was as the god only of abraham, isaac and jacob and of their descendants that he appeared to moses and through him and aaron inflicted the plagues upon egypt and brought his people out with a “mighty hand and an out- stretched arm,” divided the waters of the red sea and guided them in cloud and flame, while the egyptian armies were overwhelmed. here he was a god of craft and not of justice, so far as any but his own people were concerned, a god of severity and anger with his own people when they disobeyed his commands given through their leader, a god of battles and vengeance in conflict the peculiar people with their enemies. he appears in clouds and thunder and lightning on mount sinai to fulmin- ate his laws through moses. in the song of deborah in the time of the “judges,” which is older than these myths and legends of the “ex- odus,” his dwelling place is supposed to be on mount sinai, and he comes from there careering over the mountains in storm clouds to rescue his people from the army of sisera. such a conception of deity is as mythical as that of other ancient peoples. the tribal god yahweh had dwelt in the mountain fastnesses and guarded and guided his people, inspiring them with fear and communicating his commands through those who assumed to be his servants or his spokesmen, and who doubtless believed themselves to be such. he had the characteristics of an unseen despot and was the ideal of a mighty ruler in a barbarous age. he was placated not only by humble submission, but by offerings and sacrifices, the more precious the more acceptable and prevailing. there are traces of evidence that in the earliest days these extended to the sacrifice of children in the wor- ship of yahweh as in that of baal and of che- mosh. there is a vestige of this in the story of jephthah and his daughter, and the myth of the offering of isaac on mount moriah was symbol- ical of the substitution of the choicest animals for the highest pledge of devotion. until late in the history of the two kingdoms there was little dif- io the great epic of israel ference between the common worship of the peo- ple of israel, at their various shrines away from the temple of jerusalem, and that of the heathen around them, and sometimes the very sanctuary of “the lord ” on mount zion was invaded by pagan abominations. they had images of yah- weh, and their priests practised divination, and there were times when there was such a relapse that children again “passed through fire" in the valley of the sons of hinnom. midway in the history of the kingdoms a re- markable evolution took place in the religious and ethical conceptions of this people. their seers and diviners developed into a class of teachers which through translation acquired the title of “prophets,” though the original had not the mean- ing commonly implied by that term. the transi- tion was not so abrupt as it appears in their epic literature, for the latter was modified by revision to conform to later ideas. the influence of the prophet appears to have first become potent in set- ting up and guiding the earliest king, saul; but samuel seems to have retained much of the char- acter of the ancient priest and diviner, and to have been transformed in the later accounts of the period. nathan, the mentor and monitor of david, spoke to the king in the name of yah- weh, but disguised his reproaches in the form of parable. at that time the deity was still repre- sented by images and consulted by mechanical de- the peculiar people ii vices. solomon, notwithstanding his worldliness and his yielding to heathen enticement, was as- sumed by the chroniclers of a later time to be so endowed with wisdom that he needed no prophet. it is probable that no one had the temerity to act in that capacity with so mighty a potentate in his little realm; but one appeared to encourage a revolt against him and to represent by symbolical action the tearing away of the better part of the kingdom and the setting up of a rival monarchy under the leader of the revolt, jeroboam the son of nebat. it was well along in the turbulent history of the new kingdom of israel, when an alliance of its king, ahab, with the royal house of phoenicia threatened a lapse from the worship of yahweh to that of baal and ashtoreth, or astarté, that the spirit of prophetism was aroused to an ardent defence of the national god and his worship, the loss of which would mean the abandonment and destruction of the nation. there is little evidence that the character of the worship in the northern kingdom then differed materially from that of the neighbouring peoples of phoenicia and syria or the canaanite tribes, or that the ethical standard had greatly improved, when the legendary figure of elijah appeared in the conflict against a relapse to heathenism. the reality behind that misty fig- ure was a fiery champion of the national religion and of the mighty god to whom the people owed i the great epic of israel their deliverance from egypt, the possession of the land which they had inherited from mythical an- cestors with whom that god had made a compact of mutual fidelity. elisha, who carried on the contest when the house of ahab was slaughtered and the kingdom was in dangerous conflict with syria, is scarcely less legendary and obscured in the mists of history; and there is still little sign of the higher ethical and religious spirit that was about to develop. this first appeared, so far as its authentic ut- terance has been preserved, in amos, a herdsman of judah, who went to the chief shrine of the northern kingdom at bethel to utter his solemn rebukes and impressive warnings. the shadows of conflict with hostile powers of the north and east were then impending, and in the prophet's mind the only hope of escape was in renewed fidelity and devotion to the god of israel and obedience to his commands. now the national offence took on a moral character. it consisted in the wickedness and injustice of the time, the in- iquities of the people and their rulers. the com- mands of god were not for sacrifices and burnt offerings, or vain oblations and feast days, but for justice and mercy and purity of life. therein was that obedience and devotion in which alone was safety and salvation from powerful enemies. that became the keynote of prophecy from that the peculiar people i time, the fundamental principle in the constitution of theocracy. and the doctrine of theocracy, or the rule of god, became the loftiest article of political faith of the “peculiar people,” the constant and impres- sive burden of their great epic, which has rolled down the centuries from that day to this. other nations believed that their gods ruled in the af- fairs of men, but their conceptions were rude and barbaric in comparison with those of the prophets of israel, in whom the highest genius of the nation found expression. in them the conception of israel's god was exalted and purified. he was the god of justice, of righteousness, of mercy, of love for those who obeyed him and severity for those who were disobedient and rebellious. while israel was still his peculiar care, he was above all gods and all nations and peoples. they were subject to his will and were used to serve his pur- poses. he was the creator of heaven and earth and of all mankind, but he had chosen this one people for his own and would preserve it for- ever. he would use others to chastise it when it went wrong and to correct its evil tendencies; he might even destroy it as a nation, but he would surely redeem a purified and righteous remnant and restore the kingdom of zion with a reunited israel, which should grow in power and finally bring all the earth under its sway. the peculiar people i a special love for the race with which he made an everlasting covenant. and the wonder of human history is the power their superior pretension has had for so many centuries in guarding their “sacred ” literature, as a holy heritage of man- kind, from the calm analysis to which all other ancient literature has been subjected, and sealing it against the judgment of human reason. ii literary development of israel what may properly be called literary develop- ment did not begin among the people of israel until after the victories of david had established the kingdom, and it made little progress before the prosperous reign of solomon was over. it gained its first real impetus in the northern king- dom after the division into two rival realms, of which that was at first the more powerful and flourishing, and the more progressive. though solomon had established a relation of amity with egypt and taken a daughter of the reigning pharaoh as one of his many wives, when jeroboam headed a revolt against the king's oppressive treat- ment of the people of the proud tribe of ephraim he fled to that country and was evidently treated with consideration by its ruler. it is probable that he brought back much of the tradition and the lore which were afterwards used in the early lit- erature of his kingdom. he or some companion of his may have been the real person most versed in the “learning of the egyptians '' at that time. long before, no doubt, there had been an oral literature in the customary form of songs and i literary development chants, of legends and mythical tales, and many of these were first reduced to writing in the time of david and solomon. two collections are re- ferred to by the titles, the “book of the wars of yahweh’” and the “book of the upright,” and some scraps from each were preserved, with indications that they furnished the groundwork of later narratives. david's lament over the death of saul and jonathan is said to have been taught to the people and afterwards enbalmed in the “book of the upright,” which indicates that the written form was later than david's time. solo- mon's speech at the dedication of the temple is believed by some to have found a place in the same repository. hebrew poetry, of which the chief rhythmical characteristic was a repetition or variation of expression called “parallelism,” had evidently a considerable development before it was ever reduced to writing. the “song of de- borah " at the victory over sisera is the earliest example preserved and though sadly mutilated in the process it is a veritable antique gem. what is called the “blessing of jacob '' near the end of the book of genesis, which sets forth the char- acteristics of the tribes under personal names, in the semblance of what is not altogether a “bless- ing,” had its origin before the division of the kingdom, but not earlier than the peaceful reign of solomon. the discourses of balaam in the book of numbers, which have a similar char- i the great epic of israel acter, must have originated at about the same time. whatever the occasion or the original authorship of these productions, they were quite independent of the setting in which they are now found. the first writers had not only the advantage of a rich heritage of oral literature, but they un- doubtedly had considerable knowledge of the learning of egypt, the art of phoenicia and the wisdom of the east. communication by caravan between the euphrates region and that of the nile through syria, israel and philistia was much more common than we have been accustomed to suppose, and in the long interval of peace in which israel and judah were left untroubled, except by the petty nations close about them, there was ample oppor- tunity for an interchange of influences. the earliest hebrew writings which were preserved in something of their original form in the final scrip- ture of the jews, were the stories of the heroes of the period between the partial conquest of canaan and the founding of the kingdom, famil- iar to us by the title of “judges.” these tales were freely handled by the later writers who made use of them and set them in a framework of their own, but they retain much of the pristine flavour. appended to these in the last chapters of the book of judges are some later narratives re- lating to the same period which afford a vivid picture of life in the primitive days when the o the great epic of israel had come into egypt and what their previous his- tory had been was probably unknown even then, though there may have been traditions and tales, extending far back to pastoral days before the dark period of servitude. of the origin of the world and of the human race there could be only mythical accounts, which had to be either borrowed or invented. of knowledge there was certainly none, and of revelation the only source was the human imagination unguided by science. what material existed in the form of stories of the patriarchs and myths of the creation and primitive man, and what legends of moses and joshua may have been already written down is only a matter of conjecture, but it is well estab- lished that a narrative appeared not earlier than the middle of the ninth century b. c., which con- stituted one of the main sources of the books of the pentateuch and joshua, and is known to scholars as the yahwistic source, on account of its common use of the name yahweh for the deity. this was afterwards retrenched and modified and blended with another document of like character which appeared about a century later, known as the “elohistic” source, because of its general use of elohim to designate the deity. the record of which these form the main material underwent expansion and modification afterward, and one of the latest of its parts is the impressive chapter literary development i with which it begins giving an account of the crea- tion. the earlier of the two main documents referred to above contained the first nucleus of the written law of israel, which was afterwards developed to constitute one of the main elements of the great epic that was to be completed centuries later. it was a brief codification of what had apparently become the customary requirements and prohibi- tions of a primitive state of society. it was called the “book of the covenant,” and was said to have been read by moses “in the audience of the peo- ple '' at mount sinai, and to have been commu- nicated to him by yahweh himself on the top of the mountain. more than two centuries after this was embodied in the “yahwistic source,” in the time of the prophet jeremiah and the reign of josiah of judah, nearly a century after the de- struction of the northern kingdom by assyria, an event occurred which not only gave a new develop- ment to the law, but a new color to all the quasi- historical material in the great epic. that was the discovery in the temple at jerusalem of a “book of the law,” which aimed at a suppression of heathen practices in the worship of yahweh and the concentration of that worship at the temple in jerusalem, to counteract the tendency to lapse into “heathenism " which beset the people. it was in- tended to support the doctrine of the theocracy as the great epic of israel that had already been developed by the prophets. the substance of this with later additions is con- tained in the book known as deuteronomy. the highest development of the genius of israel was reached in the prophets, under the stimulus of events which preceded and followed the destruc- tion of samaria by the assyrians, b. c. , and those which similarly attended the destruction of jerusalem, , b. c., by the babylonians under nebuchadrezzar, and the exile of the leading spirits of the kingdom of judah to the land of the conquerors. these prophets were the great champions and orators of the theocracy. some of their productions were undoubtedly delivered orally and addressed to the kings and rulers or to assemblies of the people, and afterwards written down and elaborated by themselves or others. some were labored compositions, containing highly wrought rhythmical passages and poetical imagery. in their final collection some of them were ill-arranged and sadly marred by excision and interpolation. they contained predictions and warnings, such as other political orators of an- tiquity were wont to utter, some of which were justified by events while others were not. they are not wholly free from evidence of having been made by copyists and editors to conform to events after these had happened. the earliest of the hebrew prophets whose im- pressive oracles are preserved in the great epic literary development was amos, that judahite herdsman who was im- pelled to go into the northern kingdom in the time of jeroboam ii, about b.c., to denounce the iniquities which threatened to bring the wrath of yahweh upon that land, doomed to destruction less than forty years later. the greatest was isaiah, who rose at jerusalem when samaria was undergoing its final agony and zion itself was menaced by an assyrian army under sennacherib. other voices were raised during the same period, but under the long reign of manasseh there was a reaction against the stern theocracy of the prophets, and comparative silence. then, under josiah and his successors, when judah's life was again threatened from the east, appeared jere- miah to revive with fierce ardour the preaching of submission to the god of israel and reliance upon his power for the salvation of the nation. but the doom of judah was not averted. in the exile itself the voice of prophecy was raised by the rivers of babylon in the oracles of ezekiel. he spoke in the name of yahweh but used much imagery and symbolism borrowed from the heathen land. finally, when cyrus of persia vanquished baby- lon and permitted the captive jews to return to their beloved zion there was an outburst of jubi- lation from an unknown prophet whose utterances with others of equally unknown origin, became at- tached to those of isaiah in the book bearing his name. the great epic of israel - r there were “minor prophets” contemporary with these and others of a later date, but this pe- culiar development of the literary genius of israel reached its height in these, and overshadowed every other form of expression for more than two centuries. the epic owes more of its greatness to this than to any of its other elements. but other elements were in the making at the same time. the ancient documents relating to the myth- ical and legendary period before the kingdom was established were worked over with some infusion of the spirit of the prophets and of the law as it found expression in the deuteronomic code. this was the spirit of theocracy, which taught that all trouble or disaster of the nation or the tribes was due to the sins of the people or their rulers in worshipping false gods, or to their neglect of the worship of yahweh and failure to obey his commands. it is evident that the chief literary treasures of the northern kingdom were trans- ferred to jerusalem on the destruction of samaria and were there blended with those of judah in the revision of ancient narratives, including those relating to the period of the judges and of the first kings saul and david. the first kingdom was established about io o b. c. david became king of judah at hebron about ooo b. c., probably as a vassal of the philistines, and a few years later established him- self as the monarch of all israel at the old jebu- literary development site stronghold on mount zion, emancipated him- self from philistine subjection and extended the borders of his kingdom by subduing the hostile forces that surrounded it, maintaining amicable re- lations all the while with phoenicia. he was suc- ceeded by solomon about b.c., at the end of whose reign, in , the division of the kingdom came. an independent account of solomon and his reign appeared not long after his death, which became the groundwork of the chapters of the first book of kings relating to him. there were annals or “chronicles " of the other kings of both kingdoms, which some believe to have been combined into one great book after the destruction of samaria and not long before the siege and cap- ture of jerusalem. this, with the end of the david stories, the account of solomon's reign and some legends of the prophets elijah and elisha, constituted the chief material of the two books of kings as they were embalmed in the epic. these were compiled in their earliest form be- fore the fall of jerusalem and revised during the exile. there was much literary activity among the jews in that fifty years of expatriation at babylon, which was regarded as the penalty for recreancy to their god. literary activity continued after the return from exile especially in elaborating and putting in final form what had been produced before. this con- cerned itself largely with what was called “the the great epic of israel law,” which was still attributed to the direct com- mands of israel's god through moses in the wild- erness of sinai. ezekiel, who was originally a priest, had in his latest oracles, written after the return to jerusalem was assured, outlined the fu- ture state to be established, with mount zion and a new temple as its centre, and within this out- line was wrought what is designated by scholars as the law of holiness. ezra, another priest, who conducted one of the bodies of returning exiles and took part in re-establishing the worship and settling the ecclesiastical polity at jerusalem, also drew up a book of the “law of moses" which was read to the people. afterwards, in the priestly circles remaining at babylon, the body of levitical law was fully developed, with a quasi- historical framework of its own, and was finally blended with other material in the redaction of the pentateuch, or five “books of moses,” and the book of joshua. this latest code furnished the impressive first chapter of all and supplied modify- ing traces in genesis, considerable passages in ex- odus, practically all of leviticus and passages in numbers. there is little of it in deuteronomy, but it reappears in material passages in joshua. another example of post-exilic literary activity is the entire recasting of past history in the priestly spirit as it appears in the book of chronicles, divided in modern times, like the book of kings, into two. literary development what may be called the framework of the great epic was wrought out in progressive fashion dur- ing a period of five centuries. it presents more clearly than any formal and systematic history the experience and the polity of the peculiar people during a thousand years, escaping as a horde of fugitives from the confines of egypt, struggling with privation and manifold difficulty through long stretches of desert under a religious leader, fight- ing or eluding hostile tribes on the way, gaining a foothold on one side of the jordan and gradually conquering a goodly realm on the other, establish- ing a kingdom which split asunder, falling under the crushing power of the empires of the east, but clinging to its faith and its traditions until a rem- nant of exiles restored the ancient fane and built on the ruins of their “sacred nation ” a priestly community which imposed its authority and its system of faith upon a large part of the world for many centuries. welded upon this framework were varied prod- ucts of the genius of this people, illustrating its life, illuminating its experience and perpetuating its thought and sentiment. there were proverbs and wise sayings, collected from time to time in the later days and massed in a “book” of such, which has no parallel of its kind. there were hymns and sacred songs, produced at different periods and under varied circumstances of which there is no record, but finally developed and ap- the great epic of israel plied in the ritual and ceremonial of the temple of zion. these, gathered in a “book of psalms,” are without rival in human literature. there were products of deep meditation upon problems of existence in the sublime poetry of job and the sombre brooding of ecclesiastes, or the preacher. there were idyls and stories impressing some lesson of jewish experience and faith, and when at last the hope of material greatness faded, there were apocalyptic visions of its revival in god's own time, for had he not made a covenant with israel, the breaking of which was inconceive- able to the devout mind of hebrew seers? with these the massive epic was bound up and sealed as divine by all the authority that could be invoked for it by men who assumed to speak for the dread ruler of the universe, and who persuaded them- selves and the world that their voice was his. iii the making of the epic as already stated, it was after the middle of the ninth century b. c., in the northern kingdom, that the narrative appeared known to scholars as the yahwist source of the pentateuch and joshua, and it had a truly homeric character. the elo- hist source of perhaps a century later used much of the same traditional material; but, so far as pre- served, it appears to have begun with the story of abraham and not of the creation. when the two were blended into one at jerusalem after the de- struction of samaria, parts of both were sacrificed to the union, but here and there we find parallel and somewhat inconsistent accounts of the same circumstances; and in many places seams and su- tures of mixed material are apparent. in the copy- ing and editing that took place after the promulga- tion, in the latter half of the seventh century b. c., of the law which constituted the original substance of the book that came to be known as deuteron- omy, some touches of the theocratic doctrine then developed by the prophets were impressed upon the narratives. still later, in the time of the exile and after the the great epic of israel return of the priests to the new temple at jerusa- lem, where these narratives were made the frame- work of the fully developed law, further changes were made, chiefly by excision and interpolation, but here and there by modified statement to suit the final purpose of redaction. the original nar- ratives ran through the conquest of canaan, and passages from them appear in the book of joshua and the first chapter of judges, with traces in the second chapter of the latter book; but the five books associated with the name of moses and mak- ing the framework of the law were first consecrated as the true “word of god,” the canon, or rule of life, for surviving israel. it was that introductory section of the epic which was first translated into greek at alexandria in the third century, b. c., as the “book of the law,” and formed the basis of what is called the septuagint version of the jewish scriptures. in the first of the five books and the first half of the second there is a rich vein of the work of the “yahwist.” it begins with the adam and eve and garden of eden myth in the second chap- ter of genesis, which, with the story of the flood, was derived from babylonian lore; and it puts in idyllic form stories of the “patriarchs,” the puta- tive ancestors of the tribes of israel. in these we find the source of the doctrine that the possession of the land was derived from a compact between yahweh and abraham, and a promise renewed to the making of the epic jacob. the stories of abraham, isaac and jacob, of ishmael as the ancestor of the kindred tribes of arabia, of esau as the progenitor of the nearer kin of edom, and of the daughters of laban rep- resenting the kinship of syria, are told with a fascinating realism that makes them seem like mat- ters of fact. the pride and glory of the north- ern kingdom to which the original authors of the material belonged, are celebrated in the story of joseph, while the character of judah is degraded in the account of his offspring. traces of the work of the elohist do not ap- pear until the fifteenth chapter of genesis where the account is given of the covenant with abraham, but from there on it mingles more or less freely with the earlier material and sometimes slightly con- fuses it. when the priests revised the work to suit their purpose after the exile, they supplied the opening chapter which contains the impressive description of the creation in six days and the ad- vanced conception of the creator. they inter- posed the genealogies before and after the flood, confused the account of the flood itself with their amendments, interpolated the covenant with noah, made circumcision the seal of the covenant with abraham, gave the ages of most of the charac- ters and introduced numerous modifying passages. the whole first book and part of the second are a treasure house of ancient hebrew myth, somewhat marred by writers who strove to make them serve the making of the epic that first accompanied it, which were welded into the pentateuch in its final form. after “the law,” or the “books of moses,” had been canonized and put beyond further change, another collection was consecrated and made the second great section of the epic under the name of the “prophets.” this included joshua and judges and the so-called historical books of samuel and kings, as well as the oracles known as prophecies which have personal names attached to them. this also was wrought over during the exile and put in final form after the re- turn of the priests and scribes to jerusalem. the material of joshua was similar to that of the pentateuch and it contains some of the oldest and some of the latest of its elements. the basis of the book of judges, after the first two chap- ters, was the old hero stories, beginning with that of ehud the benjamite, who assassinated the fat king of moab, and ending with samson who brought the temple of dagon down upon his own head in revenge upon the philistines, with a later appendix on the migration of the danites and the war of the other tribes upon benjamin. here we have the very oldest of the written literature of israel that was preserved, with the exception of some fragments referred to in the previous chapter. it has the crude simplicity and naturalism of other primitive writings and gives the making of the epic the material of the book, or books, of sam- uel is of various dates and is irregularly pieced together and not made to harmonise completely. the earliest and least sophisticated is that relating to david's reign in the second book, and next to that come the stories of david in his relation to saul and his life as a freebooter in the mountains of judah and a vassal of one of the philistine kings. next comes the more friendly account of saul, and latest the stories of samuel and saul which show the prophet and king at enmity with each other and represent the setting up of the king- dom as reluctantly assented to by “the lord ” and his prophet. these latter originated two or three centuries after the events to which they relate and cannot be considered at all as historical. the element of theocratic pragmatism is introduced in all the late material. the two books of kings do not constitute a history of the kingdoms, but after the account of solomon's reign, derived from a pre-existing “book of the acts of solomon,” it is largely an argument in support of the theocratic doctrine. that makes it more fitting as part of the great national epic than any dry chronicle of events would be. it had purpose and colour and was compiled with a view to edification for the future rather than information of the past. the first compiler was deeply imbued with the doctrine of the deuteronomic code, that all worship was to the great epic of israel be centralised at jerusalem in strict observance of the law, that the unpardonable sin of jeroboam, in which he “caused israel to sin” and brought calamity on the nation, was the setting up of places of worship at bethel and dan, and that all use of shrines and images on the hilltops, or “high places,” after the ancient manner, as well as wan- dering after other gods, was infidelity to yahweh, which would bring punishment upon the nation. he was also imbued with the theocratic spirit of the prophets, which taught that the nation was the special care of “the lord,” yahweh, who pun- ished it by permitting its enemies to harry and plunder it, and would destroy it by bringing power- ful foes upon it from the east if it persisted in disobedience and unfaithfulness; but who would rescue and save it whenever it repented and re- turned to its true allegiance. but he would in any case bring a purified remnant out of its trib- ulation to restore the kingdom of david, which should abide forever and bring all the earth under its sway. the compilation was made from material drawn from the chronicles or annals of the kingdoms, ephraimite legends of prophets and sketches of wars with syria, and was directed in a way to serve the dominant purpose of the compiler. it seems to have been completed in its earliest form before the “captivity,” but it was extended and revised during the exile and received touches from a the making of the epic final redactor before it was embalmed in the epic. the oracles of the great prophets before ezek- iel and of those “minor prophets” who preceded the destruction of jerusalem appear to have been carried to babylon by devout exiles with consider- able confusion of manuscripts, partly arranged and edited there, and completed after the return. they were put together in considerable disorder, and later oracles were added to them or interpo- lated in them before the second section of the epic designated as “the prophets” was canonised, sealed against further change and attached to “the law " in the greek version of the scriptures. isaiah suffered most from the rude editing. the genuine material, whether written by the prophet or recorded by faithful scribes, was ill-arranged, and both older and later oracles were interpolated between its parts or attached to its close. the last twenty-seven chapters, as they stand in modern versions, are much later than the rest, part belong- ing to the time of release from captivity and part to a still later day. jeremiah was less marred in the make-up and ezekiel scarcely at all, but there is some mixing of material of minor prophets after the exile. notwithstanding the unskilful handling of this material, in consequence of the lack of sys- tematic records and of the historical or critical sense, it forms the loftiest part of the great epic. to the scriptures as thus constituted, after the the great epic of israel restoration of the temple and the establishment of the priestly commonwealth of the jews, was added a third section before the epic was closed. this fluctuated for a time and the christian era opened before it was finally determined by the canon of jewish authorities what books were sacred and what were secular. it was too late to destroy literature that was not to be deemed sacred, and it was only rejected and stamped as “apocrypha.” some of this was not inferior to some that was accepted, but it was not so essential to the complete- ness of the work that was to illustrate the life and character of ancient israel and carry its influence to future generations. this third and last section to be welded into the epic was called simply “the writings,” or in greek the “sacred writings,” and in modern versions of the jewish scriptures it is interpolated in the middle of that originally called “the prophets,” between the legendary and quasi-his- torical books and those deemed genuine prophetic oracles. one of these “writings,” however, the book of daniel, came to be classed among the prophets, and another, that of lamentations, was mistakenly attached to jeremiah, as utterances of the prophet, and though afterwards detached from the book it holds its place next to it in the arrangement. one of those always classed among the “minor prophets” is not a “prophecy,” but an illustrative story in the making of the epic which one of the old prophets, jonah, the son of amittai, figures. another of “the writings,” the beautiful idyl of ruth, which originated after the restoration of the temple as an appeal against the cruel edict of the priests separating the faith- ful from their alien wives, was attached to the book of judges, merely because it related back to the same heroic age; and, though again detached, it still holds its place after that book. for the rest, this section of the epic now begins with the quasi-historical books of chronicles and ezra and nehemiah which follow the books of kings. ezra and nehemiah, once treated as a single book, relate to the return from exile, the restoration of the temple and its worship, the rebuilding of the walls of jerusalem, and the promulgation of the law in the form in which it was brought back from the priestly circles at babylon before the completion of the levitical system. the book was compiled a century or two after the events to which it relates from material that consisted in part of veritable memoirs of ezra, who had brought back a de- tachment of the exiles, and of nehemiah, who had been commissioned by the persian king artaxerxes to rebuild the walls of zion. it exhibits the lack of orderly arrangement and of literary skill char- acteristic of the editing of the time, but is one of the most truly historical parts of the epic. the compiler was no doubt the author of the book of the great epic of israel chronicles, now divided into two books, and a priest ardently devoted to the new modes of wor- ship at the temple. his own book is made up of genealogies from the time of adam to david; and from the establishment of the monarchy it is a recasting of the history of judah, with in- cidental reference to israel, covering the same period as the books of kings. it transforms this history in the spirit of the priestly system of the author's day, which he zealously attributes to david, the founder of the dynasty now considered a sacred memory and the basis of a hope of great- ness yet to be realised. the other books are not arranged on any prin- ciple; but, as each is an independent element of the epic, it has no strictly logical place. one of these was the collection of proverbs and wise say- ings variously gathered together during the cen- turies, but commonly attributed to solomon, who was represented as a paragon of knowledge and wisdom by the chroniclers of judah. several col- lections of psalms and sacred songs had been made and these were massed together and labeled with the revered name of david. a few of these were old, but the greater part originated after the exile and were connected with the temple service. no element of the great epic reaches a loftier height of grandeur and sublimity than the dramatic poem of job, and nothing in human literature surpasses it in those qualities. the making of the epic three more “books" came within the canon after much questioning and hesitation in the cen- turies of doubt, when others were being gradually relegated to the limbo of apocrypha. esther, which powerfully embodies the pride and arro- gance of the jewish race, in spite of adversity and humiliation, probably owed its admission to its sup- posed explanation of the origin of the feast of purim. the gloomy and sceptical philosophy of the greater part of ecclesiastes, which was a late post-exilic production, long excluded it, and it was finally saved by association with the name of solomon and by its “conclusion of the whole matter,” appended by a later hand than that of the original author, that fear of god and keeping his commandments was the “whole duty of man,” and that god would “bring every work into judgment with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil.” “the song of songs, which is solomon's,” was rescued from oblivion and stuck as a glittering jewel upon the completed work, upon an unfounded assumption that it really was solomon's, and by an interpretation that made it symbolise the love of god for his people, which had as much ground as the later interpretation which twisted it into a symbol of “christ's love for the church.” it is a charming idyl of purely human and earthly love, probably wrought from the wedding songs of the judean days after the exile, and gives a glimpse of the side of life in the great epic of israel those days that relieves the gloom and solemnity with which it is apt to be too closely associated in the modern mind. properly considered the book of daniel closes the epic. it relates to the desperate struggle of the jewish nation for renewed life against the op- pression of syria, and prefigures its short-lived triumph. though its visions of that triumph, which was to result in an “everlasting kingdom '' and the subjection of all other “dominions,” were doomed to sink under the eclipse of the roman power, it was interpreted anew when the dark- ness fell, as foreshadowing the messianic time, when god's anointed would surely reign in glory, and all the nations of the earth would be brought under his sway or be destroyed. then would all his saints be redeemed from tribulation and their enemies brought to shame and everlasting con- tempt, even to “many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth.” thus we have the early myths and legends of israel, the outlines of its history for a thousand years, the development of its laws and its ethical ideas, its conceptions of deity and its religious faith, its wisdom and philosophy, its highest poetry and its exalted prophecy, wrought by the concurrent and consecutive efforts of its own genius during the latter half of that eventful millenium into one great work of literature, which has been regarded as a sacred heritage by a large the making of the epic part of mankind ever since. it is a human work in the sense that all the history and literature of mankind are human work, and divine only as all that is wrought through man for the elevation and progress of the race may be regarded as divine. it is open to the study of man as all the work of god and man is open to his study, with the free- dom of thought and reason with which man is endowed by his maker. it is only by breaking the seal of peculiar sanctity and exclusiveness which jewish priests and rabbis imposed upon it two thousand years ago, that the interest of men at this day can be revived in its contents, and a living benefit can be again derived from its lessons. with this in mind we will now try to get a fuller and clearer view of what it contains. the myths of israel . the presence of nature, vivid imagination and un- curbed credulity. hence their speculations on the origin of things took the form of myths, created by a poetic imagination, but accepted for truth as readily as are the results of research in these modern days. the epic opens, as we have seen, with an ac- count of the creation, prefixed to it at a late day and derived from babylon in the time of the exile. it is much loftier in conception than what follows it, which is five centuries older. the old myth of the creation was of chaldean origin and appears to have been curtailed when this prelude was prefixed to it, but enough of it remains to show that it did not represent the earth as emerg- ing from a waste of waters, but as being itself an arid waste, waiting for the mist to rise and the rain to fall. the story of the creation of man and woman and their environment in the garden also had its germ in chaldean lore, but it bears the true impress of hebrew genius in its doctrine of human life as a fall from the favour of god and a struggle for the grace of an alienated and resentful deity, who had been disobeyed in the very infancy of mankind. the god of these early myths is created in the image of man, a high ideal for the time of its conception, but it is crude according to any rational estimate of modern times. he fashions man from clay and woman from his rib, and breathes life into them; he walks in the the great epic of israel garden, asks questions and gives commands, and he drives the disobedient pair from paradise into a lonely world, which speedily appears neverthe- less to be old and occupied, and he soon decides his first experiment to have been a failure and destroys all but one family with a flood of waters and starts anew with the human race, but with little greater success. the story of the deluge, as well as that of the garden of eden found its suggestion in chaldean mythology. incongruity soon appears in this story of the beginning of the race on account of the diversity of material of which it is composed. the ancient fragment which gives the descent of lamech from cain came from an author who knew nothing of the cutting off of the race by a flood of waters, for lamech, who in other material is made the father of noah, begets children who are the pro- genitors of those who invented the arts and crafts of the writer's time. the genealogy which makes lamech descend from seth in seven generations, instead of from cain in five, and makes him the father of noah, is one of the interpolations from the post-exilic priestly writing, by which also the yahwist's account of the flood is somewhat con- fused in the final redaction. it is the same priestly writer of a late day that devised the covenant with noah of which the rainbow was to be the token. there is an ancient fragment which makes canaan, instead of ham, the son of noah upon whom the the myths of israel curse of subjection is pronounced, and another that accounts for the dispersion of mankind by the confusion of tongues when the audacious at- tempt was made to reach heaven with a tower, instead of by the division of the family of noah, whose descendants had the names of places and tribes known in the time of the writer who described the “generations" of the sons of noah. the formal genealogy of the line of shem, like that of the line of seth to noah, is an interpola- tion from the priest's writing after the exile. these preliminary myths, leading to the ap- pearance of abram, or abraham, as the ancestor of israel, are crude, but they are intended to exalt the hebrew race above the rest of mankind and they serve that purpose effectively. there is more skill displayed in the series of ethnic myths em- bodied in the stories of the patriarchs, and they are less marred by mixture of material and the meddling of late scribes. here the peculiar genius of the writer known as the yahwist appears at its best. the earliest time to which these myths can be traced was four or five centuries after the sup- posed deliverance from egyptian bondage under moses and the struggles through the deserts to the “promised land.” it was nearly a century and a half after the setting up of the kingdom of saul, and many years after its division on the death of solomon into two, the stronger of which ar- the myths of israel and it was claimed as an ancestral name by all the semitic tribes of the west, though israel made it peculiarly its own. israel's early writers took pride in deriving its ancestry from the ancient empire of babylonia, or chaldea, and brought their “abram ” from one of its chief capitals, uru, or “ur of the chaldees,” with kinsmen who became progenitors of other nations akin to israel. canaan had been won by bloody conquest and trampling upon its original inhabitants, but possession was to be justified and sanctified by a promise to abram, whose name was then changed to abraham, and to his descendants, and by a solemn covenant between him and his god, who was to be the god of all his posterity. this posterity the deity would multiply and make his peculiar care until in it all the nations of the earth should be blessed. intermediate be- tween the chaldean progenitor and the supplanter, whose sons were to be the fathers of all the twelve tribes, a link was interposed with a name of cheer- ful omen, “isaac’’ or “laughter,” associated with the ancient fane nearest to egypt, that of beersheba. he was sanctified as a special gift of god by being made the offspring of his parents when they were old and when the mother had been previously barren all her life. precedence in point of time, in accordance with historic fact, was given to kindred tribes of arabia, but they were made the offspring of an egyptian slave in o the great epic of israel the service of abram and sarai, not yet trans- formed to abraham and sarah, in the person of ishmael, in whom was personified the char- acter of a people whose hand was against all others. other tribes of inferior rank were cred- ited to abraham by a second marriage. the personality of isaac is not clearly defined, but it is different with that of rebekah through whom the relation of israel to syria and to edom is portrayed. nahor, the name of a place in mesopotamia, is made the brother of abram; and to his granddaughter, rebekah, isaac is married, abraham sending a servant of damascene origin to bring her. haran was also the name of a place, but it was made a brother of abram who had died in the land of the “chaldees,” but through whose son, lot, the ammonites and moabites were to be accounted for. edom was older than israel and closely allied in blood, and there had been rivalry between them in the early days of the kingdom, which, before the time of the yahwist writer, had resulted in israel gaining the upper hand in its own territory. in the myth of isaac and rebekah, esau represent- ing edom, and israel, under the name of jacob, were twins. esau was the first-born, but was sup- planted by his brother. the story, as we have it, is of mixed material and has two different accounts of the manner in which jacob secured the prece- dence over esau. his name is explained by his the myths of israel i grasping his brother by the heel at birth and ac- cording to one account he craftily buys the birth- right with a mess of pottage, and according to the other secures his ascendancy by the wily trick, to which his syrian mother incites him, of obtain- ing the blessing of his blind father which was in- tended for the first-born. israel's supremacy by divine favour and human duplicity being thus established, the kinship with syria is made more prominent by jacob being sent thither to marry a daughter of laban, his mother's brother. syria's duplicity appears in the trick by which laban imposes upon jacob first the elder and less attractive daughter, whom he did not de- sire, and making him serve a second seven years for rachel, the younger; but jacob shows his superiority in craft by contriving to get into his own possession the bulk of laban's property. the relative position of the tribes is most skilfully illustrated in the birth of jacob's children by the two wives and their two handmaidens, and there is nothing in all literature that surpasses in com- pactness and vividness the manner in which national characteristics are embodied in esau, laban and jacob. the traits personified in the last named by the genius of the authors of these myths persisted throughout the history of israel and are a heritage of the jews to this day. the point of view of the writers to whom we owe these graphic pictures of israel's mythical the great epic of israel origin was that of the northern kingdom, to which they belonged and which they magnified over judah. this accounts for the character of the stories of the sons of jacob. the judahite writer who after the destruction of samaria blended their narratives into one, and the subse- quent scribes who copied and revised the work, did not efface or seriously mar this character, which so glorified joseph at the expense of his brethren. the name joseph implied separation and was given to all that territory which had broken away from judah after the death of solomon. its dominant domain was ephraim, which judahite writers were wont to use as a designation of the whole kingdom called by its own subjects “israel,” and the next in rank was manasseh, mainly on account of its territorial extent. those two were regarded as the sons of joseph, whose name loomed above all others in the family of jacob. according to tradition the oldest of the tribes was reuben, which settled permanently on the east side of the jordan and in some unexplained way had committed outrage upon the family and had disappeared as a distinct territorial designa- tion. it is referred to disparagingly in that oldest of israel's heroic ballads, the “song of deborah,” and there is a poetical allusion to its national offence in the so-called “blessing of jacob.” by the same figure of speech it is embodied in a brief statement in the yahwist narrative. reuben is the myths of israel made the first-born of leah. there was another tribe that had been associated in tradition with judah in the far south under the name of simeon but had faded out. it was made the second son of leah. there had been a class of wandering priests or ministers of worship in the primitive times known as levites, and though they had no territory or inheritance of their own in the king- dom, they were exalted into a tribe as the sons of levi, the third son of leah. judah, which was a kingdom by itself, was given the place of fourth son of jacob and leah. meantime no offspring was vouchsafed to rachel. four of the tribes or districts of minor rank were assigned to jacob's paternity by hand- maids of his two wives, the names being explained by circumstances of their birth, or rather of their conception. first, the handmaid of rachel gave birth to dan and naphtali and then that of leah to gad and asher. two other tribes were granted the maternity of leah, issachar and zebulun. leah also had a daughter, dinah, who served the sole purpose of accounting for an apparently unprovoked attack which, according to tradition, simeon and levi had made upon she- chem. shechem, as well as the israelite clans, was personified in the story. at last the beloved rachel was blessed with a son, that joseph who was so glorified as the saviour of the family. after that, jacob left laban with his wives and children the great epic of israel and the flocks and herds he had acquired in “serv- ing ” his father-in-law. in the brief account of the parting the political relation of israel and syria is symbolised and incidentally that of israel with the brother nation of edom. the craft of jacob appears in contrast with the relative obtuseness and gullibility of laban, and his cringing timidity com- pares unfavourably with the frankness and courage of esau; but national characteristics are exhibited with unshrinking candour. finally, on the journey through the heritage of israel rachel dies in giving birth to jacob's youngest son, the little but warlike tribe of benjamin, which furnished the first king of israel. this manner of accounting for the nation and the different tribes or divisions of which it had at one time or another been composed, is in the true spirit and manner of old mythologies, but it has a vivid realism peculiar to the hebrew genius. it is followed, after a genealogy of the family of esau, or the “generations" of edom, mainly a late interpolation,- by the remarkable glorifi- cation of the northern kingdom at the expense of judah embodied in the story of joseph and his brethren, which also serves to account, in a man- ner to cover the humiliation, for the falling into servitude in egypt. that this should have been preserved with so little defacement by the judean writers who blended the original material and afterwards revised and completed the narratives, the myths of israel seems strange, and still more so that they should have interposed between the account of selling joseph into egypt and his rise to greatness there, the old story about judah and his children which was obviously intended to cast obloquy on the royal line of that kingdom. in any other literature the mythical character of what we have been considering would be taken for granted. there were attempts by various peoples in ancient times both before and after the age of israel's literary development to account for the origin of the world and the human race, and various mythical accounts of the birth and growth of nations. there were personifications of places and of tribes and nations with names of imaginary ancestors and founders, and the chief peculiarity of those of the hebrews is their close connection with the development of a religious system of a high order, which took a hold upon mankind and maintained it for centuries, moulding human faith upon enduring lines. the ancient poem introduced into one of the old narratives which were blended in the book of genesis, known as “jacob's blessing ” of his sons, affords a striking illustration of the use of these personal names as applied to the so-called tribes of israel. this antedates the yahwist narrative and must have been written before the division of the kingdom on the death of solomon. in spite of its strong personifications, its reference to the great epic of israel divisions of the people rather than to individual persons is quite obvious. it is inconceivable as the utterance of a dying patriarch speaking of his living sons, and comprehensible only as a poetical description of the characteristics of the several tribes or sections, when the sceptre was held by judah after a conflict with enemies, while joseph was a flourishing region. the historic degrada- tion of the oldest tribe for its obscure dereliction is referred to. the next two are condemned for violence, in apparent allusion to the attack upon shechem, mythically figured in the story of dinah. they were to be scattered in israel, as simeon and levi had disappeared as separate tribes, and levi was evidently not then regarded as the father of the priesthood. there is no reference to ephraim and manasseh, but in the narrative just preceding the poem they had received a blessing which gave ephraim precedence, though manas- seh was the elder. benjamin, who in the story is depicted as a beloved child, is likened in the poem to a ravening wolf, in allusion to predatory ex- ploits of the tribe. there is a much later poem personifying the tribes, known as the “blessing of moses" for the children of israel, which was introduced into the book of deuteronomy. this distinctly orig- inated in the northern kingdom some time after the division, when it was strongly conscious of its own pre-eminence. it has a prayer that reuben the myths of israel may yet survive, but it ignores the existence of simeon. by this time levi is recognised as the father of the priesthood and without tribal re- lation. judah is referred to slightingly as the one that is separated from his people. benjamin is the beloved of the lord, but a lavish wealth of blessing is bestowed upon joseph, and his divi- sion into ephraim and manasseh is recognised. as in the other poem the reference to the other sons of jacob imply tribal or territorial charac- teristics. there is another significant use of these per- sonal names for tribes or clans in a fragment of the yahwist narrative which is included in the be- ginning of the book of judges, where “the lord,” that is, the god yahweh, is represented as saying that judah should go up first to fight against the canaanites, and judah says to simeon his brother “come up with me into my lot that we may fight against the canaanites and i likewise will go with thee into thy lot. so simeon went with him.” this throws an unmistakable light upon the man- ner of personifying the clans of israel and the process of evolving from their names and relation- ship the stories of the patriarch and his ancestors and his sons. having thus considered the character and pur- pose of these ethnic myths, we are better prepared to bestow a glance upon the manner in which they are used in the composite narratives, from the ap- the great epic of israel pearance of abram, or abraham, to the death of jacob, whose sons were kept in egypt. abram is called by “the lord ”— this phrase is com- monly used in our english version for the name yahweh — out of “ur of the chaldees,” with his brother and the son of a deceased brother, and, after sojourning for a time in haran for the propa- gation of the syrian branch of the family by his brother, he is made to traverse the land to be con- secrated as the heritage of his descendants, and to go down into egypt in a time of famine to demonstrate the care of “the lord ” over him and over his wife's chastity. then is presented the episode of the separation from him of his nephew lot, who was to become the progenitor of the ammonites and moabites, these being degraded as the offspring of drunkenness and incest. lot dwelt in the cities of the plain of jordan, while abram remained in the land of canaan, with his tent at the oak of mamre. it was one of the latest revisers of those old tales who took occasion here to introduce the ac- count of the invasion of the jordan plain from the east, in which abram appears as a warrior chieftain to rescue lot from his captors and do homage to the king of salem (peace) and priest of god most high. there may have been some old tradition to found it upon, but it is plainly a work of the imagination, and is quite incongruous with what precedes and follows it. the myths of israel although the description of the destruction of sodom and gomorrah, the escape of lot and the birth of moab and ammon in the mountain, might naturally be expected to come in here, it is pre- ceded by a somewhat lurid account of the solemn promise of god to abram, in which the hand of the elohist writer is discerned for the first time, and which was elaborated by a late redactor. here also appears the yahwist version, somewhat modified by later hands, of the birth of ishmael, child of the egyptian handmaid hagar, and their expulsion from the family by the jealousy of sarai. what follows that, as a formal account of the covenant between god and abram of which cir- cumcision is made the token, and of the change of names to abraham and sarah, with the first ver- sion of the promise of the birth of isaac, is from the pen of the post-exilic writer who made these narratives the prelude and framework of the elaborate system known as the priests' code. in the story of the iniquity of sodom and gomorrah, the destruction of the cities and the escape of lot, which follows after this interrup- tion, there is an interesting view of the yahwist's conception of deity, in harmony with that which appears in the story of the garden of eden. yah- weh appears in the guise of a man with two at- tendants, and holds familiar converse with abra- ham, has a mild controversy with him, and makes the promise of the birth of a son, which causes the great epic of israel the amusement that explains the name of isaac. the whole episode, is in the alluring manner of this greatest of primitive writers and was not marred by later editing. the elohist writer, whose work was woven more or less closely with that of the yahwist from here on, had an account of an experience of abra- ham and sarah with abimelech, king of gerar, which was a variant of the yahwist's account of the experience of abram and sarai in egypt. notwithstanding the similarity, this is also pre- served in the narrative, while, later on, a similar experience of isaac and rebekah with this king of gerar is drawn from the yahwist source, revealing the confusion caused by making from variants of the same mythical story different experiences of characters represented to be real. after the state- ments regarding the birth of isaac the elohist's version of the ejection of hagar and ishmael is introduced, which is not made wholly consistent with that of the earlier writer. from the same source is the account of the “offering of isaac,” which may be taken not only as exhibiting the obedience and faith of abraham, but as symbolis- ing the substitution of animal for human sacrifice. the prosaic account of the death and burial of sarah is an interpolation of the priestly writers after the exile. the story of the wooing of rebekah by proxy and the marriage of isaac is a charming passage the myths of israel from the epic genius known as the yahwist. that of the birth of esau and jacob and the supplant- ing of the first-born by the second-born twin is somewhat confused by a mixture of material from the two sources, and imperfect efforts to blend it harmoniously. close analysis has been made, but it is not necessary to our purpose. it was the elohist who made esau a red and hairy man, and the yahwist who made the father blind. the lat- ter never attempts to disguise the craft or duplicity of his characters. there is a similar mingling of material in the account of jacob's migration to syria, his relations with laban, the birth of his children, and his encounter with his brother of edom on his return to canaan. upon the myth- ical character and significance of these incidents there is no further occasion to enlarge. consider- ing the time and manner of their production, cen- turies after the supposed events, to argue for their reality as history is to indulge in nonsense. the same is true of the delightful story of joseph and his brethren, which is also somewhat marred by an imperfect blending of material. the most picturesque, pathetic and lifelike touches are always those of that unknown homer of the hebrews called the yahwist or jehovist. that writer lived at the time when the kingdom of that part of israel known as joseph, or as ephraim and manasseh, was at its highest estate, while judah, after the death of solomon and before the the great epic of israel time of hezekiah, was in eclipse. the pride and sense of superiority of the northern kingdom crops out at many points in spite of the privilege which judean writers exercised so freely of editing its literature after the kingdom wºº destroyed. this sense of superiority was exemplified at a much later time in the reply of king jehoash to amaziah of judah when he proposed an alliance. “the thistle that was in lebanon sent to the cedar that was in lebanon saying, ‘give thy daughter to my son to wife’; and there passed a wild beast that was in lebanon and trod down the thistle.” the yahwist writer appeared but two genera- tions or so after the return of jeroboam from his sojourn in egypt, to become the first king of israel and to lord it over judah. it was in that interval that the myths arose regarding the title to the land of canaan, the origin of the tribes of israel in the sons of jacob, and the reasons for going down to egypt to fall into galling servitude. what companions jeroboam had in egypt, what lore he may have brought from there, we do not know, but there is evidence, even in the unfriendly record, that he was a man of great ability and was treated with consideration by the reigning pharaoh. it is probable that out of that sojourn grew the first accounts of the deliverance and sug- gestions for the story of joseph's glory and great- ness and the humiliation of his brethren. it is certain that there could be nothing historical in the the myths of israel accounts of what preceded the servitude, and even those of the escape, so long before they appeared, could be nothing else than legendary, with mythical elaboration. when for ages there are no written records, tradition may carry through memory from generation to generation the main outline of events and the chief features of great characters, but only imagination can supply details and furnish thought and language to the departed actors; and whatever is above the range of common human experience comes necessarily from invention. the account of the exodus from egypt is hardly less mythical than that of the origin of the tribes and their title to the land which they wrested by barbarous warfare from the canaanites. how could it be otherwise after the lapse of nearly five centuries between the event and the earliest writ- ten material of the narratives which were after- wards woven together and elaborated to form the framework of the latest development of the law, in the time of the priests who restored the worship at jerusalem after the exile? during that event- ful period there had been a change of language and the adoption of writing from phoenicia, and no inscriptions or authentic memorials reaching back of the kings have ever been discovered. con- sidering that the name moses virtually meant de- liverer, or one that draws out, even the personality for which it stands recedes into the realm of myth, though there must have been a potent and resolute the great epic of israel leader to take the “mixed multitude" from the borders of egypt through the perils and trials of the wilderness to the jordan valley, an achieve- ment which according to tradition had occupied forty years. if there was such a period, the actual incidents of the prolonged experience are unre- corded and the character of the condensed story marks it as in the main fictitious. this is necessarily so of such happenings as the birth of moses, his meeting with the god yahweh at mount horeb, when the deity was revealed in fire in a bush that was not consumed, and his personal converse with that divinity, who had dis- covered the oppression of his people in egypt and determined to bring them out with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, of the miraculous but cruel afflictions visited upon the egyptians, to humiliate their stubborn ruler and demonstrate the might and implacable vengeance of israel's god, of the crossing of the red sea and the fulmination of divine commands from mount sinai, the later name for horeb, and of the incidents of the long journey with their supernatural accompaniments. to argue for the reality of these things is to re- nounce the benefit of all modern knowledge and discard the function of reason which men have been training in these later centuries. it is sufficient to consider the reality of the deity as conceived of by the earliest writers of israel, when it came to a struggle or a conflict the myths of israel with the enemies of their people. this god, who had promised to his own peculiar people a land occupied by others, to be seized by the ruthless extermination of its inhabitants, was pictured as lying in wait in his mountain fastness until the cry of his oppressed people reached him, and then rescuing them by an exhibition of terror and cruelty which would be universally denounced as barbarous if it came within the compass of any human despot and was exercised by him to ac- complish his purpose. to say nothing of the other plagues, the slaughter of the first-born of . all the families of egypt is a horror compared with which the equally mythical massacre by herod of the children of bethlehem sinks into in- significance. was it a real deity who counselled the spoiling of the egyptians, who broke out in fiery wrath when his people complained and had to be remonstrated with by his servant to prevent him from killing them, who did kill thousands of them by sending fiery serpents and famine and pestilence among them as a penalty for disobedi- ence, and who descended upon a mountain top in clouds and darkness and revealed his presence in lightning and thunder, declaring that he would break through all bounds and destroy the people if they attempted to “gaze upon the lord?” was it not rather the conception of a rude age and the creation of a vivid imagination, to impress the people with awe and give a tremendous sanc- the great epic of israel tion to the rules of conduct and the worship de- manded of them by their leaders and teachers? it does not follow that there was deliberate or conscious invention or intent to deceive, any more than in the case of the mythology of egypt or chaldea, of greece and rome or of mediaeval europe. the writers may have thought their imagination to be the inspiration of their god and believed what they wrote or said to be true, for they did not distinguish thought from knowledge where real knowledge was unattainable. there may have been traces of tradition upon which to string the narratives that run through the books of exodus and of numbers but in the main they are mythical, the imagining of poetic genius. their vivid realism and the insistent claim of a divine origin have long imposed upon a credulous world. these narratives are of a composite character throughout. passages have been identified by the learned as from the yahwist document, others from the elohist and more from the blend pro- duced from these by later writers. there are interpolations by the priestly writers of the exile and after, including most of the elaboration of the law in the later chapters of exodus, practi- cally all of leviticus and a considerable part of numbers. deuteronomy is to be consid- ered as a separate production. the mythical element runs into the account of the conquest in the myths of israel the book of joshua, and the legends that follow are not wholly free from it. the book of exodus, as far as the lurid description of mount sinai and the fulmination of the law, is for the most part from the composite production of the so-called yahwist and elohist as combined or blended at a later time and finally edited after the exile. the scraps of genealogy and the instructions for the observance of the passover are interpolations from the late priestly writings, and the account of the feeding upon manna before the mountain is reached is elaborated from the same source. the triumphal song after crossing the red sea is gen- erally believed by scholars to have been included in one of the ancient documents; but some, in view of the reference immediately afterwards to the song of miriam, of which only a fragment is pre- served, regard it as a later interpolation. the battle with amalek at the end of chapter xvii, the wise counsel of moses's father-in-law in chap- ter xxviii, and the description of the scene on mount sinai in chapter xix, are ascribed to the elohist. the version of the passage generally known as the ten commandments, introduced im- mediately after the description, is probably a late recension. the real purpose of the scene was ap- parently to introduce what is designated as the “book of the covenant,” beginning at xx, , and extending to xxiii, . this was incorpo- rated in one of the older documents, but was sub- the great epic of israel sequently modified to some extent. the narrative is resumed after that, where it contains the state- ment that moses went up on the mountain with aaron and abihu and came down to tell the people “all the words of the lord ” and to write them down. this is interrupted by a diverse and much later account of moses going up with joshua and waiting six days for an interview with “the lord ” and remaining on the mountain forty days and forty nights. the next six chapters, containing the directions for constructing the tabernacle, the tent of meeting, &c., are unquestionably post-exilic, belonging to what the scholars call the “priests' code,” as are the subsequent chapters telling how the instruc- tions were executed. the absurdity of supposing that anything like this was actually done in the wilderness of sinai is sufficiently obvious, but the purpose was to give an ancient and divine sanc- tion to the ceremonial devices of the second temple. between these two descriptions of the trappings of the temple prototype there is another composite passage of peculiar interest. it begins with the account of the making of the golden calf, which was intended at the time of its production by the elohist writer as a lesson and a warning to those of the northern kingdom who were enticed to heathenism by the symbols set up by jeroboam i for the worship at bethel and dan. it had been previously represented in the narrative that “the the myths of israel lord ” promised to give moses two tables of stone upon which he had written “the law and the commandment.” now it is said that moses after dissuading “the lord ” from destroying the people in the heat of passion came down with the two tables of stone written on both sides by god himself, broke all the commandments in anger at what met his view by throwing them down, and burnt and ground to powder an image made of gold, or perhaps of gilded wood. after the wrath of “the lord ” has been appeased by the slaughter of about three thousand men and he had renewed his promise and his threat, moses was directed to hew two new tables of stone and take them up the mountain for the lord to write upon. this he did, and, after a parley with the lord, certain distinct covenants were uttered and moses was directed to write them down; and after again being with the lord forty days and forty nights he “wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten commandments,” manifestly meaning the words that had then been given him. this is what the ancient writers meant by the ten commandments, and what we call the decalogue was a later production, of which there was more than one version. the descrip- tion of moses coming down from the mountain with a shining face and having to put on a veil when speaking to the “congregation ” is from the late material of the post-exilic priests. o the great epic of israel from the same source is all the elaboration of the law, the commands, the observances of sacri- fice and worship that follow in leviticus and numbers. the more or less mythical narra- tives of the irregular march through “the wilder- ness,” that is, the deserts of arabia, are resumed near the end of chapter x of the latter book, and we get the mixture of ancient material again, with here and there intimations of still older po- etic sources. here is the original account of the feeding on manna and the miraculous supply of quails with which the people were sickened of their complaining by being smitten with a “very great plague.” here also we find the story of miriam stricken with leprosy because she and aaron remonstrated with moses for marrying a cushite woman. there is the same conception of deity as a jealous being, quickly provoked to wrath, fierce in anger, vengeful toward those who disobeyed him and toward the enemies of his peo- ple, but easily mollified by evidences of repentance and submission,- surely not a real divinity ac- cording to any rational conception now possible, but the product of the imagination in a primitive time, like other ancient gods. the descriptions of the experience on that mem- orable but unremembered journey must in all reason and conscience be regarded as mythical or as fictitious. there are evidences here and there of inventions for a specific purpose, as in the latest the myths of israel material of the mixed account of the insurrection against the authority of moses and aaron under the leadership of korah, dathan and abiram. tradition of some such incident appears in the older narrative, but it was turned to account by the latest revisers to establish the authority of the priesthood in the family of aaron and consecrate the distinction between priests and levites, which never existed before the exile. in connection with this also there is an exhibition of that ruthless wrath which characterised the god yahweh in those troublous times. there is relief in the more truly mythical epi- sodes, like that of the attempt of the king of moab to repel the horde that was invading his kingdom by getting the prophet balaam to curse it. there are two accounts of this, one from the yahwist and the other from the elohist, which are imperfectly harmonised by the compiler who adopted both. the turning of the intended curse to a blessing seems in the two accounts to be a variation of poetic material from a common source, much older than either of them. the picture of israel that it presents could hardly have been drawn after the division of the first kingdom and could not be earlier than the triumph of da- vid and the preparation for the glory of solomon. the enumeration of the people, the establish- ment of the law of inheritance and the various ordinances regarding sacrifices and offerings, to- the great epic of israel gether with the allotment of tribes in the promised land and the review of the various stages of the journey, in short, practically all of the book of numbers after the balaam episode came from the late material of the priestly writers. the main substance of the book of deuteronomy is a version of the law discovered in the time of jo- siah of judah, with introductory discourses of later origin attributed to moses, and some addi- tions and variations. near to its close is the po- etical production known as the “song of moses" which probably had its origin in the time of the exile, and the so-called “blessing of moses,” which is much older and has been already suffi- ciently considered. the book ends with the ac- count of the death of moses before the invasion of canaan. this is a comparatively late addi- tion to the older narratives. the leadership passed to joshua with the necessary divine sanc- tion, and his name was connected with the book which gives an account of the conquest, as that of moses was associated with all that preceded it, when the mass of epic literature was finally com- pacted. the mythical element strongly asserts itself in the material of joshua derived from the yah- wist and the elohist sources, as a considerable part of it was. this appears as clearly in the story of crossing the jordan as in that of crossing the red sea, and is plain enough in that of the the myths of israel siege and capture of jericho. it is unmistakable in the account of joshua's battles, the first failure at ai on account of the sin of achan, and the tri- umph after the offender had been stoned to death; the wily proceeding of the emissaries of gibeon whereby certain cities were saved from destruc- tion, and, according to later revisers of the ma- terial, the subjection of canaanites to menial serv- ice was justified; the league of the five kings of the amorites and their fate, and the subjection of king jabin of hazor and his allies. the systematic account of the extermination of the inhabitants and devastation of the towns of various sections of the land, and the al- lotment to the different tribes of israel, is of later production and fictitious rather than mythical. it was intended to prefigure the restoration of the inheritance after the return from exile. most of this material was de- rived from the framework of the “priests’ code " in post-exilic days. the account of joshua's farewell address in chapter xxiii is, however, older, and his rehearsing of past events before the tribes gathered at shechem, and his urgent warning against idolatry, is ascribed by the learned to the elohist writer, who lived and wrote in the anxious days of jeroboam ii, when the warning was most needed. the last trace of these distinctly mythological productions is found at the beginning of the book of judges. v heroic and historic legends one of the most interesting portions of the hebrew epic is that which covers the legendary period between the conquest of canaan and the establishment of the monarchy. much that is legendary is mingled with the mythical and with a later fictitious element, in the account of the con- quest itself, and the character of joshua is hardly more real than that of moses or aaron. but tra- ditions of the time when there was no king in is- rael and heroes arose to lead the people to bat- tle when beset by enemies, came nearer to the light of history, and the original form of the stories of these champions and their exploits were probably written down earlier than any of the other narratives or perhaps anything in the whole composite work, except a few ancient fragments. the pristine flavour was preserved through all the processes of compilation, revision and redaction. but the period was a long one, of two centuries or more, and one of obscure transition, with scat- tered and unorganised tribes slowly gaining their ascendancy and imperfectly coalescing. few were the events preserved in memory to furnish mate- heroic and historic legends rial for the first writers, more than a century after the latest of these events were passed. it was an age of relative barbarism, of low conceptions of deity and humanity and of the relations of men to each other and to their gods. the champions who arose in time of trouble became rulers only locally and temporarily, when they became such at all, and the title by which they were known is imperfectly rendered in english by the word “judges.” in what is called the book of judges we must distinguish that which covers these legends of heroes, contained in the chapters from the third to the sixteenth, and the later ap- pendix of five chapters relating to the migration of the danites and to the war upon benjamin. these legends first appeared in written form sometime after the division into two kingdoms and in that known as israel, or ephraim, which held that of judah almost in contempt, notwith- standing the achievements of david and solomon. when they were afterwards compiled into a con- tinuous narrative there was an attempt to fill the gaps with the names of other “judges " than the heroes of these tales, but there were scarcely any exploits remembered with which to credit them. we are told of a shamgar who saved israel by smiting six hundred philistines with an ox goad, and of others who had thirty sons that rode on asses' colts or thirty sons and thirty daughters, these apparently being symbolical expressions the great epic of israel for the domain they ruled. still later, when this literature passed into the possession of ju- dah, after the destruction of samaria, and when the theocratic doctrine was developed, which at- tributed all trouble or calamity to the anger of “the lord” when his people sinned or provoked his jealousy by wandering after other gods, and credited every deliverance or triumph to his favour | after the people repented or had been duly chas- tised, there was a revision which introduced this doctrine as an explanation of the events. in this | process there was some mutilation of the narra- tives, and in some cases there is evidence of inter- polation or the blending of more than one version of the same episode. in the final redaction of the “book" after the exile a summary account of the conquest was pre- fixed to it, which is believed to have come from the yahwist document, of which so much use had been made in the preceding books, and the occupa- tion of the land of canaan was made to follow the death of joshua instead of being achieved by him, and to be an imperfect conquest instead of a complete one. this prefix with the exception of the opening clause, which places the conquest after the death of joshua had evidently, been adopted by the theocratic compiler, for the latter part of it is interlarded with his general explanation of how the lord delivered the people into the hands of spoilers when they went “lusting” after other heroic and historic legends gods, and raised up “judges" to rescue them when his compassion was excited by their groaning under oppression. he also explains that the other tribes, or “nations,” were left among them for the purpose of testing, or “proving,” them and finding out whether they could be made to obey the commandments of the lord, “which he com- manded their fathers by the hand of moses.” it is he who gives the first example of oppression by the king of mesopotamia and of the rescue by othniel, and preludes the story of ehud and the fat king of moab with his customary explanation of the occasion for it; but it is a late editor, or redactor, who supplies the chronological scheme of forty year or twenty year or eighty year peri- ods. this was based upon an artificial manner of reckoning by generations and making twelve generations from the exodus to the completion of the temple. it is with ehud that the genuine legends begin. his barbaric act of duplicity and assassination is related with a certain gusto, and the summoning of the men of ephraim to take the fords of the jordan against the moabites sums up in a few words the whole conflict. the statement of the slaughter of ten thousand and the subduing of moab so that israel had rest for eighty years is one of the characteristic additions of the later ed- itors. brief and graphic also is the account of the conflict of the northern tribes with sisera, under the great epic of israel the clarion call of deborah the prophetess and with the aid of jael, the wife of the peaceful kenite. the preservation of the antique and mu- tilated song of victory suggests the source of the prose narrative. there is a glimpse of the ter- ror of those early days of shamgar, the son of anath, and of the awe excited by the coming of storms which were the war chariot of the god of israel as he swept over the mountains of seir to the rescue of his people. “and the land had rest forty years.” the mythical element is conspicuous in the story of the choosing of gideon of the clan of ab- iezer in manasseh to repel an invasion of mid- ianites, who were eating up the land like a swarm of locusts. back of it are the relics of a tale of blood-avenging in which gideon's clan alone was concerned, on account of the killing of his brothers by two midianite chiefs, whom he captured and slew with his three hundred men; but these relics are overlaid with an account of a general slaugh- ter of a multitude of midianites, with the forces summoned from all manasseh and the neighbour- ing tribes, reduced to these three hundred chosen warriors of abiezer. the appearance of the god yahweh in the guise of his “messenger,” or “the angel of the lord,” is in the manner of similar appearances to abram at the oaks of mamre and to other “patriarchs of the infant world.” the incidents attending this apparition, heroic and historic legends the mode of reducing the fighting force to three hundred and the manner of the battle with the midianite horde which threw it into panic and self- slaughter by a demonstration of torches and bro- ken pitchers, are distinctly mythical in character. like the fall of the walls of jericho at the blow- ing of rams' horns, they are intended to enforce the idea that when israel triumphs it is the act of his god and not of his men. still, there is no reason to doubt that there was behind the elaborate story a genuine tradition of a midian- ite invasion and the rising of gideon to lead the battle against it. it was a natural impulse of the people to de- sire to make a permanent ruler of gideon, who had not only repelled their enemies but destroyed the altar of baal and set up the worship of yah- weh-shalom at ophrah, with such an image as was later forbidden in “the law.” it was a late editor of the account that made this a “snare" to him and his house. the original writer saw no offence in it. the pristine account of the manner in which the son of gideon and a concubine undertook to set up a kingdom for him- self at shechem and was brought to grief, is but slightly marred by subsequent editing and is a vivid picture of the time. the tale of jephthah, the outlaw of gilead, who was called upon to repel the ammonites on the other side of the jordan has a prelude from a o the great epic of israel later hand than that of the original writer, and is broken by the interpolation of a long message from jephthah to the king of ammon, resenting the claim of that potentate to the land which he had invaded, and defining the jurisdiction of yah- weh and chemosh. it need not be said that no such message could have been conveyed and pre- served for several centuries, but it could easily be injected into the story of a later time, as it un- doubtedly was. in the touching episode of jeph- thah's daughter there is a reminder of days when a vow to yahweh might mean a human sacrifice. the compiler who put shamger after ehud and tola and jair after abimelech as “judges" of israel, interposed three successive rulers of whom nothing seems to have been known except the num- ber of their sons and daughters or grandsons, between jephthah and samson. there is myth again in the account of the birth of the danite hero, similar to that in the story of the birth of isaac, and later of that of samuel, and there is myth in his exploits, derived rather from phoe- nician or philistine than hebrew sources, for it is related to hercules and to sun worship, however remotely. but it is told in such a simple matter- of-fact and diverting way that it seems like an impertinence to subject it to critical analysis. it is neither matter of fact nor matter of history, but what actuality may have been back of it we can never find out. we may be sure, however, the great epic of israel mythical, but the accounts reflect a time which history could not depict with the same truthful colouring. two accounts of the actual battles at gibeah are so blended as to confuse the effect at some points, and two explanations of the man- ner of providing the surviving sons of benjamin with israelite wives are imperfectly reconciled; but this is of little moment compared with the calm assumption that the ruthless slaughter of women and children in such contests was an ac- cepted thing. legendary episodes in the life of israel are not confined to the period of the so-called judges nor is the story of them limited to the book that bears that title. the book of samuel, divided into two in the greek version and in all modern versions, was compiled from a variety of material and more than once revised before its character was fixed beyond further change. some of the learned crit- ics find in this and in the stories of the judges traces of both of those old documents, the yah- wist and elohist narratives, as an underlying stratum; but in the main that to which the name of samuel is attached was made up from sepa- rate accounts of the “seer,” or prophet, and his relation to the first king, of saul in his relation to david, and of the exploits of david before he became a king. the varied material underwent several processes of compilation and recension, and the story of the birth and childhood of samuel heroic and historic legends which forms a prelude to the book was one of its latest parts. much older is the account which fol- lows it of a calamitous conflict with the philistines in which “the ark of god” was captured. this represents israel as being at that time subject to the philistines and as fighting against its subjec- tion, and the compiler of the book interjects the statement on the death of eli that he had “judged israel forty years,” implying that he had been the ruler of the people at shiloh, as other “judges " had been at other places. the proba- bility is that he had only been looked up to and consulted as a priest, exercising such rule as ex- isted in that region at the time. there is something hardly short of grotesque in the account of the use of the “ark of the cove- nant of the lord ” as a help in battle and an ob- ject of terror to the enemy, its capture by the philistines, its malignity in afflicting its captors, their relief by sending it back to israel with placa- tory offerings, and its deadly spite when some of its own devotees ventured to look into it. it need not be said that such accounts, wherever found, are not history but myth or perverted legend, in- tended to convey a lesson. doubtless this story was introduced here by the compiler as an expla- nation of the end of the rule of the priests of shi- loh and an introduction to the part taken by sam- uel in setting up the first king; and it was to lead up to it that the later matter was prefixed, relating the great epic of israel to the birth of samuel, the sins of the sons of eli and the doom of his house, and the revealing of “the word of the lord ” to samuel at shiloh, after which he was “established to be a prophet of the lord.” it was the theocratic compiler of these legends in the latter days of the kingdom, probably the same who had put together those of the “judges,” who introduced the warning of samuel to the people gathered at mizpah against the entice- ments of alien gods, and made offerings to “the lord ” for them, which resulted in their deliver- ance from the philistines. though this writer says that the latter were “subdued ” and “came no more within the border of israel,” and that samuel judged israel all the days of his life, this interlude is followed by a series of narratives drawn from different sources and inconsistent with each other, which represent samuel's function as quite other than that of a “judge of israel” all his life, and the philistines as persistent and trou- blesome enemies of israel all through the reign of saul and into that of david. the main purpose of the first book of samuel was to give an account of the setting up of the kingdom under saul of benjamin and its “estab- lishment” under david of judah. in its com- pilation three main sources were used and imper- fectly blended, with fragments here and there from others and interjections by the compilers and heroic and historic legends later editors in the effort to harmonise the incon- gruous material and to impress the lesson of yah- weh’s supremacy in the rule of israel. two of these sources were relatively ancient, probably originating soon after the time of solomon and less than a century after the time when saul was made king, one of them devoted to an account of saul and his exploits and the other to david and his relation to saul while the latter was king. some learned authorities regard these as one, but they have diversities that distinguish them, as re- garding character and events from different points of view. the other main source is much later, originating in the troublous times of jeroboam ii of israel and azariah, or uzziah, of judah, and being devoted chiefly to the relations of samuel and saul. after such an interval of time this was almost of necessity a work of the imagination mak- ing free use of older material and adapting it to the writer's pragmatic purpose. imagination, or the mythical element, must necessarily enter into such narratives, treating of events long past which survive only in the memory of successive genera- tions. sufficient evidence of this is to be found in the detailed reports of familiar talk, not only be- tween men, but between men and the deity, which could not have been literally transmitted even if they had been real. there are three diverse accounts of how saul came to be made king. according to the oldest the great epic of israel of these this goodly young man, the son of a mighty man of valour, kish of gibeah in benjamin, was searching for stray asses what time “the lord ” had confided to samuel,-" told samuel in his ear” is the homely phrase of the “authorised version ”— that he was sending this young man to him to be anointed as captain over his people to save them “out of the hand of the philistines,” for he had “looked upon " them because their cry was come unto him. it was the lord who determined to set up a king for israel out of the goodness of his heart and who picked out saul for the place. samuel anointed him and gave him benign instructions which caused the spirit of the lord to come upon him and led to an episode which gave rise to the proverbial query “is saul also among the prophets?” meantime the stray asses were miraculously brought home. this ac- count is in the simple manner of primitive story. there is another of doubtful origin and uncer- tain date which represents saul as having been “raised up " after the manner of the “judges" when king nahash of the ammonites made an at- tack upon jabesh-gilead where jephthah had be- fore been the champion against the same enemies. when the men of jabesh-gilead got a respite from nahash and sent word throughout israel for help and the message reached saul while he was fol- lowing the oxen in gibeah, the spirit of the lord came mightily upon him as it had come upon jeph- heroic and historic legends thah and gideon and samson, and he became the rescuer of the people. in gratitude they insisted upon making him king at the ancient sanctuary of gilgal. the beginning of the third account of making saul ruler over israel, drawn from the latest of the sources, is placed before that in which the lord had singled him out and sent him to samuel to be anointed. it represents the elders of israel as going to samuel at ramah, when he was old and had made his sons “judges over israel ” and they had turned from his ways and perverted judgment, and demanded that he set a king over them that they might be ruled like other nations. this not only displeased samuel but displeased the lord; and, although he yielded to the im- portunity, he instructed the prophet to warn the people of the consequences. this account is con- tinued after that which represents samuel as anointing saul at ramah and sending him to join a band of prophets going up to bethel. it says that samuel called the people together at mizpah and after rebuking them for rejecting their god, selected a king for them by a process of elimina- tion in the old manner of consulting the lord. saul was expecting no such honor and when it came upon him “hid himself among the stuff.” then follows the account of the war against na- hash and saul's appearance as a hero acclaimed by the people. the great epic of israel f the later writers who had a hand in this com- posite narrative were intent upon explaining how it happened that saul's reign was a failure and he had to be set aside in favour of david. this had necessarily to be attributed to the displeasure of the deity, and the latest of the accounts in the hands of the compiler and subsequent revisers of his work began by making the demand for a king an offence to the lord. further on it imputes to saul a serious fault in failing to obey literally a command of “the lord of hosts" utterly to ex- terminate the amalekites and destroy all they had. although there appears to have been plenty of amalekites in the time of david, saul is said to have utterly destroyed them with the edge of the sword, except their king agag, whom he brought away as a captive. he also saved some of the best of the cattle as spoils of war. for his of- fence samuel fiercely condemned him as rejecting the lord, and declared that the lord rejected him and would rend the kingdom away from him and give it to a better man. thereupon the aged prophet in his wrath slew agag, the last surviving amalekite, with his own hand and went home to ramah, while saul “went up to his house to gib- eah of saul.” the final editor in his effort to reconcile these accounts interpolated in the oldest a direction by samuel to saul to go down to gilgal and wait seven days for him to come and offer sacrifices. heroic and historic legends then at the end of the nahash episode he made samuel lead the people down to gilgal to “renew the kingdom " and there they “made saul king before the lord,” offered sacrifices and “rejoiced greatly.” by still another interpolation further on he represents saul as still waiting the seven days for samuel at gilgal and, when the time was up, making the sacrifices himself, thereby incurring the anger of the prophet and forfeiting the favour of “the lord.” this is made the cause of the breach between the prophet and the king and the occasion for declaring that the lord had “sought him a man after his own heart” and “appointed him to be prince over his people" because, in the language of samuel, “thou hast not kept that which the lord commanded thee,” and thereupon “samuel arose and gat him up from gilgal to gibeah of benjamin.” it is evident that the effort to reconcile these accounts was not successful, and that the explana- tion of the loss of the kingdom by the benjamite hero was duplicated in an inconsistent manner. but there is much disorder in the use of the ma- terial in the whole narrative. immediately after the account of the defeat of the ammonites there is a passage which begins with a plea of samuel to the people that he has grown old and has given them a king, and that he has never oppressed or defrauded them. this agrees with the idea that appears once or twice elsewhere that samuel the great epic of israel after the death of eli had acted as a “judge" in the old manner. he recalls to them the past deal- ings of the lord with his people and warns them and their king not to rebel against him. finally he calls upon the lord to make a demonstration of his power in thunder and rain, which immedi- ately follows. the prophet takes leave with a promise to pray for them and instruct them in the right way, and a warning that if they did wickedly both they and their king would be consumed. parts of this passage savour of that theocratic com- piler who put together the stories of the judges in a manner to illustrate the ways of israel's god. while the language is all put in the mouth of samuel it refers to him in one place in the third person as among those whom the lord in the past had sent to deliver them from their enemies “on every hand.” following this is an account, in the manner of the oldest source of the material, broken by one of the redactor's interpolations, of a contest of saul and his son jonathan, who appears suddenly as a full grown warrior, against the philistines. it is followed by a summary statement of his victories over these and other enemies, in which he “did valiantly.” among other he “smote the amale- kites and delivered israel out of the hands of them that spoiled them.” after a slight genealogical statement it is said that there was sore war against the philistines all the days of saul, and when he heroic and historic legends saw any mighty man he took him. this would seem like a winding up of his career, but it is immediately after that the late story of the loss of the kingdom by failing to destroy the last of the amalekites and all they had is interposed. after that david makes his first appearance on the scene, but saul does not leave the stage. a new source of the original material appears here, that which is mainly devoted to david's relation to saul and jonathan, but the other continues to mingle with it. by way of introducing the series of events in which saul and david both appear, the later writer who strove to get the narratives into a continuous and consistent form, gives his own account of the first anointing of david at his father's home in bethlehem by samuel, who has two or three times already appeared to be vanishing. it was then considered necessary to have the prophet anoint the future king and founder of a great dynasty, under the direction of the lord. with the new material we are told of the evil spirit that came upon saul when the spirit of the lord had departed from him, and of the coming of david to soothe him by playing upon the harp. the shepherd lad / is here spoken of as already a mighty man of valour and a man of war, as well as cunning in playing the harp, prudent in speech and comely in person. but the account of the war with the philistines in which goliath of gath appears as a champion the great epic of israel and is slain by david with a sling is mostly from the later source. it is marred and confused in the editing and a number of verses, as it is divided in english versions, are not in the greek text. it is purely legendary matter. it may be noted that, notwithstanding the previous statement that david was brought to saul as a skilful player of the harp and was made his armour-bearer, this goliath story is made the occasion of his first meeting with the king. even in that an incon- sistency appears, for he is called to saul and has a colloquy with him before entering upon his ex- ploit with the sling, and yet after it is over the king inquires who he is and has him brought to him as a stranger. in spite of its defects of com- position the story is one of the classic episodes of the great epic. in the account of saul's growing jealousy of david, the affectionate relation of the latter with the king's son, the peril of the youth of bethle- hem, his fleeing to samuel at ramah and being har- boured by the priests of nob, there is a perplex- ing mixture of material and occasional inconsist- encies of detail, but this does not prevent its hav- ing a sustained interest, while the stories of david's adventures as an outlaw in the mountains of judah are vivid and picturesque. these are partly from that older source which deals chiefly with the rela- tion of david and saul and partly from the later one that treats of the relation of saul and samuel. heroic and historic legends there is an instructive duplication which well il- lustrates the form in which different versions of the same incident appear and are treated as if relating to separate events. it was the later source that told of david's taking refuge in the cave of adul- lam and drawing lawless men to him. it was the older that told of his going with his men to the rescue of keilah from the philistines and of the betrayal to saul of his subsequent whereabouts by the ziphites. according to this latter, while saul is hunting him in the mountains he has the king's life in his hands but spares it out of magnanimity or regard for “the lord's anointed.” he lets the king know of this, remonstrates with him and gets his avowal of repentance and promise of im- munity in return for assurance that when david becomes king he will spare the house of saul from destruction. from the same source is the picturesque and diverting account of marauding in the south, with the death of the foolish nabal and the captivating of his wife, and then from the later source is the duplicate version of the incident of sparing the king's life in the wilder- ness of ziph. the details as related are quite different but the event is the same. finally david, still distrusting the purpose of saul toward him, boldly takes refuge with the chief enemies of his country, the philistines, and makes friends with one of their five princes, achish of gath, who allowed him the city of the great epic of israel ziklag for his own. this, which was no doubt a historic fact, led to a previous reference to his having fled alone to the same potentate and, not be- ing kindly received, playing the madman to escape harm. there is no reason for accepting that as authentic. from here on to the death of saul and jonathan the material is practically all from the earlier source and may be taken as substantially historical, at least so far as concerns the battle with the philistines and its result. it is not un- likely that david set out, with the favour of ach- ish, to accompany the philistine prince to the bat- tle and was turned back by the objection of the others, taking the opportunity for freebooting raids in the opposite direction. but the details of what passed, including the visit of the king to the woman of endor who had a familiar spirit, are necessarily of a legendary character as there could have been no record or exact memory of them. the woman of endor story is out of its proper place and should come after the account of the gathering of the philistines at aphek and david's revenge upon the amalekites for burning his town of ziklag in his absence, and just before that of the disastrous battle on mount gilboa. it is in- teresting as a picture of the superstition of the time when “the lord ” was supposed to reveal his will by dreams or by urim or by inspiration of prophets, and wizards and “familiar spirits" were believed in. it also gives a glimpse of the heroic and historic legends notion that the dead dwelt in a state of inanition in the underworld, from which they might be aroused by the summons of wandering spirits. the last intrusion of the late writer of what is sometimes called the “saul and samuel source ’’ appears in connection with david's receiving the news of the death of saul and jonathan in the battle with the philistines, when the men of jab- esh-gilead remembered their gratitude for the de- liverance from nahash, king of the ammonites. the older writer had said that when saul's armour-bearer refused to kill him to save him from the dishonour of death by the uncircumcised, he had fallen upon his own sword. the later writer makes an amalekite fleeing from the field of battle report to david that he had slain the king and brought his crown and bracelet to “my lord,” whereupon the lord's anointed caused one of his young men to kill the messenger of evil. it may be noted here that at a later time, after david had been made king of judah at hebron and two officers of ish-bosheth, the son of saul, thought to win his favour by bringing him the head of the heir of the former king of israel, he is rep- resented as saying, “when one told me saying, ‘behold, saul is dead,’ thinking to have brought good tidings, i took hold of him and slew him in ziklag, which was the reward i gave him for his tidings.” whereupon he administered the same reward to them. the great epic of israel that the lament of david at the death of saul and jonathan, one of the finest specimens of an- tique poesy, is a genuine production, there is no sufficient reason to doubt, though it is doubted by some critics, but when it was written or where it was written we have no means of knowing. we are told that “he bade them ’’ to teach it to the children of judah, but that it was written in the book of jasher, which was probably compiled late in the reign of solomon. the material of these narratives which relates especially to david and saul often represents david as “inquiring of the lord ” in the old man- ner of using the ephod and urim and thummim, a rude mechanism for obtaining aleatory answers to direct questions. by this means he is said now to have obtained sanction for his purpose of going up to hebron, where the “men of judah” came and “anointed him king over the house of judah.” the narrator knew nothing of the mythical anoint- ing by samuel at bethlehem long before. his account is older than that story and nearer to historical truth. one needs only to read the accounts of the reign of saul and the adventures of david be- fore he becomes king, with care and with freedom from prepossessions, to see that they are largely legendary and partly mythical, which thorough investigation proves them to be, but they may nevertheless represent with substantial truth the heroic and historic legends main historical facts. in days of little writing and of reading confined to those who possessed the sparse copies of manuscript scrolls, oral tradi- tion was carried through successive generations and words were remembered and repeated in a way which would seem marvellous in modern times. yet it was even then far easier to imagine details than to remember them, and there was no scruple in setting down as fact what was assumed but not known to be so. in legendary and mythical his- tory the incredible is no more to be accepted as fact in the language of the hebrews and the lit- erature that they deemed sacred than in that of other ancient peoples. still, the mythical and the legendary in their great epic picture their life and character in the early days in vivid colours more truthful perhaps than colourless history. vi david and solomon while saul was nominally the first king of all israel, it is evident from the disordered and un- systematic, but picturesque, accounts of his reign that he had no organised government, and his rule differed little from that of the old sofetim, or “judges,” except in its continuity, which may have been due to an almost continuous conflict with sur- rounding enemies. he had no palace or capital, but seems to have dwelt at his old home in gibeah when not engaged in the field of war. he is rep- resented in one of the later accounts, when he charged his son with being in league with the son of jesse to depose him, and accused his fol- lowers of conspiring against him, and when he passed sentence of death upon the priests of nob for harbouring david, as “sitting in gibeah under a tamarisk tree in ramah with his spear in his hand,” while all his servants were standing about him. this appears to have been his royal state when he had occasion to hold council or pass judgment. heroic as he may have been, his rule came in a time of great difficulty, when it is doubt- ful if any man could have succeeded in establishing david and solomon the kingdom on a firm basis. he was beset with enemies, suspicious of his surroundings, “per- plexed in the extreme,” and he proved unequal to the task set for him. writers of a later time were bound to explain his failure on the ground that he had offended the god of israel and dis- obeyed his commands. otherwise, in their view, he could not have failed. saul established no dynasty, and dying on the battle field with his heroic son, the beloved friend of david, left but a feeble heir in ish-bosheth, or is-baal, who had little loyal support. the way was prepared for david, and he had the qualities necessary to take full advantage of the situation and make his way to triumph. the writers who could see nothing but divine disappointment and anger in the failure of saul attributed the success of david to divine favour. he had been taken from the sheepcote by yahweh himself to be a prince over his people israel, and a prophet had been specially sent to anoint him at the home of his father, the shepherd of bethlehem, before he was known as a warrior and a mighty man of valour, which he afterwards became. the passage in the seventh chapter of second samuel, which contains the promise by the mouth of nathan, the prophet, that the throne of his kingdom should be established forever, was from the pen of that compiler of the ancient material who was imbued with the theocratic doctrine of the prophets, and i oo the great epic of israel of the law as promulgated in the days of josiah, when the perpetuity of the house of david was an article of faith in the divine rule at jerusalem. the invocation to the “lord god'' when david “went in and sat before him " is from the same source. david, like many another in human history, was the man for the time, fitted by natural en- dowment and training for his task, and he estab- lished a nation, and with his son and successor organised a government that endured for several centuries, until overwhelmed by the irresistible empire of the east. his dynasty continued un- broken throughout the history of the kingdom of judah, and was regarded as so divine that it must surely be revived and restored, bring all the scattered tribes of israel together again, destroy their enemies and establish an everlasting reign of righteousness and peace on mount zion. this belief was the root of the doctrine of the messiah, or anointed one of the house of david, which played such a part in human history at a later day. but what we have to do with now is not the actual history of david or his dynasty, but the story of his reign as it appears in the great epic of his people. largely legendary as the accounts of his previous life may be, it is plain that he had gone through a training that was essential to his task. he had experience as a warrior in saul's battles with the philistines more disciplinary david and solomon ioi than killing giants with pebble stones and with divine aid. the jealousy of the king, which his success and popularity inflamed into wrath and a determination to compass his death, the shifts to which he was put to save himself and win sup- port from his tribe, his adventures as an outlaw in the fastnesses of the mountains of judah, his winning the favour and protection of a philistine prince, even his ruthless exploits in raiding the traditional enemies of israel in the south while pretending to prey upon his own people, were part of his preparation for the kingdom. when he distributed the spoils of his brigandage among the elders of judah from bethel to ramoth of the south, he was paving the way to the throne at hebron, which was the stepping stone to the stronghold of the jebusites on mount zion, where the monarchy of all israel was established seven years later. that david had the qualities of a great leader his success sufficiently demonstrates, and the qual- ities were those necessary for the leadership of his people in that day and generation. he was clearly a man of unusual personal attraction, that subtle influence known as magnetism in men, of craft and duplicity, even ruthless cruelty when oc- casion required, and yet capable of lofty sentiment and deep emotion. religious after the manner of his time, devout in his belief in israel's god, he was subject to the moral weakness of an ardent io the great epic of israel nature and capable of meanness in the satisfaction of his desires, as exemplified in the dastardly treatment of his heroic and faithful hittite of- ficer, uriah, and ready to sacrifice the interests * of his kingdom to his yearning love for his repro- bate son absalom, from which he was saved only by the brutal fidelity of that harsh and cruel but shrewd and far-seeing soldier, joab, who, accord- ing to the genealogies of the book of chronicles, was the son of his father's sister zeruiah. the account of david's reign, like those which precede it, is of a composite character, but a long section of it is from a source nearer to the time and more harmonious and truly historical than those relating to his earlier exploits. the narra- tive of the conflict with the house of saul and the winning of the other tribes to the throne of judah, of which the craft and valour of joab were the chief instrument, is derived, with some late interpolations and amendments, from the same source that dealt mainly with david's previous adventures in his relations with saul. this is in- terrupted where it is said that all the tribes of israel came to david at hebron and reminded him that the lord had said in the time of saul that he was to be “prince over israel.” the earlier and more historical source first appears in the statement, immediately following, that “all the elders of israel came to the king to hebron and king david made a covenant with them in david and solomon io hebron before the lord, and they anointed david king over israel.” the late reviser and editor of the narratives interposed here the statement that david was thirty years old when he began to reign and that he reigned seven years and six months over judah at hebron and thirty years over all israel and judah at jerusalem; but the other continues with the capture of jerusalem from the jebusites and the building of david's stronghold there with the aid of hiram of tyre. for several chapters of the second book of samuel, from the beginning of the sixth to the twenty-second verse of the twentieth, omitting the seventh and eighth, the story of the reign is con- tinuous and little marred by subsequent revision or editing. the seventh chapter is that which contains the promise of the perpetuity of the king- dom of david, by the word of the lord that came to nathan in the night, and the king's invocation of gratitude, as conceived by the theocratic writer more than three centuries after the time. the eighth is an interpolated recapitulation of vic- tories over hostile nations on all sides, when the lord gave victory to david wherever he went, and a summary statement of his government and his chief officers. leaving out these, we have first in chapter vi the account of the transporting of the “ark of god” from the house of aminadab in the hill to a tabernacle, or tent, at jerusalem, which is much ioa the great epic of israel in the same spirit as that of its capture and re- turn by the philistines in the days of eli the priest of shiloh. this depository of divinity ex- hibits the same malignant spite as before in slay- ing the well-meaning uzziah for presuming to touch it when it appeared to be in danger of fall- ing from the cart as the oxen stumbled. this so frightened david that he left it to bless the house of obed-edom, a philistine, for three months be- fore completing the journey with a form of re- joicing that disgusted that wife of his who was a daughter of saul. for her derision she was made childless the rest of her days. there was doubt- less a historical incident behind this strange tale, but in form and substance it must be regarded as mythical. the passage that begins with chapter ix has every appearance of historical truth, at least in substance, and is marvellous in its graphic simplicity and absolute candour of portrayal. it reveals a barbaric time and in many ways a barbarous spirit, and shows david to be a rare embodiment of the spirit of his time. there is no concealment or glossing over or extenuation of his faults, but in spite of them he was beloved of god and man and was the glory of his time and race, so potent is success due to personal qualities and favouring cir- cumstances to exalt a human being in the esteem of his fellow men. he showed his magnanimity in care for the crippled son of jonathan. he david and solomon io sought to show kindness to the young king of ammon and when his overtures were rebuffed with insult he waged relentless war upon the ammonites and upon the syrians allied with them. the doughty joab was the real commander in these wars of david, though ever ready to yield the glory of victory to his king. it was during this conflict on the other side of the jordan that the outrage upon the faithful hittite officer uriah was perpetrated, and the prophet nathan with his parable of the little ewe lamb brought the king to a “realising sense" of his sin, the fruit of which was a child doomed to death. this gave occasion for one of those graphic touches for which the hebrew genius was so remarkable. the peril of the sick child was made a bitter punishment for the offending mon- arch, but, when it was dead, he comforted him- self: “while the child was yet alive, i fasted and wept, for i said, who knoweth whether the lord will not be gracious to me, that the child may live? but now he is dead, why should i fast? can i bring him back again? i shall go to him but he shall not return to me,” and so he proceeded to comfort bath-sheba and became the father of solomon, and “the lord loved him.” this episode over, we have the conclusion of the war upon ammon under david's own com- mand, but it is to be hoped that the statement that he put the people of its cities “under saws io the great epic of israel and under harrows of iron, and under axes of iron and made them pass through the brick kiln '' is not to be taken literally. the more pleasing in- terpretation is that he put them to labour and serv- ice with these instruments. there is a series of vivid pictures of the royal life and the manners of the time in david's promiscuous family. he is said to have had six sons by as many wives at hebron when he was king of judah only. when he made his compact with abner for bringing under his sway the other tribes which had made the son of saul their king, he made it a prime condition that his first wife, michal, the daughter of saul, should be torn from her weeping husband and children and restored to him. when he became king of all israel at jerusalem he is said to have taken more concubines and wives there, and “there were yet sons and daughters born to david.” it was not a harmon- ious royal family. the evil passion of the son amnon for tamar, a sister of absalom, brought as many woes as the fated iniquities of a greek tragedy. though david was very “wroth,” he left the penalty to the blood-avenging absalom, who was thus estranged, and who afterwards led a revolt most humiliating to the king, whose life and throne were probably saved by the stern and ruthless joab. what david and his kingdom owed to this un- sparing warrior, who commanded his motley david and solomon io? army of mercenaries, was requited by his violent death clinging to the horns of the altar when solo- mon became king. it was he and his two brothers that led the forces against the adherents of the house of saul to win the kingdom of all israel. though david lamented the death of abner when he was killed by joab, out of revenge for his own brother's death, and condemned the sons of zeruiah as “too hard for him,” joab distrusted abner and probably saved the king as well as himself from serious trouble. it was joab that reconciled the king with the son for whom he visibly yearned, but when absalom won the hearts of the people by his wiles and headed the revolt of israel at hebron, the grizzled warrior faith- fully followed the king in his mournful retreat to the refuge across the jordan valley and was chief of the three who led the forces that faced the host of rebels under amasa. he outraged the heart of the king by killing absalom, but he re- garded it as a stern necessity, and when the king gave way to grief and mourning he boldly rebuked his weakness and forced him to a royal attitude before the people. he was chiefly instrumental in restoring the kingdom and quenching the new re- volt that would again have stripped the other tribes from judah. the killing of amasa, who had led the rebellious host of absalom and been chosen by david to take joab's place in confronting the new revolt, may have had a motive of jealousy and ios the great epic of israel selfishness, but it was a stroke of policy in behalf of the king as well. david feared and hated joab, but he owed him much and dared not dis- pense with him. it was a barbarous time and these pristine nar- ratives show little of the religious spirit which the later material sought to reflect back upon it. recognition of the mighty god of israel is not wholly lacking, but there is not that familiarity with him so common in later narratives. after the suppression of the revolts which followed the conquest of external enemies not much remains to the reign of david. we are thrown back by some disjointed material relating to different epi- sodes. there appears to have been a drought, described as a famine, during some part of the reign, and a relatively late writer considered it necessary to account for this. it is said to have lasted “three years, year after year,” and david asked the lord about it and was told that it was due to saul having “put to death the gibeonites,” with whom israel had a sworn covenant from the time of joshua, and atonement must be made for that. so the gibeonites were permitted to hang in gibeah the two sons of rizpah, saul's concu- bine, and five sons of michal born to her and another husband after david's flight from saul. after that the bones of saul and jonathan were gathered from jabesh-gilead and buried in the sepulchre of kish in benjamin. thus was god david and solomon io “entreated for the land.” this is not in any modern view a satisfactory way of accounting for famine and recovery therefrom. another fragment follows this relating to the gigantic warriors of the philistines, which serves to introduce what is called david's song of victory or of thanksgiving, when he was delivered out of the hands of all his enemies. this composi- tion is not of his time and is a repetition of the eighteenth psalm. the verses called the “last words" of david are certainly not authentic and are framed in imitation of the utterances attributed to balaam. another disconnected passage, giv- ing an account of the “mighty men whom david had,” is believed to have been taken from that source of material relating to david's exploits which, so far as it was preserved, treated mainly of his relation with saul and jonathan before he came to the throne. an event which one of the later writers felt bound to account for was the choice of the site of the future temple. perhaps, also, there had been an epidemic which must be attributed to the “anger of the lord.” at all events, it was said that the anger of the lord was kindled against israel, and we are not told why. he moved david to have a census of the people taken, against the remonstrance of joab, and when it was done the king suddenly concluded that he had committed a great sin. it appears for the first time that he io the great epic selfishness, but it was a stroke of the king as well. david - joab, but he owed him much pense with him. it was a barbarous time and - ratives show little of the rel - the later material sought to rº recognition of the mighty gº - wholly lacking, but there is n - with him so common in later the suppression of the revolts conquest of external enemies - to the reign of david. we a - some disjointed material relati sodes. there appears to hav described as a famine, during reign, and a relatively late v necessary to account for this. lasted “three years, year after asked the lord about it and due to saul having “put to de with whom israel had a swor time of joshua, and atoneme. that. so the gibeonites well in gibeah the two sons of bine, and five sons of mic another husband after dav after that the bones of sa - - gathered from jabesh-gil sepulchre of kish in ben d solomon s,” a law which was not centuries after the time of also evident traces of the o put the finishing touches the exile. the contrast d style of the account of of his son is as striking as *aracters and that between igns. | widely the borders of his ºrnal enemies and quelled all revolt, for which the and the fierce community ays so ready. the great d south were quiescent and - - - . - - been a long period of peace w king to organise an ef- and enter upon great en- glory and that of the god by making “affinity” with s one of his wives a daughter raoh. he sought the co-op- of tyre, who had been on ºth his father, to secure for ls and workmanship and the ercial skill for which phoenicia the ancient world. his first was that of building at jeru- temple to “the lord,” which his ed to have promised, and an im- º iio the great epic of israel had a “seer" named gad, and through him the lord proposed as a penalty a choice of three evils, seven years of famine, discomfiture by his enemies for three months, or a three days' pestilence in the land. he chose the last, and seventy thousand men had to die to appease the wrath of the lord because the people were numbered at his own in- stigation; but on david's plea the hand of the destroying angel was stayed at jerusalem, and where he stood on the threshing floor of araunah an altar was built and offerings were made. “so the lord was entreated for the land and the plague was stayed from israel.” this account is no doubt just as historical as that of the pestilence inflicted upon the camp of the greeks at troy in answer to the prayer of the priest chryses, and the angel that “stretched out his hand upon jeru- salem to destroy it,” was just as real as the aveng- ing god to whom the priest appealed as “smin- theus.” the conclusion of that most authentic account of david's reign which was interrupted with these interpolations by the late compilers is to be found included in the first two chapters of the first book of kings. the division of what are now four books, effected in the early versions, was quite arbitrary. in the first greek version samuel was one and kings was one and later there were four books of kings. the original compilation be- fore the exile and its recension afterwards, though david and solomon i i i sufficiently disconnected at many points, was con- tinuous and devoid of titles. a proper point of division is between the reign of david and that of solomon. probably it is historically true that, when david was “old and stricken in years ” and his blood had to be cherished into warmth by the fair damsel of shunam, his son adonijah set out, with the concurrence of joab, abiathar the priest, and of his brothers with the exception of solomon, to take possession of the throne on his father's death, and that he got up a most unseemly feast with that end in view. it is doubtless equally true that bath-sheba at the instigation, or with the con- nivance, of nathan the prophet and zadok the priest, determined to thwart that scheme by plac- ing solomon on the throne, with the old king's sanction, even before he was dead. the account of this in the first chapter of the first book of kings is most dramatic, but in its language it is necessarily a work of the imagination. it was written at least a generation after the events and the words of the actors in the little drama could hardly have been preserved, if they had ever been known. but in no drama or epic passage are the actual words of the characters supposed to be recorded. the hebrew writer had the same lib- erty as the greek writer to imagine the language of his kings and priests and heroes. it was the late compiler of the theocratic his- ii the great epic of israel tory of israel who conceived the dying charge of david to his royal son in the spirit of the deu- teronomic law, and made him counsel the doom of joab and that benjamite who railed at the king when he was fleeing from absalom; but the orig- inal narrative is reverted to in the account of the execution of the supposed dying injunction. sol- omon had his own motive and manner for getting rid of the brother who sought to forestall him and of the grim warrior who had abetted the at- tempt, though david may indeed have enjoined upon him the vengeful duty of disposing of joab and shimei, the benjamite. it was sufficient to seclude the offending priest abiathar at anathoth, which at a later day was to furnish jerusalem with the prophet jeremiah. solomon evidently had no compunction about clearing his court of those whom he feared or distrusted, even to violating his word to his mother and having joab slain as he clung to the sacred altar, and he had a ready instrument in benaiah, the son of jehoiada, whom he placed in command of the “host.” the account of the reign of solomon is, like the rest of the books of kings, of composite ma- terial, but it was probably derived largely from the source referred to at its close as the “book of the acts of solomon,” though it is liberally inter- larded with passages from the hand of the com- piler who was imbued with the theocratic doctrine and familiar with the law that condemned all wor- the great epic of israel posing palace for himself and his retinue. it was his ambition to shine among the potentates of the earth, and to bring wealth and power to the sup- port of his kingdom, with the help of an alliance with the greatest commercial nation of the time. with hiram he is said to have devised and carried out expeditions for bringing gold and silver, pre- cious stones and other riches from distant lands, ap- parently out of the dark continent of africa. we are vouchsafed no information as to the means by which these were obtained, but they may have been similar to those used by spain to enrich her- self from newly discovered countries in later cen- turies. the material success achieved by solomon led the panegyrists of his reign to magnify and glorify his knowledge and wisdom, which was to be ac- counted for after the manner of his time. it was said that the lord appeared to him in a dream, when he went to gibeon to sacrifice, and offered him whatever he should ask for, and was so grat- ified that he asked for “an understanding heart” to enable him to “judge this thy great people,” that he promised to add to this “both riches and honour,” insomuch that there should not be any among kings like unto him. his kingdom was neither extensive nor populous, but, in the hyper- bole characteristic of the writers, the people are referred to as beyond computation in number, “as the sand which is by the sea for multitude.” the david and solomon latest editor of the narrative took occasion to qual- ify solomon's devotion to the lord with the state- ment that he sacrificed and offered incense in the high places, and to make the lord warn him in his dream that he must walk in his ways and keep his statutes and commandments as his father david had done, if he would lengthen his days. after this dream and the promise of wisdom and greatness, the story of the two harlots who quarrelled over the possession of the surviving child was introduced as an example of wonderful wisdom. then to illustrate the monarch's wealth and power there is a statement regarding his chief officers and the means by which the royal house- hold was provided with subsistence, which must have been a heavy charge upon the country. the glory and greatness, the wealth and security of the kingdom and the marvellous knowledge and wisdom of the king being duly magnified by state- ments which cannot be verified and can only be refuted by the rules of probability or credibility, such as would be applied elsewhere, much space is given to the building and equipping of the tem- ple, the details of which are hardly more inter- esting than homer's catalogue of the greek ships before troy. the account of the dedication of the temple, with the king's blessing of the “con- gregation of israel ” and his prolonged invocation to the “lord, the god of israel,” is demonstrably of late production and is pervaded with the spirit ii. the great epic of israel of the deuteronomic law. it contains unmistak- able allusions to the later experience of the na- tion, and, in the latter part of the invocation, to the “captivity” and promise of restoration through repentance and supplication. there is the same tone of retrospect in the second appear- ance of the lord to solomon in a dream, “as he had appeared unto him at gibeon,” for a repeti- tion of warning and promise. after all this edification we are permitted to resort to the primitive story of material greatness, and the expedition to ophir is made the prelude to the visit of the queen of sheba, which is so like a tale out of the thousand and one nights. the statistics of wealth with which this is garnished are doubtless as exact as those that tell of the in- numerable population and the multitude of the enemies of israel who were wont to fall in battle when the wrath of the lord was aroused. but it was necessary to account for the fact that solomon's kingdom was doomed to fall from its greatness at his death, notwithstanding all the pres- tige of his wisdom and wealth as a ruler and the glories of david as a warlike monarch, and in spite of the peculiar affection of “the lord ” for these two successful kings. the fact is that the nation was weakened and the hegemony of judah was undermined by the prosperity and lux- ury of solomon's reign, while his son and heir, rehoboam, was a vain and arrogant weakling. - ** * ~ - *- david and solomon had it not been for the stronghold of mount zion and the establishment there of a great centre of worship with a splended temple and palace, it is probable that the revolt of the “ten tribes” un- der jeroboam would have resulted in the com- plete subjugation if not the obliteration of judah. as it was, the ancient name of israel was assumed as the undisputed title of the new kingdom of the north, which for a long time flaunted its su- periority over that from which it had been torn away by successful insurrection, and raised the name of joseph to a glory that was finally accepted as the common heritage. but the “theocratic pragmatism " demanded a different explanation. not only had solomon married an egyptian wife at the start and sacri- ficed in the high places before the temple was built, but he “loved many strange women,” which means simply foreign women, and took wives and concubines from the neighbouring nations, and these are said to have “turned away his heart after other gods” when he was old. this in the eyes of the deuteronomist compiler of this history made the lord “angry with solomon,” and he was plainly told that inasmuch as he had gone back on his word and failed to keep his “covenant,” the lord would surely rend the king- dom away from him and give it to his servant. but for david's sake he would wait till solomon was dead and rend it from his son; and, still for i the great epic of israel w david's sake and for the sake of jerusalem, he would leave him one tribe. this was to conform with what had happened long before the writer's time. but the real fact was that jeroboam, the son of nebat, a capable and industrious young man and a “mighty man of valour,” son of an ephraimite widow, whom solomon had placed in charge of “the labour of the house of joseph " in his building operations at jerusalem, had re- belled against the king's authority and been com- pelled to flee to egypt to save his life. when the king died, all ephraim and the other north- ern tribes were ready to rise and declare their in- dependence, and jeroboam came back to head the insurrection and was made ruler of the new king- dom, which was far more powerful than what was left of the old one. this prosaic fact not only had to be accounted for by the recreancy of solomon, and threatened beforehand by “the lord ” himself, but a prophet must be made instrumental in bringing it about. so, according to that same deuteronomist writer of a later century, the prophet ahijah of shiloh met jeroboam outside of jerusalem, clad in a new garment which he tore into twelve pieces, giving ten to the rebellious ephraimite as a token that the lord would make him king of the ten tribes, still reserving judah, for david's sake. this prophet repeats the words of the lord, as prophets were wont to do, and promised jeroboam david and solomon ii that if he would walk in the way of the lord and obey his commands after the manner of david he would build him a “sure house,” while he would “afflict the house of david, but not for- ever.” so the way was prepared for what hap- pened when solomon “slept with his fathers and was buried in the city of david his father, and rehoboam his son reigned in his stead.” * vii theocratic account of the two kingdoms the account of the two kingdoms, which be- gins with the twelfth chapter of the first book of kings, is not a history. it was compiled in the latter days of the kingdom of judah, revised and added to in the exile, and retouched after the return, and its purpose was not to record facts but to inculcate a doctrine, the doctrine that events were ordered by “the lord,” that is, yahweh, the god of israel; that all calamities to either na- tion were inflicted by him as a punishment for sin in disobeying his commands, neglecting his worship and going after other gods, and that his people must depend wholly upon him for rescue from peril, success against their enemies and pros- perity in the land which he had given them. if other nations attacked them, it was because he put them up to it and used them as his scourge; and if his people repented and obeyed and wor- shipped him in humility and faithfulness, he would turn their enemies back, and even destroy them for their presumption if they persisted. this was the teaching of the prophets and was the belief of 'i the two kingdoms i i those who had a hand in the final account of the vicissitudes of the kingdoms. this account was made up from a variety of material, part of it drawn from the annals of the two kingdoms, previously brought together, much of it from legendary and mythical sources, and some of it from the imagination of the compilers, as they conceived of that which they could not know. there was no effort at accuracy of state- ment and little at consistency. the generally ac- cepted date of the death of solomon is b.c., and the known date of the capture of samaria and the destruction of the northern kingdom is , making the duration of that kingdom ii years. according to the chronological scheme of the com- piler, who adopted no fixed era but dated the reign of each king of either kingdom from the regnal year of the king of the other, and gave the length of the reign in every case, this period covered years, months and days in israel and years in judah, which indicates consider- able inaccuracy in the reckoning. the compiler or redactor who connected the various reigns in this loose manner and briefly characterised the different kings as he dismissed them from the scene, is usually designated by, - scholars as a “deuteronomist,” or a writer im- bued with the doctrine of the law which taught that worship anywhere but at jerusalem was sin and made obedience to the commands of yahweh the great epic of israel the test of all merit. this law was unknown before the reign of josiah, a century after the fall of samaria, but that did not prevent condemna- tion of jeroboam and all his successors for de- parting from it, or make it other than sin for the earlier kings of judah to tolerate worship “in the high places,” which became an enticement to heathenism. that was the chief fault imputed even to solomon, which caused the rending of most of the kingdom from the house of david. until the attacks came from the powerful em- pire of the east, in the eighth century b. c., the kingdom of israel, or ephraim, was much the stronger and more flourishing, and for a consider- able part of the time judah was in a state of vassalage to it, or to some ally as a protection against it. its greater extent, the survival of many of the canaanites in its territory, and its contact with phoenicia and syria, made its people and its rulers more prone to the enticement of other cults than that of yahweh, or more toler- ant of them, while judah had the advantage of comparative isolation, an almost impregnable stronghold at jerusalem, the possession of a splendid temple as a centre of worship, and a stable dynasty to which the achievements of david and solomon gave a lasting prestige. while the direct line of david continued on the throne of judah until the destruction of jerusalem by neb- uchadrezzar in b. c., twelve reigns covering the two kingdoms i the period from solomon to the destruction of samaria in , there were nine dynasties and seventeen kings in israel, from jeroboam to hoshea. seven of the kings were murdered by their successors and one burned himself in the palace after holding it only seven days. the situation of judah in these respects and the rising of such mighty advocates of yahweh’s right and power as isaiah and jeremiah in times of crisis, gave the “peculiar people’” their wonderful solidarity and saved their religion as a heritage to after times. it also gave to the jews as dis- tinguished from the israelites the opportunity to determine the final character of the literature that was to be sanctified as the epic of the race of jacob. the revolt of the northern tribes under the lead of ephraim at the death of solomon was easily accomplished, and the daring youth who had started the rebellion in the face of that monarch returned from egypt to be made the first king of israel, as a separate realm, at shechem. as a civil ruler he was probably the ablest man that ever sat on a throne in either kingdom and the debt of the literature of both to his sojourn in egypt cannot be estimated. his great offence in the eyes of the later judean writers was setting up the worship of yahweh at the two extremes of his kingdom, bethel and dan, and centring it there by golden images of → º the great epic of israel calves, or bulls; but those symbols had been in common use, and it was not until long afterward that they were regarded as sinful representations of the deity. the contest against the use of images in yahweh’s worship continued even in judah until after the promulgation of the deu- teronomic law in the reign of josiah, and was not altogether successful even then. in jeroboam's time it was not even condemned, though at jerusalem the old “ark of the lord,” with its later adornment of cherubim, took the place of the ephod and the teraphim in the central place of worship. in the scanty account of jeroboam's reign the hand of the theocratic compiler of the record is conspicuous, and his leading motive is to attribute all the calamities which befel the northern king- dom to the sins of jeroboam the son of nebat and the example he had set, and always to credit predictions of what happened to prophets or “men of god.” even the failure of rehoboam to make a hopeless fight for his entire royal heri- tage was said to have been due to a warning from a “man of god’’ named shemaiah, for had not yahweh himself rent the realm asunder on ac- count of the recreancy of solomon and given the larger part to jeroboam through the agency of the prophet ahijah? when the king had set up his altar at bethel, a “man of god” appears out of judah to predict what was to happen to i the great epic of israel the “chronicles of the kings of israel,” which fortunately for that purpose and unfortunately for our knowledge, were not preserved. the slight account of the reign of rehoboam and his son abijam in judah indicates that mat- ters were no better in that realm than in the other, so far as the manner of worship and religious conduct were concerned; but when the long reign of the other son, asa, came in, there was a change for the better. there seem to have been not only idols, but sodomites to be “removed,” and even the king's mother had an “abominable image,” that was burnt. but though it is said that “the heart of asa was perfect with the lord all his days" he had to strip “the house of the lord ” of its most precious treasures to buy an alliance with the king of syria and save himself from baasha, who had with israelite vigour and ruthlessness exterminated the house of jeroboam. there is little more said of asa, except that he was at war with baasha “all their days" and that in his old age he was “diseased in his feet,” but as baasha walked in the way of jeroboam and did evil in the sight of the lord, a prophet must needs appear to convey to him “the word of the lord ” to the effect that it was the latter who had raised him from the dust and made him prince over his people, (by assassination,) and who would sweep away his house as he had swept away that of jeroboam, in like bloody fashion. the two kingdoms 'accordingly, after his son elah had reigned two years one of his captains, zimri by name, killed him while he was “drinking himself drunk" at his capital, tirzah, and then slaughtered all his household; but it was this same zimri that set fire to the palace and perished in it after “reign- ing ” seven days, when he was beset by a rival “captain of the host,” omri by name. omri had a conspiracy to overcome at the start, but he established a dynasty that lasted for four reigns before wholesale assassination, duly pre- dicted and prepared for, made another change; and he built a new capital on the hill of samaria. of course, he did evil and dealt wickedly. no king of israel could do otherwise; but his deeds were only recorded in the lost chronicles of his kingdom. no prophet figures in his reign, but the deficiency is made up in that of his son ahab, who, not content with walking in the sins of jeroboam, married the phoenician, or sidonian, princess jezebel, and tolerated the worship of baal at samaria. thereby did he “yet more ) provoke the lord (yahweh), the god of , israel, to anger than all the kings of israel that were before him.” it is the conflict between the worship of yahweh and of baal, in which the mysterious prophet elijah figures, that chiefly made his reign interesting to the theocratic writer and makes it so to us. doubtless this name of a “tishbite ” who was of the sojourners of i the great epic of israel gilead stands for a real person in those stormy days, but he is so enveloped in mists of myth and legend that the tangible facts of his career are hardly traceable. the material relating to elijah and that re- lating to his successor elisha is taken bodily from old ephraimite writings and has a highly pictur- esque and epic quality; but it has almost wholly the character of myth, with traces of historic legend, and it is nearly as ancient as that relating to the patriarchs and the ante-diluvian world. associated with it is other material of ephraimite origin pertaining to the conflicts between israel and syria, which has much of the same mythical or legendary quality. the passages made up from this material, slightly modified here and there in the compiling and editing, contain the substance of what we are told of the northern kingdom, but it is more than we are told about judah for the same period, and far more inter- esting from a literary point of view, though less didactic and edifying. apparently there were three years of drought culminating in famine in the time of ahab, and elijah the tishbite is introduced suddenly as hav- ing predicted it in the name of “the lord, the god of israel,” and as being then sent to a brook that was “before jordan " and fed by ravens. with equal suddenness “the lord ” sends him back across the country to zidon to sustain life • - the two kingdoms i by making the widow's barrel of meal and cruse of oil inexhaustible, and to reward her for her care by bringing her dead child to life. ac- cording to tradition ahab's phoenician wife had not only introduced the worship of baal at samaria, but had persecuted and nearly ex- terminated the prophets of yahweh. it is im- plied that the famine was a consequence of this, and there was to be an expiation by a sacrifice of the prophets of baal. so, “after many days,” elijah was sent to ahab to bring this about. he meets the faithful obadiah of the king's household, who claims to have saved a hundred of the prophets by hiding them in caves, and through him reaches the monarch who greets him as the “troubler of israel.” the king consents to the test at mount carmel as to whether baal or yahweh is god. the four hundred and fifty prophets of baal and four hundred prophets of the asherah call in vain upon baal to send fire to light the sacrifice on the altar while elijah derides them, but in answer to his simple prayer to the god of abraham, of isaac and of israel, after the altar and the sacrifice have been drenched with water, “the lord ” lets fall the fire that consumes the sacrifice and the very stones of the altar. there- upon the sole prophet of israel slays all those of baal at the brook kishon, and the rain long waited for comes in floods while ahab drives in the great epic of israel haste to jezreel in his chariot and the prophet outruns him on foot. the enraged jezebel threatens his life and “the lord ” sends him to the wilderness beyond beersheba in the distant part of judah, where he is fed by an angel with food that sustains him forty days while he goes to mount horeb, the scene of the revelation to moses. here the lord appears unto him, not in the wind that rends the rocks of the mountain, nor in the earthquake that shakes its foundations, nor yet in the fire that blasts its surface, but in a “still small voice" that commissions him to go to damascus and anoint hazael king over syria and to anoint jehu king over israel, that there may be more slaughter of those who have slain the prophets, forsaken the covenant and overthrown the altars. thus is prefigured the fate that overtook benhadad of syria and the successors of ahab. the prophet was also to anoint elisha as his own successor. all this is as vivid and dramatic as anything in homer, and we have the very words of “the lord ” and of his prophets as well as of the other characters in the varied story. it is also in all detail as mythical as the wrath of achilles, the prayer of chryses and the pestilence inflicted upon the greeks by apollo, and would be readily recognised as such in any literature but that of the hebrews, who were no more wedded to fact or devoid of imagination than the greeks. 'the two kingdoms the story of elijah is interrupted after the scene on mount horeb and after he has cast his mantle upon elisha, who thenceforth follows him, in order to bring in from the other ephra- imite source the beginning of the conflict between ahab and benhadad of syria, which was to re- sult in a change of dynasty for both realms. the king of israel met the arrogant demands and boastful threats of benhadad with the spirited defiance: “let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself as he that putteth it off"; and, notwithstanding the sins imputed to him by the judean writers of a later day, the ephraimite tale makes him victorious by the favour of the lord, and shows that there were still prophets in israel besides elijah. the syrian king is advised that his discomfiture was due to the fact that israel's god was a god of the hills, and in the next campaign he makes his attack in the plain. but though the “children of israel,” encamped at aphek, were “like two little flocks of kids” and the syrians “filled the country,” the lord dem- onstrated that he was a god of the valleys as well as of the hills by delivering the syrians into the hands of his little army and enabling it to slay “a hundred thousand footmen in one day,” while ,ooo more were crushed by a falling wall, surely a terrible slaughter for such a puny war. the humiliation of benhadad and the triumph of ahab were complete, but by one of those curious the great epic of israel subterfuges that are related of prophets and sons of prophets, “the lord ” let the king of israel know that he had offended in showing magnanim- ity to the syrian king, whom the vindictive deity wished him to destroy. - another passage from the story of elijah is then introduced by the compiler to set forth yet more the iniquity of ahab and jezebel and to ac- count for the bloody fate that awaited them. their sin consisted in taking the vineyard of naboth to add to the royal domain at jezreel, which led elijah to convey to ahab the threat of the lord that the dogs should lick his blood in the place where they licked the blood of naboth, and that the dogs should eat jezebel by the ram- part of jezreel. this is figuratively, if not liter- ally, what had happened long before the story was written; but the prophecy was not explicit enough for the purpose of the theocratic narrator, and he injected the threat of the lord that the house of ahab should be destroyed like the house of jeroboam the son of nebat and the house of baasha the son of ahijah, for the provocation wherewith he had provoked the lord to anger. this was meant to credit more emphatically to the proper source what happened when the anointed jehu came to his own. but the older writer lets us know that ahab humbled himself in repentance and that was why the evil day did not befall his house in his own time, but in that the two kingdoms i of his son. in any modern view his offence was less than that of david in the matter of uriah the hittite. t tº the story of the battle of ramoth-gilead, which resulted in the king's death, is drawn from the old ephraimite source and illustrates the chronolog- ical incongruity of the disjointed compilation, in that jehoshaphat of judah appears as the ally of ahab in the effort to recover that place from syria, though he had not previously been men- tioned, and his accession to the throne of judah is spoken of farther on. according to the chrono- logical scheme of the compiler, he had been king of judah seventeen years when he joined ahab in this unlucky enterprise. an interesting feature of this episode is the revelation of the manner in which the ordinary prophet of the time took part in the doings of kings. ahab gathered four hundred prophets for a consultation, whether of baal or of yahweh is not stated, but their counsel was to go up to the battle against ramoth-gilead, “for the lord shall deliver it unto the hand of the king.” but jehoshaphat wished to know if there was not “here beside a prophet of the lord,” which brought out micaiah, whom ahab hated because he only prophesied evil for him. when zedekiah in symbolical fashion made him’ horns of iron and declared that the lord said that with these the king shall “push the syrians till they be consumed,” and all the prophets bade him the great epic of israel “go up and prosper,” micaiah echoed their ad- vice in apparent derision, for, after the king had rebuked him, he “saw all israel scattered upon the mountains as sheep that have no shepherd,” and advised that every man “return to his house in peace,” whereupon he was again rebuked for prophesying only evil. then he declared that he “saw the lord sitting on his throne and all the host of heaven standing by him on his right hand and on his left,” and sending forth a “ lying spirit” to entice ahab through the other prophets to go up and fall at ramoth-gilead. this brought a blow from zedekiah upon the cheek of micaiah and the imprisoning of the latter, to be fed upon the bread of affliction and the water of affliction. nevertheless, the battle went against the king and he was killed in his chariot and brought to samaria to be buried; and the editor of the narrative takes pains to note that when his chariot was washed the dogs licked up the blood. after some of the dry notes of the judean com- piler of the accession of the son of ahab to the throne of israel, and of the accession of jehosha- phat to the throne of judah, with a brief sum- mary of the reign of the latter, and a statement of his death and burial, there is another instalment of the doings of elijah, who always appears in an atmosphere of mystery. ahab's son ahaziah, who reigned only two years, fell through a lattice in his upper chamber and was “sick.” instead the two kingdoms i of appealing to “the lord ” on that occasion he sent messengers to baal-zebub of ekron to in- quire whether he would get well. this offended “the lord,” and his “angel” sent elijah to meet the messengers of the ruler of samaria and turn them back to ask the king if there is no god in israel that he sends to inquire of the god of ekron. when the king learns that his messengers were turned back by a “hairy man and girt with a girdle of leather,” he recognises the tishbite, whom he probably did not know where to find before, inas- much as he was left in the heathen darkness of his father's palace where jezebel still survived. learning of his coming he sends a captain with fifty men to him as he sits on the top of a hill, to bring the “man of god” to the king quickly. it seems rather harsh that fire should be invoked from heaven to destroy two captains with their fifties before a third by humble petition prevails upon the angel of the lord to send the prophet to tell the king that inasmuch as he had sent to baal-zebub the god of ekron “because there is no god in israel to inquire of his word,” he shall not “come down from his bed,” but will “surely die.” an awkward note is injected here by the compiler saying that jehoram his brother began to reign in his stead in the second year of jehoram the son of jehoshaphat king of judah, though a little further on it is said that this same jehoram the son of ahab began to reign at samaria in the the great epic of israel w eighteenth year of jehoshaphat, who had still seven years to reign at jerusalem before he was succeeded by his son jehoram. between these two notes there is the curious tale of the manner in which elisha succeeded to the prophetic mantle of elijah and the latter was car- ried off by a whirlwind. it is made to appear as though the older prophet were trying to get away from the younger, and that the latter pur- sued him back and forth as the lord sent him first to gilgal, then to bethel, then to jericho, and finally across the jordan, where they were parted by a chariot of fire and horses of fire, while elijah disappeared in the whirlwind. elisha's course in this pursuit and his objection to the proposal of the “sons of the prophets” to seek for the prophet who had disappeared, might almost raise the sus- picion that the other had made way with his pred- ecessor after the manner of the kings at samaria, and that his taking-off was covered with this cloud of obvious myth. elisha now comes more into the light of prosaic fable with his miracles. he begins by purifying the springs of water at jericho with a cruse of salt, after re-crossing the jordan by smiting the river with the mantle of elijah to make a way for himself. then he goes up to bethel to inflict the penalty of death upon forty-two heedless chil- dren who greeted him as bald head. this seems like a severe chastisement to teach respect for a the two kingdoms prophet of the lord. he figures next in an expe- dition of the kings of israel and judah and of edom against moab, the account of which seems to have been drawn from an ephraimite source similar to that describing the conflicts with syria. from this it appears that the sheep raising king of moab was a vassal of israel, and that jehosha- phat of judah and the king of edom were also subject to the commands of jehoram. again we have a curious illustration of the ways of prophets. elisha appears as accompanying the expedition, and when jehoshaphat asks if there is not a prophet of the lord to inquire of regarding a dearth of water, he is called upon, and while scorning to comply with the request of a son of ahab and jezebel consents on account of the king of judah; but it requires the playing of a minstrel to bring on the ecstasy and the vision of the prophet. what really happened, who can tell? but the story is that the lord bade them fill the valley with trenches, and without wind or rain these were filled over night with water rushing in from the way of edom. it appeared like blood to the moabites in the morning light and lured them to slaughter. when the king of moab was dis- comfited and his land was devastated, he offered his son as a burnt offering upon the wall, but why should that have brought great indignation or wrath upon israel? after this episode of legendary history we are the great epic of israel brought back abruptly to a series of elisha's mir- acles, some of which are not of a dignified order, like that of relieving a widow of one of the “sons of prophets” of debt by making her pot of oil inexhaustible, that of the antidote to “death in the pot,” that of feeding a hundred men with twenty barley loaves and some ears of corn and having some “left thereof,” and causing the axe that flew from its helve into the river to float to the top by casting in a stick. more dignified, but not more credible, are those of bringing to life the son of the “great woman" of shunam and curing the syrian captain naaman of leprosy by a bath in the jordan. these are crude and primitive ways of illustrating the powers of a prophet of the lord, but characteristic of the beliefs of the time. there is more of epic dignity in the passage that tells of elisha's revealing the secrets of ben- hadad to the king of israel, conjuring up a host with horses and chariots when the syrian monarch seeks to entrap him at dothan, getting the lord to smite the syrians with blindness, leading them to samaria, opening their eyes to their peril and forcing them to submission. but why had it been an offence on a former occasion to let benhadad go after a voluntary submission, if now his men were to be fed and sent home in peace after being taken captive with the sword and the bow? be- the great epic of israel / that a “man of god” may be an accomplice in the subtle assassination that makes hazael king /of syria. why a prophet should practise duplic- ity in such a service to the lord we need not in- quire. it illustrates the manner of the time. had not elijah long ago been commissioned at mount horeb to anoint hazael king of syria and to anoint jehu king over israel? there was no anointing of the syrian by a prophet of israel but jehu's time was now at hand. in all this graphic material “the lord ” seems to have been on the side of israel as against syria, and in the meantime little attention has been given to judah, though jehoshaphat is dead and the eight year reign of his son jehoram must also be over. here the unskilful compiler, before introducing the account of jehu's exploits, lets us know that jehoram or joram has reigned contem- poraneously with the monarch of the same name at samaria, that he married a daughter of ahab of israel and did evil in the sight of the lord, though he was permitted to suppress a revolt at edom, and that he was succeeded by his son ahaziah whose reign was only for one year, and he also did evil. this new king of judah was brother-in-law of joram of israel and joined him in war against the new king of syria at the great battleground of ramoth-gilead. the defeat and mortal wounding of joram is made the preliminary to the anointing under the direction of elisha of the two kingdoms i i jehu, the wholesale assassin who was commissioned by the lord from the time of elijah to avenge upon the house of ahab the blood of the prophets. he makes thorough work of it. jezebel is thrown to the dogs, the seventy sons of ahab and “all his great men, all his familiar friends and his priests,” are slaughtered, and there is general mas- sacre of the prophets and worshippers of baal. “thus,” quoth the devout deuteronomist, “jehu destroyed baal out of israel,” and the lord com- mended him for doing unto the house of ahab “according to all that is in mine heart,” and prom- ised him the iniquitous throne at samaria unto the fourth generation of his sons. it just so happened that the dynasty of jehu had lasted that long when this promise was put in the mouth of the lord as spoken directly to the bloody instrument of his vengeance. it is only of this slaughterous service at the beginning of his reign that we are told, though jehu was king at samaria twenty-eight years. things were hardly better at jerusalem in those days, either in matters of worship or of politics. jehu had dispatched ahaziah of judah along with joram of israel, and his mother athaliah, the daughter of ahab, had destroyed all the rest of the family and seized the reins of government, showing that she had inherited the spirit of jeze- bel. the sister of ahaziah, presumably a daugh- ter of the queen mother, had, however, stolen the great epic of israel and hidden in the house of “the lord ” one from among the king's sons—how many he had at the age of twenty-three does not appear—and six years later the throne of david was transferred by assas- sination, but not out of his family. the priest jehoiada and his confederates placed the child joash on that royal seat, and made a covenant between the lord and him and his people, that they should be the lord's people. so the rule and worship of baal was destroyed at jerusalem and incidentally his priest was put to death. joash ruled forty years under the guidance of jehoiada and did that which was right in the eyes of the lord, but those pestilent “high places” remained. notwithstanding his virtuous reign and the fatt that, in spite of his priestly “graft,” he succeeded in raising money for the repair of the temple, he was forced to strip it of its treasures and its “hal- lowed things" to buy off the king of syria from attacking his capital, and was himself a victim of assassination. that zealous theocratic compiler who passed judgment upon the successive kings of both realms did not eliminate from his material these facts, though they seemed to contradict his doctrine. events were moving toward the doom of israel, for though it prevailed in its conflicts with syria and with judah, it was destined to encounter the onslaught of the irresistible empire of the east. the effort to run the accounts of the two king- the great epic of israel of azariah of judah. he held it twenty years, but was assassinated by his successor the last of the kings of israel. it was in the time of menahem that assyria first laid its hand upon samaria. “pul,” who became king of assyria as tiglath-pileser, came and made a vassal of menahem and exacted a heavy tribute, which continued until hoshea, the last king of israel, revolted and sought support from egypt, which brought the destined destruction upon israel. in the reign of pekah the same assyrian king had occasion to exhibit his power in those parts, but when hoshea attempted his revolt it was shal- maneser that came to besiege samaria and destroy the kingdom, on account of that original sin of jeroboam the son of nebat and the multiplied sins of his successors. it was sargon, however, who completed the work. there is a characteristic note of the death of elisha in the course of the narrative, in which he is made to predict the victories of joash of israel over syria, and the failure utterly to sub- jugate that nation, and his miraculous power is displayed even after his death by the revival, as soon as it touched his “bones,” of a corpse that was thrown into his sepulchre. but in this interval before the destruction of samaria occurs an episode in the relation of israel and judah which is of special interest as the first occasion for the appearance of the greatest of the two kingdoms i hebrew prophets. after the death of jotham the son of azariah, his son ahaz became king, while pekah was king at samaria. now ahaz is said not to have done that which was right in the eyes of the lord, like david, but to have indulged in the abominations of the heathen. it was hardly for that reason that rezin of syria and pekah of israel made their attack upon jerusalem, which was defeated only because ahaz appealed to tig- lath-pileser and induced him with treasures of gold and silver in the house of the lord and in the king's house, to capture damascus. this made judah a vassal of assyria, but it saved jerusalem for the time being. we shall find this salvation credited to the lord through a prophecy of isaiah when we consider more fully the oracles attributed to that theocratic champion, but the assyrian king must be made the instrument. the destruction of samaria and the dispersion of israel came afterwards, in the reign of heze- kiah of judah, and it gave occasion for the com- \ piler of these narratives,—who wrote before l jerusalem suffered the same fate as samaria, at | the hands of the king of babylon, and who still hoped for the salvation of judah, and for the final redactor, who wrote in the time of the exile and knew the fate that had over- taken judah, as well as israel, to descant upon the causes of this calamity in their several ways. their reflections are interwoven and added to, the great epic of israel ) but it is easy to distinguish those which preceded the fall of jerusalem from those which followed it. the fate of the northern kingdom had for a time a potent influence upon the course of the one that remained, and furnished much inspiration for the prophets whose utterances have come down to us. hezekiah, the son of the sinful ahaz, was submissive to the influence of isaiah, the prophet, and he “did that which was right in the eyes of the lord according to all that david his father had done"; and again the symbols of heathen worship were broken up, not only at jerusalem, but in the “high places.” among other things the king is said to have broken up the brazen ser- pent that moses made, to which the children of israel had burnt incense until that time. he ven- tured to revolt against the sovereignty of assyria, to which his father had submitted as a means of rescue from israel and syria, and this brought sennacherib, who was ravaging the neighbouring country, down upon his capital. there are two parallel accounts, or fragments of such, from different sources, awkwardly joined together by the compiler of the narrative, of the threat which sennacherib sent to hezekiah when he rashly sought the aid of egypt, the chief enemy of assyria, in his revolt against the empire of which he was a vassal. it is in strict accordance with the manner of the writer who wrought the narra- tive from the material under his hand and modified the two kingdoms i it to suit his purpose, that the result of this menace was foretold by a prophet of “the lord,” who happens in this case to be one of those whose pro- ductions in mutilated and disordered shape have come down to us. the emissaries of sennacherib had defied the god of judah and reminded his followers of the fate of other places that had relied upon their gods. they even declared in the name of their master that it was at the command of “the lord ” that he came up against this land to destroy it. according to one of the two accounts which are blended in the composition, hezekiah in his alarm at the menace from the king of assyria sent to isaiah, appealing to him to lift up his prayer “for the remnant that is left.” the prophet sent back a message to the king in the name of the lord, not to be afraid of the words, “wherewith the servants of the king of assyria have blasphemed me,” saying also, “behold i will put a spirit in him, and he shall hear a rumour and shall return to his own land, and i will cause him to fall by the sword in his own land.” according to the other account hezekiah went up to the house of the lord and lifted up a prayer on his own account, the words of which are duly set down, and the prophet being instinctively aware of this, sent to him saying, “thus saith the lord, whereas thou hast prayed to me against sennacherib, king of assyria, i have heard thee.” then is introduced the great epic of israel from some source, genuine or otherwise, one of the eloquent and poetical oracles of isaiah against the king of assyria, and appended thereto is the promise of the lord that he will defend and save jerusalem for his own sake and for the sake of david his servant. “and it came to pass in the night that the angel of the lord went forth and smote in the camp of the assyrians an hundred and four score and five thousand; and when men arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.” and it is added from a different source that sennacherib departed and dwelt in nineveh; and, as he was worshipping in the house of nisroch his god, adrammelech and sharezer smote him with the sword and his son esar-haddon reigned in his stead. all this, including the prophecies, was written down long after the event. the historical fact is that sennacherib's army was not destroyed near jerusalem, but while it was laying waste the coun- try around and preparing to attack the city, an army of egyptians and ethiopians was on its trail under tirhaka, and it was drawn away and badly cut up near the borders of egypt. the assyrian monarch did then return to his capital, but he after- wards suppressed the rebellion of babylon, and it was twenty years after he was diverted from de- stroying jerusalem that he was murdered by his sons, one of whom succeeded him. it is probably a fact that hezekiah had a serious the two kingdoms i illness from which he recovered, living some years afterwards, no uncommon experience. the writer ) who was so zealous in attributing everything to / “the lord ” and communicating the lord's pur- \ poses through his prophets, makes isaiah first tell the king to set his house in order for he would | die and not live; and then, after the king had / implored the lord to remember how he had walked before him in truth and with a perfect heart and had done that which was good in his sight, the word of the lord came to the prophet to assure the prince of his people that he had heard his prayer and would heal him. the king was anx- | ious to be assured by a sign, and the shadow was made miraculously to turn back ten steps on the dial of ahaz. the only other incident told of hezekiah and the prophet is the coming of messengers from “berodach-baladan,” properly merodach-bala- dan, king of babylon, with presents for the king of judah, who showed them all the treasures of the temple and the palace, for which the prophet rebuked him and told him that the day would come when all that he and his fathers had laid up in store would be carried away to babylon, and his descendants would be made captives in the pal- ace of its king. hezekiah was content, as it was not to come in his day. undoubtedly this was written by the reviser of these narratives after the event had happened. the great epic of israel though hezekiah was said to have done “that which was right in the eyes of the lord, according to all that david his father had done,” he had a , troublous reign and remained a vassal of assyria, while his wicked son manasseh, who came to the throne at the age of twelve, reigned fifty-five years in peace, so far as this account tells anything about him. all that it does tell is of his iniquities and abominations, in restoring all forms of heathen worship and practice, even in the temple of the lord as well as in the restored “high places,” and shedding innocent blood until he “filled jerusalem from one end to another.” it is a dismal picture and represents a state of things on mount zion as dark and bloody as ever prevailed on the hill of samaria. the final redactor, writing in the midst of the exile, makes this the occasion of a threat of the lord, by “his servants the prophets,” none of whom are named in the reign of manasseh if any were allowed to live, that he would “bring such evil upon jerusalem and judah that whoso- ever heareth of it, both his ears shall tingle.” he would “wipe jerusalem as a man wipeth a dish, wiping it and turning it upside down "; and he would cast off his “inheritance,” deliver them into the hands of their enemies and make them “a prey and a spoil of their enemies.” no hope of restora- tion or a saving remnant is held out. the dreadful state of things at jerusalem con- tinued for two years under manasseh's son amon, the two kingdoms isi when his servants conspired against him and put him to death in his own house; but “the people" slew those who conspired against him and made his son josiah king. he was only eight years old, but his father is said to have been only twenty- four at his death. josiah, we are told, did that which was right in the eyes of the lord and walked in all the way of david, turning aside neither to the right nor to the left; but we are informed of nothing that he did until, in the eighteenth year of his reign, the priest hilkiah found the book of the law in the house of the lord when preparations were making to repair its “breaches.” it was in this interval that the voice of jeremiah was first lifted up, lamenting the recreancy, backsliding and wickedness of judah and jerusalem, and calling them to repentance and obedience to the lord, as their only hope of salvation. this discovery of the “book of the law " and the reforms in worship to which it led, were the great event of josiah's reign, the last before the fate of judah and jerusalem was sealed, as that of israel and samaria had been sealed just a hun- dred years before the discovery was made. there is no doubt that this “book of the law "was that which was afterwards extended, with a prelude of discourses by moses and additions to the com- mands and ordinances, to form the book of deuteronomy. when it was read to josiah he was filled with alarm and sent to “inquire of the the great epic of israel lord ” from the prophetess huldah, apparently the only recognised survivor of the prophets in jerusalem. the zealous redactor of the exile, who knew what had happened, put in her mouth a dire- ful prediction of what was then to come, with the promise that because the king's heart was tender and he had humbled himself and rent his clothes and wept, he should be gathered to his fathers in peace and should not see all the evil that the lord would “bring upon this place.” perhaps the writer overlooked the fact that in the account un- der his hand josiah was killed at megiddo when he had the presumption to try to intercept the egyptian army on its way to attack assyria. but, after the consulting of the oracle in the person of huldah, the king is represented as mak- ing a clean sweep of the iniquitous worship and its symbols and of various “abominations " that had invaded mount zion in the time of his grand- father, even to the “houses of the sodomites in the house of the lord.” it seems, according to this account, that there had even been sacrifices of children in the valley of the sons of hinnom, which was turned into “tophet” for the burning of idols and asherim and other refuse, and that some of the heathenish high places of solomon had still remained before jerusalem. a late addition was made to the story to verify the prophecy of the man of god in the time of jeroboam, that upon the altar which he had raised at bethel a child of the two kingdoms i the house of david, josiah by name, should sacri- fice the priests of the high places and should burn men's bones. the king is also made to save the sepulchre in which the “man of god" from judah and the old prophet of bethel were buried to- gether. then such a passover was kept in jerusa- lem as was never known before, but the redactor, whose mind was overwhelmed with the subsequent disasters, could not refrain from interjecting that, “notwithstanding, the lord turned not from the fierceness of his great wrath, wherewith his anger- was kindled against judah, because of all the prov- ocations that manasseh had provoked him withal,” but declared that he would remove judah out of his sight as he had removed israel, and cast off the city which he had chosen to put his name there. neither did he omit the authentic state- ment that josiah was slain by pharaoh-necoh on his way “up against " the king of assyria and was carried dead in his chariot to be buried in his own sepulchre. p his son jehoahaz did not have much time for the evil that he did in the sight of the lord, for this same “pharaoh-necoh’’ captured him within three months and sent him to egypt to die, putting his brother eliakim in his place, but with the name of jehoiakim, and exacting a heavy tribute from the land. thus judah and jerusalem became an unfortunate football between the great powers of the euphrates and the nile, which were engaged the great epic of israel / in a gigantic struggle for supremacy. babylon under nabopolassar, with the aid of cyaxares of , media, subjugated the kingdom of assyria, and his son nebuchadrezzar overwhelmingly defeated necho at carchemish, thus transferring the vas- salage of jehoiakim from egypt to babylon. against the protests of the prophet jeremiah this king rebelled and brought the wrath of babylon upon jerusalem, and judah was devastated by the army of nebuchadrezzar. the king of egypt “came no more into the land ” for the king of babylon “had taken, from the brook of egypt unto the river euphrates, all that pertained to the king of egypt.” jehoiakim “slept with his fathers ” and his son jehoiachin began to reign, but the latter had also only three months in which to do evil in the sight of the lord, for nebuchadrezzar was now besieg- ing jerusalem and the hapless king with his mother and his servants “went out" to him and they were carried away to babylon with “all the princes and all the mighty men of valour, even ten thousand captives, and all the craftsmen and the smiths,” leaving only “the poorest sort of the people of the land.” this was in the year b. c., but eleven years remained yet before the final “captivity” and the destruction of jerusalem. nebuchadrez- zar set another of josiah's sons on the throne, mat- taniah, to whom he gave the name zedekiah. we have passed the period of the first compiler of the two kingdoms i the books of kings and what remains is from the hand of the redactor in the exile. zedekiah was not obedient to the voice of the great prophet jeremiah and he had the presumption to rebel against the king of babylon, of which the imme- diate result was to bring back the army of nebu- chadrezzar, and there was a siege that reduced jerusalem to sore famine and to final destruction. the king was captured in an attempt to escape to jericho, his sons were slain, his eyes were put out, and he was carried captive to babylon. the walls of zion were broken down, the temple was stripped of everything of value and left in ruins, and there was another wholesale deportation after the man- ner of chaldaean conquests. there was little of such colonising from the east as was made by the assyrians in the more attractive territory of the north, but judah and jerusalem were left to deso- lation and “astonishment,” with a governor who was speedily assassinated, the conspirators and their followers then fleeing to egypt and taking the prophet jeremiah with them by force. the result was that while the “ten tribes of israel” were dispersed and lost, the remnant of judah re- turned in half a century, when cyrus of persia destroyed babylon, and in a feeble attempt to re- build jerusalem built up judaism. the purpose of this long chapter has not been to rehearse the events of the two kingdoms, but to show that this writing is not and was not in- the great epic of israel tended to be history, or a record of facts. in the hands of those who composed it from rude material of diverse origin, and put it in its final form, its purpose was to inculcate and impress a theory, or a doctrine, which is the burden of the whole epic as finally rounded out. in its higher development this was the doctrine that the god of israel, orig- inally a tribal deity with his abode in the dismal region of mount sinai, was the divine power over all the nations, but israel was his own peculiar people and judah became his special care when the other tribes broke away and formed a separate kingdom, and proved recreant to his worship and his law. it was for this that he brought calamities upon them and finally destroyed their kingdom and removed them from his sight. whatever judah suffered was due to disobedience and infidel- ity to him, and trust in him would have saved it. syria or egypt, assyria or babylon, were only instruments in his hands for punishing his people when they would not listen to his voice, as con- veyed by the prophets who spoke in his name and by his inspiration. this was the belief of the prophets themselves, and this was the belief of those who preserved their words, either in their original form or in a modified form, or wrote down what this belief induced them to think must have been said. it was the belief of all those who during the exile and after the return wrought over the mass of the two kingdoms i writings that had been saved from the time of the kingdoms, first in the form of “the law,” then in the “prophets,” which included the legendary and theocratic records from the conquest of canaan to the “carrying away into captivity,” and finally in the addition of various “writings" deemed to be “holy.” the one dominating idea at last was that there was no god but israel's god, and he would yet save a purified remnant of his own be- loved people, and bring all other nations, which he had used for their affliction and their discipline, into subjection to them, and would build up a glorified kingdom in the future with the house of david restored. this was a faith that survived the destruction of the two kingdoms and even the failure to rebuild that of judah after the second great deliverance. viii prophets of the kingdoms the literary prophets of israel, or those whose utterances, oral or written, have come down to us as part of the great epic of their race, may be said to have developed out of a class of diviners or soothsayers, such as all primitive nations and religions have had. in the earliest writings we have glimpses of those priests, or levis, who con- sulted yahweh by means of a mechanism called the ephod, adorned with a symbolical image in the form of a calf or bull, and who received answers by urim and thummim. these implements are represented as being used not only in the days of the “judges,” but in the time of saul and david. more directly the “word of god” was said to have been imparted by an angel of the lord, a sort of minor deity acting as a messenger or spokes- man. later this place seems to have been taken by a human being spoken of as a “man of god,” supposed to be inspired for his mission. the spirit of the lord was also said to come upon those who were acting in his behalf, as well as those who spoke for him, even such rough agents of his will as gideon, jephthah and samson. . prophets of the kingdoms there were those who were consulted as oracles or seers to whom clairvoyant powers appear to have been imputed, like deborah under her palm tree between ramah and bethel, and samuel at his dwelling place in ramah, to whom it was said that the lord revealed the fact that saul was coming to inquire after stray asses. a late editor of the account takes occasion to note that he that was called a prophet in his day had been before- time called a seer. there were also said to be in the time of samuel schools or conventicles in which the neophytes were called “sons of prophets,” and the verb used for their “prophe- sying ” signified crying out in ecstatic fashion, something like the “speaking with tongues" of a much later time. it is evident that they were wont to work themselves into a religious frenzy, which sometimes infected the bystanders. it was this that led to the proverbial query “is saul also among the prophets?” “prophet” came to mean one who spoke or acted in the name of “the lord ” (yahweh), and samuel in anointing and guiding the first king of israel is the earliest who appears distinctly in that role. writers of a time long after applied the term to abraham and moses, but its significance is plainly brought out where it is said that the lord told moses, when he pleaded that he was not eloquent, that aaron should be to him instead of a mouth and should be his “prophet.” after i o the great epic of israel david became king, nathan appears as a prophet to reveal to him the purposes of the lord and to rebuke him in the case of the wrong done to uriah the hittite. we hear of no prophet in the time of solomon until the ephraimite rebellion, which, according to the doctrine developed later, must be accounted for as a retribution for the sins of that king in setting up the worship of heathen gods in his latter days, and must have been an- nounced beforehand in the name of god. for that purpose ahijah appears, whose abode was said to be at the old sanctuary of shiloh. the symbolical action of this prophet in rending his new garment into twelve pieces and giving ten of them to jeroboam was a kind of performance sometimes credited to later prophets, as a means of giving emphasis or illustration to their mes- sages. these things may not have been actually done, for there was much use of figurative lan- guage and poetical imagery, not only by those who told of the words and deeds of prophets, but in what purport to be their own statements. their symbolism like their visions, was usually assumed for effect. it may be that at the time of the dis- astrous expedition of ahab and jehoshaphat against the syrians at ramoth-gilead, zedekiah made him horns of iron to show how the kings would punish the enemy until he was “consumed,” but it is hardly more likely than that micaiah saw the visions that he described. it is not to be sup- prophets of the kingdoms i i posed that amos actually saw the basket of summer fruit which he said the lord god showed him, or that he really saw the lord standing upon the altar telling him to smite the lintel of the door that the posts may shake. when isaiah tells how his lips were purged by a live coal taken from the altar by a seraph he is not relating a matter of fact, and it may be doubted whether he walked naked and barefoot three years “for a sign and a wonder upon egypt and upon ethiopia.” when he spoke of a young woman having a child to be named “god with us” to illustrate the time within which judah would be relieved from the attack of israel and syria, or of naming a child of his own to symbolise the approaching destruction of damascus by assyria, he was not telling family history or prefiguring remote events. a number of symbolical acts were imputed to jeremiah, such as putting on a yoke to represent the coming subjugation of his people and shatter- ing a potter's earthen vessel to illustrate how the lord would smash jerusalem, but it does not fol- low that he literally did these things. certainly, when he said that in obedience to the word of the lord he got a linen girdle and took it to euphrates and hid it in a hole of the rock, and after many days went again and found it marred and “profitable for nothing,” to show how the pride of judah was to be marred and its people to be carried away captive to the euphrates, the i the great epic of israel statement ascribed to him was not meant to be understood as relating a fact. very likely the narrative of buying a field from his uncle at anathoth as a refuge in anticipation of the de- struction of jerusalem was a bit of illustrative fiction to impress the belief that, while the land would be made desolate, there would be a rescue of the purified people after many days and that houses and fields and vineyards would “yet again be bought in this land.” we need to make allowance for ancient and oriental modes of expression. there is another thing for which we must make allowance in judg- ing of this prophetic literature. much of that which was preserved in the great epic was no doubt written down by the prophets themselves before or after its oral utterance, where it was uttered at all under the circumstances related, but some of it was undoubtedly written out by others from hearsay or tradition, in some cases invented by these writers. during a period of nearly two centuries between the earliest of these and the devastation of judah by nebuchadrezzar these utterances must have been collected at jerusalem, including those that had their origin in the northern kingdom before the destruction of samaria. then they were car- ried away to babylon in more or less confusion and cherished by devout scribes, who had fifty years in which to work over and to arrange and tran- prophets of the kingdoms scribe the mass of precious material. in this work they had the light of events now past to guide them, and there is much evidence that they felt no scruple in modifying and adapting what they had, to support their beliefs and their religious faith. the material of the prophecies was evidently in disorder and the means of identifying the time and place of production and the authorship of various parts of it, were imperfect. the redac- tors and copyists were not skilful and the final arrangement was defective. in most cases no log- ical or chronological order was observed, and pas- sages were credited to certain prophets, even the greatest of them, which could not have been their work. take as a conspicuous example the book of isaiah. nothing after the thirty-ninth chapter, in the modern division into chapter and verse, could have come from the prophet of the time of ahaz and hezekiah. that section belongs to the end of the exile and after. the last four chapters of that which precedes chapter forty, relating to sennacherib's invasion, the sickness of hezekiah and the mission from merodach-baladan of baby- lon, are taken bodily from the book of kings. what precedes these is badly arranged and con- tains at least one passage that is older than isaiah's time and several that are later, later even than the exile, the final redaction having been made long the great epic of israel after the return, when many stray fragments of prophecy were misplaced or purposely interpolated in the ancient setting. perhaps the oldest of the oracles preserved in writing, unless we regard as such the vaticinations put in the mouth of balaam in the book of num- bers, is the poetical tirade against moab in the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of isaiah, which is there designated as the word spoken by the lord concerning moab in time past. it is a pleasing conjecture that this may have come from the an- cient prophet jonah, who is referred to in the book of kings, where jeroboam ii is said to have restored the border of israel, probably including the suppression of moab, “according to the word of the lord, the god of israel, which he spake by the hand of jonah the son of amittai, the prophet which was of gath-hepher.” but the earliest complete “prophecy” labelled with the name of its author, is that of amos the herdsman of tekoa in judah, who went to beth-el in israel in the time of jeroboam ii, to denounce the iniquities that were flagrant in that kingdom, and to utter warnings of the punishment that awaited the guilty realm. the time of this was about b. c., after the assyrians had begun their campaigns of conquest in the west and there were many premonitions of the fate that impended over the puny nations which were on the track of the armies that passed between the empires of the prophets of the kingdoms euphrates and the nile. amos avowed that he was not by profession a prophet but a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore trees, but the lord had taken him from following the flock and sent him to “prophesy unto israel.” his work is highly poetical and full of burning ardour. he regarded the moving of the armies of assyria as a menace of the lord to the sinful nations and especially to israel, for its recreancy to the covenant with jacob and the worship of the god who had brought his people out of egypt and given them their goodly land. the prophet begins with rhapsodical visions of the retribution that is coming upon damascus of syria, upon gaza of the philistines, upon tyre, upon ammon and moab, and even upon judah, which had rejected the law of the lord; but his fiercest denunciations were reserved for israel, which had sold the righteous for silver and the needy for a pair of shoes, and had been guilty of injustice, fraud, oppression of the poor and all iniquity. the lord had borne with their sins and tried them with penalties until his patience was exhausted, and now he threatened them with de- struction and captivity. the prophet used much figurative language and indulged in visions, but it was evidently the assyrian army that he regarded as the coming scourge, and he knew what such an army of conquest from the mighty east must mean, unless the angry god that was bringing it i the great epic of israel on was placated by repentance and submission. the whole doctrine of the prophets was summed up in these words: “shall evil befall a city and the lord hath not done it? surely the lord god will do nothing but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets.” but never did the prophets of israel fail in their faith in the ultimate rescue and salvation of the lord's people. a purified remnant would surely be restored to build up his kingdom, and their enemies would be destroyed or brought into sub- jection to their rule. so, after the denunciation and threats, said to have been delivered at bethel and to have resulted in a charge of conspiracy and a warning to flee into the land of judah, this mes- sage was concluded with a promise that the taber- nacle of david should be raised up again and repaired, the people should be brought from their captivity, rebuild their waste cities, plant vine- yards and make gardens, and they “shall no more be plucked out of their land which i have given them, said the lord god.” this was undoubt- edly added after the exile. the next prophet in order of time was hosea, who was of the kingdom of israel over which the shadow of doom was darkening, for already the army of tiglath-pileser was ravaging the sur- rounding country. damascus and tyre had been brought into subjection to him and samaria was menaced. the first three chapters of the book prophets of the kingdoms of hosea, as it is now divided, must have been written before the end of the dynasty of jehu, which ceased with the assassination of the son of jeroboam ii, within six months of that king's death. the others relate to the time of mena- hem, who succeeded to the throne by speedily assassinating the assassin, and who reigned ten years. no events are referred to so late as the league between israel and syria against judah, about b. c. there is no reason to assume that there was personal experience in the symbol- ism of the first chapters, which rather coarsely represents the relation of israel and her lord as that of an unfaithful wife and her husband, with threats of exposure and disgrace and promise of renewed union and love after repentance. im- agery of that kind is common in the prophetic utterances, heathen worship and infidelity to the law of the lord being characterised as “whore- dom.” this prophecy is made up of alternations of rebuke and pleading and promise, in which the author puts his words into the mouth of the lord, while assuming that the lord puts the words into his mouth. he is deeply depressed by the idolatry and the iniquity of the people, and the dreadful peril, which he believed to be due to the resentment and anger of their god, who was bringing destruction upon them as a punishment which there seemed to be no hope of averting. i the great epic of israel there proved to be no way of averting the calam- ity, for the assyrian conquests went on, and it was not many years before they swept over israel, and samaria was destroyed. this part of the herit- age of jacob was never restored, though its resto- ration was often promised. the menace to judah was less direct and it was nearly a hundred and forty years before a like devastation came to that kingdom, but similar use was made of the danger by the prophets in their desperate efforts to induce the people and their rulers to abandon their evil ways and obey the lord, whose threats and promises the prophets uttered. that and that alone, they devoutly be- lieved, would save the nation and make it great and glorious, in spite of all its enemies could do, however seemingly powerful. these were only instruments in the hands of israel's god, who was the source of all power. the greatest of the prophets of judah, as the inevitable crisis made its slow way from the east, was isaiah, who be- ginning in the time of jotham, about b. c., was a mentor of the kings until the death of hezekiah, more than forty years later, a period covering the assyrian conquests of syria and samaria and the attack of sennacherib upon judah, when jerusalem narrowly escaped the fate that afterwards came from babylon. the book which contains such utterances of this great prophet as were preserved is a com- prophets of the kingdoms posite work, even more difficult to analyse than the pentateuch; and, after all the erudition and research that have been lavished upon it, there is much uncertainty as to the source and the appli- cation of many passages. the last twenty-seven chapters, as it stands in our versions, is to be relegated to the close of the exile and later. the historical passage relating to the invasion of sen- nacherib, the sickness of hezekiah and the visit of the emissaries of merodach-baladan, as has been already stated, is conveyed bodily from the book of kings, with the interpolation of a kind of psalm designated as “the writing of hezekiah when he had been sick and had recovered of his sickness.” the apocalyptic passage contained in chapters twenty-four to twenty-seven, inclusive, belong to the time at the end of the exile when assyria and babylon had been destroyed and high hopes were cherished of a restoration of the king- dom, which should extend from “the flood of the river unto the brook of egypt,” into which the exiles and outcasts should be gathered, with their place of worship in the holy mountain at jerusa- lem. the succession of compilers, revisers and editors of this material made use of such authentic utter- ances of isaiah as they had that suited their pur- pose, but they did not observe the order of events or verify the occasions for their use, and they did not hesitate to modify and adapt them, or to in- the great epic of israel troduce extraneous matter of later origin. most of this, however, has the impress of that prophetic doctrine of which isaiah and jeremiah were the greatest exemplars. it was intended to show how their warnings had been justified and their predic- tions verified, and it reiterated with new emphasis the promise of a restoration that had begun and a glory and power that were hoped for. the first chapter of isaiah which forms an im- pressive exordium to the collection is a late pro- duction of the prophet, perhaps of the time of the relapse after the death of hezekiah, touched by a still later hand, for it speaks of revolt, estrange- ment and backsliding from the holy one of israel, and refers to a retribution that has already come and a redemption that shall yet make of zion “the city of righteousness, the faithful city,” when all that forsake the lord shall be consumed. it is followed by four chapters which are regarded as genuine beyond doubt and among the earlier utterances of the prophet, though they contain evidences of late revision, when it could be said that “jerusalem is ruined and judah is fallen.” it implies idolatry and heathen practices in the land, as well as pride and folly and wickedness, which the lord is to purge away in his wrath with the “blast of judgment,” until those that are left among the living in jerusalem shall be called holy. the fifth chapter contains the beautiful allegory of the vineyard which brought forth only * prophets of the kingdoms wild grapes and further denunciation of woes and penalties for the recreancy of the lord's people, whom he had smitten and against whom his hand is “stretched out still.” some later oracles are prefaced by the state- ment of the prophet's first call to his mission by a vision in the temple “in the year that king uzziah died.” this collection begins with the first that is clearly associated with a definite his- torical event, the alliance of israel under pekah and syria under rezin against judah in the time of ahaz. at that time the assyrians under tiglath-pileser were threatening syria and ahaz hired that monarch with the treasures of the tem- ple to save him “out of the hand of the king of syria and out of the hand of the king of israel.” as tiglath-pileser was already in possession of damascus there is no doubt that this was what averted the danger from jerusalem. isaiah is represented as flouting the danger from these “two tails of smoking firebrands" and pre- dicting that before a child yet to be born should come to the age of knowing “to refuse the evil and choose the good,” the land of the two kings whom ahaz abhorred would be forsaken. this is fol- lowed by further prophesying that the lord would call the fly from egypt and the bee from assyria to desolate the offending land. but mingled with this are later poetical fragments, in which the bur- den of prophecy is the promise of restoration after the great epic of israel completed penalties, when the throne of david should be restored under an ideal prince of peace. while the most is made of the menace of as- syria against damascus and samaria as a warning to jerusalem, it is the doctrine of the prophet that the assyrian is only a “rod of anger” and a “staff of indignation ” in the hand of the lord, and that he will be punished in his turn for arro- gating to himself the power of which he is only the instrument. it is as if the axe should boast itself against him that heweth therewith, the saw magnify itself against him that shaketh it, or the rod shake them that lift it up. the lord would chastise assyria and restore a remnant of his peo- ple. the passage following the graphic picture of the coming on of the host and the devastation the lord would bring about, which tells of a time when an ideal king from the stock of jesse should reign in righteousness and peace, and the remnant of the scattered people would be recalled from the four corners of the earth to subjugate their enemies, might be regarded as a prophetic vision of isaiah, but it is far more likely to be the offspring of the dreams of the post-exilic time. it is certain that that which follows, relating to the doom of babylon, was not written before the time of the attack of cyrus. how much of the various denunciations of doom upon the nations hostile to “the people of god’’ came from isaiah, and how much from those who intermingled his prophets of the kingdoms writings with their own, it is impossible to deter- mine. that relating to egypt certainly refers to events later than his time, and it ends with the strange prediction of an alliance between egypt, assyria and israel, who were to have the com- mon blessing of the lord in the midst of the earth: “blessed be egypt my people, and assyria the work of my hands and israel mine inheritance.” this is far from the manner and spirit of the prophet who denounced all alliance with other na- tions or dependence upon their help, and urged complete reliance upon the god who made israel his own peculiar care and would make it the one great nation of the earth if it obeyed him and kept his law. a definite relation to history in the oracles of isaiah appears again in the later chapters, begin- ning with the twenty-eighth, sometimes designated as the “assyrian cycle.” though this passage is introduced by an older fragment pronouncing woe upon samaria as “the crown of the drunkards of ephraim,” it relates in general to the time of the “overflowing scourge" of sennacherib's army, which was to be used to chastise and correct judah, but would not be permitted to destroy jerusalem. here the turning of hezekiah to egypt for help against the overpowering army from the east is distinctly condemned. we hear again that ter- rible voice denouncing the covenant with sheol and the agreement with death which the rulers the great epic of israel of jerusalem seemed to have made, portraying the might and anger of an outraged god, and depict- ing the retribution that he was bringing upon an offending people. the language flows like a tor- rent and roars like a cataract, but sometimes it sinks into a tone of pleading, and again rises into exultation over a final restoration when the venge- ance of the lord should be complete and “the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.” there is always reason for regarding these ex- ultant passages as late interpolations, belonging to the time when there was a prospect that “the ransomed of the lord ” were about to return and “come with singing unto zion,” and when there was hope that everlasting joy was to be upon their heads in the restored kingdom. there is a pro- saic ending, in the redactor's transcript from the book of kings of the account of sennacherib's sudden diversion from his attack upon jerusalem. of the fate of the prophet when this great crisis was over and the land relapsed into quietness and peace we know nothing; but it may be that his blood was mingled with that with which manasseh filled jerusalem after the death of his father. there was a “minor prophet” in the time of isaiah some of whose utterances were preserved. this was micah of morasheth on the border of philistia, who was also aroused to righteous indig- nation by the iniquities of samaria and jerusalem, prophets of the kingdoms and regarded the assyrian menace as a portent of punishment. the first three chapters of the book bearing this name are of unquestioned authenticity and their contents must have preceded the destruc- tion of samaria, but the rest is a dubious mixture. the consolatory verses at the beginning of chapter four are a late interpolation and almost a paraphrase of the beginning of the second chap- ter of isaiah. the rest of chapter four and all of chapter five is a blending of inharmonious elements, and if originally from the same source was mangled by late editing. chapter six and the beginning of seven appear to reflect the dismal time of manasseh and may be from the same hand as the first chapters, but it is certain that the last chapter from verse seven to the end was not earlier than the time of anticipated restoration at the end of the exile. during the long reign of manasseh, which was characterised by relapse to the grosser form of the worship of yahweh, akin to that of baal, and perhaps mingled with it, and by reaction against the exacting ethical standard taught in hezekiah's time, there was no voice of admonition and warning that has been transmitted, unless it be that of micah. one oracle of that period there is, labelled with the name of nahum the elkoshite. some authorities place elkosh in gal- ilee, but it does not matter. nahum’s “vision ” was a fierce threat of the destruction of nineveh the great epic of israel by the lord, whose people assyria had so out- raged, and it begins with a fervid portrayal of the might of that avenging deity when his wrath was excited. it is mainly poetical in structure and abounds in graphic imagery of the forces of destruction with which “the lord ” would lash the “bloody city.” it was written after the con- quest of egypt and the destruction of thebes, or “no-amon,” by the assyrians, and at a time when nineveh was threatened from the east; but the city was not destroyed until long after, by nabo- polassar of babylon. after the short reign of manasseh's son amon, and while the child josiah occupied the throne of judah, perhaps under the guidance of the temple priests, there was a revival of prophecy. we | hear nothing of it until the boy king had reigned a dozen years or more and was about twenty years of age. it was then that the great champion of theocracy, jeremiah, appeared, and from that time he attended the agonies of the kingdom until it expired under the punitive assaults of nebu- chadrezzar of babylon; but there were two “minor prophets,” contemporary with the earlier and middle part of his career, some of whose utterances were considered worthy of preservation through the subsequent vicissitudes of this remark- able literature. josiah's reign began in b. c., and it was not until that the book of the law was said to prophets of the kingdoms have been found in the temple, the discovery of which was followed by a drastic reform in the worship of yahweh. this was now centered at jerusalem, and that in the “high places " was wiped out. zephaniah is represented as being a descendant in the fourth generation from heze- kiah, presumably the king, the great grandfather of josiah. it must have been before the reforms of josiah that the word of the lord is said to have come to zephaniah proclaiming destruction of all the earth on a great and terrible “day of the lord's wrath,” on account of the sinfulness even of jerusalem. it is intimated that the “fierce an- ger” may be averted from that city if its people will “gather themselves” and seek righteousness and meekness. some regard this intimation as a later addition, and the threats against the nations hostile to judah as from a different source. at all events, the promise of restoration of a dis- persed people and the song of rejoicing with which this prophecy ends are an addition of the time of the exile or later. it is probable that the gen- uine oracle of zephaniah with its menace of de- struction, intended to terrify the people into turn- ing to the lord for escape, was incited by the invasion of scythians in western asia about b. c. it was after babylon had gained the ascendancy in the east and was starting westward on its career of conquest, in which egypt was defeated at --~ i the great epic of israel deemed themselves inspired by the deity to utter his own words, was developed and cherished through the long exile and after the restoration, and became the chief article of faith and hope while the humiliated people struggled in galling subjection successively to persia and greece. it was under its influence that all the old writings were painfully wrought over and welded into a sacred epic to sustain the indomitable spirit of judaism. one of the chief pillars of this great fabric is this book of jeremiah. it was the prod- uct of a succession of compilations and revisions finally moulded into one as late as the third cen- tury b. c. how much of it consists of the actual utter- ances or writings of the prophet cannot be determined with certainty, but allusions to events, circumstances and conditions in the exile and long after, are easily traced, and the general character of the collection is well established. those who gave it the final impress could look back upon the trials and calamities of the nation through the preceding centuries, realise the devastation and desolation of the land and the resistless power that had trodden it down, and could only comfort themselves with the conviction that it was due to the sin and disobedience of the people and their rulers, and that it was only necessary to profit by the chastisement and rely upon the unseen poten- tate that must still be their god and theirs only, prophets of the kingdoms i to receive the benefit of the promises they believed him to have made to their fathers and repeated from age to age through his prophets. when jeremiah first appeared at jerusalem the conditions left after the reign of manasseh and amon had not materially changed, and his ear- lier utterances, scattered in disorder through the first twenty chapters of the book, have the famil- iar tone of reproach, remonstrance and threat, of lamentation and mourning, heated to burning intensity. rumours of the scythian invasion from the north gave point to the menace of destruc- tion, to be averted only by submission to the lord. what part the prophet may have taken in the promulgation of the newly found version of the law and the reforms that followed through ſ the action of josiah, instigated by the priests, is left in profound obscurity. it is significant that neither he nor his prophesying is mentioned in the book of kings and that none of the oracles at- tributed to him relate to this part of josiah's reign or make any direct reference to it. it is only after the untimely death of that king that the prophet's voice is again heard in warning and menace, and then appalling danger is gathering in the east. the kings of judah had continued to be tributary to assyria, though apparently free from direct oppression, but after josiah lost his life in the rash attempt to intercept the egyptian army under necho at megiddo, that monarch' i the great epic of israel seized his son jehoahaz, after he had nominally reigned three months, and carried him away to egypt, making his brother king under the name of jehoiakim. there is but one reference to jehoahaz in jere- miah, and there he is contemptuously called shal- lum, and a prediction is interjected that he should die “in the place whither they have led him captive.” there are several references to jehoiakim, who had first paid tribute to egypt for the safety of his kingdom, but after the bat- tle of carchemish had become a vassal of babylon and three years later revolted and brought the wrath of nebuchadrezzar upon his country. this led to the ravaging of judah and the siege of jerusalem, and three months after the death of jehoiakim his son jehoiachin surrendered. there was a deportation to babylon of princes and priests and men of war. among these the name of mattaniah, a son of josiah, appears, but according to the record he was made king of judah by nebuchadrezzar, with the name of º zedekiah, and was destined to be the last of the line. it was his presumption in revolting and relying upon the help of egypt that led to the return of the chaldean army, the devastation of the country, the destruction of jerusalem after a long siege, and the final deportation in b. c. during all the stirring and critical events of the last twenty years of the kingdom of judah, prophets of the kingdoms jeremiah was unwearied in his denunciation of the wickedness of the people and the presumption of the rulers, and brought persecution and abuse upon himself by advocating submission to baby- lon and condemning trust in egypt or any other earthly power. the most surely authentic collection of the prophet's utterances, as written out probably in his own time, but somewhat revised afterwards, contain few distinct allusions to historical events, but they come down to his threats of the destruc- tion of jerusalem and the desolation of judah by nebuchadrezzar's army and the “carrying away” to babylon, which would be its inevitable sequel. this collection closes with what purports to be an account of his seizure by one of the king's officers and his confinement in the stocks for prophesying such a calamity. he is repre- sented as fiercely repeating the threat and de- nouncing captivity and death upon his persecutor in the name of the lord, and then complaining in his despair that the lord had deceived him and brought him into humiliation, and as cursing the day wherein he was born. but immediately following this collection is an- other and later one which begins with the state- ment that this same officer, pashur, and another were sent by king zedekiah to implore the prophet to inquire of the lord regarding the attack of nebuchadrezzar upon jerusalem. the great epic of israel this was at the time of the final siege, though earlier events are afterwards referred to. the reply is that the lord will fight on the side of the chaldeans, destroy the city, and deliver the people into the hand of the king of babylon. those who resisted he would smite without pity and without mercy, and only those who yielded would have a chance of life. this is out of its proper order and is followed by some discon- nected fragments relating to the previous kings since josiah. after a brief exordium threaten- ing the kings of judah generally if they would not hear the words of the lord, it is said that “shallum ” (jehoahaz) shall die in the land to which he has been carried, but is not to be wept for. neither was there to be lamentation for jehoiakim, who would have the “burial of an ass” and be cast forth beyond the gates of jerusalem. jehoiachin, or jeconiah, referred to as “coniah,” the lord would “pluck hence and deliver to the king of babylon " and no man of his seed should prosper sitting upon the throne of david. no doubt these were retrospective proph- ecies written after the event, and not the words of jeremiah. what follows them is certainly of late origin, as are all the passages tell- ing of the days to come when the lord would gather his people from the countries into which he had driven them and would establish over i the great epic of israel the days of josiah, and to have re-written them with additions when the roll was burnt by the king, and who was carried away to egypt with the prophet after the siege, was the latest com- piler of the annals of the kings and the author in their original form of these historical passages relating to the last days of the kingdom and giv- ing an account of jeremiah's utterances, his treat- ment by the household of zedekiah and by the king himself. baruch is supposed to have es- caped from egypt and made his way to baby- lon, where he was active in putting these writ- ings into form. the closing chapter of the book of jeremiah is taken bodily from the end of the second book of kings, but before that there is a further account of the sequel to the siege, the tumult which followed, the assassination of the governor appointed by nebuchadrezzar's officer, the choice given to the prophet to go with the captives or to stay behind, his failure to induce those who stayed to remain in the deserted land, and his forcible abduction from bethehem, where they had gathered, to egypt. it would seem that baruch or some one else, either preserved the fierce tirades of the prophet against the conduct of the refugees in the borders of egypt or im- puted to him those which he was presumed to have uttered. at last his uncompromising voice was silenced and tradition said that he was prophets of the kingdoms stoned to death by the people whose practices he persisted in denouncing. there is no doubt that the passages relating to the restoration of israel and the destruction of its enemies in the days to come, contained in chapters xxx to xxxiii and xlvi to li, with the passage interpolated as chapter xxv, in the book as divided in modern versions, were in the main of late production, in the exile and after, and were retrospective in their prophecy of events that were then past. but they were elabora- tions of a central idea of jeremiah's utterances, which served as a pattern and inspiration for writers of the time when the hope was dominant that the lord would restore the kingdom, gather all the scattered children of the house- hold of israel from among the nations, and set up a righteous king of the line of david on mount zion who would rule in submission to yahweh’s guidance. this mingling of jere- miah's genuine utterances with those imputed to him long after serves as a bridge from the calam- ity, humiliation and despair of judah's devas- tation and jerusalem's desolation, over the gulf of exile by the streams of babylon, to the time of restoration and hope, when the walls of jeru- salem were rebuilt, the temple was renewed and the “laws of moses" were developed into a system of ritual worship unknown before. there is nowhere else in human history any the great epic of israel production of man's genius more intense in ex- pression than the so-called prophecies of jere- miah, and that intensity was inspired by the cir- cumstances of the time and the ardent nature of the man. he was a fervent believer in the doc- trine he preached, and an intense lover of his country, which he saw in the agonies of disso- lution from the attack of a powerful enemy. his judgment and foresight taught him that resistance to the armies of babylon was useless, that a league of the petty nations for defence was futile, and that reliance upon egypt for rescue was folly. but with all his soul he believed that this situa- tion was brought about by israel's god as a punishment of his recreant and stiff-necked peo- ple, who persisted in worshipping other gods, in bowing down to idols and neglecting the princi- ples of conduct inculcated by the prophets, whose words were put in their mouth by god himself. he believed that if the people would repent and return to their allegiance to the power that had made a covenant with their fathers and given them all they had, his anger would be placated, his mercy would be excited, his love would be regained and he would turn back their enemies and restore them to safety and happiness as a nation. but he was convinced after years of ap- peal, of warning and of threats and promises, that the case was hopeless. they must undergo a terrible retribution which would chastise the ! l ! prophets of the kingdoms guilt out of them and destroy the incorrigible, but a purified remnant would be saved and re- stored, for israel's god could not be utterly de- feated and his purposes could not finally fail. israel had been his care for a thousand years, and wayward as it was, it would be chastened and made triumphant in the end. it was the prophet's conception of deity and of his relation to mankind, especially his relation to his own peculiar people, that gave such in- tensity to his utterances. israel's god was lov- ing and merciful when obeyed and submissively worshipped, but he was fiercely jealous of other gods and excited to wrath and indignation when his own beloved people fell away to them. when his anger was aroused he was vengeful and ruthless, and he controlled all the powers of nature and of nations and would use them in his fury for punishment and destruction. the lan- guage of warning and of menace was filled with the most graphic use of figure and imagery. the lord would sweep over the land in whirlwind and fire; he would waste with famine and destroy with pestilence; he would slay with the sword and cover the land with men's bones; he would bring armies from afar like devouring locusts and birds of prey; he would raven like wolves and lions; he would roar and howl and bring tempest and darkness and fill the world with terror and dis- may, because of the iniquities, the disobedience l the great epic of israel and the wilfulness of his people, who showed such base ingratitude. no doubt the prophet imputed his own feel- ings to his god, but he believed that they came from that source and that he was uttering the words that jehovah (yahweh) inspired within him. he could not separate himself from “the lord.” there were other prophets who pre- sumed to speak in the same name in giving dif- ferent counsel, and he did not hesitate to de- nounce them as deceivers and liars and threaten them with disaster and death, still imputing his own words to the outraged deity. naturally, the words of these other prophets were seldom pre- served and then only to vindicate the utterances of those who were regarded as the true prophets of god. the most remarkable thing about these he- brew seers, with their conceptions, in many re- spects crude and barbarous, of the deity and of the worldly destiny of their own nation, is the lofty ethical principles which they taught as the word of god, the principles of truth and justice, of kindness and mercy, the doctrine of everlasting righteousness, which was far above the standard of any other ancient people and of a validity that no lapse of time can impair. that is the pe- culiar contribution that the hebrew genius made to mankind, and it imparted a kind of sanctity to the whole body of the literature which was bound prophets of the kingdoms up together as the full expression of that genius. its knowledge of the world was small, its con- ception of deity was rude, its idea of worship was far from enlightened, but it grasped the moral law of the universe with a firmness that has never been relaxed. ix prophets of the exile and after in those strange times when even enlightened people accepted the ancient jewish doctrine that the scriptures of the hebrews contained nothing but divine truth, to be implicitly believed as such, and that the writers thereof were inspired by the deity and therefore incapable of error, it was assumed that the long period of exile by the rivers of babylon was one of literary dark- ness, illumined only by the visions and prophetic discourses of ezekiel. intelligent study has re- vealed the fact that it was a busy time for the hebrew genius, for the brains of judah had been deported from jerusalem. the compiler of the book of kings said that when jehoiachin was carried away all the chief men of the land went with him and “all the men of might even seven thousand, and the craftsmen and smiths a thou- sand.” a late reviser raised the number of cap- tives to ten thousand and said that “none re- mained save the poorest sort of the people of the land.” eleven years later, when nebuchad- rezzar's army destroyed jerusalem and zedekiah was carried away, it is said that “the residue of i later prophets i the multitude did nebuzaradan the captain of the guard carry away captive,” and only the poor- est of the land were left “to be vinedressers and husbandmen.” this is an exaggerated statement, but there is no doubt that the priests and scribes were deported and they took the literary treasures of the temple with them and had plenty of time to work them over in their exile. these were evidently in dis- order and confusion and were not duly labelled; there was lack of skill in arranging and editing them, and the process was not completed until long after. it was then that the tales of the judges were connected together with links of theocratic doctrine, and the books of samuel and kings were revised in the light of what had hap- pened in the eventful period since david and solomon. the utterances of the great prophets isaiah and jeremiah, which were so indissolubly associated with the events of the most critical part of that history, were unskilfully arranged, inter- larded with other material and so adapted as to be justified by the consequences that they fore- shadowed; but they were left open to later en- largement and recension, when there was hope that the promise of redemption for the nation and the establishment of an everlasting kingdom under a scion of the house of david was to be fulfilled. there was more literary activity in the time of the great epic of israel the exile than ever before, but it was concentrated in the community of captives and wrought largely from material of the past. but one great work there was to link the past with the future in the epic progress of the peculiar people. among those carried away with jehoiachin was a priest named ezekiel, who became a prophet among the exiles. he appears to have done his own writing with systematic care, and it was preserved with little mutilation or revision until securely em- balmed in the literature that was finally conse- crated against further change. it is peculiarly interesting, not only for its reflection of the past and its foreshadowing of the future, and its own isolation in both time and place from the cur- rent of jewish life, but as an example of the prophetic method in its extreme development. it requires only a reasonable freedom from tradi- tional prepossessions and a moderate exercise of common sense to see in the “book of the prophet ezekiel ” a very human and artfully wrought literary production. it contains the germs of the apocalyptic style of a later time and of the ful- ler development of the jewish law. in its vi- sions and symbolism and its reproductions of the words of “the lord,” it is no more to be taken in a literal sense than the scenes of greek tragedy or the imaginings of dante or bunyan. just when this book was written and how long it occupied the author are matters of mere con- later prophets i jecture, but its character indicates a continuous work undertaken after the events which are viewed in retrospect with a prophetic eye. now and again the writer gives an impression of actuality by fixing specific dates for his vision or the com- ing to him of the “word of the lord,” but that was part of his art. in one place, when speaking of the siege of jerusalem as a coming event, he makes a distinct allusion to the blindness of zede- kiah after he was carried to babylon. these dates are reckoned from the first deportation, when the prophet himself was carried away with jehoiachin, and it may be that the “thirtieth year ” referred to in the first verse, which has been a puzzle to students, was that in which the writing was completed, for it is detached from what im- mediately follows, where ezekiel the priest is spoken of in the third person. it was apparently prefixed when the work was finished. the vision of god which is so elaborately de- scribed, as a prelude to prophecy, is so obviously imaginary as not to be seriously discussed as any- thing else. never was there such a deity mounted in such a chariot, designed after the manner of babylonian art, and there never was such a vision except in the waking dreams of an imaginative writer; but it was an effective device for introducing the commission of the prophet, as he conceived it to be, as the lord's watchman unto the house of israel in its days of exile. he the great epic of israel was to remind that “house" of the evil record which had brought it to desolation and ruin and left it in humiliation and despair, and then to cheer it with hopes of restoration and greatness yet to come, if it returned to its allegiance to the god of jacob, submitted to his authority and obeyed his law. that god was their ruler, against whom they had basely rebelled, and he sought to be their ruler again and would joyfully gather them from among the nations and es- tablish a righteous and benign kingdom with a prince after his own heart on mount zion, when they had been purified by chastisement. so the prophet goes back in imagination to the siege, when jerusalem was beset by the army of nebuchadrezzar and reduced to famine and dire distress. the puerile symbolism with which that dreadful time was recalled was not a spiritual or divine suggestion, nor is it at all likely that it was a reality to the writer. it was simply a means of impressing simpler minds, like the exaggerated language in which slaughter by famine, pestilence and sword as the weapons of a wrathful deity, is depicted. no more likely is it that the denuncia- tion of the mountains and valleys of israel and the threats of ruin and desolation for the idolatry of which they had been the scene, or the picture of terror and dismay when the anger of the lord was vented upon the sinful land, was accompanied by the instructions and the symbolical actions de- * later prophets i scribed. like the visions, these are features of the literary art of this graphic composition. having placed these preliminary sketches of the siege, its causes, its incidents and its conse- quences on the fifth day of the fourth (?) month of the “fifth year of king jehoiachin's captiv- ity,” the writer sets the fifth day of the sixth month of the sixth year for a vision of jerusalem in her “great abominations '' which had brought such a fate upon her. again there is the ap- pearance of that flaming deity of the river chebar, which put forth a hand and lifted the prophet by a lock of his hair between earth and heaven and brought him in visions of god to jerusalem. there he showed him what was going on, and ex- posed the wicked counsel of the princes of the people and its consequences. the author betrays his own point of view as he closes this scene with a promise of the lord that he would be a sanc- tuary for his people for a little while “in the countries where they are come,” and would gather them out of the lands in which they had been scattered, take away their detestable things and make them walk in his statutes. transported again “in the vision by the spirit of god into chaldea to them of the captivity,” the prophet symbolises the flight from the be- leaguered city as a moving in haste from one's habitation, the captivity as a taking in of a net spread by the lord, and the assurances of the the great epic of israel false prophets as a worthless wall of protection daubed with “untempered mortar.” there are some reflections upon the follies of the daughters of the people, some rebuke of the elders of is- rael for cherishing idols in the heart, and a solemn assurance that a place could not be saved by the righteousness of the few, even though they were noah, daniel and job; and then jerusalem is likened to a vine that is cast into the fire. there is an extreme case of that gross sym- bolism which represented infidelity to the god of israel as “whoredom.” jerusalem was the bastard offspring of the amorite and the hittite, cast out in an open field to welter in its blood. the lord had taken it up and cherished it into beauty, fed it upon dainties and decked it with ornaments, and after he had lavished upon it divine love and affection it had played the harlot. the picture of its lewdness and of the penalty of its shameless behaviour is graphic but not delicate. jerusalem is made even worse than her wanton sister samaria and the equal of the despised sister sodom, and yet the lord's convenant with her in her youth would be remembered and would be established as an everlasting covenant, when she had become duly ashamed and confounded; and those reclaimed sisters would be given to her as daughters. here is a picture of the king of babylon and the king of egypt as two great eagles between later prophets i which grew a spreading vine of low stature, and as it bent its roots and shot its branches towards the eagle of egypt it was plucked up and carried away. this symbolised the revolt of zedekiah) and the attempt to get support from egypt, which / led to the destruction of jerusalem. of course it was the lord that did it, and he would take a tender twig from the topmost ones of the great cedar, which the eagle had cropped off and car- ried away, and would plant it in the mountain of the height of israel and make it a goodly cedar under which should dwell “all fowl of every wing.” after this follows a didactic chapter which is not significant so much for the contradiction of the popular proverb “the fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge,” as for its subversion of the more solemn assertion of the old law that israel's jealous god would visit the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation. following this is another symbolic picture of the last kings of judah as young lions, one of which was caught and car- ried away to egypt and another was put in a cage and brought to babylon. the mother, who had been called a lioness, is then likened to a vine that had been planted by the waters and became fruitful with many branches, but was plucked up in fury, cast to the ground, her fruit dried up the great epic of israel by the east wind, her rods that were for sceptres broken and consumed with fire, and finally the vine was planted in a dry and thirsty land. “this is a lamentation and shall be for a lamentation.” again there is a date, the tenth day of the fifth month of the seventh year, and the coming of the elders to inquire of the prophet is made the occasion of a discourse of judgment upon these elders. the character of this shows that it was not an actual discourse addressed as the words of the lord to a real gathering of elders. it is a composition representing the writer as being made a judge of the elders of israel in general, and recalling again with a “thus saith the lord,” the derelictions of the past, even from the time when the lord chose israel and made himself known to them in the land of egypt, throughout their history. they are represented as having been given to idolatry until the lord would no longer be inquired of by them; but after being purged of their transgressions they would again be brought into “the bond of the covenant.” all the house of israel would yet serve the lord in his holy mountain, and he would be sanctified in them in the sight of the nations. there is some question whether this promise of restoration is not an interpolation of a later time than the original composition. at all events, it is immediately followed by another passage of fierce menace and another picture of the crush- later prophets i ing blow from the “sword of the king of baby- lon.” again the prophet is bidden to denounce judgment upon the bloody city. the house of israel has become dross which was to be purged from the pure silver by the fires of affliction and calamity. there was a conspiracy of prophets and profanation by priests; the princes were ravening wolves of prey and the people used op- pression and exercised robbery; therefore the lord had poured forth his indignation upon them and consumed them with the fire of his wrath. / the symbol of harlotry is used again in gross / but vivid form and applied to samaria and jeru-y salem under the names of oholah and oholibah. their lives are made the instruments of their humiliation and shame, and they should be made to know that “i am the lord god.” again there is a reversion to the siege of jerusalem, and the ninth year, the tenth month and the tenth day of the month, is set down as the self- same day in which the king of babylon drew close to the city, which is symbolised as a caldron. in it was to boil the fury of the lord to purge it of its filthiness. it may be that the prophet lost his wife by death, and it may be that he made use of this as a symbol of the bereave- ment of jerusalem for which there was to be no mourning, but we are not called upon to believe that the lord told him that he would take away o the great epic of israel “the desire of his eyes" and forbade him to mourn in order to furnish the symbol. the part of the book of ezekiel, up to this point, constituting just one-half of its chapters, as it is now divided, is in the nature of a prepara- tion for the rest. there is no reason to suppose that it was written consecutively. its parts are somewhat disconnected and there were probably separate visions, symbolical representations, de- scriptions and discourses, which were finally ar- ranged, but not closely welded together, as a back- ground for what was to relate to the future. sins of israel and the culminating offences of jeru- salem having been fully portrayed and denounced, and the retribution brought upon them having been depicted, all in the name of the lord, as was the way with prophets, doom was pro- nounced upon the tempters and enemies who had brought woe upon god's people or who rejoiced in their downfall. this begins in a brief way with their immediate neighbours, ammon, moab, edom and philistia, upon whom the lord would execute vengeance with furious rebukes. it is elaborated in pictur- esque fashion against tyre, the great trafficker among the nations. the lord would bring nebuchadrezzar, the instrument of his wrath, with horses and chariots, and the isles would shake with the sound of its fall. the prince of tyre is denounced in words addressed directly later prophets o to him at the bidding of the lord, and there is lamentation over the fate of that proud potentate, brought upon him in his “beauty” and his “brightness" for the multitude of his iniquities and the unrighteousness of his traffic. there is a brief pendant of doom for zidon, upon which pestilence and blood in her streets were to be sent, that she might no more be a “pricking brier unto the house of israel.” then the voice of wrath is turned “in the tenth year, in the tenth month, in the twelfth day of the month,” upon the chief offender against the lord and his people, egypt, the “great dragon that lieth in the midst of his rivers.” it is to be given as a spoil and a reward to nebuchad- rezzar, king of babylon. it would be made an “utter waste and desolation ” and would be un- inhabited for forty years, after which its people would be gathered “from the peoples whither they were scattered,” and the lord would “bring again the captivity of egypt.” many resounding reverberations are played upon this theme, ending with dithyrambic wails for the multitude sent down to the underworld to lie with other multi- tudes of the uncircumcised. nobody can deny the epic grandeur of these scenes of woe for those who had scorned israel and defied her god, but nobody can reasonably claim for them a historical character or any approach to a fulfilment of the dire predictions. as they were never revised or the great epic of israel adapted to events by a later hand, they accord with nothing in subsequent history. they were utterances of the prophet attributed to the god whom he imagined and in whom he devoutly be- lieved. perhaps he thought he was inspired by that god to give utterance to his purposes, for that has been the belief of many a prophet and preacher before and since. having thus unburdened himself against the foreign enemies of israel, the prophet turns his face to the future of his own people and the lord's purpose of restoring them after due re- pentance and amendment. the lord makes him his watchman with a trumpet to warn his peo- ple, and tells him of his responsibility as such and the individual responsibility for their deeds of the righteous and the wicked. he is to de- nounce the false shepherds of israel who were the cause of their going astray and being scattered, who instead of feeding and caring for them had fed upon their substance. but the lord would gather his flock and would judge between them. he would destroy the fat and strong and would set one shepherd over the rescued ones, “even my servant david.” he would make with them a covenant of peace and cause evil hearts to cease out of the land. here perhaps, is the first fore- shadowing of that messianic hope which so long lured the sons of israel through afflictions yet to come, and which looked to a restoration of the f the great epic of israel judah shall be gathered from among the nations and they shall become one people in the land of jacob, where “david my servant shall be their prince forever.” one more symbolical vision completes the prep- aration for the restored kingdom and the reign of the law of the lord. the enemies of israel are figured as gog of the land of magog. there is neither history nor geography in this, and efforts to give it reality are as puerile as an attempt to make reality of the scenes and charac- ters in the poetic visions of milton, or the stories of gulliver. it is the enemies of israel that menace the kingdom that is to come, who are to come up against the mountains of israel and en- counter the wrath of the lord, whose fury would come into his nostrils. he would plead against gog “with pestilence and with blood,” and rain upon him and his hordes an “overflowing shower, and great hailstones, fire and brimstone.” gog should have a place for burial in israel, “the val- ley of them that pass through on the east of the sea.” the house of israel would be seven months in burying him and his multitude, “that they may cleanse the land.” there would be a great sacri- fice upon the mountains of israel and birds of prey would be sated with flesh and blood. the lord would set his glory among the nations and they should see the judgment that he executed. then would the house of israel know that the later prophets o lord was their god, that he caused them to go into captivity and gathered them again into their own land. he would leave none of them any more among the nations; neither would he hide his face from them, “for i have poured out my spirit upon the house of israel, saith the lord.” how far was this fervent hope of the exiled prophet, which he transformed into a promise of the lord the god of israel, ever realised? now he was prepared for a vision of the jeru- salem that was to be, and he says that “in the five and twentieth year of our captivity, in the beginning of the year, in the tenth day of the month, in the fourteenth year after that city was smitten,” the hand of the lord was upon him and that it transported him thither and set him on a very high mountain. then he sets forth an idealistic plan of the restored temple and its courts, and the restored city and its sanctified en- vironment, with formal measurements and ar- rangements. he is brought to the gate which looketh toward the east and beholds the glory of the lord coming from that direction, like the vision that he saw by the river chebar. it en- ters into the house by the eastern gate and the prophet is brought into the court and sees the glory of the lord that fills the place. he hears a voice speaking to him out of the house, as a man stands by him, saying: “this is the place of my throne, and the place of the soles of my feet later prophets passed from the yoke of babylon to that of persia and then to that of greece, and after a tumultuous insurrection and a short-lived dynasty outside of the line of david, to the firm grasp of the roman power. apparently ezekiel had no intimation of the release that was to come from the conquests of cyrus of persia, who followed the subjugation of media and lydia with an attack upon baby- lonia which resulted in the fall of the proud capital of that realm in b. c. but as soon as that release was assured an exultant voice arose from among the exiles, or, to put it more literally, a rhapsody was composed and doubtless circu- lated among them, to find its place afterwards in the epic literature and to be wrongly attached to the collection of oracles bearing the name of isaiah. the last twenty-seven chapters of the book to which that name is attached constitute a collection, partly exilic and partly post-exilic, com- posed of three distinct sections. the first of these, consisting of nine chapters (xl to xlviii of the present book of isaiah), emanated from a poetical genius of great power, whose name was left in oblivion, though his work was destined to live as long as mankind had memory for past achievements and love of ancient literature. the author of this sublime passage seems to have had his hopes aroused, through his confidence in the watchfulness of israel's god over his cap- io the great epic of israel º tive people and in the certainty of their rescue, even before cyrus had possession of babylon and the edict of release for the jews was issued. he begins with a message of comfort to jerusalem because the lord is coming to her again from the east, with double recompense for all that she has suffered for her sins. a voice in the wilderness cries out for preparing the way for him, and the tidings of his coming are passed on from the mountain tops to zion, with promise that he will feed his flock again like a shepherd. there is no reference to any prophet or to the coming of the word of the lord to any one, but the writer in imagination utters the voice, sometimes in his own person as the oracle of god, sometimes in the first person as the voice of god himself, sometimes in the character of zion's waiting people or of the city of their longing. the conception of the deity has changed to conform with the changed conditions of the time, the subdued temper of the people and the hopeful attitude of the writer. he does not forget the sins of his people, but they have been chastened and purified, their war- fare is accomplished, their iniquity is pardoned; his love for them has returned, and he will fulfil his ancient promise with added glory. it is he that has made cyrus his anointed servant to re- lease the captives and send them home in triumph, º, not their own but that of the lord, that the nations may acknowledge his greatness. later prophets ii his might is set forth with a splendour of diction equalled only by that of the book of job, and his greatness is described in his own words in a grandiose manner that would only befit a deity in comparison with whom all other gods were senseless idols. it was the almighty god of israel who was using cyrus as his unconscious instrument, and he would redeem his own blind and helpless servant, the “worm jacob,” and make him a power to beat down the nations. in himself this servant was feeble. he would not lift up his voice, he would not break a bruised reed or quench smoking flax, and yet he would become a covenant of the people and a light to the gentiles for which the lord would have the praise and glory. he had given jacob for a spoil and israel to the robbers in the fury of his anger, but he had redeemed him and given nations for his ransom. for his sake he had brought down the nobles of babylon, and for his chosen people he would make rivers in the desert. there is reiteration and variation in the glorious theme of israel's rescue and coming restoration to zion, through which the voice of yahweh is made to roll in resounding accents of self-glori- fication. in reality it is the reawakened voice of israel's pride of race, its sense of superiority and its faith in the god which it had conceived from the depths of a genius that had no rival in the early time. after promise of reward to cyrus, the great epic of israel a picture of humiliation for the “virgin daugh- ter,” babylon, a further magnifying of the great and only god, the holy one of israel, a reminder of what his people might have been if they had hearkened to his commandments, this prophetic voice which rose from among the exiles with such splendid, incoherent rapture, bids them flee from the chaldeans and declare to the end of the earth “the lord hath redeemed his servant jacob.” but they did not flee at once and the way was not made easy for them. very earthly obstacles and difficulties beset the efforts of those who strove to organise for the return. the next seven chapters of this collection were undoubtedly from a different source and of later production, but scholars seem to be agreed that the main sub- stance of them proceeded from the community at babylon before the departure began under zerub- babel, the survivor of the line of david, and the priest jeshua, after the decree of cyrus, in b. c. this passage as a whole is pitched in a lower tone than what precedes, but it breaks out here and there with a similar fervid eloquence. it has the appearance of a composite structure made up of varied material, much of it poetical in form. its leading characteristic is a rather ob- scure personification of redeemed israel as the “servant of yahweh,” who has been through trial and affliction for transgressions of those who owe their redemption to him. this kind of personi- later prophets i fication of the people is characteristic of the an- cient hebrew writing throughout. all mankind was personified in adam. the whole semitic people of western asia were personified in abra- ham. the people of israel were personified in jacob, and all their divisions, tribal or territorial, were personified in his sons. there seems to be no reason to suppose that the writer had any in- dividual in mind in describing the suffering servant of yahweh. if, as some have thought, this was so, it is impossible to identify the person, and it is certain that there was no foreshadowing of any being that was to come in future genera- tions. the passage begins with this servant, in whom the lord is to be glorified, speaking in the first person and calling the peoples to witness. he is then made to utter the promise of the lord to afflicted and mourning zion, telling her that he had never been divorced from her mother nor had he sold her as a slave to his creditors. the servant had meekly borne his chastisement and the lord would justify him and destroy his ad- versary. the voice of yahweh (the lord) himself is invoked to declare his promise and as- sert his power to fulfil. the earth might wax old as a garment but his salvation would be for- ever. other voices are made to invoke his might and to call upon jerusalem to awake to a new destiny, for the cup of the lord's fury is taken the great epic of israel away. she may shake off the dust of her hu- miliation, loosen the bands of captivity from her neck, and put on her beautiful garments. mes- sengers with feet of beauty on the mountains bring tidings of joy; watchmen hail them with songs of comfort and triumph, and bid the cap- tives to go forth, with the god of israel in the van and in the rear to guard them. that servant that has suffered so much and has been so afflicted shall prosper and be exalted, though his visage is so marred by what he has been through. the poetical description of him as one who grew up as a tender plant from dry ground, as having been deprived of all comeli- ness, despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, who has borne the griefs of the whole people and been wounded for their transgressions, etc., is believed to be a later interpolation, but it surely refers to that righteous part of israel which had lived through all the trials, and caused the re- demption of the remnant, and to whom the lord would yet divide a portion with the great and a spoil with the strong. that song, over which so much puzzled learning has been expended, inter- rupts the course of the songs of joy and comfort and of promise of triumph yet to come for zion, when it should become the refuge of the right- eous from all nations and the lord should be its ruler. in all this was expressed the ardent hope of the captive people at the prospect of release later prophets i . and that invincible reliance of their leading minds upon the god who embodied all that was great- est and highest in their religious conceptions, and who was peculiarly theirs and would ultimately bring all the world into subjection to them. there is a drop from this height in the last eleven chapters, which in the redaction and ar- rangement of this material became attached with the rest to the book to which the name of the prophet isaiah had been given, and it is a drop into another century and a different time. the captives that were led back by zerubbabel and jeshua had been through their struggle for re- building the temple and rehabilitating jerusalem, with much discouragement after the high hopes of the return. many years later the priest ezra, who had remained with other priests and scribes working up a new system of laws for restored judaism, had brought over an important con- tingent, and after much delay had promulgated the code and had the people swear fealty to it. nehemiah had come from the persian capital with the authority of the sovereign whose cup- bearer he had been, to complete the walls that were still half in ruins, and had afterwards been made a delegate of the persian power, and al- lowed to reform the administration of the jewish community in accordance with its own religious polity. there had been much disappointment and the tendency to relapse was sometimes de- | later prophets which zion is figured as the bride of its redeemer, who would rejoice over it as a bridegroom. it should be called “sought out” and not “the city forsaken.” there is interjected once more a picture of the lord in his garb of war and with his sword of fury, but it is as an avenger of his people against their enemies. it is followed, as if for contrast, by a humble prayer of his people for his loving kindness and praise for his great goodness to the people of israel, in which past benefits are recalled and past sins and punishment are mourned over. after this is a further judgment upon those that forsake the lord and blessing upon those who are his servants in righteousness and truth, and there is ever the burden of salvation for jerusalem, the time when it should be purified from evil and freed from all enemies. all nations should come to see its glory and send home its sons, “and it shall come to pass that from one new moon to another and from one sabbath to an- other shall all flesh come to worship before me, saith the lord.” it was thus that “prophets” whose names are unknown uttered promises and sustained struggling hopes in the name of the lord, while foreign powers one after another held his people in subjection, from which they were to escape only to be scattered over the earth, instead of being gathered from among the nations to make his holy city the centre of a world's desire. | the great epic of israel these last chapters attached to the book of isaiah have carried us far beyond the days of the exile and we have left on the way other prophetic writings, which should not be passed without notice. “the burden of babylon" attributed to the real isaiah in chapter thirteen, and fourteen to the twenty-third verse, of the same book, be- long to the period of chapters forty to forty- eight, and may be from the same hand. the first ten verses of chapter twenty-one, whatever their origin, are also of that period, and the same is true of the threats and promises of chapters thirty-four and thirty-five, telling that the ran- somed of the lord are to return to zion “with songs and everlasting joy.” but closely asso- ciated with events following the return of the first released exiles after the edict of cyrus were ( the discourses of haggai and the visions of zech- ſ ariah, the latter contained in the first eight chap- | ters of the book that bears that name. it is said in the book of ezra, which was compiled by the chronicler at least two centuries after these events from material more than a cen- tury old when the compilation was made, that these two prophesied unto the jews in the name of the god of israel, and that “then rose up zerubbabel the son of sheatiel and jeshua the son of jozadak and began to build the house of god which is in jerusalem.” this was in the second year of darius of persia, b.c., and eighteen later prophets years after the return and the beginning of the effort to rebuild the temple. difficulties had been encountered and the work lagged sadly. there had apparently been a drought, a lack of harvests and “hard times" for the forlorn community of exiles who had come back with such high hopes. haggai, who was evidently an old man, took occasion to represent this as a penalty because of the house of the lord that “lieth waste,” and to rouse up the prince and the priest to renewed ef- forts. it is said to have had the desired effect and the old prophet encouraged those who were depressed by the humble beginning with the as- surance that the lord was with them and would bring abundance of aid, so that “the glory of this house shall be greater than the former,” and peace should be given in it. the priests are re- rebuked for scanting the sacrifices, which was also a cause of the poor harvests. the style of the oracle is commonplace and rather feeble, but at the end it rises into a glowing promise of power when the lord would make “zerubbabel as a signet, for i have chosen thee saith the lord.” the visions of zechariah are contemporaneous with the exhortations of haggai and have a like purpose. though they are visions of the night, they lack both the glow of poetry and the elo- quence of prophecy. there is a prelude remind- ing the people that in the past the lord had treated their fathers according to their evil ways, * - - - - - === t- t -- ~~~~ – re- -r-ţ-ºr- ii ++ = z = --~ := t-s ------- ~~~~ - - - ------ - - - - - t- iii riºt s --> - -- - ------- -- - - - - - --- :==== = ==== i ==== if ==== === tisºrs - is r-rº-t = tris: it ------ cr * ~~~. ir e- . =::: -e- - tier ess pºet- ſº ir fºr=-- - -e i-e tsºi -e i-gel -- : is icºrt -- lºri - sºv iiv gris be will --tºrsº -i- is: s ºriºus fºr i-sil- and fºr zºrt vii = ==< *-i-us-- eli is scre dis- : : v_i == i <=irs, vis: -is =cented e-ºz-za firi si --- ~ + =s=-t he was, --------- re-----> --> ---si- - - -ercies and ------> --z: -'s ---s: sº:-li se sºciº- ze rer: wii:- -is cf. ::= ~ fºr horns,” or r : - tº : h isºz-z-zi isr==l. == i of the smiths whº wo: frzy -- a-i <=t ::= down. then, one with a measuring lize prefigures the coming greatness of jerusalem, as the lord had “walked up out of his holy habitation " and had come to choose it as his own. next is a vision of jeshua, the high priest, who was to be cleansed of the filthy garments of iniquity and clothed with rich apparel, a “fair diadem’’ on his head, while the lord would bring forth his servant “the ºranch.” it is not made clear that zerubbabel later prophets i is to be this “ branch,” or shoot, presumably of the house of david, but the next vision, of the golden candlestick and the two olive trees, seems to imply that he is to rule, “not by might, nor by power but by my spirit, saith the lord of hosts”; and it is promised that he shall finish “this house.” these two “sons of oil" were to stand by the lord of the whole earth. then a curse is seen to go forth over the land as a “flying roll" for those who steal and swear falsely, and wicked- ness is sent in an “ephah " to build her house in the land of shinar. finally, the four winds of heaven, as chariots with vari-coloured horses, are sent to the four quarters of the earth, apparently to quiet the spirit of hostility; and the high priest and “the branch " are crowned with the promise that “the man whose name is the branch " shall build the temple of the lord and bear the glory, and shall rule upon his throne, while the other shall be a priest upon his throne, and “the coun- sel of peace shall be between them both.” this may have been encouraging to the temple- builders, but zerubbabel disappeared from history without sitting upon a throne and the priests be- came dominant at jerusalem. two years later zechariah is heard from again, replying to priests who wish to know whether they shall keep up the fasts that commemorated the destruction of jeru- salem and the murder of gedaliah, who had been appointed the first governor by the king of baby- later prophets i is to be this “ branch,” or shoot, presumably of the house of david, but the next vision, of the golden candlestick and the two olive trees, seems to imply that he is to rule, “not by might, nor by power but by my spirit, saith the lord of hosts”; and it is promised that he shall finish “this house.” these two “sons of oil" were to stand by the lord of the whole earth. then a curse is seen to go forth over the land as a “flying roll" for those who steal and swear falsely, and wicked- ness is sent in an “ephah " to build her house in the land of shinar. finally, the four winds of heaven, as chariots with vari-coloured horses, are sent to the four quarters of the earth, apparently to quiet the spirit of hostility; and the high priest and “the branch " are crowned with the promise that “the man whose name is the branch " shall build the temple of the lord and bear the glory, and shall rule upon his throne, while the other shall be a priest upon his throne, and “the coun- sel of peace shall be between them both.” this may have been encouraging to the temple- builders, but zerubbabel disappeared from history without sitting upon a throne and the priests be- came dominant at jerusalem. two years later zechariah is heard from again, replying to priests who wish to know whether they shall keep up the fasts that commemorated the destruction of jeru- salem and the murder of gedaliah, who had been appointed the first governor by the king of baby- \ io the great epic of israel tive people and in the certainty of their rescue, even before cyrus had possession of babylon and the edict of release for the jews was issued. he begins with a message of comfort to jerusalem because the lord is coming to her again from the east, with double recompense for all that she has suffered for her sins. a voice in the wilderness cries out for preparing the way for him, and the tidings of his coming are passed on from the mountain tops to zion, with promise that he will feed his flock again like a shepherd. there is no reference to any prophet or to the coming of the word of the lord to any one, but the writer in imagination utters the voice, sometimes in his own person as the oracle of god, sometimes in the first person as the voice of god himself, sometimes in the character of zion's waiting people or of the city of their longing. the conception of the deity has changed to conform with the changed conditions of the time, the subdued temper of the people and the hopeful attitude of the writer. he does not forget the sins of his people, but they have been chastened and purified, their war- fare is accomplished, their iniquity is pardoned; his love for them has returned, and he will fulfil his ancient promise with added glory. it is he that has made cyrus his anointed servant to re- lease the captives and send them home in triumph, not their own but that of the lord, that the nations may acknowledge his greatness. later prophets ii his might is set forth with a splendour of diction equalled only by that of the book of job, and his greatness is described in his own words in a grandiose manner that would only befit a deity in comparison with whom all other gods were senseless idols. it was the almighty god of israel who was using cyrus as his unconscious instrument, and he would redeem his own blind and helpless servant, the “worm jacob,” and make him a power to beat down the nations. in himself this servant was feeble. he would not lift up his voice, he would not break a bruised reed or quench smoking flax, and yet he would become a covenant of the people and a light to the gentiles for which the lord would have the praise and glory. he had given jacob for a spoil and israel to the robbers in the fury of his anger, but he had redeemed him and given nations for his ransom. for his sake he had brought down the nobles of babylon, and for his chosen people he would make rivers in the desert. there is reiteration and variation in the glorious theme of israel's rescue and coming restoration to zion, through which the voice of yahweh is made to roll in resounding accents of self-glori- fication. in reality it is the reawakened voice of israel's pride of race, its sense of superiority and its faith in the god which it had conceived from the depths of a genius that had no rival in the early time. after promise of reward to cyrus, the great epic of israel a picture of humiliation for the “virgin daugh- ter,” babylon, a further magnifying of the great and only god, the holy one of israel, a reminder of what his people might have been if they had hearkened to his commandments, this prophetic voice which rose from among the exiles with such splendid, incoherent rapture, bids them flee from the chaldeans and declare to the end of the earth “the lord hath redeemed his servant jacob.” but they did not flee at once and the way was not made easy for them. very earthly obstacles and difficulties beset the efforts of those who strove to organise for the return. the next seven chapters of this collection were undoubtedly from a different source and of later production, but scholars seem to be agreed that the main sub- stance of them proceeded from the community at babylon before the departure began under zerub- babel, the survivor of the line of david, and the priest jeshua, after the decree of cyrus, in b. c. this passage as a whole is pitched in a lower tone than what precedes, but it breaks out here and there with a similar fervid eloquence. it has the appearance of a composite structure made up of varied material, much of it poetical in form. its leading characteristic is a rather ob- scure personification of redeemed israel as the “servant of yahweh,” who has been through trial and affliction for transgressions of those who owe their redemption to him. this kind of personi- later prophets i fication of the people is characteristic of the an- cient hebrew writing throughout. all mankind was personified in adam. the whole semitic people of western asia were personified in abra- ham. the people of israel were personified in jacob, and all their divisions, tribal or territorial, were personified in his sons. there seems to be no reason to suppose that the writer had any in- dividual in mind in describing the suffering servant of yahweh. if, as some have thought, this was so, it is impossible to identify the person, and it is certain that there was no foreshadowing of any being that was to come in future genera- tions. the passage begins with this servant, in whom the lord is to be glorified, speaking in the first person and calling the peoples to witness. he is then made to utter the promise of the lord to afflicted and mourning zion, telling her that he had never been divorced from her mother nor had he sold her as a slave to his creditors. the servant had meekly borne his chastisement and the lord would justify him and destroy his ad- versary. the voice of yahweh (the lord) himself is invoked to declare his promise and as- sert his power to fulfil. the earth might wax old as a garment but his salvation would be for- ever. other voices are made to invoke his might and to call upon jerusalem to awake to a new destiny, for the cup of the lord's fury is taken the great epic of israel away. she may shake off the dust of her hu- miliation, loosen the bands of captivity from her neck, and put on her beautiful garments. mes- sengers with feet of beauty on the mountains bring tidings of joy; watchmen hail them with songs of comfort and triumph, and bid the cap- tives to go forth, with the god of israel in the van and in the rear to guard them. that servant that has suffered so much and has been so afflicted shall prosper and be exalted, though his visage is so marred by what he has been through. the poetical description of him as one who grew up as a tender plant from dry ground, as having been deprived of all comeli- ness, despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, who has borne the griefs of the whole people and been wounded for their transgressions, etc., is believed to be a later interpolation, but it surely refers to that righteous part of israel which had lived through all the trials, and caused the re- demption of the remnant, and to whom the lord would yet divide a portion with the great and a spoil with the strong. that song, over which so much puzzled learning has been expended, inter- rupts the course of the songs of joy and comfort and of promise of triumph yet to come for zion, when it should become the refuge of the right- eous from all nations and the lord should be its ruler. in all this was expressed the ardent hope of the captive people at the prospect of release later prophets i . and that invincible reliance of their leading minds upon the god who embodied all that was great- est and highest in their religious conceptions, and who was peculiarly theirs and would ultimately bring all the world into subjection to them. there is a drop from this height in the last eleven chapters, which in the redaction and ar- rangement of this material became attached with the rest to the book to which the name of the prophet isaiah had been given, and it is a drop into another century and a different time. the captives that were led back by zerubbabel and jeshua had been through their struggle for re- building the temple and rehabilitating jerusalem, with much discouragement after the high hopes of the return. many years later the priest ezra, who had remained with other priests and scribes working up a new system of laws for restored judaism, had brought over an important con- tingent, and after much delay had promulgated the code and had the people swear fealty to it. nehemiah had come from the persian capital with the authority of the sovereign whose cup- bearer he had been, to complete the walls that were still half in ruins, and had afterwards been made a delegate of the persian power, and al- lowed to reform the administration of the jewish community in accordance with its own religious polity. there had been much disappointment and the tendency to relapse was sometimes de- the great epic of israel pressing. it is this period under the persian sovereignty that is reflected in these chapters, which are made up of material that is by no means homogeneous and was either from different sources or substantially modified in editing. there are appeals for observance of the com- mands of the law and rebukes for neglect. there are references to lapses into idolatry and iniquity, which will be punished, and pleas for righteous conduct, which will have its reward. it is no longer the nation as distinguished from other nations that is the object of divine care, but the righteous as distinguished from the wicked. but the righteous would prevail. the lord's covenant would be with them and his word would not depart from them. a song is introduced which tells again of the glory and greatness yet to come to zion, when the nations should be at- tracted by its light and come with their gifts to minister unto it. it should be called the city of the lord and draw sustenance from all nations, and its officers should be peace and its “exactors ” righteousness. with the familiar hyperbole of this kind of prophecy, verging upon the glowing apocalyptic style that developed later, it is said that it should not need the light of the sun and moon, but the lord would be its everlasting light. all its people should be righteous and should inherit the land forever. there is a re- iteration of this promise in a different style in later prophets which zion is figured as the bride of its redeemer, who would rejoice over it as a bridegroom. it should be called “sought out" and not “the city forsaken.” there is interjected once more a picture of the lord in his garb of war and with his sword of fury, but it is as an avenger of his people against their enemies. it is followed, as if for contrast, by a humble prayer of his people for his loving kindness and praise for his great goodness to the people of israel, in which past benefits are recalled and past sins and punishment are mourned over. after this is a further judgment upon those that forsake the lord and blessing upon those who are his servants in righteousness and truth, and there is ever the burden of salvation for jerusalem, the time when it should be purified from evil and freed from all enemies. all nations should come to see its glory and send home its sons, “and it shall come to pass that from one new moon to another and from one sabbath to an- other shall all flesh come to worship before me, saith the lord.” it was thus that “prophets” whose names are unknown uttered promises and sustained struggling hopes in the name of the lord, while foreign powers one after another held his people in subjection, from which they were to escape only to be scattered over the earth, instead of being gathered from among the nations to make his holy city the centre of a world's desire. the great epic of israel ( & ariah, the latter contained in the first eight chap- ters of the book that bears that name. these last chapters attached to the book of isaiah have carried us far beyond the days of the exile and we have left on the way other prophetic writings, which should not be passed without notice. “the burden of babylon" attributed to the real isaiah in chapter thirteen, and fourteen to the twenty-third verse, of the same book, be- long to the period of chapters forty to forty- eight, and may be from the same hand. the first ten verses of chapter twenty-one, whatever their origin, are also of that period, and the same is true of the threats and promises of chapters thirty-four and thirty-five, telling that the ran- somed of the lord are to return to zion “with songs and everlasting joy.” but closely asso- ciated with events following the return of the first released exiles after the edict of cyrus were the discourses of haggai and the visions of zech- it is said in the book of ezra, which was compiled by the chronicler at least two centuries after these events from material more than a cen- tury old when the compilation was made, that these two prophesied unto the jews in the name of the god of israel, and that “then rose up zerubbabel the son of sheatiel and jeshua the son of jozadak and began to build the house of god which is in jerusalem.” this was in the second year of darius of persia, b.c., and eighteen t later prophets years after the return and the beginning of the effort to rebuild the temple. difficulties had been encountered and the work lagged sadly. there had apparently been a drought, a lack of harvests and “hard times" for the forlorn community of exiles who had come back with such high hopes. haggai, who was evidently an old man, took occasion to represent this as a penalty because of the house of the lord that “lieth waste,” and to rouse up the prince and the priest to renewed ef- forts. it is said to have had the desired effect and the old prophet encouraged those who were depressed by the humble beginning with the as- surance that the lord was with them and would bring abundance of aid, so that “the glory of this house shall be greater than the former,” and peace should be given in it. the priests are re- rebuked for scanting the sacrifices, which was also a cause of the poor harvests. the style of the oracle is commonplace and rather feeble, but at the end it rises into a glowing promise of power when the lord would make “zerubbabel as a signet, for i have chosen thee saith the lord.” the visions of zechariah are contemporaneous with the exhortations of haggai and have a like purpose. though they are visions of the night, they lack both the glow of poetry and the elo- quence of prophecy. there is a prelude remind- ing the people that in the past the lord had treated their fathers according to their evil ways, o the great epic of israel and a warning to them that his threats and prom- ises were always fulfilled. in the visions an “angel ” speaks for the lord. the conception of the angel as it appears here was derived from persian mythology, as was that of satan as the adversary, a character which had never before ap- peared in hebrew literature. of course the visions are as imaginary as those of dante or milton, or bunyan, and they are much less poet- ical or impressive. in the first vision the angel calls upon the lord to know how long he will “not have mercy on jerusalem,” and elicits the response that he is “jealous for jerusalem and for zion with a great jealousy,” and is sore dis- pleased with the nations, which his mounted emissaries found so much “at ease.” he was, therefore, returned to jerusalem with mercies and determined that his house should be built. the next vision was of the “four horns,” or nations that had scattered israel, and of the smiths who would fray them and cut them down. then, one with a measuring line prefigures the coming greatness of jerusalem, as the lord had “walked up out of his holy habitation ” and had come to choose it as his own. next is a vision of jeshua, the high priest, who was to be cleansed of the filthy garments of iniquity and clothed with rich apparel, a “fair diadem’’ on his head, while the lord would bring forth his servant “the branch.” it is not made clear that zerubbabel * /~ later prophets i is to be this “branch,” or shoot, presumably of the house of david, but the next vision, of the golden candlestick and the two olive trees, seems to imply that he is to rule, “not by might, nor by power but by my spirit, saith the lord of hosts”; and it is promised that he shall finish “this house.” these two “sons of oil" were to stand by the lord of the whole earth. then a curse is seen to go forth over the land as a “flying roll” for those who steal and swear falsely, and wicked- ness is sent in an “ephah " to build her house in the land of shinar. finally, the four winds of heaven, as chariots with vari-coloured horses, are sent to the four quarters of the earth, apparently to quiet the spirit of hostility; and the high priest and “the branch " are crowned with the promise that “the man whose name is the branch " shall build the temple of the lord and bear the glory, and shall rule upon his throne, while the other shall be a priest upon his throne, and “the coun- sel of peace shall be between them both.” this may have been encouraging to the temple- builders, but zerubbabel disappeared from history without sitting upon a throne and the priests be- came dominant at jerusalem. two years later zechariah is heard from again, replying to priests who wish to know whether they shall keep up the fasts that commemorated the destruction of jeru- salem and the murder of gedaliah, who had been appointed the first governor by the king of baby- the great epic of israel lon. speaking in the name of the lord he re- peats the familiar promise of restoration and greatness, and advises, or rather commands, that the fasts be converted into cheerful feasts. the last six chapters of the book entitled “zech- ariah '' are of much later origin and became at- tached to the rest when all these writings were in manuscript, most of them without titles and in disorder. probably the next prediction in order of time known as a “prophecy,” is that labelled “mal- achi,” which is not a proper name, but means “my messenger’’ and was doubtless attached to it as a title by some editor, on account of the promise at the beginning of chapter three: “i will send my messenger and he shall prepare the way before me.” its date is not easy to fix, but it is generally assumed by the learned to be be- fore the time of ezra, who brought his law book from babylon in b. c. it was a time when priests held sway and the secular power, which was subject to persia, was hardly recognised. part of it is in the form of a sort of colloquy put in the mouth of yahweh, and sometimes the ut- terances appear as those of the lord and some- times as those of the writer or of the lord's peo- ple. it begins with a brief prelude contrasting the lord's love of jacob with his enmity for the brother nation of esau. then there is a rough rebuke of the priests for the inferior quality of later prophets their sacrifices and a vulgar threat of punish- ment. the ordinances of the priesthood are repre- sented as a covenant between the lord and levi, the common personification of the priestly order. the priests of the writer's time are condemned for corrupting “the covenant of levi.” an- other purpose of this production was to condemn the repudiation by some of the jews of the wives of their youth and the taking of wives outside of their community, figured as the marriage of judah with “the daughter of a strange god.” the priests are also censured for wearying the lord with words, and are told that he will send his messenger and will himself suddenly come to his temple to purge and purify the sons of levi and to be a witness against those who violate his commandments. those who fail in presenting their tithes are accused of robbing god and are visited with a curse, while the promise is made that, when the whole tithe is brought, a blessing will be poured out so abundant that there will not be room to receive it. this well illustrates the use to which the name of yahweh, or “the lord,” came to be put by the censors of the time, but it differed only in quality and degree from its customary use by prophets and law-makers, who always attributed their teaching, their warnings and commands, their threats and promises, to the deity as they the great epic of israel conceived him, doubtless believing that they spoke by his inspiration. the most significant part of this little anonymous production, and that which probably caused its preservation, is its close. in those days of humility and subjection to foreign authority there was ever the dream of sudden rescue by the lord, who would summon the na- tions to judgment, destroy the enemies of his peo- ple and purge the wicked from among them, and would establish a kingdom of righteousness and peace, under his own sway, with a prince of his choosing from the stock of david. here it is said that elijah the prophet, who according to the legend had been carried alive to heaven in a whirl- wind, would be sent before the great and terrible day to turn the hearts of the people and avert the curse with which the lord would otherwise smite the earth. ( there is a highly poetical oracle of a still later | time, the burden of which is this same “great and terrible day of the lord.” it is introduced as “the word of the lord that came to joel the son of pethuel,” though it is mostly descriptive, and the direct word of the lord appears only as he is referred to here and there as speaking in his own person. perhaps the destruction of the harvest of a year by drought and a pest of locusts is an allusion to actual experience, and it is surely not to be interpreted as a figurative portrayal of in- vasion and devastation by a real army. the de- the great epic of israel apocalyptic writing which became so common in later centuries. it is a product of the imagina- tion embodying the aspirations and hopes of the ardent prophets of israel, but those hopes were doomed to continued disappointment. it neither prefigured historic events that were destined to come to pass, nor embodied theological concep- tions of enduring validity; but it is interesting as reflecting the spirit that dwelt in israel in a time of depression and gloom. of the same period, but probably somewhat later, and in a similar spirit of hopeful prophecy, is the passage inter- polated in the midst of the book of isaiah as chapters twenty-four to twenty-seven according to the modern division. of this period also, though showing evidence of being grafted upon a more ancient oracle, is the “vision of obadiah.” it is directed especially against the kindred nation of edom, for which israel cherished such bitter re- sentment for being less than kind in the early struggles; but the punishment of edom is dwelt upon in view of the day of the lord that was “near upon all the nations,” when all should be judged and the kingdom should be the lord's. after much study and research by the learned, no doubt seems to remain that the latest of all the “prophecies,” save for fragments interpolated or affixed here and there upon the older “books,” is to be found in the six chapters that now con- stitute the latter part of the book of zechariah. the great epic of israel means of finding out; but they were surely persons of the writer's own time, which seems to have been one of change and uncertainty at jerusalem. the one certain thing is that the “burden " was still the destruction of the enemies of israel and the coming time, when no family of the earth should prosper or even live that “goeth not up unto jerusalem to worship the king, the lord of hosts.” that time lives only in the imagination of the wandering jew who believes that the cov- enant with abraham, isaac and jacob is still to be kept. the jewish law i to the sojourn of moses on the cloud-covered mountain, first waiting six days for the lord to speak and then remaining forty days and forty nights, has been already considered. the narra- tive is again interrupted by a long passage of six chapters of much later origin, followed by the account of the making and worshipping of the golden calf, which aroused the fierce wrath of the lord and caused moses in his anger to break the two tables of stone which he was bringing down from the mountain, written on both sides with “the writing of god.” it is well to remember that this narrative was written long after jero- boam had set up his golden calf as a symbol of yahweh at bethel, and it was no doubt intended as a condemnation of such devices though they were then no new thing in israel. such symbols had been in use without condemnation in the days of the “judges" and the first kings. moses succeeded by his intercession in so far averting the fierce anger of the outraged deity that he refrained from destroying the people who gave him so much trouble, and promised to write upon two new tables of stone the words that were upon the first. we need not pursue the narrative, the character of which is so plain, but what were the words graven upon the tables of stone? the lord is represented as saying to moses “i make a covenant,” and as warning against any “cov- enant with the inhabitants of the land to which the jewish law there is nothing in the older writings relating to the time of the judges or the kings, or in the utterances of prophets before the exile, implying a knowledge of this consecrated decalogue, whether written on tables of stone by moses or by the “finger of god.” the oldest form in which it was preserved is undoubtedly that in the fifth chapter of deuteronomy, but the oldest part of that book first appeared in the reign of josiah, about b. c., and it was considerably enlarged at a later time and put into its final form after the exile. these ten commandments may have been included in the “book of the law " said to have been found in the temple by the priest hil- kiah, which formed the nucleus of what became the book of deuteronomy; but it was probably incorporated later. in the connecting narrative there moses is represented as saying “these words the lord spake unto all your assembly in the mount out of the midst of the fire, of the cloud and of the thick darkness, with a great voice and he added no more. and he wrote them in two tables of stone and delivered them unto me.” this was no doubt derived by the writer from the old accounts, which must have been in the tem- ple at the time, but it corresponds with them very imperfectly, and is not to be regarded as in any sense historical fact. considered as pure imagi- nation, it is quite consistent with the manner of priests and prophets, not only in israel but among the great epic of israel all ancient people. it is difficult for us to realise how little they thought of fact in such matters, and how readily they believed what they imagined to be the truth. this version of the decalogue differs in sig- nificant points from that interpolated in the nar- rative of the theophany on mount sinai in the twentieth chapter of exodus. though much learned question has been made of it, that form was surely a post-exilic modification of the other, included in the constituent of the pentateuch known as the “priests' code" or the “priests’ writing.” to that without doubt belonged the opening chapter of genesis, with its lofty concep- tion of the deity and its scheme of creation in six days, after which god rested on the seventh day from all his work. the sabbath as a day of rest, whenever it was first observed in israel, of which there is no certain evidence in pre-exilic writing, was derived from babylonia. the author of the deuteronomic decalogue makes its observance a memorial of the deliverance from egyptian bondage. that of the version in ex- odus gives it the sanction of the lord's example, in keeping with the story of the creation, and this may be safely taken as conclusive evidence of the late origin of this version of the decalogue. that production in itself, apart from the commands against the worship of any other god, the use of idols or images, and the use of yahweh’s name the jewish law in false oaths, and for the observance of every seventh day for rest from labour, is simply an admirable condensation of injunctions that might be culled from almost any ancient literature. it needed no higher inspiration than has been com- mon in “men of light and leading ” in all his- toric time. next to the ancient form of the “book of the covenant ’’ and the briefer statement of commands as a “covenant" in the narrative of chapter thirty-four of the book of exodus, the oldest part of the written law is that to be found in deuter- onomy. in the account of the reign of josiah in the second book of kings, it is said that this was found in “the house of the lord ” by the priest hilkiah and taken to the king by shaphan the scribe in the eighteenth year of the reign of that monarch, when he was twenty-six years of age. the king was so alarmed at its contents that he rent his clothes and immediately began the reforms in worship and in observances which are then de- scribed. the precise origin of this “book of the law'” and how much it constitutes of the present book of deuteronomy has been the subject of much learned discussion. it is now generally agreed that the introductory discourses of moses, “addressed to all israel on this side jordan in the wilderness,” which would be “this side '' to- ward the exiles at babylon, as far at least as the the great epic of israel end of chapter four, are considerably later and not entirely homogeneous. most of the closing chapters after xxvi, , are of extraneous ma- terial of a mixed character, but the blessing and cursing of chapter xxviii are generally cred- ited to the original document. opinions differ as to whether this document includes all from chap- ter five to xxvi, , or begins with chapter twelve, but for our purpose this does not greatly matter. in any case the whole was subject to revision by the later scribes, though there is little evidence of material change. as to the origin of the book of the law as it was “found" in the temple, there are some pertinent observations suggested by independent criticism, which are not altogether consistent with the con- clusions of those learned persons who are anxious to preserve the sacred character of what they ad- mit to be the work of men some , years ago in an asiatic country. for considerably more than a hundred years before the time of josiah the prophets, first in the kingdom of israel and then in judah, had been contending strenuously against the tendency of the people to be enticed into the worship of “other gods” than yahweh, and into the practices of the surrounding people and of the survivors of the canaanite tribes. they had striven to magnify the god of israel in the eyes of his people, to impress upon them the principles of righteous conduct and purity of the jewish law life, as his commands and as necessary to his favour and protection. they recalled promises attributed to him by the earliest writers, reminded the people of what he had done for them, and uttered direful threats of what he would do if they did not obey him and worship him only. in spite of all, they and most of their rulers persisted in going astray in the most vexatious manner, and this was the cause of all the calamity that befel them. it made their god jealous and wrathful, and he would utterly destroy them if they did not mend their ways, though he would surely save a faithful remnant with which to fulfil his promise to abraham in the covenant made with him in the olden time. already his patience had been exhausted by ephraim, or the kingdom of israel, and he had brought the assyrians upon it and destroyed it. judah had narrowly escaped the same power in the time of hezekiah, but in spite of the warning there had been a terrible relapse under his son manasseh, which continued under the short reign of amon. josiah came to the throne when he was eight years old, and ac- cording to the statements made in connection with the “reforms ” instituted after the discovery of “the book of the law,” the like of which was not known before, the evil practices had continued up to that time. jeremiah had appeared on the scene as a prophet five years before that, and his earlier utterances as preserved are of the most the great epic of israel doleful and menacing kind, on account of the pre- vailing idolatry and iniquity. it is significant that nothing after these utterances can be iden- tified as his during the reign of josiah, and it may be equally significant that the prophet is not men- tioned in the book of kings in connection with that ruler or his successors, all account of his activity being transferred to the book of jeremiah, where no mention is made of the “book of the law.” the obvious purpose of this book was to battle against the very condition of things that then ex- isted in judah, and to induce the destruction of all the old fanes and altars of the “high places,”- with their heathenish symbols, and to concentrate all worship and sacrifices at jerusalem, the place which the lord had chosen “to cause his name to dwell there.” was this book, so effectively designed and so opportunely brought to light, merely “found" by accident in the temple, or was it deliberately produced by priest or prophet, under the keen guidance of jeremiah, for the very purpose of accomplishing the results that followed? the inference implied in this question, which is not merely plausible but almost irresist- ible, has been generally discarded by learned scholars, mostly doctors of divinity, on account of their aversion to what has been characterised as a “pious fraud.” but why “fraud,” any more than the fulmina- tions on mount sinai, which must be acknowl- * * the jewish law edged to be mythical? why fraud any more than proclaiming the whole levitical system as the voice of god “out of the tabernacle of the congregation ” to moses, to be repeated by him to the people in the wilderness of sinai, when that is demonstrably the work of priests and scribes after the exile? why fraud any more than attributing to moses this very book of the law, when it is admitted that as a historic fact he was not and could not have been the author of it? it would be altogether in keeping with the man- ner of the time, constantly pursued by priests and prophets for impressing the people, to bring forth this volume in a mysterious way, as “found in the house of the lord ” and presumably left there by the lord himself to be found. there was no consciousness of fraud in such devices, and it is absurd to apply modern ethical principles to such a performance in those days and in that part of the ancient world. we have only to get rid of certain obsessions regarding the difference be- tween hebrews and other human beings to accept with equanimity the most probable theory regard- ing the origin of this particular production. its interest is mainly antiquarian, or historical and ethnological, and we need not linger long over the contents. the commands, delivered in the most impressive way as coming down from the time of moses and uttered by him as the direct mouthpiece of israel's god, just as he was about the great epic of israel to bring his people into the promised land, and as their great leader was to take leave of them without entering it on account of their sins, are directed first of all to the extermination of the tribes in that land and the utter destruction of their places and devices of heathen worship. this is to be done in the most complete and pitiless way, that no enticement be left to alienate the lord's people from him after all that he has done and will do for them. these exhortations are mingled with reminders of the past, with prom- ises for the future in case of obedience, and with threats in case of disobedience, and are reiterated in various forms. whatever the difference of origin in the two sections of the book, the real code of “statutes and judgments" begins with chapter twelve, and there the first place is given to the destruction of the places and forms and symbols of worship in the land which the lord was about to give to his people. there also the design of concentrating his own worship at one place first appears. directions are given about the manner of wor- ship and the preservation of fidelity to its obliga- tions. death by stoning is to be the penalty of infidelity, and all heretics to the faith are to be ruthlessly destroyed. there are prescriptions regarding food, regarding offerings and sacrifices, the keeping of the passover and other feasts, the punishment of offences, the duties and allowances the jewish law . i of “the priests the levites,” etc. much of it is crude and barbarous, in keeping with the spirit of the time, with overmuch of death penalty and cruelty; but there is humanity for those of the tribe and the family, kindness to the poor, the bereaved, and the stranger, and mercy for the penitent and submissive. here and there are flashes of the ethical spirit of the prophets, the demand for righteous conduct and the doing of justice, but above all there must be love and fear for israel's god and submission to his behests or the punishment will be without mercy. the chapter about setting up great stones on mount ebal upon which the commandments are to be written, and uttering blessings from mount gerizim and curses from mount ebal, is generally regarded as a later interpolation; but the elab- orate and extravagant promise of blessing for obedience and threat of cursing for disobedience of chapter twenty-eight are believed to form the close of the original production, to which is to be added the statement in a later chapter that moses “wrote this law" and delivered it to the priests that had charge of the ark of the covenant, who were enjoined to read it at the end of every seven years at the feast of tabernacles before all israel. with this exception, the last six chapters of the book are additions not germane to our present subject. a graphic account of the effect produced by the great epic of israel the reading of this book of the law in its original form appears in the twenty-third chapter of the second book of kings. it was probably in the exile that this code was inserted between the pre- liminary discourses of moses and the final chap- ters of mixed material, ending with death of the “prophet” the like of whom had not risen since in israel. but the completion and revision of the book which afterwards received the title of “deuteronomy” was a small part of the work done in that period in developing the jewish law as it was finally enshrined in what was canonised as the “torah.” the prophet ezekiel, as we have seen, drew the outlines of a system for the new religious commonwealth that was to be estab- lished at jerusalem. partly upon those lines the fuller code was elaborated by the priests and scribes at babylon and completed in later days at jerusalem, when it was framed in a new account of the creation which became the impressive pre- lude of the whole collection, and a meagre sketch of the ante-diluvian and post-diluvian generations, the covenant with abraham, and other mythical material, down to the theophany on mount sinai. this was finally interlaced with the older material, with much trimming down and fitting together. the material of this later law, known as the “priests' code,” is far from homogeneous; and, as it runs through the later chapters of exodus, constitutes the bulk of leviticus and the earlier the jewish law chapters of numbers, and protrudes here and there in the rest of the latter book, it contains some inconsistencies and many repetitions and variations. scholars find in chapters seventeen to twenty-six of leviticus, with traces elsewhere, what they designate as the “law of holiness,” of earlier origin than the rest. the final process of blending and revision was imperfectly done and has provoked much laborious study. it was eighty years after the first return of exiles under the prince zerubbabel and the priest jeshua, in pursuance of the edict of release by cyrus, that another priest, ezra, led back a contingent of those who had remained in exile, to the number of seventeen hundred and more, by authority of artaxerxes. this was in b. c. he is said to have brought with him “the book of the law of moses, which the lord had commanded to israel ”; but it was fourteen years later, under the administration of nehemiah as the persian gov- ernor, by the grace of artaxerxes, that it was pro- claimed and read “in the sight of all the people,” who were pledged to obedience to it. how much this contained of what is called the “priests' code,” or of the older versions of “law,” it is impossible to ascertain, nor does it greatly matter; but it was many years later, about oo b. c., that the “books of moses,” in which the “torah '' was enshrined and closed against further manipulation, were finally completed and the great epic of israel canonised as sacred, to be known in the greek version as the pentateuch. of the character of the final mosaic legislation there is no occasion for saying much to place it in the light which it is our purpose to diffuse upon it in order to have it seen as it is, without the glamour of divinity which superstition and misguided devotion have so long preserved in spite of reason and common sense. one main purpose which the priests of the re- stored temple and the new judaism had, was to carry back all the appointments of the sacrificial, ceremonial and ritual worship which they had in- stituted and developed, in all their details, to the specific commands of the deity through moses in the deserts of sinai, and thereby to give them an authority and sanction that could not be disputed. nothing like this form and manner of worship had been known before the exile, but it was as- sumed that it was because the commands of god had not been obeyed. now a prototype of the temple with all its appliances and observances was to be created in the wilderness of sinai, back in the remote age of the great deliverance. accord- ingly it is represented that in the forty days and forty nights that moses was in the cloud-covered mount, whither god had called him to give him “the tables of stone, and the law and the com- mandments,” he received the detailed instructions for the “tabernacle” and all its equipment, which the great epic of israel of their own day. with similar particularity the consecration of the priests is prescribed. occa- sionally in these books an incident is introduced, possibly suggested by some experience or difficulty, but imagined as occurring in the ancient time, when this law was supposed to have been given, which is intended to impress some point deemed of great importance. such is that of the lord breaking out with ferocity and devouring two sons of aaron for offering “strange fire,” or burning incense without strictly observing the technical requirements. there are prescriptions regarding the animals that may be eaten and a strict prohibition of eating blood, because it con- tains the life. there are rules for purification from uncleanness of various kinds, loathsome de- tails about the diagnosis and treatment of leprosy, and the forms of impurity from which men and women must be cleansed. there is a curious illustration of the conception of atonement, as it prevailed after the exile, probably borrowed, like much of the rest relating to the cultus, from the practices of the east, in the sacrifice for the sins of the whole people and their transfer to the head of a goat to be dismissed into the desert. when it comes to the so-called law, or “cov- enant,” of holiness, there is more about sacrifices, the slaughter of victims and purification, but this section is mainly taken up with detailed commands and prohibitions that concern personal and social ( the jewish law conduct. some of these savour of the ethical principles long inculcated by those great teachers, the pre-exilic prophets, but for the most part they are prescriptions adapted to a semi-barbarous time and reflecting the conditions that were supposed to make them necessary. in this older material there are several matters which were elaborated in preceding chapters, such as those relating to leprosy, uncleanness and purification. the death penalty is freely prescribed for many offences which are of moral and social turpitude rather than of a criminal character, and some which are mere neglect of religious observances. there is a great deal of unsavoury grossness and little edi- fication for the modern mind in this mass, though it may have been fitted for restraint and the sup- pression of evil tendencies in the time for which it was devised, when it was easy to fall into idol- atry or be lured away by wizards and those having familiar spirits. death was made the penalty of witchcraft, as well as profaning the sabbath, blaspheming the name of the lord and cursing one's father or mother. there is an occasional gem glittering in the heap, like that great com- mandment “thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” but this is applied only to “the children of thy people.” the various jewish feasts are instituted or newly consecrated with rules for their observance, and the sabbatical year and the year of jubilee are the great epic of israel prescribed with a form of observance that never proved practicable. this collection of “stat- utes" ends with the familiar promise of health, peace and prosperity as a reward for their ob- servance, and threats of dire calamity if they are not obeyed. in this there is an evident retro- spect of what had happened to the nation in its days of disobedience. “these,” it is said, “are the statutes and judgments and laws which the lord made between him and the children of israel in mount sinai by the hand of moses.” that formula seems to have closed what is called the “law of holiness,” but a later chapter is added relating to the cost of redeeming various vows, and nearly the same formula is repeated. the alleged enumeration of tribes in the wil- derness with which the book of numbers opens and from which it takes its title, is part of the same “priests' writing ” in which these latest codes are embodied. in connection with the census of levi the distinction between priests and levites, which was unknown before the exile, is established, and their several functions are de- fined. the priests are made descendants of aaron and his sons, while the levites were other offspring of the tribe, whose duties were those of ministers of worship subordinate to the priests. the fact seems to be that the class of levites con- sisted originally of the priests of the places of worship away from jerusalem before the aboli- the great epic of israel been, in the migration from egypt, had some re- lation to that mythical defilement of his father's bed by reuben, referred to in the ancient poem. there may have been in the establishment of the levitical system some trouble which suggested the mixing of korah of the tribe of levi with this re. volt against divine authority, and having him and his fellow conspirators swallowed up by the earth, as an example to those who take too much upon themselves, and to show that “the man whom the lord doth choose, he shall be holy,” and not the man who sets himself up. these jewish laws were a human development during a period of five centuries of israel's history. they were freely elaborated in the exile by priests and scribes, who had in mind the experience through which the nation had passed after the time of david and solomon, when it was divided into two kingdoms, both of which had been de- stroyed by powerful enemies, with deportation of the ruling class, as was the practice of conquering nations at that time. it was devoutly believed that all the calamities that befel ephraim and judah had been brought upon them by the god of israel as punishment for their sins, especially in falling away from his worship and lusting after other gods and the practices of their cults. while this was believed, there was an invin- cible faith in the goodness of israel's god and his love for the people of his choice, in his sacred the jewish law i covenant with the ancestor of the tribes, and in the fulfilment of his promises. this faith had been deeply and powerfully impressed by the prophets before and during the exile, and was excited into new fervour on the release from cap- tivity by the persian conquest of babylon. then the devout souls of priests and scribes, in the new hope of greatness and glory for the kingdom of zion, were intent upon establishing a system of worship which should hold the people in allegiance to the lord and keep them from contamination by association with worshippers of inferior dei- ties. hence the elaborate system of sacrifices, observances and ceremonies which they devised, based upon the doctrine that the people and all they had belonged to their god and must be de- voted to his service in order to save them from such calamities as their fathers had passed through, and to make of them a great and pros- perous people who should ultimately rule the na- tions by the power of that god, to whom they were to devote their lives, their persons and their property. while the ethical principles inherited from the prophets were not lost, their vitality was impaired in the stress laid upon formal observances and ceremonies. as a whole this law, as finally ac- cumulated and consecrated in those days of sub- mission to persian authority and of deferred hopes, is an unattractive and uninspiring mass of xi the priestly history after the priestly commonwealth of the jews and the new sacrificial and ritual system of the restored temple had been established for some time, and the law had long been closed against further change, except that wrought in its spirit and application by the endless interpretation and comment of rabbis, the need appears to have been felt of recasting the history of the people to make it conform more closely and consistently with the doctrine of god's sovereignty over his chosen peo- ple. what was especially sought was support for the theory that the existing development had not only a divine origin in the laws of moses, but divine direction throughout the history of the kingdoms. judea, syria and asia minor had passed under the rule of greece after the con- quests of alexander, and the hope of secular power for the jewish state had grown dim, though it did not perish. it must have been about the end of the fourth century b. c., not far from the year , that a temple priest or levite, evidently associated with the ritual worship, undertook the task of recasting the history. the great epic of israel first there was the period of the return from exile which was the prelude to the establishment of the ecclesiastical regime which had not been covered in any existing record. for this there appears to have been some imperfect and dis- jointed material, part of it a fragmentary memoir by ezra, the priest who had brought back the con- tingent that returned in b. c. by permission of artaxerxes, and another part a more complete memoir of nehemiah, the jewish cup-bearer of that monarch, who some twelve years later had been permitted to go to jerusalem to assist in re- building the walls and restoring the worship, and was made governor of the persian province. there were older documents, partly in the ara- maic tongue, relating chiefly to the events of the first return under zerubbabel and the priest jeshua, or joshua. much doubt has been cast upon the authenticity of this older material, but all was freely used by the compiler of the present books with variations of his own. it is the conclusion of the learned in such mat- ters that the books known as “ezra " and “nehemiah,” originally one and without title, forming a kind of pendant to the book of “chronicles,” were compiled by the author of that book before his main work was undertaken. it will be observed that the two works are clum- sily linked together by a repetition at the end of chronicles of the opening verses of ezra, which the great epic of israel the account of the plots, the charges of rebellion against persian authority, and the appeal to darius and its result, is drawn from the old aramaic document and is not to be trusted as history, though it may reflect actual events in vague outline. it mixes occurrences in the time of darius, xerxes and artaxerxes in a confused way, and leaves the result in doubt, but the chron- icler interjects after a statement that the elders of the jews finally “builded and prospered ” through the prophesying of haggai and zecha- riah, the alleged fact that “they builded and fin- ished it (the temple), according to the command- ment of god, and according to the decree of cyrus, darius and artaxerxes.” such a decree might span about a hundred years and it would be a still longer time before such a celebration of the passover as is described could have taken place. the description is not more anachronistic than the reference to the “king of assyria whose heart the lord had turned to his people to strengthen their hands in the work of the house of god, the god of israel.” these disjointed and uncertain statements serve to bring us down to the time of ezra. the in- troductory statement regarding his permission to go up to jerusalem seems to have been drawn in substance from his own memoir, but the alleged copy of a letter of artaxerxes, said to have been given to him, is from the doubtful aramaic docu- the priestly history ment. the rest of the book is made up, with some modification by the chronicler, from the authentic memoir of the priest himself. it re- lates chiefly to the journey to jerusalem; the mor- tification of the good man on finding that jews had intermarried with “the peoples of the land,” so that the “holy seed had mingled themselves" with the unholy, his confession and prayer in be- half of the people on account of this transgression, the solemn pledge and covenant against its contin- uance, and a register of the chief offenders who had taken “strange wives.” with an abrupt break from ezra the memoir of nehemiah is introduced, which gives a simple and straightforward account of his mission to jerusalem through the favour of artaxerxes, and the trouble he had in accomplishing his purpose on account of the plots and intrigues of adver- saries who sought to thwart his efforts. nehe- miah appears in his own account in a pleasing light, as a devout but shrewd and capable man, who trusted in the lord but omitted no precau- tion or effort on his own part to make the lord's help effective. he had a naive way of discerning the purpose of the lord and circumventing his enemies, invoking at times blessings upon him- self, and curses upon them. the genealogy of “them which came up at the first " nehemiah appears to have found at jerusalem and attached to his account of building up the walls of the city, the great epic of israel and the compiler of the varied material did not omit it, though he had already introduced it in the book of ezra. the account of the reading of the book of the law and the ceremonies attending it is regarded as having been drawn in substance from the mem- oir of ezra, while the reference to the distribu- tion of families and similar statistical material is from uncertain sources. the chronicler describes the dedication of the walls and the ceremony of purification in his own way, by a free use of the materials in his hands, but in the last chapter of the book of nehemiah, after the first three verses, we have again the unadulterated memoir of the energetic representative of persian authority and the faithful guide of his own struggling people. he had returned from persia after an absence and found things going wrong. he took them in hand with characteristic zeal, giving special at- tention to enforcing a strict observance of the sabbath and putting a stop to that nefarious prac- tice of marrying “strange women’’ on the part of the priests and levites. we would gladly know more of nehemiah and his reforms, but in this fragmentary and incoherent work we only get vivid glimpses of a transition period in the life of jerusalem, sadly at variance with what the proph- ets and poets had hoped and prayed for and pre- liminary to something very different from what had been promised of national power and glory. the priestly history turning now to the book of chronicles, orig- inally one but in modern versions divided into two, we find that it covers the period anterior to the reign of david with genealogies, beginning with adam, with occasional reference to legendary incidents. there is little more than a string of names, drawn from the pentateuch, before the families of israel are taken up, and no reference is made to the deluge or to the chaldean origin of abraham. the names in all these genealogies are mainly those of places and clans, which were commonly personified in the early writings. numerous instances might be cited. precedence is given to the family of judah, who is said to have had five sons, three of them the offspring of a canaanitess, and two of his daughter-in-law tamar. david is made to descend from one of the latter, and the genealogy of his “house" is apparently carried down to the writer's own time through zerubbabel and several succeeding gen- erations. there is much confusion in the bald way of stating the names, originally without punc- tuation, but nowhere else is there any record of descendants of zerubbabel, the prince who led from babylon the first contingent of returning exiles. after the tracing of david's line to the end, there is a repetition of the genealogy of judah with five sons, but those of canaaanite maternity are omitted. it should be noticed that while in the great epic of israel of the book of samuel. there is no reference to his early freebooting days or his relations with saul or the philistines. the quasi historical ac- count begins with the death of saul, which is con- strued as a penalty for his trespass in not keeping the word of the lord and in asking counsel of one that had a familiar spirit, followed by the accession of david to the throne, first at hebron and then at jerusalem. such account as is given of these events and of the “mighty men’’ of david is drawn from that of the book of samuel, with such variation as suited the purpose of the writer. a few later incidents of a historical char- acter are drawn from the same source, but every- thing which might throw discredit upon the king is omitted, though the mutilating of conquered and captive enemies with saws and harrows and axes seems not to have been regarded as of that kind. there is nothing of the brutal doings of joab, the wrong done to uriah the hittite or scandals in the royal family; nothing of absalom's rebellion and the king's humiliation; nothing of david's physical or mental condition before his death or the incidents attending the succession as related in the first two chapters of kings. the only case of offending god that is referred to is that seemingly innocent one of numbering the people, and the reason for not omitting that is that it led to the purchase of the threshing floor of the jebu- the priestly history site, which was to become the site of “the house of god.” but it was satan, or the adversary, and not god himself, that put the king up to that sin. in the original version that incident may have been intended as the explanation either of an epidemic or of the acquisition of the temple site. the leading feature of the bleached and re- coloured story of david's reign is the attribution to him, not only of the founding of the temple and the preparation of all the plans and materials of its construction and equipment as a place of wor- ship, but of the organisation of its service in ac- cordance with the methods developed after the exile. on every ceremonial occasion throughout the book of chronicles the priests and levites are brought in with the music and singing and ritual exercises which had never been dreamed of in con- nection with the sacrifices of the first temple. they even accompany the bringing of the ark of the covenant, first from the house of abinadab and then from that of obed-edom, the incidents of which are taken from the book of samuel. the king is said to have ordained a regular serv- ice of priests and levites with musical instruments and singing before the ark “continually,” and to have dedicated that shrine with a hymn of thanks, which is made up of parts of three different psalms written long after david's time. the first in- structions of the lord by the prophet nathan re- the great epic of israel garding the building of his “house,” and the king's prayer of gratitude, are repeated with little variation from samuel; but the account of the preparation, the collecting of material and the elaborate system providing for the services of the temple and the administration of the kingdom, are original with the chronicler, though he may have drawn from previously written sources that we know not of. - the unhistorical character of all this is plain, not only from its inconsistency with the older ac- counts and with the circumstances and conditions of david's time, but from the obvious exaggera- tion of what is stated as fact. for instance, the gold and silver said to have been collected for use in building and decorating the temple and pro- viding it with the appliances of worship, estimated according to the value of the “talent" in the writer's time, would have exceeded the sum of $ , , , , which is many times the wealth of all the east in that form in those days. ex- aggeration of a similar kind characterises other parts of this chronicle of the kings of judah, such as statements about their armed forces. david was said to have more than , , of warriors and jehoshaphat an army of over , , . these preposterous statistics are little more def- inite in significance than the favourite simile that likened multitudes to the sand which is upon the seashore. the priestly history david needed no abishag to cherish an anaemic body in his last days, but died, not only “full of days, riches and honour,” but in full possession of his wonderful faculties and devoted piety, depart- ing with a prayer of blessing and gratitude and an edifying farewell to “all the congregation ” of the princes of israel, the princes of the tribes, the captains and rulers and mighty men of his peaceful realm. solomon succeeded without any such commotion as is described in the book of kings and with no occasion for avenging past wrongs or guarding against future trouble. the story of his going up to the “high place " of gibeon to sacrifice is repeated, but the “tent of meeting,” of which the compiler of kings knew nothing, was there, and it was not in a dream that the lord appeared to him and rewarded him with “riches, wealth and honour,” as well as the wisdom and knowledge for which he asked. solomon is not magnified in this account as much as he is in the older one, but he is relieved of some of the grievous faults imputed to him there. he is placed distinctly lower than the exalted and revered figure of his father, and in all that per- tained to the building and dedicating of the tem- ple he only carried out his father's explicit direc- tions. the account of the dedication in kings is a relatively late production, but it is modified, elaborated and extended in chronicles, and the levitical ceremony of music and song is freely in- the great epic of israel troduced. there is a mere statement of solo- mon's joint enterprise with hiram, or huram, of tyre for obtaining gold from ophir, but the phoenician only furnished him with vessels and seamen. the story of the visit of the queen of sheba is repeated and the king's wisdom, wealth and power are descanted upon, but we are not told of any marvellous knowledge of animals and plants or production of proverbs and songs. there is a bare allusion to his having married a daughter of pharaoh, but nothing of his loving many strange women or having seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, or of his having been led away from the worship of the lord to the idolatry of other gods. neither is there any- thing of the revolt of jeroboam, or of the greater part of the kingdom being rent away on account of his sins, though in connection with the revolt from his son it is mentioned that jeroboam the son of nebat returned from egypt when he heard of it, whither he had “fled from the presence of king solomon.” of the king's death it is only said that he “slept with his fathers” and was “buried in the city of david his father.” throughout the account of the kings of judah, from rehoboam to zedekiah and the destruction of jerusalem, there is the distinct purpose of em- phasising the theocratic doctrine that prosperity and victory always followed obedience and fidel- ity to the god of israel, and that reverse or calam- the priestly history ity was invariably the result of incurring his displeasure by some offence against his law or dis- obedience to “his word.” rehoboam is not so unqualifiedly condemned for doing evil in the sight of the lord as in kings, and there is a fuller account of his reign. his prudent failure to attempt to suppress the ephraimite rebellion was due to the warning of a prophet, and during the years that he was successfully strengthening and establishing the kingdom of judah his people walked “in the way of david and solomon,” but after that the king forsook the law of the lord, which accounts for shishak of egypt having in- vaded the country and plundered the temple and the palace. the only reason why the king and the city of jerusalem were not destroyed alto- gether at that time was that rehoboam “humbled himself" and “the wrath of the lord was turned from him.” his son abijah, or abijam, received scant notice in the book of kings, as he “walked in all the sins of his father,” but the chroni- cler credits him with a notable victory over jero- boam of israel, or rather he credits the vic- tory to the lord, as the result of the king's con- demnation of the recreancy of jeroboam's people and his admission of his own dependence upon the god of his fathers. abijah is said to have had an army of , against , on the side of his enemy, but the lord saw to it that , the great epic of israel of the latter were slain and that several towns were captured. this victory is represented as having been fatal to jeroboam and nothing is said to the discredit of abijah, who waxed mighty and took unto himself fourteen wives and begat twen- ty-two sons and sixteen daughters, though he reigned only three years. abijah's victories seem to have resulted in ten years of peace for his son asa, but in doing that which was “good and right in the eyes of the lord his god,” asa had occasion to clean out idolatrous practices that had grown up under his father, even to destroying an “abominable im- age" which his mother had “for an asherah.” notwithstanding his period of peace and prosper- ity, he had an army of no less than , , but when an ethiopian army of a million came up against him he had to call upon the lord for help, which did not fail him. the whole ethi- opian horde was destroyed “before the lord and before his host,” and cities were taken with much spoil. the incident of purchasing the alliance of benhadad of syria against baasha of israel, related in the book of kings, is repeated. not- withstanding its successful result the king was re- buked by hanani, the seer, for not relying wholly upon the lord, implying that if he had done so he might have conquered both baasha and ben- hadad. perhaps it was for this fault that asa was afflicted with gout, at least, was “diseased the priestly history in the feet,” and “yet in his disease he sought not to the lord but to the physicians.” these things are stated here as illustrating the obviously unhistorical character of these accounts and their purpose of impressing the people for whom the chronicler wrote with the doctrine of entire dependence upon god and obedience to his commands as the sole means of attaining success or escaping calamity. this appears still more strikingly in the account of the reign of jehosha- phat, which is disjointed and confused in the book of kings, but is presented quite systematically here. this king is magnified above all others that reigned in judah after david and solomon. the lord is said to have been with him “because he walked in the first ways of his father david.” he is not only credited with removing the high places and the asherim but with sending out princes and levites and priests throughout the kingdom to teach the book of the law to the peo- ple, a book which did not exist within the mean- ing of the chronicler at that time any more than did the orders of priests and levites. but the result was that the fear of the lord fell upon the kingdoms round about and they incontinently sent rich gifts unto king jehoshaphat. the story of his joining ahab of israel in a campaign against syria is repeated from kings without substantial variation and with no more serious consequence than a rebuke from jehu the son of the great epic of israel hanani the seer for helping the wicked and loving them that hate the lord. the “good things" found in him saved him from the wrath that was upon him “before the lord.” as if to make amends for this fault, the king is represented as setting judges in the land from the levites and priests and heads of families and enjoining upon them righteous judgment “not for men but for the lord.” after that a great multitude of the children of moab and the children of ammon were reported to be coming up against him “from beyond the sea from syria,” wherever that could have been; and though he had an army of , , “mighty men of valour,” he “feared and set himself to seek unto the lord.” he proclaimed a fast and gathered the people together and prayed the lord to save them in their affliction as they had “no might against this great com- pany ” that came up against them, and knew not what to do. as a result of this reliance upon the lord instead of his huge army, the spirit of the lord came upon a son of a levite to assure him that he need not fight, but only had to stand still and “see the salvation of the lord, o judah and jerusalem.” so they only worshipped “with an exceeding loud voice,” and the next day with the ever present levites they sang unto the lord and praised the beauty of holiness. the lord saw to the destruction of the children of moab, the priestly history the children of ammon and the inhabitants of mount seir, and jehoshaphat and his army had only to gather the spoil, which took three days, and return to jerusalem in triumph to the music of psalteries and harps and trumpets. this may be taken as an extreme example of the chronicler's manner of writing history. he made no use of the story in kings of jehoshaphat's joining with jehoram of israel in an expedition against moab, which did not result so trium- phantly. mention is made from that source of his joining with ahaziah to build ships for the trade to tarshish, which resulted in the ships being broken up because he “did very wickedly" in joining with the king of israel in the enterprise, as a prophet did not fail to inform him. the older account of jehoshaphat's sinful son, jehoram who married a daughter of ahab is somewhat improved upon, and he is made to die of a dreadful disease of the bowels in consequence of his sins. a novel feature of this version of his reign is a written message from the prophet elijah warning him of his fate for following the example of ahab and for slaying his brethren who were better than himself. the account of the brief reign of ahaziah, the usurpation of athaliah, the queen mother, the hiding of joash and his being raised to the throne at the age of seven by a plot led by the priest jehoiada, is re- peated with variations from the book of kings. the great epic of israel the chief variation consists in bringing in the levites to take the place of the military men of the older version, as more appropriate to a scene occurring in the house of the lord. the account of the repairs to this sacred edifice and collecting funds for the purpose in the reign of joash is materially modified in order to give the priests and levites their proper place in it. the fact that joash came to a violent end had to be more satisfactorily accounted for. so it is made to appear that after the death of the aged priest jehoiada, the king went sadly wrong in forsaking the house of the lord and serving the asherim and idols, and, when remonstrated with by the son of the dead priest, having that rash mentor stoned to death. as a result a syrian army came to judah and jerusalem and were permitted by the lord to play havoc and carry off spoil to damascus. moreover, the king was afflicted with “great dis- eases " and was killed in his bed by his own serv- ants and was not buried in the sepulchres of the kings. all the book of kings has about this calamitous end of the reign of joash is a statement that hazael of syria came up against jerusalem and the king hired him with the treasures of the temple and palace to go away, after which his servants made a conspiracy and slew him in the house of millo, but he was nevertheless “buried with his fathers in the city of david.” the priestly history amaziah the son of joash seems to have taken his father's fate to heart, at least for a time. the compiler of kings says that he did that which was right in the eyes of the lord, “yet not like his father david,” but “according to all things as joash his father did.” the chronicler says that he “did that which was right in the eyes of the lord, but not with a perfect heart.” both accounts of his reign are brief and do not vary in any significant way; but in that of his son, azariah in kings and uzziah in chron- icles, the author of the latter book gives an- other striking illustration of his manner of revis- ing history with a purpose. although it is said that azariah reigned fifty-two years and did that which was right in the sight of the lord, except that the “high places” were not removed, against which there was no condemnation until the pro- mulgation of the deuteronomic law more than a hundred years later, the only fact alleged about him by the compiler of the book of kings is that the lord smote him “so that he was a leper unto the day of his death and dwelt in a several house,” while his son jotham judged the people. why should he be smitten with leprosy if he did that which was right? the chronicler under- takes to explain that in accordance with the doc- trine of the theocratic rule in judah. as long as uzziah sought the lord, god made him to prosper, and evidence is given of his success in the great epic of israel war with a “mighty power” of , men under , “mighty men of valour,” heads of father's houses, and of his building of towers and battlements and engines of war. he also had cattle and vineyards and fruitful fields, but when he was strong, his heart was lifted up and he tres- passed against the lord by going into the temple to burn incense upon the altar. this served at once to explain his leprosy and to give warning that the priest's office in the temple was not to be usurped with impunity by the secular authority, however high. the reign of jotham is dismissed almost as briefly as in kings and with no material varia- tion, but characteristic changes are made by the chronicler in the older account of those of ahaz and hezekiah. it is agreed that ahaz was alto- gether a bad king, but it will be remembered that the alliance of the kings of israel and syria against judah was regarded with contempt by the prophet isaiah, and that it was really defeated by ahaz hiring the assyrian tiglath-pileser to attack damascus. but the chronicler declares that the lord delivered ahaz into the hand of the king of syria, who carried away a great multitude of cap- tives to damascus, and into the hand of the king of israel, who “slew in judah a hundred and twenty thousand in one day ” and carried away two hundred thousand captives with much spoil. there is an edifying story of the release of these the priestly history captives, but ahaz continued to be pestered with enemies, and tiglath-pileser, instead of helping him, “distressed him,” and had to be hired with treasures of the house of the lord to leave him in peace. hezekiah, as we know, set out to reform the worship and followed closely in the footsteps of the great exemplar david; but with the chronicler the purifying of the temple and the re-establish- ment of the sacrifices and offerings had to be assigned to the priests and levites, with all the ritual accompaniment of his own time. he also has the passover and the feasts celebrated in a manner unknown in the time of hezekiah, and not at all in keeping with the spirit of isaiah, who according to the older book was the chief adviser of that king. in this book the prophet is pushed out of sight by the priests and levites and is only mentioned in connection with the in- vasion of sennacherib, the account of which is abridged from the book of kings, and as the author of a “vision ” in which the acts of heze- kiah were written, meaning no doubt the narrative parts of the “prophecy” which relate to this reign. the version of sennacherib's discom- fiture, in answer to the prayers of the king and the prophet, is that “the lord sent an angel, which cut off all the mighty men of valour, and the lead- ers and captains in the camp of the king of as- syria,” so that he “returned with shame of face the great epic of israel to his own land.” the sickness of hezekiah is attributed to his heart being “lifted up,” which brought wrath upon him, but he humbled himself and got well, and the more serious consequences of wrath did not come in his day. the compiler of the book of kings, champion of theocracy as he was, had nothing but threats of disaster and retribution for the long and evil reign of manasseh. he tells of nothing befalling the wicked monarch himself or the nation in his time, and has no explanation of his being per- mitted to reign fifty-five years. this was ob- viously a serious lack from the point of view of the author of chronicles. so he brings “ the captains of the host of the king of assyria " upon manasseh and has him carried away to babylon in chains and fetters. there in his distress he “humbled himself greatly before the god of his fathers ” and prayed unto him. as a result of his entreaty he was brought back to jerusalem, where he “took away the strange gods, and the idol out of the house of the lord,” and built up the altar of the lord and offered thereon sacrifices of peace offerings and of thanksgiving, and “commanded judah to serve the lord, the god of israel.” this is not history, but it was necessary to vindi- cate the doctrine of theocracy as it was understood in the time of the writer, three centuries and more after manasseh's day. as amon reverted to the evil part of his father's example and did not the priestly history humble himself he was assassinated in two years. according to the older records the reform in the worship at jerusalem was instituted by josiah as the result of the discovery of the “book of the law,” but as the chronicler attributes everything re- lating to the temple worship, in its origin and in its perfection, to the prevision and instruction of david, he repeats the story of josiah from kings with considerable curtailment and makes use of it chiefly to inject his priests and levites into all the proceedings and especially into the celebration of the passover. he makes no at- tempt to account for the unhappy fate of josiah, but says that jeremiah lamented him and that “all the singing men and singing women spake of josiah in their lamentations unto this day.” the remaining events to the destruction of jeru- salem and the “carrying away” to babylon are disposed of in the most summary way, and the exile is spoken of as the fulfilment of the word of the lord by the mouth of jeremiah “until the land had enjoyed her sabbaths, for as long as she lay desolate she kept sabbath, to fulfil three score years and ten.” the extent of the exile before the decree of cyrus was less than fifty years, but that it was a long sabbath for the land was an at- tractive idea. the interest of this book of chronicles lies chiefly in its exhibition of the spirit of the post-exilic community and the use it made of past history for admonition and correction. illustrative tales ple. it does not greatly matter to us, so long as it was preserved as a picture in that great work. the most plausible explanation is that it was pro- duced not long after the time of ezra and nehe- miah, as a gentle protest against the harsh measures taken regarding those who had married “strange wives,” that is, women who were not of the “holy seed ” of israel. it tells in the most enticing way of one foreign damsel in the olden time who had married a child of one of israel's noblest families, when his parents were driven into exile by famine, a favourite mode of explaining expatriation; and who returned to bethlehem- judah with the mother-in-law, after she had been bereft of her own family, to be taken as a wife by the noblest kinsman of her deceased husband, in accordance with the law of israel. to give special force to the tale as a lesson on the subject of such marriages, this new husband is represented to have been the direct ancestor of israel's greatest king and most revered character. neither this representation nor the scrap of genealogy appended to the story by a later hand, probably drawn from the genealogy of judah in chronicles, affords the slightest evidence of historical fact, and all the learned discussion on that point is to little purpose. the only tangible basis upon which even a “midrasch" could found a claim that david really descended from boaz and ruth is the statement in the book of samuel illustrative tales i reality of his experience in trying to escape the lord when commanded to go to nineveh and cry out against the wickedness of that great city, and living three days in the belly of a fish whence he utters a prayer made up of scraps from psalms wholly irrelevant to his situation. but to accept that as fact is but little more of a strain upon common sense than to believe that the great as- syrian capital repented in sack cloth and ashes and turned away the wrath of god because a hebrew prophet walked a day's journey into the city and declared that it would be overthrown in forty days. we see no reason why the prophet should be so petulant with the lord because his direful pre- diction did not come true at once, in spite of the universal repentance and humiliation in nineveh. he had more reason to be grieved when the gourd that grew up in a night to shield his head from the sun while he waited to see the city's de- struction withered, leaving his head unprotected; but it does not seem to be pity for the gourd that made him grieve when he felt no pity for the pop- ulation that he had doomed to destruction. now this story is not ridiculous, because it was not in- tended to be taken as a narrative of fact. it is not skilful as a work of literary art, but it has that marvellous brevity of graphic realism in which semitic and arabian story tellers have been adept “even unto this day,” however improbable or im- possible their statements. the great epic of israel it also impresses the lesson that israel's god was not so implacable that when he ut- tered a threat of destruction he was bound to execute it, even though the people against whom it was directed repented of their iniquity and turned to him. it may likewise have been intended to convey the lesson that those who are commis- sioned to speak for the lord cannot evade the duty with impunity. perhaps it was intended to allay the bitterness of those in later israel who resented the failure of the lord to destroy the nations that had been its oppressors, for those jews cherished an intense hatred of their enemies. as it was in- cluded in a “sacred ” collection, these various motives may be reasonably inferred, and modern interpretation may make it apply to the mercy and forgiveness of the almighty for individual sinners who repent and humble themselves, though that was no part of the original intent. this little “book” of jonah has from the first been classed among the “minor prophets,” for no reason except that it bears the name of a prophet men- tioned in the book of kings, who is the chief char- acter in the story. it is not the work of a prophet and is not a prophecy in any sense of the word. there is another story of still later origin, the motive of which is quite different from that of jonah. it illustrates, even glorifies, the pride and arrogance of the jews under their oppressors, when they were ruled by syrian kings, and makes the great epic of israel work of fiction, highly suggestive, in its realistic quality, of the arabian tales. the fact that ahasuerus was a historical king of persia, the xerxes of the greeks, is no more reason for accept- ing the story as true than the fact that haroun al raschid was a real person is ground for believ- ing all the tales in which he figures. the entire picture of the persian court and its manners in the time of xerxes is surely fanciful, and shushan, or susa, was not a palace or a castle, but the cap- ital of the persian empire. though that empire was great at the time, it did not have the extent attributed to it in the story and did not consist of a hundred and twenty-seven provinces. mordecai is said to have been one of the exiles carried to babylon with jeconiah, or jehoiachin. that was in b.c. and the reign of xerxes did not begin until , a hundred and twelve years later. this crafty and implacable jew, who con- trived to make his cousin the queen of persia and to get himself exalted to the highest place in the kingdom, is represented to be a descendant of kish of benjamin, father of saul, the first king of israel, while his arch-enemy, haman, was of the traditional enemies of israel, the amalekites, perhaps a descendant of that king agag said to have been slain by the prophet samuel, as he is called the agagite. what is the probability that the king of persia in its proudest days would have made an amalekite his chief minister, to be suc- illustrative tales ceeded by a jewish exile as the man whom the king most delighted to honour, or that he would have taken a jewess as his favourite queen without knowing her origin? that he would have put away his first queen for the reason alleged, or that he would have commanded her to exhibit her beauty before the revellers at a feast, is sufficiently incredible, and if the queen refused to appear it would be greatly to her credit. the fact that the names of the chief actors in the story are drawn from babylonian or elamite mythology, is another evidence of its purely ficti- tious character. mordecai was derived from mor- duk and esther from ishtar, and vashti and haman were names from the mythology of elam, the most ancient part of persia. but there is nothing in the whole story that conforms to human probability. the refusal of mordecai to do rev- erence, at least in form, to haman as the king's chief minister, was not like a jew of any date; and if haman had been a real persian minister in the king's favour, and if he chose to take note of the incident at all, he would have made short work of the show of arrogance, instead of casting lots for all the months of the year to fix a date upon which to exterminate all the jews in the empire. mak- ing this use of the lot explain the name purim would seem trivial even if pur meant lot, which it did not in any known language. that the king should be bribed with ten thousand talents of silver, the great epic of israel to be plundered from the jews, to consent to this wholesale slaughter throughout the provinces and in “shushan the palace,” it is ridiculous to suppose. the story of mordecai, through his cousin and former ward the queen, averting this slaughter and turning haman's scheme upon his own head, is cleverly and effectively told; but when it comes to inducing the persian potentate to permit the jews in the provinces to slay “of them that hated them seventy-five thousand,” to kill five hundred in shushan on two successive days, and to have the ten sons of haman hanged on the second day after having slain them on the first, credulity is put to a pretty severe strain. in all this the fair esther appears in anything but a pleasing light; and mordecai in his exaltation is simply loathsome. but then, this is a story, no more to be taken as matter of fact than those of the “calendars ” of bagdad. it is interesting, not as accounting for the purim or illustrating the care of israel's god over his oppressed people, but as illustrating the character and spirit of the jews in judea in the last centuries before the christian era, the spirit of the maccabees and of those who crucified the gentle teacher of nazareth. the marvel is that christian preachers and teachers should so long strive to make it a part of “divine truth.” xiii lyrics, songs, and hymns israel did not differ from other primitive peo- ples in the order of its literary development. at the beginning of its history as a nation, or as a congeries of affiliated tribes and clans, it is uncer- tain what language it had, and it was some time before it adopted writing from the phoenicians. all transmitted expression was oral, and it naturally took the shape of myths and stories which varied in form and substance. to aid memory and pre- serve the form, metrical or lyrical expression was an early development, and after writing came into use this attained variety and symmetry and became more and more artistic with the advancement of the people. reference has been made in the early part of this volume to collections of ancient songs and chants, in which the deeds of heroes and war- riors and the utterances of leaders of men were embalmed in memory, to be written down at a later time and to become the basis of more enduring literature. glittering fragments of these are found imbedded in the early narratives, and there is evidence of more underlying the surface. the oldest that seems fairly complete, though sadly the great epic of israel mutilated like so much other exhumed treasure of the past, is the “song of deborah " in the book of judges. next in antiquity of those preserved is david's elegy on the death in battle of saul and jonathan, which is said to have been written afterwards in the “book of jasher.” there is also a strophe attributed to the same royal poet on the death of abner at the hand of joab. what more of his may have been taught or written is not recorded. the “blessing of jacob,” setting forth charac- teristics of the personified tribes, and the vaticina- tions about israel imputed to balaam of peor, antedate the division of the kingdom and are older than the narratives in which they are embodied; but the so-called “blessing of moses” is a prod- uct of the northern kingdom in a time of its pros- perity, perhaps after the victories of joash over benhadad ii of syria. what is commonly called the “song of moses” in the preceding chapter of deuteronomy is a much later production. it looks back upon the history of the people from the time after the exile, rehearsing their conduct and its consequences in the form of prediction. it is plainly a retrospect, ending with a promise of vengeance upon the adversaries of the lord and expiation for what his people have suffered for their own wrongdoing. it is represented as a song dictated to moses by god himself, to be a witness when evils and troubles should have befallen the lyrics, songs, and hymns people, as it was foreseen that they would. moses himself is made to say that he knows that after his death they would corrupt themselves and turn aside from the way that he had commanded, and that evil would befall them “in the latter days.” the song was written after the event as a justification of the ways of god in dealing with his people. there are many lyrical passages in the writings of the prophets, some of them of a highly wrought and artistic character. the greater part of these appear to be of post-exilic origin, but some of them are found in the oldest oracles. in the course of time a variety of metrical forms, appropriate to the sentiment to be expressed was developed, over which there has been much learned discussion; but the characteristics of hebrew prosody, little of which appears in modern translation, do not greatly concern us. much of the rhythm is in idea rather than form, and in sentences and phrases rather than syllables, and a conspicuous peculiarity is what is called the parallelism of hebrew verse, the repetition of the idea in different words or the expression of contrasted ideas. this is readily re- produced, but most imitations of the original versification are not reproductions. there was much of the flow, the swing, the roll or mur- mur, and the ring of poetical language in these passages, and not a little of the effect has been reproduced by skilful translation in english. in the great epic of israel has left them, and of their subjection to strangers, with “servants" ruling over them. while there is a fervent plea that the lord turn them again to himself, it ends with a despairing cry that he has “utterly rejected ” them and is still “very wroth '' against them. this may have arisen in that troublous time before the coming of ezra and nehemiah, or it may have been in a later day of humiliation, of which there were many. the third chapter of lamentations is a lament, but not a dirge. the verses are arranged alpha- betically in threes. it undoubtedly belongs to a period of depression after the greek conquest and before the maccabean uprising, but not in the comparatively comfortable time when palestine was under the rule of the ptolemies. it is partic- ularly interesting for the personification of the suffering community as a man who has seen afflic- tion and makes his appeal to the lord. it is the kind of personification that appears in the “suffering servant” of the lord in the chapters attached to isaiah. it is full of confession and submission rather than of complaint, and is a humble plea to the lord, who has redeemed the life of his people but has still to judge their cause and save them from their enemies. he is asked to curse these enemies, to give them sorrow of heart and destroy them from under heaven, which savours more of vengeance than of assurance of relief. lyrics, songs, and hymns contrasted with this in tone and in colour is that cheerful string of lyric gems to which some editor prefixed the title “the song of songs, which is solomon’s.” it was not solomon's and had no relation to solomon, and it is believed to have had its origin in the earlier part of the greek period. it owes its preservation in the jewish canon possibly to the attribution to solomon, or that may have been given to it to justify its admis- sion, but only after it had been interpreted as sym- bolising the love of israel's god for his people. this far-fetched symbolism was carried farther by the early christians and made to signify christ's love for his church. this was at a time when a devout faith would accept almost anything with- out qualms of reason. it symbolises nothing, but depicts in glowing terms a purely human love of man and woman, and it has no religious significance whatever; but we are entitled to be grateful to the religious spirit that preserved it as a jewelled ornament to gleam forever upon the great epic of israel. since its secular character has been acknowledged much learning has been expended upon it as a fascinating riddle. the failure of ancient scribes to distin- guish its divisions and its characters, and the lack of care in copyists who transcribed it in uncertain manuscript, has given much trouble to the learned pundits. first, they tried to make a little musical drama of it, as if it were enacted on a stage, with the great epic of israel some of the lyrics, even of the most serious kind, there is a good deal of artificiality of structure. this is especially true of the “book of lam- entations,” which is the oldest of the complete collections in the body of jewish scripture that are in verse. while it is the oldest it is a question whether any part of it was written until after the exile was over, though a part is believed by some authorities to have been produced in the early days of the “captivity,” when the siege and destruc- tion of jerusalem were fresh in memory. all are agreed that the five separate poems do not belong to the same period and did not emanate from the same author, and that there never was any ground for attributing any part of them to the prophet jeremiah. some regard the second and fourth, which are akin and probably from the same hand, as the oldest and as belonging to the early years of the exile, and the first and fifth as considerably later. others make the fifth the oldest, though placing it after the persian conquest, but all agree that the third is the latest of all, belonging to the period after the greek or macedonian conquest. this is a kind of dispute with which we do not concern ourselves, accepting only general conclu- sions that affect the proper understanding of what we are considering. the hebrew title and the greek equivalent have the meaning of “dirges,” or threnodies, but only the first, second and fourth have that char- the great epic of israel has left them, and of their subjection to strangers, with “servants" ruling over them. while there is a fervent plea that the lord turn them again to himself, it ends with a despairing cry that he has “utterly rejected ” them and is still “very wroth '' against them. this may have arisen in that troublous time before the coming of ezra and nehemiah, or it may have been in a later day of humiliation, of which there were many. the third chapter of lamentations is a lament, but not a dirge. the verses are arranged alpha- betically in threes. it undoubtedly belongs to a period of depression after the greek conquest and before the maccabean uprising, but not in the comparatively comfortable time when palestine was under the rule of the ptolemies. it is partic- ularly interesting for the personification of the suffering community as a man who has seen afflic- tion and makes his appeal to the lord. it is the kind of personification that appears in the “suffering servant" of the lord in the chapters attached to isaiah. it is full of confession and submission rather than of complaint, and is a humble plea to the lord, who has redeemed the life of his people but has still to judge their cause and save them from their enemies. he is asked to curse these enemies, to give them sorrow of heart and destroy them from under heaven, which savours more of vengeance than of assurance of relief. lyrics, songs, and hymns contrasted with this in tone and in colour is that cheerful string of lyric gems to which some editor prefixed the title “the song of songs, which is solomon’s.” it was not solomon's and had no relation to solomon, and it is believed to have had its origin in the earlier part of the greek period. it owes its preservation in the jewish canon possibly to the attribution to solomon, or that may have been given to it to justify its admis- sion, but only after it had been interpreted as sym- bolising the love of israel's god for his people. this far-fetched symbolism was carried farther by the early christians and made to signify christ's love for his church. this was at a time when a devout faith would accept almost anything with- out qualms of reason. it symbolises nothing, but depicts in glowing terms a purely human love of man and woman, and it has no religious significance whatever; but we are entitled to be grateful to the religious spirit that preserved it as a jewelled ornament to gleam forever upon the great epic of israel. since its secular character has been acknowledged much learning has been expended upon it as a fascinating riddle. the failure of ancient scribes to distin- guish its divisions and its characters, and the lack of care in copyists who transcribed it in uncertain manuscript, has given much trouble to the learned pundits. first, they tried to make a little musical drama of it, as if it were enacted on a stage, with lyrics, songs, and hymns relation to the flesh, of which the ancients were not so chary as the moderns. a feature of the syrian wedding celebration was a sword dance with which the description of chapter seven may have been associated. apart from its pictorial merit this little production gives us a glimpse of the lighter and brighter aspect of life in the jewish days long after the exile, and shows that it was not wholly overshadowed by the priestly law and its observ- anccs. but the great repository of hebrew lyrics is that volume of poetry, mainly religious or devo- tional, which has been known as the book of psalms ever since it was first rendered into the greek language, when the tongue of israel was ceasing to speak in its ancient accents. the word rendered ſaxºs in greek meant a piece sung to a musical accompaniment, but the hebrew title for the collection meant “songs of praise.” just when this collection was completed and divided into five books, like the torah, or law, cannot be determined, but it is believed to have been in the last half of the second century, b. c. the divi- sion into books was partly arbitrary, but there were several collections, made at different times and finally combined, to form the psalterium, or psalter, of the temple and the synagogues in the centuries before the christian era, and to become the priceless heritage of the christian church in after times. the great epic of israel the five books evidently do not correspond to the original collections. the first comprises psalms one to forty-one and is made up mostly of what appears to be the earliest collection. all but the first two pieces, which form a general pre- lude to the entire volume, and the tenth and thirty- third, are labelled with the name of david. the second book, which extends from forty-two to seventy-two, includes another and probably later collection attributed to david. this latter con- sists of the series from fifty-one to seventy-one, with the exception of sixty-six, sixty-seven and seventy-one, which are anonymous. seventy-two is credited to solomon. forty-two to forty-nine are inscribed as “for the sons of korah,” and fifty is marked as “a psalm of asaph.” the third book includes psalms seventy-three to eighty-nine, and all but the last six are called psalms of asaph, probably forming a collection by themselves and perhaps originally including number fifty. the last six form a kind of appendix to this collection. three of them, eighty-four, eighty-five and eighty-seven are “for the sons of korah,” eighty-six is “a prayer of david " and the last two are called “maschils,” of heman the ezrahite and ethan the ezrahite respectively. book four ends with psalm one hundred and six and book five covers the rest of the hundred and fifty. there is no distinct division between these two “books,” and the great epic of israel tions that were highly cherished was common, es- pecially when their origin was unknown and they were on some account associated with the char- acters or quality for which the names stood. the chronicler, as we have seen, attributed the organisation of the temple service, as it was after the exile, to david, and it may have been for that reason that some of the earliest psalms in use were labelled with his name. the musical service was said to have been assigned by him to the sons of asaph and of heman and of jeduthun. this would seem to imply that in the chronicler's time there were three choirs or guilds of temple singers and musicians bearing these titles; but, in the slight references in ezra and nehemiah, only one is mentioned, known as the “sons of asaph,” who were singers. the use of the phrase “sons of " was common for members of any organisation or community or class or nation which had a name, whether personal or otherwise. asaph was one of the old clan names and may or may not have been borne by a per- son in the exile, but it was evidently applied to a company of singers then, and in the temple service later. hence many of the psalms used by this company bear the name of asaph. that asaph was used as the name of a person in david's time by the writer of the chronicles signifies nothing historical. it was the same writer who as compiler of the book of lyrics, songs, and hymns nehemiah spoke of “the days of david and asaph of old,” when there were “chiefs of the singers, and songs of praise and thanksgiving to god.” the sons of korah were evidently a sec- ond choir or guild of temple singers when these collections were formed, unknown in the time of ezra; but the psalms afford no evidence of a third, which might be implied by the chronicler's refer- ence to david's assignment of duties, unless it be in the single psalms attributed to heman and ethan. but in chronicles the sons of heman appear to be musicians to “lift up the horn.” these titles are matters of little living interest, as they give no clue to the authorship of psalms, the time in which they were written, or to circum- stances which might explain their meaning or their allusions. while most of those in the first book are probably older and most of those in the last two books later than the rest, no chronological order is observed, and stray pieces, old and new, were apparently gathered in from time to time wherever they would fit or wherever it happened to be convenient to put them. the lack of classi- fication and arrangement has given large oppor- tunity for learned research and close study by many learned men desirous of telling us all about the origin and meaning of the psalms, and it would take a large volume to sum up their various con- clusions and to point out their reasons for not agreeing. we will be satisfied with a few very oo the great epic of israel general conclusions and contented with the mean- ing the psalms have for the modern man. though a few may have been old when they were collected together and some may have been expressions of personal experience and feeling, as a whole they reflect the moods and sentiments, the hopes and fears, the aspirations and the devotion, of the jewish community when it was under the persian power and later under that of greece or syria. some of them were written and sung after the revolt of simon the priest, and under the rule of his descendants at jerusalem, when they were lauded as if they were offspring of the house of david. in fact, they were so considered in some figurative or metaphorical sense. during most of the period in which this anthology was produced the jews at jerusalem had little autonomy of worldly rule. they were subject to alien author- ity which was sometimes oppressive and always hated. they were beset with enemies at times who annoyed and humiliated them. their an- cient pride had been subdued but not extinguished, and they keenly felt their position as subjects of those whose god was not the lord. many among them were faithless to their ancient traditions. their “sacred nation ” was dead and the hope of earthly power seemed to be gone, but the old promises were still cherished and belief in the des- tiny of israel's race was invincible. their god had punished them for their sins, he seemed at lyrics, songs, and hymns times to have rejected and abandoned them, but they would cling to him as the rock of their salva- tion and their redeemer in his own good time. it was not the jewish community as a whole, but the community of the pious and devout, many of them poor, meek and humble, but conscious of superior- ity over the worldly and the wicked, and proud of their race and their religion compared with those of the mighty nations, which found expres- sion in many of these intense lyrics that have such a marvellous adaptation to individual moods. fully to appreciate them we must keep in mind that they are rarely the expression of the personal moods and feelings of the writers, except as they were in full sympathy with the community of the lord's “saints.” the “i” and “me,” so much used, are pronouns of that personified community, which raised its united voice in the temple or the synagogue, or of the race or people of which this was a sanctified part. when beset with enemies and in peril, as it was from time to time in those centuries after the exile, its voice was raised from deep dejection in imprecations and calls for venge- ance and in pleas for help. sometimes it felt that it had been cast off and abandoned, forsaken of its god, who had withdrawn afar off or hidden his face, and it cried out almost in despair. it bewailed the sins of the past and acknowledged that the punishment inflicted upon the nation had the great epic of israel been deserved, but besought the lord to forgive and to save. it often magnified the power and glory of the lord and called upon all the earth to utter his praise. when victorious or prosper- ous it exulted in songs of triumph and praised the lord for his loving kindness and tender mercy and his ever present help in time of need. the experience through which the people of israel had passed wrought a change in the con- ception of deity. he was no longer the human- like being who walked in the garden of eden, and talked with abraham and moses; he was not the mightier chemosh or baal who fought the battles of his people and destroyed the hosts of other gods; he was not even the fierce and wrathful and jealous potentate of the prophets, and no longer uttered threats and promises. he was remote, unseen and unheard. he was still the embodi- ment of stern justice, but he had pity upon his people, now anxiously submissive and pleading to be forgiven and to be sustained. he was right- eous altogether, but good and merciful to those who humbly called upon him. the voice is that of a people which has been through affliction, which has gone astray and been punished, but is repentant and subdued, and still hopeful that after its purification it will be exalted and made happy. it still trusts in its god, calls upon him in time of trouble, rejoices in him in days of triumph, pleads for his forgiveness and help, utters thanks lyrics, songs, and hymns for every favour and is deeply devoted to his wor- ship or striving to be so. the wonderful thing about all these varied utterances that sprang from the devoted com- munity of which the temple at jerusalem was the centre and the synagogues were scattered branches, is their adaptation to human moods and needs and aspirations in the individual man, which has made of them an anthology of religious devotion and worship for all time. as part of israel's epic this is a revelation of the experience and the character of the people and a varied reflection of judaism in its religious aspect, when political power was gone forever, the voice of prophecy was hushed, the oracle and the vision had departed, and even the sacri- fices and oblations of the sanctuary seem almost forgotten in the chants of priests and the singing of choirs. save for one long, artificial and mo- notonous panegyric, a complex alphabetical acros- tic, there is little reference to the “law " and the “statutes " and the “testimonies" of the lord; and the formal sacrifices and observances are slightingly referred to as of little moment com- pared with a contrite heart, a submissive spirit, upright conduct, and devotion to purity and good- ncss. this is what gives the psalms their uni- versal and everlasting sanction, as expressions of the yearnings of the human soul. they were prod- o the great epic of israel ucts of the hebrew genius, which like most that preceded them, owe their peculiar vitality to the fact that they were not creations of individual minds intent upon giving expression to themselves, but emanations from the life and experience of a people, with an intense consciousness of a com- mon lot and a common fate in the midst of an alien world. xiv, wisdom and philosophy it was long after the exile that the hebrew genius, under the influence of persian and greek philosophy, turned to the production of what have been designated as “wisdom books.” the ear- liest of these in its material, if not in its final form, was a collection of discourses and sayings of the wise, which was admitted later than the beginning of the christian era to the third canon, or that of “sacred writings,” as distinguished from “the law" and “the prophets.” it is known to us as the book of proverbs. just how early it was finally made up is one of the many questions upon which the most learned differ, but probably in the later part of what is called the greek period, and before the insurrection led by the “maccabees.” it consists of different components finally thrown together, and labeled in the first versions from the original tongue “the proverbs of solomon, son of david, king of israel.” the oldest of the subsidiary collections of which it is composed, ex- tending from chapter ten of the book as we have it to chapter twenty-two, verse sixteen, is headed “the proverbs of solomon.” this seems to be wisdom and philosophy common practice at a time when writings, except the oracles of prophets, were rarely associated with the names of the authors. the names used did not indicate authorship but character. neither is there any reason to suppose that any of these were “copied out" by men of hezekiah, notwithstand- ing the statement. his reign was in the troublous time of assyrian invasion and was closely associ- ated with the activity of the prophet isaiah; but there is nothing in the account of it to indicate that he had men about him engaged in the peace- ful pursuit of collecting or uttering proverbs. but the strongest argument for the late authorship of most, if not all, of these sayings is their character, which is not in keeping with the conceptions or modes of thought of the pre-exilic time. there was one fundamental conception, upon which the prophets laid constant stress, if they did not originate it, and it was never lost. “the lord ” of israel was a god of righteousness and justice, the source of all wisdom and power. fear of him and obedience to his mandates, as uttered by those who truly spoke in his name, was the only safety. all wrong-doing was disobedience and folly and would bring inevitable penalties. the application of this conception to human life and conduct took a different form after the experience of the nation's destruction, the captivity of its peo- ple, and their subjection to foreign powers. this appears strikingly in the book of proverbs. the great epic of israel the deity no longer seems to be “the lord,” yahweh, the god of israel, and there is no allusion to the existence of other gods. he is not the pas- sionate potentate of the heavens as in the former time, jealous of the worship of other deities, watch- ful of his own peculiar people, given to wrath at their offences, yet loving them and repenting of his anger when they turned to him in humble submis- sion; punishing them with famine, pestilence and war, and yet hating their enemies and oppressors, threatening their destruction and promising glory and greatness to a purified remnant of his own peo- ple. that stage of development had passed with the destruction of the nation and the humiliation of the people, and the god of the “wise men'' was remote, unheard and unseen, no longer in in- timate association with prophets and priests, seers and dreamers. he is the divine power of the universe, the source of all good and the embodi- ment of the moral law. his relation is not that of a ruler of the nation or the father of a people, and he is not given to human impulses and emo- tions. he is a serene deity, whose laws are inex- orable and work out their own penalties on the earth, and his relation is to the individual man. there is reason to believe, though there is no clear evidence, that after the exile there developed schools of wise teachers, as there had been schools of prophets in the olden time in which the disciples were called “sons of prophets.” these wise men wisdom and philosophy also addressed their pupils as “sons.” they ap- pear to have led lives of study and meditation, and while they drew their fundamental religious conception from the old prophets, much of their inspiration came from the philosophy of the con- querors of israel. there is little reference to the law or to sacrifices and none to prayer and praise. nothing is said of loving god, and of his love it is only said that “whom the lord loveth he re- proveth, even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.” it is wisdom that is said to love those who love her. virtually no distinction is made between righteousness, or right-doing, and wisdom, or between wickedness and folly. fear of the lord is said to be the essence of wisdom, but fear of the lord is synonymous with obedience to the moral law of which he is the personification. in this there is a profound philosophy that can never grow old. it is everlastingly true that the highest wisdom lies in doing right. the best man is the wisest and happiest, and wrong-doing, whether as vice and crime or as falsehood and dishonesty, is foolish and injurious to the perpe- trator. the basic philosophy of the proverbs is sound, but it pervaded other literature of its time besides that of judaism. here and there is a glimpse of a higher ethical principle than that of the law. “to do justice and judgment is more acceptable to the lord than sacrifice.” “rejoice not when thine enemy falleth and let not thine the great epic of israel heart be glad when he stumbleth.” “if thy enemy be hungry give him water to drink.” the introductory nine chapters of proverbs, which are later in origin, are different in form from the collections that follow. whether the product of one writer or not, they form a series of connected discourses, and the rhythmical forms are varied. this section is in parts poetical as well as rhythmical, especially in those in which wisdom is personified. the elaborate personifica- tion in chapter eight, where wisdom speaks in the first person and makes itself the first offspring of the lord and his companion in his creative work, contains the germ of the logos doctrine of philo, wherein was the seed of the “word ” dogma of the fourth gospel. the burden of these chapters is the warning of the young against the enticements of the wicked and especially those of the “strange woman,” whose feet go down to death and “her steps take hold on sheol.” this term for the un- derworld of hebrew mythology, where the dead remained in a state of torpor, forever at rest, is a common synonym for death or the grave. mingled with the magnifying of wisdom and knowledge, the scorn of wickedness and folly and warn- ings against temptation, are many sage maxims and aphorisms touching the conduct of life. while the versification is more varied than in other parts of the book there is much of the familiar parallel- ism of idea. wisdom and philosophy the long section which follows these discourses is made up of couplets occasionally extended to triplets, in which antithetical parallelism is the prevalent form, as “a wise son maketh a glad father, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother; ” “treasures of wickedness profit noth- ing, but righteousness delivereth from death,” and so on. in the second part of this section, begin- ning with chapter xvi, , there is a predominance of couplets in which the two members are synony- mous, or form a continuous expression, as: “by mercy and truth iniquity is purged, and by fear of the lord men depart from evil.” “better is a little with righteousness than great revenues with injustice.” while in this collection there is still much con- trasting of wisdom and folly and of righteousness and wickedness, there is also much of mere worldly good sense and prudent counsel. still more does this quality appear in the collection of apothegms which the men of hezekiah are said to have “copied out.” between these collections, introduced with an admonition to listen to the words of the wise and apply the heart to acquiring knowledge, are two groups of epigrams and wise sayings separated by the line: “these also are sayings of the wise" or “these things also belong to the wise,” which may apply to what goes before or what follows, the great epic of israel as in the original there was no punctuation, and divisions of manuscript were uncertain. these are partly in quatrains and strophes of irregular length, and, while different in manner from the other collection, have much the same tone of high morality and worldly wisdom. it can hardly be said that the world has advanced in that respect in all these centuries beyond the standard of the wise men of judea, although religious conceptions have reached a greater height, the field of knowl- edge has vastly widened, the human understanding has more to work upon and to support it, and ethical motives are more exalted among the wisest and best. but the marvel of this book, doubtless the work of many hands extending over a, consid- erable period, is the enduring validity of its wis- dom and its constant appeal to the moral sense and the common sense of humanity. the writers used the knowledge, the understanding and the reason of their time to the utmost, and without hope of reward or fear of retribution in another life, reached the sound conclusion that in this life, “here on this bank and shoal of time,” righteous- ness and truth, justice and mercy, are the part of wisdom and safety. the two supplementary chapters of the book have a merit of their own, but no literary relation to the rest. who agur was, whether the name was meant for a real person or was a proper name at all, it is hardly worth while to consider. it the great epic of israel y astes” in the greek and the “preacher ” in eng- lish, is a little dubious, but the writer used it to represent the speaker in the monologue which fol- lows. he introduces his discourse with a gloomy prologue upon the vanity and emptiness of all things in this world, because life is one monotonous round and there is nothing new to be looked for and no remembrance of things from one genera- tion to another. then for the purpose of illus- tration he assumes the greatest character he can conceive of, “king over israel in jerusalem,” in order to say that all that he was and all that he achieved, his test of wisdom and wealth and of pleasure and enjoyment, only led to the conclu- sion that all is vanity and striving after the wind, and that nothing is better for man than that he should eat and drink and make his soul enjoy good in his labour. he does not use the name of sol- omon or assume to be the son of david, though doubtless he had that exemplar in mind. when the character had served his purpose he dropped the mask. ecclesiastes was one of the latest productions added to their sacred canon by the jews. some have regarded it as the latest to be produced, but it was doubtless earlier than the book of daniel. like the latest of the proverbs it was written when israel's hope of ever again being an independent nation was at the lowest and its submission to a wisdom and philosophy foreign power was most complete. that power was probably the syrian princes who had come in after the conquests of alexander, and when the process of hellenisation had pervaded palestine. “koheleth "carried farther than any of the more cheerful wise men who had a hand in the contents of the book of proverbs the doctrine that no mat- ter what you may think of this life and the destiny of man, there is nothing better for you than wis- dom and understanding, and what they dictate is righteous conduct in “fear of the lord,” even though the righteous may sometimes suffer and the wicked may flourish, while the same fate awaits them both, which is the fate of the beasts that perish. of that he has no doubt and yet he would make the best of life while it lasts. notwith- standing “the travail which god hath given to the sons of men to be exercised therewith,” “i know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to get good so long as they live; and also that every man should eat, and drink and enjoy good in all his labour; it is the gift of god.” the work is not altogether coherent or entirely consistent, which may be in part due to imperfec- tions in transcribing and to emendations and inter- polations by copyists. most of these ancient texts are corrupt beyond the power of man to restore to their pristine form. but the writer had vary- ing moods and he introduced maxims and wise the great epic of israel sayings some of which may not have been his own. still, his doctrine is not obscure. he regarded everything in this world, good and bad, as or- dained of god and unchangeable by man. it was inscrutable and it was vain to contend against it. it could not be reformed and it did not tend to cure itself. there were oppressions under the sun and its victims had no comforter. it were better for them to be dead than living and best of all never to have lived, and yet he says else- where that where there is life there is hope and a living dog is better than a dead lion. he has seen one born poor come out of prison to be a king and be acclaimed by all, but those who come after will not rejoice in him, and that also is vanity. one man heaps up riches and may rejoice in the fruits of his labour. it is the gift of god. another may have riches and honour and be unable to enjoy them, and an untimely birth is better than he. a wise man seems to have no advantage over a fool. a righteous man per- ishes in his righteousness and a wicked man pro- longeth his life in evil doing; and it seems better not to be righteous overmuch or to be overwise. all the striving is not worth while. it comes to nothing. there is one event to all and there is no help for it. hence, again, eat thy bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart, and live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest. do what thy hand finds to do with thy might, though wisdom and philosophy the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong. the wise get no reward. a poor wise man may save a besieged city and be immediately forgotten. it is all a matter of inexorable fate or the will of god which cannot be fathomed. and yet through these gloomy and vacillating musings runs a philosophy of cheerful acceptance of what is ordained because it is of god. there is the refrain that, after all, wisdom is better than folly and righteousness is more to be desired than wickedness. there is no memory of the dead, no reward or retribution beyond the grave, no dis- criminating justice in this life, and yet “surely i know that it shall be well with them that fear god,” and “it shall not be well with the wicked.” with the tinge of melancholy meditation, lighted with an occasional gleam of cheerful resignation, it is the philosophy of the proverbs, that in this life with all its vicissitudes and iniquities, right- eousness and obedience to the moral law is wis- dom, which is the most precious possession. wrongdoing is folly and brings its own reward. that was the doctrine of hebrew faith, whether for the nation or the individual, the product of invincible belief in a just god, itself the fruit of a moral insight that has never been excelled. the poetical picture of old age with which the original book closes is a contrast to impress the preceding advice to youth to enjoy the blessings of life while they last, and learned authorities re- the great epic of israel gard “remember thy creator” as the pious inter- polation of an editor, who after the final “vanity of vanities, all is vanity,” also attributed to ko- heleth, or the preacher, in the third person, many proverbs and the conclusion that the whole duty of man is to fear god and keep his command- ments. it is such interjections and additions that turned the sceptical philosopher into a sacred writer after he had gone. xv the book of job the poetical genius of the ancient hebrews reached its loftiest expression after the exile in the book of job, which is not properly one of the “wisdom books,” though commonly classed as such. it is a unique production and deserves to stand alone, but it is not without a close relation to the rest of the great epic, which pictures the moral and religious development of the people of israel. like so much else within the broad lines of that grand production, it is a composite work, and no name of those who had a hand in making it was preserved in memory to be transmitted to later generations, so careless was the hebrew genius of individual authorship, so careful of the substance which it held sacred. it has been difficult even for the most learned of modern scholars who treat this literature as a production of human minds, like that of other an- cient peoples, to emancipate themselves wholly from this prepossession of peculiar sanctity and treat it with entire freedom. they are apt to re- gard the book of job, if entirely human, as the greatest of all productions of the human mind, the book of job i applied to the nation and its rulers, and to the people as a whole, rather than to the individual. the prophets taught that if the kingdom was ruled in righteousness and its subjects were loyally de- voted to the worship of their god and obedient to his law, he would protect them from their ene- mies, fight their battles and destroy those who assailed them; but if they failed in this kind of loyalty he would punish them with defeat, and even allow their powerful enemies to destroy all but a purified remnant, which he would restore and establish in accordance with his bargain with their great progenitor, his friend on the earth, abraham. those who wrought the annals of the past from ancient songs and legends and from drifting rec- ords of tradition, shaped their account of events and facts to conform to this doctrine. they found that every period of prosperity was due to the favour of israel's god on account of the vir- tue of its rulers and the fidelity of the people, and every calamity was caused by neglect of his worship and failure to observe his commands. when the two kingdoms one after the other were menaced by the great powers of the east, the pleadings of the prophets were against any dependence upon arms or alliance with other nations, great or small, and for absolute reliance upon yahweh’s might and yahweh’s care. when destruction came and the people were scattered or carried into captivity, the book of job scepticism arose as to its validity. there was a struggle with doubts of the justice of god; and not all could reconcile themselves with the sad philosophy of cheerful acquiescence proclaimed by him who spoke as “koheleth.” in the book of job the mental struggle with this problem of the suffering of the righteous and the justice of god is vividly set forth, but the problem is left un- solved. we have said the book is a composite produc- tion. we shall not weary the reader with any reference to the vast volume of controversy over its analysis, but accept what seem to be the most valid conclusions, and only seek to see clearly just what the work is in the light of what has been learned of its origin and its bearings. it is the substance that interests us. the “story” is con- tained in the brief prologue and epilogue in prose, and this is believed to be older than the colloquies in verse between job and his friends and the final speeches attributed to yahweh, the lord, the original material in the body of the work having been displaced by later writers without any attempt to adapt the framework of story to the change in its content. the original is believed to have been written early in the persian period. the conception of satan, as the “adversary" and as a kind of agent of the almighty, could not have been earlier. the only other appearance of the character in the book of job poet of the earlier colloquies is apparent in some of job's complaints of his own sufferings, as in chapters nine and sixteen, where they are almost as impersonal as in the case of the “suffering servant.” the contention that the story may have had a legendary basis does not seem reasonable, in view of the utter unreality of the circumstances described. the name job appears for some rea- son to be among those revered in the past, as it is used in ezekiel, with noah and daniel, as rep- resentative of a type of the righteous, but that does not necessarily imply a real person in history. the problem to which the poetry of this book is devoted is to be traced in the speeches of job and of the three friends, who are said in the intro- ductory story to have come by appointment be- tween themselves from different quarters “to mourn with him and to comfort him.” there does not appear in their utterances in their pres- ent form much mourning in his behalf or much comforting. there is far more of reproach. almost invariably the speeches, which begin in a personal way, soon lapse into the speaker's general view of the experience of the righteous or the wicked, or of the supernal wisdom and justice of god, and the individual case is lost sight of. the first speech put in the mouth of the char- acter that is set up as a model of the righteous man in extreme and undeserved affliction, is a pro- longed and reiterated curse upon the day in which the book of job that is directly personal in this or that is really addressed to auditors. bildad is less considerate than eliphaz and re- bukes job for implying that god is not just, and declares that if he were pure and upright he would only have to make his supplication to the al- mighty and the habitation of his righteousness would be made prosperous. he appeals to the traditional doctrine of the fathers that those who forget god shall come to grief and the lips of the perfect man will be filled with rejoicing. job admits that “this is so of a truth,” but pleads his helplessness in conflict with such a mighty being, whom he would not answer though he were per- fect, but to whom he would address his suppli- cation as to a judge, if he would deign to hear him. here we have the poet, rather than the hero of the story, descanting upon the helpless- ness of suffering humanity, with a touch of the philosophy of koheleth, that no distinction is made between the righteous and the wicked in their treatment in this life. but he makes his embodiment of the suffering righteous plead piti- fully that god knows he is not wicked, that god is responsible for his existence and yet heaps suf- fering upon him and will not allow him a little comfort before he goes to the land of darkness whence there is no return. this gives zophar, the third of the mourners and comforters, the youngest and most confident the great epic of israel in his orthodoxy, an opportunity for the sternest rebuke of this questioner of god's justice, who dares maintain his own purity in the face of what can only be a punishment for some hidden wrong- doing. his words are a variation upon the famil- iar theme, the unsearchable wisdom and justice of god and the certainty that one has only to put away wickedness to be without fear. to this job makes a scornful reply and then proceeds him- self to magnify the greatness and wisdom of god, which he never questions. he understands all this as well as these presumptuous friends, who assume to speak for god and to contend in his person. he will face god himself. “though he slay me, yet will i trust in him; but i will mention mine own ways before him.” there is throughout this, as in other similar writings, a frequent turning from a reference to the deity in the third person to a direct address to him in the second person, and job is made to chal- lenge god for a fair hearing on his case. he asks to know what his offence is and why he is treated in this manner. he pleads on his own behalf the weakness and insignificance of man, who is of few days and full of trouble, who must soon lie down and sleep never to awake, and yet before his change come he would have an appointed time for the vindication of his character. but his transgression is “sealed up in a bag” and he is not permitted to know what it is. the book of job this desperate appeal brings severe rebuke from eliphaz for the presumption of one who would make such a claim to righteousness and turn his spirit against god. no living man is entitled to such a claim, and god's standard is so exalted that he puts no trust in his own “holy ones.” man is at best “abominable and filthy.” then the poet portrays again, as told by wise men from their fathers, the consequences which invariably pursue the footsteps of the wicked. all this the impatient victim of re- proach has heard before and needs not to be told, and after expressing his resentment at such “miserable comforters ” and telling them that if they were in his case he would endeavour to strengthen them and assuage their grief, he re- news his complaint with increased vehemence be- cause god has made himself his enemy, delivered him to the ungodly and turned him over to the wicked. here the poet in the bitterness of the complaint and the violence of the language seems to lose sight of the personal case and to plead the cause of the community of the pious who are persecuted. it is a case of that vivid personification which was the chief characteristic of the imaginative writing of the ancient hebrews, and then he makes job plead again for a hearing with god, “as a man pleadeth with his neighbour.” again he magni- fies his suffering and cries out in despair that his the great epic of israel hope will go down to the grave with him and they will rest together in the dust. then bildad sets out with an impatient rebuke at such an exhibition of impious anger, but falls at once into a further reiteration of the fate of the wicked, as if job's experience were a case in point, which it obviously is not. this shows how impersonal on the whole these poetical discourses are, the afflictions of an imaginary character be- ing used merely as the occasion for their general application. the culmination of the great controversy really comes in job's answer to these reproaches in chapter nineteen, and the learned critics are quite generally agreed that what follows for several chapters is from a different hand and much marred by disarrangement and interpolation. but in this chapter nineteen is concentrated anew and in tense language job's complaint at the in- fliction of such suffering by the almighty, although he has done nothing to deserve it. he cries out in anguish. “have pity upon me, have pity upon me, o ye my friends, for the hand of god has touched me.” but he still not only protests his innocence but his faith that his vindication will come even in his death. there has been much corruption of the original text and per- version of the real meaning of this declaration of faith. there is not in all this sublime contro- versy a gleam of relief coming from a possible the book of job earth, and his inability to find the dwelling place of wisdom, for god alone “understandeth the way thereof and he knoweth the place thereof.” of the magnificence of the poetry there is no question, and in the description of wisdom there is a reminder of its personification in the eighth chapter of proverbs. but there is genuine job again in the three chapters interposed between this and the interpo- lated discourses imputed to elihu, and these are apparently from the same hand as the colloquies of chapters three to nineteen, though the passage is somewhat marred by interpolations, the most noticeable of which consists of verses to of chapter thirty, which are of a similar character to those of chapter twenty-four. in the first of these three chapters job is made plaintively to recall the days of his prosperity and high repute, and in the second to contrast his present condition of suf- fering and humiliation. in the third he again protests his freedom from iniquity and invokes the most searching scrutiny. some authorities con- sider the verses as misplaced in which job boldly expresses the wish that the almighty would an- swer his plea, but though they break in abruptly between verses and of chapter thirty-one, they serve the purpose of preparing the way for the answer of the almighty which would follow here but for the interruption of elihu, the son of barachel the buzite, of the kindred of ram. the great epic of israel tempted. none was possible so long as man's view of his destiny and of retribution or compen- sation was confined to his life on earth. the book of job, apart from its great literary merit, is of special interest as reflecting the state of the hebrew mind, after the hope of national great- ness had departed and religious faith had to ap- ply to the conduct and the fate of individual men, and before it had accepted belief in a continued existence beyond the grave. xvi the book of daniel while it took a long and learned controversy to settle the time and place and the real character of the production called the “book of daniel,” nothing has been more clearly established than the fact that it is one of the latest, if not the very latest, of the writings included in the scriptures which the jews held sacred. there is no other the date of which is so surely determined. it was certainly written in the distressful period of the oppression of the jews by antiochus iv (epi- phanes), the syrian monarch and their sovereign, who strove to extinguish the cult of judaism in his dominion and replace it with that of greece. it was after the altar of burnt offering had been desecrated with sacrifices to zeus olympius, whose image was erected in the temple, the incident char- acterised as the “abomination that maketh deso- late,” and before the insurrection started by the father of the “maccabees" had led to the res- toration of the jewish worship. the year , b. c., is reasonably calculated as the time of the appearance of the book, the purpose of which was not to recount or record or to predict history, but o the great epic of israel to stimulate the faith, to encourage the resistance and sustain the hopes of the struggling people. this is not one of the prophetic books, and it was not originally admitted to the second canon, the nebiim, or prophets, but to the third, or haggada (holy writings). its subsequent trans- fer and classification among the works of the “greater prophets,” was due to the false notion that it was the production of a prophet named daniel, who foresaw and prefigured future events. there is no evidence of a prophet of that name in the history of israel, but it appears to have been a revered name, as it is used by ezekiel, with those of noah and job, as a type of the righteous of the past, unless, indeed, as some scholars have contended, the name in “ezekiel ” should be enoch. at all events, the name is used in this book, not because daniel was the author of it or the character bearing the name was a real person, but because it was a revered name or appropriate for its significance. that the book is in no sense historical in its reference to events or its portrayal of the time to which it purports to relate is sufficiently evident from the character of the contents; but the author displays an imperfect knowledge of the past his- tory which he attempts to project upon the screen as future, from the standing place of his hero, and he shows a complete unconcern about histor- ical accuracy. he starts off with a statement the book of daniel . i that nebuchadrezzar, king of babylon, besieged jerusalem in the third year of king jehoiakim of judah, and carried away a part of the vessels of the house of god and some captives, “ of the king's seed, and of the princes,” and young men who were to be of service in his palace, “well- favoured and skilful in all knowledge, and cun- ning in knowledge and understanding science.” this was to prepare the way for stories of cer- tain of these captives and for the use of the temple vessels at belshazzar's feast; but, as a matter of fact, there was no siege and capture at jerusalem in the reign of jehoiakim, and the third year of that reign came before the accession of nebu- chadrezzar to the throne of babylon. but the purpose was to make heroes of daniel and three other of these imaginary captives in stories illustrating the superior character and ability of the jews and the care which their god exercised over them among the powerful heathen and would exercise over his devout worshippers in their trials at all times and in all places. the impression made upon the king of babylon by these young jews, the manner in which he trusted and promoted them to high places, and the way in which the power of their god was displayed and acknowledged by the greatest potentate of the time, reminds the attentive reader of the exalta- tion of esther and mordecai and the favour shown the jews at a later time by the great the great epic of israel hope will go down to the grave with him and they will rest together in the dust. then bildad sets out with an impatient rebuke at such an exhibition of impious anger, but falls at once into a further reiteration of the fate of the wicked, as if job's experience were a case in point, which it obviously is not. this shows how impersonal on the whole these poetical discourses are, the afflictions of an imaginary character be- ing used merely as the occasion for their general application. the culmination of the great controversy really comes in job's answer to these reproaches in chapter nineteen, and the learned critics are quite generally agreed that what follows for several chapters is from a different hand and much marred by disarrangement and interpolation. but in this chapter nineteen is concentrated anew and in tense language job's complaint at the in- fliction of such suffering by the almighty, although he has done nothing to deserve it. he cries out in anguish. “have pity upon me, have pity upon me, o ye my friends, for the hand of god has touched me.” but he still not only protests his innocence but his faith that his vindication will come even in his death. there has been much corruption of the original text and per- version of the real meaning of this declaration of faith. there is not in all this sublime contro- versy a gleam of relief coming from a possible the book of job retribution in another life, for the hebrew mind was not open to a belief in that until later. if it had been accepted, this book would have been without reason. what job is made to say is that even if satisfaction is denied him until his flesh is destroyed, yet before departing to the realm of darkness he will be permitted to see god as his vindicator and have assurance that his life has really been upright. in this the writer probably had in mind that analogy which haunted poet and prophet in his day, between the suffering righteous man and the afflicted people whose life as an or- ganised community was continually harried and menaced. in glancing over the next nine chapters we will accept the conclusions of the learned that they make a breach in the composition of the author of the preceding colloquies, and displace their original continuation, if there was one. perhaps there was not, and it may be that chapters twenty- nine, thirty and thirty-one were the real sequel to chapter nineteen. at all events there is a dif- ference of tone and style revealed in the interven- ing discourses. that of zophar is another vari- ation upon the theme of the inevitable penalties of wickedness, and has no pertinency to what pre- cedes it and no real pertinency to job's case at all. that of job which follows descants upon the seeming prosperity of the wicked and defers the penalty of their sins to their children. the three the great epic of israel verses – , which break in with a contradiction, are believed to be an interpolation of some writer who disapproved of the doctrine of visiting the iniquity of fathers upon the children. the third speech of eliphaz is hardly more pertinent than the second of zophar and treats of the greatness and sure justice of god in a general way, as if there were no job in the case. the proverbial philosophy of the last ten verses of chapter twenty-two are regarded as a later addition. the next speech put in the mouth of job is a weaker repetition of his demand for a chance to plead his cause, but it does not include chapter twenty- four, which, with the exception of the last verse, is made up of a series of irrelevant passages loosely strung together and interpolated here. if there was a third speech of bildad, it was re- placed in chapters twenty-five and twenty-six by a poem on the greatness and power of god which has no relation to the genuine colloquies. only the first four verses of the second of these two chapters belong to the person of job and their continuation is in the first six verses and verse of the next chapter. the rest of the latter is re- garded by a leading critical authority on this book as parts of a lost speech of zophar. of one thing there can be no doubt. chapter twenty- eight is no part of the speech of job, but is an independent poem, probably of later origin, on the power of man to hunt out the treasures of the the great epic of israel elihu was a late comer, but his intrusion was tolerated in the final editing of the book and the putting upon it of the seal of sanctity in the jew- ish canon. he was not one of the friends who came to mourn with job and to comfort him. he was unknown to the original story, and the characters in it, who are so boldly faced, pay no heed to his words, and he is not referred to in the epilogue. evidently the author of his speeches had the original colloquies in his hands, and found the opportunity of adding to them, of which he took advantage because he was not sat- isfied with the way job had been answered. therefore he undertook the task himself. he makes his spokesman admit that he is young, but he claims to have a special inspiration from the almighty. with much prolixity and assumption of supe- rior wisdom he derides the older men for the feebleness of their answers and condemns job for his presumption and for adding rebellion to the iniquity which had brought calamity upon him by maintaining his own innocence and charging god with injustice. having acquitted himself of this duty, he informs them that god is always gracious and will deliver those who give up their wickedness and appeal to him. iniquity is no in- jury to him and righteousness is no profit to him, but his eyes are on the ways of men and they can- not escape him. he strikes the wicked and the book of job humbles the proud and cares for the poor and the afflicted. he chastises the offender to reclaim him, and never fails to recompense all men accord- ing to their deeds. elihu enlarges upon this theme and ends with magnifying the greatness and power of god in the familiar strain and with con- siderable poetical skill. but there is really little added to the argument in support of the orthodox doctrine. it would appear that the writer of this passage did not have the closing speech attributed to “the lord,” or he would hardly have presumed to describe his attributes in so much weaker language than that which came from his own mouth; and he could hardly have been familiar with the epilogue, in which the lord is said to have condemned eliphaz and his two friends and commended job for speaking the thing that was right. if he knew of it he treated it as part of a fable which he was under no obligation to heed. it is yahweh, “the lord,” who is said to have answered job out of the whirlwind, as it is yah- weh that figures in the story contained in the pro- logue; but in the poems, including the final speech, that term is nowhere used and the word translated “god” is usually shaddai, elohim, or adonai, several semitic expressions for the deity. this speech is the grandest example of hebrew poetry that was preserved to us, and probably the grand- est ever produced; and the author could hardly the great epic of israel tempted. none was possible so long as man's view of his destiny and of retribution or compen- sation was confined to his life on earth. the book of job, apart from its great literary merit, is of special interest as reflecting the state of the hebrew mind, after the hope of national great- ness had departed and religious faith had to ap- ply to the conduct and the fate of individual men, and before it had accepted belief in a continued existence beyond the grave. xvi the book of daniel while it took a long and learned controversy to settle the time and place and the real character of the production called the “book of daniel,” nothing has been more clearly established than the fact that it is one of the latest, if not the very latest, of the writings included in the scriptures which the jews held sacred. there is no other the date of which is so surely determined. it was certainly written in the distressful period of the oppression of the jews by antiochus iv (epi- phanes), the syrian monarch and their sovereign, who strove to extinguish the cult of judaism in his dominion and replace it with that of greece. it was after the altar of burnt offering had been desecrated with sacrifices to zeus olympius, whose image was erected in the temple, the incident char- acterised as the “abomination that maketh deso- late,” and before the insurrection started by the father of the “maccabees" had led to the res- toration of the jewish worship. the year , b. c., is reasonably calculated as the time of the appearance of the book, the purpose of which was not to recount or record or to predict history, but the book of daniel i that nebuchadrezzar, king of babylon, besieged jerusalem in the third year of king jehoiakim of judah, and carried away a part of the vessels of the house of god and some captives, “ of the king's seed, and of the princes,” and young men who were to be of service in his palace, “well- favoured and skilful in all knowledge, and cun- ning in knowledge and understanding science.” this was to prepare the way for stories of cer- tain of these captives and for the use of the temple vessels at belshazzar's feast; but, as a matter of fact, there was no siege and capture at jerusalem in the reign of jehoiakim, and the third year of that reign came before the accession of nebu- chadrezzar to the throne of babylon. but the purpose was to make heroes of daniel and three other of these imaginary captives in stories illustrating the superior character and ability of the jews and the care which their god exercised over them among the powerful heathen and would exercise over his devout worshippers in their trials at all times and in all places. the impression made upon the king of babylon by these young jews, the manner in which he trusted and promoted them to high places, and the way in which the power of their god was displayed and acknowledged by the greatest potentate of the time, reminds the attentive reader of the exalta- tion of esther and mordecai and the favour shown the jews at a later time by the great the great epic of israel historical accuracy. he was still making daniel the medium of a wisdom higher than man's in de- ciphering the cryptic inscription of the phantom hand and announcing the doom of the kingdom; and even belshazzar is made to heap honour upon him for that dubious service, in return for which he was slain that night and “darius the mede took the kingdom, being about three score and two years old.” this latter detail gave an extra touch of realism to an imaginary person. it was this imaginary median king of babylon, with the familiar name of a persian of a later time, who set a hundred and twenty princes and three presidents over his vast kingdom and placed daniel at the head of them all, as pharaoh placed joseph over all egypt and as ahasuerus raised mordecai to the most exalted place in the persian empire, to the everlasting glory of the jew and his race. having done this he was induced by the jealous presidents and princes to make a fool- ish decree, which was to be as unchangeable as the laws of the medes and persians, that anyone who should “ask a petition of any man or god for thirty days,” except himself, should be cast into the den of lions. we all know that story and its result, and again the greatest potentate on earth is made to acknowledge the “living god,” whose dominion was to be “unto the end,” and to address a decree to “all people, nations and lan- guages that dwell in all the earth,” commanding the book of daniel them to “tremble and fear before the god of daniel.” “so this daniel prospered in the reign of darius and in the reign of cyrus.” the first real darius who reigned in that kingdom was the successor of cambyses the son of cyrus, and came to the throne more than a hundred and eighty years after that mythical siege of jerusalem which resulted in carrying daniel and his companions to babylon. after these tales for the glorification of israel's god and the encouragement of his people in their dire struggle against the syrian oppressor anti- ochus epiphanes (the illustrious), we have the first of the apocalyptic visions attributed to daniel. it occurred in the first year of the mythical king belshazzar. after the statement that daniel had “a dream and visions of his head upon his bed,” and that he wrote it down and “told the sum of the matters,” the account proceeds in the first per- son as the spoken words of the dreamer. the four beasts grotesquely described as coming up out of the sea represent, like the image of nebuchad- rezzar's dream, the four kingdoms which had suc- cessively ruled babylon and its subject nations, the second, or that of the medes, having really never existed. the fourth beast with his terrible teeth of iron and his trampling upon the nations is alex- ander of macedon, whose eastern conquests were divided up after his death. there is nothing exact about the number ten of the horns which the book of daniel horns” came up in its place and the arrogant little horn sprang up and waxed great “toward the south and toward the east and toward the pleasant land.” here again we have the tyrant antiochus dragging down some of the host of heaven and of the stars, and stamping upon them. unquestion- ably the description refers to the ruthless persecu- tion by which the syrian king tried to crush out the jewish worship, when he suppressed the daily sacrifice in the temple and set up the altar of olympian zeus in place of that of the burnt offer- ing. the horror of this desecration to the devout of israel it is easy to imagine; but it could not last. its end is predicted in the vision as to come in two thousand and three hundred days, when the sanctuary would be cleansed. the imagery of these visions, like that of ezekiel, is borrowed from chaldean art; and the angel gabriel, notwithstanding his hebrew appel- lation (man of god), is a creature of heathen mythology, unknown to earlier priests and prophets. he is made to explain the appearance of the ram with two unequal horns and the he-goat with one great horn between his eyes, and to tell of the king of fierce countenance who was to destroy the mighty and the holy people. this king would stand up against the prince of princes, meaning the mighty ruler of these people, and he “shall be broken without hand.” this again is the hated antiochus who, the faithful among the “saints." the great epic of israel must believe, would be destroyed for his presump- tion by their “king of heaven.” after presenting these visions of hope the writer undertakes, before a final vision of triumphant promise, to calculate in a delphic manner the time that must elapse before the great deliverance. he now places his hero in the first year of darius, whom he calls the son of ahasuerus of the seed of the medes. this is the same ahasuerus that figures in the story of esther and stands for the xerxes of the greeks. he was a persian and not of the seed of the medes, and his reign began more than fifty years after cyrus had conquered babylon. moreover, he was the son and not the father of the real darius. this is another of those historical incongruities which do not matter in a work of this character. there was no first year of darius in the period from which the writer projects his calculations, but that fact has no relation to his figures. he takes the seventy years which jeremiah is represented as predicting for the servitude of the nations to the king of babylon, as seventy “weeks” (of years), or seventy times seven years. reckoning from the supposed first year of darius, he makes that the period for the “accomplishment,” or completion, of the “ desolation of jerusalem ’’ in the destruction of the oppressor against whom his people were strug- gling as he wrote. preliminary to an explanation the book of daniel by the angel gabriel of this period of weeks, he makes daniel set his face “unto the lord ” and utter a prayer, which is patterned upon that of the priest ezra when he discovered that the jews at jerusalem had been intermarrying with the people of the land, and that of the levites at the fast and the confession of the people when the law book was read, as related in “nehemiah.” according to gabriel's explanations seven of the weeks of years cover the actual exile down to the release by cyrus, and sixty-two more come down to the cutting off of the “anointed one,” which refers to the slaying of the high priest onias in b. c. this brings us to the last week of seven years, in which the people of the detested “prince " would destroy the city and the sanctu- ary. but his end would “come with a flood, and even unto the end shall be war.” for half the week he would cause the sacrifice and the oblation to cease, but wrath would be poured upon the desolator. the chronology is altogether imper- fect, but that did not signify then and signifies less to us. it was at the beginning of this last seven years that antiochus plundered the temple, and it was about the middle of that period, in b. c., that the worship was suppressed, the law book was burnt, and sacrifices to zeus and the olympian gods were forced upon the jews, which led to the rash deed of mattathias at modein and the insurrection which was kept up the book of daniel ochus is again unmistakable in the king that was to exalt and magnify himself, speak marvellous things against the god of gods, and prosper “till the indignation be accomplished.” his exploits are alluded to in ambiguous terms, but it is said “he shall come to his end and none shall help him.” in that direful time of trouble such as never was since there was a nation, michael “the great prince that standeth for the children of thy peo- ple,” would stand up, and everyone that was “found written in the book" would be delivered. even many of those who had fallen or perished in the struggle and slept in the dust of the earth, would awake, “some to everlasting life and some to shame and everlasting contempt, and they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars forever and ever.” this was to come in that distant future prefigured from the time of cyrus, but the writer forgets or disregards the point of view of his daniel's vision in enigmatically figuring out that it would be a “time, times and a half,” meaning apparently three years and a half, when “all these things shall be finished.” again it is said, looking forward as to a far future, that from the time that the daily sacrifice shall be taken away and the abomination that maketh desolate set up there shall be “twelve hundred and ninety days,” but he was to be blessed that “waiteth and the great epic of israel cometh to the thousand, three hundred and thirty- five days.” and daniel was to “rest,” but would stand in his lot “at the end of the days.” all this is sufficiently vague as prophecy of com- ing events, but the events which came were quite different from those anticipated by the pious vision- ary who wrote the book. the temple service was indeed restored. antiochus epiphanes perished the next year, and there was a radical turn in events. but what the enthusiast of the tales of wonder and the visions of promise looked for was not the triumphs of arms of judas and the long struggle that resulted in the priestly kingdom of the maccabees, which finally succumbed to the roman power when pompey carried his conquests over the east. these were human events such as were continually overwhelming the undying hopes of israel. he looked for that long deferred in- terposition of israel's god in behalf of his people which was to destroy their enemies and set up the kingdom that would be everlasting and would draw all the nations of the earth under its sway. the great epic finds a fitting close in these visions, which predicted not only an end of the persecutions and afflictions that beset the people of god at that time of tribulation, but a realisation of all the hopes of the past in that glorious and everlasting kingdom, promised to the people of abraham and the house of david by the lord himself, and cherished in all the dreams of proph- the great epic in review leaders of the people in their primitive days. these were embodied at first in stories and songs and chants, a form most readily transmitted from generation to generation before writing came into use. when reflection succeeded to mere memory and imagination, the creative minds sought for the origin of their people and of other peoples, and for the origin of the world itself. having no science and little knowledge except that which came to them from their surroundings and from con- tact with other peoples, they wrought from imagi- nation and reflection the myths of ancestry and of the creation of the world and its inhabitants, using such material and such ideas as came to them. the religious instinct is one of the earliest gifts of humanity, and out of the mysterious pow- ers of nature it wrought the deities. in this respect the hebrews did not differ from other ancient peoples. when they were settled in the land which they had conquered, and through struggle and discipline had become a nation, they had legends and traditions which they began to reduce to writing, and they produced myths to account for the origin of their tribes, the origin of their race and of all mankind, and the origin of the earth and the heavens. they had their conception of deity, rude at first, with a god of their own, different from other gods and an em- bodiment of their own ideals of power and char- acter. at first it was not without the accompani- the great epic in review had nourished this pride to the full, that work upon the epic, or the material that was to com- pose it, began. the kingdom had been divided and myths and legends floated among the clans of both realms, joseph, or ephraim, and judah. some time, prob- ably, in the eighth or ninth century, b. c., these were first wrought into a continuous narrative of the creation of the earth and the human race, the generations that followed, the fatal tendency of man to evil, the destruction of all but one family, the new start with a divergence upon the racial lines then known, and the consecrated ancestry of the people of israel and their several branches. in this free use was made of suggestions from babylonian, egyptian and phoenician lore. tra- ditions of a sojourn within the borders of egypt, of oppressive servitude there, and of revolt and deliverance under a great leader, were woven into the story, which was brought down to the invasion and conquest of the lands on either side of the jordan valley. there were various versions of some of the stories and they became blended into one continuous but not altogether harmonious ac- count in the course of time. that was subject to revision by a succession of writers, copying, re- trenching, expanding and modifying to suit their own conceptions. the conception of deity developed with the in- tellectual and moral growth of the people. the the great epic in review no clear distinction between what they knew and what they thought, and they believed the one as implicitly as the other. it is the way with the primitive mind and is largely so with the oriental mind even now. the first great uplift in moral and religious conceptions came with the prophets who rose when the nations of jacob were in peril from powerful enemies, which was not long after the development of the myths and legends of israel's antiquity. the prophets exalted the conception of deity into a being not only of infinite power but of infinite justice and goodness, but he was still the special god of israel, and was given to wrath when he was not obeyed and to mercy when penitently ap- pealed to. he would use his power over other nations to punish or reward his own people accord- ing to their behaviour towards him. under the influence of the earlier prophets, the literature that was copied, expanded and joined together from time to time, took on the colour of their teaching. this was deepened and made more pervasive after the northern kingdom had been destroyed by assyria and the other was menaced by babylonia. in the period from amos to jeremiah the material of the epic was wrought upon in the spirit of the prophet, but it was far from completed. after the powers of the east had destroyed jerusalem and trampled upon the “holy moun- tain" of zion, and the brains of judah had been the great epic of israel carried to babylon, this material underwent a notable transformation and expansion. the fact that israel's god had failed to save his people from their enemies did not shake their faith in his power or his goodness. it was due entirely to disobedience to his commands and infidelity to his worship. it was what had been threatened through his prophets and was a deserved punish- ment for the nation's sins. all that was neces- sary now for restoration to favour and the ful- filment of promise of greatness in the time to come was repentance and amendment. in the fifty years of exile, prolonged indefinitely for some, there was much preparation for a new life and character for israel. it was not to become a mighty nation with a glorious king of the house of david, as it vainly hoped, but it was to become a closely organ- ised religious community that would exercise a powerful influence over other nations for many centuries, and through them over all mankind for all time. in the development and solidification of that community there was an elaborate expansion of laws, of ceremonies and observances, which were deemed necessary to bind it together and keep it from contamination by evil influences within and without. such laws and regulations as custom and necessity had established in early days had been associated by the first writers with commands of the god yahweh in the wilderness of sinai after the great epic in review the deliverance from egypt. this was to give them a solemn sanction and impose obedience, and from that time moses was made the law-giver as well as deliverer. whatever was promulgated was represented as having come down from the sojourn in the wilderness as commands of the almighty through the leader of the exodus. not only was this the case with the terms of the “cov- enant" embodied in the early narratives and the code inspired by the prophets and made known in the time of josiah, but with the whole levitical system developed after the exile. a new frame- work of primitive history was made for this, but it was afterwards interlaced with the old narra- tives, in an unskilful effort at a homogeneous struc- ture. in the process of recension of what was to pass for history that which is now known as the his- torical and critical spirit was entirely absent. there was no effort to ascertain facts and narrate them with fulness and accuracy. in the use of existing material there was no scruple about modi- fying and adapting it to suit the views and pur- poses of the later writers. in this there was no consciousness of misrepresentation or desire to de- ceive, but each compiler wrought with a sad sin- cerity to set forth what to him was truth. the result was not history, so far as facts and events are concerned, but after all it afforded a picture of the life and growth of the people more vivid the great epic in review equal freedom. among the treasured rolls of manuscript cherished through the exile were many passages of what they wrote or what had been written by others from their remembered speeches. these were in much disorder and difficult to iden- tify. when they were transcribed many mistakes were made in arrangement and in ascription to different sources; but there was no solicitude on that score. this or that would be freely attrib- uted to a great prophet of whom it was deemed worthy, without serious thought upon the question of genuineness or authenticity. additions, inter- polations and modifications would be made, the better to fit the material to the purpose of the latest scribe, without the least consciousness of literary or ethical wrong-doing. hence it comes that the great “books '' of isaiah and jeremiah are com- posite productions, made up of imperfectly arranged, roughly connected or crudely blended material, ranging from their own time to the clos- ing of the canon of the prophets. but the dom- inating genius of the prophets whose names they bear shaped the composition of these volumes, which have challenged the keenest powers of criti- cal analysis in modern learning. what stands under the names of other prophets may not be wholly theirs and even the names may not be those of actual men. it is the substance not the authorship that made them sacred in the estimation of scribes. some marvellous stories, the great epic of israel obviously fictitious and to the modern mind incred- ible, were preserved for the lessons or instruction they were assumed to convey; and some precious fragments, not in entire keeping with the “doc- trine" of the time, were preserved by association with names that gave them sanctity. so the epic was wrought to completion, massive, conglomerate, amorphous, inartistic, but imposing, with much that is precious to mankind mingled in its great bulk with much of grosser quality, the deposit of centuries in which the treasures were stored. los- ing the cement of sanctity it may disintegrate, but that which is precious can never be lost. the worst that can befal it is to yield to the test of modern knowledge and reason and submit to the judgment of common sense, which discriminates values and holds to that which is good. thereby it will gain and not lose as a source of edification and inspiration in man's religion. it closes with visions of the future, but vision is enlarged since the time of daniel. the end index david, beginning of his king- dom, ; relation to saul, et seq.; lament at death of saul and jonathan, ; accounts of early life leg- endary, ; character, et seq.; candid accounts of his reign, io ; barbarism of his time, ios; plot of his son to succeed him, iio; death, iii; account of reign in chronicles, ; represent- ed as originator of temple service, ; his elegy on saul and jonathan, ; psalms attributed to him, . deborah, prophetess, leads in war against sisera, ; oracular character, ; song of, . decalogue, mythical account of origin, ; real origin, ; two versions, , . deity, early conceptions, , ; later conceptions, , ; in time of prophets, ; in exile, io; in psalms, o ; in proverbs, ; in job, et seq.; progressive development, et seq. deuteronomist writer, com- piler of book of kings, . deuteronomy, book of, first form, ; discovery in tem- ple, i ; origin, ; char- acter and purpose, ; in- terpolations and additions, i. - dinah, daughter of jacob and leah, . ecclesiastes, book of, late production, ; character and composition, . edom, as brother of israel through esau, . egypt, ancient rule over pal- estine, ; israel's legendary servitude in, ; learning de- rived from, ; hezekiah sought aid of, i ; alliance with, predicted in isaiah, i ; judah tributary to, ; refugees from judah in, i . ehud, legendary hero, . elah, king of israel, . elihu, character interpolated in book of job, . elijah, time of appearance, ii, i ; source of stories about, ; acts attributed to, i et seq.; mythical element in accounts, ; carried away in whirlwind, i ; as messenger before the “great and terrible day,” . eliphaz, character in book of job, et seq. elisha, legendary figure, ; succeeds to mantle of elijah, et seq.; miracles attributed to him, , ; in expedition against moab, i ; part in war with syria, , ; death, . elgin, designation of deity, elohist “document,” time of production, , ; extent of, ; beginning in penta- teuch, ; variations from yahwist, ; elements of in several books, endor, women of, story in connection with saul, . ephraim, part of kingdom, revolt on death of solo- mon, ii . epic, the, material of, – ; process of production, – ; review of composition, – . esau, brother of jacob and mythical ancestor of edom, , ; story of birth, . index esther, story of, date and character, ; no histor- ical quality, ; mythical element, ; not an ex- planation of purim, . exodus, book of, composite character, , . exodus from egypt, account mainly mythical, , . ezekiel, prophet of the exile, , ; character of his work, ; visions, symbol- isms, etc., – ; denun- ciation of enemies of is- rael, ; promise of res- toration, – ; vision of new jerusalem, ; outline of future law, . ezekiel, book of, time, char- acter and content, et seq. ezra, leader in return from exile, , . ezra, book of, date and com- position, . flood, story of, ; chaldean origin, ; different ver- sions, . gabriel, angel in the visions of daniel, . gad, son of jacob, mythical ancestor of tribe, . garden of eden, myth of, ; chaldean source, . genealogies, antediluvian, de- scendants of adam, ; de- scendants of noah, ; in book of chronicles, . gideon, legend of, in battle against midianites, . golden calf, motive of story, i. goliath, philistine champion, i. habakkuk, prophet, vision of, . hagar, as mother of ishmael, representing arabian peo- ple, , . haggai, prophet, vision of, i . haman, character in story of esther, . hazael, king of syria, o; wars with israel and judah, i . hezekiah, king of judah, re- forms worship, ; at- tacked by sennacherib of assyria, ; illness and recovery, i ; receives messengers from babylon, ; death, ; account of his reign in chronicles, . hiram, or huram, of tyre, assistance to solomon, , ii ; reference to in chron- icles, - hosea, prophet of israel, time and oracles, ; char- acter of work, . hoshea, last king of israel, i . huldah, prophetess, advice on “book of the law,” . human sacrifice, evidence of, . isaac, significance of name, ; story of offering as sac- rifice, . isaiah, prophet, time of ap- pearance, , ; guide to king hezekiah, ; al- leged prediction of destruc- tion of assyrian army, ; character of work, ; later oracles, ; treat- ment of assyrian menace, i ; fate, . isaiah, book of, material mixed and in disorder, ; ill arranged, ; analysis, ; post-exilic additions, . ishmael, mythical ancestor of arabian peoples, . israel, invasion of canaan, ; origin of people, ; servi- index i tude in egypt, ; language and first writing, ; early conceptions of deity, , ; literary development, et seq.; supposed significance of name, ; pride of race, . israel, kingdom of, first es- tablished, , ; changes of dynasty, ; destroyed, i . - issachar, son of jacob, myth- ical ancestor of tribe, . jacob, meaning of, ; per- sonification of israel, ; union with syria through laban's daughters, ; craft of, , ; mythical sons, ; account of birth as twin of esau, . jehoahaz, king of judah, car- ried captive to egypt, i . jehoiachim, king of judah, carried to babylon, . jehoiada, priest, made boy joash king of judah, . jehoiakim, placed on throne of judah by king of egypt, i . jehoram, king of israel, . jehoram, or joram, king of judah, o; account of reign in chronicles, . jehoshaphat, king of judah, ally of ahab of israel against syria, ; ally of jehoram of israel against moab, ; death and suc- cessor, o; account of his reign in chronicles, . jehoshaphat, valley of, in vision of joel, . jehu, king of israel, ; slaughters priests of baal, ; length of reign, i . jephthah, hero in war against ammon, . jeremiah, prophet, time, ; against resistance to baby- lon, ; character of his work, ; early utterances, ; relation to historical events, ; carried to egypt, ; intense theo- cratic champion, . jeremiah, book of, composite character, ; varied ma- terial, ; late accretions and interpolations, . jeroboam, son of nebat, so- journ in egypt and possible relation to joseph story, ; leads revolt against solomon, ; qualities as first king of israel as dis- tinguished from judah, ; motive in establishing places of worship, . jerusalem, david takes pos- session of, io ; corrupt worship at, , ; de- stroyed by nebuchadrezzar of babylon, ; rebuilding of walls after exile, ; rebuilding of temple, . jezebel, phoenician wife of ahab, ; threatens life of elijah, ; prophet pre- dicts her fate, ; thrown to the dogs, . joab, david's chief warrior, io ; the king's debt to him, ioy; kills abner, ab- salom and amasa, ioz; slain by command of solo- mon, ii . joash, made king by priest jehoiada, ; different ac- count of reign in chron- icles, . job, leading character in book of job, no historical prototype, ; possible personification of suffering people, ; speeches, , , . job, book of, a composite work, ; not without de- index fects, ; voice of revolt against theocratic doctrine in past, ; time of pro- duction, ; character of prologue and epilogue, ; problem of colloquies, ; disordered passages and in- terpolations, , ; eli- hu's part later than rest, ; yahweh’s answer, ; problem left unsolved, . joel, prophet, practical oracle of, . jonah, possible oracle of the prophet, ; story of, ; . character and purpose, i. jonathan, son of saul and friend of david, , ; death in battle, . joseph, as ancestor of north- ern kingdom, ; son of jacob and rachel, ; as savior of family of israel, ; story of, . joshua, book of, material of, ; mythical elements, , . joshua or jeshua, priest on return from exile, , , . josiah, king of judah at age of eight, ; reforms wor- ship at jerusalem and “high places,” ; killed in conflict with king of egypt, ; account of re- forms in chronicles, . judah, son of jacob, myth- ical ancestor of tribe, . judah, kingdom of, after di- vision of first kingdom, advantage over israel, ; destroyed by nebuchadrez- zar of babylon, . judges, book of, composition, ; general contents, ; when produced, . kingdom, first established, ; divided into two, . see israel and judah. kings, first accounts of, ; saul, et seq.; david and solomon, et seq.; of two kingdoms, et seq. kings, book of, material, , ; theocratic character and sources, ; general char- acter and composition, i o, i i. koheleth, or ecclesiastes, the preacher, . korah, legendary against moses, . korah, sons of, in temple choirs, - laban, syrian father of jacob's wives, . lamech, descendant of cain and seth, . lamentations, book of, com- position and character, . law, jewish, beginnings of, , , , ; fulmination on mount sinai, , ; material and development – ; book of the cove- nant and tables of stone, ; deuteronomic version, ; outline by ezekiel, ; contributions of ezra, ; development in priests’ code, et seq.; ethical principles, . leah, mythical mother of tribes, . legends, of time of judges, , , . legends, heroic and historic, general account, – . levi, son of jacob, mythical ancestor of tribe, . levite of bethlehem-judah, story of, . levites, ministers of worship, utative descendants of evi, . revolt index leviticus, book of, character and contents, et seq. literature, of israel, begin- ning of, ; development, et seq.; active produc- tion in exile, . lot, nephew of abraham, mythical ancestor of am- mon and moab, . lyrics, songs and hymns, – o ; general character, ; song of deborah, blessing of jacob, song of moses, ; passages in prophecies, ; lamentations, ; song of songs, ; psalms, . maccabees, relation to book of daniel, , , . malachi, prophecy, date and character, . manasseh, king of judah, long and wicked reign, ; different account in chron- icles, . menahem, i . merodach-baladan, of baby- lon, sends messengers to hezekiah, . king of israel, messiah, suggestion of in zechariah, ; doctrine foreshadowed in daniel, . micah, prophet, time and ora- cles, . micah, book of, composition, i . michael, angel in vision of daniel, . midianites, slaughtered by gideon, . miriam, sister of moses, story of leprosy, . moab, putative offspring of lot, . moab, king of, sacrifices son when defeated in battle, i . mordecai, character in story of esther, . moses, as putative author of jewish law, , ; in re- lation to deuteronomy, ; in relation to later law, ; as legendary de- liverer, . mount sinai, theophany on, . myths, as basis of early nar- ratives, , ; general ac- count of, – ; those pre- liminary to abraham, ; of tribal ancestry, . naaman, story of cure of leprosy, . naboth, story of vineyard taken by ahab, i . nahash, king of ammon, de- feated by saul, . nahum, prophet, visions of vengeance upon assyria, i . naphtali, son of jacob, myth- ical ancestor of tribe, . nathan, prophet and mentor of david, io; promise of permanent kingdom, , io ; rebuke for wrong done to uriah, ios, nebuchadrezzar, king of babylon, makes vassal of king of judah, ; de- stroys jerusalem, ; as he appears in book of dan- iel, , . nehemiah, cup bearer of ar- taxerxes, represents per- sian authority at jerusa- lem, ; work in rebuild- ing walls, etc., . nehemiah, book of, compo- sition and character, . noah, yahweh’s covenant with after flood, ; as fa- ther of canaan, ; gene- alogy of descendants, . index numbers, book of, character and contents, , . obadiah, vision of, . omri, king of israel, builds samaria, . othniel, first of heroic de- liverers of israel, . passover, celebration by jo- siah at jerusalem, ; ac- count in chronicles, . patriarchs, stories of, . pekah, king of israel, assas- sinated, . pekahiah, king of israel, as- sassinated, i . pentateuch, origin and com- position, – . pharaoh-necho, of egypt, ex- acts tribute from judah, i . philistines, capture the “ark of god,” ; saul's battles with, , ; david's rela- tion with, . phoenicia, early hebrew writ- er's acquaintance with, . priestly history, of judah and antecedents, – ; its date and purpose, ; memoirs of ezra and ne- hemiah, , ; book of chronicles, . priests’ code, as element in pentateuch, , , , ; element in book of joshua, ; completion of, ; character of work, . prophets, early character, io; time of ahab, ii; highest development of work, ; minor, ; collection of oracles, . —, of two kingdoms, – ; original character, ; deborah, samuel, ; nathan, ahijah, ; use of symbolism, ; utter- ances disarranged as col- lected, ; amos, ; their theocratic faith, ; hosea, ; isaiah, ; jeremiah, ; theocratic doctrine, , ; ethical conceptions, . — of exile and after, – ; ezekiel and his work, – ; supplementary chapters of isaiah, ; haggai and zechariah, ; malachi, ; last chapters of zechariah, . proverbs, collection of, . proverbs, book of, when col- lected, ; several collec- tions, ; relation to solo- mon, ; general charac- ter, ; conception of deity, ; philosophy, ; analysis of book, io; sup- plementary chapters, . psalms, book of, repository of sacred songs, , ; how constituted and when, ; several collections, ; meaning of titles, , ; used in temple service, ; real character, ; concep- tion of deity, ; univer- sal significance, . pul, assyrian general, same as king tiglath-pileser, i . rachel, as mother of tribes, . ramoth-gilead, scene of bat- tles between israel and syria, , . rebekah, personification of israel's relation to syria, ; yahwist account of wooing for isaac, . rehoboam, weak successor of solomon, ; slight ac- count of his reign in kings, ; fuller account in chronicles, reuben, oldest of israelite tribes, . --- -º- -- * -■i … - - -- wisdom and will in educationcharles william super harvard university library of the graduate school of education \y\ i. in' i wisdom and will in education by charles william super, ph.d., ll.d. ex-president of the ohio university and professor of greek, ibidem; transla- tor of weil's order of words; author of a history of the german language, between heathenism and christianity, etc. harrisburg, pa. r. l. myers & co., publishers , $ oct. , harvard university gkaduate school of education &onroe c cut.vtan librarf. copyright, a by r. l. myers & co. "if thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage of cruel will: and see that thou keep free from the foul yoke of sensual bondage: for though thine empire stretch to indian sea, and for thy fear trembleth farthest thule, if thy desire hath over thee the power, subject then art thou and no governour." wyat. "for when-was public virtue to be found when private was not? can he love the whole who loves no part? he be a nation's friend who is, in truth, the friend of no man there cowper. "and more than common strength and skill must ye display; if you would give the better will its lawful sway." wordsworth. to my colleagues both of the gentler and the sterner sex, who during the past teaks were associated with me in the internal management op dhe ohio university, who shared with me the pleasures and the pains, the penalties and the plaudits op college life, and but poe whose kindly participa- tion in the manifold duties op a laborious position these would have remained to me no time fob systematic literary work, these studies are gratefully dedicated by the author. contents. pads introduction, aspects of ancient greek education aspects op ancient greek ethics, knowledge ash morality, reason and sentiment as factors in social progress, ... responsibility, patriotism and partisanship spiritual verities, self-renunciation fiction as a factor in education, heredity and environment - national education, the relation of private to public morality ( ) introduction. "we can not get along with the women; but" (after a pause) "i suppose we can not get along without them." this remark was made to me many years ago by a fellow teacher after a somewhat stormy altercation with one of his female patrons who had been endeavoring to instruct him in the rights and privileges of her children. it has often seemed to me since, when i have recalled the quota- tion, that with a slight change it is applicable to our pres- ent social conditions. everybody realizes that we can not get along without education; yet many intelligent per- sons are reiterating that education is not accomplishing what may be justly expected of it. if the putting in practice of a rational system of instruction were entirely in the hands of teachers we should doubtless see a rapid advance toward so desirable a goal. but in democratic communities where almost everybody has something to say about what is to be done and how it is to be done, especially in matters that concern or are supposed to con- cern every man, woman and child, progress in popular edu- cation can, in the nature of the case, move forward no faster than progress in general enlightenment. notwithstanding the title of the book the contents are for the most part of a sociological rather than of an edu- cationnl character. they deal with man in his collective ( ) wisdom and will in education. capacity more than with him as an individual. the body politic does not consist of a sum total obtained by adding together a number of homogeneous units like a sum in arithmetic. it is well known that a howling mob is often made up of individually sane men. man in his collective capacity is more easily moved by an appeal to his good or his evil impulses than when alone. while it is true that we have no guide for the future but the experience of the past and that men have remained substantially unchanged within the historic period, the same conditions are never exactly duplicated and conduct must be constantly readjusted to new circumstances as they arise. if. therefore, it is wisely regulated it requires care- ful thought. there are, however, certain fundamental rules of action that are as invariable in their operation and effects as any law of nature, and the fundamental prob- lem of scientific pedagogy is how to stimulate the self- hood or the self-activity of the individual so that he will always shape his course in conformity to these laws. it is the business of the sociologist and the psychologist to investigate, to define and to formulate the fonjes, both external and internal, that make one people or one age different from another; that of the educationist to put into operation the agencies that will bring about the re- sults he wishes to produce. it is to be feared that herein will be found the chief shortcoming of the great body of teachers. they regard each subject that enters into the curriculum as an end in itself, whereas it ought to be sub- sidiary to the remoter object of preparing the rising genera- tion for the performance of those duties that devolve upon it in the complex relations of institutional life. the history of education is in the main the history of civilization; or, we may transpose our terms and say that is wisdom and will in education. tional or local element and not enough on the cosmopolitan. each nation, it is true, must, in virtue of its situation and to some extent by reason of its history and traditions, move toward the goal to be reached by a somewhat different route, but the goal is the same for all. truth is unvarying in all ages and countries, and will continue so to the end of time. it is a sad fact that the governments of the world have so often repeated the same blunders, instead of profiting by the experience of others. some, even of the states of our union have at times tried to accomplish by legislation what the attempts of others in the same direction ought to have shown them was impossible or at least unwise. it can not be too often or too vigorously called to the attention of our public that the school is not the only agency by which the youth are trained and their charac- ters moulded. the bench, the bar, the press, the pulpit, the medical profession, the family and public opinion are all potent educators. is the preponderance of their influ- ence educating upward or downward?—this is the im- portant question. if the latter, be it ever so little, the re- sults will in time be serious. are we not in danger of becoming so much occupied with the welfare of the cubans, the filipinos and with other more or less far-off projects that we overlook the threatened lowering of the ideals that should serve as beacon lights to those in power and au- thority? it is well to be generous; it is better to be judi- cious. if the good samaritan had discovered that the man whom he was succoring was not without means and had subsequently succeeded in collecting a pretty large bill for services, he would probably be none the less regarded as a philanthropist, but his care of the wounded stranger would not have been transmitted to posterity as the deed of a wisdom and will in education. decades. unless an increasingly large number can be made to realize that upon them depends the well-being of the next generation, that generation will be the worse for their short-sightedness. in theory not many persons in any com- munity are inherently dishonest or untruthful, but many maintain that the current ethical ideal is too high for this practical and matter-of-fact world. they regulate their dealings according to a new commandment which they, have, perhaps, never formulated into a sentence, but which they nevertheless observe sacredly, or at least as sacredly as they observe anything, "thou shalt not get found out." it is a healthful sign that nearly all our periodicals of the better class are now giving attention to matters that not many years ago used to be regarded as of interest and importance to teachers only. we have herein the evidence of a wide-spread conviction that education means more than mere "schooling," and that the largest possible public must be enlisted in the work of fostering and creating a wholesome public opinion. i am neither a pessimist nor an- alarmist; but i am un- able, or rather i have no desire, to close my eyes to the tendencies i see about me. it is much pleasanter to com- mend than to criticize, but it is far less wholesome. to belittle a danger neither removes it nor makes it less. it 'is well to recall often the weighty words of lincoln's sec- ond inaugural: "i see in the near future a crisis arising which unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. as a result of the war, corporations have been enthroned, and an era of corruption in high places will follow, and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all the wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the republic will be destroyed. i feel at this time more introduction. anxious for my country than even in the midst of the war." the destruction of the republic as a form of government is not necessarily the worst misfortune that could befall our posterity; for history abundantly proves that nominal republics may be the worst of tyrannies. but history also shows that a society may become so corrupt and effeminate- that there is no cure for it except virtual extermination. does such a fate await any of the great nations now ex- isting upon the face of the earth? eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, and unremitting industry the indispensable condition of progress. there must not only be the wisdom which is founded on a knowl- edge of what has been, but the will to transform it into action. while it is well to know what is, it is still better to know what ought to be and to strive for its realization. from the watch-tower of the present we may, if we will, behold by means of the powers which science puts into our hands the causes that led to the destruction of so much in the past that would seem to have been well worthy of preservation. will the nations go on cycle after cycle try- ing to do that which the eternal decrees have over and over shown to be impossible? righteousness and righteousness only exalteth a nation. it may become conspicuous by other means and for a time occupy a large place, but there will be no permanence in its prestige. if our age is on the whole better than any that has preceded it the condi- tions are due to the genuinely patriotic men and women who have not been wholly absorbed in the selfish quest for power and pelf, but who have devoted a part of their ener- gies to the public good. the hope of our country lies in the persistent activity of its moral forces. it will avail us nothing to solace ourselves with the reflection that because we have done fairly well hitherto—remarkably well, com- wisdom and will in education. paratively—we shall continue to prosper. every genera- tion needs to realize that it is the custodian of its successor; that it is in duty bound not only to transmit to posterity all the inheritance it has come into possession of, but also to increase it and to add to its value. the nation that is always "pointing with pride" to its past achievements is in serious danger of forgetting its duty to the present. let not this be our folly and our fate. all the world admits that the american people may have a glorious future be- fore them. they have their own history that is on the whole an honorable one, and that of the race, for their guid- ance like the rest of mankind; they have also like them the priceless intellectual treasures so abundant everywhere and so easy of attainment in our day. but they have this in ad- dition that they are not shackled by the irrational tradi- tions that so generally warp the judgment, nor cramped in their development by financial burdens. by their position and resources they are secure against foreign wars; by the abundance and variety of their natural products they are only dependent upon the outside world so far as they care to be. if their career closes like that of so many powerful nations that have preceded them .it will not be because it was their destiny but their desert. it will be because in- ternal corruption has weakened them and made them a prey to the disintegrating agencies that are sleeplessly vigi- lant for harm in every body politic. while we need not take in their bald literalness the lines of george berkeley's poem beginning, "the muse, disgusted at an age and clime barren of every glorious theme," yet we see more than a grain of truth in the conclusion, introduction. "westward the course of empires takes its way; the first four acts already past, a fifth shall close the drama with the day: time's noblest offspring is the last." every people has its heroes. they are usually regarded with a reverence that increases with their remoteness in time. posterity endows them with all those qualities and excellencies and disinterested motives which it admires but looks for in vain among contemporaries. it is the exclu- sive privilege of americans to be permitted to look back upon their history and to contemplate in the full blaze of its clearest light one name at least in which the reality em- bodies the ideal. well might eliza cook pen lines like these: "land of the west! though passing brief the record of thine age, thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page! let all the blasts of fame ring out—thine shall be loud- est far; let others boast their satellites—thou hast the planet star. thou hast a name whose characters of light shall ne'er depart, 'tis stamped upon the dullest brain and warms the cold- est heart; a war-cry fit for any land where freedom's to be won; land of the west! it stands alone—it is thy washington!" yet it would be unjust to others, notably to abraham lincoln, to say that he had less ability or was a less disin- terested patriot than his illustrious predecessor. it can not be too often or too insistently called to the at- tention of the young that patriotism does not consist wholly wisdou and will in education. or even chiefly in the display of bravery on the field of battle,—an opportunity that comes to but few—but in per- forming day by day those civic duties that are the privilege and ought to be the pride of every lover of his country and his race. few persons are interested in the virtues in the abstract: all are attracted and many inspired by them when incor- porated in flesh and blood and exhibited in activity. it is a great moral and pedagogical advantage to have such char- acters to place before the youth of our land for their en- couragement and imitation. the privilege can not be over- estimated and ought to be assiduously improved. if we would maintain the prestige among the nations of the earth that has so unexpectedly fallen to us within the last few years we must see to it that our intellectual and moral progress not only keeps pace with our political power but outstrips it. our destiny will be determined by the man- ner in which we perform our duty. it has seemed to me, as a serious student of ethnological psychology and its outward expression in the development of institutions to be not altogether superfluous to collect the following papers into a book. the private soldier can justify the recital of his uneventful experiences with the plea that though unimportant they are not quite paralleled by those of the commanr'er-in-chief. no two persons can see a thing from exactly the same point of view; but if their views be founded on truth there will be a substantial agree- ment, no matter how large the number of observers. no claim is made to originality. it has, however, occurred to me and to others who have seen or heard these papers and addresses that if collected into a volume they might here and there find a reader who could get from it a few ideas that he had not come upon eleswhere. some of them have wisdom and will in education. when we are treating of those agencies that lead to the accumulation of wealth and the exploitation of the ma- terial resources of the earth we are justified in using strong terms. in this respect our age has far outstripped all that have preceded it. on the other hand, we can not shut our eyes and our minds to the visions of poverty and distress that meet us on every hand; while in the spiritual realm we are on the whole far poorer than were our fathers and grandfathers. to affirm that powerful disintegrating agencies are at work among us, as they are in every civil- ized state, is not to deny the cogency of many conserving forces. to assert that our modern educational systems still leave much to be desired is not equivalent to denying that they are wholly or even largely failures. if they were doing all that may be expected of them we should not see so many of our best minds engaged in studying and suggesting how they may be improved. it is a fatal sign when individuals and peoples are so well satisfied with themselves that they see no need of change and have no desire for it. judicious criticism is not grumbling, and fault-mending is not fault-finding. yet nobody is the better for being told that things are amiss if it is not also suggested to him how they may be righted, or if the critic is himself unwilling to take a hand in the work of im- provement. "the smallest effort is not lost; each wavelet on the ocean toss'd aids in the ebb tide or the flow; each raindrop makes some floweret blow; each struggle lessens human woe." tt is a sociological quite as much as it is a spiritual truth that "none of us liveth to himself and none dieth to introduction. . himself." society is not in any of its stages a work of art that has come complete and finished from the hand of the master. neither is it to be compared to an immature plant or animal that needs but to be placed in a favorable environment in order that it may attain its full develop- ment. it is a unique entity. while always imperfect, it may be brought continually nearer to an ideal perfection. it is an organism composed of an infinity of self-conscious but not self-constituted units. the rapidity with which it approaches perfection will be determined by the clear- ness with which its units apprehend the goal before them and the effort with which they strive to attain it. in other words, the progress of society will always be regulated by the wisdom with which the end to be attained is appre- hended by those who constitute society and the will that is exerted toward its attainment. a strenuous life is good; a purposeful life is better. c. w. s. athens, ohio, september the twelfth, . wisdom and will in education. for the last four or fire centuries the greeks have been our schoolmasters, as they were of the romans of the older time, and the inquiry is certainly pertinent: who were the schoolmasters of the greeks? the search after the mysterious influence that made them a unique people is like the quest after many of the still undiscovered secrets of nature. we can describe results and set forth prox- imate causes, but there always remains a residuum that eludes our closest scrutiny. national characteristics arc something for which no adequate explanation has yet been found. anthropological and ethnological psychology is a historical, not a mathematical science; its data cannot be used for predicting the future. the adept can ex- hibit the how of many phenomena, not the why. a na- tion's history is, no doubt, in a large measure, the result- ant of the physical conditions in which it lives, but not wholly. the same soil and the same atmosphere have fre- quently nourished, and still nourish, nations of widely different mental characteristics. so, too, national traits often change—slowly, it is true—where physical condi- tions vary but little, if at all. sometimes the great think- ers of a nation are the acme and culmination of its psychic forces; they are only primi inter pares. this is true of the age of pericles, of augustus, of elizabeth, of louis xiv. sometimes they stand out like intellectual and spiritual monuments amid the general abasement or indifference which serve only to show that the spirit of their country- men is not wholly extinct. such was the age of milton in his almost solitary grandeur, and in a less degree of goethe .and schiller. the coryphaei of italian literature form, for the most part, a small and hapless procession as they pass before our mind's eye; and some of the brightest intellects of ancient greece seemed at times to be oppressed with the aspects of ancient greek education. feeling of their loneliness. whose was the fault i do not say: only speak of the fact. the progress of a people or a nation may be measured by its system of instruction; and as the people of the nineteenth century are taking an unprecedented interest in all that relates to popular education, there has been a grow- ing desire to look more carefully into greek pedagogy in -order to ascertain, if possible, whether it contains anything of stimulus or warning for our times. probably no one familiar with the facts would deny that the audiences that listened to the speeches of pericles, or the coteries that gathered about socrates, or took sides in the bitter for- ensic contests between demosthenes and aeschines, were the most intelligent ever assembled for a like purpose. nevertheless, the society they represented had in it the seeds of decay that soon developed into vigorous life and destroyed the organism in which they had planted them- selves. in our day those to whom is entrusted the instruc- tion of the rising generation are held to be largely re- sponsible for its morals and its patriotism. does a like responsibility rest upon the teachers of the ancient greeks? did these enlightened commonwealths fall into political disintegration because their schoolmasters were faithless to their trust, or fail through shortsightedness to point out to the rising generation the way of safety? or did misfortune come upon all because no such state-constituted guardians existed whose duty and privilege it was to hold up persistently the true aim of life? the answer, at least in part, is that no state of greece had a system of educa- tiony as the term is now understood; that the teaching of the sophists was well calculated to accentuate the inherent selfishness of the greeks, and that the greeks were cursed with certain fundamental vices which probably no system of wisdom and will in education. education could have wholly neutralized. at any rate, they are quite as conspicuous to-day as they were at any "time in the past. the student of the history of education, beginning with the remotest times, can hardly avoid the conviction that the men who have made the deepest impression upon the life and thought of the world are the product of times when the state did but little for the enlightenment of the masses. there may be little or no connection between the two conditions, but we constantly find them existing side by side. in athens, the era in which lived socrates and plato, aristotle and demosthenes is a conspicuous exam- ple few men of antiquity have so profoundly influenced the thoughts of the world, beginning almost from the day of his death, as cicero, yet he, in no sense, owed his edu- cation to the laws under which he lived; neither did caesar, nor horace, nor virgil. many of the countries of mod- ern europe have had their universities for four or five centuries, but in most cases their conservatism has been so pronounced that they afforded but little stimulus or scope for independent investigation. some of them have not yet been aroused out of their mediaeval sleep, while others were stirred from their lethargy by intellectual forces which were created outside of the sphere of their in- fluence and against which bars and bolts were powerless. we are almost forced to the conclusion that there is no necessary connection between a nation's greatness and its educational system, nor even between the former and the great men who are born upon its soil. if, therefore, we study systems of instruction with the hope of finding there- in that which will show us how a nation becomes great, we shall almost invariably be disappointed. they do not make great men. they have chiefly a historical, rarely, if ever, a aspects of ancient greek education. practical value. much as there may be in the intellectual productions of great men—socrates, for example, has fur- nished food for the mental digestion of millions of think- ing people—there is little apparently in the age in which he lived to show that he was its natural outcome, though there is no doubt that if he had lived amidst a different en- vironment his activity would have been directed in a differ- ent channel. men of his type can not be called into exist- ence at will. there is much truth in the statement that a nation's history is a biography of its great men. in the last analysis thought rules the world more than most per- sons are willing to believe. the truth, when steadfastly and disinterestedly proclaimed, is certain of a wider recogni- tion than the bounds of a nation or the limits of an age. why is the greek education that produced the great men of the fifth and fourth centuries before christ of more in- terest to us than that in which were trained shakespeare and milton, or lessing and his contemporaries? because all these fed more or less on the intellectual product of the ancient soil. in a sense, then, a study of greek pedagogy is an examination of the sources from which the later com- ers drew their intellectual inspiration more or less directly. but they used these materials only as genius and talent uses such materials—as stimulus. it is not the purpose of the present paper to furnish a history of greek education. it is too brief for that. on the other hand, it is impossible in our day to write more than a mere sketch, for the reason that the extant ma- terials are exceedingly scanty. there is only room here to record a* few fairly well authenticated facts and to set forth certain inferences that have occurred to the writer during the quarter of a century that he has studied the subject. the scantiness of the material that has come down to us is wisdom and will in education. sufficient evidence that the greek public did not attach the importance to national education that is attached to it by the leading nations of the day. if the large cities of europe or america were to be swept from the face of the earth as completely as those of ancient greece, there is hardly one among the ruins of which would not be found unmistakable evidence that it had been the seat of great educational institutions. but the ruins of greek cities tell us little of education. there were no buildings correspond- ing to our colleges and universities, as no greek state seri- ously concerned itself for the instruction of its youth beyond the mere rudiments of knowledge. it is greatly to be re- gretted that we have so little definite information about greek elementary education. many writers have more or less to say upon education, but they tell us rather what it ought to be than what it was. while, therefore, it is com- paratively easy to write a history of greek educational the- ories, it is impossible to say much about greek educational practice without feeling that a great deal of what we say is possibly erroneous. we know almost nothing of greek school-rooms; the preparation required of teachers, though of their fitness they were probably themselves the sole judges; of the books and other appurtenances used, such as maps, globes, slates, etc. in short, on the external appliances for teaching, that are now considered well nigh indispensable, we have only the most meager information. it is prob- able that these things played a very subordinate part in the work of instruction and that the stress was laid almost wholly upon purely mental labor. need we be surprised because such great results were produced by such meager means? or is it not rather the great vice of modern peda- gogy that it helps the pupil too much? aspects of ancient creek education. a leading trait of the greeks, especially of the ionians, was the desire to know. paul tells us that even in his time many of them were constantly on the alert to find out some new thing. this desire in its inception is mere idle curiosity, but it is the foundation of scientific inquiry. from it sprang the fruitful growth of greek, and indeed of all philosophy. it impressed the apostle, because to his oriental mind it was something almost incomprehensi- ble. in the homeric poems but faint traces of it are mani- fest, and it was never very conspicuous among the dorians, but reached its fullest development among the athenians. to what it led is well known. it is related of many greeks that they visited the older countries of the east in order to observe and study their institutions and their natural productions. surprise has often been expressed, and it is certainly a matter of regret, that these quick-witted trav- elers took so little note of the speech of the people they vis- ited. but there is reason for this. language was regarded by them as a mere external manifestation of what was in the human mind. in itself it had to the greek no intrin- sic value. his own language was manifestly superior as an organ of expression to any with which he came in con- tact. if he could discover the underlying thought, of which speech was only the medium of communication, he was content. he concerned himself with foreign lan- guages only so far as they had a practical value, and re- garded them of no further importance, because they re- vealed no radical differences in the human mind. the case was otherwise when there was a question of foreign institu- tions and the history of foreign countries. here was some- thing radically unlike anything he could find at home. the greeks attached a high value to training both physical and intellectual. every greek city had its build- ?» wisdom and will in education. ings and grounds suitably furnished for gymnastic exer- cises, and to be unfamiliar with such exercises was regarded as the mark of a slave or a barbarian. in fact, the state concerned itself far more with such training than with training of the mind. but here, too, the principle was be- lieved to be of chief importance. greek writers have so much to say in disparagement of extensive information when acquired at the expense of thorough mental training, that this thought must have had a firm basis in public opinion. plato regarded as the important principles of education, the correlation of all knowledge, the recognition of the unity of all sciences, the desire to pursue truth to its discovery, and the determination not to stop short of this goal. from this point of view greek education was strictly rational and philosophical. it did not multiply issues. indeed, it could scarcely have done so, because the intellectual product available ior pedagogical purposes was limited in amount. its aim was not to make profes- sional men, but intelligent citizens. in this it served its purpose admirably. how simple the most liberal course of study was to the time of aristotle, when greece'was already in its decline! there was but little history in the modern sense of the term, and hardly any natural or physical science. the speculations of philosophers, though wonderfully shrewd in many cases, were hardly more than mere guesses. they thought deeply, and observed with some care, but their ob- servation lacked accuracy for want of suitable instruments. there was no study of geography and no scientific study of music. it was made up chiefly of literature, practical politics, and some mathematics. we get a fairly accurate notion of what it must have been by subtracting what we know that it could not have included. aspects of ancient greek education. what we see taking place in the case of individuals in our own day has taken place from time immemorial in the history of nations, and the greeks were no exception. the parent who, by natural ability, has succeeded in acquir- ing a larger amount of knowledge than his fellows, soon recognizes the superiority that his attainments give him, and desires the same advantages for his children. he then endeavors by artificial helps, applied in the form of more or less systematic instruction, to transmit to them the benefit of his acquired knowledge and experience. when a considerable number of persons have reached the recognition of this advantage they strive to establish na- tional systems of instruction. the greeks, owing to their pre-eminent natural genius, fostered by advantages of soil and climate, unconsciously produced the homeric poems. later generations recognized their value as a means of culture, and made them the basis of a national system of instruction. this literature was, however, spontaneous and unconscious, as indeed is all the earliest literature of every nation. but the product of the greek muse was far superior to everything else of the kind. that it came into existence by a sort of inspiration was a fact well recognized by the greeks themselves when they began to reflect upon it and study it. they saw that it could not be called forth at will, though many of them tried to do this by a scrupu- lous observance of a set of rules instinctively followel by the creators of greek literature. sometimes a nation recognizes the superior value of a foreign literary product to anything of its own creation and makes an imported article the basis of its national in- struction. the romans followed this course and their earliest text-books were translations of the homeric poems. somewhat similarly the school-books used in this country wisdou and will in education. until a comparatively recent period were more or less close imitations of those in use in the mother country. in time, however, the romans gradually laid aside their translations from the greek and brought into general use the writings of native authors. and it may be added, we are having a like experience with the literature of great britain. it has been stated above that greek writers often speak of the evil effects producel upon the mind by the effort to know many things. this judgment is not only endorsed by the universal testimony of mankind, but by the exper- ience of the greeks themselves. when we come to the al- exandrian period, pre-eminently an encyclopedic age, we find how greatly the greek intellect has deteriorated. there are few great thinkers, and no great men except auto- cratic political leaders. the greek literature of this period is vastly inferior to that which preceded it. we have en- tered upon an era of great scholars who are often mere pedants—men sadly lacking in the power of original thought. yet it was this highly artificial product that was chiefly admired by the romans. we know more of it from its image reflected through roman minds than we do directly. passing thence to rome we are confronted with what may well be regarded as a peculiar condition of things. the roman people manifested almost no interest in intel- lectual pursuits. the meager education they imparted to their youth was based on a foreign product. the lack of imagination is strikingly manifested in roman mythology. yet they exhibited a genius for government that is with- out a parallel in the history of the world, and created, with- out a model, a body of laws that subsequently became the basis of all european legal systems. in like manner the english people, at least before the present century, con- aspects of ancient greek education. tribnted but little to the original thought of the world, yet they have known how to extend their empire around the globe. their educational system, until recently, took but little account of the common people, while that intended for the higher classes was founded on the intellectual cre- ations of greece, more or less modified by roman ideas. their legal system is likewise more original than any other now obtaining in europe. it should be observed, however, that the comparative isolation of england was in some measure due to her insular position. her history presents some striking points of comparison with that of rome, so far as her experience with tributary nations is concerned, but england has rarely been guilty of exploiting her col- onies for the benefit of the mother country. rome did this almost systematically. if the aim and purpose of popular education is to train the young for intelligent action in institutional life, that of the greeks was in a large measure a failure. as a po- litical factor in the history of the world they accomplished little during their independence, after the repulse of the persians. they had no comprehension of the importance of a regular and orderly development in the growth and permanence of a state. almost every man of large views among them felt constrained for reasons of personal safety to keep aloof from the political turmoil that was constantly seething about him. narrow selfishness usually took the place of broad patriotism. no services, however brilliant, no sacrifices, however great, could protect a citizen from the vindictive whims of the populace. too many men were ever ready to sacrifice the commonweal for personal aggran- dizement. the gold of the despised barbarian was al- ways welcome to those who sought for the nonce to get the better of a rival. in no country has political animosity wisdom and will in education. cost so many lives compared with the whole number of citi- zens; no where did this vindictiveness profit any man or any party so little. when the conflict with philip, and afterwards with rome, threatened the independence of the different states and the liberties of greece; when only a united effort could repel the invader, such a unity of effort could not be brought about. two millenniums later, when the greeks sought to shake off the turkish yoke the event proved that they had learned nothing in the long interim. had it not been for the intervention of foreign powers greece would to-day be a province of the turkish empire. a most important influence was exerted in greek educa- tion by the sophists or "masters," as bergh calls them. though only a passing phenomenon, they fill a large place in the intellectual history of athens during the fifth pre- christian century after the repulse of the persians, for the accomplishment of which athens had made the largest sacrifices. a new and wider horizon opened up before her young men. the traditional education was found to be too circumscribed to meet the new conditions. at the same time the pre-eminence of athens attracted men from various parts of the grecian world who came hither to "make their fortune," as we say. the impressibility of the ionic temperament, the eagerness with which all proposed innovations were listened to, and the readiness with which new enterprises were entered upon, especially by the athen- ians exposed them to all sorts of influences, both good and bad. besides, the democratic form of government which opened all public offices to shrewdness and a glib tongue, served as an attraction to ambitious spirits who were for any reason discontented with the conditions at home. here there was a fertile field for the teachers of a new kind of eloquence; for men who professed to be able to qualify their aspects of ancient greek education. pupils to talk equally well on opposite sides of the same question; for instructors who made little of facts but at- tached the greatest importance to words. such professors were not only welcome to the champions of a democracy like the athenian, but to a people like the greeks, in whom the moral forces were always somewhat weak. the inher- ent centrifugal tendencies of the greek political ideals was accentuated by the doctrine that made man the measure of all things, while conversely the doctrine found the more ready lodgment in minds naturally predisposed to receive it. aristophanes, the arch-conservative, thus contrasts the old education with the new. the voice of the past, that of the "good old times," speaking to the youth, says, "choose, with confidence, me, the better course, and you will learn to hate the agora, and to refrain from baths, and to be ashamed of what is disgraceful, and to be enraged if any one jeer at you, and to rise up from your seats before your seniors when they approach, and not to behave ill toward your parents, and to do nothing else that is base, because you are to form your mind in an image of modesty. you shall spend your time in the gymnastic schools, sleek and blooming; not chattering in the market-place rude jests, like the young of the present day; nor dragged into court for a petty suit, greedy, pettifogging, knavish; but you shall descend to the academy and run races beneath the sacred olives along with some modest compeer. if you do these things which i say, and apply your mind to these, you will ever have a stout chest, a clear complexion, broad shoulders, a little tongue, large hips, little lewdness. but if you practice what the youths of the present day do, you will have in the first place a pallid complexion, small shoul- ders, a narrow chest, a large tongue, little hips, great lewd- ness, a long psephism; and this innovator will persuade you wisdom and will in education. to consider everything that is base to be honorable, and what is honorable to be base." after making all allowance lor the license of the poet and the enthusiasm of a laudator temporis acti this quotation from the clouds probably pre- sents a view of the case as it appeared to many athenians toward the close of the fifth century b. c. while the activity of the sophists was confined to a single century, the influence they exerted upon greek education was ineffaceable. moreover, we meet with teachers of this type at two or three periods during the first christian centuries. while they differ from the older sophists in minor points, they are their true spiritual descendants in the stress they lay on the ability to speak interestingly and persuasively on any topic, no matter how void of content. the study of the poets in the schools of ancient greece seems to have been about as follows: boys are first taught their letters at school,—for be it remembered that girls do not go to school—and as soon as they can read a little, the teacher places in their hands as they sit on benches, the works of good poets, which they are required to learn thor- oughly. how much of the teaching was oral we do not know, but some of it must have been from manuscript copies. "the purpose was not only to form the boy's lit- erary taste, or to give him the traditional lore; it was es- pecially a moral purpose, having regard to the precepts in the poets, and to the praises of great men of old,—'in order that the boy may emulate their examples and may strive to become such as they.'"—jebb. so late as the close of the first century b. c. homer still holds his place in the schools as a text-book for children. it should, however, be remarked that some of the ancient philosophers objected to this universal use of homer on moral grounds, and with good reason; but, so far as we aspects of ancient greek education. know, their protests produced no effect. as usual, it was the status quo that so long held its ground against the ini- tiative. here again our thoughts almost involuntarily turn to italy and germany, the home of music, poetry, painting and philosophy—countries until recently as badly governed as the states of ancient greece. only after centuries of internecine strife, disintegration, and the most wretched administration have these countries achieved a national unity, the permanence of which is by no means assured. will their efficient educational system effect what the genius of the people aimed at in vain? it is not much wonder that practical people do not greatly concern them- selves about national education. the greeks were not lacking in patriotism. their orators are never weary of calling up the memory of the heroes of marathon and ther- mopylae, and their hearers never failed to manifest a justi- fiable pride in the glorious deeds of their ancestors. but they could not be aroused to emulation and to a willingness to make similar sacrifices when occasion called. greek writers on education generally lay much strees on the importance of making the systems of instruction con- form to the existing constitution. speaking broadly, this means that where the established form of government is aristocratic, the young should be taught to respect it, and where democratic it should be looked upon with the same feeling. socrates, as is well known, went to the farthest extreme in his reverence for the laws of his country, and voluntarily sacrificed his life to an edict that he held to be clearly unjust. he felt, as few men have felt since his time, that for no possible excuse should a law be evaded. though a great admirer of the institutions of his native city, he was keenly alive to the pernicious influence of wisdom and will in education. demagogues, a class of men who were ever ready to advo- cate any measure that promised to subserve their immediate ends. during his trial he tells his judges that he is di- vinely commissioned to act as a monitor to his countrymen, and that he dared not abridge his life by exposing it to the animosity of an opposing political party. convinced as he was that virtue and knowledge were re- ciprocally interchangeable terms, he believed that all that was needed to make a man virtuous was to make him intel- ligent. the corollary to this belief was that the form of government under which men live was unimportant. on the other hand, the chief thinkers of the socratic school were not fully in accord with their master on this point, and nearly all exhibit a preference for the aristocratic con- stitution of the dorians. the fickle democracies of their times wrought a feeling of disgust in the minds of most thinking men who were not practical politicians, and they looked to a government in the hands of a small number of persons to guarantee the state against ever recurring inno- vations. we have in these opinions some pretty clear an- ticipations of compulsory education as advocated in recent years by the majority of educators. it was held that a strong government should early take the prospective citi- zen in hand and instruct him in the political duties that pertained to the sphere he was intended to fill. the ruinous effects of democratic government in greece became, in the course of time painfully evident, yet it is not easy to see that, in the main, the aristocrats governed any better. greece, indeed, found peace under the protec- tion of a strong power exerted from without, but it was at the expense of all that had made her a conspicuous place in the history of the world. plainly, the price paid was much too high for the value of the commodity. aspects of ancient oreek education. many intelligent greeks seem to have reached the same conclusion now held by not a few of our thinkers. an enormous mass of matter issues from the press in our day designed to warn the public against the dangers to be appre- hended from an unenlightened democracy. the only rem- edy proposed is more intelligence for the masses. our pan- acea is likewise a thorough system of instruction vigorously administered. in fact, the same view is generally held in europe, and current history is a repetition on a large scale of the history of ancient greece. the germans expect to strengthen and perpetuate monarchy by a thorough and effi- cient system of public instruction; the english and french look for the same results from the same cause under a re- gime in which democracy is constantly growing in power and influence. an important fact that should always be kept in mind in the study of greek education is that even where it was not aristocratic it was always exclusive. it kept in view but a small portion of the actual population. the inhabitants of attica, during the period here under discussion probably varied in number from , to , . of these from , to , were citizens. the remainder were slaves, with a small number of resident aliens. 'women were en- tirely excluded from the benefit of systematic intellectual training. all they learned related exclusively to domestic affairs. the few women who figure in greek history were, at least so far as athens is concerned, of the class whose reputation was questionable. there were not lacking evi- dences of dissatisfaction with this state of affairs, but it produced no tangible results. slavery was an institution so firmly established in the so- cial fabric of antiquity that we rarely meet with any who questioned its justice. greek writers, almost without ex- wisdom and will in education. ^eption, looked upon it as founded in the nature of man. they held that many men are servile by nature and only fitted to be in subjection to others. admitting this reason- ing to be correct, we are at a loss to see how they overlooked th« fact that men often fell into slavery through no fault of their own. the almost inevitable fate of the vanquished in war was to be sold into servitude, a fate that bore heavi- est on women and children. these rarely had the oppor- tunity of choosing between death and bondage. the in- tense love of liberty that has always been a conspicuous trait of the greek character makes it all the more remarkable that slavery should be regarded by them as the proper con- dition of many people, not excepting some that belonged to their own race. note.—it ought, perhaps, to be said that the stoics taught, at least indirectly, if not directly, the natural equality of all and the universal right to freedom. paul doubtless had this doc- trine in mind in his speech on mars hill when he said that god had "made of one every nation of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth." but neither christianity nor stoicism exerted any marked influence on the status of the members of the body politic for many centuries, and therefore not on that of the slave. the early converts who were slaves, did not claim that their conver- sion gave them any title to freedom, and christian masters did not feel called upon to manumit those in bondage to them. that in christ "there is neither bond nor free" must not be understood as interfering with the social condition of those professing it any more than the same admission would have required the southern white man to treat his blacks as his equals. the theory repre- sented an aspiration that had hardly a perceptible influence on the fact. in like manner the dictum that "god is no respecter of per- sons" was equally held by the later stoics and the christians; but its practical effect hardly meant more than that the christian master will treat his slave in a brotherly manner and the chris- tian slave will serve his master faithfully. the early christian aspects of ancient greek education. freedom to do, at least within certain limits, whatever -one liked, was a right that was always ardently maintained by the athenians. thucydides lays great stress upon this trait of his countrymen in the well-known oration that he puts in the mouth of pericles. the spartans who gave up their lives at thermopylae desired posterity to know that this deed of patriotism was done in obedience to the laws of their country. on the other hand, the athenians exhibited equal bravery at marathon and elsewhere because they rec- ognized that the liberty of all greece was at stake. theirs was a voluntary sacrifice for the good of their country, not mere obedience to law. it was a notable exhibition of in- dividual prowess rather than obedience to tradition. nowhere was this love of liberty and the lack of it more strikingly shown than in the educational system of the two states. in sparta the child became at birth, or even be- fore, the ward of the state. it was trained by the state and for the state exclusively. we are astonished at the overwhelming power of tradition. but as this training was almost entirely of a military character, it was of little value except in times of war. the arts of peace received no at- tention, and the consequences could not be otherwise than disastrous. sparta, like athens, fell a prey to the foreign conqueror, and left behind no memorials of her former greatness. but athens, even in her ruins, is glorious. it is probable, however, that even in athens the state, or a strong public sentiment, required the citizen to give his teachers were even more careful than the stoics not to countenance anything that might cause them to fall under the suspicion of stirring up sedition. their disciples seem to have been equally on their guard. it is worth noting, too, that under some of the roman emperors the stoics, no less than the christians, were per- secuted. wisdom and will in education. boys at least the rudiments of an education; but no more seems to have been required, and there is ample evidence on record that not all athenians were intelligent. if a citi- zen neglected the education of his sons it was a matter that concerned only the parties in interest and nobody else. there were laws to regulate the management of schools, but apparently none compelling their establishment. the greeks considered plenty of leisure as an indispens- able prerequisite to liberal culture. they could not con- ceive that a person who was compelled to labor with his hands might also be an earnest searcher after truth. the importance of liberal culture being conceded, it was argued that plenty of spare time was necessary for its acquisition, and that it could only be had by relegating to slaves those callings that were necessary to provide the means of liveli- hood for all. the question does not seem ever to have been seriously considered by any one whether it was possible so to educate those who have to toil with their hands that they might find in their hours of relaxation the solace and en- joyment of a trained intellect. the treatment of slaves in attica was exceptionally mild. all the greeks were simple in their manner of life and their wants were easily supplied. nevertheless, the free citi- zen was expected to devote himself to philosophy and to politics, but not to a handicraft of any kind. the poorest were not without their slaves, whose duty it was to provide for their physical wants. it must not be inferred that be- cause leisure and literature were here found together, the one was the necessary corollary of the other. the people of our southern states before the war of the rebellion were not lacking in leisure. a social system existed not un- like that which prevailed in ancient greece, yet the south produced neither artists, nor literary men, nor philosophers. aspects of ancient greek education. even its politicians were as much of a failure as those of ancient greece. the literary product of england did not come from the leisure class. the english nobility were often the patrons of literary men, but not themselves cre- ators of literature. from these facts it is again evident that when we study the ancient greeks we are dealing, not with a peculiar condition, but with a unique people. when we are examining greek education it is well to keep in mind the important part played in it by the social habits of the people. in time of peace it was customary for many of the citizens to meet together almost daily for purposes of literary and philosophical discussion. that ques- tions of this kind were not of interest to all is sufficiently evident; but that many took part in them is well attested, in spite of the fact that the political clubs of athens and other greek cities were the foci of all manner of schemes. no better school for young men can be imagined than these coteries, in which older men were the chief speakers, and where all questions of human interest were discussed over and over. it would not be difficult to name a score of men who might be found together in athens at almost any time during the period here under consideration, whose conversation, if well profited by for a year or two, would of itself constitute a liberal education. how valuable such a privilege was no one in our day can so well appreciate as the solitary student. the greeks had a strong aversion to the written character. on this point i can not do better than to quote the words of butcher. says he: "the sever- ance between writing and the fine arts—beneficent as it was from the artistic point of view, and no less so from the point of view of convenience—was unhappy for the prestige of writing, which was long regarded by the greeks as mechanical, symbolic—almost cabalistic. they wisdom and will in education. dissociated from it the notion of organic beauty and artistic form. now, as artists, they disliked all mere routine—all work that was merely mechanical. the free inspiration of the poet was checked by the use of conventional symbols; the epic and the drama depended, if not for their very ex- istence, at least for their vitality, on the living voice and on listening crowds. add to this fact that poetry, with its musical accompaniments, could be carried in the memory without external aid and appliances. * * * * socrates says writing is the mere image or phantom of the living and animated word. it does not teach what was not known be- fore; it only serves to remind the reader of something that he already knew. it enfeebles the power of thought. it is delusive even as an aid to memory, for it weakens and supersedes this faculty by providing an artificial substitute. moreover, it has no power of adaptation; it speaks in one voice to all; it cannot answer questions, meet objections, correct misunderstandings, or supplement its own omis- sions." the student of greek pedagogy can hardly fail to be im- pressed with its weakness in what we call its moral ele- ments. socrates, indeed, taught that it was just as far from right to injure an enemy as to injure a friend, and his countrymen seem to have had a sort of vague notion that justice prevails in the end. on the other hand, the greek orators in their harangues seldom appeal to any other motive than a rather narrow and short-sighted expediency. whatever they may have thought, they seem to have felt that it was only by such appeals that they could produce the impression they desired upon their auditors. a kind of fatalism, either latent or expressed, runs through the en- tire body of greek literature. it seems to have been ad- mitted that men might do what they would, the event lay aspects of ancient greek education. in the hands of the gods, who were often whimsical, and who often interfered in the best laid schemes of mortals without regard to their moral qualities. the religious be- lief of the greeks, so largely formed and moulded by the homeric poems, had a deleterious effect upon their con- duct. this was so keenly felt by men like plato that they wished to exclude them from the list of educational books. but this was only a theory, and no one seems to have ever thought seriously of putting it into practice. these poems exhibit, along with much that is surpassingly beautiful, the most revolting scenes of inhumanity, unchastity, lying and deception. there could hardly be a greater contrast between the books now put into the hands of the young and those that were in the hands of greek boys from their earliest childhood. the effect of this teaching, both direct and indirect, was of the most pernicious character. the qualities most conspicuous in greek heroes of both history and fiction were rarely such as would now commend them for imitation. there is nothing more prominent in the instruction of the young greek than the extraordinary stress laid upon the cultivation of the memory. it is the key-note of the entire system. from the beginning to the end of his school days he was constantly employed in learning by heart the literature of his country. the case of a young man is re- corded by xenophon who was required by his father to commit to memory the entire poems of homer; and there is nothing in the anecdote to show that the feat was re- garded as exceptional. in this connection we may also re- mind our readers of the story told regarding the humane treatment accorded by the sicilians to those athenian cap- tives who could repeat considerable portions of the dramas of euripides. in this respect the later greeks were doubt- wisdom and will in education. less influenced by the earlier rhapsodists who were in the habit of reciting long extracts from the homeric poems at the various entertainments and assemblies so common among their countrymen. yet this method, now regarded as so objectionable, and which is so rapidly going out of use, not only produced great literary characters, but great thinkers, great his- torians, great physicians, great mathematicians, great sci- entists, great artists, and great orators. with these facts and results before us, is it not safe to conclude that but one thing is indispensable for the most efficient intellectual training of the young, and that is a thorough acquaintance with the highest literary achievements of the race? the example and experience of the ancient greeks furnishes useful lessons for our time, both positively and negatively; positively, as showing that a small amount of knowledge may be so used as to produce intellectual excellence of the highest order; negatively as making plain the fact that something more than this is needed to make good citizens and guarantee the perpetuity of the state. it is a remarkable fact, to which there is room here for only a passing reference, that our own day is the witness of a return to the fundamental principles of greek pedagogy in the prominent place advocated for the study of litera- ture. what the greeks actually did we are strongly urged to ±o, namely, to begin the study of the best authors in the lowest grades and continue it through the highest. it goes without saying that the modern movement has no connec- tion with antiquity, but is the outgrowth of a careful study of our social condition and needs. nevertheless, some- thing more than literature is necessary. mere literature is a product that is too spontaneous in its origin to be a safe guide to conduct. we need to know history; we need to aspects of ancient greek education. q have placed before our young people the results of con- duct, the political and social experience of the race, if we would have them learn the effect of human conduct on the happiness or misery of mankind. if the habitual prac- tice of honesty, chastity, sobriety, truthfulness, self-denial for the good of others, do not in the long run bring the greatest good to the greatest number, and if the disregard of these virtues does not produce the opposite results, as shown by the experience of the older governments, where shall we find our sanctions for moral conduct? the extraordinary amount of attention bestowed upon athletic training by the greeks has been referred to above, and is, moreover, a fact so well known that not much need be said about it here. strength, agility, swiftness, and en- durance were qualities of supreme importance to the citi- zens of states that were more at war than at peace. the athenians strove to make sound bodies as well as sound minds; or, rather, they regarded both as of equal import- ance. the spartans, on the other hand, almost wholly neglected the mind, but trained the body to the highest de- gree of efficiency. the practice of athletic games was more nearly universal among the greeks than attention to moral culture. the various governments provided the necessary buildings and appurtenances with far greater liberality than they provided for schools. a collection of houses among which there was no gymnasium was not regarded as entitled to the name of city. it was especially in athletic contests that emulation and rivalry were stimulated to the highest degree. the athenians, however, went farther and instituted literary contests, and their intellectual superi- ority is in no small degree due to this fact. sparta and athens are usually spoken of as the leading states of greece, but we do not always keep in mind that wisdom and will in education. what we know of the achievements of spartans comes to us through the records of their hereditary enemies, the ath- enians. to the latter we may fitly apply the words of longfellow and say that most of them are both "writers- and fightersto the former the line of dr. johnson is more suitable, for they live to us only "to point a moral or adorn a tale." as the moon and the stars would be invisible except for the illuminating rays of the sun, so sparta and the lesser states of greece would emit but a few faint glimmerings in the dark vista of history were it not for the light shed upon them by athens. if we would form a just estimate of this remarkable people we need to keep in mind the small num- ber of athenian citizens at any time, and then consider that among this number were more men in a single century who profoundly influenced the progress of thought than ever appeared in the same length of time subsequently in the whole world. while its true that the conditions under which they lived cannot again be restored, the study of this age, so prolific in great men, must ever continue to be one of profound in- terest. no wonder that schiller, looking back from the troublous times in which he lived, should give vent to the feelings that burdened his sad heart in the beautiful lan- guage of his poem, "the gods of greece," the closing stanza of which reads: "home! and with them are gone the hues they gazed on and the tones they heard; life's beauty and life's melody:—alone broods o'er the desolate void, the lifeless word; yet, rescued from time's deluge, still they throng unseen the pindus they were wont to cherish: aspects of ancient greek education. ah, that which gains immortal life in song, to mortal life must perish!" the genius of the greek people, as expressed in literature and art, remained but a short time at the zenith of its glory. greek history is not without interest, even to the fall of the eastern empire; but more than a thousand years before this event took place those elements of greek social life that are the most important to posterity had virtually disappeared from the earth. the alexandrian period was one of intense intellectual activity, but this activity was concerned almost wholly with the past. after greece had become a roman province, schools of rhetoric were established and maintained in nearly all the cities and towns of the east as well as in greece proper. a knowledge of the greek language was a common accom- plishment in almost the whole roman empire, and there seem to have been few illiterates. it is a noteworthy fact that paul wrote his epistle to the romans in greek. long after the separation of the eastern from the western em- pire the great mass of the classical writings, as well as most of what had been produced in the interim, was still in existence, and much of it read in the schools. it is to the saracens and, perhaps, in an equal degree to the inroads of the crusaders that is due the immense loss of manu- scripts that modern students so greatly deplore. it is hardly possible to contemplate the history of greece without a feeling of profound sorrow for her manifold misfortunes and a feeling of contempt for her wretched statecraft. all accessible evidence goes to prove that the lessons of the past have been almost wholly lost on the present generation, no less than upon their immediate predecessors for two or three generations. nations have wisdom and will ix education. no guide for the future but the experience of the past, and if they refuse or neglect to profit thereby they are certain to reap the bitter fruits of their folly and shortsightedness. it is a sad fact that though the people of europe have been studying greek life for at least five hundred years they have profited little by the lesson left upon record— as little as the greeks themselves. the moderns appro- priated from the ancients what gratified the taste, but gave hardly any practical attention to the things that would have made life a thousandfold more worth living. what would we say of the wisdom of that man who should give much attention to the art of dressing well and taste- fully but should concern himself little about the laws of health? in theory no one maintains that it is better to look well than to be well; in practice this is the uncon- scious maxim the vast majority have followed. of no people can it be said with more truth than of the greeks: if the will of the majority had supported the wisdom of the intelligent—not the intellectual—minority, the history of the world would have been many times brighter. note.—francis galton, a severely scientific investigator thus expresses himself in regard to the greeks, in his hereditary ge- nius. "the ablest race of whom history bears record is un- questionably the ancient greek, partly because their master- pieces in the principal departments of intellectual activity are still unsurpassed and in many respects unequalled, and partly because the population that gave birth to the creators of these masterpieces was very small." he then gives a list of the dis- tinguished men produced between and b. c. numbering fourteen. after citing a quantity of facts, he says further: "it follows from all this that the average ability of the athenian race is, on the lowest possible estimate, very nearly two grades higher than our own—that is, about as much as our race is above the negro. this estimate, which may seem prodigious to some, aspects of ancient greek education. is confirmed by the quick intelligence and high culture of the athenian community before whom literary works were recited and works of art exhibited, of a far more severe character than could possibly be appreciated by the average of our race, the caliber of whose intellect is easily gauged by the contents of a railway book-stall." his reasons, actual and inferential, for the rapid decline of the "marvelously-gifted race" are thus stated. "social morality grew exceedingly lax; marriage became unfashionable and was avoided; many of the more accomplished and ambitious women were avowed courtesans, and consequently infertile, and the mothers of the incoming population were of a heterogenous class. in a small sea-bordered country where emigration and immigration are constantly going on, and where the manners are as dissolute as were those of greece in the period of which i speak, the purity of a race would necessarily fail. it can be, therefore, no surprise to us, though it has been a severe misfortune to humanity, that the high athenian breed decayed and disappeared; for if it had maintained its excellence, and had multiplied and spread over large countries, displacing inferior populations (which it might well have done, for it was naturally very prolific), it would as- suredly have accomplished results advantageous to human civiliza- tion, to a degree that transcends our powers of imagination." aspects of ancient greek ethics. there is perhaps no social question on which it is more difficult to form a correct opinion than upon the ethical standard of a people. it is not easy when we take into ac- count our contemporaries, or even our neighbors; but it is tenfold more difficult when we study nations that are widely separated from us in time and space, or both. an addi- tional element of complexity is introduced into the prob- lem by the fact that ethical standards are not uniform, nor are all the parts that enter into it regarded as of equal im- portance. they exhibit a kind of moral stratification, some of the layers of which are thick and easily observed, while others are thin, or do not exist at all. it is true, the moral characteristics of a nation have more or less relation to each other, but they are not all, nor necessarily, con- nected. for instance, commercial integrity is not always found associated with continence, or with that virtue that is known in modern times as temperance. it is safe to say, that, on the whole, the commercial integrity of the french is as high as that of the english; but there is every reason to believe that social purity is regarded as of less import- ance by the former than the latter. again, in a study of ( ) wisdom and will in education. define carefully the various elements that make up the standard. speaking figuratively, we may say that it is a compound into which a number of ingredients of necessity enter, and in varying quantity. we shall be more likely to attain definite results if we make the comparison along certain lines, or follow certain strata, so far as this can be done with the available material. it is a matter of common experience, that foreigners differ widely in their estimate of the general character of a people among whom they have dwelt for a time. we sometimes find their reports diverg- ing so widely that we are at a loss to understand how they can refer to the same community. the same thing often occurs in the case of individuals; and we are driven, for an explanation, to the extreme fallibility of human judgment. as it is proposed in the present article to make a brief study of greek ethical standards, we need here only to refer to a fact well known to scholars, that modern writers upon this question have reached widely different results. i be- lieve that, generally speaking, the conclusions of the mod- erns have been too favorable. i believe, further, that this is largely owing to undue stress laid upon certain noble traits exhibited by the greeks and an excessive admiration for their aesthetic qualities, to the neglect of other equally * important characteristics in the make-up of national char- acter. strange as it may seem, the germans appear to have come widest of the mark, while the french and english have exhibited the greeks more nearly in their true light. friedrich jacobs, for instance, in his enthusiastic admira- tion of the aesthetic taste of this people, frequently draws inferences favorable to their ethic qualities to which they are hardly entitled. schiller's well-known "goetter greich- enlands" has contributed not a little to shed a halo over the aspects of ancient greek ethics. mythology of the ancient greeks. no doubt there are points of view from which the free-and-easy life of an- tiquity becomes attractive to us, hemmed in as we are by the conventionalities among which we live and move from day to day. but if their condition is studied from all sides, and from the standpoint of every member of the body politic, the verdict can scarcely fail to be less favorable. the history of greece, no less than the writings of her phil- osophers, is adequate evidence that the citizens of the greek republics very often suffered quite as much from too little government, at least of a wholesome sort, as the con- temporaries of jacobs and schiller suffered from too much. it is a well-marked tendency of our times to idealize a social condition so much nearer to nature, in a certain sense, than our own, that makes so many writers glorify, and at times sigh for, the life of our germanic ancestors, or even the nomadic life to the undivided aryan race. by directing our attention too much to those features of social life that contrast favorably with our own, and leaving out of account the many disagreeable features that are an es- sential part of the picture, it is easy to make the mistake to which i have just referred. it is unwise to lose sight of the fact that restraint and civilization move forward hand in hand. in the evolution of social life, there is a constant tendency to abridge the liberty of the individual, for the good of the community, and in order to secure greater freedom for him as a member of the body politic. it can be clearly shown that what is so often called the natural state of man is a misnomer, and that one state is no more natural than another. our mod- ern weltschmerz, the desire to be something else'than what we are and where we are, has led many a man to construct out of a figment of his imagination, a state of existence that. wisdom and will in education. could never be found anywhere on the face of the globe. if, like the usurer of horace, of whom he sings in his second epode, they were brought face to face with this imaginary state, they would probably decide, as he did, that, after all, they are better off than they would be if transplanted into their imaginary paradise. let us consider for a moment what we are to understand by ethical conduct. perhaps we cannot better define it than to say, that it is conduct regulated according to a law not made by ourselves that makes for righteousness. but a great deal depends on what we understand by righteous- ness, and there is not room here to discuss the point. as soon, however, as an individual recognizes such a law and voluntarily obeys it, in contravention of a narrowly selfish impulse, he begins to be an ethical being. it is evident that, until he admits the binding force upon him of such a law, he is unfit to be a member of a political or social body. it is asserted by some writers.—muensterberg in his "ursprung der sittlichkeit" expresses himself very positively on this point,—that the people which the ger- mans call naturvoelker act wholly without any ethical elements in the motives that influence their conduct. but it is not easy to see how even the most primitive people can exist in a state deserving the appellation of "social," with feelings towards each other so nearly on a par with brutes. on the contrary, it seems to be nearer the truth, that all human beings, even the lowest, perform some acts and refrain from others from ethical motives. it is prob- ably more correct to find the germs of ethical conduct in certain brutes. to assert anything positively on either question is' hazardous, and to draw inferences from our meager knowledge accessible in both cases is scarcely less so. if the lowest savages are governed wholly by impulse aspects of ancient greek ethics. and the desire to gratify their passions immediately and without regard to the remoter results of conduct, it is hard to see at what stage the germs of altruism are discoverable. certain it is that the greeks of the earliest ages had already long passed the primitive state, and even that oc- cupied by all the eastern nations, except the hebrews. they were intensely patriotic, in the sense of being ar- dently attached to their fellow-citizens, their ancestral cus- toms, and their native land. for these they were generally willing to sacrifice everything they possessed, not except- ing life itself. they recognized national, and to some ex- tent international, obligations. they had some conception of the importance of family life in the perpetuity of the state. they had a strong sense of the dignity of manhood and a deep-seated aversion to monarchy in all its forms. the ethical systems of some of the greek philosophers were far in advance of the popular standard, and approximated more or less closely to that of the new testament. on the other hand, it is extremely doubtful whether any believed in their system so thoroughly as to make its precepts the norm for the regulation of their own lives. besides, the popular notions as to the character of the gods had a most deleterious influence on private morality,—an influence from which even the noblest philosophers were not wholly exempt. the greeks when they first come under our observa- tion, had already passed, by a long interval, beyond a prim- itive stage of religious belief. nevertheless, to them the universe was literally filled with divinities, benevolent or malevolent, as circumstances might dispose them. the most serious hindrance to any consistent line of conduct, in the popular mind, was the caprice of the divinities. their good-will was sometimes gained, and their enmity wisdom and will ik education. often incurred by the most trivial acts,—acts which in their nature had no ethical value, but frequently the contrary. unlike the romans, the greeks knew of no way to compel the favor of the gods. but even the most august and powerful of the dwellers on olympus was not wholly su- preme in the affairs of men or of the gods. a mightier than he was blind fate, inscrutable destiny, that was the final arbiter in everything. the greeks when they first come before us in the ho- meric poems are already organized into civic communities. they recognize a body of unwritten laws which the ro- mans designated by mos majorum, mos patriots and other like terms. the validity of these customs has its sanction in the experience of men everywhere, but they are most scrupulously obeyed where the talent for political organiza- tion is most marked. neither in politics nor in ethics were the greeks very firmly attached to tradition, though this attachment was stronger among the spartans than else- where. the willingness to accept foreign arts and cus- toms had a deleterious effect upon their morals; and it is well established that some of their worst vices were intro- duced from the east. they never exhibited the moral earn- estness manifested by the hebrews at a much earlier period. they were too fond of having a "good time"; too ready to give the loose rein to their passions; too willing to gratify sensual desires. in consequence, they could not be induced for any length of time to follow the counsels of those who had more wisdom and political insight than has the average man. if we turn aside for a moment to com- pare the moral character and earnestness of the ancient hebrews with the greeks, the result of the comparison will be very greatly to the advantage of the former. from the very nateire of the case, a code of laws formed by a single aspects of ancient greek ethics. mind, able to discern intuitively the remote effects of con- duct, will always be superior to one that is the product of evolution by an entire people. it is doubtful whether any one man in the history of the world has so deeply and lastingly influenced its thought as the patriarch abraham. coming forth as he did from among an idolatrous people to proclaim the unity and spirituality of god, his was a step forward and upward the far-reaching consequences of which cannot be over-estimated. judaism, mohammedan- ism and christianity are based upon this thought. the more the career of this man is studied, the more remarkable it is; inexplicable, we may well call it, from the mere hu- man standpoint. from the central idea around which his whole life revolved, his people, in spite of their frequent moral lapses, never entirely departed. when we consider the abominations that idolatry has always and everywhere countenanced, the ethical import of abraham's life is brought into still greater prominence. greatly as we must admire socrates for his wisdom, his keen insight, and his moral earnestness along certain lines, we can but feel that his friendliness toward the mythology of his country was detrimental to his influence as a teacher of morals. it was such a tissue of ridiculous absurdities, that it is hard to see how so intelligent a man as he could have had any pa- tience with it. or, if he regarded the popular mythology in its true light, his best friends have strangely misinter- preted his attitude. the history of the world shows with painful distinctness, that, until men had emancipated themselves from a belief in the plurality of gods, there was no ethical basis possible for the regulation of human conduct. the greeks of homer's age have often been compared to children; and not unaptly. but it should not be forgotten, wi d m and will in education. that, while they exhibited some traits that we expect to find in children, they often gave way to the basest passions of full-grown men. the range of their ethical ideas was more circumscribed than that of the moderately well- trained child of our day. the ferocity they sometimes manifested is appalling. a typical example is the treat- ment of the dead hector by his slayer achilles. there is no shadow of excuse or justification for his conduct toward a chivalrous foe. he had engaged in a deadly duel with the odds against him, and under circumstances that would naturally have aroused compassion in any breast but that of the lowest savage. yet even the poet who relates the story of this harrowing deed has no word of condemnation for the victor or of compassion for the vanquished. in subsequent times this same bloodthirsty and vindictive achilles was regarded by all the greeks as the embodiment of youthful beauty and heroic bravery. similar ferocity is sometimes exhibited under other circumstances, as in the case of medea, but there is usually more or less justifi- cation for it. but the influence of the homeric poems upon the popular mind was far greater than that of any other literary production. it was an unfortunate circumstance for the ethical de- velopment of the greeks, that their literature for the most part commended itself, in spite of its low moral tone, by reason of its aesthetic excellence. that some of their best thinkers clearly recognized and deplored this fact is well known. it is hardly to be doubted that the homeric poems retarded the moral growth of the greek nation quite as much as they refined and elevated and promoted their lit- erary taste. while there is no question, that, from the dawn of philosophic inquiry, many persons began to out- grow the anthropomorphic ideas they embody, this intel- aspects of ancient greek ethics. lectual emancipation brought with it little or no profit to the cause of morality. the greek rationalists, like the french freethinkers of the eighteenth century, not only lost faith in a religion that was largely supported by hy- pocrisy, but they also surrendered that part of it which furnished a support and sanction for moral conduct. in the time of aristophanes even the greek populace had seem- ingly given up all respect for their gods, or faith in their traditional mythology; yet, with a strange inconsistency, they feared the very beings whose existence they doubted. temple robbery and sacrilege were at all times regarded as heinous crimes, and severely punished. long after the period here under consideration, paul found the athenians scrupulous observers of the external forms of religion, and indifferent to its spirit. while it is probably true that the conduct of socrates at his trial was the chief cause of his death, it must be said, to the eternal disgrace of his countrymen, that they were willing deliberately to enter- tain charges of the most ridiculous character against him; and they condemned him to death for crimes that nine- tenths of the jury must have known that he had not com- mitted. this brings us to another reprehensible trait of the greeks—their slight regard for human life. men were put to death upon the flimsiest pretexts,—sometimes singly, sometimes in large numbers. socrates tells his fellow- citizens, that he would probably not have survived many years if he had engaged in politics, for in the nature of the case, he must ere long have fallen a victim to party ran- cor. the ferocity with which their feuds were often car- ried on almost exceeds belief. in every city, and at all times, there seems to have been a large number of "outs," who neglected no opportunity to get possession of the gov- wisdom and will ix education. eminent. their object was always purely selfish, except in some rare instances where self-preservation was the mo- tive. in these internecine struggles, men were as recklessly deprived of life as if it were a thing of little value. ju- dicial proceedings in capital cases were characterized by the same precipitancy. one would suppose that the plain- est dictates of prudence would plead for leniency toward a defeated party. a turn of the political wheel might easily bring those who were below to the top, and mercy shown could be used as a valid ground for asking mercy in re- turn. but, as would be expected of short-sighted children, the only question with the dominant party was always, how to root out every particle of unfriendliness, as if this could be done so effectually that it could never raise its head again. the greeks never grasped the importance of law in the development of civic institutions. what the germans call rechtssinn was almost entirely lacking in their char- acter. as if afraid to trust themselves, they frequently passed decrees fixing severe penalties on any one who should propose the repeal of a law. the persistence of this racial type is plainly seen in greek politics in our own day. every citizen is or wants to be a politician or a statesman, and there is little doubt that if modern greece were a pure republic, the people would want to elect a president at least as often as once a month, and turn out all the office- holders in order to make room for a new set. the injus- tice this mode of procedure has worked from time immemo- rial need not here be dwelt upon. greek political writers, beginning with the earliest, often deplore this fickleness of their countrymen. again and again they said: if you will cease to quarrel among yourselves, compose your in- ternal feuds, and unite in a common enterprise, you can aspects of ancient greek ethics. easily make yourselves masters of the entire world. but such admonitions almost always fell upon deaf ears it is not remarkable, then, that a strong foreign power which promised to put an end to internal strife should be wel- comed by many thinking men in greece. it was the best thing attainable imder the circumstances. the greeks never grasped the importance of personal responsibility. the citizen was merged in the city. in many cases a body of men that might fitly be characterized as a mob, decided what was right and what was wrong according to the pas- sions then prevalent what a travesty upon justice their collective action when laboring under excitement often was, is well known. a cardinal moral weakness of the greeks was their readi- ness to accept bribes. not only were many of them always willing to receive money from the persians, but offers from their own countrymen rarely came amiss. it is true that public sentiment was strongly against such conduct, but it was not strong enough to make the business thor- oughly odious. it seems to have been felt that the loudest outcry was often made against it by those who were so un- fortunate as not to have been subjected to temptation. this penchant is, in part at least, explicable by two char- acteristics that were prominent in the greeks: one of these was the keen enjoyment of sensuous pleasures; the other, a decided aversion to labor. as public opinion was strongly against the citizen who engaged in money-making enter- prises, other avenues for getting rich were readily entered. the citizen must not labor; if he does, he forfeits the re- spect of his fellow-men, no matter how much his charac- ter may be deserving of it. personal worth is not the de- cisive factor in such a case. the state is the arbiter in the wisdom and will in education. matter; and the state has decided that labor is for the slave, state-craft and philosophy for the free man. nothing strikes us as more remarkable in the most ad- vanced greek thought than its attitude toward human slavery. that the popular mind accepted the status quo without a question is not strange, but that the philosophers, almost without exception, were unable to see that the "sum of villanies" must eventually be abolished, is inexplicable. they anticipated modern thought in many directions. in some things they seem even to have divined the goal it would ultimately reach. but slavery was to them so es- sential a part of civic and social life, that no thought of its ultimate abolition dawned upon the mind of any one. the justification of slavery by aristotle and others reminds one of the puerile arguments sometimes heard, in ante bellum days, in favor of letting slavery in the south alone, on the ground that the owners of slaves had lawfully paid for them. when the stagirite tells us that some persons are by nature of a servile disposition, and fitted only for a station in which they will be wholly under the tutelage of a superior, we readily assent; but, when he proceeds to justify slavery on this account, we involuntarily ask our- selves, whether he is in earnest, and expects to be taken seriously. it was sometimes the misfortune of the wisest and noblest to fall into slavery. as wars were anciently carried on, it could not be predicated with certainty of any one that he would never be sold as a slave. the weakest and least deserving from any point of view,—the women and the children—were most in danger. their birth did not decide their destiny, though it might in some cases mitigate the treatment they received. where slavery ex- ists, human life is cheap. it brutalizes men, not only toward the unfortunate beings who are in their power, soul and body, but also toward equals. it has been an unmiti- aspects of ancient greek ethics. gated curse wherever it has existed; yet governments have clung to it, and encouraged it, with a persistence worthy of a hetter cause. perhaps, after all, we need not be surprised that no ancient philosopher looked forward to the time when slavery should be abolished in every civilized country. compare note on page . it is well known that in all the grecian and roman cities there was a considerable population debarred from the rights and privileges of citizenship, though to some extent under the protection of law. there is no doubt that the existence of numerous slaves, together with the class just referred to, had a most deleterious effect upon the public morals. abundant experience has proved that the surest way to bring the state to its highest efficiency and its great- est security, as well as to elevate the tone of its morals, is to grant to as large a number as possible of those enjoying the protection of its laws a direct share in the government. this gives to all a personal interest in the internal affairs of the state, and makes every one more or less responsible for its perpetuity. there is no way to ruin a young man more completely than to make him feel that, do what he will, he can never become of any importance to any one. not even to himself. as he cannot elevate himself, lie has no interest in assisting others to rise. but he may, and generally does, revenge himself and gratify his social in- stinct by dragging others down to his own moral level. wherever slavery has existed, human life has been cheap., and public morality low. that the latter was exceptionally so in ancient greece becomes more and more evident as one's knowledge of the subject deepens. there is abundant testimony to show that chastity and conjugal fidelity on the part of men were neither com- mended nor practiced. prostitution was frightfully com- wisdom and will in educatiox. mon. married women were held to strict account, lest they might debauch the state by illegitimate offspring, but there was no restraint upon husbands, either in the laws or in public opinion. a few passages bearing upon this point may properly be cited here. in the second book of his memorabilia, xenophon reports the following remark as made by socrates to his son: "and, in truth, you are not to assume that men beget children for the sake of mere sensual pleasure, since the streets as well as the brothels are full of the means of gratifying desire." this state- ment bears strong testimony to the prevalence of the social evil in athens in the fourth century b. c, but it is also evidence of the matter-of-fact way in which it was regarded by men like socrates. testimony to the same effect is furnished by demosthenes in his harangue against neaera we quote a single passage: "we have mistresses for the sake of pleasure; concubines for the daily attendance upon our persons; wives for the sake of legitimate children and of having faithful guardians of our households." here the orator's "we have'" shows that he is speaking of what is universally admitted, and not of himself alone. he is but identifying himself, in the matter of sexual morality, with the mass of the citizens. a wife is not regarded as a companion or an equal, but as a creature that exists solely in order that legitimate offspring may be brought into the world. if one would realize what such a confession im- plies, let him remember the public occasion on which it was uttered; then let him picture to himself what the effect of such an avowal would be if made in the presence of hundreds, perhaps thousands of men in our day. let him remember, too, that we are not dealing with the mere off- scourings of a great city; but that the orator is standing in the presence of the most respectable citizens, who had aspects of ancient greek ethics. met together for the purpose of hearing what a great orator would say on an important case. i am aware that this oration is now generally regarded as wrongly attributed to demosthenes. this, however, detracts little from its value as testimony to the moral status of the athenians in the time of the great orator. its importance in the history of greek morals remains unimpeached; besides it only cor- roborates testimony of the same character found in other writings. when one reads some of the plays of aristo- phanes for the first time he involuntarily asks himself whether a condition of things such as he in part describes, and in part assumes to be well known, can have existed in any community having any claim to be called civilized; yet a more thorough knowledge of the then current sexual mo- rality of the greek cities soon convinces the student that the witty poet has not painted his picture in too deep colors. the epistles cf paul, written several centuries later, make it painfully evident that greeks and komans, even after their conversion to christianity, were slow to yield the lax moral notions they had held while heathen. social purity was a vice so deeply ingrained in the habits of the people that it was almost impossible to eradi- cate it. to this day the effort has been successful only in a very moderate degree. nothing is more clear than that the greeks made light of such a command as, "thou shalt not commit adultery"; much less did they realize the high moral standard of christ set forth in the words, "whoso- ever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath already committed adultery with her in his heart." it is doubtful whether this phase of conduct was ever seriously considered by any of their philosophers. in all greek literature there is no more typical character than ulysses. his prominent traits are fertility of re aspects of ancient greek ethics. to which few of his countrymen ever attained even in their philosophical systems, much less in their conduct. it must, however, be admitted that in spite of the short-comings of the greek people in both their public and private life most of the greek thinkers had a profound conviction of the moral order of the world. their weltanschauung is largely tinged with pessimism because their countrymen so often chose and persisted in courses that could lead nowhere but into disaster. herodotus somewhere says that the most unfortunate situation in which a man can find himself is when he sees calamity approaching and is unable to avert it. aeschylus inquires, "what defence are riches to a man who insolently spurneth out of sight the mighty altar- throne of justice?" after enlarging upon this theme he cites the case of paris as a warning example of a man who by frivolous and unrighteous conduct brought innumer- able woes upon his family and his country. he contends that "justice shines in houses dark with smoke and honors virtuous life; while gold-bespangled seats, where hands are filthy, she leaveth with averted eyes, and unto pious homes repairs, revering not the power of wealth with spurious commendation stamp'd." "the swift stroke of justice comes down upon some in the noonday light; pain waits on others in the midst of darkness, and the gloom of night overshadows them." at another place he says: "there is a voiceless law which is not seen by thee while thou sleepest, walkest and sittest; which accompanies thee, now at thy side, now behind. for the darkness of night does not conceal thy evil deeds, but whatsoever crime thou hast committed, doubt not some one has seen it." the historians are equally certain that wrong-doers can not escape the penalty of their misdeeds. there is room wisdom and will in education. here for but a single citation. herodotus puts into the- mouth of a spartan the following anecdote: three generations ago a certain milesian came to sparta to a citizen of that place renowned far and wide for hi» probity, and left with him a valuable deposit of money. he also gave to the citizen, whose name was glaucus, cer- tain tallies with the directions that the money was to be returned to the person who produced the tallies. many years after, the sons of the depositor appeared before glau- cus and, producing the tallies, asked to have the deposit re- turned. the spartan now professed to have forgotten the matter, but promised to do what was just in case he really had received the money, as the strangers asserted. he wanted four months for reflection. meanwhile he went to delphi to consult the oracle as to whether he might be per- mitted to swear that he had not received the money and so make a prize of it. the pythoness replied that he might do as he wished since death is equally the lot of those who keep oaths and of those who do not; but the oath-god over- whelms with destruction the perjurers and preserves those who keep their promises. glaucus, now thoroughly fright- ened, besought pardon of the pythoness for his question, but she answered that it was as bad to tempt the god as to have done the deed. "at the present time," adds the nar- rator, "the family of glaucus is extinct in sparta." whether we read the poets, the philosophers, the historians or the orators we find the same clear views of the penalties involved in the infringement of the moral law. the athenian people may be compared to a woman who is endowed with all the possible charms of mind and per- son,—fair in face, stately in form, majestic in carriage, graceful in movement, bewitching in manner, with a ge- nius, it may be, for poetry or painting or sculpture; but aspects of ancient greek ethics. who is capricious, often utterly unreasonable, untrust- worthy, given to moods, now an angel, now a demon, yet always exhibiting the same \merring taste and displaying the same passionate love of what is beautiful. many modern writers have interested themselves in showing how the ethical elements of christianity were grad- ually evolved from the tenets of the greek philosophers. one of the most instructive recent contributions to this question is the "logos spermaticos" of dr. edward spiess. a volume of more than five hundred pages of parallel pas- sages to the new testament from the writings of ancient greeks. the inquiry is not without profit, as showing that, in the fullness of time, the world was ready for the teach- ings of christ, and that his appearance was not out of har- mony with social evolu^'on. but the ethical philosophy of the greeks lacked some important principles that were es- sential to the healthy and uninterrupted progress of the world. a gradual evolution will not account for the ap- pearance of the first man, nor of such characters as abra- ham and moses; least of all will it explain the coming of christ, unless we mentally supply some essential factors for which we have as yet no data. the weakest part of greek philosophy was its morality, because it was tinged with ethnic characteristics; the power of christ's teachings lies in their ethical elements of universal validity. knowledge and morality. there is, perhaps, no thought that occupies men's minds more frequently at the prensent time than admiration for the wonderful age in which we live. nor is this surprising. when one compares the closing years of the nineteenth century with the end of the sixties, and examines somewhat in detail the inventions and discoveries of the intervening period, he finds himself indeed in a new world. in nothing has public opinion undergone a more marked change than in the estimate placed upon the value of knowledge, per se. so many secrets have been wrung from the keeping of ma- terial nature, and the information thus gained has been turned, in so many ways, to the effective service of man, that the world seems to be looking for its temporal salva- tion in this direction. that the increase of the public wel- fare is commensurate with the advance of knowledge is an axiom that has influenced public opinion within the last few decades to a remarkable degree. the most tangible expression of this belief is the liber- ality shown, both by states and individuals, in the estab- lishment and support of institutions for the highest edu- cation. it is entirely safe to say that more money has been donated and voted for this purpose during the last ten or ( ) wisdom and will in education. if the effect of the general diffusion of knowledge is to promote the highest welfare of the largest number, it is probable that the form of government has little to do with the problem. but it will be profitable to consider, whether those periods of the world that are most conspicuous for intelligence were, on the whole, the happiest; whether there are not other factors of the social organism, such as na- tional traits, individual characteristics, and creeds, that are more potent for good than mere knowledge; and whether, conversely, we are not mistaken in assuming that all we need to do to make men better is to make them more intelligent. it is taken for granted that to make men more intelligent, or at least better informed, is to make them more reasonable. is the assumption correct? is it true that, as the majority becomes enlightened, as the world judges enlightenment, they will be more ready to help those, always a large proportion, of the population who need help and guidance and encouragement? one cannot read attentively the history of the ancient greeks without feeling all the time that many of them clearly recognized the horrors of war, and the futility of engaging in it with a view to gaining any permanent good. this is plainly indicated in their historians, their philoso- phers, and their dramatic moralists. they recognize, clearly, too, the existence of a rule of right that was not dependent upon the changing beliefs and impulses of men. they nevertheless were compelled to yield to public opin- ion in the midst of which they lived, and greek civilization decayed under their eyes and through forces against which they continually protested. a modern historian even goes so far as to say that the greeks were not naturally a war- like people, in spite of the fact that they were almost con- stantly engaged in war. even in the homeric poems the knowledge and morality. transcendent value of obedience to law and the rule of right are clearly recognized. yet how little influence did this recognition have on the progress of events. it is al- most literally true that the most civilized and intelligent people of antiquity went to their destruction with their €yes open. though wanting to do good, evil was ever present with them. it was impossible to make head against an all-powerful pernicious public opinion that received its inspiration not from reason, but from sentiment. on the other hand, the roman state was built up and maintained by the intense feeling of patriotism which made its citizens always act in the spirit of the maxim, "my coun- try, right or wrong." the romans possessed a genius for government which was not founded on intelligence, but on a national trait. passing over a large interval of time, we find this genius the most marked in the english. yet. taken on a whole, it will hardly be claimed that they have been the most intelligent people of europe for the last three or four hundred years.- on the other hand, it seems clear that the moral forces have, during most of this time, been more active and more influential in england than in any country on the continent. though there is some apparent injustice in comparing the two periods, owing to the difference in time, we are safe in saying that the reformation in germany had much less influence on the morals of the people than the move- ment inaugurated in england by the wesleys and white- field. in mere scholastic learning germany was unques- tionably far ahead of england in the middle of the eigh- teenth century, and probably for a long time before. the same is true in a more marked degree of france. yet, while france and germany were filled with scholars and men of genius, the country was going from bad to worse. ^yisdom and will in education. and, so far as a regeneration came, it was not inspired or carried out by them. in england, moral and religious forces have always been active and vigorous, as they still are; on the continent, except at rare intervals, weak. no matter how large a stock of facts we accumulate, if one has no inclination to use them, of what advantage are they? and, while england is doing less to-day than either france or germany to promote intelligence, and put the highest learning within reach of all, we do not hear of much that is done to promote practical morality in the latter countries. if we are to judge the situation from the testi- mony of germans and frenchmen, the moral condition of their countrymen is becoming worse as they are becoming more intelligent or at least more intellectual. plainly the salvation of the world does not come through worldly wis- dom. this is a truth confirmed by past experience and present observation. in view of the testimony just cited, the man who believes that "righteousness exalteth a nation" may well ask, what, then, shall we do? evidently to fill the land with scholars is not to fill it with men of character, with men who be- lieve in doing right because it is right. if the more intel- ligent members of a community are truthful and commer- cially honest because the practice of truth and honesty are the characteristics of a gentleman, but take no interest in the weak and degraded, it is not hard to see where and to what such indifference will lead. if there is any good reason for the somewhat widely dif- fused faith in the efficacy of mere education to promote the happiness of mankind, it ought to become strikingly mani- fest in the growing aversion to war. is this so? a recent writer truthfully says: "if men forsake the use of swords and spears, it assuredly is not to convert them into plough- knowledge and morality. shares and pruning hooks, but to substitute rifled cannon for these antique instruments of slaughter, now found in- effectively murderous. surely never was the aspect of europe so threatening as it is at the present hour. stand- ing armies of a vastness hitherto undreamed of confront one another. the frontiers of every country are embattled. railways are converted into military roads. the physical sciences are ransacked for engines of carnage. the whole continent is an immense parade-ground, destined,—who- can say how soon ?—to become a vast battlefield." "'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true." in this willingness of the nations of the earth to engage in deadly conflict with each other, upon a trifling pretext, we see the power of irrational motives operating destructively. it is the spirit of a pack of mastiffs ready to fly at each other's throat as soon as an opportunity is offered. one does not need to have been a very profound student of history to know that when two- governments wanted to go to war with each other they easily found a reason for so doing. most of these professed reasons were flimsy enough, but they served their purpose. the world is still ready, as it always has been, to applaud a weak nation for taking up arms against a strong one, though the outcome is plain beforehand. it at least shows pluck,— a praiseworthy trait, certainly, but it needs proper direction. we all know the story of the german professor, who> when told that his house was on fire, said to his informant; "go tell my wife; i never meddle with domestic affairs." he was a typical student; absorbed in some insignificant matter, he took no account of what was going on around him. in truth, the people have never perished for lack of knowledge, but for lack of the will to use it. when we see on what utterly useless trifles many men have spent wisdom and will in education. the marvelous insight into the needs of their time ex- hibited by the writers. they developed and applied the simple teachings of the founder of christianity in a man- ner that cannot fail to command our admiration. every epistle is different from every other, according as the cir- cumstances of those addressed were unlike; yet the funda- mental theme is everywhere the same; the motives to which appeal is made, are the same. the various schools of greek philosophy had each essayed in vain to provide a regenerative force. they were all originally too intel- lectual, and had in time degenerated into mere idle specu- lation, or into quiescent introspection. so far as they had any definite aim, it was to know, not what and how to do. the author of the "education of the greek people" well says, "until the supernatural sense can recognize as its object a living god, or being with perfect intelli- gence, love, will, supernaturally correlated, but in no sense identical with the spirit of men, so that his perfec- tions are their goal and not his being, their grave, it will never be able to maintain itself against abstracting reason or supply the basis of moral life." and again, "the les- son of history is, that of all the faculties of the human soul, that which demands the most careful training is the super- natural sense. while it remains undeveloped all other education leads ultimately to nothing. it was the failure to recognize this that made greek education impotent to save the world, and forced it to crown itself with chris- tianity, whose function is to train the supernatural sense to a recognition of the living god as the father of spirits, the guardian of the moral law, and the bond of institu- tional life." passing again to modern times, for we are not here con- cerned with chronological sequence but with parity of con- knowledge and morality. ditions, we find many points of resemblance between west- ern europe in the eighteenth and the beginning of the nineteenth century and the roman empire in the time of christ. what is called the literature of these periods takes singularly little account of the common people. they are not the submerged tenth, but the neglected two-thirds or more. the classical writers of these periods rarely men- tion them, except to stigmatize their brutality, rail at their ignorance, or sneer at their stupidity. it is true there exists a considerable body of devotional literature called into existence by the spiritual wants of those who aspired to a better life, but these books rarely found their way into the hands of the educated, and certainly did not exercise any influence on them. as in england, so in germany and france, there was always a considerable por- tion of the population that were genuinely pious and sin- cerely desirous to lead pure and holy lives. but the masses were little, if at all, influenced by their example. not until our own day did it occur to any one to write a his- tory of the english people,—apparently because hitherto readers were only interested to know what the upper class, those who were more or less concerned in shaping the po- litical destinies of the country, did. in another paper i have given a quotation from kidd's social evolution, which puts in a striking light the atti- tude of the educated classes in england toward most of the reforms that have been brought about in that country during the present century. the extract occurs on p. , but deserves to be read in this connection. i am aware that he who undertakes to show the influ- ence of motives generally classed as irrational in the de- velopment of society and to set forth their potency for good lays himself open to the charge of returning to the wisdom and will in education. text on which the school of rousseau preached so man r powerful sermons in the last century. the influence and vitality of the doctrines so forcibly proclaimed by a man who was almost without education is a strong tribute to their truthfulness. in germany a man of different mould, but aroused by the same conditions, was spurred to action while his french prototype was content to talk and write. the new doctrines were promulgated at a time when europe was at least to some extent prepared for them, though this preparedness consisted rather in dissatisfac- tion with the old than a clear recognition of the needed remedy. the conservatism of the upper classes had be- come well-nigh unendurable. their rule of life was regu- lated by the thought that for them the state existed; for them government performed its functions; it was right for them to exploit the resources of the country to the fullest extent it would bear. almost all who had the courage to cry out against the existing conditions were proscribed; were often in danger of incarceration and even of their lives. that one man is as good as another; that all men are brothers and bound together by obligations to mutual helpfulness; that it is the duty of the weak to protect the strong, are not articles that are found in the creed of those who stand foremost in the ranks of the in- telligent. it is christianity, and christianity alone, that has always insisted on the supreme importance of such teachings to the welfare of mankind in the widest sense. and it was just because the intelligent classes, not except- ing those whose calling made them the exponents of chris- tianity, had long ignored these teachings, that a protest arose against the wretched condition in which the poor were perforce kept, from so many of those who had no sympathy with the prevailing religious creeds. it was al- knowledge and morality. truistic feeling breaking through the crust of custom that had been hardened by the conservatism of centuries. this brief sketch of facts and inferences is not intended as a protest against the growing intelligence of our time. it is written for the purpose of calling attention to a serious danger into which we seem to be rapidly drifting. some of the european nations are already on the verge of a precipice over which they may topple at any moment. there are few things for which it is impossible to find a rea- son. the most atrocious crimes have had their defenders; the most unjust institutions their apologists. sentiments and ideas, too, are often misleading; yet it is in obedience to these mainsprings of action that the world has grown better. they are the prime motors in human progress. they furnish motives to which all men in every progres- sive country naturally respond. it is with them that re- formers have primarily to reckon; it is to them they must chiefly look for support; against them it is impossible to go forward. we may enlighten the head as much as we please, if we do not succeed in filling the heart with proper sentiments we shall not inspire any one to activity or to self-sacrifice for the good of others. it will hardly be de- nied that a large proportion of those who are engaged in research have no interest whatever in the welfare of mankind. unquestionably the wisest activity is condi- tioned by the largest knowledge; but he who never acts until he is sure of being familiar with the entire situation will usually never act at all. i know of no caution that the enlightened nations of the world need more at this time than that against implicit faith in the doctrine that a training of the senses, pure and simple, will bring about that condition of society for which all good men labor and devoutly pray. reason and sentiment as factors in social progress. it is generally held by philologists that the word which in the teutonic tongues designates the head of the animal kingdom is closely allied to a verbal root whose significa- tion is "to think." man is, therefore, the thinking being par excellence in the realm of animated nature. whether this derivation be correct or not, and necessarily without reference to it, man is wont to assert for himself the proud pre-eminence of occupying the highest place among the creatures that inhabit the earth, and to claim that this position has been accorded to him, or that he has won it for himself, because he is alone the possessor of reason. it may be interesting, and it is certainly not without profit, from the practical point of w w, to examine to what extent the history of the race, so far as it is fairly well authenti- cated, bears out the common belief that reason has been the prime factor, the chief motive power, in human progress. such an examination will prove almost beyond a doubt that ideas, impulses generally irrational, tradition, inter- ests real or imaginary, and national traits have played a far larger part in shaping the destiny of the world, and are doing so still, than is generally believed. a saying at- ( ) factors in social progress. tributed to franklin, that there would be no advantage in being a reasonable creature if one could not find a reason for doing what he wants to, pointedly expresses the sub- ordination of reason to other motives that impel men to action. when a man makes up his mind to do a thing he can generally prove by a mental process to his own satisfaction that he ought to do it. let us take the burning social problem of the day and see how far the influence of reason has been effective in dealing with it. we mean the drink problem. the advocates of temperance have nearly all the reason on their side; their opponents have everything else, including the appetites of those who drink and the avarice of those who sell. the intelligent class among all european peoples are on the side of temperance. writers and speakers are incessantly warning their countrymen against the dangers of alcoholism. they are demonstrat- ing from day to day that more than one half the evils that afflict the body politic are due to drink. they point to the un- contradicted testimony furnished by the records of poverty. crime and wretchedness as evidence of the reasonableness of their teaching. yet how little has been accomplished, how few drunkards have been reclaimed, by argument! often the very men who are firmly convinced of the danger of med- dling with strong drink—and who is not?—are unable to resist an appetite when once strengthened by indulgence. the inefficacy of reason to stand against desire for drink has been so fully demonstrated that it has largely changed the methods by which the demon of alcoholism is to be combated. instead of arguments addressed to reason, training is applied for the formation of right habits. pro- phylactic agencies are brought to bear upon the child while in the plastic state; and, though the reasoning powers are wibdou and will \ education. yet weak, this has been found to be the most effective, and indeed the only generally effective, preventive of drunken- ness. we have no desire here to enter into a discussion of the temperance question, and have only touched upon it because it illustrates in a striking way, and by examples .familiar to all, the subordinate position of reason in direct- ing human affairs. although the philosopher schopenhauer was a cynical critic of his fellow-men, he often told the truth plainly and pointedly. 'who will say that he exaggerated when he wrote the following? "brainless pates are the rule, fairly furnished ones the exception, the brilliantly endowed very rare, genius a por- tentum. how otherwise could we account for the fact that out of upwards of eight hundred millions of existing human beings, and after the chronicled experience of six thousand years, so much should still remain to discover. to think out, and to be said? by far the greater part of humanity are wholly inaccessible to purely intellectual en- joyments. they are quite incapable of the delight that exists in ideas as such, everything standing in a certain relation to their own individual will, in other words, to themselves and their own affairs. in order to interest them it is necessary that their wills should be acted upon, no matter in how remote a degree." the material of which reformers is made is furnished by nature in such small quantities that none of it gets into the great mass of mankind. they are pretty well content with the world as it is, and expend far more thought in making themselves as comfortable in it as may be than in making it better. "we must take the world as it is," or "why should we concern ourselves with the doings of our neigh- bors so long as they do not interfere with our own?" has factors in social progress. always been the conscious or unconscious creed of a large majority of the human race. the researches of anthropol- ogists and historians have thus far failed to discover any evidence of the existence of human beings upon earth who were intellectually inferior to those now living. in so far as there has been or is any inferiority it is quantitative rather than qualitative. the most abject race can be civ- ilized in a generation or two when placed under proper con- ditions. no new faculties need to be created; it is only necessary to develop those already existing. yet human progress is a comparatively recent thing. but faint traces of it are discoverable until the advent of the greeks. egypt and babylon appear to us, at the other end of the vista of historical perspective, about as we find them two or three thousand years later. this could hardly have been possible if reason had been a force in ancient society. in so far as it was, it can only have been the reason of the modern turk, who finds the idea of progress utterly re- pugnant to him and who is content to be what his father was before him. if progress is founded upon reason, and not rather upon race characteristics, it is impossible to explain the wide differences that exist among the inhab- itants of the globe. there is no question affecting the relation of man to man upon which the civilized world is at present more nearly agreed than that slavery is wrong. so deep-seated has this feeling become that the foremost nations of our time have not only ceased to tolerate it among themselves, but have undertaken to extirpate it from the face of the earth. while we may question to some extent the disinter- estedness of the motives of some of those who engage in its suppression, there is no doubt that they have a strong public sentiment back of them. how glaring is the con- ) wisdom and will in education. trast of public opinion to-day upon this question with that of antiquity! no intelligent man will assert that in the power of thought, in the ability to reason, the world, has advanced one iota in two thousand years. it is uni- versally conceded that no greater men ever lived than socrates, plato, and aristotle. these men, to say nothing of many others, seemed to have divined by a sort of super- human prescience almost all the lines of human progress for all time to come. yet how little they have to say upon slavery, except to recognize it as an existing institution! aristotle even enters into an elaborate discussion to show that servitude is the natural state of a part of the human race. might has always made slaves. even slaves found nothing reprehensible in the practice and submitted calmly to their condition, though they now and then rebelled against oppression. those who had themselves been slaves never hesitated to enthral others when by a turn of for- tune they found the power in their hands. not many years have passed since it was a common thing to defend slavery, and even the pulpit took a share in this defense. we were frequently told that it was ordained by god him- self; that its abuse was no reason for its abolition; that it would be just as reasonable to turn all children over to the care of the state because some parents maltreated or neglected their offspring. dean alford, writing in . expressed his contempt for the american people for several reasons, and among others for their "reckless and fruitless maintenance of the most cruel and unprincipled war in the history of the world." this dignitary of the church uttered not only his own sentiments, but those of almost the entire aristocratic class in england, to which the an- glican church professes to belong. how delusive the prog- ress of the last score of years has proved the learned dean's factors in social progress. reasoning to have been! how few persons can be found to-day who defend slavery! england itself abolished slav- ery, not because it was more unreasonable in the nineteenth century than in the eighteenth, but because the growth of the altruistic sentiment among the english people would no longer tolerate it. it is doubtful whether in the last analysis war is ever a reasonable procedure. under certain conditions a peo- ple may be justified in taking up arms. when a govern- ment becomes so tyrannical that its subjects can endure its domination no longer there is sometimes no recourse but rebellion. but not many of the wars that have drenched the earth with blood have been of this sort. generally they are born of the lust of conquest or of the desire to uphold that peculiar sentiment, national honor. many wars have been undertaken from a religious motive, and these have usually been the most relentless; yet the su- periority of one religion over another is the last question that can reasonably be settled with the sword. hardly different is the case when national honor is involved. take, for instance, the franco-prussian war. the french people held that their nation was insulted in the person of their ambassador. every intelligent man knew that this was a mere pretext for engaging in a conflict that had already been determined upon. two individuals who happen to have a dispute can usually settle their differ- ences by referring them to a third party, especially if force in the guise of law is behind the arbitrator. it is gener- ally found that one or the other party is in the wrong, or it may be both. in the nature of the case a national dis- pute might be decided in the same way. but it is rarely done. it must be decided in a way that always proves costly to both parties and terribly costly to one of them. wisdom and will in education. lieason and experience have proclaimed their lessons, for the most part in vain. in spite of our boasted progress there is a painful amount of truth in the recent words of a congressman: "nineteen hundred years have passed since the advent of the man of nazareth, and instead of growing nearer and more near to the universal era of peace, all the energies, all the inventive talent, all the genius of the human mind are now devoted to the manufacture and construction and suggestion of implements of war more horrible, more fatal in the power of execution, than any which the world has heretofore seen." the intellectual pre-eminence of the athenian people is well known. but how did they use their intelligence? was it employed to promote the welfare of one another? it was rather used to defend the institutions to which they had fallen heir by no effort of their own. far more thought and labor were ex- pended in trying to injure one another than in the work of promoting their own welfare or that of their neighbors. most people are theoretically in favor of the principle of arbitration and practically in favor of it when it con- cerns any nation but their own. it is easy to point out the right course when our interests, our possessions, or our putative honor are not involved. that the american peo- ple are passionately devoted to enforced arbitration for the settlement of international disputes was clearly proved by their attitude toward the recent controversy between great britain and venezuela; that they were little disposed to accept it for themselves was shown with equal clearness by the spirit with which they received the suggestion for a similar mode of adjusting their differences with spain. there is probably no sentiment that dwells permanently in the human breast, and is hardly ever absent from any member of the race, for which so little can be said on the factors in social progress. ground of reason as the love of early scenes. tacitus failed to see how anyone could endure to live in such a country as germany, unless it were his native land. but affection for home and familiar surroundings is hardly ever effaced, no matter how unpleasant they may have been, and how far subsequent prosperity has removed one from them. early habits leave such an abiding impress on us that we review the familiar scenes with a certain de- gree of pleasure, even when this is not untinged with sad- ness. the irish peasant never forgets the land of his birth, though his recollections are wholly of abject poverty, or squalor, and half-satisfied hunger; and he is ready at all times to take up arms against the government that he holds responsible for his woes. the german seeks to transplant his native customs to every land that hospitably receives him, and to make his new home in many respects as much like the land of his birth as he can. the scandinavian from the far north, a land almost unendurable to those accustomed to warmer regions, is never so happy as when he is permitted to return to his early haunts and to live over again the familiar scenes of his youth. there is no explanation of this curious psychological fact except that we feel a certain pleasure in doing over again that to which we have been accustomed, though at first it may have been unpleasant and even painful. men are prone to run in grooves. it is hard to get those who have not been trained for it to do some new thing, to entertain new thoughts, to strike out new paths. much easier is it to accept a tradi- tion than to examine its trustworthiness. there is no harder work than thinking; and it is a kind of labor to which the common man is much averse. no wonder that he finds pleasure in doing and believing what has become fa- miliar and easy. no wonder that early habits and beliefs wisdom and will in education. have such powerful hold on most of mankind that they are ready to fight and even lay down their lives to pre- serve them. and what shall we say of the influence of chivalry upon the history of the world, using the term in an ethical rather than an historical sense? it is almost the sole secular motive that lights up the dark wilderness of mediaeval history. "order, veracity, loyalty, self-sacrifice, and mildness of manners, the protection of the weak and the innocent, and the punishment of wrong" were the mo- tives that gave it birth and nourished it into full-grown maturity. from the mythical age of haemon and antigone to the day of the contemporary novelist and poet, affection be- tween persons of the opposite sex has been a powerful in- centive to human action. the fact that it plays so large a part in the literature of fiction is but the proof that the shadow furnishes of a substance not far away. what deeds of prowess and daring has it not inspired and car- ried to successful issue! it is true that its reign has not been one of unmixed good. from the courts of emperors and kings to the home of the peasant it has exerted its baleful or benevolent influence. we are not here con- cerned with the purity of the motive, but with its strength. no one who takes time to reflect can doubt that the devo- tion of the lover to his lady, or of the lady to her lord, has been one of the most powerful factors in the development of the race. whether it has been the ephemeral passion whose fierce flames burned out the fuel upon which it fed in the brief space of a day or the conjugal fidelity as abid- ing as life itself, its potency none will dispute. often the source of its inspiration, as in the case of lady macbeth, was demoniacal rather than divine; its potency was none the less the arbiter of the destinies of nations and individuals. factors in social progress. and what shall we say of a mother's love? by the al- most unanimous consensus of enlightened mankind there is no emotion of the human breast that partakes more largely of the divine than the love of a mother for her child. irving well portrays it in the following language: "there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son that transcends all the other affections of the heart. it is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunt- ed by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingratitude. she will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his en- joyment; she will glory in his fame and exult in his pros- perity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him. it is never exhausted; it never changes, it never tires." can any one say that this undiscriminating affection has done more good than harm? how few mothers there are who will recognize the stern demands of justice when their chil- dren are concerned? who is there that has had to do with the instruction of the young that has not been reminded over and over again how hard it is to convince a mother that her child is in the wrong even, when the denial puts everybody else in the wrong? if mothers had their way few malefactors would be punished and none executed. it is true, not all mothers are blind to the faults of their own children and lynx-eyed to the short-comings of others; but those whose judgment in such matters is not overborne by their emotions are greatly in the minority. while it is true that fathers are not impeccable there is a considerable measure of truth in the words of seneca: wisdom and will in education. "do you not see how differently fathers and mothers show their love for their children? the former want their sons to be roused early in order that they may betake them- selves to their studies; their vacations even they would not have them pass in idleness, and they even draw sweat and sometimes tears from the youths; but mothers want to fondle them on their bosom, keep them in the shade; they would never have them weep, never be sad, never undergo toil." perhaps no fact in what we may call ethnological psy- chology is more potent than the constitutional inability of any nation to form a just estimate of itself. and it some- times seems as if this weakness increased, if such an ex- pression be admissible, with the rank and intelligence of those who exhibit it. no reader, except a native, will rely upon the history of any country written by a native historian. in nine cases out of ten, wherever there is in the narrative an opportunity for the display of national bias we are sure to find it.* that france marches at the *it is refreshing to find occasionally a writer who openly ad- mits the truth even at the risk of being charged with the lack of patriotism. from a book published in madrid in , entitled "education' in the twentieth century," i take the following con- fession of the author: "in foreign countries no one takes any account of us; we exist as if we did not exist. no important pub- lication pays any attention to education in spain. no statistician takes note of us or mentions our name. now and then a french publicist devotes to us a brief article in which he either treats us with a certain consideration, whereupon we reproduce it and think over it; or he treats us with a contempt which we do not resent." is this backwardness of spain due to national traits or to her comparative isolation? that the latter factor is important is proven by the relative prosperity of those portions nearest to france. factors in social progress. head of civilization is an assertion one would endeavor in vain to refute in debate with a frenchman. in their opin- ion they have never had occasion to go abroad for any- thing that was desirable. yet it is an accepted fact that the french people know less of other countries than almost any others of europe. another typical case is afforded by recent histories of germany. the success of the germans in the franco-prussian war has turned the heads of al- most the entire people; and the german historians fre- quently talk of their fellow-countrymen as if they be- longed to some higher order of beings and had always so belonged. this, too, in spite of the fact that german literature, from the close of the reformation almost to the time of the french revolution, is hardly more than a blank; while for a still longer period the german people, oppressed at home and despised abroad, were of no political consequence whatever. difficult is it to get material for self-glorification out of german history. but national prejudice has abundantly demonstrated its power to oc- complish this feat. as few persons have access to original records, the great majority see facts only at long range and through the distorted medium of national vanity or prejudice, or both, with results that may be and often have been painful enough. it is sad indeed that so few persons can be led to see that truth alone makes free. zeus is rep- resented in a passage of the "odyssey" as saying: "lo, how men blame the gods! from us, they say, spring trou- bles. yet of their own perversity, beyond what is their due, they meet with sorrow." it is evident that homer's chief god was a careful observer. his sagacious remarks were not only history, but prophecy also. in one of his lectures professor giesebrecht used the fol- lowing language: "the sovereignty belongs to germany ) wisdom and will in education. because the germans are an elite nation, a noble race; and for the same reason it ought to exercise such an influence on its neighbors as it is the right and duty of every man endowed with superior intelligence and force to exert upon those individuals less highly endowed about him." how an honest man who knows the history of germany can give utterance to such sentiments is incredible. sometimes poor mortals who have lost their reason imagine themselves to be god. such persons are usually confined in asylums, where they can harm neither themselves nor others. but in germany we find men in professors' chairs and even wearing titles of nobility, telling their countrymen that they belong to a race of demigods, the speakers included, and are charged with the mission of enlightening their neigh- bors. this would be amusing if there were not always danger that it would lead to grave consequences. yet it would be well for the world if this species of mental aberra- tion were confined to one country. let us at least give the german professor credit for sanity in the moral he draws. in france the case is not greatly otherwise. gallic pride has been terribly humiliated. yet in reason what ought it to matter to the french or to the people of alsace- lorraine who governs them, provided they are well gov- erned and permitted to possess their property in peace? the attachment of the latter to france is all the more ridic- ulous for the reason that they are radically german. here, again, we see the inability of reason to make prog- ress against a mere sentiment. many a brave frenchman has laid down his life for the delusive phantom la gloire; and to what purpose? taine, speaking only of the na- poleonic era, says: factors in social progress. "according to him (napoleon) man is held through his egotistic passions, fear, cupidity, sensuality, self-esteem, and emulation; these are the mainsprings when he is not under excitement, when he reasons. moreover, it is not difficult to turn the brain of man, for he is imaginative, credulous, and subject to being carried away; stimulate his pride or vanity, provide him with an extreme and false opinion of himself and his fellow-men, and you can start him off head downward whenever you please." the re- sults of proceeding upon this policy are thus summed up by the learned writer: "between and he has slaughtered more than , , men born within the ancient boundaries of france, to which must be added probably , , of men born out of these limits, and all for him, under the titles of allies, or slain on his account, under the title of enemies. all that the poor, enthusiastic, and credulous gauls have gained by confiding their public welfare to him is two in- vasions; all that he bequeaths to them as a reward for their devotion, after this prodigious waste of their blood and the blood of others, is a france shorn of fifteen depart- ments acquired by the republic, deprived of savoy, the left bank of the ehine, and of belgium—losing , , of new frenchmen which it had assimilated after many years of life in common, and, worse still, thrown back within the frontiers of , alone diminished in the midst of its ag- grandized neighbors, suspected by all europe, and lastingly surrounded by a threatening circle of distrust and rancor." a few years before, the french people, for an idea which they expressed in the trinitarian formula, "liberty, equal- ity, fraternity," destroyed every man and every institution that seemed to stand in the way of a practical realization of the creed it embodied. yet hardly a decade had passed wisdom and will in education. before they were ready to follow implicitly the most uncom- promising tyrant that ever deluded a people. the desire to be free from oppression is eminently reasonable; but what can we say of a people who had just broken the yoke of bondage that had so long and heavily lain upon their own necks trying to fasten a new one upon their neighbors as well as upon themselves? no wonder napoleon had a poor opinion of men when he saw how easily they could be led en masse into crime and misery. during the past few years we have heard much about the so-called monroe doctrine. in definition it apparently amounts to about this: when any government administered in europe interferes in the affairs of any country on the western hemisphere, except in case of its own possessions, the people of the united states are to regard such interfer- ence as a direct menace against them. yet the territory vir- tually owned by great britain on the western continent, to say nothing of other european governments, is probably equal in extent to the union, and england may therefore reasonably be supposed to have an equal interest here with ourselves. nor is there any doubt that most of the span- ish-american states, if they were administered by an en- lightened people like the english, in spite of their short- comings, would enjoy peace and prosperity such as they have never known. we have assumed that the attitude of a monarchy towards a republic is always that of an op- pressor, without inquiring into the facts of the case. again, there has for a long time been a feeling of sym- pathy for the cubans in their desire to free themselves from the heavy yoke of spain. there is not much doubt that this feeling was strongest in those states that fifty years ago led the union into an unjust war with mexico for the purpose of acquiring territory with a view to the factors in social progress. extension of slavery, and a few years later plunged the whole country into a civil war, largely for the purpose of keeping the shackles of bondage on several millions of hu- man beings—a far worse condition than that of the cu- bans under the government of spain, except possibly when in a state of actual insurrection. a story is told of a russian countess who wept over the misfortunes of an im- aginary hero as she beheld them portrayed on the stage while her coachman was freezing to death at his post on her carriage outside. how many of us can say that we have never been guilty of a similar if less shocking incon- sistency? sometimes that which transpires immediately under our eyes moves us most strongly; at others that which is more or less remote appeals most vividly to our imagina- tion. he who gives a dole or a dinner to a beggar or a tramp often does him and the community more harm than good; but it is so much easier to yield to the paroxysm of sympathy aroused by a personal appeal than to try to in- telligently to remove the conditions that make tramps and beggars. the fundamental activity of the soldier is expressed by the lines, "theirs not to make reply, theirs not to reason why, theirs but to do and die." the soldier is not to inquire for a reason; he has but to do what he is ordered to do. he is usually a young man; not so young that his reasoning powers are undeveloped. but yet so young that his energy is prone to find expression in action rather than in deliberation. war needs not only men who are physically strong, but men who can be de- pended upon to subordinate their reasoning powers to the wisdom and will in education. word of command. whether the command be a reasonable one does not enter into the problem. the best soldier is not he who looks at war in a large way, and who is capable of understanding the cause for which he is to lay down his life; but it is he who is best able to use the means within his reach to accomplish the ends placed before him by those in authority over him. it is a question whether intelligence is so important a factor as is generally believed. no country has been so uniformly successful in war as russia, because no armies fight more bravely than the rus- sian. the russian peasant, grossly ignorant as he has always been and is, never hesitates to lay down his life for his emperor, if the latter wills it. apparently he has never concerned himself about the reason why. yet what aston- ishing results have rewarded his prowess! while he can- not frame into words the horatian dictum, "dulce et de- corum est pro patria mori," he does more—he is the living exponent of it. public sentiment finds ten heroes on the battlefield to one in civil life. that foolhardy bravery is often displayed and life lost in unwise and foolish conflict makes little difference. - the world is interested directly in the act, and looks no farther. physical courage is still rated far higher than moral courage; if it were not so the world would to-day present a very different aspect from that which we see. prom the consideration of mere personal bravery the transition is easy to the contemplation of patriotism. here is a sentiment that is as 'versal as man himself. every man, no matter how low in the scale of civilization, feels a certain degree of affection for the land of his birth; it is an affection akin to that which he feels for himself. but patriotism is an idea that, per se, will not for a moment stand the test of reason. the patriot is not necessarily wiser factors in social progress. than the man whose motto is, "ubi bene, ibi patria." the fuegian loves his country just as fervently as the most en- lightened european. if the former were compelled to change place with the latter both would be equally unhappy. the one would protest as loudly against the efforts to ele- vate him as the latter to degrade him. patriotism is not necessarily unreasonable, but it is al- ways unreasoning. a man may be able to give a good ac- count for the faith that is in him, and he may not. leasing wrote, "of love of country i have no conception; it appears to me but a heroic weakness which i am glad to be with- out." goethe was frequently blamed for his lack of patriot- ism. and, in truth, there is little in his writings that ex- hibits a distinctive german feeling, and there was equally little in his life. plato, a coryphaeus among philosophers, is singularly free from national bias. when the historian polybius made a study of the history of rome, he found that its steady growth was not an accident. though a for- eigner he could see that its government was stable from the absence of the forces that made the government of his own people unstable. the romans had instinctively put into ef- fect those principles which the greek philosophers had for centuries preached in vain to their own countrymen. the romans were no philosophers, and despised philosophy. but they had the instinct of government, and rarely followed this instinct to their own detriment. practical wisdom does not come through knowledge, often not even through experience. it may serve men who think, but this class is generally too small to make its impress permanently felt in the growth of states. frederic the great is reported to have said that if he wanted to ruin one of his fairest prov- inces he need only to place it under the government of the philosophers. akin to this is his remark that "one pinch wisdom and will in education. of common sense is worth a university full of learning." though a man of exceptionally keen penetration he did not always see to the bottom of things. and so here. he mistook the appearance for the reality. he mistook for philosophers the pedants of whom his country was full, men who spent their lives in delving among musty tomes filled with the lore of the past or in disputing about philological, metaphy- sical and theological subtilties without once looking up to take note of what was going on in the world around them. who was it if not the real philosophers that formulated the admirable system of instruction that has been to a greater or less extent the model for every progressive nation? while germany's thinkers have borne a leading part even her dreamers have done something. the investigator may by accident discover some important law in the physical uni- verse, but it is the philosopher only who can interpret its bearings and potency. plato thought that unless philosophers became kings or kings philosophers there would be no cessation of evils among men. this is doubtless true, but true only on the assumption that philosophers are genuine lovers of wisdom and not mere devotees of their own theories and prejudices. of the latter there are a score for every one of the former. it seems almost like a law of nature that the different peoples of the earth should have an antipathy toward each other. this is particularly true where and when national prejudices are strengthened by real or supposed national in- terests. but even among men of the same nationality who are reputed equally wise there are often the bitterest ani- mosities. truth, for most persons, is not an abstraction. those who are engaged in the search for what they believe to be the truth are men with passions like ordinary mortals factors in social progress. and often as likely to be blinded by them or at least to allow their intellectual vision to be obscured by them. here then we find the same difference of opinion as to what is reason- able, sentiment again overmastering reason. reason is arti- ficial, deliberate, skeptical. its function in human affairs is to regulate and control, not to supply "idea-forces." it decides how to do rather than what to do. only in a re- stricted sense can it be said that intelligence rules the world. we believe the author of social evolution has stated a truth of far wider application than he makes of it when he says: "it has to be confessed that in england during the nine- teenth century the educated classes, in almost all the great political changes that have been effected, have taken the side of the party afterward admitted to have been in the wrong, they have almost invariably opposed at the time the meas- ures they have subsequently come to defend and justify. this is to be noticed alike of measures which have extended education, which have emancipated trade, which have ex- tended the franchise. the educated classes have even, it must be confessed, opposed measures which have tended to secure religious freedom and to abolish slavery. the mo- tive force behind the long list of progressive measures car- ried during this period has in scarcely any appreciable measure come from the educated classes; it has come almost exclusively from the middle and lower classes, who have in turn acted, not under the stimulus of intellectual motives, but under the influence of altruistic feelings." let us at least credit them with seeing and admitting their errors. progress needs a motive force, and this reason does not provide. the most powerful emotion that moves men par- takes more or less of a religious character. it is every- where in the foreground in the babylonian and assyrian wisdom and will in education. wars. it played an important part in the struggle of greek with greek, or of greek with barbarian. a roman army was invincible only when it was confident that it went into battle with the favor of the gods. the religious idea carried the victorious armies of the saracens over a large portion of the known earth in an incredibly short time. it is not necessary to enumerate any further; every- one can recall the course of events for himself. christian- ity does not appeal primarily to the reason. its founder taught "as one having authority, and not as the scribes." his precepts are not usually supported by what men call reasons, nor are they arrived at by processes of ratiocina- tion. their truth is intended to be spiritually apprehend- ed, not to be worked out by the rules of logic. they are intended for those who can feel, as well as for those who can reason. and how large the preponderance of the for- mer over the latter! if i have read the history of philosophy aright it takes singularly little interest in the emotional nature of man. the ancients, indeed, make a great account of the pas- sions, but they generally regard them as a sort of disturb- ing element in the economy of society. modern philoso- phy, beginning with descartes and ending with kant, seems to regard man's emotional nature as a matter of little consequence; as a sort of penumbra of the reasoning powers. with the advent of rousseau a different state of affairs began to prevail. rousseau himself was not much of a philosopher, because he lacked system in everything he did. but he was full of fruitful ideas, and he came at a time when the world was ready to listen to what he had to say. in his mental make up the emotional element largely predominated; he was so much a creature of im- pulse that there is nothing surprising in the extent to factors in social progress. which he moved the world. the world had come to recog- nize that, while reason must not be ignored in the instruc- tion of youth, it cannot be wholly depended on as a guide. modern pedagogy lays large stress on training, on giving direction to the young citizen or the young christian be- fore he is old enough to reason much about it. it seeks to cultivate his sympathies for the needs of society before the selfishness that he is destined to find all around him in later life gains the mastery over him. he is taught that the poor and degraded have a claim upon his charity, al- though this charity is to be kept under the control of rea- son. he may not let the slave or beggar perish from neg- lect, even though both are largely responsible for their con- dition. it is sympathy, not reason, that is the moving force in the philanthropic spirit that we see manifesting itself so powerfully wherever man has any claim to be called civilized. examples are numerous and ready to hand every where. surely nothing can be more reasonable than the doctrine that every man is inherently as good an another; yet how slow the world has been in recognizing this self-evident truth, even in theory! christianity first enunciated it, but even christianity was not able to bear up permanently against the tide of sentiment and tradi- tion that bore down upon it. the early christians them- selves were slow to accept the doctrine, with all the conse- quences that seemed likely to flow from it. even to-day it is far more a matter of theory than of actual practice, so slowly does the world outgrow its prejudices. the spiritual nature of man, that prescience of god's plan in the government of the world, that sublime faith in the ultimate triumph of right which we often see mani- fested in highly endowed natures, is in no wise amenable to the laws of reason. we see this exhibited in the most r wisdom and will in education. marked degree in the hebrew prophets. their lofty faith in the coming of a messiah who should rule the world in righteousness was a trait of a highly endowed spiritual na- ture. the intellect colored its outward expression, and to some extent modified its form, but was not its source. many of the world's greatest benefactors—in truth, the large majority of them—have not been men of pre-eminent intellectual endowment. they were men whose will was aroused to activity by a contemplation of the situation in which they found themselves. kant said there is but one good thing in the world, and that is a good will. but the emotional nature seems to be more clearly related to the will than to the intellect, and to be more readily influenced by it. the result is that progress, in the best sense of the word, is not primarily intellectual. its various phases do not, in the main, originate with the intellectual class, though men of large intellectual endowments often identify themselves with it. it is a mistake, therefore, to suppose that by stimulating and cultivating the intellect alone we can make the world better. knowledge is not even power, as we are so often told. it is, indeed, an indispensable pre- requisite to power; but power is latent unless stimulated into activity by the will. they are sadly mistaken who imagine that nothing is necessary to insure the continuous amelioration of the condition of mankind but a continu- ous increase of the world's stock of available knowledge. after this brief review of the psychic forces that have been chiefly instrumental in shaping the destinies of men and nations we need not wonder that human progress has been slow, painfully slow. irrational motives have been predominant everywhere. yet morality is a child of the intellect. even the most disinterested altruism may do more harm than good if it is not intelligently directed. if factors in social progress. man were not an intelligent being he would make no more progress than the lower animals. in the future as in the past we must look to the regulative faculty to point out the course of safety. it is like the compass upon which the mariner depends to guide him across the watery waste. for while it has no power to move his ship an inch the stronger the propelling forces that urge him forward the greater the danger he incurs without its guidance. while this general truth has been patent to a few far-sighted men almost from time immemorial,—socrates especially pointed it out with great clearr"ss and his disciples after him—it has never been so widely comprehended as now. the theory of modern education proceeds on the assump- tion of the paramount importance of the human intellect. this is not saying that education should be exclusively intellectual. on the contrary, moral should precede in- tellectual education in time and be its constant companion. but even moral education can accomplish little unless wisely directed. if we are inclined to look with distrust on the large claims made for national education in our day by its most enthusiastic champions, because even the best education the world has had in the past seems to have counted for so little, let us remember that education in a large way is hardly older than the present generation. it has never had a trial. it has always been confined to a class or to a few classes. when attempts have been made to put an education, even the most elementary, within the reach of all its quality has been very inferior. yet few competent judges will deny that much more might be done by teachers under present conditions and with the present financial resources at their disposal than is at pres- ent being done. while there is little difference of opinion among educationists as to the ends of education, there is considerable difference as to the means and methods by wisdoil and will in education. which these ends may be most surely attained. nor is it probable that entire agreement will ever be reached, but a substantial agreement is palpably not far in the future. it is not here contended that the most nearly perfect system of general education'the human mind can desire will ever totally eliminate from society the pauper and the criminal. the poor and the vicious we shall always have with us. on the other hand when we consider how much is being done under intelligent direction and how much has already been accomplished to enable all the members of the body politic to help themselves to make life more worth living for all who constitute civilized communities and that the good work had only begun on a large scale we may well be hopeful of the future. note.—charbonnel, in his "victory of the will," tells us how this victory is to be gained. "the philosophers have established laws for the discipline of the emotions and the control of our whole being,—namely, when an emotion or a sentiment favorable to our ideal arises in our consciousness, we are to fix our atten- tion on this passion or sentiment, so as clearly to recognize its purity and grandeur, and to arouse in ourselves an effort of the will which shall be conformable to it; when an emotion or a senti- ment arises which is antagonistic to our ideal, we must refuse it any attention, not even think of it, and thus let it pass into ob- livion. if we have already allowed an evil passion or an emo- tion to grow and exercise an invincible power over us, we must examine seriously the ideas connected with it and the object it proposes to our will. finally in the case where a desirable pas- sion or sentiment is lacking in us, we must search out the ideas with which this passion or sentiment may have some affiliation, and turn our mind toward these ideas, keep them constantly pres- ent to our consciousness, and arouse the natural law of associa- tion which connect such emotions, such ideas, together." again: "a noble life, it has been said, is the grandest master- piece which any man can achieve. it is an harmonious and beautiful achievement. it is our privilege to subordinate and co- factors in social progress. ill ordinate in ourselves, by the exercise of our will) our varied and contradictory emotions. the ancients compared the soul to an harmonious lyre, which gives forth sweet sounds under the fin- gers of the wind. this, which is true of the poetic soul, is equally true of the moral soul. it should be a well-tuned and well-strung lyre, responding to all the impressions of life. and the best law for the development of the higher life is not the stern repression of our emotional nature, or the violent destruction of this part of our being, but the wise and firm direction of it by the will. no repression, no suppression, no mutilation, but a peaceful and serene domination of the will in our harmonious soul." metaphysicians and psychologists may dispute as much as they please about the freedom of the will; in the last analysis every- body acts as if his own will were free and that of all other persons likewise. the entire theory and practice of rewards and punish- ments is based on this postulate. as froude says, "to deny the freedom of the will is to make morality impossible." neverthe- less action is always directed by the strongest motive and motive is wholly subjective. what a man's motives are in general de- pends almost entirely upon his education, directly and indirectly. two men have the same opportunity for making a great deal of money. one of them says, "the morality of the proposed trans- action is questionable; i can not be a party to it." the other has no such scruples,—is not "squeamish," as the worldling puts it,—and becomes rich. here the external conditions for both men are precisely the same and the motive the same; but the will leads to diametrically opposite action. if education can not keep the young free from temptation it can do much toward enabling them to meet it as becomes beings who are normally responsible. with a quotation from epictetus i may fitly conclude this paper: "there is nothing good or evil save in the will" i responsibility. when the lord said unto cain, "where is thy brother?" the latter took the question as an impertinence, and re- joined, "am i my brother's keeper?" no wonder the mis- creant was offended. he was not in position to give an account of his treatment of his brother. he would no doubt have been ready and willing to answer much harder questions than this one, but when he was asked about a matter of which he was fully cognizant he preferred to feign ignorance. it seemed the shortest and most direct way out of a difficulty. i do not here use the term brother in the sense in which it was understood by the first murderer who has the mis- fortune to have his name handed down to posterity, but in the sense generally attached to it in the new testament. the progress of civilization or at least of national and in- ternational intercourse has made closer and closer the bonds that bind together the remotest dwellers upon the face of the earth. but in every community every man is more or less responsible for his fellow-citizens, usually quite as much as if he were the son of the same father and mother. the question, am i my brother's keeper? has made a good many people uncomfortable since the son of ( ; responsibility. noah first asked it. some answer it in the affirmative, some in the negative; but society will not accept the latter answer. glance over the list of objects for which taxes are collected and you will see that to a very large extent every man is his brother's keeper. even if the responsibility does not go so far as to require a direct contribution, it requires something. yet the tax-list represents but a small part of the claims our fellow-men hav upon each other. when a demand comes to them in the garb of law most people will recognize it more or less willingly: it is the claims that carry with them no legal obligation; that grow only out of the recognition of a mutual respon- sibility which give the genuinely good man the most con- cern. a man may strictly observe the statute law yet be neither a good man nor a good citizen. we can not say of a man who does no more than the law prescribes that he does his duty even to this extent; he merely per- forms reluctantly a disagreeable task. we repeat then that every man is to a greater or less extent his brother's keeper whether he wishes to be or not. the question is not whether he will assume the responsibility that circum- stances place upon him, but how he will discharge that re- sponsibility. will he lift up his brother or will he drag him down? if he is weak, will he aid and strengthen him or will he allow him to succumb to his weakness? when we study a human being from the intellectual side only we must admit that hamlet was right when he exclaimed, "what a piece of work is man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in appre- hension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!" on the other hand it is equally true that "man is but a reed, weakest in nature, but a reed wisdom and will in education. that thinks. it needs not that the whole universe should arm to crush him, a drop of water is enough to kill him. but were the universe to kill him he would still be more noble than his slayer because he knows that he dies and that the universe has the better of him. the universe knows nothing of this." on the other hand we may well ask: "how was it possible that it should ever enter into the thoughts of vain man to believe himself the principal part of god's creation, or that all the rest was ordained for him, for his service or pleasure? man, whose follies we laugh at every day, or else complain of them, whose plea- sures are vanity, and his passions stronger than his rea- son: who sees himself every way weak and impotent; hath no power over external nature, little over himself; can not execute so much as his own good resolution; mutable, ir- regular, prone to evil. surely, if we made the least reflec- tion upon ourselves with impartiality we should be ashamed of such an arrogant thought. how few of the sons of men for whom they say all things are made are the sons of wisdom! how few find the path of life! they spend a few days in folly and in sin, and then go down to the re- gions of death and misery. and is it possible to believe that all nature and all providence are only, or principally for their sake? is it not a more reasonable conclusion which the prophet hath made, surely all things are van- ity?" in reality both views are true and not inconsistent with each other. "man's two-fold nature is reflected in history. he is of earth, but his thoughts are with the stars. mean and petty "his wants and desires; yet they serve a soul exalted with grand, glorious aims, with im- mortal longings, with thoughts which sweep the heavens and wander through eternity! a pigmy standing on the outer crust of this planet, his far-reaching spirit stretches responsibility. outward to the infinite, and there alone finds rest. his- tory is a reflex of this double life. every life has two as- pects—one calm, broad and solemn—looking towards eter- nity; the other agitated, petty, vehement and confused— looking towards time." it is true that the fountain of human effort sends forth bitter waters and sweet,—a mix- ture of that which is pure and refreshing and healthful with what is noxious and debilitating and deadly. there is abundant evidence of the worth of a man, but the evidence of his vileness is almost equally abundant. yet it is doubt- ful if a human being exists that is wholly depraved. no doubt every- man is more or less selfish. we are all willing to let our fellow-men have some of the good things of this life, but we are not all of one mind how the division shall be made of what is really valuable. even the wise virgins said, "not so, lest there be not enough for us and you; but go ye and buy for yourselves," when they must have known that if their foolish sisters followed their advice they could not return in time for the wedding, even if they had the wherewithal to purchase. it is hard and often impossible to draw the line between selfishness and en- lightened self-interest. we too often find that the man who has no money is dissatisfied because the man who has a dime will not divide with him. he does not stop to con- sider whether it is not his own fault that he is penniless. without a certain measure of regard for one's self on the part of the great majority of mankind there can be no enlightenment. if the experience of the race has proved anything it has proved this. no matter how tenaciously the miser holds on to what he has acquired during life the world at large generally gets the benefit of his accumula- tions in the end. he can not take his treasures with him when he leaves this world, and if he has not learned how g wisdom and will in education*. to keep wisely and spend judiciously while he lives his possessions do him little good unless it be in the reflection that his heirs will be more far-sighted than he. what- ever we may say against avarice, it is after all nothing more than a legitimate and healthful passion grown to excess. we do not give it a harsh name in its inception any more than we designate the wholesome desire for food, gluttony. so far as we are able to judge such things the richest nations are those among which individual happiness is the greatest, and vice versa. the talk of the socialist ubout the equality of opportunity and the right of all to .in equal share of the good things of this life can not be regarded as anything more than idle rant in the mouths of those who most use the phrase, especially if these things are sought under present conditions. but we can hardly refuse to acknowledge that it is a noble aspiration toward the realization of which men may approach nearer and nearer as the days and the years go by. the rapidity of this approach is dependent solely upon the effort, the self- denial and the clearly divined purpose of the successive generations of men as they come upon the stage of action. in spite of the misery in the world; in spite of the abso- lute want; in spite of the unequal division of what are called the good things of this life—all of which are pain- fully evident almost every day, i am persuaded that the world is not only not growing worse, but is improving. the poorest man has within his reach many things that go to make life agreeable that cost him nothing and which his ancestors did not have. no one will deny that we might be better off in many things than we are and that in not a few regards the times are out of joint; but this is something quite different from the charge often made that we are going from bad to worse. responsibility. "i doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, and the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns." this purpose is not in the material forces that hold us in their pitiless grasp and have not changed since the world was created, nor in the intellect of man which has not gained in acuteness since the appearance of our first ancestor upon the face of the tarth; it is in the moral forces that are visibly gaining in power and prestige day by day. these forces are generated in the mind of the in- dividual, but their growth is stimulated by emulation and co-operation. there is most progress where there is most liberty, properly regulated by law. communism has been tried many times and in a number of different places, but it has never prospered. the development of human institutions has been steadily away from such a condition of things. only here and there do we find a man who is as willing to labor for others as for him- self. you can never get many of them together; if you could, there would. be no sphere of activity in which their self-denial could become effective. the self- ishness of most men only makes the absence of it the more conspicuous in a few. it is the light shining into dark- ness, and it is this light that draws the attention and com- pels the admiration of men. while in one sense the ten- dency of the world for more than a thousand years has been to circumscribe the sphere of the individual, in an- other and wider sense it has been in the direction of enlarg- ing it. there never was so much individual liberty in the world as there is now. with the growth of individual lib- erty has also grown the spirit of self-activity for the bet- terment of society as a whole. while modern states have never done so much as they are now doing for the educa- responsibility. by a recognition on the part of its leading spirits that a transformation was necessary. as to the body politic, we need to remember that it is not an association from which we can withdraw at pleas- ure as if it were a business concern of which we did not like the management or a profession that has become dis- tasteful to us. as we are in it to stay, we shall do well to make the best of it, or rather, do what we can to make it as good as possible. no greater misfortune can befall a young man than to get "soured on the world," as the expression goes. we often hear it said that there are tricks in every trade and if you would succeed you must learn and practice them. i very much doubt this unless you give the term "tricks" a very much milder meaning than is usually attached to it. i can, of course, not deny that men often succeed by the methods of the heathen chinee, at least they achieve what some persons are wont to call success; but if their example were followed by men in general all confidence between man and man would be destroyed and civilized society made impossible. the solid men of the business world are they whose word is as good as their bond. we have among us a large amount of literature that it is the custom with some to disparage on the ground that it smacks of the sunday school. it is the sort in which vice is invariably punished and virtue rewarded. there is a deep meaning in this popularity. it is the con- crete picture of human life as the human heart desires it to be. it represents the ideal state toward which the world is striving, however slow its approach may be. it is the silent but powerful voice of mankind in its best estate pleading through the pen of the literary artist for the re- ward of virtue and the punishment of vice. when the wisdoil and will in education. conditions are reversed violence is done to man's better nature, to the universal conscience. consider the case for a moment and you will see that almost the entire body of modern fiction does homage to this longing of our natures in real life the result is often different, but in imaginative literature rarely. no english writer has enjoyed such long-continued and unbounded popularity as scott. the thought that runs like a thread of gold through all his writings may be fitly expressed in the words, virtue and vice always get their deserts. the same statement is true in almost equal measure of dickens and thackeray and george eliot and a host of others, all of whom seek to enlist our sympathies for the good and arouse our de- testation of the bad. even when strength triumphs over weakness; vice over virtue; wrong over right, the reader almost always feels that he would rather be the vanquished than the victor. it is the voluntary choice of the human heart when unbiased and unpolluted by the selfishness that so often makes its power felt in the actual world. we take much greater pleasure in ihe study of life as we wish it to be than as it is. we involuntarily recognize the goal toward which the actions of men ought to be directed. yet something more is necessary to success than mere honesty, in fact a great deal more. honesty is indeed fundamental, but to these must be joined tact, common sense, a willingness to deny one's self a good many things which it would be pleasant to possess, and industry. it is not hard for a judicious observer to see why some very good people do not get along. in spite of their virtues those who know them have no confidence in them. while al- ways moved with the best intentions, they lack some im- portant qualifications and others who are morally less worthy outstrip them in the race of life. it would clearly responsibility. be a perversion of the truth to say that inefficiency in such cases is synonymous with uprightness, or that such per- sons were failures because they were too honest. besides, it is natural for men to feel a certain degree of satisfac- tion in the manifestation of power. we involuntarily ad- mire the man who does things, who accomplishes his pur- poses, even when the means he employs do not meet our ap- proval nor the ends aimed at commend themselves to our moral sense. a negative man, one who always stands on the defensive, who is never aggressive, may be a good man, but he is rarely of much use in the community. but the number of persons who are so constructed that they may flagrantly disregard the rules of right and yet achieve suc- cess in any calling is very small. a lucid writer in a very recent work gives expression to his conviction in the following language. "morality"— meaning by this term moral conduct in its widest sense— "is a necessity of social life. the relations of human be- ings to each other are organic, and conduct must be regu- lated to some degree by every one with reference to others. under the pressure of the social situation of mankind, ideals of duty grow and a moral sensibility is developed. as this sense increases in power, it tends more and more to dominate the whole mental nature and to control con- duct; that which is right is approved and that which is wrong is repugnant. the moral consequences of actions are regarded closely and educational influences become of importance. moral men and women please and the im- moral are displeasing. our sympathies are with the right- eous and our aspirations are toward moral ideals." it needs to be constantly kept in mind that the world's estimate of what constitutes success is often a wrong one. it looks for visible, tangible and immediate results, when wisdom and will in .education. in fact the most abiding results are the slowest to make themselves felt. how many thousands of men have lived who were regarded as great in their day who were soon ut- terly forgotten by almost everybody! it does not after all matter very much, if we are conscious of doing our best, whether we are appreciated or not. men of large views and keen penetration are always ahead of their time. it is an unfortunate weakness to be always on the lookout for praise. if men never took a step in advance of public opinion for fear of arousing some one's displeasure there would be no progress. some of the most important public measures and not a few of the world's greatest benefactors have encountered the most violent opposition. on the other hand few persons, especially among the young, can resist the seductions of praise. in truth, however, censure is far less dangerous, and he is a wise man who heeds even if he can not allow himself to be influenced by it. popu- larity is mere surface valuation. the great mass of man- kind do not care to go deeper. it is only the thinking man, the careful student in a large way that can distin- guish between what is really good and what seems so. it is a common mistake to underestimate the important part the individual, even the one who seems the most in- significant, may contribute to the general welfare and progress of the community. suppose it were possible to make every member of ever so small a social organism feel that the reputation of the whole for honesty and fair- dealing depended on him alone, what a step forward that would be! suppose that every scholar in any particular school could be made to realize that its good name de- pended on his conduct and studiousness, how quickly it would become a light that would shine near and far! there are not many men who are endowed or entrusted with ten responsibility. talents; there are more who have in their keeping five talents, and many more who have one. how important then that all the men of one talent should consider ear- nestly how to make the best of it! there are so many ways in which the good of the little community of which most of us are a part, may be promoted. this is not done by waiting for great opportunities that rarely present themselves, but by improving the small ones that so often come in our way. maydole, the celebrated hammer-maker, once said to james parton, "i have made hammers here for twenty-eight years." "well," said parton, "you ought to make a pretty good hammer." "no, sir," was the reply, "i never make a pretty good hammer. i make the best hammer in the united states." and buyers had long be- fore endorsed his statement. the president of the cam- bria rail works, one of the largest concerns of the kind in the world, being asked the secret of the enormous develop- ment of their business, replied, "we have no secret. we always try to beat our last batch of rails." but there are so few people who are really anxious to do their best. the great majority want to be taken at their own estimate of themselves, and when they find that this is not done they are dissatisfied and are ready to de- clare that success in this world is all a matter of chance. i do not wish to deny that there is such a thing as luck, but it finds very few people, and rarely, if ever, those who are waiting to be found. while it is true that there is most progress where there is most liberty, and therefore the trend of events is favor- able to democracy, we need to beware of trusting too much to government or indeed to institutions of any sort that exist only on paper. what is theoretically the best gov- ernment in the world may in practice be the worst. every wisdom axd will in education. organization is what its members make it. it depends upon the temper of the individual. it is important, there- fore that the individual be enlightened in order that the entire community be enlightened. this necessity is being more and more felt everywhere; hence the abundant means in our day for promoting general intelligence. but what use shall be made of these means again depends upon the individual. we often hear it said that the progress of a country depends very largely upon its colleges and uni- versities. to what extent this is true rests wholly upon the spirit with which they are managed. russia and spain and even turkey and china have their universities, as well as germany and england and the united states. yet i am not aware that they contribute anything worth mentioning to the progress of these countries. they are rather the strongholds of the conservatism that is so fatal to progress and of those nations that look to the past rather than to the future. the spirit of the higher education is the spirit of the nations that foster it. if you want a tree or a shrub to grow luxuriantly and healthfully you must plant it in a fertile soil and allow the rain and the light to fall upon it. sometimes it may be advisable to protect it against adverse atmospheric conditions; but too much protection will defeat the very ends you aim at. the same is true of education. it needs to be wisely di- rected from above, but not cramped by too much regula- tion. it needs to be fostered by governments, but not ham- pered by them with too many and too minute regulations. the same is true of the church. it can do nothing or next to nothing by the mere fact of its organized existence. it needs life, it needs direction and above all things its members need to be permeated by a wholesome and pro- gressive impulse that is always looking for something that responsibility. will make the world better. the most intelligent educa- tors of our time, and indeed of all time, insist on the su- perlative importance of developing and strengthening the self-activity of every child in order that conduct in after life may be wisely directed toward useful ends. we do not surrender our individuality when we make up our minds to submit to wise leadership; but we ought to un- derstand clearly whither we are led and by what means. they only are free whom the truth makes free. what precious word liberty is! how men have fought for it and suffered for it and died for it! how they have en- dured chains and darkness and misery for themselves in the hope that those who came after them might enjoy its blessings! there is probably no ideal good for which men have so valiantly striven as for liberty. no one will deny that we have this blessing in abun- dance. we have all the liberty we can use, all the liberty we can ever hope for, but few know how to make the most of it. here is a lesson we have yet to learn. it seems that the great majority of mankind is so constructed that it must have masters. if they are not born under one they soon make one for themselves; and so it comes that many barter away by their own choice or in ignorance the birthright which is the open sesame to all that makes hu- man life worth living. if the diffusion of knowledge can teach men anything it must teach them the right use of liberty. it must teach every man to think for himself, to act for himself—in short to make the best possible use of his manhood, not merely for himself but for others. probably every thoughtful person is at times attacked with a feeling of despondency. there is a good deal of a certain kind of pessimism in the social atmosphere. it is not necessarily an unwholesome feeling, nor do i believe responsibility. of this, to him, all-absorbing question. whenever a life is not guided by reason and controlled by the will it sinks to the level of that of the brute. while almost every adult, especially in a democracy, is in some respects responsible for the conduct of his fellow-men, he is in a much larger degree responsible for his own. neither god nor man expects anybody to do what is beyond his power, but both have a right to expect us to do our best and not only to live up to the measure of the light we have, but always to seek for more. goethe's last words, "more light," make an excellent motto to put before ourselves at the beginning of our lives to be kept before ourselves al- ways. we ought to be unsparing critics of ourselves,— more unsparing than of anybody else. only by being such can we continue to grow in knowledge and wisdom to the end of our earthly existence. wisdom is the principal thing and wisdom is acquired only by that careful observa- tion and experience that we ought to incorporate into our earthly existence. i once heard a man say: "don't tell me what i was; tell me what i am." the justness of his remark has impressed me more and more the longer i have meditated upon it. but it has no meaning for those who in early life become confirmed and fixed in their modes of thought, whether they be good or evil. he is a rare man who can listen dispassionately to a disagreeable truth when it affects himself, his friends or his country. how often has it happened that men have vigorously and even pas- sionately defended measures which they had denounced with equal heat when advocated by their opponents. see how king david's anger flared up against the man who had been guilty of the abominable deed which nathan re- ported to him, little thinking that he was uttering his own death-warrant when he said: "as the lord liveth, the man wisdom and will in education. that hath done this thing shall surely die." "the grandeur of man's nature turns to insignificance all outward dis- tinction. his power of intellect, of love, of knowing god, of perceiving the beautiful, of acting on his own mind, on outward nature and on his fellow-creatures,—these are his glorious prerogatives. through the vulgar error of under- valuing what is common, we are apt, indeed, to pass them by as of little worth. but as in the outward creation, so in the soul, the common is the most precious. science and art may invent splendid modes of illuminating the apart- ments of the opulent; but these are all poor and worthless compared with the light which the sun sends into our win- dows which he pours impartially over hill and valley, which kindles daily the eastern and western sky; and so the common light of reason, and conscience, and love, are of more worth and dignity than the rare endowments which give celebrity to a few." in most of the more ancient cities of the old world stand churches and cathedrals that were erected many cen- turies ago. of but a few the architects who planned and builded them are known by name, while the thousands who carried out their grand conceptions are long since buried in oblivion. but their works are the beautiful and abiding symbol of the faith of those who conceived and erected them. they are the visible and tangible expression of that belief in a higher power that is common to all mankind; and of the faith that mortal men are the chosen instru- ments through which its designs are executed. they are mute but eloquent witnesses to the universal conviction that our life and our labor should at least in part be de- voted to the spiritual good of the generations yet unborn. the lowliest and weakest mortal who did no more than contribute a single stone to their solid walls contributed patriotism and partisanship. "history must not keep silent because history is the con- science of humanity; and let those understand who do not fear it that its justice can not be appeased and that its castigations are without end." these words were used by the late eminent publicist castelar in a comment upon one of the worst kings that ever sat upon the spanish throne. but they are of universal validity. no one who has care- fully studied the past will deny their truthfulness. his- tory is nothing more than amplified biography and those who made it were men of like passions with ourselves. it is more truly the conscience of the world than the con- science which every man is supposed to carry in his bosom. i may intentionally wrong my neighbor and succeed in justifying my conduct. at any rate it is but an incident between two individuals and is soon forgotten. when my father of my grandfather has, by any act, left a stain upon his memory, though i can not blot it out, i may ex- cuse it as well as i can. but that does not alter the case; the deed is done, the final record made up, the books are sealed. still, this is not a matter about which the larger public is concerned. but when i move into a wider sphere and see weighed before the tribunal of morals the acts for which my country is responsible i can neither conceal nor ( ) patriotism and partisanship. successfully justify what is wrong. the evil deeds in which i am, at least by implication, a participant, can not be concealed from the curious eye of the future investi- gator. my ancestors, my government, my country were guilty of wrongs that i may condone but the disinterested reader will not. there exist archives centuries old to which even at this late day no one is allowed access. their custodians seem to feel that they are involved in the guilt of the evil-doers, though they are connected with them by the slenderest jties, perhaps only by the bond of a common creed or a common country. it is like the mature man trying to cover up the sins and follies of his youth, though it is much more unavailing. nearly two thousand years ago plutarch justified the calamities that sometimes befell states for the wicked deeds of previous generations. said he, "the public calamities of states have obviously their reason in justice. for a state has unity and continuity like a living creature, not divesting itself of indentity by the changes that occur at successive periods of its life, nor becoming a different being from its former self by the lapse of time, but always retain- ing a conscious selfhood with the peculiarities that be- long to it, and receiving the entire blame or praise of whatever it does or has done in its collective capacity, so long as the community which constitutes it and binds it together remains a unit. but dividing it by successive periods of time so as to make of a single state many states, or rather an infinite number of states, is like making one man many men, because he is now elderly, yet was once younger and still earlier was a stripling. the state re- maining the same we regard it as involved in the disgrace of its ancestry by the very right by which it shares their glory and their power." wisdom and will in education. every man instinctively feels that he is more or less closely bound up in moral sense with his family, with the community of which he forms a part, with the govern- ment of which he is a citizen. when i hold up to an in- telligent englishman, the shortsightedness of his govern- ment at certain periods of the past, or to a wide-awake frenchman the follies that have characterized his ances- tors in their mad quest for what they called gloire, or to a well-read teuton the pusillanimity of the german people for centuries, they usually admit the truth of the indict- ment, but they have a ready answer by pointing to the po- litical corruption that has hung over our land like a pall for nobody knows how long; to our frequent lynchings; to our repudiation of state and municipal debts; to our toleration of human slavery for a century; to our unjust war with mexico, and more of the same sort. then i have little to say, but i can heartily join with my interlocutors in the wish that these things were none of them so. or we may all join in the pharisaical congratulation that we are not so bad as the spaniards, or the turks, or as a last resort, the malays. under such circumstances one is often inclined to take refuge in the philosophy of the arab, who, when charged with being a notorious thief and un- mitigated liar, retorted that if a man had only two or three faults he was not very bad. let us not forget that na- tional glory will not take the place of national character. the former may and is pretty sure to be transient if not founded on the latter. the true glory of a nation is not something that needs to be boasted of. for centuries frenchmen have been asserting that france marches at the head of civilization. they were so conscious of their superiority that they did not think it worth while to ex- amine what their neighbors were doing and refused to wisdbm and will in education. the persistent effort of man to secure justice. it is at least avowedly for the purpose of securing justice to every mem- ber of the body politic that all enlightened governments are organized—justice in taxation, justice in meting out re- wards and punishments, justice in representation, justice in the care of those who are not able to take care of them- selves, justice in the privilege to worship the supreme be- ing. no sane man asks more than equality of opportunity, a fair field and no favor. governments have followed each other like the divisions of an almost endless procession of mourners across the stage of time because they have failed in this regard. what has happened so many times will con- tinue to happen as long as man remains the same and like causes produce like effects. only that nation may safely claim to be built on an enduring foundation whose civil machinery is so constructed to bring it constantly nearer and nearer to that ideal condition that is realized only in the vision of the prophet and the dream of the sage. so profound is the universal conviction of the essential up- rightness of public opinion that no man in his public ca- pacity has the courage to defy it. the most pronounced despots have justified their tyranny by a liberal patronage of the arts and sciences, by the plea that the masses are not fit to govern themselves. sienkiewicz in quo vadis thus pays tribute to the natural goodness of man: "bronze- beard is a faint-hearted cur. although there is no limit to his power, he makes all his acts appear plausible. i have often asked myself why is it that every crime, be it as great as ceasar's and as certain of impunity, seeks the cover of the law, of justice or of virtue? why should it trouble itself? nero seeks to justify himself because he is a coward. but let us take a tiberius. he was no coward, yet he sought to justify his every act. why, then? what patriotism and partisanship. is this involuntary tribute which evil places at the feet of virtue? knowest thou what i think? it is done because vice is disgusting and virtue divine." we used to hear slavery defended because it was good for the slave. now we are told that immense armaments are conducive to peace. i venture to assert that no law was ever enacted for which its promoters did not claim that if it worked injury to some it benefited a greater number. it is no longer contended by anybody, so far as i know, that a state of belligerency is natural to men, or that it repre- sents a condition upon which all first-class nations are not making continual inroads. this is unconsciously ad- mitted by the assertion which we meet so often that the best way to secure permanent peace is to be always pre- pared for war. apparently hardly anybody wants to fight though almost everybody is in favor of preparing for it. the tendency toward a more peaceful civilization is marked. rome was almost continuously at war during the . thousand years of her existence. insignificant as many of these wars were they always meant a great deal of misery for at least one of the belligerents. the eighteenth cen- tury was ushered in by war, passed out in war, and the middle period was filled with "the din of arms." how different the nineteenth! when we remember that the napoleonic struggle was an inheritance of the preceding century we must admit that the one just closed was much less bloody than any that preceded it, far as we still are from a reign of peace and righteousness. why should men be more unreasonable collectively than individually? yet they are. in any civilized country when two men undertake to settle their differences with weapons or fists they are promptly arrested and fined. usually it is the soggy undercrust that has recourse to vio- wisdom and will in education. lence. with what contempt we view even the elite in some of our states who are ever ready to adjust their dif- ferences by physical force or it may be with revolvers. it is a pity we can not all read as often as once a year bacon's essay on the idols of pre-conceived opinion. such a pe- rusal would do much to enable our mental vision to pen- etrate the mists of error that constantly surround us. or we may change the figure and say that if these idols were taken away we should have a clearer vision to worship the true god. about us and in us are the idols of the tribe, the fallacies that are incident to humanity in general; idols of the den, the misconceptions that grow out of our indi- vidual mental constitution; idols of the market place, er- rors due to the power of words and phrases; idols of the theater, errors due to false systems and illogical methods of reasoning. when we remember that some men are so constituted that, with the best intention, thy can not see the truth,—to ask them to do so is like asking a five-foot man to look over a six-foot wall—and that others do not want to see it because of the labor involved, or because they believe it more to their advantage to cling to error and that these classes embrace the immense majority of mankind, we can not wonder that the world is still largely dominated by error and false reasoning. but, leaving aside all considerations of the quest for truth, how many people are there even in the most enlight- ened countries who devote any considerable portion of their time to reflection upon what will make them wiser, better nobler? surely these are matters that would seem to at- tract and occupy the attention of all more or less. that it does not is because it is easier to persist in the old, much as we may complain about it, than to keep readjusting our- selves to new conditions. we thoughtlessly do what we patriotism and partisanship. have always done; and what we have always done is what our elders did before us. if we are a little better in some things than other people we lay the flattering unction to our souls that we are in all respects their superiors. some of the very persons who have only scorn and con- tempt for the people of those countries or states of the union who readily resort to arms when they have a dis- pute with another man will almost in the same breath hurrah over the prospect of war between the united states and some foreign country, especially great britain. when we ask them for the cause of their hilarity they can give no reason except that we can "lick" england and all crea- tion and we want a chance to prove it. we can settle our private difficulties before courts of law and we scoff at those of our neighbors who can not settle theirs in the same way; yet many of us do not want to adjust our disagreements in this manner when we have a quarrel with another nation, though it may speak the same language, be proud of the same political traditions, and lay claim to the same litera- ture. it is true a court of law is not exactly a peaceful tribunal like a court of arbitration. behind it is in most cases physical force as a last resort, but this is always in the background. moral force has in most instances taken its place. and what an advance is a court of law upon con- ditions that prevailed very widely at one time. gentlemen settled their disputes by strength and skill. perish the thought that they could be settled in any other way. yet these honorable men have almost disappeared from the earth and will soon be little more than a curiosity or an object of ridicule. all history is but the history of civilization. this is a hard term to define, yet everybody knows what it signi- patriotism and partisanship. country of the world only not quite so pronounced. this is the practical side of politics, but the converse and senti- mental sides demand for every man equal treatment with every other. our federal and state courts forbid the pas- sage of laws that are not of general application, but in practice we have many such laws. here sentiment and practice are again in conflict and here, too, there is a steady effort to reconcile them. it is a common saying that facts and events are more powerful than theories. those who reason thus have a short vision. if this were true we might well exclaim, "right forever on the scaffold. wrong forever on the throne." see how this dictum has been proven false! might has indeed often prevailed over right, but it has not continued unless it justified itself. slavery and serfdom have not been abolished wholly or even chiefly by might, but by the sentiment of mankind the theory of equal rights before the law was for centuries the main support of the roman empire. governments are at last beginning to put in practice the theories of edu- cation advocated by greek thinkers and demonstrated by a few individuals. for centuries the civilized world, the most civilized nations have been trying to make real the ethical theories preached by the hebrew prophets and the christian apostles. how little the jews have figured in the politics of the world, how large in its morals, what an epic is their annals! what a mark they have made in his- tory and are still making, but it is through the arts of peace. no people have so profoundly influenced the thought of the world as they, none can boast of such endur- ing achievements, yet these achievements have almost all been peaceful. "in order to get rid of war we must make peace heroic." the chief glory of washington was not so much that he was first in war but first in peace. the patriotism and partisanship. self has enough to eat. a most competent authority says: "the only chinese in the empire who arp alert, inquiring, eager to know what the world is doing, and especially what china and the rulers of peking are thinking of, are the converts,—that is, the pupils of the missionaries or of those intelligent foreigners who have some other care concern- ing the chinese servants than mere exaction of labor and payment of wages. out of chinese official life or from the literati it seems impossible to get honesty or virtue in any vital sense. the earnest, the thinking men of china know that her vital lack is neither capital nor machinery, but men. they realize that the chinese system does not pro- duce men of conscience or of sterling character. they know that it has hitherto been impossible to secure any such persons, except by importation. how can it be other- wise in the future?" in the same connection another writer, speaking of morocco, says: "it is a popular cus- tom of travelers to disparage missionaries. let their work be difficult, their faith a mockery to those who share it not. their object hopeless, their achievement insignificant, or. it may be, illusory, their faults apparent, their methods absurd; the missionaries, of whatever creed, are the noble few who live for the future, and no seed that they sow if lost. every pure and earnest life, whether by a missionary or by any other, will tell on the nation." it is an established fact that the lower forms of anima' life which first appeared on our globe have all disappeared or have been greatly modified in their structure to suit the changing physical conditions. even those that belonged to a somewhat higher order have for the most part become extinct. the huge beasts, strong of limb and irresistible in physical force that are the wonder of our museums, destroyed or devoured the weaker ones until they them- wisdom and will in education. selves were cleared from the face of the earth by forces too strong for them. with all their strength they could not arrest the physical changes that were inevitable. un- able to suit themselves to circumstances they paid the debt of nature. with men the course of events has been simi- lar. they followed into the dark recesses of oblivion the beasts with which successive generations contended. the mighty empires of the earth that were in the course of time established form no exception. force was swept from the earth by greater force, for especially in the psychic world it is not force unaided by intelligence that wins in the end. the great states of antiquity were strong so long as they represented power that could be hurled against weaker rivals, who were in turn either crushed or absorbed. we are scarcely in position to say why those mighty empires that once existed in mesopotamia and the nile valley have so completely disappeared. and while we may regret the destruction of so many valuable works of art it is doubtful if anything of real use to the human race has perished. they represent the degradation of man rather than his elevation. greece stood for a higher type of civilization, but a lower type of patriotism and her statement looked so closely to the immediate future that they failed to recognize the claims of a remoter future. the komans were wiser, and yet not much wiser. as long as they considered the state more important than the indi- vidual they kept growing stronger and stronger. there was an idealism in their politics that we of to-day can not help but admire. yet this condition of things likewise passed away. factions were generated in the state that were more bent upon the destruction of their opponents than upon the good of the citizens as a whole. if there is one thing that modern research has estab- patriotism and partisanship. lished beyond a doubt it is the solidarity of history. we may for convenience speak of ancient history and medi- aeval history and modern history, but the making of his- tory is a continuous process. no new forces have been introduced in the world; the relations of the various forces have to some extent been changed, but no new ones have been added. just as the adult is not something radically different from the child, though he bears to it only the slightest resemblance in feature, form and figure, so the race is to-day what it always has been. sometimes when a man is dead an autopsy reveals that fact that his dis- ease was incurable. there was no human help for the victim. as an individual, with his separate physical ex- istence he could draw no support from his fellow-beings. but how often has it happened that physicians in learning the cause of one man's death discovered how to save those similarly afflicted! not so with states. they have never died of physical but of moral diseases, and the fact that we know the causes ought to admonish us to look to our- selves. the hebrew prophets foretold the woes that were sure to come upon their nation unless they changed their ways. but the men who for the most part managed af- fairs ignored these solitary theorists. they probably said, if they thought them worthy of consideration at all, "you are idealists; this is a practical world. you must take men as they are." woe to the world if this be so! if all the efforts to make men better by instructing the rising generation ends in the maxim, "you must take men as they are," our doom is sealed. everybody that can read knows something about demos- thenes and cicero. both these men were victims of a lost cause. but in one respect they were superior, and in one only, to the great orators among their countrymen; in the- wisdom and will in education. moral earnestness that pervades their political orations. edmund burke was likewise the champion of a lost cause when he espoused the side of the american colonies. his plea for right, for justice, for fair treatment, passed al- most unheeded, but time has vindicated the wisdom of his course. i imagine there are few englishmen to-day who would not rather have stood with burke and chatham, and lost, than with george iii. and lord north, though they won for the time being. in speaking of these events a re- cent english historian says: "the shame of the darkest hour of english history lies wholly at the door" of the king. there are two senses in which we may use the maxim, you must take world as it is. in the one we sim- ply accept the situation and regard existing conditions with indifference. like the servile herd that flattered the basest of the roman emperors, and their numerous repre- sentatives in later times, we may do the best we can to live at ease from day to day, taking no thought for the fu- ture. in the other, we recognize surrounding conditions, but keep bestirring ourselves to make them better. this is the purpose of every moral agency that has for its ob- ject the betterment of men. it is the soul and essence of pedagogy. amplified, it applies to the body politic the same principles that right instruction applies to the child. every intelligently constructed educational system means, take the child and make of him the best of which he is capable. so instruct him that each generation shall be better, wiser, nobler, than its predecessor. teach him to obey existing laws and to labor for the enactment of better ones. let him strive to defend his own rights and to ac- cord the same rights to others. we often hear a defense of the maxim, "my country right or wrong." what are we to understand by my coun- patriotism and partisanship. try in this sense? is it her institutions, her policy, her standard of morals, her laws? if so, who is responsible for them? is not every thinking man dissatisfied more or less with his country? is any one so well satisfied that he does not criticize and seek to make improvements? if im- provements are not held to be necessary the country has come to a standstill like china. true patriotism consists not so much in maintaining that we have the best and are the best as in an open mind for what is good and a deter- mination to have it. there is a kind of patriotism that is a sign of decay; it is evidence that the career of a nation is drawing to a close. the golden age of greek oratory was an era of decline. when there was little to commend in the present men looked to the past for examples of hero- ism and self-sacrifice. we often see the same sort of pride in families. when the generation that is on the scene of action is doing little to commend it, its representatives are apt to boast about the abilities and achievements of their ancestors. yet what is this worth if there is no disposition to do likewise? it seems strange, inexplicably strange, that it is so hard to look facts squarely in the face. dur- ing our late war with spain, continental europe was against us almost to a man. it was a case of "kick my dog, kick me." the merits of the case scarcely entered into the discussion at all. spain was near by and a mon- archy, the united states far away and a republic; of course the latter was in the wrong and it was not worth while to look into the merits of the controversy. in four cases out of five you can predict with certainty on which side the recent south african war a man's sympathies were if you know his ancestry. we need not go very far into the past to see the melan- choly effect of political short-sightedness. less than four wisdou and will in education. hundred years ago poland occupied a large place on the map of europe. with its thirty-five million inhabitants it was one of the most powerful states of the world. a hundred years later, though much diminished, it was still strong. no longer ago than the time of our bevolution it yet numbered twelve million people. since then it has ceased to be a nation. there is a polish people, but there is no citizen of poland. every pole, whether at home or abroad is in a sense an exile. campbell said, "freedom shrieked when kosciusko fell," but whatever we may think of kosciusko and a few genuine patriots, their cause was doomed from the start. it deserved no better fate. the freedom for which too many poles fought was simply lib- erty to make war against one another, to plunder one an- other. it was not patriotism, but selfishness. alison, the historian, after quoting the line of campbell continues, "but the truth of history must dispel the illusion and un- fold in the fall of poland the natural consequences of its national delinquencies. the eldest born of the european family was the first to perish because she had thwarted all the ends of the social union; because she united the turbu- lence of democratic to the exclusion of aristocratic socie- ties; because she had the vacillation of a republic with- out its energy, and the oppression of a monarchy without its stability. such a system neither could nor ought to be maintained." how different is the history of switzerland in spite of many dark pages! even if the individual be nothing more than a link in the chain of human endeavor his efforts will not be in vain, if intelligently directed. we need not ask ourselves whether we are heirs to a personal immortality. a clear grasp of this doctrine answers the question for every man patriotism and partisanship. against their better judgment. the world has far less need of a few great men than of many genuinely patriotic citizens. patriotism means statesmanship, rather than mere statecraft. if it elects war, it is only as an un- avoidable necessity and because it will secure a more dur- able peace. it directs the policy of william of orange, of stein, of washington and lincoln, rather than that of louis xiv, of metternich, of talleyrand, of napoleon, of calhoun and davis. it is less concerned about immediate effects than lasting results. but i have been advocating the cause of the sentimental as against the practical statesman and now that i am ap- proaching the end of my discourse, i find that i have been advocating the cause of reason against sentiment, or, at least, against passion, against impulse; it is an appeal from philip drunk to philip sober. i have made a plea for a practical, for a reasonable policy, if not against a system of politics as yet practicable. i am sure if such a system is as yet beyond our reach it represents the goal towards which statesmanship has been tending, slowly, it may be, but tending nevertheless. surely as men grow wiser they grow more humane, more capable of self-control, more will- ing to live and to let live. if they talk less about the rights of men they are not therefore less willing to recognize and accord these rights. it is true, much thought, much en- ergy, much time and much money are still expended on the art of destruction, but i believe still more are expended on the arts of peace, on the arts that increase the happi- ness of mankind. sad to say, this is not the case in all countries, but it is so in some, probably in many. even what is ostensibly intended for war may ultimately pro- mote peace, for no nation lives wholly or even chiefly by war. there are no longer perpetual national feuds, as wisdom and will in education. there have been and still are perpetual tribal feuds. some of the great powers may still be ready to fly at each others' throats, but they deliberate more carefully before making the fatal plunge. it is a noteworthy fact that with the growth of nationali- ties wars have decreased in frequency. until compara- tively recent times the different portions of great britain and ireland were engaged in almost continual conflict. what is now france was much in the same case. some of the italian states were almost continually at loggerheads with others. in nearly all the wars in which germany has been engaged some of the states were on one side and some on the other. it does not seem easy to say anything bad that is an exaggeration about the government of rus- sia, yet it can not be denied that the growth of the empire has been conducive to internal peace. we may think of the motive as we please, it can at least not be said that the idea that has for two hundred years inspired the govern- ment of this great empire of the north has thus far and on the whole produced a retrograde movement in the cause of civilization. but, finally, let us not deceive ourselves as to the facts and to the duty of present and future generations. the world will only go forward so long as men will to advance. it is easy to stop or to fall behind; it is not easy to go on. in the world of volition we are not dealing with physical forces that can neither be increased nor diminished. united effort toward a common end, toward a common goal that all progressive nations perceive more or less clearly will greatly accelerate the common weal. we must not strive to make ourselves as contented as we can amid conditions as we find them, but rather endeavor to bring them a little nearer conditions such as every normally con- stituted man would like to have them. spiritual verities. it is not safe to assume that we know much about what is passing in other people's minds; but to judge from what we see going on around us it may well be doubted whether any considerable portion of our fellow-mortals give the question of how to make the most of life any serious thought. years before they reach the age of maturity the large majority have lapsed into the ruts of the hum- drum existence led by those about them, and it is almost a miracle if by some fortunate chance are lifted out of it. the merchant in his buying and selling, the artisan at his trade, the professional man in the pursuit of his daily vocation, are chiefly concerned about making the largest pecuniary gains out of the particular transaction in hand, and about little else. it is true that now and then we find parents who are intelligently solicitous for the welfare of their own children and that of the rising genera- tion as a whole and who are willing to make almost any sacrifices for the attainment of so noble an object; but with the large majority the wish is a mere sentiment that does not find expression in a consistent line of conduct. we americans take a great deal of credit to ourselves because we are not idealists and sentimentalists, but prac- tical men and women who have our gaze steadily directed ( ) wisdom and will in education. toward tangible objects. in politics as in business every man has an eye chiefly to his personal advancement, and he who should desire a public office chiefly for the oppor- tunities it would give him for benefiting the public at large would be regarded as a very peculiar sort of a man, if nothing else. a few men can be found who openly advo- cate the doctrine that in our elective offices the first qualifi- cation of the nominee should be character and ability, though many are willing to assign to these the second place, while reserving the first to party fealty and the power to win votes. yet it sometimes dawns upon us, if only for a moment, that there is such a thing as being too practical; at least we are willing to admit that the other fellows are so. rich men are coming more and more to fill our im- portant offices because of their practical methods in the canvas. they have a way of carrying elections and of getting places for themselves and friends that is out of reach of him who relies on character alone. and those who elevate them to office are practical men; why should they exert themselves for an abstraction, an ideal, when it is possible to get ready cash, or its equivalent? "you take my life when you do take the means whereby i live," says shylock, most truly, if life consists chiefly or wholly in the abundance of the things that a man hath. on the same principle a man will work for those who promise to afford him the means of putting money in his purse, with- out a very careful scrutiny of the merits of the question in- volved. the issue is simply between the individual and the whole community. i suppose that the man who accepts what the law calls a bribe justifies himself by the same spiritual verities. reasoning that the man uses who works for the candidate that commands the most influence. of two equally com- petent candidates why should i not support that one who is able and willing to give me something of practical value, whether it be dollars or something else? i am persuaded that a good deal of the indignation that now and then breaks out against successful candidates arises from a state of mind like that of the little girl who said, "mamma, see what a pig my sister is; she took the largest orange in the dish, and i wanted it." it is not so much indignation at the disguised bribery, per se, as vexation at the condition of things which made it possible for the other side to bribe heavier than ours. the great misfortune of this condition of things is that it keeps most of the real states- men, the men who are able and willing to legislate for the general good rather than local interests, out of our legislative halls, and puts in their places men of narrow views and limited information. one does not need to be very widely read to see that much of our bad or imprac- ticable legislation is simply a repetition of the same or similar legislation in other states. if we are not willing to profit by the experience of europe we ought to be willing at least to profit by that of our sister states, and be only too glad to use their dear-bought experience when it can be had for almost nothing, in preference to buying it over again. and when questions of world-wide interest are to be legislated upon, such as those which concern the cur- rency and international commerce, it is the most short- sighted folly to ignore the experience of the foremost euro- pean countries. a man or a nation that undertakes to contravene the laws of nature inevitably does so to his own detriment. the time has passed when any civilized nation can get along without the rest. wisdom and will in education. to me it is very clear, as it must be to every careful reader of history, that in politics the winning principle is idealistic; it is what the careful interpreter of the past sees and what the mere time-server does not see. it is the pur- suit of ideal aims that distinguishes the mere politician from the statesman. the one seeks his country's good in the largest and fullest sense, though it may sometimes be at the expense of his present popularity and personal interest. the other puts self and section first. in england the years that preceded the american revo- lution showed clearly the party of ideals in contrast to those who were interested only in their present welfare and personal interests. when king george proposed to grenville the alternative of taxing the colonies or resigning his office, he chose the former, though clearly convinced of its inexpediency—let us at least give him credit for this much. looking at the record of english legislation dur- ing this period it is plainly evident that the party of ideals, of principles, the impracticables, though for a time com- pletely defeated were in the end victorious. the english people had to pay for the follies of their rulers. it was not the "king's friends," but his opponents, his enemies, as they would doubtless be often designated, pitt and burke, and those who stood with them, those who had the courage to defend an unpopular course, for the reason that it was founded on right, who are now ranked among her leading statesmen. it was these english defenders of a "lost cause," though lost only for a time, that posterity no less at home than abroad, now delights to honor, not so much for what they accomplished in their day, as for main- taining views which time proved to be just and true and expedient. it was the cause of humanity, the cause which the progress of events shows is always and everywhere des- spiritual verities. tined to win. how different the fate of these men from that which is overtaking the defenders of another "lost cause," in our own day. however much we may respect the personal qualities of some of those who were led into it we can not shut our eyes to the fact that they fought for a sectional issue, for a principle that the world had out- grown and that they undertook to do that which has never been done, put back the hands on the dial-plate of time. the world at large is taking less interest in their names and their fate and historians will ere long use these only as they do that of the napoleons, "to point a moral or adorn a tale." for centuries the german people had suffered inconceiv- able miseries from the all-powerful spirit of particularism that dominated its rulers. concerned only for that which would prolong their lease of power or conduce to personal aggrandizement her petty princes took little account of the needs of their subjects and of the whole country. the dream of german unity lived only in the books of histori- ans and philosophers, or was whispered from lips to lips in the little coteries of idealists that existed here and there. yet that which was for centuries but an idea, an aspiration and a hope, is to-day a reality, because there were some who never despaired even in the darkest hour, because they in- terpreted more correctly than the practical politicians the signs of the times and the tendency of events. the recent history of italy closely resembles that of germany; with this difference that her outlook for unity was even more hopeless. for the century preceding her unification germany had maintained a vigorous intellec- tual life, while italy had sunk into a condition of mental torpor. yet cavour and those who shared his views and sympathized with his aims did not despair and only ceased spiritual verities. oughly uncongenial. not least did he show his wisdom in this that he spent his days in putting on record the truths which few of his countrymen had the prescience to comprehend, as a testimony to the world how different its fate would have been had they heeded but a small portion of his suggestions. whenever a people has sought purely practical aims by the sacrifice of justice and righteousness somebody has had to pay the penalty. regarded from the purely practical point of view no course had ever so little prospect of success as christianity. a little company of converts to a new religion, in an unimportant city of an obscure province of the roman empire, calmly planning the conquest of the world with spiritual weapons alone. sub- lime was the spectacle, immeasurable the faith in the hearts of these zealots! but time has justified their hopes and set the seal of approval on their vast undertaking. what did it signify that they would be bitterly opposed by both those who held to the religion which they had given up and by those who cared nothing for any religion! what matter that they would come into conflict with paganism in its various local cults and with the whole power of the roman em- pire! the things that were not seen proved mightier than those that were visible and tangible. in a few centuries it was the victor and in a condition to dictate terms to the powers that but recently had despised and hated and striven mightily at times to eradicate it. the same sub- lime faith and undaunted courage still animates the church. the spiritual regeneration of asia, with her teeming millions, looks like an idle dream. but it is not any more impossible of realization than the conquest of europe was eighteen centuries ago. what is the literature worth that looks only to immediate profits? things are changing somewhat in this regard, wisdom and will in education. yet even now they who write what will yield the largest and swiftest returns are producing only for to-day. to- morrow no one will care for it. it is the pursuit of the ideal, the effort to realize so far as may be the subjective conception of what is loftiest and best that gives to the work of the artist in every department that which is of permanent value. if i read history aright the world owes about all that is valuable in it to dreamers and idealists, to men who live in the future rather than in the present. "human progress depends upon the dreams of enthusiasts. the inventor, the discoverer, the reformer are dreamers who, prophet-like, see in their imagination things that other mortals know not of." many dreams have become realities and are common-place facts to us now. it is hardly too much to say that civilization consists of realized dreams. we call dreams which are not all dreams, ideals, and the only reason why all dreams are not useful as ideals is because the stuff of which the ideal is made does not conform to the actual state of things and is not handled according to the laws of nature. we must admit that in the domain of physical science the dreamer may often ex- pend toil and anxious thought in that which is destined to remain forever unrealized. we may labor to turn a baser metal into gold and fail, or to construct a flying-machine that will never fly, but it is not so in the domain of the ar- tistic and the ethical. here no honest labor is ever thrown away. think of personal immortality as we may, death is no finality and we must not form our rules of conduct to accord with the idea that the exit of our individual life is the end of all. people who have no interests, no care or ideals that reach beyond the grave, may enjoy themselves better than others who live their lives with a constant pros- pect of immortality; yet in the long run of many genera- wisdom and will in education. grateful remembrance of his services to his country. these profuse floral tributes may have been in part the expression of private friendship and esteem, but that which endeared him to a wider circle was his indefatigable and disinter- ested zeal in behalf of the rights of the people, in behalf of democracy and against ecclesiasticism. it is probable that he accomplished little that directly benefited his country, but he did much indirectly in the way of stimulating thought and in pointing out to his fellow-citizens in what directions national greatness and prosperity lay. poster- ity delights to honor him not so much because he achieved great things, as because he disinterestedly devoted a long life and great abilities, not to the accomplishment of pri- vate objects, but to labors for the public good. it is well to remember that not every life which seems to be a failure is really so, and that not every enterprise which proves abortive, has been undertaken wholly in vain. the list of names of men and women whose earthly careers were a failure, judged only by the common standard of their own day, is a long one; yet as we look back upon their record viewing it in the light of subsequent events few of us would hesitate to take their places rather than that of an equal number who won transient renown and a large inheritance of perishable possessions. in that most remarkable poem of the nineteenth century, a production into which the author has wrought the sub- jective experience of a life extending over more than three- quarters of a century, we have finely contrasted, at least by implication, the diverging results of a life spent for self- ish and practical ends with the same life devoted to the good of others. in the first part of faust the hero is placed before us as a man endowed with the highest intel- lectual gifts and enjoying the respect of bis fellow-men be- spiritual verities. cause of his learning and talents. but his life had been spent solely for self and in pursuit of selfish ends. the time comes when he realizes to its full extent how unsatis- factory such an existence is and he seriously contemplates putting an end to it with a poisonous draught. an evil spirit suggests to him that there is still one thing untried and advises him to seek enjoyment in sensuality, advises him not only to renounce a mode of life that was at least harmless, but to enter upon a course that will stop at noth- ing, not even the sacrifice of the happiness of his fellow-be- ings, provided it will contribute to his own gratification. it need hardly be said that to one so gifted, to one who appre- hends so clearly the constitution of things, such a course must prove even less satisfactory than the former. made a wiser but a sadder man by the bitter experiences of more than half a lifetime of misdirected effort, he is led to take a wider and juster view of his relation to so- ciety and the world of which he forms a part. he thence- forth directs his attention to an altruistic object and re- solves to devote the remaining years of his life to that which aims at the good of others rather than himself. here almost to his surprise he finds satisfaction and the inter- nal peace which he had so long sought in vain. we believe the experience of faust is the experience of every one who is not intrinsically and totally depraved. fortunately for the world the number of these is small; but unfortunately they are too few who, endowed with talents and learning, never give up the problem of life until they have solved it, and found the solution in the salvation which the hero of goethe's poem worked out with such determined earnest- ness of purpose. german literature furnishes us with another instructive contrast in the person of the two men who by universal spiritual verities. during the former part of the last century a music teacher connected with one of the gymnasia of the city of leipzig was diligently and unostentatiously pursuing his chosen vocation. he was known as a performer on the organ, of more than ordinary merit, but he cared little for notoriety and his reputation hardly spread beyond the circle of his personal acquaintances. yet he was a diligent com- poser for every musical instrument then known and seems to have been satisfied when his thoughts had been com- mitted to paper or at most executed by such inadequate help as could be found among his pupils. scantily ap- preciated during his life, doubtless owing to his modesty and indifference to public applause, he was soon almost for- gotten after his death except by a few admirers, and his musical compositions neglected and scattered. two gen- erations later mendelssohn began to direct the attention of his fellow-musicians to the inexhaustible wealth of har- mony treasured up in the works of john sebastian bach, and it was soon acknowledged by competent judges that this almost forgotten composer was a genius of the highest order. his organ compositions are now admitted to be not only "unsurpassed but unsurpassable," and in the lan- guage of schumann "music owes to him almost as great a debt as religion owes to its founder." posterity became possessed with the desire to make some amends for the neg- lect of contemporaries, by erecting over the grave of this wonderful master of harmony, some token of its apprecia- tion. but lo! the last resting place of the man who was worthy to sit as the peer of handel and beethoven could not be found; and to this day his dust reposes in an un- known and unmarked grave. yet this poor musician who during life earned little beyond his daily bread and who after death had no one to place even a tablet to his memory, wisdom and will in education. had erected for himself a monument "more enduring than brass, and loftier than the pyramids' royal structure; which not the wasting shower, not the raving northwind can have power to overthrow, or the countless succession of years, and the ages' flight." he had steadily pursued the highest ideal of excellence that he could conceive and had never stopped to see whether his efforts were appreciated. all the millienaires on the earth could not purchase an im- mortality like his. they might erect costly monuments and gorgeous tombs, but the world would remember that they were nobodies and care nothing for them except per- haps to gratify an idle curiosity, unless there was something more than wealth to entitle them to remembrance. here, then, was another life that was a failure, according to the ordinary scale of measurement, but it was a brilliant success when measured by that loftier standard which has regard rather to things as they are than as they seem to be. it is, of course, easy to argue, as men often do, when the matter of aims in life is under discussion, that the ex- ample of men of extraordinary talents is worth nothing to him who has all he can do to make a living. but what is the mission of great men if it is not to serve as examples to the rest? the world is not made up of great men, but of ordinary ones. every man may and ought to work for some ideal; it need not be a high one, and yet be of great advantage to himself and to others. the man whose aim is to make a better shoe than anybody else in his town de- serves commendation for that. the man whose ideal is the perfect citizen will serve as a useful example to many. it is not always the man who occupies the most conspicuous position who is the greatest benefactor to the community. the social structure may be compared to a building of stone in which each separate piece has its place and its spiritual verities. office. the key-stone over an arch or the block over a window or a door may be more essential to the solidity of the structure than some of the smaller fragments; and yet not a piece that has once been assigned to its place can be taken away without marring the beauty and symmetry of the building. nor can it be said that what is used to form the top of the wall is any more important than the bottom, even though some of the latter be quite out of sight. we may say here in the words of scripture, "if they were all one member, where were the body? but now there are many members, yet one body. and the eye can not say to the hand, i have no need of thee; nor again, the head, to the feet, i have no need of thee; nay, much more those members of the body, which seem to be more feeble, are necessary; and whether one member suffer, all members suffer with it; or one member be honored, all members re- joice with it." or again, "ye also as living stones are built up a spiritual house.*' viewed from a purely theo- retical standpoint it seems easy to inspire the world with higher aims in life. it is only necessary for each individ- ual to put a better spirit into one person and that is him- self, or if that is making too large a demand, we will ex- pect nothing of one-half the members of society, by their own efforts and expect the other half to raise one person besides himself to higher grounds. or, again, let parents devote themselves solely and singly to the good of their children, and with the next generation the millenium would be ushered in. the orphan alone would be left for some one to take care. of, and it would be easy for the child- less to take upon themselves that charge. but alas! what is theoretically so easy is practically impossible; too many care nothing for themselves and equally little for others. you all know the story of the man who bequeathed spiritual verities. of the children, only a panic horror of the inexpressibly pitiable calamity of their living a ledge or two lower on the molehill of the world—a calamity to be averted at any cost whatever, of struggle, anxiety and shortening of life itself. i do not believe that any greater good could be achieved for the country, than the change of public feeling on this head, which might be brought about by a few benevolent men, undeniably in the class of 'gentlemen,' who would, on principle, enter into some of our commonest trades, and make them honorable; showing that it was pos- sible for a man to retain his dignity, and remain, in the best sense a gentleman, though part of his time was every day occupied in manual labor, or even in serving customers over a counter. i do not in the least see why courtesy, and gravity, and sympathy with the feelings of others, and cour- age, and truth, and piety, and what else goes to make up a gentleman's character, should not be found behind a counter as well as elsewhere, if they were demanded, or even hoped for, there." these remarks though used of en- glish life, may with a slight modification be applied to ourselves. but i shall not speak here of the dignity of labor; we hear a great deal about that and believe very little of it. but i do insist on the dignity of life; upon the supreme importance of striving for the attainment of some worthy object, and of so living that each to-morrow may find us farther than to-day in all the elements of true manhood and womanhood. but it is not those who are chiefly engaged in labors of a more or less mecl-mical sort to whom society has a right to look for ideal aims in life. it is the cultured, the intelligent, the educated who should take the lead. and what is knowledge worth to the individual and to society if it does not lift men above the narrow mercantile spirit wisdom and will in education. of the age. the illiterate and uncultured man may well say, especially if his motives are pure and his life upright, "i do not see that my intelligent neighbor is one whit more self-sacrificing or less grasping or less eager for dollars and cents than i am." he is right when he holds that knowledge alone will not save men. it is not enough to know what ails a patient, it is equally important that one should know how to cure him and be willing to make the sacrifices necessary to his restoration. yet intelligent men are the saviors of the world. turkey has not advanced in half a dozen centuries, because she has no scholars, no citi- zens with ideal aims either in art or science or morals. with the turk the only question is how to get through the day. spain is very much in the same case; for the few to whom life means more than merely to eat and drink and sleep have little influence on the unregenerate masses, so largely in the majority. i beg you to consider whether it is not the pursuit of ideals; and moral preaching that has brought the world to where it is. and if you find it so, will you not put heart and head and hand to this glorious work? take this stand from principle and pursue your object unremittingly through life. there is hardly a man living who would not like to have the credit of being honest and generous and benevo- lent, but selfishness hinders so many noble impulses from blossoming into action. men resort to hypocrisy to gain credit for deeds which they have not the moral earnestness to perform. how much better it is to strive for real ex- cellence than for the mere credit of it; for a reality than a sham. i do not know whether the inhabitants of the spirit world take any interest in what is going on in our mundane life; but it seems to me that if it is possible for disembod- ied souls to look upon this struggle between what is good spiritual verities. and what is evil, between what is high and what is low, between what is ideal and what is selfish, and the thought were forced upon them: in all this i took no part and had no interest; i never contributed a dollar nor an hour's la- bor to sustain the good against the evil, but allowed my in- significant self to fill the entire horizon of my mental vis- ion, that would be torment enough. i know that it is not easy to be true to the ideal of our youth, through a career of disappointment, such as every life is to a greater or less degree. i have no doubt that every successful man in an ethical cause has often had oc- casion to say with the psalmist, "my feet had well nigh slipped, when i beheld the prosperity of the wicked." but for the very reason that so many lead aimless lives the ob- ligation is the more binding on the few who have a deeper insight. he that would be greatest among you shall be your servant. "not many lives, but only one have we— frail, fleeting man! how sacred that one life should be- that narrow span! day after day filled up with blessed toil, hour after hour still bringing in new spoil." but while we have but one life to live, that is not the end of us even in this world, unless we will have it so. "so to live that when the sun of our existence sinks in night, memorials sweet of mercies done may shrine our names in memory's light, and the blest seeds we scatter'd bloom a hundred-fold in days to come." wisdom and will in education. this is not a mere fancy sketch—it is something that is within the reach of even the humblest, but it requires a fixed and earnest purpose. i can not more fitly conclude the lesson of the present hour than with some words carlyle uses in closing his life of john sterling. would that the same could be used of us all! "in sterling's writings and actions, were they capable of being well read, we consider that there is for all true hearts especially for young and noble seekers, and strivers toward what is highest, a mirror in which some shadow of them- selves and of their immeasureably complex arena will prof- itably present itself. here also is one encompassed and struggling even as they now are. this man had said to himself, not in mere catechism-words, but with all his in- stincts, and the question thrilled in every nerve of him, and pulsed in every drop of blood: what is the chief end of man? behold i too would live and work as beseems a denizen of this universe—a child of the highest god. by what means is a noble life still possible to me, ye heavens, and thou earth, oh how?" this is the question which every honest, god-fearing man asks himself every day, and even oftener. but the sum and substance is contained in the words: "whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsover things are of good report; if there be any virtue, if there be any praise, think on these things." wisdom and will in education. forces cease to be active in building up its tissues; so in the social organism, when the natural forces which exist in man as an individual overpower the spiritual forces de- veloped and strengthened by the attrition of man against man in society, progress is stopped and disintegration be- gins. self-denial or self-sacrifice is a convenient term to desig- nate the law of progress, selfishness the principle that coun- teracts it. the terms can be reversed and the statement will be equally true. let us look at their applicability in 'the explanation of a few historical eras of first rate im- portance. the fundamental principle of the ancient greek states, notably athens and lacedaemon, was the obligation of the individual to consult the interests of the common- wealth rather than his own. it was each one's duty to sacrifice all that he had upon the altar of his country. as long as their citizens recognized and acted under this feel- ing their political power was greater than any force that could be brought against them. but though the east could not evercome them in battle it was able by the assidu- ous nurture of selfishness to undermine their civic virtue so that in time they fell an easy prey to those who were eager for their destruction. the citizen preferred ease and personal gratification to liberty maintained by per- sonal sacrifices. with the decay of civic virtue, literature sank lower and lower until it was no longer worthy of the name. the spirit that once made the athenian proud of his nationality, of the beauty of his native city, of the splendor of her festivals, the genius of her artists, the glory of her choric exhibitions, that made him boast of the re- nown of her achievements in everything that was noble, no longer animated him, and the self-seeking greek had be- come a byword and a reproach. self-renunciation. many centuries later on another continent a feeble nation is engaged in a life and death struggle with a powerful enemy. . but it was not entered upon in the spirit of self- seeking. no sentiment was more frequently uttered than that growing out of the conviction that it was not so much for the benefit of the contemporaries as for the good of those yet unborn. luxury had not yet undermined civic virtue and the contest ended as every such contest ends, not in favor of the strongest but of the most worthy. less than a century ago germany lay prostrate before the overwhelming power of napoleon. he had been vic- torious as long as there had been but little self in his plans. the baseness of the self-seeking german princes had brought untold misery upon their subjects. but to them as to our forefathers the burden became unbearable and forgetting self they determined to throw it off. they felt that the sufferings of the present, great as they might be, were not to be compared with the glory that should fol- low. and their faith was not in vain. just as the de- generate* greek subjects of the macedonian and the roman empire looked back with pride at the deeds of his fore- fathers, even when he was too weak to imitate their exam- ples, so the german of to-day no less than the american regards the deeds of a century past with an ever-growing satisfaction. degenerate indeed is he who can dwell in spirit upon those former days of toil and sacrifice and heroism without feeling that he would gladly have shared them because, great as may have been the cost, the reward is still greater. yet the success of every holy cause must be purchased with sacrifices, not only of blood, which many are ready to make, but of self in a hundred other ways, to which a much smaller number of souls is adequate. let us not be misled by our admiration for the past; let wisdom and will in education. us not sigh because we live in these degenerate times, as they are often called; there is a future joined to every present, and opportunity is never wanting to him who will use it. it is worth at least a passing remark that many are to- day seeking their temporal salvation through the same methods that preserved it to the foremost nations of an- tiquity. they would make the commonwealth all-power- ful, the individual nothing, except so far as he contributed his mite to the formation of public opinion. few, i be- lieve, who advocate the self-abnegation demanded by so- cialism are aware that they are advocating a return to a condition of society that has been outgrown forever. but the obligation of every man to the community is as binding now as it ever was, only the recognition of that obligation must find expression voluntarily. no man's services to his country or to any cause is worth anything if his first object is to benefit himself to the exclusion of others. when two parties contend for a loaf, each expecting to get two-thirds, both are sure to be disappointed. the cate- gorical imperative represents our perfect rule of conduct and we approach perfection as we approach a realization of it in our lives. the spirited lines of scott forcibly express the great fact that only the unselfish man can be a lover of his country. "high though his titles, proud his name, boundless his wealth as wish can claim; despite those titles, power and pelf, the wretch concentred all in self, living shall forfeit fair renown, and doubly dying shall go down to the vile dust from whence he sprung, unwept, unhonored and unsung." self-renunciation. those nations, both ancient and modern, have made the greatest progress among whom the law of self-denial was most vigorous in the national consciousness. otherwise it is simply a thing to laugh at, like the silly pride of the modern spaniard or turk. the nations of the east had no coherence, except to some extent the jewish, because their units were held together by an external force. how proud were the citizens of rome to be called by that august name, how eager to purchase the title when not born to it! it is not a mere accident that so many founders and reformers of greek states, as well as of rome, live in le- gend as having freely offered their lives for the good of their country. the most ignorant could appreciate this embodiment of the national consciousness in flesh and blood, and feel the inspiration to imitate them. after the states of modern europe began to emerge from the darkness of the middle ages it was in france first that a strong and permanent national feeling was developed; and it is a trite remark that france' led the civilization of modern europe. national salvation, national greatness, civilization in its highest and best sense is only possible in a country a majority of whose citizens voluntarily place country before self, even to the extent of all that men hold dear. i do not forget that patriotism in the vigorous language of dr. johnson, may be the last refuge of a scoundrel. there is little hope for a country where its citizens say "our country right or wrong." patriotism is only worthy of that sacred name when it puts national honor and honesty first and national greatness last, for that greatness is alone permanent which is founded upon that rock of truth and right. national power should be used to promote most vigorously only those principles that are imperishable in human constitutions. wisdom and will in education. a recent writer applies the words of froude upon davis, the english navigator, to the case of john brown, and i use them here because they fully describe the condition of life that i am now trying to sketch, "a melancholy end for such a man—the end of a warrior, not dying epamin- ondas-like on the field of victory, but cut off in a poor brawl or ambuscade. life with him was not a summer holiday, but a holy sacrifice offered up to duty, and what his master sent was welcome. it was hard, rough, and thorny, trodden with bleeding feet and aching brow, the life of which the cross is the symbol; a battle which no peace follows this side the grave; which the grave gapes to finish before the victory is won; and strange that it should be so—this is the highest life of man. look back along the great names of history; there are none whose life has been other than this. they to whom it has been given to do the really highest work in this world, whoever they are, jew or gentile, pagan or christian, warriors, legislators, philosophers, priests, poets, kings, slaves—one and all, their fate has been the same: the same bitter cup has been given them to drink." "whether on the scaffold high, or in the battle's van, the fittest place where man can die, is where he dies for man." we live in times where personal valor no longer finds constant and fit expression in terms of bodily prowess; it is less necessary that one or a few shall die for the many. but it is not the less necessary that each shall exercise his proper share of self-denial that the community receive no detriment. salvation through self-denial is the formula self-renunciation. which expresses objectively the idea embodied in the well- known words, salvation through faith. in one case we speak in the language of philosophy, in the other in the language of theology. through salvation by faith we save ourselves, through salvation by self-denial we save our fellow-men. here we have the law of human progress, yet while con- stantly recognizing, how constantly do men resist it. against no other law of the spirit does he make such unin- terrupted though it may be silent resistance. in order to get into the kingdom he is willing to expend ten times the strength that would take him into the strait gate, in order to get in some other way, provided his feelings of selfish- ness be gratified. he wants his own neighbors to see the feat of scaling the wall, of breaking a breach, or to know how much time he spent on it, or a monument to commem- orate the achievement. how many there are who would purchase health of body or purity of heart at any price except that of a bad habit! how many there are who would purchase learning, public gratitude or posthumous fame at any price except that of constitutional disinclina- tion to exertion! but god will not have it so. we all must pay the same price for real excellence, and no one can pay it for us, and that price is self-denial. the sentiments with which a people regards the spirit of self-denial and self-sacrifice is an index of its place along the scale of civilization. the degenerate carthagenians endeavored to purchase the favor of the gods by the sacri- fice of their children to moloch. many an indian has hoped to purchase heaven by death under the wheels of juggernaut's car. not a few christians have sought to self-renunciation. • moral excellence. almost in the same words the his- torian of european morals says: "the first condition of all really great moral excellence is a spirit of genuine self- sacrifice and self-renunciation." nor is there anything sur- prising in this. so long as our lower and carnal self is our master it is not possible for us to follow the guidance of our higher and spiritual self. men in all the stages of civilization have instinctively felt this and unconsciously recognized it. the buddha's highest claim to admiration lay in the fact that he renounced kingship to minister to the poor and humble. the savior of mankind left a greater kingdom for a like purpose. there are no heroes, whether real or legendary, so fondly remembered as those who have sacrificed themselves for the good of others. the athenians thought no one worthy to reign after king kodrus, who made himself a voluntary offering for the sal- vation of his country. the romans cherished with feelings stronger than ven- eration the remembrance of horatius and regulus. arnold winkelried is held up as an example not only by his own countrymen but his devotion to country is regarded as an inheritance in which all patriots may share. no man is so great that he could not enhance his reputation by saving the life of a child at the risk of his own, or sacrificing his own in the attempt to do so. some people may think that it is the element of personal bravery that charms men in instances such as these. but personal bravery displayed upon an unworthy object is mere foolhardiness for which all right minded persons feel only contempt. if there be any virtue in this it is that of the bull-dog rather than of a human being. but self-sacrificing for a national cause is not the only sacrifice that finds a permanent and cherished place in the wisdom and will in education. human heart. there are no scenes in the greek mythology which poets have dwelt on more fondly and which audi- ences tired less of seeing upon the stage than antigone braving the wrath of the cruel kreon and a horrible death in order to perform the last rites of affection over the dead bodies of her brothers; than alkestis laying down her life voluntarily that her husband might live; than the strife be- tween orestes and pylades as to which should die for the other. few are they in any audience who would not ad- mire and applaud such heroic deeds though they might fall far short of the nobleness of mind which would enable them to do likewise. it is when no element of personal interest hinders the soul from beeing an act of self-denial in its di- vine loveliness that the highest motives of the human heart assert themselves. it is then that the spark kindled from heaven is fanned into at least a momentary flame and the ignoblest soul manifests its divine origin. the chief spirit- ual nourishment of the mediaeval church for centuries was the lives of the saints which abounded in acts of self-denial, voluntary poverty and devotion to the cause of the poor and lowly. the legend which bore the current epithet of the golden and which longfellow has clothed in a modern poetic garb is a type of this class of stories. and these gained new currency by the example of many whose lives are briefly recorded in the new testament. no matter how little is told us of the representative characters therein named, we find at least this, that they strove to do their father's will rather than their own. it was not alone the divinity of christ that charmed the world, it was also the essential humanity of his disciples that centered not in self, but in others. he who would never cease to grow, intellectu- ally, morally and spiritually, must engage in a life-long contest with the unconscious selfish impulses of his nature. self-renunciatios'. the lowly; yet it is only the self-denying efforts of such that keeps the social classes from arraying themselves against each other for mutual destruction. it is becoming more painfully evident from day to day that our traditional political economy needs to be in part reconstructed, and merged in or at least largely recon- sidered with reference to that wider subject, social ethics. no people can be permanently prosperous whose policy it is to build up their own enterprises at the expense of all other nations. the doctrine of the mutual interdepend- ence of all governments has always had some advocates, but their ideas are found in books rather than in practice. albeit, there are some clear signs, it seems to me, that some of the nations of the earth are beginning in their dealings, both with each other and with their own subjects, to recognize that secure possessions are more to be valued than large ones. and i would fain believe, too, that an increasing number of persons are coming to recognize the fact that the most valuable possessions are not those that can be measured or weighed or counted, but are something far less gross, and in several senses far less difficult of at- tainment. christianity is pre-eminently the doctrine of self-denial. not that it has not been taught elsewhere in isolated cases; but nowhere else is there so much stress laid on the fact that it is better to suffer affliction with the children of god than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. the author of "four phases of morals" truthfully says: "we must observe that the christian is pre-eminently equipped with that self-denial and self-control * * * which are the necessary postulates of all moral excellence. a man who will take the world easily will never take it grandly; all excellent things are difficult. the christian wisdom and will in education. recognizes the difficulty but delights in it as the stout old eoman did in the foes which added fuel to his victories, or as the strong modern engineer does in mountains, that he may show the triumph of his art in boring through them or in winding around them. the man of genius de- nies himself in a thousand ways that he may work out a perfect body for the imaginary ideals that possess him; the great soldier denies himself through leagues of hard- ships that he may repel the rude invader and preserve the honor of his country unstained; and the man of virtue must deny himself also, if virtue is a thing which a crea- ture of high enterprise and lofty purpose may reasonably have to do with." it is every man's bounden duty "to real- ize as much goodness as possible in his own personal life and in the life of that society of which he is a part, by the two-fold process of nursing virtues and weeding out vices: an ideal which can never be reached by those who com- mence life, after the epicurean fashion, with a low calcula- tion of pleasures and pains, but by those who are inspired by the vision of what plato preached as divine ideas and paul as divine commands." the vitality of this doctrine is something wonderful. despite the constant assaults of all the lower impulses in man's nature it has lived, has never been without its repre- sentatives. it is the vital and vivifying spark that is found in every human bosom, and which is almost sure to be at least occasionally fanned into a momentary flame. but in the heart of the christian it burns steadily casting light upon his pathway and making him a conspicuous object among his fellow-men. it must not be lost sight of that christianity does not mean ecclesiasticism, yet people make no more frequent mistake than to regard the words chris- tian and member of a christian church as synonyms. elf-renwsciati n. often a man's zeal in behalf of his church makes him to- tally forgetful of what his profession as a christian de- mands of him. christ himself founded no church, but only laid down a rule of life the fundamental precept of which is that men ought to deny themselves in obedience to a higher law, "a diviner impulse. but alas how many mistake form for substance, ceremony for sacrifice, and a less gross form of selfishness for self-denial! it might be supposed that the evolutionary doctrine of ethics would look coldly upon the enthusiasm of kindness. but it, too, is found upon the side of christianity when comparing the respective merits of egoism and altruism. it leaves us in no doubt as to which represents the higher law. its great apostle expresses surprise "that any one should have formulated his experience by saying that the conditions to success are a hard heart and a sound diges- tion." he regards this formula marvelous, considering the many proofs that success, even of a material kind, de- pends upon the good offices of others. he further says: "that to see that those who care nothing for the feelings of others are, by implication shut out from a wide range of aesthetic pleasure it needs but to ask whether men who delight in dog-fights may be expected to appreciate beetho- ven's adelaide, or whether tennyson's in memoriam would greatly move a gang of convicts." the pedestrian along the eastern shore of lake zug in switzerland may notice near the highway where it crosses a narrow valley, a plain monument. drawing near he may read that it was erected to commemorate the brave deed of a young man who lost his life in an unselfish but vain attempt to rescue two girls who were carried down the ravine by a sudden rise of the mountain stream flowing through it. had he died the death of thousands of his wisdom and will in education. peers he would be quietly sleeping to-day in an unknown grave. though the three persons were irrevocably buried in the lake, their neighbors were not willing to let the memory of the heroic attempt at rescue be forgotten, and they in their humble way immortalized it. in like manner -grace darling, ida lewis and others would never have been known outside of a narrow circle had not similar deeds immortalized them and caused their names to be placed in every cyclopedia. while it may be true to some extent that the evil which men do lives after them, it is not so tenacious of life as the good that they have done. each succeeding biographer of the men and women whom the world used to regard as bad and only bad finds a little more to commend in their lives. in many cases a single good deed has illuminated a life which but for it would have been wholly dark. hardly a year passes that we do not hear of some new proj- ect to commemorate a life or a deed that had, for a time, perhaps for centuries, been forgotten. time makes a won- derful change in the relative importance of human ac- tions. stephen girard was an important man in his day, but he is now remembered not because of his wealth as a whole but because of that portion which he devoted to the establishment and support of a college for orphans. the millionaires of our day will be remembered only so long as the monuments of their benevolence endure. but for these, future generations will take no more interest in their names than it does in that of croesus or lucullus. it is a sorry spectacle to see a man or woman of intelli- gence frittering away a large part of life over such triviali- ties as how a thing is to be eaten or how it is to be worn. not that such things are not entitled to any share of our attention, but verily not the chief share. what does justly self-renunciation. claim our chief attention is self-improvement through the diligent and constant search for truth and knowledge, and the purification of the soul from vulgar fears and base de- sires: those things which tend to lead us in pursuit of that which is worthy of a true man or woman. next in order come those objects which tend to elevate the com- munity of which we form a part. if we can not do both we can at least do one. it is right that charity should be- gin at home, no matter how narrow the circb which you designate by this name; but it is worth little if it stops there. to do these things so as to accomplish any results worthy of the name there is needed no small amount of intelligence, a pure heart and an honest purpose, on the part of our better and higher self as against our baser and lower. the greater part of our efforts will not be appreci- ated by our contemporaries, yet they will not therefore have been in vain. the sublimest courage is often the courage of failure, the courage to lead a forlorn hope. we dare not say, i have done some deeds of benevolence, but they were not appreciated or were met with ingratitude, henceforth i propose to serve myself only. it is those few disinterested, though it may be temporarily unappreciated benefits, that are from time to time conferred upon others that advance the world, and elevate the human race: all the rest that we do perishes with us, or in the doing. i believe that the true philosophy of life is found in the words of that mother who said, "i have spent more than half a lifetime of self-denial in bringing up and properly educating a large family, in the constant effort to set them a worthy example, and to provide for them every- thing really needful. and now, as i begin to see that my voluntary cares have not been in vain, that my labors do wisdom and will in education. not end with those upon whom they were bestowed, but go on in ever widening circles, i am a thousand times re- paid. the seedtime and the sowing that was spent in sacrifice is nearly past, but the harvest is becoming richer and more abundant as the years go on." it is a current tradition that when anne boleyn learned of her condemnation she said, "i care little what becomes of me—my child will at least be royal." the sentiment is a noble one and well worthy of the mother of the illus- trious elizabeth. but it may have a wider application. it matters little what becomes of each present generation if that which succeeds is better and wiser. i may fitly close this discourse by a brief reference to one of browning's poems in which as in so many others the author gives us his interpretation of life and its rela- tion to duty. in "the boy and the angel" a boy in a monastery follows his craft as a shoemaker, doing his work well and praising god. blaise, the monk, tells him that his praise reaches his creator as surely as the pope's at the easter festival in rome. but this did not satisfy the youth's ambition; he longed to praise god in some great way. in time he realized his ambition, and with gabriel's help became pope. as there was now no one to do the work the boy had left the angel took his place; however, the work and the praise were not the boy's. when the angel became conscious of this he went to rome, found there the pope preparing the great easter festival, proud of his realized ambition. gabriel made known to him life as he now sees it: man can only do god's work in his own proper sphere. the pope, too, saw his mistake, went back to his bench and remained there till he died. a self-renunciation. new pope dwelt in st. peters. he died also, and both shoemaker and pope went to god together. "one vanished as the other died: they sought god side by side." how much better it is to encourage ourselves as well as others to do to the best of our ability whatever is worth doing rather than to strive for some larger sphere in which we may perhaps waste our strength in the struggle, so that even if we reach the goal of our ambition we shall have little energy left to make ourselves useful in it. if we fail our life is sure to fall short of its full fruition and it may fall far short. better is it to be a thoroughly honest and competent shoemaker than the inefficient ruler of the widest realm the world ever saw, fiction as a factor in education. it must be evident to every one who takes note of the main current of contemporary thought that it is essen- tially materialistic. "other-worldliness" is one of the least prominent characteristics of the present generation. it is bent on having a good time in this world, be the conse- quences in the next what they may. in education the cry is, "teach facts," and by facts thus understood are always meant external phenomena, rather than the experiences of psychic life. it is demanded of teachers that in their in- struction they shall lay the chief stress on those things that can be weighed and measured and counted. a liberal edu- cation, one that is not a direct aid to getting on in the world, has come to be almost a thing of the past. it is not here contended that this state of affairs is wholly new. more than half a century ago, thomas grad- grind, who may be taken as the type of a class, said, "now, what i want is facts. facts alone are wanted in life. plant nothing else and root out everything else. you can only form the mind of reasoning animals upon facts; noth- ing else will ever be of any service to them. this is the principle upon which i bring up my own children, and this is the principle upon which i bring up these children. stick to facts, sir." yet, as is often the case in this ( ) fiction as a factor in education. world reputed to be so thoroughly matter-of-fact, grad- grind, when in sore trouble, was consoled and strengthened by two of the most unpractical people imaginable. while, then, the clamor for facts is not now heard for the first time, it was probably never heard in so many quarters, nor does it seem to have been so persistently reiterated. in view of these conditions it will be interesting to take a passing glance at the part played by fiction, the culture of the imagination through poetry and the novel, in the education of the human race. let us begin with the peo- ple that may justly be regarded as the torch-bearers of civilization. such a survey, however brief, must make it plain that the fictitious element in literature has been a very potent force in human progress—a great deal more so than what is usually called history. so much that is subjective is injected into almost all history that rises above the grade of mere annals that if the reader had not the names of leading characters to guide him he would sometimes be led to question whether two authors who are professedly dealing with the same period or persons are do- ing so in reality. history, if of any value, must set forth the truth; yet as a matter of fact almost all history is re- written two or three times in a century, and always ac- cording to a standard more or less determined by the per- sonal equation of the writer. less than half a dozen his- torical works produced three or four generations ago are still regarded as well worth reading. while it is true that time has not dimmed the luster or impaired the value of some of the histories that have survived from pre-chris- tian times, it might be said of at least a few of these that they are the only records we have. if we are unwilling to accept their testimony there is nothing to put in their place. plainly, then, the student of history is rarely cer- wisdom and will in education. tain that he is dealing with facts, and sticklers for facta can hardly hope to find them except where they can be brought under their personal observation or verified by experiment. a careful study of the laws of the physical universe and their application to the affairs of life has probably done much to increase the happiness of mankind; yet as we have no method by which we can measure pleasure and pain, it would be rash to affirm this with positiveness. but it can not be denied that our knowledge is far in advance of our practice. would it not be a fortunate thing for the world if not another new discovery were made for a hundred years to come, to the end that men might have time to make full use of what they already know? if progress in this direction were barred, the next two or three generations would have time to exploit fully and in a practical way the truths that are already common prop- erty, as well as to give the more earnest heed to man's spiritual and moral needs. the saddest reflection sug- gested by the history of mankind is that their knowledge has always been far in advance of practice. the imagination has played a large part in the drama of human life and has had much influence in shaping the destinies of nations. it enables men to put themselves outside of their bodies and above their milieu where they may realize with greater vividness the hopes, feelings, emo- tions and sentiments of their fellow-beings. when the imagination is kept under the control of reason and trained by logical methods so that it shall not run into the wild extravagances that characterize the literature of the east, as exemplified in the arabian nights, it is man's noblest faculty. its influence in art, in literature, in morals, even in science, can not easily be over-estimated. the fiction as a factor in education. character received the careful attention of smaller coteries of philosophers. no one needs to be told what a superla- tively excellent mental discipline it is to be associated with persons who habitually express themselves with precision and conciseness, nor how much modern life loses in this respect by the reading habit. the finest thoughts are only half comprehended in the haste to get over many pages. little time is taken for reflection and none for re- production. if by education we mean the putting in action all those forces that enlighten the understanding, stimulate the power of thought and cultivate the taste, the ancient greeks had formulated, in a large measure unconsciously, an educational system that has not been surpassed, prob- ably not equaled. that it had its limitations and what they were has to some extent been pointed out in another paper. when we consider the small number of free citi- zens that athens contained at any one time and the extra- ordinary large proportion of great men among them we are compelled to admit that a like condition of affairs has never existed since. indeed it is doubtful whether during any one century in the history of the world there have lived as many men that have exercised so profound an influence on human thought as those who spent the whole or part of their lives in one small city in the century that was about equally divided by the year b. c. . what will seem most surprising to many persons is the fact that this in- tellectual pre-eminence was produced upon what would at the present day be regarded as pitifully meager pedagogical material. this consisted of little else than the homeric poems and political institutions of such a type that the intellectual powers of those living under them were stimu- lated to the highest degree. the greek people were in a fiction as a factor in education. crete thinking, names stand for types. thus the poet arouses an interest in his men and women when clothed in flesh and blood and named that could be affected in no other way. impersonal character studies are to most peo- ple insufferably dull reading. to the majority of the greeks their national heroes were real persons, and some of them may have been so, but others judged more cor- rectly: yet even with this deduction their legends had their interest and value, as they still have. they are por- trayals of greek life, thought, and institutions. they could scarcely be less true if such persons as agamem- non and achilles, hector and andromache, ulysses and penelope and many others never existed. in this re- spect they are to be classed with the great novels of which the present century has produced such a number that it seems invidious to name any. it would be hard, if not impossible, to point out works professing to be history that are truer to life than waverley, guy mannering, and ivanhoe; than tom jones or lorna doone or romola. what single book gives the reader a more just idea of the means and methods by which france was consolidated than quentin durward; or of the character and last days of charles the bold, than anne of geierstein; or of the mor- als of a certain class of englishmen and english women during the napoleonic era, than vanity fair, or of the feelings of the common people in france during the same period, than the erckman-chatrian novels? in all these the purely fictitious is no more than the frame in which the picture is set or the canvas on which it is painted. it may be compared to the sugar-coating on the pill; the medicine thus disguised is easier to swallow while its effi- cacy is in nowise impaired. the life of washington as a whole is none the less true or his character none the less wisdom and will in education. correctly portrayed if the story of the hatchet be a myth; nor is tell any the less truly a representative man of his time if a person bearing this name never existed. the tragic death of antigone, as represented by the poet, for performing what she believed to be a pious duty moves us no less profoundly than the closing scene in the cell of socrates as set forth by the historian. for the culture of the mind and heart, psychological truth is more valuable than the historical verities; it is neither limited in time nor confined by space. hamerton has well stated the case when he says, "thackeray and balzac will make it possible for our descendants to live over again in the eng- land and france of to-day. seen in this light the novel- ist has a higher office than merely to amuse his contem- poraries; he hands them down all living and talking to the remotest ages." thackeray himself said, "out of the fictitious book i get the expression of the life, of the times, of the manners, of the merriment, of the dress, the plea- sure, the laughter, the ridicule of society; the old times live over again and i tread in the old country of england. can the heaviest historian do more for me." if we desire to harmonize our conduct. with the moral order of the world or contemplate the manifestation of the laws of beauty and truth we can find lessons anywhere and everywhere. the common people of mediaeval europe fed the crav- ings of their moral nature almost entirely on fairy tales and legendary lore of a similarly unhistorical character. amid the social chaos of a thousand years the sagas of the nibelungen circle, the stories of the knights of the round table and the myths that attached themselves to the name of charlemagne—the last two especially—are noteworthy for certain moral qualities that pervade them in spite of fiction as a factor in education. much that grates harshly on modern nerves. the gesta romanorum and aesop's fables, with their numerous progeny, are more prosaic, more allegorized and more di- rectly didactic. while much of this literature has its som- ber side, i recall but one popular allegory that sets forth in detail the career of a successful villain, namely reynard the fox. yet even this cunning rogue is more shrewd than wicked. usually he makes his enemies to fall into the same pit they had digged for him. generally the authors of mediaeval romances of whatever name or sort linger with evident satisfaction on the virtues of courage, self-sac- rifice, chastity and their kin. they rarely fail to make prominent those higher aspirations that dwell in the bo- soms of almost all men and at times influence even the worst. in spite of the fact that the founder of chris- tianity manifested a deep interest in children and that his immediate successors followed his example the peda- gogy of the christian church almost up to our own day was brutal in the extreme. not only is this true of the schools, but family government was usually of the same type. hardly anybody seems to have cared to take the trouble to understand children. every real or supposed delinquency was treated as a willful crime, not as the re- sult of an error of judgment. the government and train- ing of children remained essentially heathen long after europe had become nominally christian. the roman orbilius, whom the poet horace has immortalized with the epithet "plagosum," has had a numerous spiritual prog- eny. i remember a saying of luther's to the effect that he was whipped at school fourteen times in a single half-day. at home he fared but little better. i recall but one child that is treated by an ancient classical author with marked interest and affection: it is the boy ascanius. but he is wisdom axd will ix edvcatiox. chiefly of importance to virgil because he is destined to be the progenitor of a royal house. it is true plato, quin- tillian and other writers have more or less to say about the training of children; but the former regards them as a sort of necessary evil, a species of wild animal that needs to be tamed before anything can be made of him.* careful students of shakespeare have called attention to the fact that in spite of his many-sidedness he shows little sympathy with children and child-life. when he appears to take any interest in children—and this is rarely—his interest is akin to that which we find manifested in greek and roman antiquity; it is not because of what they are but because of what they may become or on account of the importance of their ancestors. with all his myriad-mind- edness the prince of poets could or would not grasp the sig- nificance of childhood in the development of the human race. that it is possible, in a great measure, to change 'terence says: "he is sadly mistaken, at least in my opinion, who holds that the government is more potent or more stable which constrains by force rather than binds by amity. this is my way of thinking, and so i have made up my mind. he who per- forms his duty under compulsion only does so as long as he thinks he is watched. when he believes that he is not observed he re- turns to his natural state of mind. he whom you bind by a favor acts in sincerity, seeks to repay in kind, and, whether present or absent, remains the same. this is a father's duty: to accustom his son to do right of his own accord rather than from fear of another. this is the difference between a father and a master. let him who can not do this acknowledge that he does not know how to manage his children." these reflections are not original with the roman poet. socra- tes and other greek thinkers had said the same thing centuries before. that you can not always trust to mild measures goes without saying; that they ought to be the rule, not the excep- tion, should be equally self-evident. fiction as a factor in education. the course of events by the judicious training of children seems not to have occurred to him. most of his dramas show that a fundamental article of his creed was, if you do wrong, if you sin against the moral order of the world you will surely be punished for your evil deeds; but it does not seem to have occurred to him that society is under obligations so to train the rising generation that when it comes upon the scene of active life it shall deviate from the right as little as possible. interest in childhood and children really dates from the time of rousseau. of this paradoxical man it may almost be said that he discovered children; he at least succeeded in convincing the world that they have rights that adults are bound to respect. no single writer has contributed so much toward revolutionizing the current theories of educa- tion as he. everybody read his books, and to read was to be converted to his theory. here was a man who at last realized to its full significance that instruction should be adapted to the child, not the child forced to conform as well as might be to a ready-made system. as no one had ever seriously attempted to put in practice such a theory as he advocated, except possibly on a small scale, he was obliged to resort to fiction to show how his plans were to be carried out. like all writers of fiction he exaggerated. not only did he paint social conditions darker than they were, but he proposed reforms than can never be realized to the ex- tent that he believed possible. in order to get something he demanded a great deal. in order to make his readers see the need of a process of purification for the social system he boldly asserted that society was rotten to the core. in order to expose the defects of the current educational meth- ods he declared unequivocally that they were without a single redeeming feature. except for him we should never fiction as a factor in education. without making them unnatural. little dorrit, little nell, little paul, oliver twist and others of his juvenile characters have become household words. recent french literature brings to our attention some interesting children of both sexes. little gavroche is a masterly study of the typical paris gamin. but his un- timely end leaves a sad impression on the mind of the reader. an english writer would hardly have closed the career of the poor waif as hugo has done. on the other hand the vicissitudes of cosette, in spite of her ignoble origin, arouse a multitude of varied emotions in the reader and exhibit the remarkable gifts of the great frenchman in a striking light. indeed, hugo, is at his best when por- traying children. rose and blanche, in the "wandering jew," are two girls that hold the attention of the reader through a long and somewhat rambling story. the myriad minded balzac is also at home in this field. little pierre in george sand's mare au diable is a delightful study and serves to show both the skill of the distinguished au- thor and her insight into the juvenile mind. german lit- erature, too, possesses an extensive gallery of children's portraits; which is but natural for the land that has pro- duced the charming tales collected by the brothers grimm and others. the novelists had lovingly studied children long before the psychologists thought of doing so, and many of them were quite as successful, if they did not follow strictly scientific methods. verily, ours is the age of children. just as we can gauge the culture of an individual by the kind of fiction he reads when left to his own choice, so we can, at least in a great measure estimate the moral qualities of a nation by the imaginative literature on which it feeds. it is perhaps unduly venturesome to pronounce judgment g wisdom and will in education. upon a people's literature except after a very wide reading; yet i am compelled to believe that there is a sad lack of that imaginative element in french literature, including its poetry, as well as in that of the latin nations generally, which discerns intuitively the moral order of the world and seeks to represent it concretely both in the life of in- dividuals and in the social group. no german or english poet would treat the memory of a national character of such prominence and sanctity as joan of arc, as voltaire, the greatest name in french literature has treated hers. matthew arnold rightly says: "when we look at the popu- lar literature of the french at this moment and at the life of which this literature of theirs is the index, one is tempted to make a goddess out of a word of their own, and then, like the town-clerk of ephesus, to ask, 'what man is there that knoweth not that the city of the french is a worshipper of the great goddess lubricity ?'" french literature is primarily scientific in spirit; then ascetic in form, and only lastly ethical in purpose. in english fic- tion these three attributes are reversed. of germany's great literary trinity, at least two mem- bers, lessing and schiller, persistently keep the moral ele- ment in the foreground, while goethe divides his atten- tion about equally between the three factors. is it too much to say that the remarkable growth and expansion of the germanic peoples, especially those whose native speech is english, as compared with the static condition of the latin races, is largely due to their view of life as reflected in their imaginative literature? the person who fears not god nor regards man is a favorite character in french fic- tion. not so in english. the english have the reputa- tion of being eminently practical; but in their fiction they are pronounced idealists. the ever recurrent theme, the • fiction a a factor in education. one on which constant changes are rung, is the need of moral and social regeneration. in the realm of the imag- ination no leading part must be assigned to the man or woman that is out of harmony with the moral order, by a writer who seeks popularity. what is morally hideous must be kept in the background. in french fiction the conditions are in a great measure reversed. the villain is a favorite character. ignoble characters and the social conditions amid which he moves and thrives are a favorite theme. noble characters are not lacking, but they are too often weak; they arouse our sympathy more than they excite our admiration. they seem to be created merely to provide victims for the strong and wicked. america has not been behind the other civilized nations in assigning an important place to children in its literature of fiction. many of the novels of the last half century are veritable revelations in this regard. it would be an interesting study for one who had the time and the ca- pacity for such work, to extract from representative recent novels the varied conceptions of childhood as set forth by their authors. what has already been done has shown that wordsworth was right when he called the child father to the man, and that the field for the study of child-types is almost as illimitable as that offered for the study of adults. it would not be the less interesting to estimate, so far as that is possible, the debt the children of the present generation owe to these delightful and instructive studies. there is no doubt that the important place assigned to children in modern fiction has produced the most far- reaching results, at the same time that it is of permanent psychological importance. as has already been shown, an- tiquity took little interest in children. the middle ages followed its example. of all the greek poets euripides wisdom and will in education. had the widest sympathies and the largest intellectual out- look, if not the deepest penetration. he brings several children on the stage in his dramas. but what caricatures they are! he shows at once that he knew nothing about the mind of the child, for we may be sure that the chil- dren of his day were not so unlike those of our own that they talked and acted like adults. he makes it plain to his readers that he never thought it worth while,—perhaps he considered it beneath his dignity,—to try to comprehend a child's thoughts and feelings. the wide currency of the fables attributed to aesop has already been alluded to. in fact, the fable, the allegory and the parable or story have from time immemorial been favorite vehicles of instruction among peoples both civilized and uncivilized. the phenomenal popularity of bunyan's works, especially his "pilgrim's progress," the greatest and best sustained allegory ever written, is well known. while it is not historically true, and the author's dramatis personae never existed under the names he gives to them, they are real men and real women nevertheless; the situ- ations in which he places them are so true to life that every christian recognizes at a glance the experience they are designed to portray. christ frequently conveys his les- sons in the form of a parable, and those of jotham and nathan in the old testament are among the best of their kind. the fables current under the name of pilpay be- long to the oldest in existence. their origin reaches back to the remotest antiquity. "in india from the earliest time the parable or example has been the recognized method of conveying moral instruction. in the didactic literature, some general truth or some rule of life is stated in the form of a maxim and a fable or other story is added as a concrete instance. the folk-lore of which these are fiction as a factor in education. a reflex is not the exclusive property of the great religions of india, but is common to buddhism, jainism and brah- manism alike." a selection from these fables is contained in one of the earliest books printed; and their popularity is attested by the fact that four editions were issued from the press in ulm between and . in about a cen- tury the number of editions had increased to seventeen. professor lanman says: "the great number of editions of the work and their rapid succession are the best proof of its importance as a means of instruction and amusement at the beginning of the age of printing. the examples themselves had doubtless pointed the moral of many an an- cient homily before the days of gutenberg." notwithstanding christ's rebuke to those who thought he ought to ignore children, it was not till after the lapse of nearly eighteen centuries that the world began to take his exhortation to heart. both christians and non-chris- tians now sought to turn toward the most important mem- bers of the family. through literature, in fiction and in life, practical philanthropists began to labor with increas- ing earnestness for the amelioration of their condition and to make some amends for the long neglect. at last their claims upon the adult world received recognition here and there. it hardly admits of a doubt that the relatively rapid progress of pedagogic science within the last half century is more due to fiction than to any other single agency. its unlimited resources enable the novelist to study and exhibit society from every possible point of view. while then fiction has from time immemorial been the greatest teacher of the world it has recently become not' only a preacher but a practical reformer. if we were to eliminate from the literature of the world the element that is usually regarded as fictitious, all the wisdom and will in education. delightful aroma that pleases and attracts would go with it. such a process would deprive us of bonier and virgil and the great tragedies of ancient greece. it would take from us the nibelungen sagas, the divina commedia, don quixote and faust. it would expunge the greater part of our poetry and the most attractive of our prose. if it did not sweep away wholly the fruitage it would leave us little of the bloom of what men have thought and felt and striven for. it would make the vast field of human experience one dead level of uniformity instead of the varied and instruc- tive panorama of mountain and hill and valley, of sea and lake and river that is spread before us whenever we become absorbed in some great literary masterpiece. the serious question is not, can our boys and girls, and our adults, too, for that matter, afford to read fiction? it is rather, what fiction shall they read? whatever may be thought of the dictum that the true artist must neither preach nor teach, it has never been generally recognized by the english-speaking people. their great writers have made it a paramount object to har- monize the conduct of men with the moral order of the world, and to lead them to a recognition of this all-per- vading law. that the poet should be a teacher rather than a creator was a belief that inspired milton, words- worth, shelley, tennyson, browning and an innumerable host on both sides of the atlantic. the same creed is con- stantly cropping out in those writers of fiction that best hold their ground in popular esteem. on the other hand poets who, like keats and swinburne put the sensuous fac- tor in the foreground are either without a well-defined po- sition in english letters or are not generally read. while, then, it is true that the english school system has always left much to be desired, it has been the conviction of the fiction as a factor in education. leaders of british thought that the teaching agencies should take a wider scope. the school has been regarded as but one of the many forces by which the body politic is to be enlightened and stimulated. the result has justified this half unconscious faith. where the school has been looked upon as the sole, or at least the principal agency for moral instruction the result is almost sure to be disappoint- ing, as has been demonstrated by the recent experience of france. 'as the eoman poet would not voluntarily take refuge under the same tree during a shower nor embark in the same boat with one who neglected the gods, we should with equal prudence stand aloof from those who are un- willing to enter with us the delightful region of the imag- ination to seek there surcease from the sorrows and disap- pointments of practical experience and to gain new strength and new inspiration to sustain us in our labors for the good, the beautiful, the just and the true. wisely does thackeray say, "novels are sweets. all people with healthy literary appetites love them." i can here quote with entire approval some words from euskin's introduction to an edition of grimm's german popular stories. "every fairy tale worth recording at all is the remnant of a tradition possessing a true historical value,—historical, at least in so far as it has naturally arisen out of the mind of a people under special circum- stances, and risen not without meaning, nor removed alto- gether from their sphere of religious faith. it sustains afterward natural changes from the sincere action of the fear or fancy of successive generations; it takes new color from their manner of life and new forms from their chang- ing moral temper. as long as these changes are natural and effortless, accidental and inevitable, the story remains heredity and environment. the belief in heredity, in the transmission of certain mental qualities from father to son, is as old as the re- corded history of the human race. without entering into a discussion of the origin of tribal society, we find already among the israelites a strongly marked feeling of exclusive- ness growing out of their belief in a descent from a com- mon ancestor, in virtue of which they belonged to a higher order of men than the semitic tribes by whom they were surrounded. though christianity in its inception was intended by its founders to break down the middle wall of partition between jew and gentile, the early christians attached great importance to the evidence that its author was a legitimate descendant through both parents from the father of god's chosen people. after the adoption of sacer- dotal celibacy the transmission of merit from father to legitimate son became impossible. on the other hand it may be argued that the doctrine of apostolic succession was but the reappearance of the same belief in another form. it is well known that the ancient greeks laid so much stress upon a legitimate parentage that their idea of the state both in theory and practice was entirely founded upon it. only under exceptional circumstances were persons of alien birth admitted to -civil rights. the spartans traced ( ) heredity and environment. record of its leading dynasties. so completely has the great mass of mankind been held spellbound by what many men regard as a mere delusion that we have no political history, until comparatively recent times, that is not com- pletely dominated by it. no man that has ever lived was less influenced by purely sentimental considerations than the first napoleon. he looked forward only, not back. he aimed at tangible re- sults of a strictly practical kind, viewed from his personal standpoint. yet the time came, and it was when he was at the acme of power, when he found it advisable to strengthen his position among the monarchs of europe by intermarriage with one of its oldest dynasties. one might suppose that a man who had achieved what he had, by the force of genius alone, would take a keen pleasure in casting ridicule on the pretended claims of superiority made by the contemporary sovereigns from whom he had compelled obeisance, by showing the world that he had no need of the adventitious support of a hereditary royalty. but he had a mightier force than genius to reckon with, and he was compelled to bow to it. the time came when he saw himself forced to secure for himself and especially for his successors the prestige that noble birth alone could give. he seems to have believed that a sentiment would hold for all time to come what force had gained in less than a generation. but in the end he was sadly mistaken. it is hard in our day to conceive of anything more ridicu- lous than the tenacity with which many an insignificant nobleman, whose only tangible possessions are his debts, to use an oxymoron, clings to his pedigree, unless it be the recognition of his silly pretensions by persons who display good judgment in most other matters. it is a tendency of the human mind to expect something wisdom and will in education. more than ordinary from the descendants of an extraor- dinary man. there are few persons who will not go at least a little out of the way to get a glimpse of a man who bears a name he has inherited from a distinguished an- cestor. though the teachings of christianity have from the beginning been diametrically against anything that savors of caste, the defender of the faith or his most christian majesty would have scouted the suggestion to put himself on an equality with any of his subjects, even though they might have had an undisputed claim to an un- questionable apostolic succession. so widely do men's professions often diverge from their practice. strange as it may seem, the doctrine of the essential equality of all men on a practical basis did not find its most vigorous and most eloquent defenders among the clergy, but among a class of thinkers who acknowledged scant allegiance to the christian church. this doctrine took its rise in france in the middle of the last century, and found its first application in the sphere of the state in the american declaration of independence; yet with the usual inconsistency the signers of that document gave the lie to their professions by holding in slavery some of their fellow beings on the ground that they were the inferiors of their masters. plainly enough "all men" to them did not mean every man. we are here reminded of the lamen- tations of the koman aristocracy over the loss of their lib- erties, a loss which in the mouths of most of them meant no more than the curtailment of the privilege of plunder- ing those who had no redress. the ancients, who never questioned the justice of slavery as a status, did not deny that it admitted of exceptions. they freely recognized that an inherited social condition does not predicate a ser- vile intellect. accordingly the manumission of slaves be- heredity and environment. cause of talent or of services rendered was of frequent occurrence. the notions of political equality prevalent in all civilized countries a little more than a hundred years ago had not yet advanced beyond those maintained by aristotle. "man" was not necessarily conterminous with "human beings," nor did mere manhood postulate a claim to the rights of citizenship. history thus clearly testifies to the almost universal be- lief in heredity; and the belief is still widely held in one form or another. for thousands of years it has been regarded as an almost axiomatic truth that one man is by nature better, of higher worth, than another, and that this superi- ority is inherited not only by individuals but by classes or castes, by those forming the social environment wherein the individual moved and had his being. modern historians admit the truth of this belief, so often and so persistently maintained by the ancients, by attributing the decay of most pre-christian states to the introduction of alien ele- ments in the population, that had not inherited the con- servative traditions of government which were the birth- right of the ruling families. yet nothing is plainer to the student of political history than that some of the worst governments the world has ever seen were those of fami- lies that had for several generations held the reins of power. on the whole it may be accepted as an established truth that every aristocracy inherits an increasing number of so- cial and political traditions of a conservative type, the mass of which in the end becomes so great as to bar effectually every initiative toward progress. this not being the case in a democracy, talent more readily makes its way to the front and to a leading position in the direction of affairs. from the nature of the case this form of government is everywhere more or less gradually superseding every other. wisdom and will in education. though the belief in heredity had been almost undis- puted from time immemorial, we have seen when and how it began to be called in question in the sphere of the state. in quite recent times attempts have been made to ascertain to about what extent this belief rests upon a scientific basis so far as it concerns individuals. galton's "hered- itary genius" is generally regarded as the first systematic attempt to show that this widely accepted dogma rests on a basis of fact. but, with all due deference to its dis- tinguished author, it may be questioned whether he is strictly scientific, for he says, "i propose to show in this work that a man's natural abilities are derived by inherit- ance, under exactly the same limitations as are the forms and physical features of the whole organized world." as to the method, it may be said that science, strictly so called, does not seek to establish preconceived theories; it seeks only the truth. moreover, if this dictum be true we may well ask, where do the progressive forces of society come in? if we merely transmit to posterity what we have our- selves inherited, civilization must always remain at the same level. this is an application of the law of the conser- vation of energy where it manifestly does not belong. fou- illee seems to be nearer the truth in holding that heredity is merely a conservator, and that evolution must supply the motive power that is to carry each generation beyond its predecessor. galton limits his remarks to a single cate- gory of prominent men, to-wit, the english judges between the years and . in a subsequent part of the same volume he makes analogous investigations in the par- entage of noted men in all departments, and arrivs at sim- ilar results. on the first point it is a question whether the fa- voritism so often shown in english politics, as in that of all other nations, particularly in the earlier period under con- heredity and environment. sideration, is not calculated to throw a good deal of doubt on the ability of many of those who obtained preferment by royal favor. further, it cannot be denied that the epi- thets, illustrious, eminent and remarkable, are very vague; yet for more than half the men on his list the author has been unable to find any ancestors to whom any of these designations would apply. besides, it is very natural, and has of late become much the fashion, to attach undue im- portance to what we may call the reflex influence of a great man. we are loth to believe that a high order of in- tellectual ability can appear unheralded. this removal of the cause a generation or two upward does not really help in the least to an explanation, but it seems to have satisfied many a seeker for a cause. the re- cent "life of goethe" by heinemann is a striking case in point. he undertakes to show how such a man as his hero came into the world just when he did; how he com- bines in character and disposition traits inherited from his father and his mother; how much these in their turn had inherited from their parents; how goethe was a sort of condensed encyclopaedia of his blood relations that pre- ceded him for several generations. he attempts further to set forth to what extent north and south germany were united in this remarkable man; why such a personality had to be born and brought up in a city having a particular political constitution and in what class of its citizens he must necessarily be born. this "life" is a striking ex- ample of the psychological method applied to biography. that it breaks down utterly when employed in the case of scores of men is evident on a moment'? reflection. the thoughtful reader can hardly help asking himself why there has been but one goethe when the conditions amid which he was born and brought up were by no means wisdom and will in education. unique. it is no disparagement of scientific methods to say that there are domains to which they can be applied in but a limited degree. another striking case is that of the first napoleon. here it is next to impossible to find any antecedent cause for his exceptional genius. all his blood relations, both ascending and descending were thoroughly commonplace people. a recent review of his life by professor sloane says: "capricious, unscrupulous, destitute of feeling he was; but what could one expect of one almost destitute of religious training, thrown upon his resources at an early age by the death of a thriftless father, buffeted by fate, knowing almost every vicissitude of adverse fortune, and cast into the seething chaos of ideas and events of the kevo- lution? his genius was titanic, but there was nothing mysterious about his character. it was the natural pro- duct of his training." in galton's later work, "english men of science," he continued his researches by addressing to contemporary members of the koyal society a large number of questions bearing on their nurture and training. this method gave inadequate results, for the reason that many of those to whom the inquiries were sent returned no answer at all; others answered them only in part or without sufficient clearness. besides, the author himself admits that the list should have been extended to three hundred to have made it fairly complete. it is evident from the answers reported, as well as from much that has been written on this subject, that the term "heredity" is used in different senses. it surely does not follow that because a man has a liking for mechanics he inherits his taste and skill from a father or grandfather who was equally clever. a man may completely underes- heredity and environment. timate the influence of the milieu in which he was brought up. physicians' sons are often physicians, yet heredity has probably in most cases nothing to do with the choice. we may inherit our occupation just as we inherit our re- ligion, but the law of heredity has, strictly speaking, little to do with either. gray's "mute, inglorious milton" is not a figment of the poet's imagination. many a man has come into the world whose "lot forbade" bis attaining the renown he might and would have attained in a different environment. there is ample evidence to prove that the english who emigrated to america were not inferior in mental capacity to those who remained behind. but the conditions that surrounded them in their new home com- pelled them to turn their attention toward material and away from intellectual pursuits. it is highly probable that the audubons, the bartrams, the bafinesques, to name only a few, would have attained greater distinction had they been born under more favorable circumstances. other men of talent still more unfavorably placed were never heard of, while the wests and copleys found a more con- genial sphere abroad. it required more than two hun- dred years before the hardships incident to the opening up of a new country were sufficiently overcome to permit any portion of the people to give some attention to purely in- tellectual pursuits. during all this time the indispensable mental pabulum was drawn from the mother country, where the supply was abundant and easily brought into use by identity of language. that americans were not inferior in talent to englishmen is plainly evident from the fact that in those departments of political activity to which they turned their attention the new product was fully equal to the old. the united states produced an array of talent in oratory, in statecraft, and in war that ranked high, the british people themselves being judges. wisdom and will in education. the importance of environment is also attested by the direction which the intellectual development of the south took as compared with the north. in the creation of what properly constitutes an american literature the former had virtually no part, but her statesmen were for a long time more than a match for those of the latter section. it may be questioned whether the traditions inherited from the mother country were as favorable for the creation of a literature in the northern parts of the union as in the southern; the environment, however, turned the intellec- tual energies of the people wholly in another direction and completely absorbed their talents. with the suppression of the rebellion, material interests again came to the fore. few people were content to use, in the enjoyment of intel- lectual pursuits, the means they had already acquired. a veritable craze began to show itself among rich men to be- come richer, and among the well-to-do to become rich. while education has been vastly the gainer by this state of things, we may well ask, where are the successors of irving and cooper and bryant and lowell and whittier and holmes? yet our literary poverty is hardly greater than that of england or indeed of most of the european countries. material interests predominate everywhere. authors are more concerned to write what will sell well than what the world will "not willingly let die." de candolle, in his "histoire des sciences et des sa- vants depuis deux siecles," recognizes the fact that re- searches in heredity have not been conducted according to rigidly scientific methods, and that its influence has not been clearly established. he holds that it would be bet- ter to select without any preconceived notions, and without regard to merit or" capacity, as large a number of persons as possible whose distinctive characteristics were known, heredity and environment. as well as those of their parents and, if possible, of their grandparents, in order to ascertain how far these character- istics have been transmitted or not transmitted from one generation to another. here again the difficulty of obtain- ing strictly accurate data is very great, and one is especially liable to underestimate the influence of environment. the author's conclusions, briefly summarizeed, are that the in- heritance of mental and physical chracteristics is a law that suffers few exceptions; that the interruption of hered- ity during one or several generations is rare, perhaps five or ten times in a hundred; that inheritance through the female line is less distinctive than through the male, espe- cially in the domain of the intellect; that it is difficult to as- certain whether characteristics acquired by education and social influences are transmitted; and that the most marked characterostics of an individual are those that he receives from his two parents and other relatives. he next studies the associate, foreign and correspond- ing members of the koyal society of london, the academy of sciences of berlin, and the academy of sciences of paris. his list again testifies to the fallibility of human judgment, the strength of human prejudice, and the lim- itations of human knowledge. but twenty-two per cent. of the names are found in two of the lists, and but five in three. both franklin and lavoisier occur in but one. evidently the personal equation, or the political milieu, had had not a little to do with election to membership in these societies. de candolle attached less importance to *' heredity than galton. while admitting that the number of persons connected with families producing men of merit is much greater than one would obtain from the mere cal- culus of probabilities, he does not think'this to be neces- heredity and environment. tinctively protestant countries. thus, switzerland, which is only about three-fourths protestant, furnished fourteen members, without a catholic among them. the catholic population of great britain and ireland has no repre- sentative; nor has austria; while the catholic portions of germany are represented by very few. in dr. paul jacoby published a work in which he treated of the genesis of great men chiefly from the path- ological point of view. his object, like that of dr. max nordau more recently, was to establish the degeneracy of every aristocracy, including that of men of talent. his conclusions are in the main in accord with a statement sometimes met with, that the greatest men never have equally great sons. as a basis for his calculations he takes the "biographie universelle," and selects therefrom the names of all the prominent men born between january , , and december , , and dead before . his list embraces , names. it is not e?sy to see how a better list for the author's purposes could be made. but it must be evident on a moment's reflection that its defects are grave. what weight can be attached to the mere ap- pearance of a man's name in a biographical. dictionary? it always means that its bearer was for a time in the public eye, but frequently nothing more. one can easily con- vince himself of this truth by a glance into any similar work. another work that contains much interesting informa- tion in a brief compass, bearing upon heredity in its rela- tion to pauperism and crime, is r. l. dugdale's "the jukes." it is here shown that inheritance and environ- ment have an important reciprocal influence upon each other, and that the latter in many instances entirely neu- tralizes the former, while the converse does not often take ib wisdom and will in education. place. the following are a few of the author's tentative inductions. pauperism is an indication of weakness, and is divisible into hereditary and induced. hereditary pau- perism rests chiefly on disease, and tends to extinction. pauperism in adult age indicates a hereditary tendency which may or may not be modified by the environment. hereditary pauperism is more frequent in men than in women. harlotry may become a hereditary characteristic, but is in most cases accompanied by an environment that runs parallel with it. where chastity is inherited it is accompanied by an environment favorable to it. where the heredity and the environment are in the direction of harlotry, if the environment be changed at a sufficiently early date, sexual habits may be amended. further testimony to the important bearing environment has in neutralizing the influence of heredity is furnished by the experience of our government in its effects to civilize the indian. it will not be denied that up to a certain point these efforts have been remarkably successful. the experiment has not, however, been in progress a sufficient length of time or on a sufficiently large scale to make a prediction as to its final outcome entirely safe. but pres- ent indications seem to warrant the conclusion that at no very distant day the red man may attain to a civilization not much, if at all, inferior to that of the whites. among recent writings on heredity those of professor cesare lombroso, of turin, have perhaps attracted the most attention. this has beeji owing more to the agree- able style of the author and the oracular tone in which he writes than to the intrinsic merit of what he says, though it will not be denied that he has published a good deal that is valuable. in his "men of genius" he undertakes to prove that genius is a form of neurosis, and is closely re- wisdom and will in education. ment between the dates named, professor odin finds none so well suited to his purpose as the french. after a care- ful study of its biography and bibliography he selects from the complete list before him , persons, whom he feels justified in designating as gens de lettres de talent. the elite of french literature, however, contains but names, and those who belong to it he calls gens de lettres de genie. by gens de lettres are to be understood persons whose writings are of general interest, though he includes among these a few persons who have written little themselves, but who have, nevertheless, contributed greatly to the develop- ment of french letters. the list excludes great military captains, explorers, actors, investigators, princes, compos- ers,—in short all who have not made permanent contribu- tions to literature. by this method of inclusion and ex- clusion it becomes possible to grasp all the influences that bear on the genesis and nurture of french letters, so far as this is possible from the study of printed records. when we examine somewhat carefully the civilization of the five principal nations of modern europe and make comparisons between them, we are soon struck with the unevenness of the growth of their literature. french, as before stated, is to a considerable extent an exception. at the close of the mid- dle ages the social conditions in southern and western europe were not widely different. it is, therefore, not easy to see why there should be so marked an ebb and flood in the tide of literary productiveness within the next four or five hundred years. evidently the doctrine of heredity, broadly stated, will not solve the mystery, for a period of decay would not follow a period of growth throughout an entire nation. if we divide the literary history of europe, excepting france, beginning with , into periods of fifty years, heredity and environment. we find the primacy for the first to be with italy; neither spain, germany, nor england having produced a name of first-rate importance, except chaucer, whom, strangely enough, professor odin has not in his list. during the next period italy is still at the head, and furnishes more great names than the other three countries combined. in the third period spain stands at the head. during the fourth, spain and england keep abreast of each other, italy having fallen behind, and germany far behind. all through the seventeenth century england is in the lead, italy in the first half furnishing but one name of prime importance, and spain in the second half none at all. even in france, where the production of literary men has been remarkably regular, there is some fluctuation. in the period extending from to the number of great writers was above the average, while in that between and it was considerably below. from to england and germany furnish about an equal num- ber of names, spain being .lowest in the list. between and germany stands first, england second, and italy last. there seems little doubt that of the world's great literati born in the first half of the nineteenth cen- tury a much larger number used the english language than any other language. a study of the genealogy of the literary men and women of an entire nation is beset with great difficulties. the first is that, for the earlier periods especially, biographies are seldom sufficiently full. sometimes a remarkable man has had among his direct ancestors one or more persons of merit of whom little or nothing is known. then, again the reflex influence of a distinguished man upon his ancestors obscures the vision of posterity and makes the real facts hard to ascertain. heredity and environment. rejecting the baneful, so a great mind instinctively finds its mental pabulum in whatever circumstances it may be placed. the cases of shakespeare and burns will have at once occurred to the reader; but there are many others. it is very doubtful whether a system of education that affords equal opportunities for both sexes will materially increase the proportion of the lower classes as contributors to a national literature. such a system undoubtedly makes broader and solider the foundation of national prosperity, but it can do nothing for genuine talent. the importance of environment is further confirmed by the birthplace of noted french litterateurs. out of , such men, , were born in paris, , in other large cities, , in other localities, and in country-seats. of women the proportion falling to cities is much larger, rising as high as eighty-four per cent. of the entire num- ber; while about one-half were natives of the>capital. the testimony of these figures bearing upon the predominating influence of what are called the "centers of civilization" is further corroborated by similar data taken from other countries. of fifty-five eminent italian literati, twenty- three were born in large cities, and most of the remainder in small municipalities; though, strange to say, not one had rome as his birthplace. of the fifty spaniards who are generally regarded as holding the highest rank in the literature of spain, sixteen were born in madrid, and a large proportion of the remainder in cities of the first rank, several of which contain universities. the coryphaei of german literature seem at first sight to make an excep- tion to the conclusions that naturally spring from the above- stated facts. the great writers are quite evenly distributed over what now constitutes the empire and switzerland. three large cities are the birthplace of three great writers- wisdom and will in education. each; two, of two each; while the rest have produced but one each. this calculation embraces about thirty who stand confessedly at the head; yet if we increase the num- ber the results are not widely different. here again the importance of the environment is strikingly made promi- nent. during the last five centuries germany has had a large number of capitals, many of which the reigning mon- arch tried with more or less success to make centers of art and literature. it is also shown by statistics that the occupation of the parents, especially of the father, has exercised an important influence on the career of the sons. the nobility, the of- fice-holding class, and the liberal professions in no coun- try of europe form so much as a tenth part of the popula- tion. yet from this small minority seventy-eight per cent, of the primates of italian and german literature, eighty per cent. of spanish, and sixty-nine per cent. of english were descended. if we examine the nativity of french writers according to their geographical distribution, including as before the adjoining territory in which french is the native speech, we find that northern and eastern parts have been most pro- lific. taking france by provinces, ile-de-france leads the list, with , names out of a total of , . next in order comes normandy, with names. the adjacent districts of picardy and artois furnish . provence gives us a register of names; lorraine, ; touraine, anjou, and maine, . all others fall below two hun- dred. except in a general way it can not be known what relation these figures bear to the total population, as no census of france was taken until comparatively recent times. if we make an estimate on the present basis of in- habitants the relations of the districts will be somewhat heredity and environment. changed. ile-de-france will stand at the head; but the second place will be taken by french switzerland, the third by provence, and the fourth by orleannais. another in- teresting fact made plain by professor odin's figures is that, if french territory as a whole had shown the same fecundity as paris, there would have been nearly , great writers instead of less than , ; or if the same re- gion had been as fertile as the other large cities there would have been , . or, again, if french produc- tivity had been regulated by the smaller places, there would have been but , ; that is, a trifle more than one-fourth of the actual number. that literature in france is not only essentially an artificial product is thus made perfectly plain, but the same general fact is true, in perhaps even a larger degree, of spain and italy. yet this is not all. not every great city has given birth to an equal number of writers of merit in proportion to its population. lyons, for example, is the birthplace of a comparatively small number of distinguished authors; geneva, on the other hand, of an unusually large number. the same statement appears to be true of liverpool as com- pared with several much smaller cities in england. this difference in productivity is in all probability due to the fact that the interests of commerce and trade have largely absorbed the energies of the citizens; an inference that is supported by a similar condition of affairs in other parts of the world. the religious environment has, therefore, not always a preponderating influence. on the other hand, when all other conditions are virtually alike, and the creeds professed by the people unlike, we are safe in at- tributing difference in production largely to this cause. it is well known that among french writers in all depart- ments, geneva has produced a much larger proportion than wisdom and will in education. would be expected from the number of its inhabitants. for more than four centuries it has been a protestant city, while the rest of french territory has for the most part been koman catholic. it is worthy of remark, too, that in germany, including by this designation its territory linguistically and not politically, the catholic portions of bavaria and austria have given birth to a relatively small number of persons who are entitled to the highest rank in letters. we have already seen that in the production of men of science the religion of a country seems to play an important part. we are justified in drawing the same in- ference in regard to literature. that french catholicism has had a weaker conservative influence than any other in europe will be plain to those who examine its character. from the data already cited and from other data that might be given it is evident that european literature is in but a limited sense a national product. it is almost en- tirely an artificial creation, in which the bulk of the popu- lation has taken no part and had no interest. it was born and brought to maturity in the salons of the nobles and in the houses of the rich or well-to-do. it is essentially the outgrowth of civilization, and of a civilization that bears the impress of the ruling class. when now and then a person of exceptional psychical powers has been born in the lower stratum of society, it has early become the chief object of his ambition to identify himself socially with those who stand at the top. he did not therefore modify materially the environment in which his first years were passed. may we not infer from these studies that social progress is to a large extent dependent upon human volition? while it can rarely be said of an individual that he has his destiny in his own hands, it may be said of the larger ag- national education. that there would be no dissenting voice to the acceptance of the doctrine advocated by godwin in his political jus- tice that education should mean "the adoption of every principle of morality and truth into the practice of the community." it is only when the how of this adoption is discussed that we find the wide diversity of views now prevalent. it is easy to frame an ideal system of training for the young and it has often been done. the difficulty lies in bringing about the acceptance of a workable system. anent many things to be taught in school there is not and can not be much divergence of opinion. there are not several kinds of mathematics, or of physics, or of biology. if these subjects are taught at all and so far as they are taught they are substantially alike. the controversy, or at least the discussion, is about those subjects that are in their nature intangible, but which are, nevertheless, tangible and practical in their results. all education is based on the assumption that many if not most of the ills that afflict the human race are preventable by human means. few persons will dispute the dictum of matthew arnold that conduct is three-fourths of life, and those to whom this claim seems too large will admit that conduct is at least an important part of life. now if the primary object of all education is to influence conduct for the better; if it is to impress upon the young the importance of keeping in check their selfish desires and cultivating their altruis- tic impulses; if it is to lead them to see that only such knowledge is wisely used that is used for the good of others, how shall these ends be best attained? is the current edu- cation of our day in the united states and abroad contrib- uting materially to these ends? or at best, is it contribut- wisdom and will in education. ing as much as it should? no man who has eyes that see can fail to have observed that there is a great chasm between our education and the life into which the gradu- ates from every kind of school are ushered. the great majority of our graduates from high school, college and university are idealists. whether they have been particu- larly good students or not, the very fact that they have re- mained as long as they have in an atmosphere that at its worst does a great deal to encourage the pursuit of knowl- edge for its own sake, while many of their companions are engaged in "making money," testifies to this fact. the education imparted in our schools is and can not but be largely derived from books, at least in so far as it is in- tended to influence conduct. it embodies the best thought of the wisest men that have lived in the past. our young people read the speeches of chatham, of burke, of webster; they study the writings of washington, of lincoln, and of many others who have deserved well of their country, to say nothing of poetry. their histories teach them that the french revolution was a vindication of the rights of man, and that the course of past events furnishes indubitable evidence of the moral order of the world in the case of nations as well as of individuals. avarice, greed of power, disregard of justice, inhumanity and other vices have always met their fitting reward. but what is the mental state of nine-tenths of these young people after five years of contact with the great world, with the hurly-burly of practical life? their ideals have been laid in the grave from which there is no resurrection.- they read no solid books; they keep up no systematic study of any branch of knowledge; they have no interest in a scholarly atmosphere, even when such an atmosphere can be found: in short, five years after graduation finds national education. nine-tenths of our young people on a decidedly lower in- tellectual and moral plane than any day of their under- graduate course. they still have a sort of vague faith in the moral order of the world, but they fail to see, or at least to apprehend clearly, that in the small concerns of life, in the career of each individual these vices are just as hideous, just as subversive of social order, and if not restrained, just as sure to bring their punishment sooner or later, as in the case of those who manage the affairs of states. in the ethical domain there is not one law for the usurper, one for the elected representative of a free people and one for the private citizen. we profess to believe firmly in what we call the higher education; that this profession is in the case of most per- sons genuine is proved by the princely sums that have been given for the endowment of private institutions and the lib- eral grants made by many of our state legislatures. has this liberality had any appreciable effect in purifying our political atmosphere? has it made our legislators of what- ever name or grade more disinterestedly patriotic or less venal? has it made any considerable portion of our citi- zens willing to serve the commonwealth or the community without a consideration in hand or in prospect? he who will answer these questions in the affirmative is either fatu- ously optimistic or strangely blind let us hear what a writer in a recent number of the westminster review has to say on this matter. that he tells the truth no one who has the opportunity to study the conditions will deny. what the final outcome or even the effect in the not very distant future will be it is im- possible to foretell. after speaking of the penchant for the false, the puerile and the decadent, he continues: "if the chimera of the golden-winged dragon is a dangerous wisdom and will in education. symbol in the old world, the danger is no less great in the new, where certain wealthy people are possessed by the idea that the word imperial contains a magic power to accomplish the impossible, to compel europe to a sense of reverence and awe, to change the institutions, ideas and aspirations of a natural and noble democracy into the sor- did and fantastic ambitions of a few society leaders whose chief aim in life is how to surpass the fetes of sybaritic potentates, and equal the grim and empty pomps of their apparent triumphs." "there is in america an element of snobbery so keenly ambitious, so callously domineering, that nothing wholly escapes its withering influence. under the guise of national interests it makes its presence felt at the capitol and in church councils, as well as in commercial centers whose leading minds are secretly actu- ated by a spirit of display, social rivalry and a desire to connect themselves with the european aristocracy." "while europe is imitating and adopting many of the best cus- toms and inventions of the great republic, a large class in america are imitating all that is decadent in the life of europeans. new york is now so intimately connected with london that the social elements in these two cities have become practically one. but there is this difference; while the aristocracy in the old country is being gradually levelled down to a democratic standard, the wealthy classes in the new world are copying the very things which caused degeneracy in the european noble, for there is nothing so blind as snobbery. the all-important question among certain people is how to throw off the aegis of republican- ism and democracy." "three things have caused this premature old age: rapid and continued increase of wealth, the american's love of travel, and a hasty, superficial culture. long-continued national education. or unwisely, were by a large majority opposed to the recent changes; nevertheless the emperor had his way. perhaps he discerned the spirit of the age more clearly than the ex- perts. the case is here referred to neither for approval nor condemnation, but merely as striking evidence of the impuissance of the educationist in a country where the one- man power is so pronounced. the second is what we may call the nietzsche cult. fried- rich nietzsche, who died in , after several years spent in a madhouse, proclaimed with burning eloquence the un- adulterated gospel of selfishness. in his writings he is never weary of pouring bitter scorn and sneering contempt on all the altruistic sentiments. with equal eloquence he advocates the cause of brute force, the total disregard of the claims of the weak and humble to the slightest consid- eration: in fact he does not admit that these have any claims whatever on the strong. this gospel of brutality is so utterly at variance with every principle of christian and humane civilization that one can hardly suppress the emotion of amazement when he sees large numbers of pre- sumably intelligent people taking it as a real contribution to modern thought. a pack of ravenous wolves would be a peace society compared to a body of men trying to put such a creed into practice. moreover it is interesting to note that according to competent evidence the originator of this tiger-creed was one caspar schmidt, who wrote under the pseudonym of max stirner, and who died in without attracting much attention.* when niotzsche appeared on the scene the times were ripe for the doctrine. the disciple pleaded the master's cause with so much fer- vor and laborated his system with such care that men * hermann tuerok. der oeniale mensch. berlin, . ' <; wisdom and will, in education. began to take the author and his creed seriously, either to be combated or commended. to the educationist no less than to the student of the history of civilization no country presents so much that is of interest as england. since about the middle of the six- teenth century its internal development and its outward expansion have been almost uninterrupted. the loss of the american colonies was no serious check. during these three and a half centuries it has been almost without a break the foremost power on the globe. this pre-eminence was won and has been maintained, partly by force, partly by that elastic science called diplomacy, but always by methods that were neither worse nor better than those uni- versally in vogue. while england invariably looked out for herself, often selfishly, often unscrupulously, her con- duct in this regard was no baser, generally not so base as that of her rivals. her success as a colonizing power is abundant evidence that in the main she dealt fairly with her subjects abroad, no matter how gained. england was the only country that came out of the crisis of the reformation stronger than she entered it. notwith- standing the diversities of religious belief within her bor- ders all the creeds were overwhelmingly protestant. ca- tholicism did not have a sufficient hold upon her people to weaken her politically as was the case with more than one country of continental europe. during this period she produced an almost uninterrupted succession of great names in literature. in philosophy, her achievements were eclipsed only in the latter portion of this period by ger- many, but the impulse came from england, or, more strictly speaking, from scotland. in subjugating the forces of nature and employing them in the service of man england has led the world except duriig the last few national education. decades. the same statement may be made in regard to her position in science, at least in its practical aspects, her constitution has been a demonstration of the theories of the political philosophers of the continent and was often held up by them as the model of what a government ought to be. comparing the english with their nearest neighbors we may say that they "are far less fertile and in- genious in resources than frenchmen, but far more likely to do the right thing. they are far less educated than the germans, and yet they are more reasonable; far less log- ical, but saner; far less open to ideas, but infinitely more impervious to sophistry." these things being true, eng- land might consistently be expected to have had a superior system of public education. so far from this being the case, she is still at the beginning of the twentieth century behind at least half a score of other countries of europe. in england expert educational opinion counts for amaz- ingly little. here then we have the spectacle of a country that has had an almost uninterruptedly progressive devel- opment since the days of magna charta; that has passed through no crisis that has materially modified its form of government; that changed its religious fa'th without seri- ous internecine strife; that has at times been ruled by as inefficient monarchs as ever sat upon a throne; yet with all these vicissitudes has suffered no detriment or check. nev- ertheless, the general average of the intelligence of its peo- ple has been rather low, the proportion of its illiterates always large. while england has contributed much to the political instruction of the race it has added nothing to educational thought or experience. surely here are con- • ditions that border on the marvelous! we might explain england's political supremacy as we explain that of rome, as due to an instinct for government developed by special wisdom and will in education. conditions; but the parallel breaks down before it is well started. i shall make no attempt to explain it: i am only concerned with a lesson of history that seems to give the lie to modern theories of education which make the prosperity of a nation depend upon its general intelligence, or upon its educational system. contrast with england her great rival of former days and for a long time the lead- ing power of continental europe if not of the world. spain is the most hopelessly unprogressive country of europe, not even turkey excepted. is it her destiny or her fault? all the nations of the world that have at differ- ent epochs acted a part in its history have exhibited certain traits and characteristics that were, as it seems, modified neither by time nor experience,—qualities that in some cases ultimately led to their destruction. was this ob- stinate resistance due to stupidity, perversity or inexorable fate? in this connection the transition is easy and natural to loyola. when discussing the merits and demerits of a na- tional system of education as contrasted with a scheme of instruction designed to be cosmopolitan we have, to some extent, the light of experience to guide us. the system of the jesuits, which was ushered into the world almost full- fledged by its framer may not have been either rational or philosophical in the strict sense of the term, but that it was admirably contrived for universality and that it skill- fully avoided the disturbing forces growing out of differ- ences of nationality no one can deny. neither will it be disputed that jesuitism is the most potent educational agency ever devised,—the most consistent and the most minutely elaborate curriculum of instruction both in its conception and execution the world has yet seen. it is admitted that the jesuits arrested the rising tide of the wisdom and will in education. tion imparted to the learner the less he is educated. as to institutions, are we to keep in view those that now exist or those that may be developed in the course of time? if they are to be modified, what is to be the determining fac- tor? study present conditions and see how opinions differ. in germany, as has already been shown, public education is shaped toward the maintenance of a rigorous autocracy, in spite of some pretty loud protests; in france, toward the strengthening of republicanism, though not without oppo- sition. england is in a somewhat chaotic condition, as it has always been. in the different sections of our own country, and even in different portions of the same state, public opinion is moving in various directions. in the south the evident trend is toward the nullification or elimination of all influence on the part of the colored peo- ple. there, as well as in some portions of the north, the rights of the white man and of the black man are measured by totally different standards. abstractly judged, such a state of affairs is more unjust than the old-time creed that the laborer's sons are to be brought up as laborers; the peasant's children to remain peasants, while the nobleman shall not be permitted to forfeit his nobility no matter what he does; because the rule always admitted of excep- tions. again, in germany religious instruction with a strongly dogmatic flavor is obligatory in all primary and secondary schools. to some extent the same statement ap- plies to england. on the other hand, in france all re- ligious instruction is rigorously barred from the schools. in the united states the conditions are mixed. what we call popular education is non-sectarian and non-religious; but a large proportion of the people, both catholic and protestant, are dissatisfied with the omission and are en- deavoring, in various ways, to supply the lack. national education. that denominationalism still has a strong hold upon the people of this country cannot be doubted. in fact it seems to be a characteristic of the anglo-saxon race. again, a rational system of instruction, rational instruction of every kind must be based on truth, or at least on an honest quest for truth without regard to the consequences. truth al- ways prevails in the end. the wise nmn profits by his own mistakes and is careful not to repeat them, or if he has the opportunity, he takes warning from the blunders of others. how is it with nations? are they, generally speaking, willing to have the disagreeable truths of their past history put before the rising generation? we may answer, never. for more than three centuries we have had protestant histories and catholic histories, neither party being willing to accept the others as the truth or ac- knowledge that its own side may have now and then been in the wrong. a school history that is acceptable to the southern people does not meet with favor in the north. the men who sacrificed their lives on the battlefield are called heroes in one section, rebels in the other. we have been taught to believe that the men who brought about the separation of the colonies from the mother country were all patriots, ready to sacrifice everything on the altar of their country. the facts tell a different story; but these facts are known only to a few special students of our his- tory. we are not a military nation; yet public opinion is wont to characterize as treason or something closely akin thereto any expression that appears to disparage our na- tional prowess by land or sea. fouillee says, "there is nothing more unmeaning than historical facts, unless we make them mean something more doubtful still when we want to make them mean anything. orators on each side of the house will draw their arguments from history. his- wisdom and will in education. tory, especially contemporary history, proves everything and nothing. even the events of our own age are as yet only documents, the final value of which is uncertain. the history of napoleon i., for example, is not yet written. read lanfrey after thiers, and taine after lanfrey and draw a conclusion if you can." almost every year sees the appearance of a fresh life of the great corsican that claims to throw some new light on his career and his character. taine is one of the most popular of recent french writers; of his method henry james truthfully says: "a thin soil of historical evidence is made to produce luxuriant flowers of deduction." some of the most widely read books professing to be histories are not histories in any proper sense of the term. to make history popular it must be more or less polemic, no matter what period is dealt with. mitford and grote constantly draw opposite conclusions from the same data, and inject the present into the interpretation of events that occurred more than two thousand years ago.* few persons who have studied our war with mexico will deny that it was a most unjustifiable war of aggression. on this subject, however, most of our school histories have not a little to say about the bravery of our soldiers and •the unwillingness of a people to be reminded of their national sina is strikingly exemplified by the conduct of the athenians with reference to the dramatic representation of the capture of miletus by the poet phrynicus. tho whole theatre, herodotus tells us. burst into tears, and the author was afterward heavily fined by the assembly for recalling to them their own misfortunes. a law was likewise passed that no one should ever again exhibit this piece. the sting of the reminder lay in the crooked policy that it recalled. as if silence could condone a mean or a mis- taken act! national education. the brilliant strategy of our generals, while they are silent upon the merits of the controversy. a few years ago the so-called dreyfus affair was a burn- ing question in france. nine-tenths of our periodicals were on the side of the accused and vilipended the french people, and especially the courts of justice, for their sub- serviency to the military spirit. they professed to know all about the case, when from its very nature they could know very little. we are constantly meeting with similar disparaging judgments upon army-ridden germany. albeit, few of us seem to notice a similar condition of things at home. without any reference to the merits of the case, the man who publicly criticises our army or im- pugns the motives of those who fought in any of the wars in which this country has been engaged is certain to be branded by many as disloyal. if some one ventures the as- sertion that many lawyers are dishonest, or that some min- isters of the gospel are hypocrites, or that not all who teach are fit for their vocation, nobody takes exception. such assertions are frequently made and accepted as mat- ters of course. but let some one affirm that many who en- tered our army did so from mercenary motives or from love of adventure; and that not a few who belonged to it were cowards and skulkers, the affirmation is sure to be branded as a lie or as evidence of a bad heart. how much we are still dominated, as we have always been, by the military spirit is shown by the fact that nearly all our presidents had seen service in the field: some of them would never have been thought of in connection with this high office except for their military record. the ger- mans have erected many statues to great soldiers and in commemoration of important battles: is the proportion any less in this country, compared to the civilians thus wisdom and will ix education. honored? at present we are spending more money for wars past and to come than any government on the face of the earth. it is the nature of man to glorify brute force, to extol the exhibition of physical courage even in a prize-fight, and to ignore or make light of the display of moral cour- age,—that courage which silently opposes wrong from day to day and which is a thousand times more important to the welfare of the community than the sporadic and the spectacular. it constantly happens that more fortitude is required to refrain from doing than to do. when we reflect upon this universal tendency to laud and magnify violent measures we become painfully aware of the length of the way the world has still to travel before it shall have outgrown the centuries and aeons of inherited tendencies and reached the goal of a truly enlightened civilization. we are still sadly dominated by the instincts of the savage and the brute. if we do not ourselves fight we pray for and commend those who do. we still have the civilization of the boys who when they cannot settle a dispute by argument fall to blows in order to determine which party is in the right and which in the wrjong. how strangely inconsistent are the nations of the earth! they all profess to believe that historical judgments are the applications of morality in the case of other nations: in their own case they do not wish to have the whole truth told to the rising generation lest it impair the vigor of their patriotism. as if patriotism and pugnacity were in- terchangeable terms! you may moralize as much as you please, provided you do not approach too near the present in time and place. in a court of justice, when it is important to ascertain the character and reputation of a man, testimony from national education. friends or relatives and otherwise interested parties is rig- idly excluded. but in national history we reverse the pro- cess; we do not want to hear disagreeable truths that wholly disinterested parties might tell. yet the world talks of adjusting its international disagreements by arbi- tration through disinterested parties! we repeat trip- pingly from the tongue, " wad some pow'r the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers see us! it wad frae mony a blunder free us, and foolish notion." but we rarely think of acting upon it. except under com- pulsion the testimony of a foreigner or a stranger is ruled out in advance: as if truth and honesty, veracity and char- ity, courage and fidelity were not universal virtues! as if anything could make the nations of the earth genuinely free except the truth! before we reach the age of forty most of us have become impervious to new ideas; our stock of wisdom is complete. few persons are sincerely desirous to know the truth; yet our schools are expected to teach the truth and the truth only! what is it to be educated ?. i can do no better, when at- tempting to answer the question, than to quote from an essay of the late e. r. sill. "an educated man—what is it that we understand by the phrase? if it would not be easy to set down all that it connotes in our various minds, we should probably agree that it includes, among other things, such qualities as these: a certain largeness of view; an acquaintance with the intellectual life of the world; the apprehension of principles; the power and habit of independent thought; the freedom from personal pro- ' wisdom and will in education. neither is it just to assume that all who teach are compe- tent and in their places because of merit. everybody who cares to know is aware that such is not the case. it must be said to the credit of the business as well as to that of the professional world that it has little use for drones and in- competents. they are soon weeded out and thrown into a corner to eke out such an existence as they may. i repeat, there will always be some who learn nothing, but the number ought to be continually growing smaller until it becomes an insignificant minority. it is plain that there are many subjects in our school courses that can not be judiciously presented in such a way as to bring out promi- nently their full moral import. often it is not wise to insist too strongly on facts, if they are calculated to give rise to controversy. many a conscientious teacher has lost his place through lack of tact or disregard of possible conse- quences. but the progress of truth can not be permanently arrested. the supremacy, like alexander's ring, will be- long to the most worthy. even so short an experience as that of one generation proves this incontestably. every country of europe, with a possible exception or two, al- most all north america and much of the rest of the world is far better off than it was two or three score years ago. all this is due to the advance of science, to the enlighten- ment fostered in a greater or less degree by educational systems, unphilosophical as they still are. progress has never been uniform; nor has it been without relapses here and there. but we can say with galilleo in the fullest con- fidence, e pur si muove. what richer reward can we wish for ourselves than the honest conviction that we have con- tributed something, however little, to the movement, even though our acts have at times brought us unpopularity and unjust treatment? time will vindicate us. the relation of private to public morality. apparent omission. we may be sure that it was not an oversight on the part of the distinguished lecturer, nor need we be surprised that he did not solve a problem that has engaged the attention of some of the ablest men that have ever lived, since they too have not been able to solve it. four hundred years b. c. the wisest of the greeks, a man who has exercised an abiding influence on the progress of thought, was condemned to death by his fellow-citizens for crimes of which he was not guilty. it was a clear case of injustice committed by the body of the citizens in their sovereign capacity against an individual. yet the victim calmly submitted to his fate rather than resort to any of the means of escape that were proposed by his friends. his argument was, in substance, that he had all his life acknowl- edged the authority of the laws under which he was con- demned to die and that to thwart them in any way in their operation would be committing a greater wrong than he was about to suffer; that if his fellow countrymen were will- ing to incur the odium of putting an innocent man to death, it was their matter, not his; and that it is always better to suffer wrong than to do wrong. the unanimous verdict of posterity is that he reasoned rightly. yet this same man was the first great champion of the rights of the individual. he vigorously denied that men can make that right which is not intrinsically so. the burden of his philosophy is that underneath and behind all convention there are eter- nally valid principles that vary not with different people nor grow old with the lapse of time. and so for nearly two and a half millenniums the world has regarded socrates as a martyr to his devotion to truth and consistency. the history of the christian church records the names of many who shared the fate of the greek philosopher, and for the same reason, viz: the conflict of individual opinion with wi d u and will in education. political institutions. thousands of good men and women have had brought home to them the question addressed to the rulers by peter and john, "whether it be right in the sight of god lo hearken unto you rather than unto god, judge ye; for we can not but speak the things which we saw and heard,"—in other words we can not but follow the dictates of our own consciences. a distinguished greek dramatist has treated the same conflict of duties in the tragedy of antigone. the heroine finds herself in a position where she is compelled to choose between obedience to an absolute monarch who has her destiny wholly in his hands, and obedience to a higher law that long antedates human institutions. she unflinchingly takes her stand for what she conceives to be the right and expresses her willingness to bear the consequences of her disobedience to the edicts of a temporal sovereign. the poet plainly shows where his sympathies lie, and posterity remembers antigone as one of the noblest characters handed down to us from ancient times. she suffered a painful but glorious death while the gods took terrible vengeance upon her slayer. in the last century when the agitation was going on in this country for a separation from great britain there was in some of the colonies a strong party that was opposed to such action. they were loyal subjects of the government under which they lived and they justly regarded the move- ment for separation as treasonable. nor have we any right to question the motives or the sincerity of these so-called loyalists. but the stars in their courses were against them and the declaration of independence made them outlaws. many of them lost their lives for the cause to which they adhered. i do not think there is any reason to question the motives of most of those who led in the movement for inde- the relation of private to public morality. pendence, but it would be a strange misapprehension of human nature to assume that all who called themselves patriots were men who unselfishly sought the welfare of their country. in this conflict of duties face to face with which many people found themselves, some took one course, some another. shall we say that because independence was achieved the separatists alone were right and their oppo- nents wrong, or shall we say that no question of right and wrong was involved but only one of expediency? or shall we say that in this cause it was impossible to determine a priori what was right and what was wrong; that the issue of the conflict alone could decide the question? it is true such epithets as traitor, treason, rebel, and others of like import, do not necessarily belong in the vocabulary of morals. they are oftener mere political terms and have no ethical import whatever. the careful thinker is not misled by them, but in the mouth of the multitude they usually have a dire significance. dr. ruemelin distinctly maintains that the state, that is, men organized into a government, may do things that would be clearly wrong for any individual or group of individuals. this position is as old as government, and i fear that in this case too we often speak of right and wrong where we really mean expediency. let us not be misled by confound- ing right with rights. the two words are almost identical in form, but widely divergent in signification. there can not well be any question of the right of the government to take from me the rights it has conferred upon me. pro- tection to life and property, a certain measure of liberty of action is guaranteed by all governments to their subjects. here we are dealing with prescriptive and statutory, and not with inherent or natural rights. the history of slavery is testimony to the fact that until comparatively recent the relation of private to public morality. most practical form of this altruism is seen in the labors of the missionary. it goes even beyond men and includes within its sphere the entire sentiment creation. this senti- ment has been fostered and greatly promoted by the growth and spread of intelligence by means of national and inter- national commerce. we can feel no interest in a people about whom we know nothing. it is true we may know and yet be indifferent; but the feeling of interest and sym- pathy must have something to feed on. if we do not know, we are sure to be indifferent. itvis the custom of some people to disparage commerce as founded on mere self-interest; and there is some truth in the charge. but self-interest is not necessarily selfishness. it may be wisely directed, and generally gives as much as it takes, and very often more. with the increase of knowl- edge and the frequency of intercourse there is developed the clearer recognition of what is due from one man to another. facility of commercial intercourse is fostered by commer- cial integrity. business can not long be carried on except on well established business principles. otherwise it is robbery. without exception the nations of europe are living on a higher moral plane than that of a hundred years ago, and on a considerably higher plane than that of two hundred years ago. i do not believe there is a nation in europe to- day that would tolerate the low private moral standard that was almost universal in court circles of the last century. speaking only of england, thackeray says: "no wonder that whitefield cried out in the wilderness,—that wesley quitted the insulted temple to pray on the hillside. i look with reverence on these men at that time. which is the sublimer spectacle,—the good john wesley surrounded by his congregation at the pit's mouth, or the queen's chaplain g wisdom and will in education. mumbling through his morning office in the anteroom under the picture of the great venus, with the door opening into the adjoining chamber where the queen is dressing, talking scandal to lord hervey, or uttering sneers at lady suffolk, who is kneeling with a basin at her mistress's feet?" the history of the world is a gruesome tale. it is little else even for the times of peace than the record of intrigue of court against court; of courtier against courtier; of wickedness in high places and of the oppression of the lowly. vice, crime, trickery, and immorality seem to have held high carnival from age to age. but let us not forget what our greatest poet says: "the evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones." if the ruling classes in general showed no sympathy for their subjects, these often displayed deeds of heroic self-sacrifice toward each other. god has never been without his wit- nesses ; nobility of soul without its representatives. count- less acts of kindness have passed unnoticed except by the re- cipient and there has never been a total lack of those who felt that they were their brother's keeper. i freely acknowl- edge, for i can not disbelieve the evidence, that our politics is still sadly corrupt; in some parts of the country, fear- fully so. yet i am convinced that on the whole it stands on a higher plane than ever before. if as yet not as much has been accomplished in the way of its reform, as good men have wished, the generally acknowledged necessity of reform is in itself a hopeful sign. we are at least alive to the dangers that threaten us. and before we can escape or avoid danger we must know what and where it is. dr. euemelin distinctly says that the statesman individu- ally owes allegiance to the moral law, but not in his public character. in other words his politics need not be regulated by an ethical standard. this looks to me like a dangerous tee relation of private to public morality. doctrine. how shall we separate the man from his acts? do not a man's habitual acts constitute his character? can a man in public office distinguish between his actions and say of the one, this i do in my representative capacity and this as a private individual? in the one case i always tell the truth and keep my word; in the other, only when i think it expedient. we sometimes find men who are mor- ally weak exhibiting great strength as statesmen both creative and reformatory. a man's policy may be better than his life; just as a great writer may be a despicable character. but here we find the conditions reversed. our author, at least by implication, tells us that a statesman may resort to fraud and falsehood, trickery and deception, in order to enchance the greatness of the nation for which he is acting, but he must not do these things in his private ca- pacity. i grant that a temporary advantage may be gained in this way, but i question its expediency in the long run. the citizen of a representative government often finds him- self in the unpleasant dilemma of having to choose between a candidate whose public policy he endorses and whose pri- vate character he detests. to which shall he give the pref- erence^—to the man or to his views on public questions? there is hardly any doubt that in matters of grave import the policy is to be preferred rather than the man; but there are many minor questions in which it is possible to show a preference for the reputable citizen, and in this way parties may be compelled to select worthier candidates. unfortu- nately, too, the voter rarely has the privilege of registering his sentiments on all questions in which he is interested. so many issues are usually involved that he is compelled to strike an average, yet if he can not in all cases make choice of what he regards best he can at least enter his protest against the largest number of evils. g wisdom and will in education. what has been the practical effect of the policy that the ruler or the statesman is not subject to the moral law? al- ways and everywhere pernicious in the extreme. what is, or at least ought to be, the object for which all government exists? to secure justice. on this point there is not likely to be any disagreement. it is hardly correct to say that governments were instituted to dispense justice among the governed; it is nearer the truth to say that governments, or rather government, was developed by a gradual process be- cause men could exist in no other way. wherever there is collective activity there must be organization, there must be government. every man must have his assigned place and know the duties devolving upon him. boys can't so much as play a game of ball without first coming to an agreement as to the rules that shall govern it. these rules are the laws of the game. just so in the state. its laws are the rules according to which men are required to regu- late their conduct in a political sense; they define within certain limits the relations that men sustain to their fellow men. there is no scientific frontier beyond which statute law can not pass. hence in some countries many acts are illegal of which the law-making power in others takes no ac- count. with every enlightened legislator the supreme prob- lem is how to make such changes in the laws from time to time as will best secure the end for which all laws exist: the largest liberty of the individual with the highest good of the community and the state as a whole. under a republican form of government laws are as a general thing an expression of public opinion. a certain line of policy is often followed by a community or a state before it has been formulated into a statute. generally, however, leaders are necessary not only to formulate the wants of a clientele, but to see that these wants when put the relation of private to public morality. into the form of laws are observed by all who come under their operation. murder and theft are everywhere punished whether there be a statute to that effect or not. and so on through a long list of acts. it is true that an absolute ruler may enact laws and sec that they are enforced that are in advance of public opinion, but this sort of rulers has been rare in the history of the world. if such rulers were always guided by the moral law which commands all men to do justly and to love mercy they would seek only the good of their subjects. generally, however, they have sought mere personal aggrandizement at the expense of the governed. it was by following such a policy that louis xiv inflicted untold injury on france. it is the same policy persistently carried out for centuries that has brought spain to its present unhappy condition. turkey is wretchedly poor, italy is little better off, and spain is on the verge of ruin because those in authority, those best able to bear the burdens of government have per- sistently refused to do their duty and have compelled the poorer members of the body politic to support a policy with the formulating of which they had nothing to do. auto- cratic rulers are more likely, as experience teaches, to be in the rear of public opinion than in advance of it. they usually find themselves more comfortable and more secure in maintaining the status quo than in yielding to proposed changes. for this reason republican governments are more progressive, except in rare cases, than monarchical. even under the best monarchs, those who are ever ready to ini- tiate progressive measures, there is always danger of a stag- nation. the people become accustomed to look to their ruler for the initiative, and when this is not forthcoming, there is no force to take its place. no one will deny that the fundamental law of the state is wisdom and will in education. against napoleon? how was the law of self-preservation to be applied? we have had similar difficulties to solve. a typical case is furnished by gen. robert e. lee. his pri- vate character was above reproach, yet he embraced a cause that time shows more and more plainly to have been counter to the moral order of the world. he believed that it was the duty of the patriot to go with his state, deeming his allegiance to her stronger than to the union. he made a mistaken application of the law of self-preservation, within the narrow limits of a state, and he left behind him the melancholy example of a noble man who wasted his energies and misused his talents in a cause that was abhorrent to the moral sense of the world. the view held by almost all writers on government, until comparatively recent times, was that the powers that be have authority not only to determine the rights of the subject but also what is right for the subject. of course there have always been conflicts, especially when the individual con- science was infringed upon. in all cases of religious per- secution this doctrine was shifted from the domain of theory into the sphere of practice. but the theory was never given up and almost invariably the persecuted became persecutors in turn as soon as they had the power. the doctrine that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, as a practical principle, is not older than our declaration of independence. since its promul- gation there has been a constantly growing tendency to reconcile the rights of the individual conscience with the functions of the state. it is now generally held that it is the duty of those in authority to make the government so good, the laws so just that the subject will himself recognize the fact and yield willing obedience. the problem is by no means yet fully solved but the enlightened nations of the earth the relation of private to public morality. during the present century has been along lines then mark- ed out. in other words, it has come to be a recognized principle of statecraft that in the main governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed. in practice the theory can not be consistently carried out for it is impossible to secure unanimity on many of the problems that must be decided in order to make a viable government. institutional life will always necessitate many compromises. but most governments no longer undertake to decide polit- ical questions without consulting the body of the citizens. they are putting more and more faith in the potency of reason and less in coercion. it is the essence of democracy that the minority, no matter how large, shall learn to sub- mit to the majority for the time being, no matter how dis- tasteful. it is because some of the spanish-american states have not learned this lesson that they are in the chronic throes of revolution. if intelligent patriotism can be taught,—and who doubts it?—it must be done by enabling every citizen to express with the ballot, an intelligent opinion, on every question of public interest. the greatest good of the commonwealth is best secured by promoting the interest of the largest number of individuals. while the duty of the citizen and that of the private man are not always identical they ought not to con- flict. it is hard to see wherein the good citizen differs from the good man and vice versa. i give here the closing paragraph of the translation refer- red to on p. , for while some of the passages are intended to have a special application, they also embody- general truths. "on the other hand, we can hardly fail to notice in the management of public affairs an increasing tendency to- ward nobler ends. in the eighteenth century politics consist- ed mainly of cabinet intrigues, mutual espionage and plot- the relation of private to public morality. high a price to pay for the truth and the right. in the end he will not only lose nothing but assuredly gain much. it would be a grand consummation if such an esprit de corps could be engendered among teachers as to make the public fully aware that none of them could be induced to take the place of one who had been dismissed for any cause except proved inefficiency or immorality. it is safe to assume that such a condition of things is nearer than the time when employers shall have ceased to seek places for the in- competent, except in their own business. the poor and the inefficient we shall always have with us and so we shall al- ways have the problem of providing for those who are un- able to provide for themselyes. the end. r. l. myers & co.'s school algebras by fletcher dcreix, a.m., ph.d., and edward r. robbins, a.b. mathematical masters. the lawrenceville school, lawrenceville, n. j. these books are remarkable, both for the originality in the development of the subject and for the wonderful skill in pre- paring, adapting, and grading a large number of examples and review exercises. while seeking to develop the theory of the subject in a manner entirely new in school algebras of to-day, the authurs keep in close touch with the best current practices of teachers in other respects. a grammar school algebra. +xxix pages. half leather. cents. this volume closes with the subject of radicals. it is intended to contain only so much of the subject of algebra as pupils in grammar schools are likely to study. a school algebra. +xxxviii pages. half leather. $ . . this volume covers the requirements of admission to the classical course of colleges, as agreed upon at the conference between the representatives of leading colleges and prepara- tory schools. a school algebra complete. +xlvii pages. half leather. ( . . this book contains, in addition to the subjects usually" treated in a school algebra, the more advanced subjects required ( ) for admission to universities and scientific schools, to wit: permutations and combinations. undetermined coeffi- cients, the binominal theorem, continued fractions, loga- rithms, etc. this algebra contains a chapter on the " history of elementary algebra," the first of its kind published in america. points of superiority peculiar to the dnrell & robbing school algebras . the general theory, which makes evident to the pupil that new symbols and processes are introduced, not arbitrarily but for the sake of the economy or new power which is gained by their use. this treatment of algebra is better adapted to the practical american spirit, and gives the study of the subject a larger educational value. . clear and simple presentation of first principles. bright girls of ten years read the first chapter; and with very little explanation on a few points of secondary importance, they understand the chapter clearly on first reading. school algebras . abundance of practice: ( ) about , problems and examples in the complete book—nearly , more than in any other book of similar grade. compare any chapter with corres- ponding chapter in other leading books. ( ) every exercise well graded; easy examples first; hardest examples last; work may be limited with any problem. ( ) the problems are all sensible; no "catch," unusual, or bizarre examples, which have no place in a text-book. the durell & robbins school algebras are superior not only in the development of the theory and in the number and char- acter of the exercises—the main points to be considered in determining the strength of a text-bock on algebra—but also in modern methods, new treatment of subjects, systematic grouping of kindred processes, early introduction of substitu- tion, emphasis placed upon verification of equations, concise definitions, clear and specific explanations, tactful omissions of a number of answers, frequent reviews, superior typog- raphy. the success of these books is likely unprecedented. they have already secured for themselves, without any agency work except in pennsylvania, adoptions in the foremost schools in pennsylvania, new jersey, new york, massachusetts, maine, ohio, indiana, illinois, michigan, south dakota, california, texas, oklahoma, georgia, tennessee, west virginia and maryland. extracts from letters by superintendents, principals, and teachers of schools in which the books are used w. f. slaton, city superin. tendent, atlanta, ga.—the durell & robbins grammar school algebra is admirably suited to the advanced grades of grammar schools and to the lower grades of high schools. in my judgment, factoring cannot be better taught than it is done in this book. thomas a. blackford, com- mantant of cadets, cheltenham military academy, ogontz, pa.— the authors of the durell & rob- bins school algebra have certainly accomplished their purpose, to simplify principles and to make them attractive. i know of no book that i would stronger recom- mend for adoption. george gilbert, principal chester academy, chester, pa.—i am pleased with the book under the test of the school-room. it is certainly gotten up on the right plan. * * * it must be a favorite with teachers. the new england journal of education, a. e. winship, editor, boston.—the lawrenceville school, lawrenceville, n. j., is one of the foremost secondary institu- tions in the country, and messrs. myers & co. have made "a great hit," in the language of the hour, in securing the mathetnatic.il spe- cialists of that institution for the preparation ofsuch a series of books as these prove to be. the books are attracting much attention. charles f. harper. princi- pal public high school, new brit- ain, conn.—• * * a first-class binding; excellent type ; carefully chosen, progressive graded prob- lems; clearly stated rules; easy explanations; and an abundance of varied examples, both for daily studies and reviews. sister m. flaria, directress st. peter's academy, columbia. pa.—it is the most complete work in algebra i have yet seen. school algebras prof. h. r. higley, a.m., department of mathematics, state /formal school, east stroudsburg, pa.—we have used the durell & robbina school algebra complete in our classes during the past year, dr. fletcher durell. and expect to use it for years to come. the book is just what the practical teacher should have. our pupils were never so well pre- pared i s they have been since we use this book. the educational forum, the auditorium, chicago, illi- nois.—the subject of algebra has in this book (durell & robbins grammar school algebra) been simplified, and the practical reason for each step is given in such a plain common-sense way that alge- bra is made far more attractive than by any previous text-book. * * * this method is extremely practical, and adds materially to the interest of the pupil. william j. boone, president, the - college of idaho, caldwell, idaho.—the durell & robbins school algebra presents the subject in the liveliest, clearest and most forceful manner. i am acquainted with about two dozen texts on elementary algebra; but i con- sider durell & robbins the best* w. w. rupert, city superin- tendent, pottstown, pa.—the book is, indeed, an excellent one; writ- ten. evidently, by men who are both mathematicians and first- class teachers. dr. d. c. murphy, superin- tendent training- department, state normal school. slippery rock, ft.-we are using the durell & robbins algebras in both the training department and the nor- mal department of this institution. these books are superior and are better than their publishers repre- sent them to be. supt. isaac freeman hall, city of north adams, massachu- setts.—the durell & robbins gram- mar school algebra leads the pupil naturally, not arbitrarily, from the known to the unknown. it is planned to give power (dynamic rather than mechanical) to the student. it is superior in the selec- tion and grading of problems. dr. l. c. botkin, president board of education, burgetts- town. pa.—permit me to add my feeble voice to the praises of these algebras and to the protests against publishing a key to them. so long as i may be a member of any school board, i will vote against the use or adoption of any books whose publishers also publish a key. frof. edward r. robbins r. l. myers & ro.'s practical arithmetics by flbtcher durell, ph.d. mathematical master in the lawrenceville school, and edward r. robbins, a.b. mathematical master in the william penn charter school first lessons in numbers. pages. cents. the development of numbers to , attractively illustrated. the elementary practical arithmetic. pages. half leather. cents. the first part is devoted to the development of numbers; it is fully illustrated, and this part in itself is a valuable pri- mary arithmetic. the second part begins with the fundamental operations and closes with the subject of interest. it is an interesting treatment of the more useful topics of arithmetic. the advanced practical arithmetic. pages. half leather. cents. this volume covers the courses of the best american state normal schools, and meets the requirements for admission to the best american colleges. it is also especially adapted to the more practical demands of the rural schools. much obso- lete and valueless matter found in many text-books is omitted and increased attention given to arithmetical analysis, cancel- lation, common fractions, decimal fractions, practical measurements, applications of percentage, applications of interest, mensuration, etc., etc it contains also a chapter on arithmetical history, which is of great educational value and offers scholarly possibilities to the bright teacher. the same points of superiority that have distinguished the esteem and confidence of t achers and pupils are fou nd in the durell and robbins arithmetics, to wit: the original and scholarly development of the theory and the wonderful skill of the authors in preparing, adapting and grading a large num- ber of examples and review exercises. in developing the theory, the authors have shown more plainly than has been done heretofore the common-sense rea- son for every step or process. this treatment is better adapted to th? practical american spirit and it also gives the study of arithmetic a larger educational value. in making the problems and illustrative solutions, modern conditions and practices have been kept in view. the problems are consequently interesting and sensible, and the solutions are up-to-date. the exercises are well-graded and thorough. on every page of these books is stamped the class-room experience of scholarly, practical teacners. durell won for these books the school arithmetics fred. h. somerville, law- renceville. n. /.—the durell and robbins advanced practical arith- metic ia unique in that it combines clearness of explanation with a remarkably practical application of principles. the conciseness of the subject matter, the skillful gradation of the examples and the const int recurrence of carefully srepared review exercises give it a istiactive value not to be found in any text-book that has come to my notice. i find the book of special helpfulness to young students, since h serves to cultivate an interest not generally obtained. howard smith, instructor in mathematics. the lawrenceville school, lawrenceville, n.j.—much useless and obsolete matter found in so many other arithmetics has been omitted by the authors of the durell and robbins advanced practical arithmetic. the book is dear* concise, aud comprehensive, and meets in every particular the demands of our public schools, normal schools and academies. hiss alice m. dudley, sen- ior teacher of arithmetic,william penn charter school, philadelphia. —for giving students correct ideas of business problems done in a business-like way, i consider the advanced practical arithmetic, by durell and robbins, the best i have ever used. miss lucy chandler, wil- liam penn charter school, phila- delphia.—.the durell and robbins advanced practical arithmetic is excellent for grammar school pupils needing a thorough drill in work that has been taken in an elementary way. george e. wilbur, depart- ment of higher mathematics, state normal school, bloomsburg, pa.— the durell and robbins advanced practical arithmetic is, in every respect, a splendid work. i shall recommend it to our teacher of arithmetic. iuleff pardee, teacher, guy%s mills, pa.—we are using the durell and robbins arithmetics. i have taught thirty-two years, and con- sider these the best arithmetics that i have ever used or examined. the authors present the different subjects so clearly that the average pupil makes rapid progress with- out much help from the teacher. r. g. miller, principal, eliza- beth, pa. — i like it principally because it is, as its title indicates, "practical," and has omitted a number of useless subjects. f. e. downes, principal, dick- inson preparatory school, carlisle, pa. — we have been using the durell and robbins arithmetic long enough to learn that it is just the book (or a college preparatory school. in general arrangement and in the treatment of each sub- ject the book is thoroughly logical. the explanations are clear to the student; the problems are well selected and practical. it is the most teachable book we have as yet been able to secure. it is giving entire satisfaction. m. j. miller, principal, con- neaut lake, pa.—we have used the durell and robbius algebras for two years, and are now using the arithmetics by the same authors. we find the books well adapted to practical scho > room needs and strictly up to date. m. s. bentz, principal, south fork, pa.—we are using the durell and robbins arithmetics in our schools with excellent results. the presentation of the subject matter is clear and concise, with plenty of problems of a practical nature to insure its comprehension. miss maud fisher, teacher, berne, pa. — they are admirable books. i am pleased with the varied examples, and especially with the reviews after every new subject. miss margaret b. conley, teacher, shermansville, pa.—we are very much pleased with the durell and robbins arithmetics, and i also find the algebra superior to any i have ever used. miss lilian hayes, teacher, elton, pa. — we are using the durell and robbins arithmetics, and i know of no books that i would recommend so strongly for adoption in public schools. william p. taylor, a.b., (vale) principal, birmingham, ala.—i like the advanced arith- metic for its attention given to fun- damentals and its omission of the useless "stuff" that has lit- tered most of our text-books on arithmetic. r. l myers & co.'s graded spelling books by martin g. benedict, ph.d., professor of pedagogy, pennsylvania state college, state college, pm. benedict's primary speller. pages. cloth. cents. benedict's advanced speller. pages. cloth. cents. well arranged spelling books will assist pupils to do at least three things: ( ) to speak words correctly. ( ) to write words correctly. ( ) to use words correctly. to speak words correctly, one must know and be able to make the sounds of which words are composed. to write words correctly, one must know the elements of which they are composed, and the order in which these elements occur. to use words correctly, either in spoken or written language, one must know the ideas for which they stand. benedict's spelling books are writ- ten to harmonize, to correlate, and to emphasize these points. a popular correlation of spelling to other studies is observed, not for the purpose of teaching reading, or language, or geog- raphy, but to emphasize spelling as relative to every other branch of study and to clothe it with a living reality. the proper study of these books will incite an interest in words and in word study that will abide after the spelling book has been forgotten. dr. a. e. winship, editor n. e. journal of education, boston, mass.—professor benedict, of the state college of pennsylvania, has had experience as principal of city schools, has been at the head of a normal school, and has had much -experience in meeting teachers at institutes, and this book is the result of many years of thought up- on the subject of teaching spelling. this is an excellent book, words well selected aud arranged. sounds correctly marked and grouped, and meanings clearly indicated in exer- cises intended for thought discrim- ination. it is a spelling book that trains in correct pronunciation and syllabication. as well as orthog- raphy. synonyms and antonyms are abundant. dr. benedict evi- dently thinks that the correct spell- ing aud pronunciation of a word often depends upon its grammat- ical use, for he teaches language incidentally. he gives most help- ful exercises in homonyms. names of articles of commerce are well emphasized. plurals are well handled. proper names are duly prominent. word building is a prominent feature. cognate words and ideas are skillfully treated. derived words are grouped advantageously. in every respect this is a valuable speller, good for every child in the grammar school. so better book, to say the least, has been made for securing intelligent and correct use of the words of every day life.—(in the jv. e. journal of education," fan. , .) supt. l. . foose, city schools, harrisburg, pa.— * * * both books contain much that is new, suggestive and helpful to both teacher and pupil, stress being laid upon the critical knowledge of the form of a word as well as on its meaning and use in a sentence. they contain about all the ordinary words that are in use in the lan- guage, anl if mastered ought to make good spellers beyond doubt. graded spelling books miss ada v. norton, teacher of orthography and commercial course, state normal school, ship- pensburg, pa.—we have used bene- dict's speller for more than two years with most gratifying results. the arrangement of the work is logical. it incites interest in word work, and its correlation with other subjects makes it thoroughly inter- esting, hence easily taught." supt. j. m. berkey, city schools, johnstown, pa.—we are using benedict's primary speller in our fourth and fifth grades and find it very satisfactory. it con- tains a well selected and carefully grade i list of words, which is the essential requisite in any spelling book. the author, moreover, has wisely left the teacher to suggest, and the pupil to work out the spelling exercises. it is not bur- dened, as too many of our spelling books are, with suggestions, hints , methods, rules, and language exer- cises. it is simply a good, all- round primary speller. i cheerfully endorse it. (since the above was written the advanced speller has also been adopted.) f. j. stettler, superinten- dent, slating ton, pa.—spelling was almost a "lost art" in the slating- ton schools a few years ago. a change in text-books as well as a change in the methods of teaching spelling was absolutely necessary. our school authorities adopted and introduced benedict's spellers last september. our teachers spe^k in high prai-e of the merits of the books. their results are excellent. the pupils of our middle grades have learned to know the diacritical marks and are able to use the dic- tionary intelligently. spelling now has an upward tendency in our schools. norman g. reiser, principal, delaware water gap, pa.—i have carefully examined benedict's spellers. they are unquestionably the best series on the market to-day. in scope and arrangement of matter, they are most practical and theoretically correct. the phonetic analysis, synonyms and autonyms and the classification of words are among the strong and most meritorious features. they will prove a revelation in spelling. we shall immediately adopt them. miss m. e. burnhan. super- intendent, sutton, vtj—the bene- dict spellers are the best i have yet examined and i am glad that i rec- ommended them for adoption. supt. addison jones. city schools, west chester, pa.—we are usiug benedict's primary speller. the w «rds are arranged so that they are easily learned without worrying the pupil. i have not seen a speller better suited to our use. m. l. mai eft, ph.d.. presi- dent. kee mar college, hagers- town, md.—the benedict speller was adopted a year ago in our in- stitution. the selection of words and the classification of the text is far superior to any i have exam- ined. d. c. stunkard, principal, bedford, pa.—benedict's spelling books have been in use in the bed- ford public schools since their first publication, three years ago, and we have secured better results from their use than we ever attain- ed by the use of any other books; and we have reasons for expecting even better results when our course is thoroughly introduced and brought up to our expected stand- ard. mrs. winifred smith rice. teather of literature, state nor- mal school, east stroudsburg, pa. —benedict's advanced speller has been used in this state normal school since its publication,. in , and we have found it to be the most up-to-date book on spelling published. it does all that is claimed for it in the preface, teach- ing, in the shortest time possible, three things: to speak or pro- nounce words correctly ; to write or spell words correctly; to use words correctly. without doubt, it is the best book that could be made for normal school purposes; as the diacritical markings corres- pond, on the main, to the phronic methods employed in the best reading systems, thus teaching the student his reading methods inci- dentally with his spelling. the diacritical markings also give the student a foundation by which he may later help himself in the study of language. its simplicity and progressive arrangement are also strong points in its favor. r. l. myers & co.'s history outlines op general history in the form of questions by j. r. fuckingbr, m.a., principal state normal school, lock haven, pa. size, yxsyi. pages. cix>th. linen paper. cents extracts from the author's preface: "all teachers of gen- eral history in the secondary schools of this country know that, owing to the lack of time, very unsatisfactory results are attained. daily recitations, topical or otherwise, finally accu- mulate in the mind of the pupil such a mass that there can be no satisfactory assimilation. to obviate this defect, these questions were framed. ***** by this means, the constructive mental qualities of most students are exercised. then, too, it is a well-known pedagogical fact, that most of us are of the motor type, and that it is necessary for us to construct that which we would master. ^ts^a . "without question, the arises from a lack of time, as has been said, but that the gradual accumulation of a mass of matter assists in further deteriora- ting the work of the teacher for each term. both teacher and pupil become discouraged, and they lose interest, and, hence, tenacity of purpose. by supplementing the narrative method with a series of suggestive questions, not only will the interest be maintained, but the student will be encouraged along the line of least resistance." best possible method of studying history is that of the seminary, by which orig- inal sources are examined, and both oral and written construction of the narrative is practiced. this method, however, can only be used in the university, and can- not be thought of in our secondary schools. there- fore, these questions have been framed in order that we might have a compromise method between the best and the poorest methods^ the author believes that a great deal of the poor teach- ing done in this subject prof. j. r. flickinger. hi'story flase-lights on american history. by dawsey cope murphy, ph.d. superintendent of training department, state normal school, slippery rock, pa. pages. illustrated. bound in cloth price, cents this book is not the work of a professional author. dr. murphy is a careful student of history, and an able lecturer upon this subject. he was formerly a teacher of prominence in public schools; and for the past seven years he h-s been training teachers for every grade of public school work. flash- lights on american history is therefore the outgrowth of the school-room and the platform, and is a reader of real value to the schools. it will awaken a deeper interest in his- toric study, and create a greater fondness for beautiful selec- tions of prose and poetry. subjects are arranged chronologi- cally. the explanatory notes are helpful. the historical recreations excite renewed interest. all in all, it is one of the best of supplementary readers. where it is not provided for class use, it should be on the teacher's desk and in the school library. samuel hamilton, superintendent, allegheny co., pa.—"flash- lights on american history" is an admirable work. it is a connecting link between history and literature, adding new life and interest to both. it is especially well adapted to the wants of the public school as a supple- mentary reader. dr. m. g. brumbaugh, university of pennsylvania.—-murphy's "flash-lights on american history" is an admirable book for the teacher, and is full of most helpful historical material, written in a fas- cinating manner. the author is to be congratulated upon producing so excellent a treatise. from american school and college journal, st. louis, mo.—the hope of the author of" flash-lights on american history" has already been realized. the children in the home wish to rea- and to re- read every page of this most admirable and timely compilation. older people, too, have read it and will read it again. it is a book all alive with stories, in prose and verse, of noble and daring deeds. a soul-stirring poem, or a patriotic address, based upon some heroic event such as'we find here, sets the hearts of pupils aflame with interest. w. s. bryan, principal, carnegie, pa.—we like your book. it creates a new interest in .he history classes. we count it our best supple- mentary reader. d. j. driscoll, principal, st. mary's, pa.—x secured one of the first copies that came from the press. i am delighted with it. the pupils ask to take it home oftenerthan any other book in our library, and several of them have already read it through. £. l. myers & co.'s the pennsylvania series . ever since the union of the thirteen colonies, pennsylvania has been known as the " keystone." she is by nature and by achievements entitled to this distinction. there is no equal area on the face of the globe to which the creator has given so great a variety of blessings in soil, rivers and mountains. three of the five richest agricultural counties in the country are in pennsylvania. her mines of iron, wells of oil, and pockets of gas are almost matchless, while she has the world's richest storehouses of anthracite and bituminous coals. sixty-six of her sixty-seven counties are penetrated by great railway sys- tems; and the ohio, the susquehanna, the schuylkill, the delaware, the lehigh, the allegheny and the monongahela form a combination of rivers unequaled by any other state. . all these blessings are at the mercy of the coming genera- tion. never before was the need of civic patriotism so great. civic clubs are demanding it; churches are preaching it; and the schools are urged to teach it. history is the foundation of true patriotism and real civic pride. better than mines and forests, than water power and navigable rivers, than railways and shipyards, is the state's inheritance from william penn, the statesman, philanthropist, educator and christian; from benjamin franklin, thaddeus stevens, robert fulton, and other great leaders; from independence hall, valley forge, gettysburg, and other hallowed spots made sacred by the suffer- ing, the bravery and the blood of a patriotic ancestry. in view of the importance of pennsylvania, it has been deemed advisable to publish a series of school books bearing upon the state and her institutions, and the first two books of the series are herewith announced. a histoby op pennsylvania by l. s. shimmell, ph.d. teacher of united states history and civil government, high school, hamsburg. author of" the pennsylvania citizen" pages . folly illustrated. cloth. price, cents in his simple, clear and accurate style, so well-known to all schoolmen in pennsylvania, the author of this new book tells of the indians and their dealings with our forefathers; fives an account of the early settlements of the dutch, the wedes, the english, the germans, the welsh, the scotch- irish and the french huguenots; describes the growth in popu- lation and the adjustmeut of territorial boundaries; explains the early forms of government; records the administrations of the government during the colonial, the revolutionary, and the constitutional period; relates the industrial and educational history of the state; and closes with a chapter of biographical sketches, that to any teacher is alone worth the price of the book. the pennsyl vania series dr. d. j. waller, principal, state normal school, indiana, pa. —shimmell's "pennsylvania citi- zen" merits the wide adoption given it, and his history is of even greater interest ior pennsylvania because it is of as deep interest for women as for men. dr. shimmell is to be congratulated upon hav- ing produced a book that was needed, aud upon having produced one so good thai another will not soon be? written for the same pur- pose. he has succeeded in com- pacting a large mass of facts into a hand-book and yet in writing his- tory. every school in pennsylva- nia in which american history is taught should have copies of this book. it will win its way. dr. geo. edward reed, president £>ickinson college, carlisle, pa.—i have examined dr. l. s. shimmell's excellent work "a history of pennsylvania " with considerable care, and am very much pleased with the simple and natural arrangement of the matter of the volume. the literary style of the author is very attrac- tive, and the whole arrangement of the book is such as to render it particularly well adapted for text-book purposes. it would be a most valuable book to introduce in the public schools of pennsylvania. prof. j. c. taylor, superin- tendent* lackawanna county, pa.— every teacher of history in the stateshould have a copy, and every school should be supplied. i think of contributing a copy to each library in this county. dr. j. r. flickinger, prin- cipal, state not mat school, lock haven, pa.—x compliment the au- thor on the skill he has shown in the balancing of his data. he has done good pioneer work and his book should have the encourage- ment of pennsylvania teachers. as soon as we can find a place for it we shall giv.* it a trial. it is very attractive in appearance. prof. a. wanner, city super- intendent, yorkt pa.— shimmel's history of pennsylvania happily presents the leading facts in the history of our state. the graphic arrangement by which along paral- lel lines, the great closely related phases of development, separately treated, are presented, immensely adds to the interest and value of the book. the times, pittsburg, pa., may , /goo.—there are few things that it is necessary to know about the story of the keystone state that cannot be found: in this vol- ume. it is illustrated by many engravings of historic buildings and places and with many por- traits. a valuable feature of the volume is a series of brief, well written biographies of men promi- nent in the various activities of the commonwealth, from the be- ginning to the present. prof. h. milton roth, superintendent, adams county, pa.—i have thoroughly examined "a history of pennsylvania m and am much pleused with it. i am a firm advocate of having state his- tory taught in the public schools, and bespeak a prominent place for "a history of pennsylvania" in the schools of our commonwealth. may it be as helpful to the student as the " pennsylvania citizen" has been. dr. j. d. moffat, president washington and jefferson college, washington, pa.—it is certatnlv a practical book, embodying an im- mense amount of information in small space, and presented in a simple, straight forward way that is both interesting and instructive. prof. a. g. c. smith, super- intendent, delaware county, pa.— i am quite pleased with it and i am sure it will be found a useful book in both public and private schools. it is written in a pleasing ftyle and contains much that every pennsylvanian should know. i bespeak for it the success the efforts of the author deserve. dr. g. m. philips, principal. state normal school, w'st ches- ter, pa.—i have looked through it with some care and with much interest. the work is not only well doue, but, what is almost more important in a history, and espe- cially a local history, it is interest- ingly done. i congratulate both its author aud its publisher upon it. hon. henry houck, deputy state superintendent, jiarrisburg. pa.—pennsylvania has a historv of which every one of its citizens has a right to feel proud, and this book tells the story veil. i have read many state school histories and i am glad to say that in my opinion this book rauks with the very best. x. l. myers & co.'s the pennsylvania citizen by l. s. shimmkll, ph.d. teacher of u. s. history and civil government, high school, harrisburg the pennsylvania citizen is a complete civil gov- eminent of pennsylvania, and contains al o the essentials of the national government. it is used in a majority of the school districts of the state, including the following cities and boroughs: allegheny, altooua, bethlehem, braddock, carbon- dale, columbia, corry, danville, dubois, dunmore, east on, erie, franklin, greensburg, harrisburg, hazleton, huntingdon, jeannette, lebanon, lock haven, mckees- ort, mahanoy city, meadville, middletown, new brighton, new castle, philadel- phia, pittsburg, pottstown. shamokin, shenandoah, south bethlehem, steelton, sunbury, titusville, tyrone, uniontown, wilkes-barre and york. the recent law requiring teachers to be examined in civil government, including state and local government, is evidence that the book supplies a demand that is general all over the state. although its sale is limited to pennsylvania, yet the pennsylvania citizen has reached its ioo,ocoth volume. comments oa "the pennsylvania citizen" dr. lincoln hulley, de- partment of history* bucknell university. — " the pennsylvania citizen "is an admirable book. i do not know of anything so suitable for schools in pennsylvania as this book. i shall recommend it wher- ever i get a chance. the study of state government is as important as that of the national. if not more so. dr. edward brooks, city super in tendent, ph ila delp hi a. — "the pennsylvania citizen" is well adapted to give that training in civic knowledge so essential to every citizen of our country. it will do a good work in the state in educating patriotic american citi- zens. dr. j. s. taylor, grammar school , new york cily.—l wish there were a new york edition of "the pennsylvania citizen," and that it were on our list. i am using , which is entirely too prolix, and does not come close enough home for school children. it is too abstract and attempts too much. i congratulate you on this book. the style in fluent and lucid, and your choice of the topics most happy. william lauder, general manager kemble iron company, riddle$burg,pa.; also president of broad top township school board.—shimmell's ''pennsylvania citizen " is one of the best books in that line i have seen. and it ought to be made a compulsory text-book in all our schools. if the states- men were as active as the w. c. t. u. they would soon put it into use, and it would do more good than physiology. miss mary b. rockwood, girl's latin school, baltimore. md.—" the pennsylvania citizen" should certainly be immensely popular in pennsylvania, for it has the same excellent qualities that we all appreciate in the "school gazette." it is clear, it is simple, it is comprehensive, it is interesting, it is " up-to-date." dr. john ballentine, state normal, clarion, pa.—i have care- fully read shimmell's "pennsyl- vania citizen." the work is brief, but the facts are clearly and accu- rately stated. chapter ii contains information not usually found in short mauuals. chapter ix has valuable definitions. this is the third outline of the government of our state that has found its way into our school, and, according to my judgment, the best. it ought to be studied in every commvu school in pennsylvania. ideal mustc course ideal music course by j. a. sprbnksl supervisor of music% bethlehem, pa. in the preparation of this course, two conditions have been carefully considered. (i) that vocal music in our public schools must, in the great majority of cases, be taught by the regular teachers. special attention, therefore, is given to sug- gestive lessons and exercises in the theory of vocal music. ( ) that the songs of the school room are treasured in the minds of the pupils, and are seldom forgotten. good thoughts and sentiments are, therefore, fully as important as pleasing music. it has, consequently, been necessary to omit many so-called new songs, and to draw largely from standard poetry, suggestive of noble thoughts and fancies. primary ideal music book. pages. half cloth. cents. the rudimental department is simple and thorough. the music includes a wide range of subjects and styles. the songs are bright and pleasing. it is a standard primary work. advanced ideal music book. pages. cloth. cents. this is one of the best books for teaching purposes and chorus work ever published. it is divided into departments, and each department is as nearly perfect as it could well be made. every piece of music is good; every song will be sung and enjoyed. there is not a poor page in the book. this course is complete in itself, but "the ideal music chart ' has been provided for those who wish to use one. dr. nathan c. sheaffer, superintendent of public instruc- hon, pennsylvania.—it has been my pleasure at different institutes to listen to the talks of prof. j. a. sprenkel, and to hear him conduct the exercises in singing. he pos- sesses rare powers for holding the attention of an audience, and superior abilities as a leader of the singing in large gatherings. prof. a. u l. suhrie, prin- cipal public schools, si. marys, pa.—prof. lion, my first assistant, is a musician, and he has taken charge of the music in our schools. he is much pleased with the books, and we hive been able to secure excellent results thus far. dr. arnold tompkins, chi- cago university.—prof. j. a. spren- kel is not only an enthusiastic and an efficient teacher of music, but one whose bearing and character exert a wholesome influence on those about him. he is the author of music books of high merit. prof. a. j. be tzel, county superintendent. cu mberland county, pa.—the "ideal music course" has been generally intro- duced into the schools of the several townships and boroughs in this county, and the books are giving the best of satisfaction. * * * the - charge that music cannot be successfully taught with- out a special teacher falls to the ground in the face of the success achieved by our teachers and pupils during the present term, in sight reading. time, and part singing. directors and patrons are highly pleased. the course has my strongest endorsement. r. l. myers & co.'s the ideal music chart by c. h. congdon and o. e. mcfadden directors of music, st. paul and minneapolis, respectively pages, x price, including chart supporter, $ . this chart is most excellent, musically, educationally, and typographically, and in every way will stand the test of intelli- gent criticism. the exercises are not merely samples of many difficulties in time and tune; but they lead pupils naturally through one difficulty after another, by the use of many tune- ful, pleasing exercises and songs, so carefully graded that each succeeding exercise can be sung at sight. the proper use of it will develop the intervals of the scale and cultivate sight- singing ability. prof. frank damrosch, of new york city.—it gives me pleasure to tell you that your "ideal music chart" is being used in my classes with much success. and that i find it of great assistance. i think it is one of the best charts for elementary instruction i know of. miss sarah l. arnold, supervisor of primary work, boston schools.—i have carefully examined the " ideal music chart," and have noted the progress of the classes where it has been used. i am confident that it will prove satisfactory wherever it is introduced. it presents a laige number and variety of simple exercises, which are thoroughly adapted to primary work. chromatic pitch instrument patented by c. h. congdon price, cents ft sounds "do " for ten keys. it saves valuable time often used in getting and keeping the pitch. it is necessary to the greatest success in any singing exercise. it contains a separate german silver reed for every pitch. it does not get out of tune, and requires no adjustment. eeoommended and used l>y the following well-known supervisors of musio: h. e. holt boston o. blackman chicago n. cob stewart, . . cleveland b. jepson new haven mrs. emma a. thomas, . detroit frederick h. ripley, . boston w. a. osden toledo joseph mischka, . . . buffalo o. e. mcfaddon, . minneapolis miss fannie arnold, . omaha leonard b. marshall, boston mrs. agnes cox, . . . chicago irving emerson, . . hartford p. c. hayden quincy f. n. cottle, .... chicago s. w. mountz, .... chicago t. p. giddings, . . . oak park p. m. bach, . colorado springs herbert griggs, . . . denver james w. mclaughlin, boston carrie v. smith, . . . winona sara l. dunning, new york city mary a. grandy, . sioux city geo. c. young, . salt lake city books for teachers books for teachers the new manual and guide fob teachers by j. m. berkey, a.m. -city superintendent schools, johnstown, pa., and late superintendent of somerset county, pa, pages. firmly bound in cloth. price, cents the constantly increasing demand for the former edition of the manual and guide has entirely exhausted the supply and made its further publication necessary. in the preparation of the new edition, the author has taken the opportunity to thoroughly revise the work and to add to it a number of new and valuable features. it is no longer a manual for the teacher of the elementary district school only, but in its enlarged scope and application it will be found equally helpful in all grades and departments of the city and town schools. as now arranged, its aim is to unify elementary school work and to harmonize along essential lines the advanced or high-school courses of study. the principle of uniformity, however, applies only to fundamental requirements common to all school work, while giving the widest possible latitude in the choice of text-books, methods of teaching, and adaptation to local con- ditions. extracts from letters relative to "the new manual and guide for teaohers." prof. m. g. brumbaugh, a.m., ph.d., department of peda- gogy,university of pennsylvania.— "the teachers' manual and guide" is the best thing for the public schools i have yet seen. * * * i hope to see it used everywhere. supt. a. m. hammers, indiana county.—it has been used in this county with the most grati- fying results. supt. john w. snoke, leba- non county. — our schools have greatly improved by the introduc- tion of the graded system. supt. w. f. zumbro, frank- lin county.—i shall want one hun- dred copies for our teachers. supt. eli m. rapp, berks county. — every teacher of our mixed schools should possess a copy. supt. w. a. snyder, clinton county.—the manual is just the thing we need for our schools, and our teachers are of the same opin- ion. hon. henry houck, deputy slate superintendent, pa.—it is the best i have ever seen. supt. h. s. wertz, blair county.—i am pleased with the new manual and shall favor its adoption in blair county. supt. t. l. gibson, cambria county.—the new manual and guide for teachers is one of three books made the basis ol examina- tions in theory of teaching in cam- bria county. supt. e. e. pritts, somerset county.—this manual has done much in somerset county to syste- matize the work of ungraded schools. r. l. myers & co.'s jukes-edwards by a. e. winship, litt.d. editor new england journal of education i mo. cloth, cents. paper, cents this is one of thi greatest educational studies ever pub- lished. every teacher, minister, statesman and philanthropist should read it. th< descendants of jonathan edwards are contrasted with the infamous "jukes" family of degenerates. shiftlessness, ignorance and neglect have given to the world a family of , paupers, criminals, invalidsand imbeciles, costing the state in crime and pauperism $ , , ; while a high original pur- pose, good surroundings and good education have given to the world a family of , of the world's noblemen." dr. edward brooks, phila- delphia, pa.— 'jukes-edwards" is an excellent book, and would prove a strong influence for social and moral reform wherever it may be read. dr. samuel hamilton, brad- dock, pa.—the story is one that tells and the book ought to be read by every parent as well as every citizen. supt. john morrow, alle- gheny city, pa.—i would like to see all our teachers and parents read "jukes-edwards." supt. c.a. babcock, oil city, pa.—itseems to me that it would be a good plan to have some one rend a review of "jukes-edwards" before every institute in the state— or in as many as possible. the facts in the book should be known by every one. supt. e. mac key, reading, pa.—i have used "jukes-edwards" in my normal class, and i would be g ad to see a copy of it in the hands of every teacher. from the picayune, new orleans, la.—the moral is obvious and it is emphatically asserted. from the argonaut, san francisco, cal. — forcible argu- ments for mental and moral train- ing. from the heidelberg teacher, philadelphia, pa.—one of the most intensely interesting books we have ever read, setting forth the constructive force of train- ing and environment and the de- structive force of idleness and vul- garity. the jukes family offers a good illustration of degeneracy, while a study of the edwards family presents a cheery, comfort- ing and convincing contrast. the biographical details given add attractiveness and value to the book that cannot fail to inspire numer- ous sermons and abundant food for thought to parents. lucia ames mead, in boston transcript —never was there more conclusive evidence of the results of early nurture in virtue than in the , descendants of j< nathan edwards. * * * * not only have these cost the state nothing beyond their public school training, but their contribution to american life has been great and continuous. from the christian advo- cate.—he gives the maxims by which the famous divine (jonathan edwards) shaped his life. relates his manner of training his eleven children, and shows a genealogy without the name of a single de- generate (and but one that needs an apology, aaron burr). from the religious tele- scope, dayton. ohio.— ♦ * * the book should be read by every minister, teacher, and parent. penmanship penmanship the new ideal copt books by hugh c. laughlin, a. m. high school for boys and girls, new york city numbers i to , cents per dozen in learning to write, the use of the eye is as important as that of the hand. through the eye, the brain must picture the forms of letters before the hand can be trained to write them. whatever interferes with the eye in making quick and accurate mental pictures of the letter forms impedes the progress of the hand in learning to write. in the new ideal copy books, the author has enabled the young pupil to concentrate his mental vision upon the copies with- out having his perception confused by surrounding figures, printed words, unnecessary ruled lines, etc. in this way, distinct impres- sions of the letter forms to be copied are made and pkor. hugh c. uuoblin. the automatic movement of the hand and arm is, consequently, more readily acquired. no explanation is any longer expected for preferring the vertical system of writing. it would seem foolish to oppose that which is more legible, occupies less space, and has won its claim to rapidity. the adoption of vertical forms does not necessitate the abandonment of grace and beauty. hence in selecting letter forms for the new ideal copy books, the author's aim has been to secure, first, simplicity and utility, and next, grace and beauty; and in no case has he sacrificed the former for the latter. the author being a classical scholar as well as a practical penman, his copies are also a collection of literary gems. the new ideal copy books have been adopted for exclu- sive use in a number of counties in iowa and maryland and in a large number of townships and towns iu pennsylvania- f. f. c. m. ºn ºr t tauler %arbarb zbibinity Štúool †† . andover-harvard theological library mdccccx cambridge, massachusetts | selections the life and sermong doctor john tauler. —o-o-qec-c- h o s t o n : roberts rotberg. . | *- f : rvard theolo, al library cameridge, mass. copyright, , by roberts brothers. /* `-- * , . * , !. * * cambridge: a'ress ºf john wilson & son. | pr e f a c e. his little volume is abridged from “the - history and life of the reverend doctor john tauler of strasbourg; with twenty-five of his sermons (temp. i ). translated from the german, with additional notices of tauler's life and times, by susanna winkworth, trans- lator of theologia germanica.” those who are familiar with miss winkworth's beautiful and interesting book, know how valuable a con- tribution it is to the knowledge of the men and thoughts of that period. they must have learned to love the noble character of tauler, and they must have been helped by his spiritual sermons. if this little book of mine serve to call attention afresh to the original volume, i shall be very glad. i have given the first portion, the history of tauler, written by his friend, nearly entire, with the omission of a few pages only, from want of space ; and i have made selections from miss winkworth's historical sketch, and the ser- in ons. iv. }reface. it may be of interest, in this connection, to mention some of tauler's contemporaries. in italy, dante's life ended when tauler was in his prime ; petrarch and boccaccio were born, the former in , the latter in , and sur- vived him. st. catharine of siena, the young nun whose lofty character gave her so powerful an influence over all ranks and all ages, was a girl of fourteen when he died. st. dominic, of spain, the founder of the dominican order to which tauler belonged, died about seventy years before the latter was born ; and st. fran- cis of assisi, the founder of the rival order of the franciscans, a few years later, in . in england, chaucer and wickliffe, although already men of note, did not write the canter- bury tales and translate the bible till some years after the death of tauler. m. w. t. * (ijt #igtorg amb -ife reverend doctor john tauler. first chapter. n the year of our lord , it came to pass that a master in holy scripture preached ofttimes in a certain city, and the people loved to hear him, and his teachings were the talk of the country for many leagues round. now this came to the ears of a layman who was rich in god's grace, and he was warned three times in his sleep that he should go to the city where the master dwelt, and hear him preach. now that city was in another country, more than thirty leagues distant. then the man thought within himself, “i will go thither and wait to see what god is purposed to do or bring to pass there.” so he came to that city, and heard the master preach five times. then god gave i doctor gjm (iauler. ing thereof, yet i cannot but thirst after it. multitudes flock to hear you: if there were only one among them all who could under- stand you, your labor were well bestowed.” then said the master, “dear son, if i am to do as thou sayest, i must needs give some study and labor to the matter before i can put such a sermon together.” but the man would not cease from his prayers and entreaties till the master promised him that he should have his desire. so, when the master had finished his ser- mon, he announced to the people that in three days they should come together again, for he had been requested to teach how a man could attain to the highest and best and nearest to god that might be reached in this present time. and when the day was come, much people came to the church, and the man sat down in a place where he could hear well ; and the master came and began his discourse. . #igtorg amb ift of second chapter. n his sermon he rehearsed four and twenty articles whereby a man may perceive who are the proper, true, reason- able, enlightened, contemplative men; and what sort of a man it is to whom christ may well speak these words: “lo see a true beholder of god in whom is no guile.” john i. . the more important of these articles are the following: — he shall daily, without ceasing, give up his will to the will of god, and endeavor to will nothing but what god willeth. he shall have the sense of the presence of god in all his works, at all times, and in all places, whatever it please god to appoint, whether it be sweet or bitter. he shall not be deceived by the glory of the creature, nor yet by any false light; but in a spirit of kindness and love he shall confess all things to be what they are, and from all things draw out what is best, and use it to his own improvement, and in no wise to his own detriment ; for such a boctor gjm (iaultr. course is a certain sign of the presence of the holy spirit. he shall confess the truth in simplicity, and he shall mark what it is in itself, what god requireth of us, and what is possible to man, and then order his life accordingly, and act up to what he confesses. he shall be a man of few words and much inward life. his conversation shall be in all upright- ness and sincerity; thus he shall let his light shine before men, and he shall preach more with his life than with his lips. he shall be willing to take reproof; and when he striveth with any he shall give way, if the matter concern himself alone, and not god. he shall set the life and precepts of our lord jesus christ before him for a pattern to his life, words, and works, and without ceasing look at himself therein as in a mir- ror, that, in so far as he is able, he may put off every thing unbecoming the honored image of our lord. tboctor offm (iauler. have hidden thy talent that i have never perceived it in thee.” then the man made as though he would depart, and said, “dear master, if god will, i am purposed to go home again.” but the master said, “dear son, what shouldst thou do at home thou hast neither wife nor child to provide for; thou must eat there as well as here ; for, if god will, i am minded to preach again of a perfect life.” then said the man, “dear master, you must know that i have not come hither for the sake of your preaching, but because i thought, with god's help, to give you some good counsel.” quoth the master, “how shouldst thou give counsel who art but a layman, and understandest not the scrip- tures; and it is, moreover, not thy place to preach if thou wouldst. stay here a little longer; perchance god will give me to preach such a sermon as thou wouldst care to hear.” then the man said, “dear mas- ter, i would fain say somewhat to you, but i fear that you would be displeased to hear it.” but the master answered, “dear son, say what thou wilt: i can answer for it that i shall take it in good part.” hereupon #igtorg amb life of the man said, “you are a great clerk, and have taught us a good lesson in this sermon, but you yourself do not live according to it; yet you try to persuade me to stay here; that you may preach me another sermon. sir, i give you to know that neither your sermons, nor any outward words that man can speak, have power to work any good in me, for man's words have in many ways hindered me much more than they have helped me. and this is the reason: it often happened that, when i came away from the sermon, i brought certain false notions away with me, which i hardly got rid of in a long while with great toil; but if the highest teacher of all truth shall come to a man, he must be empty and quit of all the things of time. know ye that when this same master cometh to me, he teaches me more in an hour than you, or all the doctors from adam to the judgment day, will ever do.” then said the master, “dear son, stay here, i pray thee, and celebrate the lord's death with me.” whereon the man answered, “seeing that you adjure me so solemnly, it may be, tboctor gjm (iauler. that, in obedience to god, i ought to stay with you; but i will not do it unless you promise to receive all that i have said to you, and all i may yet say to you, as under the seal of confession, so that none may know of it.” - quoth the master, “dear son, that i will- ingly promise, if only that thou wilt stay here.” then said the man, “sir, ye must know, that though you have taught us many good things in this sermon, the image came into my mind while you were preaching, that it was as if one should take good wine and mix it with lees, so that it grew muddy.” quoth the master, “dear son, what dost thou mean by this ” the man said, “i mean that your vessel is unclean, and much lees are cleaving to it; and the cause is, that you have suffered yourself to be killed by the letter, and are killing yourself still every day and hour ; albeit, you yourself know full well that the scripture saith, ‘the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.” know, that same letter which now killeth you will make you alive again, if so be you are willing; but in the io #ígtorg amb life of life you are now living, know that you have no light, but you are in the night, in which you are indeed able to understand the letter, but have not yet tasted the sweetness of the holy ghost; and, withal, you are yet a pharisee.” then said the master, “dear son, i would have thee to know that, old as i am, i have never been spoken to in such fashion all my life.” the man said, “where is your preaching now? do you see now what you are when you are brought to the proof? and al- though you think that i have spoken too hardly to you, you are in truth guilty of all i have said, and i will prove to you from your own self that it is true.” then said the master, “i ask for no more, for i have ever been an enemy to all pharisees.” quoth the man, “i will first tell you how it is that the letter is killing you. dear sir, as you know yourself, when you were ar- rived at the age to understand good and evil, you began to learn the letter, and in so doing you sought your own welfare, and to this day you are in the same mind; that is tboctor ſojn (iaulet. i i to say, you are trusting to your learning and parts, and you do not love and intend god alone; but you are in the letter, and intend and seek yourself, and not the glory of god as the scripture teacheth us to do. you have a leaning towards the creatures, and specially towards one creature, and love that creature with your whole heart above measure ; and this is, moreover, the cause why the letter killeth you. and whereas i said that your vessel is unclean, that is also true, inasmuch as you have not in all things a single eye to god. if you look into your- self, you will, for one thing, find it out by the vanity and love of carnal ease whereby your vessel is spoiled and filled with lees. and whereas i further said that you were still in darkness, and had not the true light, this is also true; and it may be seen hereby that so few receive the grace of the holy spirit through your teaching. and whereas i said that you were a pharisee, that is also true; but you are not one of the hypocritical pharisees. was it not a mark of the phari- sees that they loved and sought themselves in all things, and not the glory of god now examine yourself, dear sir, and see if i #igtorg amb ife of you are not a proper pharisee in the eyes of god. know, dear master, that there are many people in the world who are all called pharisees in god's sight, be they great or small, according to what their hearts or lives are bent upon.” as the man spoke these words, the mas- ter fell on his neck and kissed him, and said, “a likeness has come into my mind. it has happened to me as it did to the heathen woman at the well. for know, dear son, that thou hast laid bare all my faults before my eyes; thou hast told me what i had hidden up within me, and espe- cially that i have an affection for one crea- ture ; but i tell thee of a truth, that i knew it not myself, nor do i believe that any human being in the world can know of it. i wonder greatly who can have told thee this of me. but i doubt not that thou hast it of god. now, therefore, i pray thee, dear son, that thou celebrate our lord's death, and be thou my ghostly father, and let me be thy poor, sinful son.” then said the man, “dear sir, if you speak so contrary to ordinances, i will not stay with you, but ride home again ; that i assure you.” tboctor gjn (iaulet. i hereupon said the master, “ah, no i pray thee, for god's sake, do not so; stay a while with me; i promise thee readily not to speak thus any more. i am minded, with god's help, to begin a better course; and i will gladly follow thy counsel, whatsoever thou deemest best, if i may but amend my life.” - then said the man, “i tell you of a truth that the letter and learning lead many great doctors astray, and bring some into purga- tory and some into hell, according as their life here hath been, - i tell you of a truth, it is no light matter that god should give a man such great understanding and skill and mastery in the scripture, and he should not put it in practice in his life.” fourth chapter. hen said the master, “i pray thee, for god's sake, to tell me how it is that thou hast attained to such a life, and how thou didst begin thy spiritual life, and what have been thy exercises and thy history.” i #igtorg amb -ift of the man said, “that is indeed a simple request; for, i tell you truly, if i should re- count, or write, all the wondrous dealings of god with me, a poor sinner, for the last twelve years, i verily believe that you have not a book large enough to contain it if it were all written. however, i will tell you somewhat thereof for this time. “the first thing that helped me was, that god found in me a sincere and utterly self- surrendering humility. now i do not think there is any need to tell you the bodily exer- cises by which i brought my flesh into sub- jection; for men's natures and dispositions are very unlike ; but whenever a man has given himself up to god with utter humility, god will not fail to give him such exercises, by temptations and other trials, as he per- ceives to be profitable to the man, and such as he is well able to bear and endure if he be only willing. “i will tell you how it befell me in the be- ginning. i was reading the german books about the lives of the saints, when i thought to myself, ‘these were men who lived on this earth as well as i, and perhaps, too, had not sinned as i have.’ and when these hdoctor gjn (iauler. i thoughts came into my head, i began to ex- ercise myself in the life of the saints with some severities, but grew so sick thereby that i was brought to death's door. and it came to pass one morning, at break of day, that i had exercised myself so that my eye- lids closed from very weakness, and i fell asleep. and in my sleep it was as though a voice spoke to me and said, ‘thou foolish man, if thou art bent upon killing thyself before thy time, thou wilt have to bear a heavy punishment; but if thou didst suffer god to exercise thee, he could exercise thee better than thou by thyself, or with the devil's counsel.” “when i heard speak of the devil, i awoke in a great fright, rose up, and walked out into a wood nigh to the town. then i thought within myself, i had begun these exercises without counsel; i will go and tell the old hermit all that has happened to me. and i did so, and told him the words that i had heard in my sleep, and besought him in god’s name to give me the best counsel he could. so the hermit said, ‘thou must know that if i am to advise, thou must first tell me all about thy exercises.’ so i did, tdoctor m (tauler. what an impure, false counsel hast thou put in my heart, thou bad, false counsellor if we had such a god, i would not give a berry for him.’ - - “after that, another night, when i was saying my matins,” an ardent longing came over me, so that i said, “o eternal and merciful god, that it were thy will to give me to discover something that should be above all our sensual reason l’ as soon as i had said it, i was sorely affrighted at this great longing, and said with great fervor, “ah, my god and my lord, forgive me of thy boundless mercy for having done this ; and that it should have entered into the heart of a poor worm like me to desire such a great gift of such rich grace; and i con- fess indeed that i have not always lived as i ought of right to do. i confess, more- over, dear lord, that i have been unthank- ful to thee in all things, so that methinks i am not worthy that the earth should bear me, still less that such an ardent, gracious desire should spring up in me; wherefore my body must be punished for my sin.” “with that i threw off my garments and *at three o'clock in the morning. #igtorg amb life of scourged myself till the blood ran down my shoulders. and as these words remained in my heart and on my lips till the day broke, and the blood was flowing down, in that same hour god showed his mercy on me, so that my mind was filled with a clear understanding. and in that same hour i was deprived of all my natural reason; but the time seemed all too short to me. and when i was left to myself again, i saw a su- pernatural mighty wonder and sign, inso- much that i could have cried with st. peter, ‘lord, it is good for me to be here !” now know, dear sir, that in that self-same short hour, i received more truth and more illu- mination in my understanding than all the teachers could ever teach me from now till the judgment day by word of mouth, and with all their natural learning and science. now, dear master, i have said enough for this time as to how it stands with you.” hdoctor gjm (tauler. i fifth chapter. hen said the master, “if god give thee grace to say still more, i should heartily rejoice in it; for i tell thee in all sincerity that i have listened to thee gladly, dear son. now i beg thee for god's sake do not leave me, but stay here; and if thou lack money, i will not let thee want for any thing, if i have to pledge a book for it.” then said the man, “god reward you, dear sir; know that i need not your kind- ness, for god hath made me a steward of his goods; so that i have of earthly wealth five thousand florins, which are god’s ; and if i knew where there was need of them, or where god would have them bestowed, i would give them away.” then said the master, “then, dear son, thou art indeed the steward of a rich man and a great lord i am in great wonder- ment about that thou saidst, that i and all teachers could not teach thee as much by the day of judgment as thou hast been taught in an hour. now tell me, for i wish to hear, has the scripture proceeded from the holy ghost?” o #igtorg and life of then said the man, “sir, methinks it seems impossible that, after i have said so much to you, you should talk in such a childish fashion i look here, dear master | i will ask you a question, and if, with all your reason, you can explain it to me, either by the scriptures or without the scriptures, i will give you ten thousand florins.” then said the master, “what is that ?” the man said, “can you instruct me how i should write a letter to a heathen, far away in a heathen land, in such fashion and language that the heathen should be able to read and understand it ; and make the letter such that the heathen should come to the christian faith ? " then said the master, “dear son, these are the works of the holy ghost; tell me where has this happened if thou know any thing of the matter, tell me in what way this came to pass, and whether it happened to thyself ’’ then said the man, “albeit i am un- worthy of it, yet did the holy spirit work through me, a poor sinner; and how it came to pass would take long to tell, and make such a long story that one might write a tdoctor gijn (iauler. i large book about it. the heathen was a very good-hearted man, and often cried to heaven, and called upon him who had made him and all the world, and said: ‘o creator of all creatures, i have been born in this land : now the jews have another faith, the christians another. o lord, who art over all, and hast made all creatures, if there be now any faith better than that in which i have been born, or if there be any other better still, show it to me in what wise thou wilt, so that i may believe it, and i will gladly obey thee and believe ; but if it should be that thou dost not show it me, and i should die in my faith, since i knew no better, if there were a better faith, but thou hadst not shown it nor revealed it unto me, thou wouldst have done me a grievous injustice.' now, behold, dear sir, a letter was sent to that heathen, written by me, a poor sinner, in such sort that he came to the christian faith; and he wrote me a letter back again, telling what had befallen him, the which stood written in a good ger- man tongue, that i could read it quite well. dear sir, there were much to be said on this matter, but for this time it is enough #igtorg amb ife of you are well able to mark the meaning thereof.” then said the master, “god is wonderful in all his works and gifts dear son, thou hast told me very strange things.” the man said, “dear sir, i fear that i have said some things to you which have vexed you greatly in your mind ; it is be- cause i am a layman, and you are a great doctor of holy scripture ; and yet i have said so much to you after the manner of a teacher. but that i have meant it well and kindly, and sought your soul's salvation in it, and simply the glory of god, and nothing else, of that god is my witness.” then said the master, “dear son, if it will not make thee angry, i will tell thee what vexes me.” then said the man, “yea, dear sir, speak without fear; i promise not to take it amiss.” the master said, “it amazes me greatly, and is very hard to receive, that thou being a layman, and i a priest, i am to take in- struction from thee; and it also troubles me much that thou calledst me a pharisee.” then said the man, “is there nothing else that you cannot take in ” hboctor ſojn (iauler. the master answered, “no, i know of nothing else.” then said the man, “shall i also explain to you these two things ” he answered, “yes, dear son, i pray thee in all kindness to do so, for god’s sake.” then said the man, “now tell me, dear master, how it was, or whose work it was, that the blessed saint katharine, who was but a young virgin barely fourteen years old, overcame some fifty of the great masters, and moreover so prevailed over them, that they willingly went to martyrdom? who wrought this ” then said the master, “the holy ghost did this.” quoth the man, “do you not believe that the holy ghost has still the same power?” the master, “yes, i believe it fully.” the man, “wherefore, then, do you not believe that the holy ghost is speaking to you at this moment through me, a poor sin- ner and unworthy man, and is minded to speak to you? he spoke the truth through caiaphas, who was also a sinner; and know, that since you take what i have said to you so much amiss, i will refrain from saying any thing to you for the future.” hdoctor m caulet. the man said, “he speaks them still, now and evermore, to all men. dear mas- ter, look at yourself; whether you touch these burdens and bear them in your life is known to god and also to yourself; but i confess that, as far as i can judge of your present condition, i would rather follow your words than your life. only look at yourself, and see if you are not a pharisee in the eyes of god; though not one of those false, hypocritical pharisees, whose portion is in hell-fire.” the master said, “i know not what i shall say: this i see plainly, that i am a sinner, and am resolved to better my life, if i die for it. dear son, i cannot wait longer: i pray thee, simply for god’s sake, to counsel me how i shall set about this work, and show me and teach me how i may attain to the highest perfection that a man may reach on earth.” then said the man, “dear sir, do not be wroth with me ; but i tell you of a truth that such counsel is scarcely to be given you; for if you are to be converted, all your wonted habits must be broken through with great pain; because you must altogether #ígtorg amb life of change your old way of life; and besides i take you to be near fifty years old.” then said the master, “it may be so; but oh, dear son, to him who came into the vineyard at the eleventh hour was given his penny the same as to him who came in at the first. i tell thee, dear son, i have well considered the matter, and my heart is so firmly set that if i knew this moment that i must die for it, i would yet, with the help of god, cease from my carnal life and my earthly reasonings, and live according to thy counsel. i beseech thee, for god’s sake, not to keep me longer waiting, but to tell: me this moment how i must begin.” then said the man, “dear sir, because you have received grace from god, and are willing to humble yourself and submit, and to bow down before a poor, mean, unworthy creature; for all this let us give the glory to god, to whom it is due, for this grace proceeds from him, and flows back to him. since then, dear sir, i am to instruct you, and counsel you in god's name, i will look to him for help, and do so in love to him, and set you a task such as they give chil- dren to begin with at school; namely, the t}octor gjn (iauler. four-and-twenty letters of the alphabet, be- ginning with a.” – – sixth chapter. his is the golden a b c which this pious man set the doctor to learn for the amending of his zife, and which, doubtless, it were very profitable and needful for us al/ to repeat many times and off, and amend our /ives thereafter. fter a manly and not a childish sort, ye shall, with thorough earnestness, begin a good life. ad ways ye shall eschew, and practise all goodness with diligence and full purpose of mind. arefully endeavor to keep the middle path in all things, with seemliness and moderation. demean yourself humbly in word and work, from the inward holiness of your heart. tntirely give up your own will; evermore cleave earnestly to god, and forsake him not. #igtorg amb ife of orward and ready shall ye be to all good works, without murmuring, whatever be commanded you. ive heed to exercise yourself in all godly works of mercy toward the body or the spirit. ave no backward glances after the world, or the creatures, or their doings. inwarply in your heart ponder over your past life with honesty, sincere repent- ance in the bitterness of your heart, and tears in your eyes. knightly and resolutely withstand the assaults of the devil, the flesh, and the world. earn to conquer long-cherished sloth with vigor, together with all effeminacy of the body, and subservience to the devil. ake your abode in god, with fervent love, in certain hope, with strong faith, and be towards your neighbor as to- wards yourself. no other man's good things shall ye desire, be they what they may, corporeal or spiritual. - rder all things so that you make the best and not the worst of them. hdoctor gjm (tauler. penascº, that is, suffering for your sin, you shall take willingly, whether it come from god or the creatures. quº. remission, and absolution you shall give to all who have ever done you wrong in thought, word, or deed. receive all things that befall you with meekness, and draw improvement from them. soul. and body, estate and reputation, keep undefiled, with all care and diligence. truthful and upright shall ye be towards all, without guile or cunning. antonness and excess, of whatsoever kind it may be, ye shall learn to lay aside, and turn from it with all your heart. t., our blessed lord's life and death, shall ye follow, and wholly conform yourself thereunto with all your might. ye shall evermore, without ceasing, be- seech our blessed lady that sh , help you to learn this our lesson well. zealously keep a rein over your will and your senses, that they may be at peace with all that god doth, and also with all his creatures. o #igtorg amb lift of all this lesson must be learned of a free heart and will, without cavilling. seventh chapter. & ow, dear sir, take kindly as from god, without cavilling, this child’s task, which he sets you by the mouth of me, a poor and unworthy human being.” then said the master, “however thou mayst call this a child's task, methinks it needs a man's strength to attack it. now tell me, dear son, how long a time wilt thou give me to learn this lesson ” the man answered, “we will take five weeks in honor of the five wounds of christ, that you may learn it well. you shall be your own school-master ; and when you are not perfect in any one of these letters, and think yourself hardly able to learn it, then cast aside your garment and chastise your body, that it may be brought into subjection to your soul and reason.” then said the master, “i will gladly be obedient.” hboctor ſojn (iauler. feelings will seek everywhere for help, and make you call to mind the words in which you pledged yourself to god, and also other things, with the intent that, if possible, they might break away from the cross; and that must not be, but you must yield a willing obedience to suffer all that is appointed you, from whatsoever it may proceed. for know that you must needs walk in that same path of which our lord spoke to that young man : you must take up your cross and follow our lord jesus christ and his example, in utter sincerity, humility, and patience, and must let go all your proud, ingenious reason, which you have through your learning in the scripture. you shall also for a time neither study nor preach, and you shall demean yourself with great simplicity towards your penitents; for when they have ended their confession, you shall give them no farther counsel than to say to them, ‘i will learn how to counsel myself, and when i can do that, i will also counsel you.' . and if you are asked when you will preach, say, as you can with truth, that you have not time at present; and so you will get rid of the people.” historg amb life of then said the master, “dear son, i will willingly do so; but how then shall i occupy myself?” the man replied, “you shall enter into your cell and read your hours, and also chant in the choir if you feel inclined, and shall say mass every day. and what time is left, you shall set before you the sufferings of our lord, and contemplate your own life in the mirror of his, and meditate on your wasted time in which you have been living for yourself, and how small has been your love compared to his love. in all lowli- ness ye shall study these things, whereby in some measure ye may be brought to true humility, and also wean yourself from your old habits, and cease from them. and then, when our lord sees that the time is come, he will make of you a new man, so that you shall be born again of god. “nevertheless, you must know that before this can come to pass, you must sell all that you have, and humbly yield it up to god, that you may truly make him your end, and give up to him all that you possess in your carnal pride, whether through the scriptures or without ; or whatever it be, whereby you hdoctor gjm (tauler. might reap honor in this world, or in the which you may aforetime have taken pleas- ure or delight, you must let it all go, and, with mary magdalene, fall down at christ's feet, and earnestly strive to enter on a new course. and so doing, without doubt, the eternal heavenly prince will look down on you with the eye of his good pleasure, and he will not leave his work undone in you, but will urge you still further, that you may be tried and purified as gold in the fire; and it may even come to pass, that he shall give you to drink of the bitter cup that he gave to his only-begotten son. for it is my belief that one bitter drop which god will pour out for you will be that your good works and all your refraining from evil, yea your whole life, will be despised and turned to nought in the eyes of the people; and all your spiritual children will forsake you and think you are gone out of your mind; and all your good friends, and your brothers in the convent, will be offended at your life, and say that you have taken to strange ways. “but when these things come upon you, be not in any wise dismayed, but rejoice, for then your salvation draweth nigh: how- hboctor gjm (tauler. the man answered, “yet you begged me to show you the shortest way to the highest perfectness. now i know no shorter nor surer way than to follow in the footsteps of our lord jesus christ. but, dear sir, i counsel you in all faithfulness to take a cer- tain space of time to consider these matters, and then in god's name do as god gives you grace to do.” then said the master, “that will i do, and wait and see whether, with the help of god, i may prevail.” -o- eighth chapter. on the eleventh day after this, the mas- ter sent for the man and said to him, “ah, dear son, what agony and struggle and fighting have i not had within me day and night, before i was able to overcome the devil and my own flesh. but now, by god’s grace, i have gathered myself to- gether with all my powers, inward and out- ward, and set my hand to this work with good courage, and am purposed to remain steadfast therein, come weal, come woe.” #igtorg amb ife of then said the man, “dear sir, do you remember still all i said to you when you asked me how you should begin ” the master answered, “yes, the moment thou didst depart, i wrote down all thou hadst said to me, word for word.” then said the man, “dear sir, that through god you have found this bold heart, rejoices me from the bottom of my soul, and i am as well pleased as if it had happened to myself, so god be my witness. and now, in the name of our lord jesus christ, set forward.” then the man took his leave, and the master did as he had been bidden. now it came to pass that, before a year was out, the master grew to be despised of all his familiar friends in the convent, and his spiritual children all forsook him, as entirely as if they had never seen him. and this he found very hard to bear; and it caused him such grief that his head was like to turn. then he sent for the man, and told him how it fared with him ; how he was ill in his whole body, and especially in his head. then said the man, “sir, you must not be hdoctor gjm tauler. dismayed, but you must humbly cleave to god, and put your firm trust in him. know that this account of yours pleases me well, and it stands well with your life, and will grow better every day. dear sir, you know well that he who will walk in the right way, and tread this path, must be made a par- taker of the sufferings of our lord jesus christ; therefore be not afraid, but commit yourself wholly to god; for know that the same thing happened to me also. mean- while you must take some remedies while you are in this state, and treat your body well with good food, which may strengthen it. a box of spices was made for me, and i will have such an one prepared for you to strengthen your head. but you must know that i always gave myself up body and soul to god, that he might do with them what he pleased.” then said the master, “but thou didst tell me before that i must shun good eating and drinking.” the man answered, “yes, sir, that was in the first beginning, when the flesh was yet wanton ; but now that it is tamed and obe- dient to the spirit, we may come to its help boctor m (lauler. . i the man said, “dear sir, i will show you a better comforter, that is the holy ghost, who has called and invited and brought you to this point by means of me, his poor creature ; but it is his work which has been wrought in you, and not mine; i have been merely his instrument, and served him therein, and have done so right willingly for the glory of god and the salvation of your soul.” then said the master, “dear son, may god be thine eternal reward | since it is so weighty a matter, i will commit myself to god, and bear this suffering as best i may.” the man said, “dear sir, since you are now under the yoke, and have entered on a spiritual life and obedience to god, and have voluntarily devoted yourself thereto, you should know how to live discreetly and wisely, and to govern yourself aright; and do not let it repent you because you are for- saken of the creatures: but if it should hap- pen that you lack money, or have need of some, put a part of your books in pawn, and do not suffer yourself to want for any thing; but by no means sell the books; for a time will come when good books will be very use- ful, and you will have need of them.” boctor gjm (iauler. i the man said, “dear sir, i will show you a better comforter, that is the holy ghost, who has called and invited and brought you to this point by means of me, his poor creature; but it is his work which has been wrought in you, and not mine ; i have been merely his instrument, and served him therein, and have done so right willingly for the glory of god and the salvation of your soul.” then said the master, “dear son, may god be thine eternal reward | since it is so weighty a matter, i will commit myself to god, and bear this suffering as best i may.” the man said, “dear sir, since you are now under the yoke, and have entered on a spiritual life and obedience to god, and have voluntarily devoted yourself thereto, you should know how to live discreetly and wisely, and to govern yourself aright; and do not let it repent you because you are for- iken of the creatures: but if it should hap- that you lack money, or have need of put a part of your books in pawn, and suffer yourself to want for any thing; o means sell the books; for a time when good books will be very use- u will have need of them.” #igtorg amb .ife of then the man took his leave, and de- parted from that place; but the master's eyes filled with tears, and he began to weep. — – ninth chapter. ow, when the master had suffered thus for two years, from sore assaults and temptations of the devil, and great con- tempt from all his friends, and also great poverty, so that he was obliged to pledge a part of his books, and withal fell into great weakness of the body, and he had demeaned himself with great humility throughout ; – behold, it came to pass on the feast of st. paul's conversion, that in the night he was overtaken by the most grievous assault that may be imagined, whereby all his natural powers were so overcome with weakness, that when the time for matins came he could not go in to chapel, but remained in his cell, and commended himself to god in great humility, without help or consolation from any creature. and as he lay in this state of weakness, he thought of the sufferings of hboctor . m (iauler. our lord jesus christ, and his great love that he had for us, and considered his own life, how poor his life had been compared to the love of god. whereupon he was overwhelmed with contrition for all his sins and all his wasted time, and exclaimed with tongue and heart, “o, merciful god have mercy upon me, a poor sinner, for thy boundless mercy's sake; for i am not worthy that the earth should bear me.” and as he was lying in this weakness and great sadness, but fully awake, he heard with his bodily ears a voice saying, “stand fast in thy peace, and trust god, and know that when he was on earth in human nature, he made the sick whom he healed in body sound also in soul.” straightway when these words were ut- tered, he lost his senses and reason, and knew not how or where he was. but when he came to himself again, he felt within himself that he was possessed of a new strength and might in all powers outward and inward, and had also a clear under- standing in those things which aforetime were dark to him, and he wondered greatly whence this came, and thought to himself, t}octor gjm (tauler. will be profitable to you; for know that one of your sermons will be more profitable now, and the people will receive more fruit therefrom, than from a hundred aforetime; for the words that you say now, coming from a pure soul, will have a pure and simple savor. now, dear sir, it is no longer need- ful for me to speak to you as a teacher as i have done hitherto ; for you have now the right and true master, whose instrument i have been. to him give ear, and obey his commands: this is my most faithful counsel. and now, in all godly love, i desire to re- ceive instruction from you; for i have, with god’s help, accomplished the good work for which i was sent and came hither. i would fain, if god will, sojourn here a good while and hear you preach. if god give you to do so, methinks it were well that you should now begin to preach again.” - then said the master, “dear son, what had i better do? i have pledged a great many good books, as many as come to thirty florins.” the man answered, “look! i will give you that sum, for god's sake; and if you have any of it left over, give it back to god ; . #igtorg and life of for all that we have is his, whether temporal or spiritual.” so the master redeemed his books, and ordered notice to be given that he would preach three days after. the people won- dered much thereat, because it was so long since he had preached; and a great crowd gathered together to hear him. and when the master came, and saw that there was such a multitude, he went up into a pulpit, in a high place, that they might hear him all the better. then he held his hood before his eyes, and said, “o merciful, eternal god, if it be thy will, give me so to speak that it may be to the praise and glory of thy name and the good of this people.” as he said these words, his eyes over- flowed with tears of tenderness, so that he could not speak a word for weeping; and this lasted so long that the people grew angry. at last a man spoke out of the crowd, “sir, how long are we to stand here? it is getting late: if you do not mean to preach, let us go home.” but the master remained in earnest prayer, and said again to god, “oh, my lord and my god, if it be thy divine will, take this weeping from my hdoctor gjm (tauler. eyes, and give me to deliver this sermon to thy praise and glory. but, if thou dost not do it, i take it as a sign that thou judg- est i have not yet been enough put to shame. now fulfil, dear lord, thy divine will on me thy poor creature, to thy praise and my necessities.” this all availed nothing : he wept yet more and more. then he saw that god would have it so, and said, with weeping eyes, “dear children, i am sorry from my heart that i have kept you here so long, for i cannot speak a word to-day for weeping. pray god for me, that he may help me, and then i will make amends to you, if god give me grace, an- other time, as soon as ever i am able.” so the people departed, and this tale was spread abroad and resounded through the whole city, so that he became a public laughing-stock, despised by all; and the people said, “now we all see that he has become a downright fool.” and his own brethren strictly forbade him to preach any more, because he did the convent great injury thereby, and disgraced the order with the senseless practices that he had taken up, and which had disordered his brain. #ígtorg amb life of . then the master sent for the man, and told him all that had happened. the man said, “dear master, be of good cheer, and be not dismayed at these things. the bridegroom is wont to behave so to all his best and dearest friends, and it is a certain sign that god is your good friend; for, with- out a doubt, he has seen some speck of pride concealed within you that you have not perceived nor been conscious of your- self, and therefore it is that you have been put to shame. you may have received some great gifts of god, which you yourself do not know or perceive, that have been given you by means of the patience with which you have endured this assault; therefore be of good cheer, and be joyful and humble. neither should you think this a strange thing, for i have seen many such instances in other people. you shall not despise this pressure of the cross which god has sent you, but count it a great blessing and favor from god. i counsel you that you remain alone for the next five days, and endure without speaking to any, to the praise and glory of the five wounds of our lord jesus christ. and when the five days are ended, hdoctor . m (iauler. beg your prior to give you permission to deliver a sermon in latin. if he refuse, beg him to let you try in the school and read a lecture to the brethren.” and he did so, and read to his brethren such an excellent lecture as they had never heard in their lives before, so grand and deep and godly was his doctrine. then they gave him permission to preach a ser- mon ; and after one of their brethren had preached in the church where the master was wont to preach, he gave notice to the people, and said, “i am ordered to an- nounce that to-morrow the master intends to preach in this place; but if it should be- fall him as it did lately, i will not be answer- able for it. so much i can say with truth, that in our school he has read us a lecture containing such great and profound instruc- tion, with high and divine wisdom, as we have not heard for a long time. but what he will do this time i know not. god only knoweth.” the next day after, the master came to the convent (it was a convent of ladies), and began to preach, and said — o #igtorg amb ife of tenth chapter. & ear children, it may be now two years or more since i last preached. i spoke to you then of four-and-twenty ar- ticles, and it was then my custom to speak much latin, and to make many quotations: but i intend to do so no more, but if i wish to talk latin i will do so when the learned are present, who can understand it. for this time repeat only an ‘ave maria' to begin with, and pray for god's grace. “dear children, i have taken a text on which i mean to preach this sermon, and not to go beyond it ; in the vulgar tongue it runs thus: ‘behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet him.’ “the bridegroom is our lord jesus christ, and the bride is the holy church and christendom. now i will tell you some- what concerning what the bride must do in order to go and meet the bridegroom. “it is seemly that a faithful bride should avoid every thing that is displeasing to the bridegroom, such as vain-glory, pride, envy, and all the other sins of this world, and all doctor ſojn (iauler. i the delights of the body and the flesh, whether it be the ease and indulgence of the body, or other things which are beyond the necessaries of life. further, it beseems a faithful bride to be shamefaced. when this comes to pass, and the bride, for her bridegroom's sake, has despised and given up all these things, then she begins to be somewhat well-pleasing to the bridegroom. “but if she desires to be yet more well- pleasing in his sight, she must humbly bow down before him and say with heart and lips, “ah, my dear lord and bridegroom, thou knowest all hearts. i have said to thee, with my whole heart, that i desire to do all that i can and may, and to do it willingly, as far as thou givest me to per- ceive through my conscience what is agree- able and well-pleasing to thee.’ when the bride makes this vow to the bridegroom, he turneth himself and begins to look upon her. then she beseeches him to bestow upon her some gift as a token of love. what is the gift? it is that she is inwardly and outwardly beset with divers assaults, with which he is wont to endow his special friends. #igtorg amb life of “but if the bride be as yet unaccustomed to suffer, she will say, “ah, dear lord and bridegroom, this is very hard upon me. i fear greatly that i shall scarcely be able to endure it. therefore, dear lord and bride- groom, i pray thee to make my burden somewhat more tolerable, or else to take a part of it away.’ - “then the bridegroom answers, ‘tell me, then, dear bride, should the bride fare better than the bridegroom has fared if thou desirest to meet the bridegroom, thou must imitate him in some sort ; and it is, moreover, reasonable that a faithful bride should suffer somewhat with him for her bridegroom's sake.’ “now when the bride heareth what is the will of her bridegroom, and how grave a matter it is, she is sore affrighted, and says, ‘dear lord and bridegroom, be not wroth with me, for i will gladly hearken unto thee ; appoint unto me what thou wilt; i am willing to suffer all things with thy help and in thy love.’ “when the bridegroom heareth this, he loveth the bride yet better than he did be- fore, and giveth her to drink of a still better hboctor m (lauler. cup. this cup is that she is to cease from all her own thoughts, and all her works and refrainings, for she can take pleasure in nothing that is her own. moreover, she is derided by all, and these things are ac- counted her folly. “then she cries earnestly unto the bride- groom, and says, “ah! dear lord and bridegroom, how great are thy terrors know that i cannot endure them long. i must die.’ - “but the bridegroom answers, “if thou wilt in truth go out to meet thy bridegroom, it is fitting that thou shouldst first tread some portion of the path that he has trav- elled. now, whereas the bridegroom has suffered shame, hunger, cold, thirst, heat, and bitter pains, for three-and-thirty years, and at last a bitter death, for the bride's sake, out of pure love, is it not just and right that the bride should venture even her life for the bridegroom's sake, out of love, and with all her heart? verily, if thou hadst the right sort of love and true faith- fulness unto thy bridegroom, all thy fear would vanish.’ “then, when she hears these words of #igtorg amb ife of the bridegroom, her whole heart is moved with fear, and she says, “ah ! dear lord, i acknowledge in all sincerity that i have done wrong ; i grieve from the bottom of my heart that i have not with a faithful heart yielded myself up unto thee, even unto death. dear lord and bridegroom, i here vow and promise to thee surely, that all which thou willest i also will. come sickness, come health, come pleasure or pain, sweet or bitter, cold or heat, wet or dry, - whatever thou willest that do i also will ; and desire altogether to come out from my own will, and to yield a whole and will- ing obedience unto thee, and never to desire aught else either in will or thought: only let thy will be accomplished in me, thy poor unworthy creature, in time and in eternity. for, dear lord, when i look at what i am, i am not worthy that the earth should bear me.’ “now when the bridegroom seeth this en- tire and faithful will in the bride, and her deep and thorough humility, what does he then do? his heart yearns over the bride, and giveth her a very costly, noble, sweet cup to drink. what is this cup it is that tdoctor gjn (iauler. she suffers yet far more, from all manner of temptations and tribulation, than she has ever suffered before. and when the bride perceiveth this, and seeth the bridegroom's earnestness and good pleasure concerning her, she suffereth all these things willingly and gladly for the bridegroom's sake, and boweth herself down humbly before him and saith, ‘ah! dear lord and bridegroom, it is just and right that thou shouldst not will as i will ; but i desire and ought to will as thou wilt. i receive this gift right will- ingly and gladly for thy love from thy divine hand. whether it be pleasant or painful to the flesh, i acquiesce wholly in it for love of thee.’ “now when the bridegroom, in his eter- nal wisdom, perceives this disposition within his humble bride, and her thorough ear- nestness, she begins to grow precious to him ; and from hearty love he giveth her to suffer in all her nature, until the bride is wholly purified from all faults and stain of sin, and become perfectly fair and unspotted. then he says, “now rise up, my beloved, my pleasant, my beautiful bride, for thou art pure and without spot, and altogether #igtorg and life of lovely in my eyes.” then he looks upon her with infinite, mighty, divine love. to this joyful high-tide cometh the father of the eternal bridegroom, and saith to the bride, ‘rise up, my lovely, chosen beloved : it is time to go to church ;’ and he taketh the bridegroom and bride, and leadeth them to the church, and marries them to each other, and binds them together with divine love; yea, god doth bind them together in bonds so fast that they can never be parted again, either in time or eternity. in this marriage feast is joy upon joy, and therein is more peace and joy in one hour than all the creatures can yield in time or in eter- nity. the joy that the bride hath with the bridegroom is so vast that no senses or rea- son can apprehend or attain unto it.” as the doctor spoke these words, a man cried out with a loud voice, “it is true !” and fell down as if he were dead. then a woman called out from the crowd and said, “master, leave off, or this man will die on our hands.” then the master said, “ah, dear chil- dren, and if the bridegroom take the bride and lead her home with him, we will gladly hboctor gjm (iaulet. yield her to him; nevertheless, i will make an end and leave off. dear children, let us all cry unto the lord our god in heaven. for verily we have all need to do so, seeing that, alas! we have grown so dull of hearing and foolish of heart that none of us has compassion on his fellow, although we con- fess that we are all called brothers and sis- ters. that we may all become real, true, perfect brides of our lord jesus christ, and that we may, in sincere, true, utter humility and resignation, go out to meet our glorious bridegroom, and abide with him for ever, may god help us, the father, the son, and the holy ghost. amen.” —o- eleventh chapter. hen this sermon was ended, the master went down and read mass, and gave the lord's body to certain good people; but after the sermon the man per- ceived that some forty people remained sit- ting in the church-yard. when mass was over, he told the master of it, and they went hdoctor gjm (tauler. they may not take some sickness, and harm to their bodies, by lying in the open air on the cold earth.” and they did so, and the people were brought into a warm place. then the convent ladies said, “dear sir, we have a nun here to whom the same thing has happened, and she is lying on her bed as if she were dead.” then said the master, “my dear daughters, be patient, for god's sake, and look to these sick people, and when any of them comes to himself give him something warm to take; if he will have it, give it him in christ's name.” and the ladies said they would willingly do so. so the master and the man went their way, and entered into the master's cell. then the man said, “now, dear mas- ter, what think you of this now, i wot you see what wonders god works with good tools. dear sir, i perceive that this sermon will stir many, and one will tell it to another. if it please you, methinks it were well that you let these sick children rest for a while, for this sermon will give them plenty to digest for some time; and if you think it good, and god give you so to do, that you #ígtorg amb ife of then said the man, “dear master, i have written down five of your sermons, and if it please you, i will write them out also, and will make a little book about you.” quoth the master, “dear son, i lay upon thee my most solemn admonition, that thou write nothing about me, and that thou do not mention my name ; for thou must know that of a truth the life, and words, and works which god has wrought through me, a poor, unworthy, sinful man, are not mine, but belong to god almighty, now and for evermore ; therefore, dear son, if thou wilt write it down for the profit of our fellow christians, write it so that neither my name nor thine be named, but thou mayst say the master and the man. moreover, thou shalt not suffer the book to be read or seen by any one in this town, lest he should mark that it was i; but take it home with thee to thy own country, and let it not come out during my life.” - and for a space of eleven days, the mas- ter held much discourse with the man. after that, the time came that the master should die. then he said, “dear son, i pray thee, in god's name, to give thy con- tdoctor gjm (iauler. sent to it, if god should permit my spirit to come back to thee, and tell thee how it fared with me.” the man answered, “dear master, if god will have it so, i am also willing.” but it came to pass that at the last the master had a most horrible and fright- ful death-struggle, insomuch that all the brethren in the convent, and also other peo- ple, were greatly terrified and distressed thereat, and were sore amazed at the dread- ful anguish that they saw in his death. now when he was dead, all who were in the convent and the city were filled with sorrow. but when they perceived who was the man that had been so long his bosom friend in secret, they came and desired to show him honor, and besought him to be their guest. but when he was aware of their intent, he fled that same hour out of the city, and travelled home again. and as he was on the way, the third day after the master's death, at nightfall, he was passing through a little village with his servant, and seeing a nobleman go past along the road, he said to him, “my friend, is there any inn in this village " the nobleman answered, “no.” then said the man, “then show #ígtorg amb life of us the kindness, dear friend, in god's name, to let us lodge in thy house for to-night, and take for it what thou wilt.” then he said, “if you will put up with such things as we have, i will willingly lodge you, and give you the best in my power.” so he took him home with him. when it was night, he laid the man upon a feather-bed, and showed the servant into the barn to lie upon the straw. now in the night, the man awoke and heard a voice close by ; yet he saw no one. then a shudder ran through him, and he made the sign of the cross. then the voice said, “fear not, dear son, it is i, the master.” then said the man, “dear master, is it you? then i beseech you, with my whole heart, to tell me, if god will, how it standeth with you, and how it came to pass that you had such a dreadful end; for your brethren in the convent were much astonied at you, and it is to be feared that your frightful end will be a great stum- bling-block to your own brethren in the convent.” then said the master's voice, “dear son, that will i tell thee. thou must know that our lord god saw fit to appoint me such a hboctor gjm (tauler. hard death in order that the holy angels might straightway receive my soul to them- selves; and for the same cause thou shalt also have such a like hard death. it was needful that i should suffer this as a purga- tory; but know likewise, my dear son, that the evil spirits tormented me greatly, and assailed me with such cunning and instancy, that i was in constant fear lest my cour- age should fail me. but, however hard my death was, it was as nothing compared to the joy which the almighty, eternal, and merciful god hath given me in return. know, dear son, that the same hour in which my soul left my body, the blessed angels received it, and conducted me to paradise, and said to me, ‘here shalt thou tarry five days, and shalt know no anxiety or fear lest the evil spirits should harm thee any more. neither shalt thou labor any more, only thou shalt be deprived for these five days of the blissful company of the blessed in eternity. and then we will come again with joy, and bring thee to the un- speakable joys, and reward thee for thy good and faithful teaching and useful coun- sels;” all which i have received by thy ex- hdoctor ohn cauler. cellent instruction, for the which i can never thank god and thee enough.” then said the man : “dear master, i beseech you from the bottom of my heart that when you come into the presence of god, you pray him for me.” but whatever the man said after this, or whatever ques- tions he put, no one answered him again. then he would fain have slept, and turned from one side to the other ; he got no more rest that night, and could hardly wait till it was light. and at day-break he rose up, and wrote that same hour word to the prior and brethren of all things that the spirit had said to him, and returned to his own house, and came also to a good and blessed end. that we may all follow the pattern of our lord jesus christ, insomuch that after this miserable life and this transitory world we may come to eternal and never-ending joys, — to god and his chosen and beloved friends, may he help us, god the father, the son, and the holy ghost. amen here endeth the history of the zife of the enlightened doctor john zauler. ºpassages from an introductorg notice respecting t a u l e rºs life and time s. by susanna winkworth. ohn tauler, who appears as “the master,” in the foregoing history, was born at strasburg, in the year . he belonged to a tolerably wealthy family, and might have lived on his patrimony, since he tells us in one of his sermons, “had i known when i lived as my father's son, all that i know now, i would have lived on his heritage and not upon alms.” he devoted himself, however, in early years to a clerical life, and entered the dominican order in strasburg, taking up his abode in the hand- some, spacious convent belonging to that order. in what year tauler renounced the world cannot be determined with precision, but there can be little doubt that he did so at the same time with his friend john von #ígtorg amb ife of dambach, in . it seems probable that he soon after, with the same friend, betook himself to paris, in order to study theology in the famous dominican college of st. jacques, from which the monks of that order were called jacobins in france. he must, on returning from paris to strasburg, have come in contact with several of the mystical teachers whom we know to have flourished there about this time ; and who certainly cannot have been without influence on the course of his mental de- velopment. the most eminent of these was the celebrated master eckart, a brother of his own order, who, after having filled the important offices of provincial in saxony, and vicar-general in bohemia, had returned to strasburg, where, with the earnestness of profound conviction, he was now discours- ing to the people in their native tongue, on lofty, philosophical themes, till then only deemed fit to be treated of in latin before learned assemblies. there were still lingering in southern germany, and italy, remains of the albi- genses and waldenses, and manichean cathari, -reverers of the abbot joachim’s hboctor gjm (tauler. eternal gospel of the holy ghost (that was to overthrow the gospel of the son), — believers in the visions of the prophetess hildegard, – adherents of the revolutionary oliva and fra dolcino. there were indeed many reasons why heresies and religious divisions should abound in these regions at this period. with the double election of frederic of austria and louis of bavaria, who were both crowned on the th of november, , at aix-la-chapelle, began a desolat- ing warfare, which lasted for eight years, till the battle of muehldorf, in , left fred- eric a prisoner in the hands of louis. strasburg was divided between the rival emperors. the bishop and the important family of the zorn were adherents of fred- eric; but the no less important family of the muellenheim declared for louis; and the latter had the greater part of the citi- zens on their side. on the captivity of frederic most of the imperial cities of alsace came over to louis ; but this did not restore concord to the afflicted land. so long as the strife lasted between frederic and louis, pope john xxii, while claiming hdoctor m (iauler. of worship and the holy communion during all this most dark and troubled period. after the famous meeting of the electoral college at rhense, near coblenz, in july, , had declared that the king of the romans received his dignity and power solely from the free choice of the electors, and the imperial diet, held immediately after, had made it a fundamental law of the empire that “the imperial dignity is bestowed directly by god, and he who has been legit- imately chosen by the electoral princes becomes thereby king and emperor with- out further confirmation by the pope or any other,” — louis published a manifesto to all christendom, refuting at full length the accusations brought against him by the previous pope, and proving that the pope has no authority to sit in judgment on the emperor. he further commanded that none should observe the papal excommunication and interdict, and sentenced all those, whether individuals or whole cities and communities, who should continue to submit to the ban, to be deprived of their rights and liberties. the clergy in many cases resisted the #igtorg and life of emperor's command to resume the services which had been so long suspended; while the citizens, who had borne with impatience their terrible deprivation of the sacred rites, now on the strength of the edict issued orders that all the clergy who refused to perform service should be banished. many priests left their churches and removed into other provinces, numerous convents stood empty of their inmates; still in most places there remained a sufficient number of priests and monks to fulfil the duties of their voca- tion. this was the case in strasburg; the city had already suffered all the calamities consequent on the interdict: the clergy had split into two parties; the larger number obeyed the pope's commands; the augus- tinians especially, had for many years sus- pended the performance of all religious services. the dominicans and the fran- ciscans had availed themselves of the privilege early granted to their orders of celebrating mass during a time of interdict. but now, when the emperor so openly set himself in opposition to the pope, they too, terrified by the sentence of excommunication hanging over them, refused in many instan- tboctor m (iaulet. ces to say mass, on which the senate of strasburg proclaimed : — “either let them go on to sing, or out of the city let them spring.” the dominicans in general quitted the city. - such were the scenes amidst which tauler was called to labor as a christian minister and dominican monk. all the testimonies which have come down to us respecting him concur in bearing witness to the uni- versal affection and esteem with which he was regarded. even so far distant as italy his name was known as a teacher of high repute, who insisted on inward piety. the most remarkable trait in this period of tauler's life is that he not only, unlike most of his order, sided with the emperor in his whole contest with the pope, but did not suspend his activity when, in , the great struggle came between the absolutely contradictory commands of his temporal and spiritual lords, and his brethren quitted the town, and left their convent deserted for two years. by the departure of nearly all the clergy from strasburg, tauler found a hboctor gjm (iauler. with a certain nicolas of basle, whose name, however, only occurs twice, — once in the account of his own martyrdom, once in that of one of his disciples. the title of “friends of god” is one which meets us continually in the writings of those who are termed mystics in the fourteenth century, and is used in various connections. sometimes it seems to denote those who were partakers of a spiritual in opposition to a formalistic piety; sometimes to denote the members of a particular body. among those called “friends of god” we find the names of individuals widely differ- ing from each other in rank, vocation, opin- ion, and career. it appears to me that the sense of having entered into a living, per- sonal union with god, bringing with it a yearning pity for sinners, and a fervent de- sire to bring them to the same blessed state, was the sole distinction and bond of the “friends of god.” the greater the sinfulness and deadness to religion in a particular age, the more strongly marked must be the line of demar- cation between the careless and the earnest ; for the religious are thus obliged to abstain #ígtorg amb life of from pleasures and occupations which, innocent in themselves, have become cor- rupt. at the same time, too, the danger of enthusiasm, and mistaking one's own nat- ural emotions for direct divine influence, will be greatest when such influences, known to be real by the pious, are altogether de- nied by the world in general. thus the great wickedness, especially of the clergy, the contentions and dreadful catastrophes which mark the first half of the fourteenth century, would impel the pious to come out from the world, and stimulate them to spe- cially earnest efforts to enkindle the re- ligious life of the people. the crisis which nicolas was the means of bringing about in tauler's life is com- monly termed a conversion; but, from all that we have read of his previous life, it seems clear that it cannot be regarded as what is ordinarily meant by that term. be- fore it took place, tauler was already a sincere, god-fearing, active christian minis- ter, and recognized as their “father” and leader by the “friends of god” scattered up and down switzerland, bavaria, and the rhenish states. neither can i discover any #ígtorg amb life of wishes are, for the most part, so obviously sinful that, though the struggle of renounc- ing them may be hard, the duty of doing so is clear and pressing. and when such turn to god, their falls in attempting the chris- tian walk are often frequent enough, or at least their battles with temptation severe enough, to teach them the evil and weak- ness of their own heart. with men, on the other hand, of calm, pure, and affectionate disposition, and trained in conscientious habits, so many of their wishes are for things harmless, or even good in them- selves, that it is less easy to see why and how they are to be given up. such men, just, kindly, and finding much of their own happiness in that of others, live, for the most part, in harmonious relations with those around them, and have little to dis- turb their consciences, beyond the fear of falling short in the path of duty on which they have already entered. but they are exposed to many perils, more insidious, be- cause less startling, than those which beset their more fiercely-tempted brethren. they are in danger of depending too much on the respect and love which others so readily hdoctor gjm (iauler. yield them; of valuing themselves on a purity, which, if ever one of struggle, has come to be one of taste; of prizing intel- lectual clearness above moral insight and vigor; of mistaking the pleasure they feel in the performance of duty for real submis- sion to the will of god ; and, above all, of shrinking from new truths which would, for the time, confuse their belief, and break up the calm symmetry of their lives. the greater danger to the christian life arising from those hidden heart-sins, than even from sinful acts which instantly wound the con- science, is a truth which tauler insists upon in his sermons so strongly and so often, nay, sometimes almost to exaggeration, that one could not but guess that he was speak- ing from his own experience, even had we not the certainty of it from the “history.” for, as he often declares, different natures require and receive a very different disci- pline from god. sometimes it is by outward affliction that god speaks to souls thus sink- ing into the lethargy of formalism; and the loss of friends, or health, or influence, sud- denly seems to cut off, as it were, half their means of serving him, and to rouse long- o #igtorg amb life of forgotten temptations to rise up against his will. sometimes, on the other hand, he speaks to them inwardly, by opening their eyes to heights of holiness which they had never before steadily contemplated. they now suddenly perceive that many of the fancied duties which have till now occu- pied their lives, and satisfied their con- sciences, have long ceased to be duties, and have come to be mere habits or pleasures; and that while they have been thus living in self-love, unseen and unrepented of, they might have been coming to the knowledge of the higher obligations to which they have been so blind, but which were all implied in their first belief, if they had but continued to read it with a single eye. thus they are weighed down by present temptations to which they have long been strangers. for, in order to follow the new light granted to them, they must give up long-cherished aims; relinquish many opportunities of doing good, and even, it may seem, the very faculties for using them ; and sacrifice, not only the good opinion of the world, but the trust and affec- tion of many who are dearest to them. they shrink from such renunciation ; and then tboctor m (tauler. i come doubt and perplexity to add to the bitterness of the struggle. can it be right to abandon so much that is good and worthy in itself, can it be the voice of god that summons them to do this, or is it not rather a self-willed fancy of their own no: for conscience cannot be mistaken when it tells us of sin, though it is insufficient to reveal to us duty; and this fierce clinging to their own wishes, what is it but the same obsti- nate resistance to the will of god which they have been accustomed to blame, nay, even wonder at, in the vicious and criminal, whom they have perhaps been seeking to reclaim such a struggle, it seems, was that which tauler had to pass through be- fore he could fully apprehend or be fitted for the work which god had for him to do. and surely, without some such struggle, none can keep long in the right path. for the path to life does not stretch across the levels of habit, but winds up the heights of as- piration, and at every fresh step in the ascent a wider horizon of duty opens to the view. after the death of benedict xii., clement vi., the most inveterate opponent of louis iv., was elected pope; and he had hardly #ígtorg amb life of ascended the throne when he renewed hos- tilities against the emperor with greater vehemence than his predecessor. the most awful anathemas were launched against louis. in , louis died, fairly worn out and broken-hearted with the long strug- gle in which his reign had been passed, but not until several of the electors, under the instigation of the pope, had elected charles iv. king of rome ( ). many of the estates refused, however, even after louis’ death, to acknowledge the latter, commonly called the “parson-king,” because he had been elected in defiance of their wishes. strasburg was one of these cities, and in consequence was again laid under interdict. to these political and ecclesiastical dis- turbances were added still worse miseries. the land was desolated successively by tempests, earthquakes, and famine, and at last, in , the black death came to fill up the measure of the people's woe. this plague continued to rage through southern germany and france until the following year, bringing in its train the usual accom- paniments of frantic terror, and the disso- lution of all social bonds. in strasburg, hdoctor offm (iauler. sixteen thousand persons fell victims to it; and it is calculated that in southern france two-thirds of the population perished. all these convulsions of the natural and social world struck terror to men's very hearts : be- wildered and beset, they knew not which way to turn. then appeared the ghastly pro- cessions of the flagellants, who traversed the country half-naked, by hundreds and thousands, walking two and two in white shirts often stained with blood, and holding scourges in their hands. when they entered a town, they broke out into a wild howling chant, and gathering round them all who would join, after service in a church, threw themselves on the ground, confessing their sins aloud, and then scourged each other till they were exhausted. in some places the popular fanaticism accused the jews of causing the plague by poisoning the wells; and the multitude, in their fury, setting fire to the jews' quarter, burned thousands of the wretched creatures in their houses. “works of love,” tauler says, “are more acceptable to god than lofty contemplation; art thou engaged in devoutest prayer, and god wills that thou go out and preach, or #igtorg amb life of carry broth to a sick brother, thou shouldst do it with joy.” his own life was consist- ent with his teachings. when the black death came to strasburg, he devoted him- self to administering the sacraments, and carrying consolation to the sick and dying. the renewal of the ban had increased the general terror and distress, and at the same time opened a still larger field for tauler's activity. a proclamation had been issued exhorting the people not to give way to terror, as it would increase their danger of infection ; but what could a proclamation avail, when they often saw more than fifty corpses carried through the streets in a day, and there were not priests enough to perform the funeral rites. the deeper was their gratitude to tauler for his noble act of disobedience to the church that denied them their only remaining consolation. but he did not stand alone ; there were espe- cially two monks who shared his labors. the three friends were not content with setting an example of heroic zeal, they issued in their joint names an address to the clerical body at large, showing how in- iquitous it was that the poor ignorant people hboctor gjm (iſaultr. should be suffered to die excommunicate for no fault of their own, and calling on the priests to visit the sick and dying. [they also wrote a second letter concerning the temporal and spiritual power of the papacy. they concluded by saying that he who pro- fesses the true articles of the christian faith, and only sins against the power of the pope, is by no means to be counted a heretic.] what impression these free-spoken writ- ings made upon the clergy is not known : it is only recorded that, through the exer- tions of tauler and his friends, the people were enabled to die in peace, and no longer feared the ban, whereas before many thou- sands had died, without shrift, in the agonies of despair. but the pope soon interfered, and commanded the bishop of strasburg to burn the books of the three friends, and forbid their perusal, whether by priests or laymen, on pain of excommunication ; they themselves were expelled from the city. tauler took up his residence in cologne, a city already familiar to him, and where he found numerous brethren in spirit. here he commonly preached in the church of st. tboctor ſojn (iauler. his autobiography, “now, notwithstanding all the gifts and enlightenment that god bestowed on me in this fourth year, there was yet a secret spot in my soul, the which was altogether unknown to myself. . . . and it was, that, when i looked upon my fellow- men, i esteemed them as they were in this present time, and stood before god in their sins; and this was a hidden spot ; for i ought, through grace, to have regarded them, not as they now were, but as they might well become.” in seeing a waste piece of ground cumbered with rubbish, and giving it as his judgment that it might be reclaimed and made a garden of, an in- ward voice reveals his sin to him, and rebukes him, saying: “o thou poor misera- ble creature how strange art thou . . . how darest thou, then, to esteem, according to what he now is, thy fellow-man, who is made in the image of god, and whom christ has made his brother in his human nature, and not rather deem that god may make of him a comely and excellent garden wherein he himself may dwell ?” [nicolas, the “man’ of the preceding “history,” outlived tauler by many years, $clection; from the Šermong of the reverend doctor john tauler. from the Štrmon for the first $ mbag in butmt. “now it is high time to awake out of sleep.” romans xiii. . ow you may ask, “how can we come to perceive this direct leading of god?” by a careful looking at home, and abiding within the gates of thy own soul. therefore, let a man be at home in his own heart, and cease from his restless chase of and search after outward things. if he is thus at home while on earth, he will surely come to see what there is to do at home, — what god commands him inwardly without means, and also outwardly by the help of means ; and then let him surrender himself, and follow god along whatever path his loving lord thinks fit to lead him, whether it be to contemplation or action, to useful- ness or enjoyment; whether in sorrow or in joy, let him follow on. and if god do not hboctor m (iaulet. i give him thus to feel his hand in all things, let him still simply yield himself up, and go without for god’s sake, out of love, and still press forward, setting ever before him the lovely example of our blessed lord jesus christ. the men who thus tread in his steps do become, in very truth, the noblest and most glorious of their race ; and those who are thus born again into his life are the rich and costly jewels of the holy christian church, and in all ages they work out the highest good, while they look not to the greatness or meanness of their work, nor to their success or failure, but look only to the will of god in all things ; and for this cause all their works are the best that may be. neither do they look whether god will place them high or low ; for the only thing they care for is, that in all things alike god's will may be done. god grant that it may be thus with each of us. amen. #ígtorg amb life of from the Štrmon for the Štromb Šumbag in burnt. “know ye that the kingdom of god is nigh at hand.” luke xxi. . if a tree could know god, and perceive his presence as the highest of the angels perceives it, the tree would be as blessed as the highest angel. and it is because man is capable of perceiving god, and knowing how nigh god is to him, that he is better off than a tree. and he is more or less blessed in the same measure as he is aware of the presence of god. it is not because god is in him, and so close to him, and he hath god, that he is blessed, but because he per- ceives god's presence, and knows and loves him. a master has said, “he knoweth god aright who knoweth him in all things alike.” that a man should have a life of quiet or rest in god, is good ; that a man should lead a painful life in patience, is better ; but that a man should have rest in a painful life is best of all. whether a man walk out in the fields and say his prayers and feel god’s presence, or hboctor m (taulet. whether he be in the church and feel god’s presence, does he perceive him any the better because he is in a place of rest ? if he do, it comes from his own infirmity; the difference is not on god's side, for god is in all things and places alike, and is ever alike ready to give himself to us, in so far as we are able to receive him ; and he knows god aright who sees him in all things. if i am to know real being, i must know it in that where it is self-existent, that is, in god. in god alone is the true divine sub- stance: in one man you have not all human- ity, for one man is not all men; but in god the soul knows all humanity, and all things in their ideal, for she knows them in their substance. the masters have set forth many ques- tions in the schools as to how it be possible for the soul to know god. it is not of god’s severity that he requires much from man: it is of his great kindness that he will have the soul to open herself wider, to be able to receive much, that he may bestow much upon her. let no one think that it is hard to attain thereunto. although it sound hard, and is hard at first, as touching the #ígtorg amb life of forsaking and dying to all things, yet, when one has reached this state, no life can be easier or sweeter, or fuller of pleasures; for god is right diligent to be with us at all seasons, and to teach us, that he may bring us to himself when we are like to go astray. none of us ever desired any thing more ardently than god desires to bring men to a knowledge of himself. from the Štrmon for the qthirt sumbag in Åburnt. “what went ye out into the wilderness to see ?” - matt. xi. . in these words let us consider three things: first, the going out; secondly, the wilderness; thirdly, what we are to see there. first, let us consider the going out. the first way is to come out from the world, that is, from the craving after worldly advan- tages, and to despise them. the second kind of coming out is to loose thy hold on outward things, to cease from thy vain anxieties, thy selfish wishing and planning, and to turn thy thoughts inward, that thou mayest learn to know thyself, and hboctor m (taulet. words are out of his mouth is one of these careless speakers. the child of god should so order his life as always to promote his own steadfastness in virtue. when a man always keeps his body in due subjection, it is an outward pledge of the strength of his virtuous intents. - it is a mark of the children of god when they see their own little faults and short- comings to be great sins. now he who en- tangles himself with a multitude of matters, outward or inward, and will meddle with every thing that is going forward, will also have a share in the evil thereof. the great work and aim of the beloved children of god is to shun all sin, deadly or trifling, that they may not grieve god's spirit. ah, lord, did we all we should, god would do to us all we would. whatever such a child of god beholds, it works for his good. if he sees sin, he thanks god for having kept him from it, and prays for the conversion of the sinners; if he sees goodness, he desires to fulfil it in his own practice. but those who vainly think to be made ioo #ígtorg amb life of god's children by their much watching, and fasting, and labor; by keeping silence, by singing hymns, by wearing bad and in- convenient clothing; or, again, by great deeds and pious works, while they do not dive into the bottom of their hearts, and spy out all their secret inclinations to lesser as well as to greater faults, – such as an in- clination to think too well of themselves and too ill of their neighbors, or to harsh- ness, to trespass on the rights of others, to moroseness, to a bitter spirit, to contradic- tion, to obstinacy, to caprice, and the like, – and do not perceive these things in them- selves; nor wish to learn how to get rid of their old bad dispositions, nor yet of their outward bad habits, – such as evil speaking, lightness of manners, unkind ridicule of others, – and refuse to give ear to those who teach and exhort them to what is right, or to probe their own motives;– these are all the children of the devil. alas ! how many are martyrs for the devil yea, if a man were to suffer himself to be torn to pieces, and did not learn to cleanse himself thoroughly from his sins, to behave towards his fellow-creatures in a tboctor gjm (iauler. ioi spirit of generous love, and to love god above all things, it would all be useless and in vain. let him, with a cheerful and thankful spirit, yield himself up to suffer whatever god shall appoint unto him, and to fulfil , according to his power, by the grace of god, all his holy will, to the utmost that he can discern it, and never complain of his dis- tresses but to god alone, with entire and humble resignation, praying that he may be strong to endure all his sufferings according to the will of god. from the Štrmon for £piphang. “and they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.” — matt. ii. . this is the myrrh which god gives us in the cup of trouble and sorrow, of whatever kind it may be, outward or inward. ah, if thou couldst but receive this myrrh as from its true source, and drink it with the same love with which god puts it to thy lips, what blessedness would it work in thee! yes, the very least and the very greatest sorrows that god ever suffers to befall thee i o #ígtorg amb ift of proceed from the depths of his unspeak- able love; and such great love were better for thee than the highest and best gifts be- sides that he has given thee, or ever could give thee, if thou couldst but see it in this light. so that if your little finger only aches, if you are cold, if you are hungry or thirsty, if others vex you by their words or deeds, or whatever happens to you that causes you distress or pain, it will all help to fit you for a noble and blessed state. and so also with loss of friends, or property, or reputation, or comfort, or whatever it be that god allots to us, it will all serve to pre- pare thee, and help thee forward to true peace, if thou canst only take it so. all the myrrhs of bitterness that god gives are ordered aright, that he may by this means raise men to true greatness. and he has bestowed as much care and thought in the arrangement of each single thing, as the artist does when he is painting a picture, who never draws a single stroke with his pencil without considering how long, how short, and how broad it ought to be ; and it must be so and no otherwise, if the picture is to be a perfect masterpiece, t}octor m (taulet. io and all its bright red and blue colors are to come out. but god takes a thousand times more pains with us than the artist with his picture, by many touches of sorrow, and by many colors of circumstance, to bring man into the form which is the highest and no- blest in his sight, if only we received his gifts and myrrh in the right spirit." there are some, however, who are not content with the myrrh that god gives them, but think fit to give themselves some, and create evils for themselves, and sick fancies, and have indeed suffered long and much, for they take hold of all things by the wrong end. there is an exceeding bitter myrrh which god gives; namely, inward assaults and inward darkness. when a man is willing to taste this myrrh, and does not put it from him, it wears down flesh and blood, yea, the whole nature; for these inward ex- ercises make the cheek grow pale far sooner than great outward hardships; for god ap- points unto his servants cruel fightings and strange dread, and unheard-of distresses, which none can understand but he who has felt them. and these men are beset with io history amb £ife of such a variety of difficulties, so many cups of bitterness are presented to them, that they hardly know which way to turn or what they ought to do; but god knows right well what he is about. but, when the cup is put away, and these feelings are stifled or unheeded, a greater injury is done to the soul than can ever be amended. for no heart can conceive in what surpassing love god giveth us this myrrh ; yet this which we ought to receive to our soul's good, we suffer to pass by us in our sleepy indiffer- ence, and nothing comes of it. then we come and complain, “alas! lord, i am so dry, and it is so dark within me!” i tell thee, dear child, open thy heart to the pain, and it will do thee more good than if thou wert full of feeling and devoutness. when it springs from outward circum- stances, men wish they had known better, and they would have averted it with their wisdom, and attribute it to outward acci- dents, to fate, or misfortune, and think they might have taken steps to prevent what has happened; and, if they had done so, the means would have succeeded, and the ca- lamity would have been turned aside. they doctor gjn (iauler. io? amidst all circumstances. therefore no power in this world can take away their peace. all their affections centre in god, and they are enlightened by him of a truth; for he shines into their souls with a strong and clear light that reveals all things unto them ; and he shineth as truly, nay far more brightly, in the blackest darkness than in the seeming light. ah! these are sweet and lovely children of god, raised above nature by their likeness to him; and such neither undertake nor bring to pass any of their works without god. nay, if we may dare to use such language, they are, so to speak, nothing, but god is in them ; as st. paul says: “i live, yet not i, but christ liveth in me.” ah these are highly fa- vored men; they bear the world upon their shoulders, and are the noble pillars of society. to make one of their number, what a blessed and glorious thing were that if god gives them to suffer, they suffer; if he gives them to work, they work; if he gives them to enjoy him in contemplation, they contemplate. what he works in the souls of these with whom he holds direct converse, none #ígtorg ant, .ife of can say, nor can one man give account of it to another, but he only who has felt it knows what it is ; and even he can tell thee nothing of it, save only that god in very truth hath possessed the ground of his soul. from the Šermon for the fourth $umbag after epiphamg. “jesus went into a ship, and his disciples followed him.” matt. viii. . a truly converted christian man is will- ing to take advice, and interprets every thing for the best ; and simply in the fear of god, with a thankful heart, fulfils all that which he is bidden or counselled, or that others beg of him to do. but, on the other hand, those who are not truly converted think much of themselves, and deem all their works and services of great value, and it is not at all to their taste to be subject to others, or that any should have a right to command them, and are fond of reproving others unnecessarily, and of discoursing on lofty matters, and boast themselves proudly of all that belongs to them. if any seem to put a slight upon them, they are contentious, tboctor gjm (iauler. io and defend and justify themselves to the utmost that they can. they are arrogant and ambitious, and unyielding in their hard- ness of spirit. these are all still in the hands of the enemy, yea, did they wear the pope's tiara. those who are truly converted are kind- hearted to their neighbors, indulgent from brotherly love, praising the works of their neighbors as far as they can, and with great sincerity of heart rejoice in the well-being of their neighbor, and lend him a helping hand wherever they can, and have great sympathy with him in his troubles; but the falsely converted are spiteful, and look with an evil eye on the usefulness or piety of others, are ready to breed mischief with a taunt, and are revengeful, sneering, and puffed up in their own conceits. the right sort of men are patient under all the annoyance and injustice that god suffers to befall them, and bear it long with peaceable tempers. they speak mildly, using soft words, and are wont meekly to seek reconciliation with those who have done them wrong; but the false burn with anger, are envious of others' good fortune, i io #igtorg amb ife of slanderous, quarrelsome, and censorious, not orderly in all their affairs, and full of murmuring against all, above and below them, who do not conform to their wishes. the truly righteous are ever gentle and merciful, ready to give and to assist as far as they are able, without regard to their own advantage; and they maintain their love, enjoyment, and cheerfulness under distress, poverty, and contempt, being easily con- tented and cheerful, and thankful to al- mighty god, in spirit looking up constantly to god who preserves and sustains them, and casting behind them all unprofitable earthly anxieties. but the false burn like a furnace with the desire of temporal things, and seek their own pleasure and ease when and how they may, and often steal time and other things for it. they want to have praise and earthly reward for all that they do, and if they are not honored and highly thought of, they become like one possessed, and openly or secretly do all the harm they can for spite and vexation. they are al- ways hoping to receive a worldly and cor- ruptible reward for their religious profes- sions, and are often seduced into actual ii #ígtorg amb .ife of diffuses itself through every part of his body, continually supplying it with fresh strength, which again is consumed in his labor ; and when it has been consumed with labor, he eats again a little, that he may again consume it by working in the lord's vineyard. so is it with a noble-minded man. when he feels an inclination in him- self to enjoy god or his heavenly grace and what is thereof, let him for a little while seek and purpose his own good, but not longer than is needful for the nourishing of his soul, that he may consume his spiritual strength again in labor; and when it has thus been spent in the noblest of all ways, from a love flowing back unto god who has inspired it, then the man must go for refresh- ment again into the river of life that floweth out from the throne of god, that it may again bring forth in him the fruit of good works. all these spiritual men who thus know how to resign or to return again unto god, with their body and their spirits, the gifts that he has mercifully bestowed on them, with deep, humble, self-renunciation, these do continually grow more able and more worthy to receive blessings from god. hboctor m (iauler. ii. where such admirable, god-like men are to be found, they were worthy, as none else are, to be fed with gold and silver and fine pearls, and the best that the world contains as their heritage. but there is many a poor noble man of god, who has none of all these things; let such an one humbly cast himself on the all-powerful god and trust him utterly; without doubt thy heavenly father will and must provide thee well, yea, wert thou hidden in a rock. these exalted and most noble men are just like the wood of the vine, which is outwardly hard and black and dry, and good for no purpose whatever; and, if we had never seen it before, we should think it of no use at all, and good for nothing but to be thrown into the fire, and burned. but, in this dry wood of the vine, there lie concealed the living veins of sap, and power of yield- ing the noblest of all juices, and of bringing forth a greater abundance of fruit than any other sort of wood that grows. and thus it is with these beloved and lowly children, who are at all times and seasons plunged in god; they are outwardly in appearance like unto black rotten wood, seeming unto #igtorg amb life of men dry and unprofitable. for there are many of these who are humble, noways remarkable for their gifts, outward or in- ward, nor for any extraordinary works or sayings or exercises of devotion, and who move in the narrowest sphere; but living veins from the fountain of truth lie hidden within them, forasmuch as they have asked for no earthly heritage, but god is their lot and their portion, their life and their being. if a vine-dresser be not skilled in his art, he is as likely to crop off the good branches which bear the grapes as the wild shoots, and thus spoil the vineyard. so it is with those who do not understand this spiritual art: they leave the roots of vice and evil dispositions alive in the heart, and hew and lop at poor nature, and thereby destroy this noble vineyard. nature is in itself good and noble, why shouldst thou hew away aught that belongs to it? for i tell thee that when the time is come for it to yield fruit in a godly, blessed, devout life, then it will be seen that thou hast spoiled thy nature. boctor m (tauler. then her spirit was seized with such unut- terable woe, that it seemed as if she must perish that moment with the bitter, smart- ing, hellish pain that it gave her to see her- self so far off from god. now in this unspeakable distress she turned to our lady and all the saints, and besought them all that they would intercede for her. but then she saw that the blessed saints were so utterly lost in the contemplation of god, that none of them for a moment listened to her cries and appeals. in their overwhelm- ing bliss and joy, they never even heard her voice. then she turned after a human fashion to the sacred sorrow and bitter death of our lord jesus christ, and it was answered her, why should she appeal to that to which she had never shown due honor and reverence but when she saw that neither our lady, nor the saints, nor the sufferings of our lord brought her help, she turned herself with all earnestness to god, and said : “ah, lord since none will come to my help, behold, o beloved lord, that i am thy poor creature, and thou art my god; i fall down before thy righteous sentence, according to thy most doctor m (iauler. i there are some people who when they hear speak of high things which they do not understand, and moreover see that they have no share in them, turn away from these things with such aversion, that they do not even like to hear them treated of, or that others should think about them and seek after them. yea, they hear of high things, and say: “that is not my way of thinking : i had better not try to put it into practice, for i should not keep it, and then i should be just where i was before.” and thus they turn away themselves and others from the truth, just as if it in no wise concerned them, and sit down quite contented with their own ways, while yet they know in the bottom of their hearts that their ways are not the best that might be. this is an in- fallible token that these persons will never reach the highest point of which they are capable ; nor will they become partakers in the highest, pure, absolute goodness, unless indeed they come to go through a painful and agonizing struggle after it. st. bernard has said: “man, if thou de- sirest a noble and holy life, and unceasingly prayest to god for it, if thou continue con- hboctor m (cauler. i i good in will ; and what he, with his whole heart and mind, love and desire, wills to be, that without doubt he most truly is. it is little we can bring to pass; but our will and desire may be large. nay, they may grow till they lose themselves in the infinite abyss of god. not that we ought to think within our- selves that we wish to be this or that, like such a saint or angel, for we ought to be much more than we can conceive or fathom : wherefore our part is to give ourselves over to god, and leave ourselves utterly in his hands, being wholly his. and if ye cannot be as entirely his as ye fain would be, be his as much as ye may attain unto ; but whatever ye are, be that truly and entirely; and what ye cannot be, that be contented not to be, in a sincere spirit of resignation, for god’s sake and in him. so shall you peradventure possess more of god in lack- ing than in having. therefore be god’s ; yield to his hand, suffer him to do in you, and to you, and with you, what he will ; and then nothing here or hereafter shall be able to confound you. think not that god will be always caress- i #igtorg and life of ing his children, or shine upon their head, or kindle their hearts, as he does at the first. he does so only to lure us to him- self, as the falconer lures the falcon with its gay hood. our lord works with his children so as to teach them afterwards to work themselves; as he bade moses to make the tables of stone after the pattern of the first which he had made himself. thus, after a time, god allows a man to depend upon himself, and no longer en- lightens, and stimulates, and rouses him. we must stir up and rouse ourselves, and be content to leave off learning, and no more enjoy feeling and fire, and must now serve the lord with strenuous industry, and at our own cost. our lord acts like a prudent father, who, while his children are young, lets them live at his cost, and man- ages every thing for them. what is needful for them he provides, and so long as this lasts they are at leisure, free from care, happy, and generous at their father's ex- pense. afterwards he gives a portion of his estate into their own hands, because he will have them to take care of them- selves, and earn their own living, to leave hboctor gjit qcauler. i off childish play, and thus learn how to grow rich. so it is with us. in the beginning of a holy life, there is nothing but brightness, enjoyment, and feeling, and god draws us after him with his gifts, that we may praise him in the influencing of our wills, and we do all with a good will, and we know and recognize therein god's will. but now it is very different ; now god will have us to give up ourselves and our own will, and to accept him with readiness in his acts of severity, and in all kinds of suffering, and in darkness of mind, whatever he may do, and however contrary it may be to all our natural wishes. as the lord said to peter: “when thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou would- est; but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hand, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou would- est not.” thus did the lord in our early days go beside us, drawing us onward by his benefits; then we went whither we would, for our will was sweetly girded with the pleasantness of divine things. but now it must be otherwise: another shall gird us, and lead us whither we would not. i #ígtorg amb life of the lord will draw us and securely lead us to himself, in a way contrary to our natural will, until he have divested us thereof, and consumed it and made it thor- oughly subject unto the divine will. for this is his will : that we should cease to regard our own wishes or dislikes; that it should become a light matter to us whether he give or take away, whether we have abundance or suffer want, and let all things go, if only we may receive and apprehend god himself; that whether things please or displease us, we may leave all things to take their course and cleave to him alone. then first do we attain to the fulness of god’s love as his children, when it is no longer happiness or misery, prosperity or adversity, that draws us to him, or keeps us back from him. what we should then experience none can utter; but it would be something far better than when we were burning with the first flame of love, and had great emo- tion, but less true submission ; for here, though there may be less show of zeal, and less vehemence of feeling, there may be more true faithfulness to god. that we may attain thereunto, may god help us with his grace. amen? hdoctor gjm (iaulet, from the Štrmon for the jourth $umbag after aster. john xvi. – . what is meant by christ's going away from us? nothing else than our destitution, hopelessness, and helplessness, when we are heavy, and slow in all good things, and cold and dark; for then christ is gone from us. if persons who are in this state render it useful and fruitful for themselves, this would be a truly noble thing for them thus to master and bend it ; and to such an one all variety will be fused into unity, and he will have joy in sorrow, and be patient under reproach, in constant peace amid war and troubles, and all bitterness will to him become true sweetness. children, beware of judging any but your- selves, as ye love god and your souls and everlasting happiness. a man should judge nothing that is not a plain mortal sin. i would rather bite my tongue that it bleed, than judge any man. one should leave this to the eternal judgment of god; for from man's judgment upon his neighbors #ígtorg amb life of there grows a complacency in one's self, an evil arrogance, and a contempt for one's neighbor. in all doubtful cases, consider the matter with sincerity and earnestness, and choose that course which you see to be most bitter to nature, and to which you feel least in- clined. children, walk in the ways of god dili- gently, earnestly, and circumspectly; and give heed to the calling in which god by his mercy hath called you, and follow it faithfully. do not, as some do, when god will have them to mind the affairs of their soul, attend to outward things; and when god summons them to outward duties, want to turn their thoughts inwards. this is a hard, poor, perverse course. from the Štromb ştrmom for the jourth $umbag after aster. “it is expedient for you that i go away,” &c. — john xvi. . we ought to worship god in all places and at all times. he who will worship the father must concentrate his whole mind in aspiration and faith. these are the highest hdoctor gjm (iaulet. i powers of the soul ; for they are above time, and know nothing of time nor of the body. so st. paul tells us “that we ought to rejoice evermore, pray without ceasing, and in every thing give thanks.” now, those pray without ceasing who do all their works alike for the love of god, and not for any selfish enjoyment; and humbly bow down before god, and let him work alone. when the highest powers of the soul are thus gathered together in prayer, the soul becomes inspired, and if henceforward the spirit cleave unto god with an entire union of the will, it is “made a partaker of the divine nature,” and then, for the first time, does the man offer up true worship, for he has attained the end for which he was created. but there are some, ay, many people, who do not rightly worship the father in the truth. for, so soon as a man prays to god for any creature, he prays for his own harm ; for, since a creature is a creature, it bears its own bitterness and disquiet, pain and evil, about it ; therefore such people meet their deserts when they have trouble and bitterness, for they have prayed for it. hboctor m (tauler. i from the Štrmon for &bitsumbag. at those moments when all the powers of the soul are collected and turned inwards, it often happens that some eternal truth presents itself with irresistible clearness. this happens not unfrequently in morning sleep, just before waking. this sort of drawing may be called a whisper of love, or a monition. from the Štrmon for the fourth $umbag after crimitg. i will say a few words on the precept: “be ye merciful, even as your father in heaven is merciful.” this noble virtue is, now-a-days, quite a stranger to the hearts of many, insomuch that it is grievous to be- hold. for each is called to exercise this mercy towards his neighbor, whereinsoever the latter may have need of it; not only as regards the giving of earthly goods, but also the bearing with his neighbor's faults in all gentleness and mercy. but no each one falls upon his neighbor and judges him ; and as soon as any mishap befalls a man, i #igtorg and lift of of the outflowings of love. wherefore give diligent and earnest heed to yourselves in this matter of divine love, and maintain a hearty good-will towards all men, and bear no grudge against any, and despoil not the sacred temple of god, which has been sanctified by our highest pontiff, christ; and beware that ye do not call down upon your heads god's everlasting interdict. but, alas ! now-a-days, nature is so perverted in many, both clergy and laymen, as touching brotherly faithfulness and love, that if they see their neighbor fall, they laugh at him, or stand by and let it go on, and care naught for it. from the Šermon for the uſently $umbag after qcrimity. “there are diversities of operation, but it is the same god which worketh all in all.” – i cor. xii. . every art or work, however unimportant it may seem, is a gift of god, and all these gifts are bestowed by the holy spirit for the profit and welfare of man. let us begin with the lowest. one can spin, another can make shoes, and some have great aptness hboctor ſojn (iauler. i for all sorts of outward arts, so that they can earn a great deal, while others are altogether without this quickness. these are all gifts proceeding from the spirit of god. if i were not a priest, but were living as a layman, i should take it as a great favor that i knew how to make shoes, and should try to make them better than any one else, and would gladly earn my bread by the labor of my hands. there is no work so small, no art so mean, but it all comes from god and is a special gift of his. thus, let each do that which another cannot do so well, and for love, returning gift for gift. whence comes it, then, that we have so many complaints, each saying that his occu- pation is a hindrance to him, while notwith- standing his work is of god, who hindereth no man whence comes this inward re- proof and sense of guilt which torment and disquiet you? dear children, know that it is not your work which gives you this dis- quiet. no : it is your want of order in fulfilling your work. if you performed your work in the right method, with a sole aim to god, and not to yourselves, your own #igtorg amb ift of ion. let each set apart a good hour for such exercises, each taking his own method ; — to our life's end it is most needful for us to keep up some strenuous exercises of piety, of whatever kind god may appoint, with loving and peaceful hearts, and in obedience to his will. oh! how greatly to our hurt do we fall short of the noblest, highest truth through such trifling, mean things; for the sake of which we must suffer loss for ever and ever, so long as god is eternal. from the $trmom for the qimclfth $umbag after crimity. may god, of his mercy, give you to bear with a good courage all the sorrow that is before you, and also, when ye are despised of all men, and slandered, and counted for . naught. . . . the second burden of the old law was its awful judgments, and stern display of god's justice. this is manifested in many ways, – by afflictions and by the gnaw- ings of conscience. now some try to work themselves out of this by confession. but tboctor m (iaulet. i if you were to confess your sins a thousand times, it would avail you nothing, save indeed the confessing of mortal sin, accom- panied by satisfaction for it. the rest leave humbly to god, and bear what he appoints unto you, till he of his mercy send you relief. but confess all to him inwardly in your soul, to the very last tittle, with humble submission to his will, and acquiescing in his unknown judgments, without looking to yourself or to other men for help. mean- while, there are some who endeavor to get rid of the burden of sin by asking counsel and hearing preachers, hoping to hear some- what that may afford them a stay, and thus they may find deliverance. behold, dear friend, if thou spend all thy years in running from church to church, thou must look for and receive help from within, or thou wilt never come to any good ; however thou mayst seek and inquire, thou must also be willing to be tormented without succor from the outward help of any creature. i tell you, children, that the very holiest man i ever saw, in outward conduct and inward life, had never heard more than five ser- mons in all his days. when he saw and i o #igtorg amb life of perceived how the matter stood, he thought that was enough, and set to work to die to that to which he ought to die, and live to that to which he ought to live. and know that if ever you desire to be spiritual and blessed men, you must cease from running outwards for help, and turn within ; for you will never get what you want by a multitude of words, hear as many as you will ; but only by loving and serving god from the bottom of your heart, and your neighbor as yourself, and leaving all things to stand on their own foundation. but pant after god with all your heart, as the holy patri- archs did, and covet that which you truly ought to covet, and leave all things, whether concerning yourself or any other creatures, to god's most blessed will. turn it as thou wilt, thou must give thy- self to suffer what is appointed thee. but if we did that, god would bear us up at all times in all our sorrows and troubles, and god would lay his shoulder under our bur- dens, and help us to bear them. for if with a cheerful courage we submitted our- selves to god, no suffering would be unbear- able. for it is because now we are without hboctor gjm (iauler. i i god, and standing in our own weakness, that we are neither able to endure nor yet to act. god help us all worthily to bear his yoke. amen. from the Štromb Šermon for the qtwelfth Šumbag after qcrimitg. “he hath done all things well : he maketh both the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak.” — mark vii. . with some their ears are stopped up with their own inventions, and the daily routine of habit with which they go through certain outward acts, learnt by means of their senses from the creatures. all this dulls a man’s hearing so that he cannot apprehend the eternal word speaking within him, nor in any wise understand what it says. children, at the last day, when all things come to be laid bare and open, it will be an everlasting sorrow to think of the end- less variety of these things that have come between us and god, and how we have been entangled in mean bondage to our own ways and habits. on this point says st. gregory: “wilt thou know whether thou love god take #igtorg amb ife of note when cares, troubles, or sorrows over- take thee (from within or from without, whencesoever they come), and weigh down thy spirit so that thou knowest not which way to turn, nor what is to become of thee, and canst find no counsel, and art outwardly in a storm of affliction, in unwonted perplex- ity and sore distress; if thou then remainest inwardly at peace and unmoved in the bot- tom of thy heart, so that thou dost not in any wise falter, either by complaint, or in word, or work, or gesture, then there is no doubt that thou lovest god.” thus, even though thy outward man grieve, or weep downright, that may well be borne, if only thy inner man remain at peace, perfectly content with the will of god. but if thou dost not find it thus with thee, then thou art in truth deaf, and hast not really heard the voice of the eternal word within thee. from the Štrimon for the fifteenth $umbag after crimitg. “seek ye first the kingdom of god and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.” — matt. vi. . children, ye see well by this discourse how far we all are in common from living tdoctor m (taulet. i according to the simple truth of things, in all our earthly relationships. but know that there is an inward secret defect lurking under the cloak of our anxiety about daily things, a sinful, though unconscious covet- ousness, which is one of the seven deadly sins. and this sin, working silently and unperceived in the hearts both of worldly and religious people, is the cause of the greatest evils that afflict this earth. let each, for instance, only mark narrowly, in himself and others, the marvels of labor and ingenuity invented and wrought on all sides, each striving to outdo his fellow for the sake of earthly gain. if we were to probe to the bottom the workings of this false principle in worldly and in religious people, it could hardly be told how deeply its roots have struck, and how widely they have spread below the surface. think what it implies to have so little confidence in that god who is able to do all things, when ye are striving and toiling, and wearing your- selves out with anxiety, as if you meant to live for ever. thou poor blind man, spiritual in outward vesture but not in reality, why shouldst thou #igtorg amb life of in providing such things as are right, to the supply of our necessities and those of others, and profitable to ourselves and the com- munity, and to see that every thing be done in a discreet and seemly manner. but that which is your end when you sit and medi- tate in the church, should be likewise your end when you are busied in all the affairs of daily life; whether you work, or speak, or eat, or drink, waking and sleeping, do all to the glory of god, and not for thyself. for a noble man will make these perishing things of time a mere passage-way by which he will ascend through the creatures, not being held down by any selfish cleaving to them, up to his everlasting home, his eter- nal source from which he sprang at his creation. now st. paul tells us, that we must be careful to keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace. children, that peace which is found in the spirit and the inner life is well worth our care, for in that peace lies the satisfaction of all our wants. in it, the kingdom of god is discovered, and his righteousness is found. this peace a man should allow nothing to take from him, tdoctor gjn (iauler. i whatever betide, come weal or woe, honor or shame. but ever keep thy inward man in the bond of peace, which consists in the common love of all to all ; and set before you the lovely example of our lord jesus christ, and see how his love wrought. jfrom the Štrmon for $t. rter's bag. “reprove, rebuke, exhort, with all long-suffering and doctrine.” tim. iv. . he who desires to become a spiritual man must not be ever taking note of others, and above all of their sins, lest he fall into wrath and bitterness, and a judging spirit towards his neighbors. o children, this works such great mischief in a man's soul, as it is miserable to think of ; wherefore, as you love god, shun this evil temper, and turn your eyes full upon yourselves, and see if you cannot discover the same fault in yourselves, either in times past or now- a-days. this generous love makes him hold others innocent in his heart : even when he sees infirmity or fault in his neighbor, he reflects that very likely all is not as it seems on the #igtorg amb life of outside, but the act may have been done with a good intention ; or else he thinks that god may have permitted it to take place for an admonition and lesson to him- self; or again, as an opportunity for him to exercise self-control and to learn to die unto himself, by the patient endurance of and forbearance towards the faults of his neigh- bors, even as god has often borne many wrongs from him, and had patience with his sins. and this would often tend more to his neighbor's improvement than all the efforts he could make for it in the way of reproofs or chastisements, even if they were done in love (though indeed we often im- agine that our reproofs are given in love when it is in truth far otherwise). for i tell thee, dear child, if thou couldst conquer thyself by long-suffering and gentleness and the pureness of thy heart, thou wouldst have vanquished all thine enemies. it would be better for thee than if thou hadst won the hearts of all the world by thy writings and wisdom, and hadst miserably destroyed thine own soul by passing judgment on thy neighbors. - i o #igtorg amb life of receive the blessing through my own heed- lessness, or thrown it away by my own guilty folly, - i could bear it all the better; what should i then have to mourn over ? but now it is all my own doing: i have brought the mischief upon myself.” i an- swer: do not let this lead thee astray; dost thou not know how that it is written : “the just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again; ” and dost thou think to stand al- ways * yes; i assert and confess with thee, that it is thine own fault, that thou hast brought it upon thyself, and well deserved it ; yet, nevertheless, it is better that thou shouldst, with firm trust, pray our kind god for his grace (who knows thy weakness, and is ready to forgive thy trespasses seventy and seven times in a day), than that thou shouldst thus drive thyself back in thy course with such faint-heartedness. o child, hast thou fallen arise, and go, with childlike trust, to thy father, like the prodigal son, and humbly say, with heart and mouth : “father, i have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son : make me as one of thy hired servants.” and what will hdoctor m (taulet. i i thy heavenly father do but what that father did in the parable assuredly he will not change his essence, which is love, for the sake of thy misdoings. is it not his own precious treasure, and a small thing with him to forgive thee thy trespasses, if thou believe in him? for his hand is not shortened that it cannot make thee fit to be saved. none of the inward difficulties that rise up from within, or the adverse circumstances that stay our hands from working, by which we are drawn or pressed into likeness and conformity to the humble image of christ and his saints (not alone outwardly, but that of their inward condition), can be the work either of evil spirits or of nature, but with- out a doubt come from god. for he is the highest good, and from the highest good nought but what is good can flow. whatever befalls a man inwardly, whereby he is brought to a closer and more sensible gathering up of all his affections and impulses, in singleness of heart, into a steadfast trust in and love of the father's loving-kindness and not his own works and experiences, this is from god. tboctor m (taulet. i “god bless thee,” said the doctor, “how answerest thou me so ° “i was never other than blessed.” “explain to me this, for i understand not.” “willingly,” quoth the poor man. “thou wishest me good morrow. i never had an ill morrow, for, am i an hungered, i praise god; am i freezing, doth it hail, snow, rain, is it fair weather or foul, i praise god ; and therefore had i never an ill morrow. thou didst say, ‘god prosper thee.' i have been never unprosperous, for i know how to live with god ; i know that what he doth is best, and what god giveth or ordaineth for me, be it pain or pleasure, that i take cheer- fully from him as the best of all, and so i had never adversity. thou wishest god to bless me. i was never unblessed, for i desire to be only in the will of god, and i have so given up my will to the will of god, that what god willeth, i will.” then said the doctor, “but what if his will should be to cast thee into hell ? what wouldst thou do then ” “cast me into hell ? his goodness holds him back therefrom. yet if he did, i i #ígtorg amb .ife of should have two arms to embrace him withal. one arm is true humility, and therewith am i one with his holy humanity. and with the right arm of love, that joineth his holy divinity, i would embrace him so that he must come with me into hell like- wise. and even so, i would sooner be in hell, and have god, than in heaven, and not have him.” - then understood this master that a true resignation to the divine will, with utter humility, was the nearest way to god. moreover the master asked, “from whence comest thou ?” the poor man answered, “from god.” “where hast thou found god ” “i found him when i had renounced all creatures.” “but who art thou,” asked the doctor. “i am a king,” said the beggar. “my kingdom is my soul. all my powers, within and without, do homage to my soul. this kingdom is greater than any kingdom on the earth.” “what hath brought thee to this per- fection ?” . . ' ! …-- ~~~~ ~ storage us . lam wit, wisdom and philosophy, harvard law library apm wit, wisdom and philosophy "a clock that stands still will be right at least twice a day. a clock that but runs lamely may never tell the truth." lamm c. j. , , - རྔ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ ་ པ ་ས་ ་ཙ མ་ ་ ་ ་ རོ་ རོ་ – • • - ༢ c & kamw, henry wit, wisdom and philosophy selected and arranged fred . mullinix “that which cannot be done in a straight line (as the bee flies) cannot be done in a circle (as the fox runs).”. lamm, c. j. us . lam l copyright by fred c. mullinix may st, louis, mo. nizon-jones printing co., preface this volume is composed almost entirely of data selected from legal opinions written by henry lamm, who was first associate and then chief justice of the supreme court of missouri, com- mencing his term of office in , his term expiring in january, . a year later, as the result of much urging, he ran for the office of governor of missouri, for which office he was defeated by a very small majority. the style of these opinions is a departure from the usual legal opinion. in fact, so attractive are some of them, they may be read by all with great satisfaction and without jade. in his writing he dipped deeply into literature, and his arrange- ment and verbiage is such that it fascinates the lay as well as the legal mind. he resorted to many “homely' phrases in bridging that space between understanding and misunderstanding in order that the viewpoint might be met with instantaneous effect. his idea of a legal opinion, when the situation in his estimation demanded it, may be best illustrated by his reference to one of aesop's fables, the fable of the man and the satyr: ". . . it being permissible we think to levy on and seize a parcel of the homely wisdom of these immortal fables to point a moral in the law now and then—for may not a judicial wayfarer, traveling in the dry and dusty highways of the law, at spells lighten his labor without lowering the dignity of his case by gathering a nosegay for use as do other wayfarers, so long as he does not loiter a-field and miss the main traveled road to ultimate justice.” in account- ing for the use of such similitudes he explains, “. .: in a pinch, in court or out, much is seen through a keyhole, or put otherwise, some one illuminating fact often throws a gleam of light into the obscure corners of litigation to aid the eye of a chancellor, pre- cisely as a flash of lightning on a dark night reveals the land- scape to a bewildered traveler.” he denied that “the atmosphere of the plane on which a court moves is ... so frosty that no buds of sentiment may swell and bloom there.” he felt that he might add to "the innocent gaiety of mankind” and resort to a “trick of speech” occasionally, or use “a poetical apostrophe to the bible, most becoming and tenderly reverential," a "homely preface illustration of everyday life,” or something from the “well of the drama,” for better illustration. from the reading of these opinions it is evident that he felt that the courts and the people were too far apart; that technicality and delay in the administration of justice were responsible for certain prejudices. he spoke of one case “pending nearly as long as the greeks besieged troy." and again he said that “justice must not be sacrificed upon the sharp edge of technicality,” and that "technicality may become a horse, which once astride and well ridden, will carry us wide of ultimate right.” that these exist- ing prejudices were not all due to the system of jurisprudence, he said, but somewhat to the “vulgar and pernicious fallacy that a law suit on appeal is a mere game of wits to be played according to highly artificial rules, over which 'game' we sit as mere umpire according points to one player or another by the dry and lifeless rules of the game for the sake of the game itself.” that there existed an “amusing delusion abroad in the land to the effect that guessing is a working tool in administering law,” which he answered as follows: “alas! how often must wisdom cry aloud in the streets and proclaim it from the housetops that the law is the perfection of reason ?” that if guessing could be a working tool, and “if guesses were horses, every judge would gaily ride." his use of the bible, and his comparison of some of the charac- ters of that time with the position of litigants before him, is indeed entertaining. his deep learning in law and literature is manifest in his masterly opinions, of which the matter in this book is only excerpts, and he has accomplished the seeming impossible, often so unsuccessfully attempted by lesser lights of the judiciary, in in- jecting the finest gems of humor in the most masterful analyses of the law without weakening the force of his logic or descending to clownishness. withal he wrote the law purely. the mode of appropriating some of the famed quotations of all time, and after a manner, transforming them into a parody for legal use may be best illustrated by what follows under the head of proverbs. f. c. m. jonesboro, ark. december, . proverbs parsnips liberty has no price. turn about is fair play. the law regards not trifles. fine words butter no parsnips. a wrong is not to be presumed. labor accords with divine law. drowning men catch at straws. where reason ends the law ends. libel may lurk in ironical words. the unexpected always happens. appellate courts know geography. the law allows the dog his first bite. the extremity of justice is injustice. right, too rigid, hardens into wrong. enough specks make an apple rotten. the law favors and nourishes charity. justice must not be sacrificed to courtesy. he who excuses himself, accuses himself. a thistle is a fat salad for an ass' mouth. the mule don't kick according to no rule. speak in few words and home to the point. to stick in the letter is to stick in the bark. every dog is entitled to at least one worry. laws are made lest the stronger possess all. the last refuge of a scoundrel is patriotism. equity does nothing grudgingly or by halves. sins and debts are always more than we think. he who wants a mule without fault must walk. to be respected, courts must respect each other. a lean compromise is better than a fat lawsuit. apple mule scoundrel proverbs furnace plaintiffs go into court voluntarily; defendants are pulled in by the ears. it is quite as important that justice appears to be done as it is that it is done. the very old common law has been tempered and mel- lowed in modern times. running in debt is easy and pleasant while it lasts- paying is another story. this being a court of errors, we sit to correct our own as well as those of others. no argument against the use of a thing can be drawn from the abuse of a thing. verily, due care is the procrustean bed of the law all must lie on, nolens volens. as the furnace proveth the potter's vessels, so the trial of a judge is his reasoning. we all fancy ourselves wiser than perhaps others are willing to give us credit for. the law may as well be astute to reach and cure, as the libeler to hide and do harm. blessed is he who knowing nothing, avoids giving wordy evidence of that fact. an eagle does not catch flies, so equity deals not with eagle trifles in its search for fraud. justice is not a weathercock, to veer about with the moods of the parties litigant. while the dead tell us no tales, neither can the dead defend themselves against tales. compromise and avoid or discount certain uncertain- ties (and other ills) of litigation. a new trial is a loaf baked in the oven of the law, to be socially shared by both parties. if one is not to get a stone who asks for bread, no more is he to get water who asks for milk. the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the foundation of morals and legislation. weather- cock proverbs ture he who is fond of maintaining an action will soon be without means of maintaining himself. what is the rule of construction on hypocrisy, except, “by their fruits ye shall know them”? fruits since the twilight of remotest time, it was considered that the life of the flesh was in the blood. a homestead is so far forth forbidden fruit to the cred- itor that he may not pluck or eat thereof. justice delayed is justice denied; fresh justice is ever sweetest; he gives twice who gives quickly. a court should not sit in the comedy of much ado about nothing, if it but know it in advance. superstruc- in the eye of the law no one can successfully build a superstructure of right upon his own wrong. courts should not torture or twist a statute into a de- torture vice for obtaining property by false pretenses. if one rely on instructions in equity, he leans on a broken staff, and gets the worst of it in a fall. mote the law should first cast the mote out of its own eye before it can see clearly the beam in another's. a court cannot adjudicate negligence on pulse beats and hair splitting, such airy nothings in surmise. when fraud comes in at the door, all contrivances to consummate it fly out at the window in chancery. liberty of the citizen is an immediate jewel of the law, to be sacredly cherished and hedged about withal. technicality may become a horse, which once astride and well ridden, will carry us wide of ultimate right. to do nothing is wiser than to do something and not have the information, the wherewithal to do it right. men do not usually get into trouble through logical processes, and logicians cannot always get them out. a clock that stands still is right at least twice a day. a clock that but runs lamely may never tell the truth. proverbs imagina- tion voice one should not suffer his imagination to take rein from one's judgment, and rush headlong in the chase after the fox called fraud. if courts unsettle a rule of law, the door is opened wide for confusion to come in; certainty being the very es- sence of good law. the master voice of humanity cries out, and the law, an invention for the welfare of man, knows its master's voice and heeds it. ye shall not respect persons in judgment; but ye shall hear the small as well as the great; ye shall not be afraid of the face of man. if a party lies in wait for his adversary, the court should not allow him an advantage that he could not have attained in the open field. if a needs a bath, may b give him one forcibly and against his will? if c needs a physic, may d assume to dose him against his will ? verily, withal, the benefits of a new trial, like the rain and the dew, descend upon the just and the unjust, on the defendant as well as the plaintiff. a public office, speaking in colloquial figure, is a hole. an officer is a peg. peg and hole go together, even as a pea fits the pod, or a hand the glove. when in a court of justice a man is fairly in balance with the dollar, then it is the man goes down in the scales and the dollar kicks the beam. the courts are inclined to take judicial knowledge of the fact that the traditional guile and adroitness of horse adroitness trading are of the masculine gender. uniformity, however serviceable, has not always been possible even in judicial exposition, although it pro- ceeds on contemplation, and not impulse. · it has never so far been held that the rules of decorum decorum proverbs and politeness may not be usefully applied in the court room to the weighty matters of law, as elsewhere. there is a precept that every man is presumed to know the law. it should be modified so as to read: every man is presumed to know the law-except the road law. strained and unnatural statute construction smacks of wringing the words so hard the meaning extracted is bitter, even as the wringing of the nose brings blood. as figs do not grow on thorns or sweet water flow from a bitter fountain in nature, so in equity a superstructure substratum of legality cannot be built on a substratum of illegality. the right of freedom of speech, of fair comment with an honest purpose in the matter of public concern, is on the foot of pro bono publico and founded on public foot policy. there be three kinds of unhappy men. he that hath knowledge and teacheth not. he that teacheth, and liv. eth not thereafter. he that knoweth not and doth not inquire to know. no system of laws could for one minute command a whit of respect that would add to the delays of the law the intolerable burden of reversing judgments on every error whatsoever. breachy stock and a low or broken line fence are the squabbles devil's own invention for discords and squabbles between coterminous proprietors—a fecund womb of a miserable brood of infelicities. it would be a bold judge who said that appellate courts had always been able to hold a steady and even voice in promulgating or applying general principles under the head of ordinary care. it cannot be denied that in the everyday administra- tion of the law through the courts, enough flotsam and jetsam may be lodged in the current of a trial to turn the stream of justice awry. stream proverbs wrath it is the brightest jewel in the crown of the law to seek and maintain the golden mean between defamation, on one hand, and a healthy and robust right of free pub- lic discussion on the other. correct reasoning leads to correct results; if then, the results be incorrect, the reasoning is bound to be un- sound; for are not the general principles of the law the very perfection of reason? should courts whether federal or state, under a boun- den duty to proceed in administering justice with calm- ness and dignity, set out on the road inevitably leading up to conflicts in jurisdiction ? in family affairs, a soft word turneth away wrath; it takes two to make a quarrel; charity and cardinal virtue cover a multitude of faults; to forgive and forget is the golden rule of marital felicity. in statutory construction a judge is not to be like a tyrant, making all void when part is void, but like a nurs- ing father, making void only that part where the fault is and preserving the rest if he can. miserable indeed would be our property conditions if we left the simple and safe rules of the common law to run after a will-o'-the-wisp of speculative refinements said by some to spring from comity. there may be wrinkles in a statute not yet erased by the wri smoothing iron of justice, for there is an intense human factor in the practical application of statutes appealing to different judges in a different way. equity as a code of conscience, takes cognizance of more delicate distinctions between right and wrong in human conduct, and enforces a subtler morality than the traditional practice and procedure of courts of law. it is by recognizing both great and small, public and private right, and holding the scales even between the two that courts by approximation get at just and prac- tical results in suits between the public and individuals. wrinkles delicate proverbs may two courts proceed on contrary theories at the selfsame time, and grind a litigant between the upper and nether millstones of jurisdiction, one saying aye and millstones the other nay, and each speaking in an imperative voice? it is old and seasoned learning that, as the laws of men presumably are founded on natural justice and reason, courts search as with a lighted candle for the reason of the law, and, when found, put it as a part of the law itself. · priests judges may be likened unto priests attending between the horns of the altar of the temple of justice. so, at- tending, they stand solemnly charged with keeping the lamp of personal liberty in oil, well trimmed and brightly burning. the beautiful character of pervading excellency, if one say so of equity jurisprudence, is that it varies its adjustments and proportions so as to meet the very form and pressure of each particular case in all its complex habitudes. if in the pursuit of fraud, two judicial views are open on the facts, one in favor of honesty, the other contra, the law (an invention of men for their welfare) but agrees with human nature in saying we must take the nobler view. there are presumptions springing from the loins of noble maxims which are the crowning glory of our law, viz.: that the law presumes innocence, not guilt; moral- ity, not immorality; marriage, not concubinage; legiti- marriage macy, not bastardy. drinking makes some men surly, ugly, unaccommodat- ing, and obstinate; some mellow, merry, and yielding; vivacious some vivacious and witty; some stupid and sodden; and since the days of noah to this day, all men the worse off in the long run. from the highest reasons of public policy and social proverbs justice homestead laws are favored by the courts, and are always to be construed with liberality to further their benign purpose, in creating self-reliant home owners, rooted to the soil. close observers of the phenomena of human nature have noticed that sometimes quarrels exhaust themselves with excess of fervor, and thereby die out. so, perad- venture, pots (boiling too fiercely) boil over, put out the fire underneath, and cool off. if a case be in court at one time by grace of a techni- cality, it may be put out of court at another time by grace beauty of another technicality, because thereby the beauty and evenhanded symmetry of the law (it being no respecter of persons) is made manifest. is it likely the lawmaker cunningly hid away the meaning of his law in a word of not only one syllable, but of one letter—a meaning to get at by boring with a gimlet of grammatical construction ? that would be to try to stand a cone on its apex. many a man lies who down in his soul believes in truth- fulness; and drinks who by precept teaches the virtue of soberness; and has a peppery disposition who believes in calmness; and sins who thinks well of righteousness; and is lazy while lauding ant-like industry. posterity would think ill either of the candor or under- standing of a court that would hold one voice before election, to wit, to make straight the way for a ticket, and another and different voice after election, whereby the voters so authorized would be disfranchised. in the law there is a presumption in favor of inno- cence. it is familiar doctrine of everyday use in the ad- ministration of justice that, if a transaction comports as well with honesty as dishonesty, then the law takes the nobler and the better view of the transaction. dishonesty the administration of justice is a practical affair, an . proverbs close- fisted comma ment darkness invention for the adjustment of the rights of individuals and not a technical and accurate science, but an applied science science, adjusting itself to work out justice in all the protean shapes the dealings of mankind assume. is a cheeseparing, close-fisted father who hoards like a miser, of more pecuniary value to a mother and child than an open-handed, great-hearted gentleman whose earnings during life flow for his household as unchecked and ungrudgingly as does the love he bears them ? if a man is born hasty and awkward, is always having accidents and hurting himself or his neighbors, no doubt his congenital defects will be allowed in the court of heaven, but his slips are not less troublesome to his neighbors than if they sprang from guilty neglect. when a proposition of law has once been fairly formu- lated and given, to turn about and couch it in a differ- ent and more learned phrase is but tending to create darkness, to obscure the issue by a too great wealth of words, as many leaves conceal the apple on the bough. to make a clerical mistake fatal, such a pen slip on appeal would be to let a mere pin prick of inadvertence hide the very right of the matter, even as the cloud the hebrew prophet saw, on the rim of the horizon, of the size of a man's hand, spread presently and shut out the sky. elevated and uniform justice could not be adminis- tered without rules. if there were no rules, we would be governed by men, not laws. the main thing is justice itself, the very right of the matter. the rules are only in aid of that main thing—the working tools whereby it is obtained. as far back as the trained eye of the student may pen- etrate the dimness which time spreads like a mist over the past, it would seem that mankind with one accord, has been fond of visible tokens, signs, and memorials proverbs - - command- ment exciting the memory and perpetuating evidence of con- tracts and covenants. to dangle a pardon for a thief before the eyes of his pardon low companions and friends, as an inducement for their votes at a public election, as one would hold out an ear of corn to an ox or ass to halter him, debauches public morals, hamstrings civic virtue, and militates against the best interests of society. in equity there is danger that advantages may be taken of the ignorant, the confiding and helpless by those who promise, reap performance, and then procrastinate, dally, and die without living up to the great command- ment of the law, to wit: to do just and right, and to render to every one his due. is there not a strong presumption, to be indulged in by seekers after truth, that a conclusion is right which has been arrived at by the trained minds of many just men in possession of all the facts and in full light of pos- sible reasoning (pro as well as con), and unreservedly acquiesced after re-examination ? there is an amusing delusion abroad in the land to the effect that guessing is a working tool in administering law. alas! how often must wisdom cry aloud in the streets and proclaim it from the housetops that the law is the perfection of reason? peradventure, if guesses were horses, every judge would gaily ride. much dissension in family matters in court, may be referred to that inflammation springing not infrequently in persons of a certain temperament and environment when the sweet milk of domestic love and felicity is felicity changed into the gall and bitterness of discord and angry strife over antagonistic claims to property. he was guilty of no error, he was charged with no ex- aggeration, he was betrayed by his fancy into no meta- phor, who once said that all we see about us, kings, lords, u proverbs and commons, the whole machinery of the state, all the apparatus apparatus of the system, and its workings, aid in simply bringing twelve good men into the jury box. where the weak, the illiterate, the confiding, the cred- ulous are opposed in a challenged contract to the strong, the educated, the reliant, and the shrewd, equity broods over the transaction with anxiety and watches it with vigilant and jealous eye to see that no unconscionable advantage is taken unintentionally, or results with in- tention. as well require a solemn allegation or proof that fish swim, or that birds fly, as to require allegation or proof that a going railroad corporation is doing what it is born to do, to wit: engage in interstate commerce, when the alluring gains of such traffic are spread like a feast be- fore its eager corporate eyes and nothing nigh to hinder. courts are a little inclined to take judicial notice that, barring a mild and (it may be) innocuous form of exag- exaggera geration in narrating personal exploits (noticed by close tion observers and shyly commented on now and then in pri- vate discourses), neither huntsmen nor fishermen are ad- dicted to the venal vice of fraud for gain in matters per- taining to their associated dealings. no mortal judge is allowed to be so incomparably re- condite and ready as to know all the law all the time. if he but know all the law some of the time, or some of the law all the time, or some of the law some of the time (thereby putting himself outside the class of those who know none of the law none of the time), he rises to a per- high- missible high-water mark of excellence. water · law, having to do with the practical, everyday affairs of mankind, should subserve the ends and purposes of good sense and broad justice, not those of mere logic, though, when the two go hand in hand, they are a help- hand- ful and pleasant pair of judicial handmaidens, and, per- maidens proverbs floodgate adventure, when they sit smiling, as they often do, on either side of a good judge at labor, he feels restful. where a plaintiff has been put in a perilous situation by a defendant, a court of justice moving on common sense lines, is not to quibble or niggle about the plain- tiff's conduct, and with speculative daintiness measure it by two or three pulse beats and construe it sourly and narrowly in order to relieve a defendant who negligently brought a situation about that would try the soul of any man. if the old channel of the law is to be quite changed by the application of a new doctrine automatically and with- out discrimination, if sentimental considerations (how- ever elevated and tender) are to usurp the place of cold and calm reason as the foundation for rules of law, then the floodgate now damming back liability will be raised, letting in strange and deep waters for the land owner to struggle with. slander merely falls upon the ear, and the agency of the wrongdoer in inflicting injury comes to an end when his utterance has died on the ear, but not so with libel, which may pass from hand to hand indefinitely, and may renew its youth, so to speak, as a defamation as long as defamation the libel itself remains in existence, and hatch a new crop of slanders, to be thrown hither and yon like this- tledown at its every sight. may not one with propriety (when the yeast of rad- ical novelty is working in judicial dough and one does not know what the loaf to be baked in the oven of events may be) take leave to recur to first principles and ob- serve, to wit: that the invention of a jury to weigh and determine the credit due to human testimony, and settle facts in doubt or dispute in a trial at law, is to be rightly taken as one of the splendid achievements of civilized man? proverbs jealous the wise rule in equity is that since the intimate rela- tion of husband and wife affords a convenient and often- used opportunity and vehicle for fraud on creditors, transactions between husband and wife in property mat- ters are to be scanned with jealous and discriminating eye by a chancellor when questioned by creditors, and the very marrow of the matter is to be searched to dis- cern the true intentment of the thing, to the end that it may be held good or bad as just equitable considerations point. compiler’s note.-if the reader wishes to refer to a case from which any excerpt comes, note the page of this book on which you may be reading, and then turn to the case index in the back of this volume, find that page number and opposite is the style of the case. wit, wisdom and philosophy jones bub, bill or buck mike angelo or opprobrious appellation. webster's international dic., tit. “nickname'. as such appellations they have no place in those judicial publications of notice by which courts acquire jurisdiction. otherwise we would have amelia jones notified by an order of publication directed to 'sis' jones; or william brown under the title of sis ‘bub' or 'bill' or 'buck' brown; or if the hypothesis be job indulged that the master sculptor and painter were master alive and so fortunate as to own his real estate in mis- sculptor souri, he would be brought in under the name of ‘mike' angelo; or winfield scott (in like hypothesis) under the name of 'fuss-and-feathers,' or 'hasty-plate-of-soup' scott, or thomas h. benton as ‘old bullion' benton. we cannot find it ever ruled by any respectable court that 'mike' is a universally known abbreviation of ‘michael'. we are asked to take judicial cognizance that it is a universally recognized equivalent of that name. we decline to do so. it is sometimes used flippantly to designate any one, as in the colloquialism, ‘sure mike,' or in another, 'are you mike?' or 'you think you're mike.' but this figurative and slangy use is too broad and proves too much. we are of the notion there is some- thing celtic about ‘mike'-a tang of flavor of the old sod—and that its usage among teutons is either malap- ropos, mythical, or scant. the name “michael ohlmann' is self-evidently german, and we have no call to judi- cially determine ‘mike'as applicable to a nationality not shown to have adopted its use at the fireside as part of the mother tongue. but we have pursued the matter far. we think the deed was void, because the reynolds circuit court never acquired jurisdiction over michael ohlmann.” agency “the doctrine of the law that forbids an agent to buy from or sell to himself is not necessarily based on the idea that such deal in dirt is (to speak colloquially) a deal in dirt wit, wisdom and philosophy eye single 'dirty' deal; that is to say, resulted in an injury to or a dirty fraud upon him. but is rather based on the idea of clos- deal ing the door to the temptation to commit fraud. it tends to keep the agent's eye single and clear to the rights and welfare of his principal. to allow one acting in the fiduciary relation of agent to buy from or sell to himself is a solecism in the realm of law; for the moral stamina moral of the average man is inadequate to preserve a fine glow care stamina of fidelity to his trust and confidential relation in such transaction, and the interdiction is enforced with a strong hand in courts of justice.” solecism fine glow matrimony ament solemn sanctions cance “matrimony is a status so vital to the welfare of the state and society that, in the laws of some civilized na- tions, it is a holy sacrament, and draws tenderness, holy beauty, health and vigor from the solemn sanctions of sacr religion itself. this is shadowed forth by our statute permitting marriage to be solemnized by ministers of the gospel. doubtless even those who stickle for the view that marriage is a mere civil contract, and not a whit senti. more, would hesitate to strip it of the sentimental sig- mental signifi- nificance of grounding it on or, more accurately speak- ing, solemnizing it by, religious rites as our present stat- ute allows. it was said of an old greek, whose name i have forgotten, that being shipwrecked, and swimming to an unknown shore, he presently discovered geomet- rical figures sketched upon the sand, whereat he fell upon his knees and thanked his gods that in his extrem- ity of fortune he had reached a land inhabited by greeks. “if such reasoning castaway had reached a land where there was no regulation of marriage by manners, maxims, customs, ordinances, and laws, he would have known by that token he had come to one of stark savagery or bar- stark savagery barism. the old roman maxim was that marriage ought " geomet- rical figures wit, wisdom and philosophy dreamers exploded notion to be free. ‘matrimonia debent esse libera.' the roman idea was broad enough to include voluntary divorces, with a voluntary right following voluntary divorce to take another wife—a loose application of the maxim ut- terly abhorrent to modern civilization as a whole—one now entertained only by those whimsical and inconse- inconse- quent quent dreamers, who, amusing themselves with theories Ør beyond the boundary of common sense, like dr. holmes' silly hen that often cackled when she laid no egg, cackle when they revamp some outworn and exploded notion, and dub it reform, progress, or whatnot.” in a suit to break a will the heirs were divided in their contentions as to the correct explanation of certain terms contained in the will; some claiming that the correct in- terpretation would be favorable to them while others de- nied that to be true, there also being accusations of fraud, the court wrote as follows: “this explanation, vague as it is, and itself crying for explanation, seems to have satisfied respondents; and, as they allowed the whole matter to sleep in the obscurity insoluble of insoluble mystery, we feel no call to disturb its slum- mystery bers ... to the contrary, in the light of the testimony, h. stands with clean hands, four-square to every wind of legal criticism that can legitimately blow, and altogether rectus in curia. so that the will cannot be upset on ac- count of fraud in its genesis.... he could neither read, write nor cipher, and the vicissitudes of married hostages life had been none the less dramatic because of his hum- to ble station, for he gave hostages to fortune by three mar- fortune riages, had issue by each, and betimes was sorely pinched by the shoe of matrimonial infelicity. ... it would be a startling infringement upon the innocent gaiety of mankind to determine judicially that reconteurs (of any degree) must repeat their favorite stories only under the impending danger of being finally adjudged not only guilty of intellectual staleness, but of actual imbicility clean hands matri- monial infelicity wit, wisdom and philosophy bowels of compas- sion and consequent testamentary incapacity, or an anxious grandfather may not call his truant grandson with an inflection of voice and a cadence of tone known to him to inflection of voice be effectual in producing the presence of the family watchdog without thereby furnishing legal evidence of mental aberation. and it would seem both novel and dangerous to announce from the bench the doctrine that, under no less a penalty than that of losing the right to dispose of one's property one may not tear his own or another's hair, or give notice as surety to a payee to sue, and afterwards have one's bowels of compassion moved into loaning the principal debtor money enough to pre- vent a distraint and sale on fi. fa.; or if, years after a testator has made his will, he inadvertently put on his pantaloons 'hindside before or the ills of life and the weight of four-score years cause him to lose his mental mental reckoning at intervals, or become at times distraught, the reckoning matter should be adjudged to tread back, and, by a sort of nunc pro tunc process overturn his testamentary dis- position of property. in fine, this court seems commit- ted to the proposition that where there is a will, there is not always a way—to break it.” in a case full of unusual expression coming from a judicial mind, we find the following: “when crusoe saw human footprints on the sands of juan fernandez and concluded therefrom that men had visited the isle, the soundness of his judgment is intu- itively and spontaneously allowed by his rational friends, school-boy or grown. so, here, when the act of stopping in response to a signal is conceived to be an act of human intelligence-footprints, so to speak—the conclusion that a motorman was present is irresistible and conclusive.” in defining the legal term “ordinary care” and im- pressing its legal significance, the court comments as fol- lows: “based on a self-evident premise, it may be, in a large foot- prints wit, wisdom and philosophy seared way, laid down that the sacredness, the dignity of human life is the master key in unlocking the problems of juris- prudence, the central fact in all law, human and divine, furnishing the crowning object of civilized government, and the essential purpose and need of the very existence of courts. liberty, property, and the pursuit of happi- ness are mere collateral off-shoots, all, to that parent stem-flowers blooming from that stalk. "far be from us the day when light indifference, a callousness born of the capricious needs of commerce, whereby the public conscience and sensibility may be public conscience seared as with a hot iron, allows that sacredness to be lowered or whittled away by the negligent omission of ordinary care.” speaking in reference to contracts with certain organ- izations that donated funds for the purpose of providing homes for old soldiers, sailors, etc., and with reference to the rights of the inmates to vote, an election being con- tested, in part on the ground that such votes were illegal votes, the court said: “the state of missouri made the contracts through a motive of patriotic duty and along lines of sentimental beauty. the state of missouri has shown no disposition to regret the contracts or repudiate them by the tithe of a hair and who shall, except under the prick and goad of unquestioned constitutional mandate, dam the current of its authority or put bounds to its disposition to be impe- rial in its affection? who shall weigh, as it were, with widow's goldsmith's scales the widow's mites that pass into the mites public chest and in return for which the state of mis- souri plighted the public faith by a public act solemnly agreed to maintain its soldiers, broken by misfortune in health and purse, and (what is more to the point) at the same time permit them to vote? if this thing is to be done, or can be done, it must be done in a case and upon issues where the parties to the contract are present in senti- mental beauty gold- smith's scales wit, wisdom and philosophy evening of days sickness of soul court and may be heard, either as litigants amici curiae, amici curiae and will not be done, ... contesting a county office in phelps county. the question of public expense' must, furthermore, be viewed in the light that a privi. lege of a home in the evening of their days, of a chimney chimney corner, of a hearthstone, and the right to vote, was corner bought and paid for with a great price by the inmates and their comrades in arms. who at this late day, in a piping time of peace will measure that price or care to bring it within the precision of the legal formula? these legal formula men and their comrades in arms, stalwart then, marched and countermarched, mined and countermined, dug, starved, froze, planned, dared and fought through four years of civil war under lee, johnson and stonewall jackson, under grant, sherman and logan. some of their comrades perished in battle, on the lone picket, on the long march, of wounds, in prisons by burning fever, by sickness of soul or by deadly miasma. the grave has since swallowed up many a gallant survivor, hurried un- hurried der the sod by the privations and exposure of war. it is under written: ‘and they bound him with thongs.' paul said unto the centurion that stood by, 'is it lawful for you to scourge a man that is a roman and uncondemned ?' when the centurion heard that, he went and told the chief captain, saying, "take heed what thou doest; for this man is a roman.' then the chief captain came and said unto him, 'tell me, art thou a roman?' and he said, ‘yea'. and the chief captain answered, “with a great sum i obtained this freedom.' and paul said, 'but i was free born.' whether freedom for a soldier to vote was obtained at a great price, or was an incident of being free born, in the case at bar, matters little.... nor do we care to split hairs over the question of which cause the inmates of these homes fought for, because it was written in the book of fate that the civil war had to come. was the union of the states indissoluble, or was free born book of fate wit, wisdom and philosophy mighty mother the smoke of war, you see him riding and fighting (in gray) with shelby or martin green or marching and fighting with price and cockrell, with parsons and mar- maduke, with bowen, little and gates; or you see him (in blue) marching and fighting with blair and phillips, crittenden and osterhaus, with lyon, sigel, guitar, loan, and hale. when he came home from the wars, his mighty mother, the state of missouri, with a great heart claimed him as her son, proud of his deeds, resolute to cherish his memory, magnanimous to forget his quarrel, tender to both uniforms, and mourning over dead, or war worn and desolate, confederate and federal. in this condition of things, we are told that the constitu- tional convention of so wrote the fundamental law that if the state found any of the old soldiers at the foot toot the hiii of the hill of life, stranded in health and empty of of life pocket, it could not give them a home or a fireside ex- cept at one and the same time it took from them the freeman's precious right to vote. “technicality may become a horse, which once astride and well ridden, will carry us wide of ultimate right. but no horse straddled by any court, could carry us far- ther away from the path of sound law than the horse of reading into the people's constitution by unnecessary construction the theory that missouri has disfranchised her veterans of the civil war, old, poor and infirm, but who are her honored guests at her own fireside on her own invitation.” in speaking of the unfortunate position into which a widow would be cast, by a harsh construction of a dower statute, the court wrote as follows: “it will be observed that every other widow is pro- vided for before this section is reached, except the one large and naturally to be expected class, to wit: mothers who have borne children by their deceased husbands—a class of widows deserving of nothing but exquisite gen- wit, wisdom and philosophy cap sheaf tleness and seemingly deference and bounty at the hands exquisite gentle of the law, human and divine. it is treason to better ness human nature, it seems to me, to suppose that legislation was passed intended to deal harshly with them or any of their kind. section , undertakes to put the cap sheaf on the statutory scheme, and to allow such widows to elect with reference to their dower. plaintiffs con- cede defendant's right to elect if her child ... had lived; but they say, in effect, that, when death robbed her of her only child, it also snatched away her right of snatched the away election, because she could no longer measure up to the statutory standard of having a child or children living' by m. if that be the law, then the law adds point to the sting of death—a pinch in the pocket dogging the heels of her calamitous stroke.” calami- tous stroke body and soul the sense of the law “from the judgment and the cause of it, the reader may observe that if it is not the words of the law, but the sense of it, that makes the law, and our law (like all others) consists of two parts, viz.: of body and soul; the letter of the law is the body of the law, and the sense and reason of the law is the soul of the law. ... and the law may be resembled to a nut, which has a nut shell and a kernel, and as you will be no better for the nut if you make use of only the shell, so you will receive no benefit by the law if you rely only upon the letter, and as the fruit and profit of the nut lie in the kernel, and not in the shell, so the fruit and profit of the law consists in the sense more than the letter. and it often happens that when you know the letter, you know not the sense, for sometimes the sense is more confined and contracted than the letter, and sometimes it is more large and extensive." fruit and profit wit, wisdom and philosophy dentist, diploma-examination by state board “it is manifest that no practical examination by a dental board could go quite so deep or be so searchingly broad in meaning as an honest, well-earned diploma of that sort. the law places its benediction on such a benedic- diploma, assigning it no trifling office, and public sen- timent tends to support that theory. the law says it may be received in evidence by the board as standing for all it is worth; and then the board by way of check and as capsheaf on the statutory scheme, may examine the applicant to see whether the seeds of information sown in his mind as a student fell by the wayside, or fell on stony ground, or had been lost by forgetfulness, as the seeds in the parable were devoured by the birds of the air.... we find no legal fault with the legis- lative theory that it was largely impractical for an ap- plicant to acquire in first instance suitable skill in technique and adequate professional knowledge by him- self or in an office ... that is to say a dentist shall not be examined or licensed who holds no college di- ploma or no certificate from another dental board is as unreasonable as to put up the bars to one who had grey eyes or red hair, or who stood, say, five feet eight inches in his socks—all restrictions of that ilk, it is ar. so gued, are whimsical, unreasonable, arbitrary, and hence plainly outside the legitimate province of legislative control, and void. ... we think not. if, peradven- ture, the law had actually put a ban on grey eyes or fiery locks; if it had required successful applicants to array themselves in highland costume and perform in a pleas- ing way on a bagpipe, or believe (without mental reser- bagpipe vation) in each of the five points of calvanism and pro- tective tariff, or chisel the aphrodite as cunningly as praxiteles, or submit a thesis on springing uses or the tion seeds of informa- tion red hair fiery locks aphrodito wit, wisdom and philosophy both rose to rather a high-water mark in that behalf- both were able to take care of themselves, and hence were not wards of chancery.". day writ large naked by lies in what is said by many to be one of the most un- usual of all these opinions the court wrote at length upon a real estate trade in which equity was called upon to right certain wrongs, in which a weaker had been “traded” out of a farm by the stronger. “now, the master, the broad-day-light fact in the broad case is, that plaintiffs were tricked out of their farm. fact even he who runs may read that overlapping fact writ large in the record. it was lost to them as effectually parth. as if an earthquake had swallowed it. so what they quake lost head got, the proverb running: 'it's an ill wind that blows nobody good.' the chancellor must have found they were stripped naked by lies they believed true. that the thing was done cannot be gainsaid; and the question resolves itself into another, viz.: can equity get relief? attending to that, there was evi- dence from which the chancellor could believe, and doubtless did believe, that head told them at their illinois home, in effect, pointing to their land with a hand flourish of his hand, that the soil of his farm in mis- souri was as good and as productive as theirs. what is fact and what is mere opinion is often a close ques- tion. the one easily shades off into the other, or is handmaiden to the other, but we make no question but the foregoing was a statement of fact. it amounts to, or is in the nature of, a sale by sample. the fact is that he knew of the productive qualities of both farms, plaintiffs did not know, and knew that representation to be a falsehood.... no one who ever ran a fur- row would take a representation of the absence of hard- pan as a mere conjecture of opinion. if facts are stub- born things, hardpan caps the climax and fills the bill. the truth was under the evidence, to head's knowl- he handrish irigh hand- maiden hard- pan wit, wisdom and philosophy great truth edge, his missouri farm had a thin soil underlaid with hardpan. it was a washed, neglected, rundown, and worn-out farm that had been in cultivation for fifty- six years, with no effort to build it up. . . . he grossly misrepresented the fruits on the farm; among other ways by saying that the cherry trees there pro- duced ‘wagon loads of cherries'-a great falsehood. in falsehood short if plaintiff's testimony is to be taken as true, head, in a long conversation descriptive of the farm, told no told them no truth whatever. there is another matter of significance, a most humiliating one, namely: shortly after his appearance at stonmets' home in illi- nois, it fell out that head discovered that plaintiffs were church people, interested in sunday schools and temperance work. observe what followed. was head interested in that line? precisely, and very much so. good v. in the great controversy of good v. evil (old, yet ever new) he was enlisted on the side of temperance, sun- day schools and churches. they had a good 'friendly chat about that.' they were warring in the same cause. we fear, we very much fear, that in all this mr. head, “'stole the livery of the court of heaven, court of heaven to serve the devil in,' to use the strong words of a gloomy writer, thereby weaving a net for his neighbor's feet. presently din- ner was announced, and head, having prior to that by the tone and thread of his discourse admitted his quali- pious fications for that pious office, was invited to say grace. looking fore and aft at the whole transaction, we have reason to remark that no doubt he said it as unc- tuously as the middle member of the firm of quirk, gammon, and snap would have done under like cir. cumstances. for what is the rule of construction on hypocrisy hypocrisy except, ‘by their fruits ye shall know them?'. ofico wit, wisdom and philosophy having eaten salt at their table (which creates an obligation even the arabs of the desert are said to re- spect), he assured them, on being anxiously pressed on his statements of fact about the farm, that he 'would not tell a lie for his farm,' or 'for the world.' oh, de- deceit ceit (we speak in judicial sadness), thy name is head! it is under such circumstances, and after worming his way into the esteem, and sowing seeds of confidence in the bosoms of these unsuspecting people, that this trade was made on head's representations. there is no call mince to mince words and speak daintily. the case calls for words plain speaking, and i pause long enough to say this in passing: it is said that one of the names of the evil father of one is that of the father of lies. in sacred annals lies there is preserved an incident of an evil spirit, pos- evil sibly said father of lies (but for this latter i do not spiri vouch), entering into a herd of swine, whereat the hogs destroyed themselves by rushing violently down a steep place. so head, because of the spirit that pos- sessed him and caused mischief, was decreed by the learned chancellor a fate somewhat similar. . . . we lay out of the case the mere glowing picture by way of argument and advice which mr. head painted to help accomplish his purpose, relating to future pros- prophecy pects, possibilities, and what might be done on the mis- and souri farm, all sounding in prophecy and conjecture, conjecture and hid away in the womb of the future. we confine womb of future ourselves to the representations of present fact made by head, that the lady relied on his statements is as clear as the noonday sun, and we think her husband did also, and that both had the right to do so. they were not in a position of perfect equality with head. as said, he knew all, and they, as to the facts within the representations complained of, knew only what he told them. he knew they did not know, and, what is more, knew they relied on him as a christian gentle- wit, wisdom and philosophy on role master passion man who posed in the george washington role of tell- gerge washing- ing no lies—especially about cherry trees. vide weem's tot life of washington. at root the object of all trading is gain. if no gain was allowed, there would be no in- centive to exchange of properties and little buying or selling. but when so much has been said, and it is further said that the doctrine of ‘let the buyer beware' must be reckoned with, and that simple general com. mendation is allowable as puffing and dealers' talk, yet puffing there is a boundary that may not be crossed. the vehemence of the master passion, gain, must be cooled and curbed by the law; for not only is the love of money the root of all evil' ( tim. vi. ), but another wise man, who summed up ultimate truths in grave and short sentences, saith thus : “"as the nail sticketh fast between the joinings of the stones, so doth sin stick close between buying and selling' (eccles. xxvii, ). “the law abhors fraud—a thing that generally has its root in falsehood, the suggestio falsi. ... fraud kaleido- is kaleidoscopic, infinite. fraud being infinite and tak- scopic ing on protean form at will, were courts to cramp them- selves by defining it with a hard and fast definition, their jurisdiction would be cunningly circumvented at once by new schemes beyond the definition. messieurs, curs, fraud- the fraud-feasors, would like nothing half so well as feasors for courts to say they would go thus far, and no further in its pursuit." in the various opinions written by this court touch- ing the many phases of litigation in which corporations were parties, some of the most interesting of all the data selected will be found. “as corporate bodies have no hands, but move, act, and think through... officers and agents, the gov- cunningly circum- vented wit, wisdom and philosophy _ __ _ _ _ his general thread engliga crippled life erning body or president of the corporation becomes the corporation itself. ... and this general prin- ciple runs through all cases like the marking red thread runs through the cordage of the english navy." “that corporations created to be the owners of pub- lic utilities should be born into a sham and crippled life, and that there seems to be a call for more adequate itching safe-guards against the itching temptation to circum- vent our corporation laws by falsehood, whereby the tion ancient plan for making gain by 'watering stock,' con- ceived by the shrewd old patriarch jacob in dealing with laban (gen. xxx, , et seq. q. c.), is parodied and brought to blush, may concern the legislative branch of the government, but cannot be remedied by the courts except in sporadic cases, where some relief may be ad- ministered if the facts allow." jacob laban soldiers corporate sin standard oil “like the man under authority, who has soldiers under him, a corporation says to one of its officers, 'go, and he goeth; to another, come and he cometh; and to its servant, do this, and he doeth it.' by virtue of such fetch and commands its officers fetch and carry. carry “the business life of the company in this jurisdiction would seem to show that it was born in original cor- porate sin, and begotten in corporate iniquity. the iniquity record shows that it was a rover, flying the flag of fair trade only as a decoy-wearing the livery of a fair trader to more easily and effectually strike down all fair trade in oils, and more effectually fasten the yoke of an odious monopoly upon the state. it is here today and gone tomorrow. it has no fixed business abode in missouri, and is not rooted in this state by any vested interest." “did these minority stockholders invoke the judicial odious monopoly wit, wisdom and philosophy aid in any court open to them to prevent the consum- mation of the unlawful purpose of the alleged wicked wicked majority open majority. not at all. did they ever give open cry to cry their protest, and call to their aid and force the whole- some public opinion ? no. did they refuse to take an even pro rata of the illicit, fabulous gains arising from the unlawful combination ? no. have they these gains in pocket now? yes. do they offer restitution ? no. when the corporation was sued in this proceeding, did these minority stockholders enter their appearance, or ask to have an appearance entered for them in order to protect their minority holdings by placing themselves rectus in rectus in curia ? no. in such condition of things we curia judicial are of the opinion that the minority stockholders are sympathy not objects of especial judicial sympathy, no more than empress maria theresa in a certain historical event. 'what,' asked one of frederick the great, 'was the attitude of the empress toward the partition of po- land?' 'she weeps,' dryly remarked frederick, 'but she takes her share.' until such time as to be written as a precept of law that the allowable way to it, or until alluring it be written in the law that the alluring enticement of entice- great gain forces the tempted one into doing an illegal ment act, and takes the edge from a willing participation in the illegal act (we are) not willing to extend such judi- cial sympathy.” “suits for libel against corporations shall be brought in the county in which the defendant is located, or in the county in which the plaintiff resides; and when suit is instituted in the county in which the plaintiff resides, summons may be issued to and served by the sheriff of the county in which the defendant is located. the new act is just to both defendant and plaintiff. it does not compel plaintiff to go to a distant county where the defendant is located to sue. it brings the corporate defendant to the home of the libeled party, where nat- wit, wisdom and philosophy beard the lion code of justinian urally the humiliation suffered is acutest, and the dam- age greatest. it permits the plaintiff to beard the lion in his den by seeking the corporate defendant at its home, if he choose. but it denies to the plaintiff the right to leave the homes of both and, as a ruse de guerre, ruse de guerre search out a forum to try the case where prejudice may insidiously lurk to run rampant against defendant." “it can never be amiss to remind ourselves that in a court of conscience a corporation, like a natural per- son, is required to live up to the great commandment of the law, viz.: to live honestly, not to injure another, to give each one his due. such was the doctrine of old ulpian, carried over into the code of justinian, and it is a very good rule of equity down to this day. cor- porations may libel, they may be guilty of malice, and (though without souls, yet) they must be held to have an ethical sense, and know the difference between mine "mine and and thine-or suffer for it. ... thino “ to crown all, as already said, the plan contem- plated (and this was held out to the transit stock- holders to toll them on to the corporate death of their company) that its old stockholders by a pro rata ex- change would escape any appreciable loss by swapping their stock of the railways company at the ratio of five to two. and that result was also attained practically. all these things were the natural and intended results of the tripartite agreement of the syndicate agreements at its foot, every one of which was interdependent and headed to the common predestined purpose, so outlined and consummated. it is not allowed to us under this record to hold that those contracts and results (as argued) were disconnected or independent of each other, so that the railways company held the gains ac- cruing to it by a clear and wholesome title acquired through third parties or by independent contracts. to, links in the contrary, these things were but links in a chain, and, chain corporate death wit, wisdom and philosophy nursery fable keeping in mind the dangling prize hung out to the transit stockholders to save themselves, it was here, as in the nursery fable (if we may borrow from so humble a source without lowering the dignity of our case), to- wit: 'the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite the pig, and so the pig jumped over the stile, and the old woman got home that night.'" adoption on the subject of adoption the court goes far into an- tiquity to be better able to compare with the "origin of things” the questions touching the rights of an adopted child. “adoption was unknown to the old common law of england. it was known to the roman law, was at- ceremonial tended with ceremonial dignity, and of deep meaning dignity and far reaching results—a notable historical example is by napton, j. ... 'whereby tiberius being the stepson and adopted son of augustus, his nephew, ger- manicus (adopted by tiberius at the command of aug. athenians ustus caesar), became the grandson of augustus him- spartans self.' ‘adoption ... was known to the athenians and spartans, as well as the romans and ancient ger- mans, and familiar to the writers of the new, if not the old, testament.' it seems to have taken root in egypt hebrew jurispru (exodus : ). paul, himself a lawyer profoundly in- dence structed in hebrew jurisprudence, assumed the doc- trine of adoption to be well known to his readers, and borrows the use of that doctrine as a hammer to clinch the nails driven by him on matters of faith. rom. : , q. v. the doctrine was not unknown to the babylon- ians—witness the code of hammurabi, compiled from and b. c. sections to , inclusive, of that code are curious and read as follows: wit, wisdom and philosophy sonship palace warder handicraft “sec. . if a man has taken a young child “from his waters” (like moses was taken, possibly by the daughter of pharaoh) to sonship, and has reared him up, no one has any claim against that nursling. nursling "sec. . if a man has taken a young child to sonship, and when he took him his father and mother rebelled, that nursling shall return to his father's house. “ 'sec. . the son of ner-se-ga, a palace warder, · vowed or the son of a vowed woman, no one has any claim 'woma upon him. sec. . if an artisan has taken a son to bring him up, and caused him to learn his handicraft, no one has any claim. .sec. . if he has not caused him to learn his handicraft, that nursling shall return to his father's house. .sec. . if a man, the child whom he took to his sonship and has brought him up, has not numbered him with his sons, that nursling shall return to his father's house. “sec. . if a man, after a young child whom he has taken to his sonship and brought him up, has made a house for himself and has acquired children, and has set his set his face to cut off the nursling, that child shall notº go his way, the father that has brought him up shall give to him from his goods one-third of his sonship, and he shall go off; from field, garden and house he shall not give him. "sec. . if a son of a palace warder, or of a vowed woman, to the father that brought him up, and the mother that brought him up, has said, “thou art cut out not my mother,” one shall cut out his tongue. tongue “sec. . if a son of a palace warder or a vowed woman, has known his father's house, and has hated his father that brought him up or the mother that brought him up, and has gone off to the house of his father, one shall tear out his eyes.' “adoption was also an incident of spanish law, was incorporated in the code napoleon, and from that code (or spanish law) found its way through louisiana and texas into statutes of their sister states. as shown by napton, j. . . . our statute was not directly bor- face field garden house tear out his eye wit, wisdom and philosophy law rious yst essence rowed from the roman law, and is therefore not at- roman tended with all the incidents of that law—one incident of which was that the adopted child took the full rights of a child in its new family and lost its birthrights, twilight of becoming a stranger and an alien in the family of its remotest origin. from the twilight of remotest time it was con- time sidered that the life of the flesh was in the blood.' lev. : , . blood was the mysterious essence of religious rites. the blood atonement, the blood tie, to have the same blood run in one's veins, to be bone of the bone, flesh of the flesh, were the essential elements of things earthly and spiritual. hence when the mingo chief exclaimed, “there runs not a single drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature' the picture savage of his savage desolation was made complete at one desolation stroke. nevertheless, it is pointed out by those schol- ars who have dug up the origin of things from the dust dust of the past of the past that the yoke of the blood tie, in this age or that, lay loosely on ancient peoples. it was shown that children might be lawfully exposed (devoted) to red hot death, fed to beasts, burned in the red hot bowels of bowels war idols, sacrificed to vows—witness the fate of jeph- thah's daughter and the fate of iphigenia, the child of agamemnon's loins—and vacancies were filled by trans- planting, or, to put it otherwise, grafting was allowed. . .. 'like a bud that has been cut from its natural natural stem and grafted into foreign tree, she grew into the stem family and became a part of its very life—everything that adoption contemplates and accomplishes.' that metaphor, chaste as a gem, does not mean, nor was it in- tended to mean that plaintiff passed current as an heir, stamp of made such by the mold and stamp of consanguinity. it consan- guinity means that, as between her and james lynn, she was given 'everything that adoption contemplates'—that and no more.... 'inheritance flows naturally with the blood.' . . . the bastard at common law was the wit, wisdom and philosophy child of nobody-nullius filius. he was a living ex- nullius filius ample of the exceedingly old and right bitter adage, doubted, as unfair, even when in use: "the fathers have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge.' jer. : , . he could not inherit from the father—he was unknown. the law branded the mother, figuratively, and sometimes actually, with a scarlet letter, and, to interdict the sin, denied inherit- able blood to the sinless child.” scarlet letter fraud “fraud is rarely ever susceptible of positive proof, cry aloud for the obvious reason that it does not cry aloud in the streets, nor proclaim its iniquitous purposes from the house tops. its vermiculations are chiefly traceable by a studious 'covered tracks and studious concealments.' indeed, conceal- fraud is as illusive as the wind, of which it is said, “the ments wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth,' and its investigation of necessity needs scope and a somewhat free rein.” “for instance, if b wants oats, and a shows b an open sack of beans (both a and b being sui juris, and not knowing beans when the bag is open), and a tells b they are oats, b ought not to complain when he buys the sack because he gets beans. “if one voluntarily shuts his eyes when to open them is to see, such a one is guilty of an act of folly (in deal- ing at arm's length with another) to his own injury; and the affairs of men could not go on if courts were being called upon to rip up transactions of that sort. “a vendee is held to know what his own eyes would disclose, and, knowing, could not be deceived. but wilful deception when an element of wilful deception leads up to a transaction, the whole situation changes. take a very wit, wisdom and philosophy amasa old case put in a well-authenticated record: 'joab said to amasa, art thou in health, my brother? and joab took amasa by the beard with the right hand to joab kiss him. but amasa took no heed of the sword that was in joab's hand : so he smote him therewith in the fifth rib, and shed out his bowels to the ground, and struck him not again; and he died. in that case was amasa blamed for being deceived by the usual sign of the oriental, friendly salutation, tho a fighting sol- dier held sword in hand? and, generally speaking, until there be written into the law some precept or rule to the effect that the heart of man is as prone to wick- edness as is the smoke to go upward, and that everyone thief and must deal with his fellowman as if he were a thief and robber a robber, it ought not to be held that trust cannot be put in a positive assertion of a material fact, known to the speaker and unknown to the hearer, and intended to be relied on.” “fraud is commonly deeply hid away. often it can only be got at by inference. it is scarcely ever proved blows no by admission; for it blows no trumpet. one cannot put "t trumpet his finger on it and say, 'lo, here it is!'or, ‘there it is !’-palpable to the touch. but it is got at by follow- ing its tracks from results back to the inception of the affair or from the inception of the affair forward to re- jealous sults. to that end courts are full of solicitude, and and anxious look well with a jealous and anxious eye. therefore eye they permit a minute search and a wide one in pursuit of fraud; for it may now and then be seen through a small crevice, and seemingly indifferent things, without sinister significance when taken separately, may, when dove-tailed properly dove-tailed together, establish fraud. ... nevertheless actual fraud is a malevolent and wilful act. the difficulty of proving it does not dispense with the necessity of proof. it must not be deduced from mere innuendo suspicion. it is not proved by insinuation and innuendo. her wit, wisdom and philosophy mankind it is never given body and form by mere presumption. so that, where one of the two views is open, ... the one noble and the other ignoble, courts of justice out of tenderness to humanity will not belittle mankind belittle by taking the ignoble rather than the noble view.” “it is a hornbook proposition that under given con- dition courts treat inadequacy of consideration as a badge of fraud, when they are in its pursuit; and when a $ farm is levied upon by the state for the sole purpose of paying taxes against it and passes to a bagatelle stranger at a tax sale for a bagatelle too small to even pay a few dollars cost, leaving the sovereign state to whose use the taxes were levied, and lien enforced, and the sale made, “to hold the sack' (if we may use a snipe snipe hunting simile), what is it, if not an arrant fraud-a hunting trick on the state, and a trick on the land owner? in common honesty, looking to the good sense of the thing, what innocence can be in such a purchaser? does he tainted not hold a tainted title, subject to be set aside either at title the instance of the state whose revenues are defrauded, or at the instance of the land owner whose property was taken by solemn mummery? now, what has equity solemn mummery to do with such a situation? is its arm too short to reach it, or too weak to deal with it? will a court search it out and find it, see its iniquity and then (o! lame most lame and impotent conclusion !) leave it be, refuse conclusion to meddle with it? give no remedy? if such be the law, then, i submit, the law writes itself down, as dog- berry wanted, viz. :- ; but no matter about that. the dogberry all and all of the law is to provide a remedy for wrongs when found; not to really turn its face to the wall. otherwise, our faith in the law is vain. i know of no authority or reasoning leading up to such absurd con- droll reasoning clusion, unless it be the droll reasoning of the immortal street lecture on official duties delivered by said dog- berry, years gone, to the police of messina. what wit, wisdom and philosophy says the learned reporter anent this lecture in the form of suggestion, a question and answer? (vide: much ado about nothing, act , sc. ). if there was no other way out of it, we should toe the mark and hold toe the mark that the inadequacy and consideration in this case was so gross and manifest as to shock the moral sense, turn topsy- the right and wrong topsy-turvy, make opera bouffe of turvy justice, and avoid the deed so long as the title stands in the purchaser at the sale. if there was an innocent sub- vendee other questions would arise.” “it is old and seasoned learning that, as the laws of men presumably are founded on natural justice and reason, courts search as with a lighted candle for the reason of the law, and, when found, put it as a part of the law itself. mindful of that end the underlying reason of the main exception to the statute of frauds (an ex- ception invoked by plaintiff, and upon which he must stand or fall) is universally allowed to be that a statute leveled against fraud ought not to apply to a case where to apply it would work a fraud—thus accomplish- shameful ing judicially the shameful thing the law was intended thing to prevent others from accomplishing. if the law were made to fill that bad office because of courts sticking in the bark, it might be likened to that anomalous person of whom it was spoken: ‘his honor, rooted in dishonor stood; and faith, unfaithful, kept him falsely true.' “to avoid such abhorrent result, equity steps in (not discerning to destroy the law, but) to fulfill the law by discerning the soul the soul of it and enforcing its purpose. in expounding the statute of frauds, stress is frequently laid on its office in shutting the door to the danger of perjury in suits to perform parol land contracts in specie. but, peradventure, the intentment of the statute goes fur- frailties ther, connecting itself with mere frailties of memory. of memory wit, wisdom and philosophy flag sociation, are in turn laid bare and defined in no un- certain terms. “down to this day kuhlman stood under the flag of insolvency and claimed the protection and immunities peculiar to its folds. never since has he carried any real estate in his name. his choses in action then or since existing, if any, disappear as any part of his as- sets, and if they reappear at all they do so apparently as part and parcel of hers. so that he then became and ever since remained independently poor as to his cred- itors, beggared as to them to all outside appearances, and without a particle of visible property subject to legal process. it sufficiently appears, also, that if his complaining creditors have any remedy it is in equity. whether such remedy exists depends on conclusions to be drawn from a close and discriminating judicial judicial scrutiny scrutiny of the scheme whereby (he) filled the alleged office of agent for his wife and she in turn became ap- parent owner of all he had including his then business with all and singular its after earnings and gains for the ten years between and the date of the trial. attending to that phase of the case, the facts are these : kuhlman, odd years old, has been for years— that is since his majority and arrival in this country- a horse trader. while his headquarters (barring a short interval) were in st. louis, he was peripatetical and at spells plied his calling now and then in other towns of that region. twice married, kuhlman during his first wife's lifetime did business in his own name. she died having before her death conveyed a property on sarah street in st. louis to him. presently he mar- ried defendant, lillian, aged . from years of age up to her marriage, lillian worked as a domestic on wages. her mother was a widow living in apartments in the second story of a tenement house. if this widow had any property worth while its source is shadowy, wit, wisdom and philosophy windfall and it consisted in money kept concealed by her in those apartments. her family were lillian, an elder sister (also working out as a domestic) and a brother working on wages, since dead. we gather that the family was supported by the labor of the children and by sewing the widow took in. after the widow ceased to keep house, as she did presently, she lived with her eldest daughter who had married, paying nothing for board or lodging till she died. two days after christ- mas, , her daughter, lillian, married kuhlman. appellants introduced testimony tending to show that kuhlman's fortunes at that time were at low ebb, that a few days after the marriage lillian's widowed mother, strongly impressed with her new son-in-law's ability as a horse dealer, produced from some hidden source $ and presented it to him to go on in the horse trading line. the theory of appellants is that this wind- fall of $ became kuhlman's subsequent capital in trade as agent for his wife, and there is testimony tend- ing to show on their behalf that she then put this pres- ent of money in an iron safe in the house and safely snug bug kept it there snug as a bug in a rug for over a year, when she deposited it to her name in the bank on the th day of december, . a bank deposit was in evidence for that date for that amount to her credit. we shall recur to this bank deposit later. it has weighty matter in it, and on the ownership of that deposit this case turns on a pivot. there is more testimony on that behalf presently to be considered. there is testimony also tending to show that at once after the marriage an arrangement was made between kuhlman and his wife whereby he should ply his calling as a horse trader as the agent of his wife and a sign was put up at their place of business, reading: 'h. h. kuhlman, horses bought and sold, agt.' from the time of that mar- riage onward he so ran the business. no bank account rug turns on pivot wit, wisdom and philosophy land paid boot condition of things: before his second marriage kuhl- man traded his sarah street property for a farm of acres in pulaski county and $ in cash to boot, in february, . there is an effort to show that this land was “turkey land'-i. e., of little value. but from turkey what follows it is apparent that we need make no fur- ther investigation or finding on the worth of that farm for it is not a vital issue in this case. on the th day of may, , for an expressed consideration of $ , , kuhlman and his codefendant, his present wife, con- veyed that land to one adolph mast, a butcher in st. louis. the transaction was not an out-and-out sale for cash, but a swap of property by kuhlman and mast. thereby mast traded to kuhlman for his farm in pu- laski county the madison tract in question and paid boot—the title to the madison tract as said being taken in the name of lillian kuhlman. as a part of that trade kuhlman got a grocery store in st. louis va- riously estimated at worth from $ to $ . this grocery store he also turned over to his wife. as we understand the record mast assumed and paid a se- cured debt on the pulaski farm of $ , and gave kuhl- man a note for $ , secured by a deed of trust on the pulaski farm, which note he afterward paid to him in- dividually on december , . in turn the kuhl- mans assumed a building and loan association debt of $ on the madison tract which kuhlman subsequently paid out of the income of the horse trading business in two installments by checks drawn as indicated here- tofore. afterwards in the kuhlmans borrowed $ on the madison tract. so much for the madison tract. it will be observed as of significance that the date of the mast payment to herman kuhlman of the $ note, a balance due him on the pulaski farm coin- cides precisely with the date of the beginning of the bank account, on the $ item of which appellants rely wit, wisdom and philosophy olden nature is that which god at the time of creation of the nature of man infused into his heart for his preserva- tion and direction; and this lex asterna, the moral law, called also the law of nature. and by this law, written with the finger of god in the heart of man, were the people of god a long time governed, before the law was moses written by moses, who was the first reporter or writer of law in the world.' the laws of men recognize the paramount office of the laws of nature in that regard, thereto ample authority might be cited if there was need of it. nor whatever the doctrine of olden times times or in other climes, does our modern law make a debtor a slave or serf of his creditor, bound to him as such serf cable tow, or slave by either a legal cable tow or silken thread.' silken thread thereto the rule in equity agrees.... “to compel men to work for their creditors who may perversely pre- fer to work for the benefit of their wives and children, and leave honest debts unpaid.' that pronouncement is the law of this jurisdiction. ... but the foregoing generalizations go with a grain of salt; for the moral grain of salt law, recognized by the statutes which lays once for all upon the husband and father the inalienable, paramount and abiding duty to support wife and child, must not be used as a mere cover for fraud against creditors. when fraud comes in at the door all contrivances to consum- mate it fly out at the window in chancery. such use of a moral law is but to pollute a chaste hand, and a hand once chaste but now polluted, pollutes the gift it fetches. such use perverts an abstract pious purpose into a con- crete iniquitous device. the wise rule in equity is that since the intimate relation of husband and wife affords a convenient and often used opportunity and vehicle for fraud on creditors, transactions between husband and wife in property matters are to be scanned with a jealous discrimi- and discriminating eye by a chancellor when questioned nating eye by creditors and the very marrow of the matter is to be wit, wisdom and philosophy searched to discern the true intentment of the thing, to the end that it may be held good or bad as just equit- able considerations point. ... moreover, the con- tention comes with ill grace in this case; for it amounts ill grace to an attempt to escape a charge of fraud on creditors by confessing a fraud on the children of the first wife. dark blot (thereby blotting out a dark blot with a black one.) (thereby blotting out a dark . i . equity looks to the substance and not to form. the question is on one hand: did kuhlman deal as a horse trader on his own capital? if on his wife's he may act as her agent for she has an estate to preserve and manage. the gains are hers; hence the cass tract purchased by those gains are hers. but if he dealt on his own capital, there is no room for agency. his pos- ing as an agent under such circumstances is to be brushed aside as a cobweb of sham and pretense. in cobweb equity it furnishes no protection to either. we think it trick and clear under this record that the claim of agency is a subter trick and subterfuge, that kuhlman is the owner of the fuge capital embarked in his business, and as such owner the gains were his, ergo the cass tract is his. certainly she cannot hold that tract as against his creditors. unless she paid the consideration she stands charged in equity with a trust in his favor, she is seized to his use, and such equitable title is wide open to his creditors.... under the contradictions, evasions and peculiarities in the testimony of kuhlman and his wife, it would have bold been a bold chancellor who would find in her favor on chancellor that issue. it seems on her theory her husband was shy of money at the outset for his business. by that whip and token he was under the whip and spur of need. why, spur then, was it laid away, kept for a year from him, and finally put to his credit the very day he got $ of his own? we conclude, as the chancellor below did, that kuhlman was doing business as a horse trader on his own money. his course of business for years lends wit, wisdom and philosophy color to that conclusion. the testimony shows she knew nothing about horse trading. we are inclined to take judicial notice of the fact that the traditional guile and adroitness of horse trading are of the masculine gender, line mendor horse , trading and might well result in the guile and adroitness of the masculine scheme disclosed by this record. moreover, where could occupation plaintiffs go except to equity for full and rounded re- lief against frauds whereby the legal title to kuhlman's real estate is held in the name of his codefendant? they certainly were not obliged to issue fi. fa., sell under their judgments, and thereafter knock at the door of equity for relief. as they had to end in equity, they might as well begin in equity.” knock at door fraud–ballot box dum fervet opus “i concur in all either said or decided in the prin- cipal opinion, and add a few observations, dum fervet opus. the cases overruled were by no means intended sanctuary to make a sanctuary for fraud, but as pointed out .. for fraud they resulted that way. by lifting high the secrecy of the ballot and putting it on a pinnacle as the very be- all and end-all of the law, by so interpreting the law that secrecy becomes the central and controlling thought in our election laws, the vital matter of the chastity and integrity of the ballot was lowered away and made of mere secondary moment. as, if, withal it was more precious to a free citizen to have for whom he voted kept secret, than to have his vote counted at all, or counted as cast. it is a wise precept of the law, every- where allowed as true, that the greatest incitement to guilt is the hope of sinning with impunity. that pre- cept, it seems to me, was ignored in the cases overruled. to do just and right is the chief commandment of the law. that great commandment was laid out of view, it seems to me, in those cases. when this court adopted sinning with impunity wit, wisdom and philosophy puzzle- headed the new view that fraud could worm itself into and find a sanctuary in the ballot box, that the ballot box could be nailed up with its possible abominable secret of fraud abominable secret safely hid away in its bowels, we thereby unintentionally put a barrier, not to be overleaped, in the way of prov- ing fraud in election contests. whereby the law, which abhors fraud, which delights to follow it relentlessly, high and low, and snatch away its fruits from its doors, which thereunto permits a wide and minute search for it, which is fond of declaring that it vitiates everything polluted by its dirty hands, supinely permitted itself to stand baffled, helpless, puzzle-headed and paralyzed before fraud in the ballot box. messieurs, the assassins of the ballot, might well smile when they awoke to that view of it. not only so, but to protect the mere secrecy of the ballot, an anomalous and dangerous ingenuity of device sprang up. ... as if enormous temptations did not dog the footsteps of secret power! as if the secret power trial judge could trust the county clerk with the secrets of the ballot, and could not trust himself or the attor- neys, officers of his court. ... the opinion of our brother opens the door to a full search for fraud, and that is right. it leaves contestants to carry the burden of the charges of fraud they make in their petitions, and that is right, too. it leaves to us to see whether, when the proof is all in, the justice of the case is with contestants or contestees, and such result is also right." “a virile and scholarly law writer, with a knack of independent thinking, has rescued from the superim- posed dust of years some wise observations of mr. jus- tice grier anent fraud, made to a jury, which we deem is not space misapplied to reproduce as live verities in verities in philosophy and law (that writer terms those objections no philosophy 'prophylactic' and we think they are) viz.: ‘every hon- est mind hates it, and even those who practice it them- selves will join in the denunciation of it. it makes them super- imposed dust wit, wisdom and philosophy virtuous indigna- tion te feel virtuous for the time, and they are the most ready, from the arguments of conscience, from judging others by themselves, to believe it true, and inveigh most loudly against it. when the clamor of fraud is raised in a community, or when it is confidently charged by coun- sel in a court we are prone to see all facts through a false medium, which magnifies the importance of every fact upon which suspicion of fraud may be raised, and ignore the plainest inference against it. in the midst of our virtuous indignation against fraud, we first as- sume it has been committed, and then seek for argu- ments to confirm, not our judgments, but our prejudice. 'trifles, light as air,' then become 'strong as proofs of light holy writ.' circumstances which to an unprejudiced as air mind are just as compatible with innocence as guilt, which at best could only raise a suspicion, are set down as conclusive evidence of crime. those who sit in judg- ment over men's rights whether as courts or jurors, should beware of this natural weakness to which we are almost all ... subject. we all fancy ourselves wiser than, perhaps, others are willing to give us credit for. this feeling is gratified by what we believe to be superior sagacity. rogues may be cunning, but they cannot deceive us. under this satisfactory belief we become over-astute, and often see that which is not to be seen. we suffer our imaginations to take the rein from our judgments, and rush headlong in this chase after the fox called fraud. circumstances which should fox called avail for the proof of fraud are such only as are in- fraud consistent with a contrary view of the transaction, and lead irresistibly to that conclusion.'” on the subject of divorcement in what follows the court has gone back. far enough to suit the most in- quisitive. the court also has some interesting things to say about the “art” of guessing in connection with deciding questions of law. superior sagacity wit, wisdom and philosophy could 'put away his wife' under the oldest code in the world, that of hammurabi, b. c. - , et seq. in that code there was a rudimentary regulation in re- gard to the return of the wife’s ‘dowry' if she was put away, and, if she brought no dowry, he was to give her 'one mina of silver for a divorce.' sec. . (nota bene: one mina of silver equaled shekels; and one shekel / cents, from which the cost of a divorce in babylon ... may be figured by the curi- ous—if worth while.) “the duty of a husband to give his wife a ‘writing of divorcement when he put her away seems to have been understood as an ancient jewish custom by a mere ref- erence to the fact. matt. : ; matt. : , et seq. ; luke : ; cor. : - . in one of these references the right to put away the wife is said to have been al- lowed by moses because of the ‘hardness of your hearts.' the same right gentlemen had, to wit: that of putting away their wives, obtained in the pagan roman em- pire; but it seems also that the world had progressed to the point where it conceded the right to ladies too. they could 'put away' their husbands; the divorce be- ing 'pretty much at the pleasure of either of the par- ties.' does not everyone know that the greatest of roman orators put terentia, his wife, away and gave tightened her a divorcement, because she tightened her purse purse strings on his call for money (she being rich and frugal and he somewhat of a spendthrift with elegant tastes) ? we dismiss this bit of old gossip with the suggestion that when cicero's head was nailed to the rostra by anthony and fluvia, said anthony's wife thrust a hair- pin through his dead tongue, we do not know that the feminine thrust was because of his treatment of teren- tia (for fluvia, as former widow of claudius, had pri- vate grievances of her own against his tongue); but we do know that there was even then a public sentiment old gossip wit, wisdom and philosophy public against a divorce by the act of the husband, a public flux of sentiment which, crystallizing in the flux of time into time law, centuries ago made a divorcement no longer a pri- vate rescision of a contract, but the solemn judgment of a court on a status involving social order and public morals. it is too far a cry to go back to deuteronomy p morals and exploded conditions for proof that the word 'di- vorcement involves the affirmative action of the hus- band. its form is a little unusual, but its meaning is self-evident. it is plain enough that when either party gets a divorce both are divorced, and the status exist- ing after the separation is a divorcement, and properly termed such. in that sense it is as much his as hers. it is argued that we should read into the statute the idea of innocence in husband and guilt in the wife, before the husband should be rewarded by the right to change the beneficiary in a policy on his life, taken and kept up by him. one answer to that is that the lawmaker one stroke could have said so with one stroke of his pen and did not make that stroke. why should we do for him what he declined to do for himself, when our function is to interpret and declare and not make the law? another answer is that, when a law is plain and unambiguous in terms, we are not allowed to vary, enlarge, or reduce it because of speculative theories of our own. “ita lex scripta est,' is the maxim in that behalf. a plain and unambiguous statute stands on its own reason, and this is a statute of that character. if, however, we were put to it to assign reasons for the statute, more than one suggest themselves. for instance, speaking to support, in the statute on divorce is ample provision for the al- lowance of alimony out of the husband's estate in ac- cordance with the means of the guilty husband to give and the right of the innocent wife to receive. more- over would not a sufficient reason for not interpreting the statute in accordance with appellant's view, be, w it, wisdom and philosophy such accumulations by cashing in their policies, and this in addition to alimony? we cannot abrogate or alter provisions of law on such fanciful hypotheses. we have pursued the matter further than intended.” ... “it must be held that when the divorce went against her, by that token her right to support as a wife during the marriage as well as all right to dower or any other provision in the event she became his widow, ceased. as to . i. (him) ... she by that event, became as a stranger, no more, no less. true, he and she could become reconciled and remarry. that is as you like it. but, when they did so, it was pre- as you like it cisely the same in the eye of the law as if they had never been married to each other before. it will not do in some mystic way to link the second marriage with the first so as to carry over her rights under the first to the dead coal second. the dead coal of her lost marital rights could not be set ablaze by any new flame of love, as a matter of law. as to her, old things had passed away and all things had become new. we know of no principle of law permitting that to be done, and industrious coun- . sel have cited us to no case deciding it may be done. “that d. for a long time drank too heavily for his john sons' good, and this during the lifetime of his first wife, if barley- as well as during both his marriage ventures with plain- tiff, is abundantly shown, but it is not satisfactorily shown that the use of liquor lowered his will power. to the contrary, it appears that in (or out of) liquor he was dogmatic, stubborn, heady, and pragmatical to a degree. on this behalf we take the credible testi- mony pertinent to the concrete case as we find it, es- chewing the generalizations and theorizing of the wit- nesses. to theorize on the effect of the use of whiskey will on the will power of man generally depends too much on the extent of the use; the individual man (and, it corn power wit, wisdom and philosophy may be, the quality of the liquor) to be of value in de- ciding this case. the case cannot be permitted to break on a philosophical view of some moot point in physiol- ogy or psychology. peradventure drinking makes some men surly, ugly, unaccommodating, and obstinate; drink since some mellow, merry, and yielding; some vivacious and witty; some stupid and sodden; and since the days of noah noah to this very day, all men the worse off in the long run. proverbs, xxiii, , , , , q. v.” . the court wrote many opinions on the subject of libel, a subject on which in that state there seems to be much diversity of opinion also no dearth of opinion. “the enormity and irreparable character of the in- jury and wrong done plaintiff may be best illustrated by a story i once heard or read, which was substan- tially as follows: a penitent went to her priest and asked forgiveness of her sins. among others, which was burdening her heart and tormenting her soul, was a slanderous charge she had falsely and maliciously made and put in circulation regarding one of her neighbor women. after repeating it to her priest, he hesitated but finally said to her, “you have committed a very grievous sin,' and requested her to go away and return on the morrow, and he would then see what he could do for her. on the morrow she returned, and he met her at the churchyard gate with a goose in his hands, goose and he commanded her to pluck the feathers therefrom and cast them to the winds. she obeyed, and after do- ing so, she again prayed his forgiveness, but instead of doing so, he said to her: 'first go out into the high- ways and hedges and gather up all the feathers you plucked from the goose and cast to the winds, and bring them to me and replace them upon the goose, and when you have done so i will intercede for the remission of your sins. upon hearing these words fall from his grievous sin wit, wisdom and philosophy lips her heart was filled with sadness, and she said to . him that it would be impossible for her to find and gather together all of the feathers, for the wind had scattered them to the four quarters of the earth, and that she could not replace them all, though found by her. he then said to her, ‘my sister, so is it with your slanderous slanderous words; you plucked them from an evil heart words and put them in circulation, and the wings of gossip have carried them to the four quarters of my parish, and it is impossible for you to recall them, or to re- move the stain you have placed upon the reputation and fair name of your neighbor.' the same is true of the case at bar. the defendant cannot recall the hun- dreds of thousands of libelous words and articles it ma- liciously scattered throughout the state of missouri, the united states, and through foreign countries, regard- ing the plaintiff ; nor can it remove the blot it painted upon the good name and reputation of the plaintiff. all it can do is to pay him dollars and cents for the dam- ages he sustained in consequence thereof. counsel for defendant do not seem to realize the enormity of the wrong done by their client or the magnitude of the damages inflicted thereby upon plaintiff. without profit, but with malice, it put in operation the power- venomous ful machinery by which its venomous words were words sounded and echoed around the world, withering, blight- vulnerable ing, and blackening his good name and fame—the most armor. valuable yet the most vulnerable armor of the man, when assailed by the public press. no man or woman is capable of withstanding its dreadful fire and on- slaughts. he, who, perhaps, drank deeper from the fountain of human nature, and who therefore better understood the weakness of man, in writing upon this subject poured forth in immortal lines the value of a good name as compared with money. he said: wit, w is dom and philosophy ""good name in man and woman, dear my lord, is the immediate jewel of their souls. who steals my purse steals trash ; 'tis something —nothing; 'twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- sands; but he who filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed.'” itching palm “the situation presented is unusual and challenges a close a close eye. here was a controversy between an indi bye vidual and a newspaper of high standing and great in- fluence—the individual asserting he had been libeled, that he had been falsely charged in divers specifica- tions bristling with details with having an itching palm, a vendible honor, and other earmarks of gross vendible moral turpitude, and that such false charges were bla- honor zoned abroad in its news columns and read at the fire- side of a hundred thousand homes. accordingly he goes into a court of justice with his complaint. he is met with an answer admitting the publication, but averring the charges are true. not only so, but the answer pleaded new matter by way of mitigation which rubbed in the poison, or drove home the barb of the libel. if the things alleged to have been done and said by m. were well laid at his door, then indeed instead of being a public man of sincerity, he was a sort of peck- sniff-one of a class of canting hypocrites "'who stole the livery of the court of heaven, to serve the devil in, dead -a mère whitened sepulcher full of dead men's men's bones.'" barb of libel “in libel every tub stands on its own bottom. libel wit, wisdom and philosophy is the brightest jewel in the crown of the law to seek crown of the law and maintain the golden mean between defamation, on one hand, and a healthy and robust right of free public discussion, on the other." "libel cases are sui generis, in that the gist of ... (the) libel act, imbedded in our constitution leaves to the jury the issue of libel or no libel; and from this cer- tain peculiar results logically flow and are recognized by two the courts, to-wit, that a defendant in a libel suit has two strings to strings to his bow, the one the jury and the other the his bow court, whereas the plaintiff has but one, and if he suc- ceed, must win a verdict from the jury. stated in a different way, if the defendant can get either the court or jury to be in his favor, he succeeds while the prose- cutor or plaintiff cannot succeed unless he gets both the court and the jury to decide for him. from this condi- tion of things it further follows that the court may direct a non-suit, but cannot coerce a verdict for the plaintiff.' “so, too, an oral charge merely falls upon the ear, and the agency of the wrongdoer in inflicting injury comes to an end when his utterance has died on the ear, but not so with the written or printed charge, which may pass from hand to hand indefinitely, and may renew its youth youth, so to speak, as a defamation as long as the libel itself remains in existence, and hatch a new crop of " new crop slanders, to be thrown hither and yon like thistledown at every sight of the libel, so that a printed slander, when published, takes a wider and more mischievous range than a mere oral defamation, and is more reprehensible in the eye of the law." in another libel case in which a newspaper made se- vere allegations of inducements alleged to have been made, by a candidate for election, to the colored voters of a community to procure their votes, the court wrote as follows: renew its iatch a wit, wisdom and philosophy “to dangle a pardon for a thief before the eyes of the low companions and friends of the thief as an induce- ment for their votes at a public election, as one would hold out an ear of corn to an ox or ass to halter him, or take part directly or indirectly in such disreputable del hamstrings scheme, debauches public morals, hamstrings civic vir- public civic tue, and militates against the best interest of society. m morals virtue it is a palpably dishonorable breach of good citizenship. to be falsely charged with doing this libelous thing, calls on defendant to either justify, palliate, mitigate, or bring itself within some phase of the doctrine of privi. lege, or, failing, make just reparation. there are many technicalities and niceties in the law of libel and slander involving the offices of inducements, innuendoes, collo- quiums, and nice shading in the definition of terms. the subject matter is tender, society is not organized on an ideal basis, men are not perfect and the law doing the best it can, seeks practical and obtainable results, keep- ing in mind not only the rights of the individual man but the good of society at large. he would be a bold judge who would say that some of the learning is not incompre- hensible, or that there is not much discord in the cases. it seems settled that each case should stand on its own facts, since the language used is rarely the same. such is the rule in the kindred matter of interpreting wills. libel is as difficult of definition as fraud or negligence. there are many pointed ones in the books, but all of them are necessarily couched in general language.” the subject of negligence in legal exposition has called from this judge varied and multiple expressions and it is under this title that some of his most famous utterances have been made. and in the definition of this important principle of the law came the opinion in the case called the “celebrated mule case.” “if a man, says justice holmes, 'is born hasty and wit, wisdom and philosophy awkward, is always having accidents and hurting him- self or his neighbors, no doubt his congenital defects will be allowed in the court of heaven, but his slips are not less troublesome to his neighbors than if they sprang from guilty neglect. his neighbors accordingly require him at his proper peril to come up to their standard and the courts which they establish decline to take his per- sonal equation into account.' 'verily, due care is the procrustean bed of the law all must lie on, nolens vol- ens.'" “take another phase in the application of the law of negligence to crossing accidents, to-wit, that of the train's stopping or slacking its speed in order to save an exposed person from death or injury. it is no longer necessary to cite authority for the proposition that, when a person is exposed to imminent peril on a street or at a public crossing, then those who control the threatening oncoming instrumentality, and who see him, or who by due care might see him, in danger, must use care to avert his injury by stopping, if stopping is possible with the means at hand and safely usable. the master voice of humanity cries out for so much as that, and the law, an invention for the welfare of man, knows its master's voice and heeds it. it, however, is evident plaintiff's case cannot prosper on that theory. “so must appellant's learned counsel deal in refine- ments to fasten liability on defendant, and, maybe, re- finement against refinement (like estoppel against estop- pel) 'setteth the matter at large.' to predicate negli- monu- gence on two seconds of time is in and of itself a monu- mental refine- mental refinement. we cannot adjudicate negligence ment on such pulse beats and hair splitting, such airy nothings in surmise. it will be time enough for courts to under- take to do that when they are able to do what one its master's voice wit, wisdom and philosophy samuel butler, nigh onto years ago said his hero (?) did, viz. : 'he could distinguish and divide a hair 'twixt south and southwest side. man dollar lineman and wisely tell what hour o' the day the clock does strike by algebra.'” “when in a court of justice, the man is fairly in bal- ance with the dollar, as would be the case on ... that hypothesis, then it is the man goes down in the scales and the dollar kicks the beam. the man comes first in glories of the law. it is one of the glories of the law that it is so the law written in the books.” " ... a man climbing a pole has troubles incident cenne to the fact that he belongs to the genus homo sapiens, homo and his native home is on the ground, i. e., he has troubles of his own to look out for. any one who ever climbed a tree knows that his feet, legs, arms, hands and body, all demand and divide his attention. so the dan- ger of falling not only makes some fear natural, but makes a call on his mind.” in the following we are served with much information of the life, habits, “genealogy," and general characteris- tics of the mule, for the sake of doctrine. “it was dr. johnson (was it not?) who observed that oliver goldsmith had 'contributed to the innocent gay- ety of mankind.' (nota bene: if, as a pundit tells me, it was garrick, and not goldsmith, johnson spoke of, and if, in quoting, i misquote, then memory has played a trick upon me, and a learned bar will correct me. time and weightier matters press me to go on and leave the 'quotation' [?] stand.) the function of this suit is some- what the same. beginning with the ‘j. p.'s' it has reached the ‘p. j.’s' and in its journey has run the gamut of three courts, one above the other. now, secun- wit, wisdom and philosophy dum regulam, it, a fuss over $ , has reached the highest court in the state for final disposition—all this because ( ) of divergence of opinion among our learned brethren of the springfield court of appeals, and ( ) the provi- sion of the constitution in that behalf made and pro- vided. however, if the amount at stake is small, the value of the case for doctrine's sake is great. as i see it, the case is this: dale, a man of substance, a farmer, owned a brown and a gray mule, both young and of fine growth; one saddlewise, the other otherwise. both, used to the plow and wagon, were entitled to the designation 'well broke and gentle.' one parker was dale's man- servant, and in the usual course of his employment had charge of these mules. on a day certain he had driven them to a water wagon in the humble office of supplying water to a clover huller in the ozark region hard by its metropolis, to-wit, springfield. eventide had fallen, i. eventide e., the poetical time of day had come when the beetle wheels his droning flight, drowsy tinkling lulls the dis- tant folds, and all the air a solemn stillness holds. in other words, dropping into the vernacular, it was time to watchdog's 'take out.' accordingly parker took out with his mind honest fixed on the watchdog's honest bark baying deep-mouthed bark welcome as he drew near home; he mounted the ridable mule. he says he tied the other to the hames of the harness on the ridden one by a four or five foot halter rope, and was plodding his weary way homeward a la the plowman in the elegy. the vicissitudes of the jour- elegy ney in due course brought him to walnut street in the city of springfield. at a certain place in that street the city city fathers had broken the pavement and made a 'rick fathers of brick' aside a long hole or ditch. hard by this rick of brick was a ridge of fresh earth capped by a display of red lantern danger signals. it seems the unridden mule crowded against the ridden one and harrassed par. circum- jacent ker by coming in scraping contact with his circumjacent le wit, wisdom and philosophy water wagon leg. any boy whoever rode the lead horse in harrowing his father's field will get the idea. in this pickle he took hold of the halter rope, still fastened to the hames, to keep the unridden mule from rasping his said leg. it might be well said at this point that witnesses for plain- tiff did not observe that the end of the rope was attached to the hames of the ridden mule. as will be seen a bit further on, at this point a grave question arises, to-wit: is it negligence to lead a mule by hand, or should he be fastened 'neck and neck to his fellow? but we antici. neck and neck pate. going back a little, it seems as follows: at about the time parker had reached said part of walnut street, plaintiff and two others were in a buggy pulled by a single horse and on their own way to the country. so equipped, these several parties met face to face. at this point it will do to say that, while the mules were used to being on the water wagon, it is not so clear that these travelers three were. there are signs of that artificial elation in the vehicle party that in the evening springs from drinking 'breathing freely'), but on the morning after produces the condition of involuntary expiation dr. von ihring calls ‘katzenjammer.' they disavow be- ing half seas over or drunk. their chief spokesman, as descriptive of the situation, in part told his story mathe- matically in this fashion: 'i had not drank so much but what i kept count. i can keep count until i take three and hadn't quit count- ing yet.' ... “in the course of their journey they, too, came to the brick rick, the ditch, the ridge of dirt, and the red lights on walnut street. there they met, as said, the gray and brown mule and parker face to face. when mules and rider approached and passed the three travelers, all on the same side of the ditch, the lead mule (whether scared by the hole in the ground, the rick of brick, or the ridge is dark) shied from his fellow (“spread' himself), and face to face wit, wisdom and philosophy and presently his hind leg was mixed up with the shafts and wheel of the buggy. when the status quo ante was re- established, both leg and wheel were found damage.i. subsequently a blacksmith offered to repair the damages to the wheel for, say, a dollar and a half. this sum de- fendant, though denying liability, was willing and of- de fered to pay; but plaintiff's dander was up, and he, as was up owner of the buggy, demanded a new wheel worth $ , and sued. in the justice court defendant lost outright and appealed. in the circuit court the same. the learned judges of the court of appeals could not agree (the furor scribendi being much in evidence, and three learned opinions falling from their several pens) and sent the case here—and here it is. my brother graves has well disposed of it on certain grounds, but the theme being the missouri mule, and state pride calling for further exposition, the furor scribendi has seized me- witness: it was argued that it was negligence to ride one mule and lead its fellow by hand. that they should be halter-yoked 'neck and neck.' parker says he necked them in a way, but plaintiff takes issue on the fact. al- lowing credit to plaintiff's evidence, two questions spring, viz.: first—is the neck-and-neck theory 'mule mule law' in this jurisdiction? second-if so, then was the absence of the neck and neck adjustment the proximate cause of the injury? we may let the first question be settled in some other mule case and pass to the second as more important. it will be observed that the neck and forequarters of the mule did not do the damage. con- tra, the hindquarters, or 'business end of the mule were in fault. we take judicial notice of facts of nature. hence we know that haltering a mule neck and neck to another will not prevent his hind parts spreading. his neck might be on one line, but his hind legs and heels might be on another—a divergent one. true, the mental concept relating to shying or spreading would naturally missouri mule ule law business end wit, wisdom and philosophy originate in the mule's head. but it must be allowed as a sound psychological proposition that haltering his head or neck can in no wise control the mule's thoughts or control the hinder parts affected by those thoughts. so much, i think, is clear and is due to be said of the mis- souri mule whose bones, in attestation of his activity and bones worth, lie bleaching from shiloh to spion kop, from san juan to przemysl (pronounced, i am told by a schol- ar, as it is spelled). it results that the casual connection between the negligence in hand and the injury is broken, and recovery cannot go on the neck-and-neck theory. this because it is plain, under the distances disclosed by the evidence, that the mule's hind legs could reach the buggy wheel in spite of the neck-and-neck attachment. the next question is a bit elusive but seems to be lodged in the case. it runs thus; “there being no evidence tending to show the mule was ‘wild and unruly' as charged, is such a mule per se a nuisance, a vicious ani- mal, has he heart devoid of social duty and fatally bent on mischief when led by a halter on the street of a town, and must his owner answer for his acts on that theory? attend to that view of it: “there are sporadic instances of mules behaving badly. that one absalom rode and 'went from under' at a crisis in his fate, for instance. so it has been intimated in fireside precepts that the mule is unexpected in his heel action, and has other faults. in spanish folklore it is said: he who wants a mule without fault must walk. so, at the french chimney corner, the adage runs: the mule long keeps a kick in reserve for his master. "the mule don't kick according to no rule,' saith the ameri- can negro. his voice has been a matter of derision, and there be those who put their tongue in their cheek when speaking of it. witness the german proverb: mules make a great fuss about their ancestors having been asses. and so on, and so on. but none of these things so on went from under and wit, wisdom and philosophy vince of asia minor, and the fact is not chargeable to the mule. so slowness of the domestic ass does not descend as a trait to the missouri mule. it is said that a thistle is a fat salad for an ass' mouth. maybe it is also in a mule's, but, be it so, surely his penchant for homely fare cannot so far condemn him that he does not stand rectus in curia. moreover, if his sire stands in satire as an satire emblem of sleepy stupidity, yet that avails naught, for the authorities (on which i cannot put my finger at this moment) agree that the missouri mule takes after his dam and not his sire in that regard. all asses are not four-footed, the adage saith, and yet to call a man an 'ass' is quite a different thing than to call him ‘mulish.' vide the lexicographers. furthermore the very word ‘jackass' is a term of reproach everywhere, as in the literature of the law. do we not all know that a certain phase of the law of negligence, the humanitarian rule, first announced, it has been said, in a donkey case (davis v. mann, mees. & w. ) has been called, by those who deride it, the ‘jackass doctrine ?' this on the doc- trine of the adage: call a dog a bad name and hang him. but, on the other hand, to sum up fairly, it was an ass that saw the heavenly vision, even balaam, the seer, could not see and first raised a voice against cruelty to animals. num. : et seq. so, did not sanco panza sanco by meditation gather the sparks of wisdom while am- bling along on the back of one, that radiated in his won- derful judgments pronounced in his decision by the common-sense rule of knotty cases in the island of bara- taria ? did not samson use the jawbone of one effect- ually on a thousand philistines? is not his name im- perishably in that fifth proposition of the first book of euclid—the pons asinorum? but we shall pursue the subject no further. "enough has been said to show that the ass is not without some rights in the courts even on sentimental grounds; ergo if his hybrid son, tracing his balaam panza samson wit, wisdom and philosophy limb but to make it possible to save life and limb. but we say: run so fast in towns that you cannot stop where life and limb are likely to be or are in peril, and you are quit of liability. fast running creates inability to stop. inability to stop creates immunity. hence break the speed ordinance and be acquit. nor need we bother with the question of the duty to look out for decedent. the engineer saw him; that was one fact on which the liability hinges. closer home, he saw him in time to stop if he had been obeying the law. that was a remaining and necessary fact to fasten liability on the de- fendant. shall it be allowed to set up its servant’s law- less act that it may escape liability and thereby profit by its own wrong? thereto the maxims are abundant and cover every angle of the matter, for example: a man should not be benefited by his own wrongdoing. a right does not arise from a wrong. the law hateth a wrong. no one can improve his condition by his own wrong. any process of reasoning leading up to that conclusion must be unsound, because the conclusion is absurd. the right doctrine is: correct reasoning leads to correct re- sults; if then, the results be incorrect, the reasoning is bound to be unsound; for are not the general principles of the law the very perfection of reason. ... to my stie mind it is of stiff significance that in none of those signifi- grounds for reversal did veteran counsel make the point cas now made by our learned commissioner. what they could not see with eyes brightened and freshened by the tears (i speak, of course, in figure only) of defeat, should we see? why be astute to that end? or, if we think we see it, are we not likely to see only a will o' the wisp ? "the wisp will o' under our rules they are not allowed to argue a point not made in their briefs. shall we argue it for them? ... ordinary care began with the rate of speed and required obedience to the law, so that ordinary care in stopping would have a chance to fill its due office. if, now, dis- cance tears of defeat wit, wisdom and philosophy nothing but a voico obedience to the law makes it impossible to stop, though ordinary care in the mere matter of stopping was used, shall defendant be absolved for carelessly putting it out of its power to stop? that would be, as heretofore said, an invaluable excuse for law breaking. nay, more, and most of all, it would be a suggestion to break the law and thereby escape liability and avoid duty. i think it would make of the law (not a rule of action, but) what some wise old latin said of the nightingale, viz.: ‘vox et praeterea nihil,' which a scholar tells me means, if liberally englished, “a voice, and nothing but a voice.' in my opinion ordinary care in this case involved the concept of using ordinary care in speed so that ordinary care in stopping would result in attaining the benevolent purpose of the ordinance. the two phases of ordinary care belong in the case. they are, i submit, inseparable in logic and inseparable in common sense. they sit like 'two kings of brentford on one throne.'” on the subject of contributory negligence the court made the following pointed comment. “we know very well that the proposition is abroad in the land that the doctrine of contributory negligence anvil of public should be exploded. we know too that that proposition is being hammered out on the anvil of public discussion, and in some other jurisdictions has been crystallized into written law. we take it that if a new and refined sense of social justice ever requires that, in the first instance, the carrier pay remunerative damages for an injury, al- though the servant contributes thereto by his own negli- gence (or even when the master is not negligent), and, in the second instance, that the loss should be shifted by distribution over on the general public, as it would be under known and immutable economic principles, then the same new and refined sense of social justice will re- quire that means of payment, through a proper adjust- ment of rates for freight and passenger carriage, be pro- discussion wit, wisdom and philosophy by the vided at the same stroke. but this is by the way. we way are not now called upon to write the law under such cir- cumstances, for that would be writing it as it is not and not as it is. if, as maintained by some publicists, the defense of contributory negligence be an evil in the law; if the multiplicity of squabbles that arise over the appli. multiplicity of cation of the alleged refinements of that doctrine be de- squabbles fects calling for a cure by striking at the root of the matter, and not cured one at a time, as mosquitoes were slapdash once killed (we borrow a similitude), but slapdash in salutary fashion and by wholesale, as science now teaches, then we must bide the time the lawmaker first speaks in that behalf and so writes it down.” in an action to injoin a railroad to do certain things on sunday the court wrote at length about the sabbath, religious liberty and the missouri constitution. “no man warring for god should be troubled on the sabbath by secular business (nemo militans deo im- plicetur secularibus negotiis). the constitution of mis- souri may be likened unto a book of the law whose lids golden and leaves are tenderly fastened with a golden hasp, and hasp that hasp is the solemn and reverential recognition of god as worthy of the worshipful adoration of every ra- tional being—witness the first words, the noble preamble of the constitution: ‘we the people of missouri, with profound reverence for the supreme ruler of the uni- verse, and grateful for his goodness, do, for the better government of the state, establish this constitution.' ... the analysis of that preamble is worth while to further the purpose in hand. notice: it recognizes god, a ‘supreme ruler,' 'ruler' implies a kingdom, at profound least a spiritual kingdom, a kingdom of god. it speaks reverence for him in the profound reverence from every missourian. it solemnly expresses to him the gratitude of all the people; thereby intimating the personal duty of grati- tude on the part of all of us and acknowledging a gift wit, wisdom and philosophy at his hands in the form of 'his goodness.' it goes further and by necessary implication states that for and on account of these things and in furtherance of them, by an uplift of the people through orderly fundamental laws, the constitution is established ‘for the better gov- ernment of the state.' the people as sovereigns, acting through their constitution makers, did not take the pains to give reasons for their belief, whether those reasons natural are found in divine revelation or natural reason. they reason did not argue or quibble about the existence of god or our duty to him. to the contrary they calmly assumed there was no such thing as disputing about first prin- ciples, they assumed those things as established facts to be accepted by all men, whether (as pope says) by the poor indian whose 'untutored mind' hears him in the wind or sees him in the clouds; or by the philosopher, reasoning from effect back to first cause, who sees his divine hand in the spacious firmament and acknowledges his handiwork and his glory as declared by the starry host of heaven as addison sings. it would be a matter of profound wonder and sorrow if the statutes of a state governed by such a written constitution were allowed out of line with the lofty sentiments, intimations and public policy of the fundamental law. ... tracing the public policy evidenced by the constitution and the laws we have been considering, to its ultimate sources, it becomes certain that our constitution and statutes only tend to outline, preserve, and aid such public policy; they in no sense create the public policy of recognizing god and religious worship and of setting sunday apart from secular and business days. they are but unmis- takable tokens, symbols, signs, evidence of a public pol- icy coming down to us by inheritance in a long line of descent from our fathers—a policy hallowed by time and a thousand sacred memories, tenderly cherished in the hearts of our people, so omnipresent, so persistent as to starry host wit, wisdom and philosophy ivine admit of being personified. it now sits and always sat or should sit, by the household fire of every missourian's sipping from his home ‘sipping from his cup and dipping from his dish.' cup to ignore or impugn that policy by statute, to my mind, is to cut every patriotic missourian to the bone. it seems as clear as the noon-day sun to me that the stat- utes and constitutional provisions named are the crea- tures of, they spring from, that public policy, as the children from its loins. surely, withal, before they were, it was. human nature itself, with an exceedingly bitter cry, cries out for rest one day in seven. observe, too, there is exceedingly high and very old authority for rest from toil one day in seven, and not only so, but for mak- ing that day of rest a sacred day, commemorated of and associated with a divine event. witness: remember event the sabbath day, to keep it holy. six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work. but the seventh day is the sabbath of the lord thy god. in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man- servant nor thy cattle, nor the stranger that is within thy gates; for in the six days the lord made heaven and earth, the sea and that which is in them, and rested on the seventh day. wherefore, the lord blessed the sab- bath day, and hallowed it. the ancient pious hebrew heathen authority was not alone in that view. there is a good heathen au- thority for the existence of a world-wide public policy in former times connecting and associating a day of rest with a day devoted to sacred rites. says strabo: 'the greeks and barbarians have this in common, that they accompany their sacred rites by festal remission of labor.' nor is it an over statement to affirm that a state that borrows the motto on its great seal, as does missouri, we from the tablets of heathen rome, may, without ser- tablets ious question, be allowed to borrow the basis of its public policy against secular labor on sunday, ... from the ten commandments of the living god. the time was elve wit, wisdom and philosophy when the dry letter of the commandment was interpreted and construed, ex cathedra, by one who spoke as having authority, and thereby its soul and sense was made to shine through its mere letter. vide matt. : - ; mark : et seq.; luke : et seq.; id. : . that inter- pretation, when read into its letter, shows that the in- terdiction of the commandment at bottom was not levelled at daily offices of necessity springing from hunger and benefit thirst, nor at works of charity for the benefit of man. of man therefore, being hungry, we could appease our hunger (i. e., plucks ears of corn to eat). so the afflicted may be healed on the sabbath day; so a sheep or an ox fallen into a pit could be lifted out on that day. the control- ling and root ideas, as announced, are: the sabbath day was made for man and not man for the sabbath. mark : . it is lawful to do well on sabbath days. matt. : . all of which, further interpreted, means that the commandment is not, in and of itself, the end to be at- tained, but a means of attaining an end, namely, a help toward realizing the greater ideal in the mind of the law giver, viz. : love to god as well as love to man. nay, love to man, in a true and lofty sense, is love to god. so runs the immortal dream of abou ben adhem, and so abou ben adhem said the master: “therefore all things whatever you would that men should to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.' the exemption in our statute defining sabbath breaking whereby one is allowed to perform labor and work in the household offices of daily necessity,' or other work of necessity or charity on sunday, but embodies those sacred precepts, and gives effect to the interpretation by the master of the commandment he was charged with violating. it but transferred his interpretation over into our written law. it would be unprofitable for a court of justice to en- theological tangle itself in those ancient time-worn, theological con- contro- versies troversies, the echo of which is heard even now incident wit, wisdom and philosophy to a change in the sacred day from the seventh day of the week, the jewish sabbath, to the first day of the week, the christian sunday. we dismiss that phase of the matter with this remark, it is allowed to be a commonly accepted historical fact that the resurrection was on sunday, the first day of the week. therefore the early christian, as a spontaneous and beautiful expression of fealty and devotion, kept that day, for obvious reasons, as sacred, and, beginning with constantine, christian rulers and christian law givers and law makers have recognized the day as having the same purpose as the ancient sabbath and as taking its place—our statute (as seen) referring to it indifferently as ‘sunday' as the sabbath. “have the history, the traditions, the public policy of our people, have the state and condition of those for whom our present constitution was intended, changed in so much as one jot or tittle? do we no longer sympathize in any common reminiscences of the past? should we in a roundabout and indirect fashion now hold that the christian religion was not the religion of the framers of that constitution? or that sunday was a day to be lightly treated by the law makers? are we at last, in- odds and deed, to become a conglomeration of odds and ends, of ends strangers from all quarters of the globe; or, are we a homogeneous people whose constitution is to be read in the dry sunlight of our common faith and sacred tradi. tions? a judiciary that fails or refuses to read the laws in the light of the state and condition of those for whom the laws were intended, or construes them contrary to the trend of settled and historic public policy, or fails to brand laws running contrary to the spirit of the con- stitution as void, fails of performing its solemn func- tion. if we were to read out of our constitution and laws all protection for the beliefs, and all support for the public policy of this christian state in regard to sunday, solemn function wit, wisdom and philosophy plenary liberty with the idea that the state can coerce this or that reli- gious observance on the part of the citizens. verily, freedom flies out of the window when force comes in at the door. . . . what is religious liberty if this law does not invade it? if plenary liberty to worship al- mighty god by observing sunday as conscience points be given men by the constitution (as it is), may it be halved, quartered, or in aught whittled away by the legislature? what says the maxim ? that is not con- sidered as truly belonging to any one which, upon occa- sion, can be taken from him. i think the law-maker dar- ingly laid his hand on the very ark of the covenant of covenant religious liberty in passing this law, and i make bold to repudiate its validity in whole or part, in letter and spirit. liberty has no price. it is an inestimable thing, and is more favored by the law than anything else. like the air and the sunlight, we appreciate it best when we are denied it. ... in these times of yeasty un- rest it may do to say that its doctrine may be likened, top reverently use a pious metaphor, unto a house built on a metaphor rock by a wise man; and it fell not from the rains that descended, or the floods that came or the winds that blew and beat upon the house, for it was founded upon a rock. its doctrine remains now as when uttered, the serene and majestic voice of reason and law. as for me, i rest on the reasoning of that case with entire and satis- judicial fied judicial tranquility, declining to be blown about by tran. quility every new wind of doctrine.” logic, law and new trial “we have been moved to say what we have about a new trial in a reference case, because logically, on strict and last analysis, a new trial might mean beginning all over again in hearing testimony. it would mean that in a jury trial. but the trial undone here by the court's order is not a jury trial. it is a trial by the judge after voice of reason wit, wisdom and philosophy through the court of conscience to prevent his own prose- cution or escape the penalty that would follow his con- viction, then the case stands precisely as if he is the real party in interest and is suing in his own name; for equity looks to substance, not to form. the discriminat- ing and piercing eye of the chancellor looks inside the shell of the nut of the suit to the kernel itself, and his hand would remain passive. the trouble in the case to my mind is that plaintiffs, unless cast on the doctrine of unclean hands, have a clear right to an injunction. if the county court of jackson county proposes in the name of all the taxpayers to use a common fund raised by taxation as a reward or, putting it softly, in pay- ment of witnesses to aid in the prosecution, then i have nothing to say about the wisdom or unwisdom of that course, but i do say this: there should first have been appropriate legislation in the form of a general law that applies to every county in the state permitting such ex- traordinary expenditures-expenditures that are con- fessedly outside of all legal warrant. we shall recur to the facts presently. it was argued with vehement ani- vehement animation mation at our bar that the 'people’ demanded the appro- priation, that (as we gather it) the people were watching with eager and suspicious eyes first to spy out and then mark with condemnation any effort to thwart their will in that behalf, and so on, and so on. as to that view of it, should not this court be serene, steady, and cour- i ageous enough to point with inflexible finger to the law? finger peradventure, law is the flag we should follow. this court is organized to subserve the wish and will of the people, expressed how? expressed through the form of the law, not the alleged will and wish of the people con- blaze of veyed to us by extraneous means with the heat and blaze flights of oratory of oratory or flights of rhetoric." rhetoric “a motion for a new trial in the system now in vogue fills a substantial and useful office in administering jus- infexible wit, wisdom and philosophy tice through the courts. questions are suddenly sprung on a trial judge by versatile and ingenious counsel dur- ing the hot-foot of a trial, which he perforce must decide hot-foot without taking time to consider. no mortal judge is al- lowed to be so incomparably recondite and ready as to know all the law all the time. if he know all the law some of the time, or some of the law all the time, or some of the law some of the time (thereby putting himself out- side of the class of those who know none of the law none of the time), he rises to a permissible highwater mark of excellence.” on the jury system of the country, a much debated question by all, the court makes some very interesting remarks. “may not one with propriety (when the yeast of rad- ical novelty is working in judicial dough and one does not know what the loaf to be baked in the oven of events may be) take leave to recur to first principles and ob- serve, to wit, that the invention of a jury to weigh and determine the credit due to human testimony, and set- tle facts in doubt or dispute in a trial at law, is to be rightly taken as one of the splendid achievements of mortar of civilized man. while not ideally perfect, yet having experience been brayed in the mortar of experience with the pes- tle of common sense, as human institutions run, trial by jury has stood the test of use and justifies itself as sour-com- indispensable. no one but a sour-complexioned cynic plexioned now impugns it, no one but an inconsequent dreamer cynic suggests a substitute. a jury trial ‘is the most cher- ished, if not the most valuable, institution we have de- rived from our saxon ancestors.' ... the average judgment of twelve jurymen of average sense, drawn, as they are, from all the walks of life and impartially selected (“whose learning consists only in what they themselves have seen and heard' and who apply 'their separate experience of the affairs of life to the facts wit, wisdom and philosophy nor bunyan nothing. it is a tempest in a tea-pot; for he can reject tempest in the the jury's bad advice and, notwithstanding the same, teap do equity by his decree." “twelve very cool, dispassionate, and just men (through' no heat of passion or twist of prejudice, and out of no flippances in mere form or veneering of gal- lantry), put to it by their oaths and the facts, might well have rendered such a judgment as adequate com- pensation to a young woman handicapped through life as miss f. is shown to be, for true it is the race is not always to the strong and swift, and yet a happy mind at ease in a sound body is the essence of good. bunyan held this in mind when he made his immortal hero loosen and lose the burden weighing him down in his journey to the celestial city and the delectable moun- tains; and peradventure, diogenes hinted at it when he diogenes waved alexandria's princely offers to one side and asked him (and buchepalus, too, maybe) to get out of his sun light.” “men, under oath in a jury box, taking a sober and vital part in the administration of justice, self-evidently are presumed by the law to be reasoning men—to be apt in solving the problems of life by the aid of reason; i. e., everyday sense. there ought to be no presumption in- dulged in that, unless fenced in by the court at every single step, they will be prone to wander from the beaten path of reasonable certainty and probability (a path where effects are referred to their causes) and amuse themselves with wild goose chases in by-fields of airy guess and unreasoning conjecture—they might possibly be-—the material out of which old wives, with pipe in mouth, once construed their fables by nook and by ingle.” “our decisions are rich with learning showing solid reasons for the aversion of the courts to allow the im- peachment of a verdict by affidavits of jurors lifting wildgoose chases wit, wisdom and philosophy the veil of the jury room, disclosing its secrets and per- petuating its animosity.” animosity social status a great many interesting things may be learned on the subject of matrimony by what follows: “matrimony was 'the contract ... in issue and on trial. at bottom it was the very 'cause of action in issue and on trial.' therefore, the mischiefs under the ban of the statute gave birth to a situation to be nar- rowly eyed. that situation vehemently calls for the statutory interdiction. this, because the danger of per- jury in this character of case is enhanced by a combina- tion of powerful impulses, viz., to cleanse her social status from a scarlet letter of sexual impurity, and with sexual the same stroke line her pockets. prestige! money! impurity the love of both-master passions of the human breast -in full cry. his legs go far and fast, who is running to a goal of gain and honor. not only so, but bishop being dead, the danger of exposure in false swearing is reduced to a minimum and may invite the hazard of the experiment. ... one vital flaw in this offer consists in the fact that it takes two to make a bargain in matri- mony. if one believes and the other does not, the belief of the one does not tend to prove the contract. if this were not so, then, as plaintiff did not believe in common law marriages under this record, her lack of belief dis- proves the contract by the same token, ergo, the evi- dence leaves the issue where it found it. . . . we know then it is strange and fear it is new. as all things are confirmed or impugned by either reason or au- thority, let us look to its reason and see how the prin- ciple would work in practice. suppose the issue be an act, a fact, for instance, some sin or delinquency- drunkenness, lying, profane swearing, anger, or, lazi- ness will do. under this new doctrine the door would be opened wide to evidence on a collateral issue, viz. : that the party charged with the act, fact, or delin- wit, wisdom and philosophy peppery disposi- tion quency, did or did not believe in drinking, in lying, in swearing, in anger, or in laziness as a correct ethical proposition—the argument being that, if he believed in none of them or, e converso, if he believed in them he did all of them. there would be startling results reached by that method of reasoning; for, verily, many a man lies who down in his soul believes in truthfulness, and drinks who by precept teaches the virtue of soberness, and has a peppery disposition who believes in calmness, and sins who thinks well of righteousness, and is lazy while lauding ant-like industry. ..." in a case depicting an unusual court room scene, in- volvingmarital infelicity, to such an extent that the court wrote of it with fear of "disturbing judicial calm- ness” the following may be read with interest: “the record is long and much of the testimony is in such conflict as to make the task of reconciling it a hopeless one. so the discourse of some of the witnesses flies so high it cannot be followed without precaution against danger of disturbing judicial calmness. for in- stance, we are sorry it justly deserves such observations as these: if we believe everything testified to on both sides by narration and suggestion, plaintiff would be a good husband, an industrious, sober, successful me- chanic and contractor, who never drank 'to do any harm,' who always made good wages and fair profits, and who made it a rule to turn all he had over to his wife from the date of their marriage in down to their separation in . contra, and by the self-same token, plaintiff would be an unsuccessful saloon keeper at the outset, then a mechanic generally running behind on all his contracts, who made little above the expenses of his family, a frequenter of saloons nightly, a man who got drunk and into fights (in one of which the com- batants rolled into the creek), who spent his substance in 'gambling hells' and riotous living, and was an alto- wit, wisdom and philosophy hand to mouth gether indifferent husband. so we would believe that indifferent husband defendant got her property start solely by an out and out gift of her father and mother ... who were people of means, and who often assisted her with money when she needed help. by the same token we would be- lieve that the (parents) lived in a shanty, from hand- to-mouth, and had no means to speak of, and, while they made small loans to the morrises that were repaid, yet they never gave mrs. morris anything whatever as a gift or advancement. again we would believe that mrs. morris was assaulted and beaten 'black and blue' by plaintiff's fists, and that she left his home because of unpro- such unprovoked savagery. by the same token we voked would believe, contra, that she got (to use the words of savagery mr. morris) 'whooping drunk,' was making a spectacle of herself in the house yard, and, when in that pickle, he left off reading his evening newspaper, and with manly gentleness was trying to take her into the house to hide her shame, which polite but firm conjugal thoughtfulness she resented, and without cause then and there left his bed and board once for all. furthermore, we would believe that he never at any time laid as much as the weight of his hand upon her in anger; contra, lis- ten to this from the record: “mr. dolman: don't you know, as a matter of fact, that mr. morris never laid a hand on you in his life? a. indeed, he did; and i have been the mother of seventeen children, and they should have all been here today, with that daughter that is here against me, but he kicked me around the prairies of st. joseph in those days, and i laid for nine months after that, one time when walnut street was be- ing graded. i was the mother of twins three different times and during one of those times, at twelve o'clock at night, he abused me for going over and getting my horse. he was too cowardly to go and get the horse.' moreover, we would believe that mrs. morris (though twins wit, wisdom and philosophy more voluble than valuable afraid of god controlled, it seems, by neither the laws of the land nor by those of social usage, by neither court nor counsel, so that their testimony, by spells, was more voluble than valuable, more tart than true. to show the tension and color of feeling breeding contradictions and feverish- ness, we will mention some incidents throwing light on the situation, and, we think, justifying such conclusion. mrs. meister's given name was mary. while on the stand she said she had heard her mother remark, when she was a little angry, that her father ‘didn't have any right around there, and that what was there was hers alone.' at such times ‘she also made the remark that when he got old and couldn't work any more she wouldn't have him around her.' at this point her mother raised her voice in open court to the effect fol- lowing, to-wit: 'are you afraid of god, mary? i raised you well, but you don't show it.' referring to her eighty year old grandmother who got hurt when her parents had their last quarrel, on the cross-examination of mrs. meister the record shows thus: 'q. he pushed this lady, over eighty years old, into a wood pile? a. he had to do it to protect himself from her. q. and when he pushed her into the wood pile, did she receive any wounds or bruises, or do you know? a. well, i couldn't prove that. she had been hurt in a railroad wreck, and any marks she had i couldn't tell. q. you saw marks though ? a. no; i thought she was just like a snake. i wouldn't touch her. q. you left her lying snake there in a crippled condition ? a. why, she was not in a crippled condition. the next morning she came into our house. q. you would not handle her on that occasion, would you? a. no; i don't believe i would touch her. q. if she had been in a dying condition you would not have touched her? a. no; i wouldn't. q. you would have seen her die there without trying to do anything? a. yes, sir.' we are moved at this point wit, wisdom and philosophy sythians to make a remark or two and pause long enough to do so, viz. : the scythians, it is said, ate their grandmothers when through with the old ladies, but mrs. meister would not even touch hers in extremis. she also had droll notions as to grandfather's hats (and heads). vide the following: after testifying that grandfather o’rouke called her 'pretty bad names,' she said she 'picked up a brick,' and threw it at him, “knocking his hat off.' at this point the witness, without leave, left the stand and court room, apparently unseen by coun- sel who, busy objecting and saving exceptions, had other other fish fish to fry than to watch her movements. we think so, to fry because we find that mr. boyd, counsel for defendant, returning to his cross examination, began a question as follows: ‘i will ask the question - thereat, inter- rupting, the court said: 'well, the witness is gone now, mr. boyd'. another witness for the plaintiff, mr. nichols, took flame from the prevailing fire. he was asked by mr. boyd the following question, and made the following answer: 'q. then you say you never spoke to a human being concerning what you knew, and what you could testify in this case, until you came on the witness stand? do i understand you that way? a. well, you can understand it that way if you want to. q. well, is it true? a. it is true! god damn you ! ... that she was a phenomenally frugal housewife with an eye to laying by we are convinced. her sister called her an extremist in economy,' and we will let it go at that. maybe there is where the marital shoe- shoe pinches. we think it is a fact, also, that in some in- stances she bought property on her own initiative and in others on his, and that generally they consulted each other on matters of that character. both had sharp and unruly tongues with the rough sides (hers the sharper of the two). they now and then forgot the pre- cept that to return abuse for abuse is but to heap mud extremist in marital economy mud on mud wit. wisdom and philosophy on mud. both had other failings, but we may as well put them to one side, for the law of the case does not hinge on them, and a woman in this court is to have a little latitude if she is the mother of seventeen children. there came a time when they no longer agreed at all as spouses, but (more's the pity) had a bitter quarrel and their paths parted forever. close observers of the phe- nomena of human nature have noticed that sometimes quarrels exhaust themselves with excess of fervor and fury, and thereby die out. so, peradventure, pots (boil. ing too fiercely) boil over, put out the fire underneath, and cool off.” the following is on the subject of marital infelicity and domestic relations : “there remains the question of her marital conduct. we have gone over this long record with an eye to that fact. it tells a miserable story—a story once preserved in the pages of the reports, and which need not be spread a don again of record—a story of a domestic drama, acted on drama the stage of the lives of these two. its curtain lifted on a scene bright with hope, and was run down on one bit- ter with ruin and despair. we cannot say the wife was altogether blameless. much less can we say that the husband was not greatly to blame; he being the head of the house and charged with the duty of ruling with tact, chivalry, justice, and sweetness. for both parties often forgot that ""as one lamp lights another, nor grows less, so nobleness enkindleth nobleness.' “forgot that a false word turneth away wrath, that it takes two to make a quarrel, that charity and cardinal virtue cover a multitude of faults, and that to forgive and forget is the golden rule of marital felicity. the curious may find the minutiae of the misery, misunder- standings, wranglings, quarrels, sarcasms, oaths, the estid cardinal virtue wit, wisdom and philosophy threats and acts of hatred uncovered by the record set forth in the opinion of judge broaddus in . . ., supra. we have compared that opinion with the record, and approve the conclusions in the meting out of praise and blame.” .... “as i have more than once taken occasion to say, it is an anxious and delicate task to reconstruct ancient matters with fidelity and in just relation and true perspective, when some of the actors are dead; when papers are lost or destroyed; when memory, the main reliance, is twisted by self interest or family quarrel, or flux of dulled by the flux of time when conclusions (as wishes, tuis father to the thought) usurp the office of fact; when parties did not deal with each other in correct business form, but loosely, under the close and tender confidences of the domestic relation, and not at arm's length under the safe-guards of a due course of business." tender confi- dences exaggeration of huntsman and fisherman “indeed, we own to being a little inclined to take judicial notice, that, barring a mild and (it may be) innocuous form of exaggeration in narrating personal exploits (noticed by close observers and shyly com- mented on now and then in private discourse), neither huntsman nor fisherman are addicted to the venal vice of fraud for gain in matters pertaining to their associ- ated dealings. it was jacob, mark you, and rebecca, not esau, the hunter, who covinously contrived a notable .property fraud (q. v.). and when simon peter (wor- ried by trouble and despair) sayeth, 'i go a fishing,' and the others said, 'we also go with thee,' did they not touch a cord and set it vibrating to this very day in many a wholesome bosom? did not the immortal izaak walton say—but, under a spell of gentle memo- ries, we may be straying just a little afield_'revenons a nos moutons.?" wit, wisdom and philosophy gathered to their fathers historic land tenures in missouri “and this paves the way to fetch a small compass on small compass the remarkable history of the litigation over the bra- zeau reservation, in which counsel such as ewing, car- lisle, cushing, blair, krum, hill, glover, shepley, gam- ble, geyer, at one time or another, only memories now, appeared at the bar, and the judgments fell from such judges as catron, taney, clifford, napton, scott, and wagner, all gathered to their fathers. when george washington had yet a lustrum of life left to him, to-wit, in , don zenon trudeau, spanish lieutenant gov- ernor of upper louisiana, 'conceded' to joseph bra- zeau out of the 'royal domains' a tract of four by twenty arpents on the mississippi river about two miles from 'the town of st. louis,' a tract along side the conces- sion and survey of a 'free mulattress'! ... an 'ar- pent' is a land measure varying in dimension from . of an acre to . acres and to . acres, accordingly as the arpent meant, as an arpent de paris, an arpent com- mun, or an arpent d'ordonnance. in this same joseph brazeau, by deed conveyed to louis lebeaume (spelled in more ways than one) the same concession, reserving therefrom to himself four by four arpents in the southern part 'to be taken at the foot of the hillock.' ... this four by four arpents is the ‘brazeau reser- vation,' and hence its name. this lebeaume dug a drainage ditch, not on the south line of his own arpents, but on the south line of those reserved by brazeau, a ditch known in judicial records as 'lebeaume's ditch.' ... the location of this ditch confused the south out- boundary of his land figures much in the litigation as earth does a stockade and an earth barn (“grange de terre') barn and the 'big mound'-all taking the mind back to a dim and almost forgotten past, a past older than the treaty of paris, that of san ildefonso and that of ma- wit, wisdom and philosophy pents, may have its custom, its trend, its sittlichkeit; but sure it is this brazeau reservation was born to trouble as under an evil star, was as prone to trouble as sparks are to fly upward, and has had it in a turbulent career. its destiny was cast rough. in chimney-corner phrase, it was always in 'hot water.'” hot water on the ancient right of habeas corpus the court eulo- gizes as follows: “judges may be likened unto priests attending be- priests judges tween the horns of the altar in the temple of justice. temple of justice so, attending, they stand solemnly charged with keep- ing the lamp of personal liberty in oil, well trimmed and brightly burning. it is so because the liberty of the citizen is an immediate jewel of the law, to be sacredly cherished and hedged about withal. therefore, no more legal fiction, good for use in matters of less moment, or matters of punctilio, or comity between courts, may shield any one restraining an american citizen of his liberty from having the why and wherefore of that re- straint summarily looked into by any court of compe- tent jurisdiction in the land. the discretion of one judge in remanding the prisoner does not bar the dis- cretion of another in discharging the prisoner on habeas corpus. wherefore, when the great writ goes down-a writ whose origin is lost in the dawn of english history, whose final and triumphant establishment was a land- mark in the evolution of civil liberty, making the hearts land of its lovers leap for joy—to the prisoner, the doors of jails open; he comes into court with his shackles dropped and the cause of his imprisonment, the very marrow: of it, is laid bare to the utmost verge and minutiae per- mitted by written law.” "taking some samples of many, under the maxim, 'ex una disces omnes' the writ of habeas corpus has dearest ... been fondly termed by eminent persons, who used no of britons words lightly, the dearest birthright of britons, 'the mark wit, wisdom and philosophy blue back spelling book of record and brief unless counsel plant themselves on the paradoxical excuse of the old greek orator in like fix, viz.: that he had no time to be brief. we allow our- selves a further preliminary word by way of a bird's- bird's-bye view eye view of what has been already determined in other suits on some phases of the general subject-matter of this litigation. “already the state of missouri (willy nilly) has been put to expense to publish this matter in our law reports; already the profession of the law (willy nilly) has been put to expense to buy that matter. therefore, we shall not republish it, but refer the student in case law, prying and curious in that behalf, to those cases for the facts.... intervening creditors were repre- sented by independent counsel, and under our present attorney's lien act presumably had similar contracts. so that without offense, we may refer to the homely al- legory and sketch in webster's old blue-back spelling book, and say that the cases may be likened to a com- posite cow, and each attorney drew milk from his own contractual udder. . . . in effect on one phase of the matter, there is a question sprung. we state in our own way, viz.: who was the christopher columbus (or jason) who, sailing on a dimly charted and vexed sea on a venture of discovery and gain, first sighted land (or the golden fleece) in the direction of this de- cree? was he plaintiff's attorney in the barrie case or johnson's in this case? we put to one side an an- swer, and with that answer the invidious task of appor- tioning professional honor or reward where there is enough for all.” “a wise judge once remarked to me that in constru- ing a statute it was a mistake not to read it and keep it before your eyes. what sly phase of dry humor he had humor in mind in that homely announcement springs so spon- taneously in an alert mind that it needs no help by way wit, wisdom and philosophy confusion history justice. justice shall be administered without delay said the great charter, and so says our constitution. experience-taught, we have reached the settled rule of practice that joining issue on the merits is a waiver of interlocutory rulings on motions and demurrers, except where the petition does not state a cause of action, or there is a lack of jurisdiction of the subject. we should stand by that rule; for we have said so so often that the profession understands our position. if we unsettle the rule, the door is opened wide for confusion to come in; certainly being of the very essence of good law. if the rule inherently and necessarily tended to injustice in the end, it would be different. but it will be found to rarely, if ever, so result.” “this case pending nearly as long as the greeks be- checkered sieged troy, has a checkered and singular history. there were two trials below. coming here on appeal, it was submitted in division one. that division split in twain, and the case came to banc. argued and submitted there, it remained either in gremio legis or sub judice for a long season, and was finally set down for another hearing and again argued in banc. at one time or an- other so much has been written on it that the writing fever, the furor scribendi, seems out of place.” “admitting that words of description may, when reason calls for it, become material, yet, in the condi- tion of things we are dealing with, it is too plain for argument that the motion for new trial by clerical mis- take, reads 'three' instead of 'eight.' it is good doc- trine that a mere clerical mistake is not fatal.... to make such a pen slip on appeal would be to let a mere pin prick of inadvertence hide the very right of prick the matter, even as the cloud the hebrew prophet saw, on the rim of the horizon, of the size of a man's hand, spread presently and shut out the sky. that the law regards not trifles is one of its favorite maxims. it is clerical mistake wit, wisdom and philosophy written (we construe the writing liberally) that those gnats who allow themselves to strain at gnats are prone (if they do not look out) to get in the class of those whose powers of degustation may encompass the swallowing of camels. we invoke, for that theory the wise hint of camels venerated a venerated document well known to the whole bar of document missouri (q. v.). so horace holds up a red danger signal in his ars poetica of some value in dispensing justice through judicial exposition, viz.: parturiunt montes, nascetur ridiculous mus. we rule the point against respondent. ... now, no system of the laws could for one minute command a whit of respect that would add to the delays of the law (five years in this case) the intolerable burden of reversing judgments on every error whatsoever. on this head i may be al- lowed to illustrate by an edict of the second emperor of the last chinese ruling dynasty to point a moral. pan heu lo, in a study of chinese jurisprudence (vol. , law rev. p. ), vouches for such edict, viz. : 'the emperor considering the immense population of the empire, and the great division of the territorial property and the notoriously law-loving character of the chinese, is of the opinion that law suits would tend to increase to a frightful amount if the people were not afraid of the tribunals, and if they felt confident of al- ways finding in them ready and perfect justice. a man justice is apt to delude himself concerning his own interests. contests would then be interminable, and the half of the empire would not suffice to settle the law suits of the other half. i desire, therefore, that those who have re- course to the tribunals should be treated without any pity, and in such manner that they should be disgusted with the law, and tremble to appear before the magis- trates. in this manner the evil will be cut up by the roots. the good subjects who have difficulties among themselves, will settle them like brothers by referring . wit, wisdom and philosophy temper of witnesses puted off-hand transactions of certain sections of said by-laws on the other, and the record shows he was, for good reasons, too, not satisfied with the transactions. ... counsel appearing here for appellant is not the same trying this case below. it follows, we think, that he is no better situated to judge of the admissions and theory upon which the case was tried below than is this court, because both the court and the learned counsel must go to the same cold, dry, and in this instance, somewhat nebulous, record for information." “all persons familiar with trials must know that it is utterly impossible to bring before this court upon paper a real representation of a trial as it took place. the manner, the temper, the character of witnesses, as known by the jury, cannot be spread upon paper; and the words of a witness, in whose testimony neither the jury nor the court had the slightest confidence, will read as well and appear entitled to the same confidence, when written upon the record, as would the language of the most impartial, upright witness in the world. ... happily, by the aid of a jury's discretion to start with, tempered and controlled by the discretion of the trial judge, and afterwards supervised by the discretion of the appellate courts, wrongs may be ultimately righted, so far as may be in the affairs of men. the bitter no- tion of lord camden relating to judicial discretion, to- wit: "the discretion of a judge is the law of tyrants. law of it is always unknown. it is different in different men. tyrants it is casual, and depends upon constitution, temper, pas- sion. in its best, it is oftentimes caprice; in the worst, it is vice, folly, and passion to which human nature is liable.'-is not the modern view, if applied to judicial discretion in supervising verdicts. the modern view is that by the discretion of the jury, plus the discretion of the trial judge, plus the discretion of the appellate court, the 'golden mean' referred to by horace and wit, wisdom and philosophy mote in eye ter emotion that at least a mote of prejudice may be assumed as in his eye.” equity “the beautiful character of pervading excellency, if one may say so of equity jurisprudence, is that it varies its adjustments and proportions so as to meet the very form and pressure of each particular case in all its com- plex habitudes.” “the leaven of that illegal excess, carried into the note, leavened the whole lump of the deed of trust. that instrument had no legal right to existence and did not bind the lot purchaser. as figs do not grow on thorns or sweet water flow from a bitter fountain in nature, so in equity a superstructure of legality cannot be built on a substratum of illegality. the eye of equity cannot see her without seeing him. it must look through equitable him to see her at all. the equitable yardstick, then, yardstick that measures his rights measures hers, and she may not without full notice, as here, hold a gift fetched to her by a soiled hand. if roe notify his neighbor doe that he is about to visit or has visited doe's hen-roost to wrongfully appropriate his hens, must doe protest at once or lose his right to pick a bone with roe in pick a bono court?” "'equity does nothing grudgingly or by halves. its outstretched arm corrects, but with loving kindness, withal.'" “it is put beyond cavil that mrs. p. had long as- sumed such fiduciary relation toward rachel, a relation accentuated by her extreme old age, her physical in- firmities, her childishness (and, it may be, by her train- ing as a slave to look up to a mistress), that the burden was upon defendant, who holds title only through the instrumentality of his wife, to show that the contract was just and fair. that burden he did not well carry. aen-roost wit, wisdom and philosophy equity broods that such burden attends such relation is a wise doc- trine as old as equity itself. without it a court of con- science would be powerless to prevent confidential rela- tions from being abused. equity does not beguile itself by utopian dreams in that behalf. it travels on the theory that where there is domination and confidence there is danger of misuses of them. it is not necessary to cite authority to that proposition nor to the other that, where the weak, the illiterate, the confiding, the credulous are opposed in a challenged contract to the strong, the educated, the reliant, the shrewd, equity broods over the transaction with anxiety and watches it with vigilant and jealous eye to see that no uncon- scionable advantage is taken intentionally or results without intention. as nonage has its shields, so has dotage." “there is another danger (one not to be ignored in equity), viz. : that advantage may be taken of the ignor- ant, the confiding and helpless by those who promise, reap performance, and then procrastinate, dally, and die without living up to the great commandment of the law, to-wit: to do just and right, and to render to. every one his due.” “the rule is that appellate courts approach the facts in an equity case by allowing to the trial chancellor (in this case his referee) the primary advantage of a per- sonal factor or equation, viz. : the actual use of eye and ear in discerning the truth of witnesses (eye and ear filling the prime office in that regard), and in stamping stamping testimony with its earned and deserved percentage of testimony weight and credit. the upper may well defer to the lower court in that particular. subject to that modifica- tion, an equity case is heard de novo on appeal. there- fore, if it cannot be heard de novo in all that term im- plies—i. e., in very deed and truth-it should not be heard at all on appeal. peradventure, to do nothing procrasti- nate wit, wisdom and philosophy clock is wiser than to do something and not have the infor- mation, the wherewithal to do right. a clock that stands still is right at least twice a day. a clock that but runs lamely may never tell the truth.” “in short, it may be said that those fine rules of per- sonal honor obtaining between man and man, requiring one man to keep his word with another, but accord with justinian's golden idea of equity, viz.: that every man should render to another his due.”. the following is an action in equity to require an agent to convey property purchased for his principal: “no one can read the above letters without con- cluding that the contention of respondent that he was acquiring title to this strip as an individual matter is after- an after-thought born of emergency; for it is substan. "thought tially agreed on all hands the purchaser alluded to in these letters was appellant, and no other. the record further discloses that the only explanation offered by respondent of the admission in his letters is that such statements were mere allowable stratagems or 'ruses de guerre,' makeweights or coloring matter, to pro- cure a conveyance, and had no reference to an ex- isting fact. in other words, we are asked to construe respondent's letters as dishonest, and this in his own interest, we decline to do. ... furthermore, equity, as a code of conscience, takes cognizance of more deli- cate distinctions between right and wrong in human conduct, and enforces a subtler morality than the traditional practice and procedure of courts of law have been considered capable of adjusting and ad- ministering. hence in equity many acts are dealt with effectively as fraudulent, although they would admit of no remedy at law." “the new situation created by r. caused him and b. to be unequally yoked together, practically with no yoked existing aggregatio mentium; and equity, which is a make- weights wit. wisdom and philosophy bounden handmaiden of honor and morality, should delight in cutting in twain all their contractual bonds." ummery lukewarm useless litigation, lis pendens, judgment “that from a to izzard the suit was mummery, nothing, 'monstrous usurpation,' the decree void, ev- ery step leading up to it illegal, and hence the deed itself void as a crowning act of a series of invalidi- ties. plaintiff may not blow hot and blow cold on the vital question of jurisdiction and have his claim allowed (as here), and in the next assert lis pendens which assumes jurisdiction as a postulate. he may not even be lukewarm (rev. : , ). if the circuit court was without jurisdiction, ab initio, as plaintiff must and does claim, then, where was the lis pendens in the circuit court. it is trifling with terms, it seems to us, and putting the matter into a mere limbo of confusion, to speak of lis pendens in connection with a litigation in a court without jurisdiction of the subject-matter, ergo without authority to enter any decree or grant relief. 'lis pendens' means a suit, a controversy in court. it involves the essential and primary concept of jurisdiction of the subject-matter of the litigation and of the parties. hence jurisdic- tion to enter a decree or make a finding involving the subject-matter and parties is indispensable to lis pendens. we are not dealing with the statute, for the record does not show a record of a notice of lis pendens; but we are dealing with the general law. ... if, then, no judgment be possible because the court is without power to render any, it is nonsense nonsense (or, to use a phrase of the ancients, it is milking a he-goat into a sieve of double absurdity) to stress lis pendens, a mere incident to a judgment, when a judg- ment was impossible.” wit, wisdom and philosophy solid ground the beauty and evenhanded symmetry of the law (the law being no respecter of persons) is made manifest, and all litigants at one time or another are allowed to contribute somewhat to this symmetry in order that not one jot or tittle of the law pass away till all be fulfilled by common contribution.” “when, the ground on which a new judgment is to rest is new and unexplored, as here, it is well enough for courts to sound at every step and look to the past as well as the future to get the right point of view and to see if, peradventure, the ground is solid; but, after that has been said, and everything else has been said that can well be said on the wisdom of judicial caution and circumspection where the situa- tion is new, it should be allowed as good and accept- able doctrine that courts should not adhere to theo- fond and ries, however fond and familiar, when the lawmaker (within constitutional limitations) has exploded them by a new statute. indeed, in that behalf it is much the same as a philosopher has said of custom: "'a forward retention of custom is as turbulent a thing as an innovation; and they that reverence too much old times are but a scorn to the new.'-bacon on innovations. “it is a lovely poetical concept and likewise a com- fortable and wholesome judicial concept that: “ the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns.'” niliar fraud against the dead “running like a marking thread through the several briefs of appellant is a heavy charge of fraud-fraud against the dead in their graves. at places it is boldly made; at others by innuendo and in an undertone as if to hoot away the reputation of those who cannot an- hoot away wit, wisdom and philosophy . book and so on swer—fraud in the administration of the partnership assets by murdoch, surviving partner; fraud and covin in that his sureties, bates and eads, aided or acquiesced in that administration; fraud in murdoch's assignment to priest; fraud and covin in bates and eads taking no steps in the probate court to have an administrator ap- pointed in lieu of murdoch, removed, so that his bonds- men could be brought to book; fraud in bringing the brought partition suit; fraud and covin in the conduct of that suit by the attorneys on both sides; fraud and covin in the parties defendant in that suit not answering or con- senting to a decree whereby the land was sold instead of partitioned in kind; fraud in the circuit court's as- sumption of jurisdiction, and so on, and so on. the story is long and details unimportant in the view we presently take of the question. ... if those cred- itors be dead, then during life, when under a call to speak and act they murmured not and took no steps to murmured surcharge murdoch's accounts, or to put themselves in a position to sue on his bond. they did not, so far as this record discloses, pursue the individual estates, but, as to fraud, remained mute and rested satisfied. look at it. murdoch is dead. eads is dead. harrison is dead. verily while the dead tell us no tales, neither can the dead de- fend themselves against tales. ... so, if in the pur- suit of fraud, two judicial views are open on the facts, one in favor of honesty, the other contra, the law (an invention of men for their welfare) but agrees with human nature in saying we must take the nobler view. so, the maxim is: in cases of doubt, the more generous and more benign presumptions are preferred. (noiliores et benignores, etc.) the rule of the fireside, quoted above, finds its beautiful prototype or supplement in equity when the fraud is charged against the dead and a pronounced lapse of time has intervened. the facts in this case in no small tones call out for the application not remained mute wit, wisdom and philosophy wit of man of the doctrine of laches against plaintiff's claim, un- less, indeed, there be an insurmountable obstacle in the way (an insistence by plaintiff we will consider pre- sently) for the wit of man could not invent a more typical case of neglect—a case in which the omission to move for many years has caused vast changes to be made in the betterment of the property and in the rise of values, a case in which it would cause a just man in- stinctively to cry out against holding that defendants, who in good faith invested great sums to improve the property, should now lose part of it on this newly stale sprung, newly asserted stale claim. it seems to us that claim the fact that a just man would cry out instinctively against it is none the less apparent when it is seen that those persons behind the public administrator (who- ever they may be) would thereby reap where they have not sown and gather where they have not strewed; for, observe, it is only by death of creditors and death of their claims that the dickson heirs reap aught of a harvest. the creditors of a partnership have the pri- mary right to have their claims against the partnership paid out of the partnership assets. if time be reckoned from the removal of murdoch as administrator up to the appointment of the predecessor of troll, years went by; if time be reckoned up to the institution of this suit, years went by—while these creditors stood idly by with shut eyes and hands on their mouths until they saw a city built on the land they claim was devoted to the payment of their claims. if the claims of creditors, whether in the form of allowances in the probate court or elsewhere, have long since perished by the flux of time, as we believe to be the fact, and if this valuable property is now to drop like a ripe plum from a judi- cially shaken plum tree into the lap of dickson's heirs tree because those primary claims (with those, who owned them) have perished, whereby death brings a windfall flux of time plum wit, wisdom and philosophy to them, then the doctrine of laches applies to those beneficiaries too; for what the creditors saw, they saw, what the creditors did, they did. it was six of one and half dozen of the other. the record shows they have been sui juris for a fourth of a century or more. no conceivable reasonable excuse can be given why they did not move with diligence and vigilance. observe the theory now advanced by plaintiff's counsel is that the circuit court was without jurisdiction of the assign- ment and partition; hence harrison's deed was void. if that be so, what obstacle was in the way of creditors moving at once, or the heirs moving sooner? equity, it has been said, above all things, desires the wronged to have restitution; but it also abhors sloth and favors diligence. a court of conscience does not sit to correct the evils of negligence. when it confronts laches equity remains passive. the maxim is: gross neglect is equivalent to fraud. magna sulpa dolus est. we leave the matter with a question: should equity, which is a great synonym for natural right and justice, whose golden command- rule and great commandment is to do to others as we ment desire them to do to us (as justinian puts it, inst. , . : “to live honestly, to harm nobody, to render to every man his due') refuse to apply the doctrine of laches to plaintiff's ancient claim? we trow not, un- less to do so contravenes some stubborn and controlling principle of law yet to be reckoned with.” center of population “speaking of shifts in populations, the census tells the same story history has always told, viz., that popu- lations wax and wane, stand or shift, as different causes operate to produce different effects. the schoolboy reads that story in his herodotus and in many a page since. khayyam the old materialistic poet, khayyam, mockingly toying moral phenom- with the moral phenomena of human life, had it in ena mind in the quarter of lines of his rubaiyat: wit, wisdom and philosophy ‘they say the lion and the lizard keep the courts where jamshyd gloried and drank deep; and bahram, that great hunter—the wild ass stamps o’er his head, but cannot break his sleep.' “it is not within the pale of sober speculation, for did not the noble whig historian, reviewing ranke's his- tory of the popes, see in his mind's eye ‘some traveler from new zealand, in the midst of solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of london bridge to sketch the ruins of st. paul's?' even in missouri, we are pointed by relator's counsel to the departed glories of our own weston, once the mecca and metropolis of northwest missouri.' and does the student of our annals need to be reminded of (old) franklin on 'cooper's bottom,' its early pre-eminence in the boone's lick country, its bounding hopes, its trade sketch away to santa fe, its santa fe lottery, pouring venal wealth into its lap, its gay life, venal its nearby hardeman's garden—a dream of flowers, wealth fruits and labyrinths of pleasant walks—one and all faded like the fog before a morning sun, and now noth- dim romi ing but dim reminiscence, amusing the idle moments of niscence a prying scholar like walter williams? and what of sparta in buchanan county-once a rival of the town of joseph robidoux? sic transit gloria mundi! we are not prepared to rule that lawmakers, presumably wise men, in using population as a standard of classifi- cation, do not look before and behind, and may not as- sume that populations may not both wane and wax. hence we decline to follow the lead of that phase of re- spondent's argument. once in, always in, is a dogma we do not subscribe to as an invariable rule in legal hermeneutics in cases like the one at bar." evidence-admissibility-metaphysics “to determine the admissibility of evidence by subtle wit, wisdom and philosophy distinctions and refinements, lurking in the convenient shade of psychology and metaphysics, is an experiment shade of of questionable value in the everyday administration of psychology the laws of a practical people. too much metaphysics is bad for legal exposition. ... there is danger there and courts should sound at every step to see that they are on solid ground. on the theory of the rhyming adage, ‘a little ..., a very little, nonsense now and then, etc.,' i recall the factitious and rather sly defini- tion of 'mind' and 'matter' laid at the door of a cele- brated metaphysician, viz.: what is mind? no mat- ter. what is matter? never mind. it serves to some- what ear-mark the elusiveness and obscurity inherent in the subject. so much by way of warning. in the next place (and closer home) opinion evidence on speed opinion is precisely of the same quality as opinion evidence on evidence, ti speed time, quantity, number, dimensions, height, distance, or the like ... and is admitted as evidence for the same reasons, viz., because, from the nature of the sub- ject under investigation, no better evidence can be ob- tained, or the facts cannot be otherwise presented to the tribunal. finally (and still closer to the point) opinion evidence gathers efficacy and wisdom by reference to the phenomena of everyday experience and observation. the sources of judgment on the admissibility of such evidence are therefore to be looked for in the homely everyday illustrations of everyday life. let us take some hypo- lite thetical cases of that sort by way of illustration. john is asked to give the height of his favorite tree in his father's dooryard. now, he has not seen the tree in many a day. he had never, that he remembered, formed an opinion of its height in his boyhood, or since. in fact, had never been asked the question before, or thought about its height in feet and inches. is his es- timation or opinion on the height of the tree of no value? apply that same illustration to quantity or wit, wisdom and philosophy hla n “(nota bene, by way of side-step): there are those who say that poetry has no place at all in jurisprudence or legal exposition. quod hoc, it may be said: the french have a saw: “he who excuses himself accuses himself'! not caring to fall foul to that adage, we enter no excuse, but point to the venerable dictum of the mentor and master, sir edward coke: “the opinion of philosophers, physicians, and poets are to be received and alleged in causes.'” patriotic glow, patriotism, literature, criticism “it is argued this is an attempt to rob' appellants under forms of lawma grievous charge. so, in motions filed, there is a suggestion (somewhat faintly echoed later in the briefs) of hostility to a certain patriotic glow of fervor of respondent's counsel in presenting their side of the case. in that line we are warned at one place that 'the last refuge of oppression is patriot- ism’; this as a deterrent, we suppose, against this court's being carried away by the sweeping influence of pa- triotism. as to that we submit these observations: it was dr. johnson (was it not?) who said 'the last refuge of a scoundrel is patriotism.' but that viewpoint is of no (or little) use in administering law through judicial tribunals, a part and parcel of a patriotic government. (note, by way of a side-step): "the great champion of literature,' said doctor, as well known, had violent and fanciful prejudices much in amusing evidence even in his dictionary, a kind of book in which the topic changes so rapid and frequent that scholarly calmness is a sine qua non. (witness his definitions of 'pension,' 'pa- triot,' 'oats,' 'patron,' 'whig,' 'tory,' 'lexicographer,' ‘methodist,’ ‘presbyterian,' 'poetess,' 'puritan,' q. v.) it is not the duty of courts to approach legislative plans cold and for public works, promoting public welfare with a cold hostile counte and hostile countenance as if determined to drive a nance influence of patri. otism wit, wisdom and philosophy scales ven coach and six through them or make them perish by overnice analysis in criticism. on one side, to be reckoned with, stands the axiom of jeremy bentham, to- wit, “the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the foundation of morals and legislation. on the other hand stands the legal maxim in a dead language, to- wit, inde datae leges fortior posset, which (a scholar assures me) means: laws are made lest the stronger party should possess all; i. e., for protection of the weak, the individual. peradventure it is by recognizing both great and small, public right and private right, and holding the scales even between the two that courts by approximation get at just and practical results in suits between the public and individuals. in performing that high and delicate function, courts should sound at every step to see if the ground is solid, and they are not usurp- ing the province of the lawmaker in making a judicial out of a legislative question. . . . must an officer about to receive his commission or a broker about to buy a municipal bond look to see whether the election officers were paid or whether means were appropriated there- virgin for? we fear the point is a virgin one, and, if allowed, would spread confusion in unexpected ways. we hope it is treating assignment with becoming judicial gravity and decorum to apply to it a phrase, used by no less an authority than sir john fortescue in a learned work years old in commendation of the laws of england, viz., moche cyre and no wull, put by the german peasant into the fireside colloquialism : viel gerschel und wenig wolle. it is disallowed for lack of substance. . , . in the second place, we held in the former case, in effect, that the city would not take such precedent steps until there was official action, a legislative step, evidencing a municipal plan, intent, and ability in prae- senti to build the viaduct. otherwise (benefits lying at the root of the power invoked against the property own- wit, wisdom and philosophy of stones er) the benefits assessed would be conjectural and spec- ulative; i. e., the property owner damaged could well moonshine say: you offset my actual damages with the moonshine of imaginary benefits from an imaginary viaduct. you imaginary benefits take a ducat from my pocket and pay me back in chips and whetstones, thereby despoiling me in the name of whet- the law, doing like the unjust man i remember to have read of, viz. : ‘with one hand he put a penny in the urn of poverty, and with the other took a shilling out.'” in a case with reference to election laws and "a friend of the court,” (amicus curiae) : “a deservedly obscure rhymster, whose verses will be remembered when virgil is forgotten—and not till then—in a homely touch or so, in the role of amicus curiae maybe, outlined the appealing situation in that case to this court in this way: legal thicket ‘are your honors of a mind now that we all be left behind now? that we all can have no ticket, have been caught in legal thicket, and are lost in legal brambles, while the train we want to go on, rolls out straight for armageddon ?' “the curious may consult with more or less profit, rev. xvi, and chron. xxxv, , on armageddon and its related term, megiddo, where a dim war once raged, used as a prototype in oratory in the year .... it is obvious that any election law permitting officials, either by design or inadvertence, to print irregular offi- cial ballots and foist them on the voters, and thereby disfranchise them by wholesale without their own fault, nolens volens, would be a harsh and indefensible stat- wit, w is dom and philosophy cuts no figure voters so authorized would be disfranchised. we may not thus ‘palter in a double sense,' or judicially put such a cup of tantalus to a voter's lips. stare decisis." on the subjects of homestead, abandonment and fraud in one case the following opinion is interesting. “there is some language ... to the effect that the intention to return cuts no figure, in abandonment. it is there said that it is 'a visible occupancy of the premises as the head of the family at the time of the levy of the writ which fixes the homestead rights of the defendant. ... there is no other way in which it can be made to appear beyond cavil, question, or the possibility of fraud on creditors than by actual, visible occupancy.' besides being unnecessary to the case in judgment, that language is unhandsomely and unhap- pily narrow and sour as a rule of homestead law. strictly speaking, by the letter of that pronouncement, the head of a family would lose his homestead if at the instant of an execution or attachment levy he was absent over night, or had gone on a visit, or was absent under any stress without a particle of intention to stay away or abandon his homestead, contra with an abiding animus hang revertendi strong upon him. if that were the law, a dangling homestead right would hang dangling on a weak and slender thread, indeed. to those the law holds unpro- fessed tender regard, to-wit, the homeless ones who are encouraged to get homes and keep them, it would be a barmecide feast elaborately spread with ostentation, but with nothing to it worth while. it would be a reproach to the law. that dictum, taken literally and standing alone, is opposed to the whole philosophy, and the har- monious trend to the doctrines of the cases cited supra, and is in the very face of a cardinal rule steadily ap- plied in construing homestead exemptions, to-wit, that from the highest reasons of public policy and social jus- tice homestead laws are favored by courts, and are al- barmecide feast wit, wisdom and philosophy “since it is true that as the furnace proveth the pot- ter's vessels, so the trial of a judge is his reasoning (see eccles. xxvii: , for the idea), under the head of reason, let us look a little deeper and to another phase of the matter, to-wit, the raison d'etre of the homestead acts. what is their underlying motive? solicitude for cred- solicitude of itors ? as a way and means for debt collecting? does creditors a creditor give credit to a householder on the faith of his homestead? certainly not. it will be time enough, then, for this court to be astute to provide ways and means for a creditor to collect his debt from a home- stead tract when the lawmaker has first evinced such purpose in his homestead laws—and not before. those laws face the other way emphatically. they of set pur- pose show no solicitude for creditors. it was so from the beginning; for, as already pointed out, our second homestead law vested a fee in the widow, except as to debts of a specified and limited character. that lan- cut the creditor off without his traditional shilling, ex- cept he fall in a certain class." defendants were charged with the violations of cer- tain ordinances governing the sale of milk in the city of st. louis and the following is from one of the opin- ions in regard thereto: “the criticism is that the mixture of water with skim milk must be ‘so as to lower and depreciate its strength and quality. the idea advanced seems to be that the complaint is deficient in not setting forth some fixed standard by which to judge 'strength and quality.' otherwise (so the argument runs), the standard might be an ideal one in the chemist's mind, or one prescribed by the ordinance, or the condition of the milk prior to the addition of the water might be the standard; hence the complaint should throw light thereon, so defendant might know by which measuring rod or standard his measuring rod wit, wisdom and philosophy alchemy of nature act is to be measured or judged; that course would pro- vide a check to the testimony of the chemist. but we shall assume that science can detect the addition of water to milk, whether the dairymen's cows gave poor milk or rich milk, regardless, too, of any mere ideal standard in the chemist's mind, or of any ordinance standard. it is nothing to the point to say there is a large percentage of water in milk as it comes from the cow. that particular water has been so treated by the subtle and mysterious alchemy of nature that presumably it holds in solution such delicately adjusted and blended proportions of fatty and non-fatty solids as to make normal cow's milk (wholesome to all) a necessity to the young. milk, an object of profound and vigilant con- cern to the modern lawmaker, has been always part and parcel of the daily life, the adages, and folklore, of man- kind. for example: we are told not to cry over spilt milk; that is, not to fret over real loss that can't be helped. the russian has an adage: that which is taken in with the milk only goes out with the soul; that is, early impressions last till death. the swede has one denoting hospitality, viz., when there is milk in the can for one, there is milk in the can for two. in the phrase, 'the milk of human kindness,' is expressed the very heart and office of that gentle but noble virtue. the bard of bards does not hesitate to connect milk and milk and philosophy. deeming that neither loses dignity by the hus the philosophy juxtaposition, he speaks of 'adversity's sweet milk, philosophy. all such amiable metaphors, saws, simi- les, associated ideas, and folklore eschew the belittling idea of water in milk, contra, the milk held in mind is good milk. i recall but one instance to the contrary (seemingly the inadvertence of a daring and erratic genius) viz. : wit, wisdom and philosophy stinging whip ministering an antidote to the poison already injected in the case, to see if peradventure he may not be able to render it innocuous. ... the lodgment of this tes- timony in this case, as happily suggested by appellant's counsel, placed a stinging whip in the hands of respon- dent with which to lash appellant at every turn through- out the trial, for with what good grace could appellant insist that the sidewalk was in good condition, when the court had admitted evidence of subsequent repairs and re- construction, based on the theory that by such repairs and such reconstruction the city had admitted the defects in the walk, which admission it now sought to whittle away by contending they did not exist ?” “it has become a trite commonplace of the rules of appellant procedure that a general objection, in a case where evidence is competent for any purpose, may not be laid in the record below (to use a homely simile) as an egg to hatch later in the appellate court into pre- cise and definite objections objections the point to which was concealed from the trial court and from op- posing counsel, and first came out of ambush and into sunlight in the brief in this court. ... the reason why it is not a proper hypothetical question is in no- wise pointed out in the objection. the objection might have had in mind that it was not proper, because it was immaterial, irrelevant, or incompetent, or for any other of a series of guessed-at reasons. how could the reasons court tell, though he possessed the astounding wisdom of king solomon himself, the mere view of which, inter alia, took from the queen of sheba all her 'spirit' ( chron. ix, , , q. v.), what precise objection the learned counsel had in mind? it has not been hitherto allowed to a nisi puris judge-a puisne judge—to have been so successful in: ambush and sunlight wit, wisdom and philosophy quiver, at a definite mark; this for the edification of the court. when he declined to do so, was not that declina- tion tantamount to notice that he preferred his exact po- sition to remain dark for trial purposes? if not that, did it not mean that at that time he had no specific objection in mind, but was casting an anchor to windward for tac- anchor to tical purposes further on in the case, should a specific ob- jection spring up in his mind later on being more fully advised? the rule is to disallow a general objection to testimony below, where, on appeal, the general objection has been dropped and a specific objection substituted.” windward head- master statutory construction, and the practical mean- ing of statutes reviewed by appellate court “in statutory construction, to stick in the letter is to stick in the bark. to stick in the dry letter is but to pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, omitting the weightier matters of the law.” “our own statute on construction requires that 'words and phrases shall be taken in their plain or ordi- nary and usual sense.' with that rule in mind let us illustrate: if a rule were bulletined on a given tues- day by the headmaster in charge in teaching a gram- mar school, as follows: “no pupil shall be whipped twice for a mistake which shall have been made in par- sing'—would any boy in school take the rule to apply only to future mistakes in parsing? could he well not plead the rule (with high hope of its allowance) if his mistake and one flogging occurred on monday prior flogs and another flogging was threatened on wednesday sub- sequent to the rule for the same mistake? or if c, a plantation owner, is building barns, and writes his overseer, 'paint all barns red that shall have been com- menced,' would b, his overseer, take that command to mean that only barns commenced after the order should be painted red? nay, if a very stickler for grammat- ical precision-a john horne tooke, a lindley murry, wit, wisdom and philosophy ghostly matters not inquire to know.' but that pronouncement is too broad as a rule regulating judicial discourse. indeed, getting unanimity of opinion in questions of religious faith in the decision of cases has not been so easy as to invite a wide play of unnecessary exposition in ghostly matters." “if, however, the provisions of a statute are mutually interdependent (as, for instance, where, by applying the doctrine of reddendo singula singulis, it plainly ap- pears they are inseparably welded together) and are so connected that the one serves in the relation of a condi- tion, consideration, inducement, or compensation for the other, or for each other, so that it cannot be said but what the lawmaker intended them to be taken jointly as a whole, and that if one provision could not be put in force the remainder of the law would not have been passed as an independent enactment, then, if one part be bad, the other is bad, and the leaven of un- constitutionality permeates the whole mass.” “while a strained construction of the language of an instrument is not a sensible device for administering u justice, neither is a loose or illogical construction. as construc- put by professor gray: 'a loose vocabulary is the fruitful mother of evils,' and, we may add, that a loose construction of loose language is the nursing father of many more." tion moot cỌurt, profitless litigation, multiplicity of suits, verity of judgment, and the court's comment on its own decisions “if victory and defeat be equivalent, why litigate? “'but what good came of it at last? quoth little peterkin. why that i cannot tell, said he, but 'twas a famous victory.' wit, wisdom and philosophy dehors the record pretation, rules of construction, rules of evidence, and many other working theories of the law are the exclu- sive work of courts. are they worse off for that? the very common law: itself is a mere ‘system of unwritten law, not evidenced by statutes, but by tradition and the opinions and judgments of the sages of the law.' ... there is nothing, then, revolutionary or singular, let alone reprehensible, in the proposition that courts have worked out, as a sensible instrumentality in administer- ing justice, a motion in the nature of a writ of error coram nobis, entirely without aid of the lawmaker, or that they have recourse to the common law for the bases of prototypes for modern motions. in the broad con- struction the object of that motion is, after the term, to bring before the court some fact dehors the record which, if the court had known it, would not have ren- dered the judgment. usually such fact is coverture, or insanity, or infancy absent a guardian ad litem, or the appearance of an attorney without authority, or the rendition of a judgment after death of a party without a revivor, or the sentencing of a defendant under age to the penitentiary, or the sentencing of a slave to the penitentiary for larceny." “affirmance is affirmance-once affirmed, always af- firmed, unless disaffirmance be allowed on timely appli- cation at the same term. here such application was made and overruled. we must not be understood as holding that the abstract power of this court to over- turn its own decision (the natural human right to right change one's mind) on a new appeal in the same case does not exist. such ultimate power exists and has been used and must be preserved unimpaired; but the rare circumstances under which it is used involve the exercise of a high and discriminating power, and such circumstances do not exist in this case. thus saith the wise ones: iuman change mind wit, wisdom and philosophy " 'it is excellent to have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.'”. wise and fine “referring to the need of judicial astuteness in judicial astuteness searching out the very marrow of a transaction to get at the true intent of the parties to a contract, lord hobart . . . says: “and ecclesiasticus . . .' speaks of this elegantly, thus: “there is a subtlety that is fine, but it is unrighteous and there is that which wresteth the open and manifest law; yet there is also that which is wise and judgeth righteously.' thereupon he com- ments shrewdly and quaintly, as follows: 'so he makes three degrees : some impudent to give false judgment grossly; and others as wicked, yet do it more cunningly under pretense of strains of law. but a man may be wise and fine to do justice as any others to fraud; and so i commend the judge that seems fine and ingenious, so it tend to right and equity, ... and i condemn them that either go out of pleasure to show a subtle wit, will destroy, or out of incuriousness or negligence will not labor to support, the act of the party by the art or act of the law.' and again . . . the same great judge says: “and here, first, i do exceedingly commend the judges that are curious and almost subtle (astuti, which proverbs is the word used in the proverbs of solomon in good of sense, when it is to a good end) to invent reasons and means to make acts according to the first intentment of the parties, and to avoid wrong and injury, which by the rigid rules might be wrought out of the act.'”. "miserable indeed would be our property conditions if we left the simple and safe rules of the common law to run after a will-o'-the-wisp of speculative refinements said by counsel to spring from comity. all our titles would be drawn within the hazard of such new doc- trine; and fortunately, even comity calls for no ruling omon wit, wisdom and philosophy venerable doctrine having such mischief hid in its bowels. again, we will not so write the law as to discriminate against our own citizens. 'justice must not be sacrificed to courtesy.' ... in dealing with non-residents, they must be con- tent with the constitutional safeguards of equality be- fore our law-a benign and venerable doctrine, well vouched for: 'ye shall have one manner of law, as well for the stranger, as for one of your own country.' lev. xxiv, .” demarca- “there is a pronounced line of demarcation between tion what is said in the opinion and what is decided by it-- between arguments, illustrations, and references to one side, and the judgment rendered on the other. the language used by a judge in his opinion is to be inter- preted in the light of the facts and issues held in judg- ment in the concrete case precisely as in every other human document. let us point a homely case to illus- trate. once upon a time there was kept, screwed against an end of each car on a certain railroad, a sealed cabi- net or case, with a glass front. in that case were con- spicuously displayed an ax, a hammer, and a saw. the glass bore the legend in bold letters: 'in case of acci- dent break the glass.' suppose john, a passenger, acci- dently stubbed his toe in a hole in the aisle carpet of that car and hurt himself, would he have leave and license to smash that glass on the invitation extended by the general language of that legend? would not the accident giving that right connect itself with the necessary need and use of a hammer, a saw, or an ax? it would be a wide and very mischievous departure from the correct canons of interpretation to discon- nect general language from the issues and facts of a given case and to apply that general language mechan- ically or automactically to the different facts and dif- ferent issues of another case; for the sense must be lim- ited accordingly as the subject requires and the words stubbed his toe correct canons wit, wisdom and philosophy take color from their context. ... the connection and train of the discourse, is another source of inter- pretation. we ought to consider the discourse together, and in order perfectly to conceive of the sense of it, and to give to each expression not so much signification as it may receive in itself alone, as that it ought to have from the thread and spirit of the discourse. “with the proviso out of the way, is there left only an incomplete enactment, one not symmetrically rounded out, and therefore incapable of inforcement? rounded out if those questions must be judicially answered, yes, then the whole act falls to the ground with the proviso, if no, then the law, bad in part, may be good in part; for the courts in this belief do not apply the ideas shadowed forth in the metaphors of paul and solomon where the one speaks of a little leaven that leaveneth the whole lump, and the other comments on the all- pervading and unsavory effect of dead flies in the apothecary's ointment. ... i have had occasion to use before in another form, a judge is not to be like a tyrant, making all void when part is void, but like a nursing father, making void only that part where the fault is and preserving the rest if he can." “it was taken in ancient times, so a scholarly brother limbo of tells me, as within a limbo of unreason to do so useless unreason a thing as to carry owls to athens. to offer instruc- tions in a cause in chancery is like carrying owls to athens; coals to newcastle, herring to holland, or gild refined gold. the unbending rule of practice is that instructions fill no office at all in an equity case; hence, for appellate purposes, error cannot be predicated or assigned upon the giving or refusing of them. in chan- cery the question is not what the chancellor instructed himself to do, or how he talked the matter over with himself; the question is: did he seek equity and do it? we have always so written the law, and doubtless nursing father owls to athens wit, wisdom and philosophy the defendant have the stock in possession ? no; ergo there is no 'asportavit.' what of the “animus furandi ?' is there any? no. is there a corporation in law 'doli capax,' so that it may be guilty of larceny? doubted and the question reserved. so, too, the doctrine of por- tia's case seems to be afield; for in the opinion handed down as reported by mr. shakespeare, it was held that said pound could only pass to the plaintiff on a condi- tion subsequent, viz.: his ‘lands and goods are by the laws of venice confiscated to the state of venice' if (much virtue in 'if') in the cutting thereof by plain- tiff ‘one drop of christian blood' was shed. accord- ingly, observe that plaintiff in that case entered a re- mittitur of the pound, in fact, suffered a non-suit, rather than face the loss of all his assets, real, personal and mixed, while here defendant concedes plaintiff the pound itself, and says he has it. is portia's law law? we may answer that question in the phrase of the same learned reporter in another case (see hamlet's case) to-wit: “ay, marry, is’t; crowner's quest law.' thus it falls out that the last questions raised may be put aside as mere flotsam and jetsam.". “we now come to a phase of the case, eyed at first a little askance and then critically. whatever value it has is in showing how one taper lights another in the briefs, as in the world at large. it shows, too, how diffi- cult in a close matter it is to determine the proximate cause of things—or the probable result of a given cause. possibly its force is somewhat spent in disclosing what hidden pitfalls lurk in the primrose paths diverging primrose paths from the beaten way in brief-making for appellant courts. as wayfarers in the main-traveled highway of the law, we shall set it down to point its own moral, thus : appellants' scholarly counsel close a good brief in chief with a short and modest flight of fancy-a bor- hamlet's case wit, wisdom and philosophy over its lack of preparedness to coerce or persuade the judicial mind.” seal of secrecy confidential communications and hypothetical questions “a litigant should be allowed to pick and choose in binding and losing—he may and he may not lose. if he binds, well and good; but if he loses as to one of his phy- sicians, the seal of secrecy is gone—the spell of its charm is broken as to all. may one cry secrecy! secrecy! professional confidence! when there is no secrecy and no professional confidence? as well cry peace, peace, when there is no peace. jeremiah vi, q. v. to hold so leaves a travesty on justice at the whimsical beck and call of a litigant. he may choose a serviceable and mel- low one out of a number of physicians to fasten liability upon the defendant, and then, presto! change! exclude the testimony of one not so mellow and serviceable, to whom he has voluntarily given the same information, and the same means of getting at a conclusion on the matter already uncovered by professional testimony to the jury. there is no reason in such condition of things, and where reason ends the law ends. the right to secrecy in confidential and professional matters may be likened unto salt. but what if the salt has lost its salt savor, wherewith may aught be salted? to my mind the time has come for us to take a step in advance and to construe the statute to mean that when a litigant breaks the seal of professional confidence and secrecy, and waives it as to a, then by the same token it is broken and waived as to b, c, and d, who bore the same relation to him as did a.” “i vote to concur in the opinion of my learned brother faris. it but applies (not half-heartedly, but with modest thoroughness) the doctrine of 'waiver’ to the precise questions really in judgment. now, waiver is a modest thorough ness wit, wisdom and philosophy device doctrine not new, anxious, or unreasonable, but, contra, a favorite and familiar doctrine of the law, standing the supreme test of reason, experience, and common sense. (instruments which impugn or maintain all theories.) as i see it, the rule announced does not come to destroy the statute, but to fulfill the statute in its very soul and sense; that is, its true intentment and meaning. it goes without saying that waiver should not be applied to every case mechanically and without reference to the facts, but with just discrimination and in view of the facts in each case. so used it is constantly applied in court as a most wholesome and useful device in reaching a just end. while some of the language of the opinion is a little broad and may have fallen as if dun fervet opus, yet such general language must be read with the concrete case held in judgment, and, so read, it does not mean that if a litigant uses a physician as a witness, thereby and without more, every other physician he has ever had at other times, places, or occasions, may be thereby allowed to break the seal of professional se- crecy. nor does it mean that litigant saying or doing nothing of substance to lift the statutory veil of secrecy imposed upon sickroom disclosures to his physicians (arising by examination, conversation, or consultation there), his physician may be allowed at the beck and call of the adverse party (and without leave or waiver by the patient party) to himself break the virgin seal of secrecy or lift its veil. if the privilege is personal to the party, as abundantly shown by cases cited by my brother, and is thereby held in the hollow of his hand, why may it be not waived by act, conduct, word, for the time, place, or occasion in hand? if once waived, must the waiver not be held to operate to an extent limited only by logic and reason? i think so. the scandals in beating down the truth arsing from a too harsh and literal interpretation of this law (if unaided hollow of his hand wit, wisdom and philosophy and unrelieved by waiver) every one of us knows by ex- perience and observation in the court room." ordinary care and negligence “it would be a bold judge who said that appellate courts had always been able to hold a steady and even voice in promulgating or applying general principles on this head. cases may be found that approach the matter from this, that, or the other angle (including that of dual capacity) but no soundly reasoned case can be found, i think, where the master had a conceded vice principal present, as here, and where such vice prin- cipal personally, by virtue of being master and in the line of his rank and duty, took charge of a transaction and injured an employee negligently by exposing him to extra hazard, or by making his field of operations un- extra reasonable and unsafe, where the doctrine of fellow ser- hazard vant was allowed to bar recovery. the reasoning and facts of many cases sustain that view of it. the negli- gence of the master, if any, was in the failure to give notice at the crucial moment that the belt was going on. the method of performing the work called for that no- tice. the instruction eliminates that idea, while it is not clear precisely what it does mean, yet it is plain enough that it directs the jury's attention to a feigned or false issue and away from the place or issue where the shoe actually pinches. the quail uses that device to protect its young brood when surprised by an intruder. alcibiades one alcibiades used it. i remember to have read it in an idle hour (i. e., before i came on the bench) that he had a very fine dog with a beautiful tail, costing (that is, the dog did) $ , or so. the dog was a favorite in athens (say b. c. ), and its tail (proudly car- ried) was much admired by the versatile and artistic citizens of that town. having cut off the dog's tail, and being brought to book therefor (for all i know before crucial moment brought to book wit, wisdom and philosophy the dicasts at the judgment seat), alcibiades justified himself by saying he cut it off so that the athenians would talk of that and say nothing worse of him. but the foregoing plan of obscuring the issue by putting forward something else to talk about is no working theory in the administration of justice. the precept is: the law is always more praised when it is consonant with reason. plaintiff was gravely injured, and, if his story be true, had a meritorious case. he was entitled to have the jury's mind focused on, not diverted from, the issues. but we do not approve the form of that in- struction. we eye it askance as a daring and anxious anxious novelty novelty that disturbs more than it benefits. it would have been better to have said that plaintiff was re- quired to use due care in doing his work and then gone and defined, in the accepted language of that law, what due care was, instead of using the formidable words: ‘was bound to use his senses and intelligence and ex- perience.' what does that sweeping and sounding ag. gregation of words mean, even to a lawyer or judge ? they swell by contemplation and broaden by analysis. what did the plain men in the box understand, either taken in aggregate or severally by them? they smack much of argument by overpressing the matter; and in trying to assign a meaning to such all-embracing terms as 'senses,' 'intelligence,' 'experience,' might not the jury be led astray, and their native hue of common native sense (the immediate jewel of an ordinary juryman's mind) become ‘sickled o’er with the pale cast of thought,' or lost in fog? we fear so—nay, we think so. those words do not form part and parcel of the mild, simple and colorless definition of due care the law delights in. the beaten way is the best way and the safe way.” “indeed that the absence of a guardrail is repre- hensible, in certain contingencies, was a fixed idea in aggrega tion of words hue fog wit, wisdom and philosophy devil and rounded out at one end into a ladle or bowl like a table spoon. ... it is the personal view of the writer that one who handles dynamite with a spoon needs one with a long handle—the longer the better. if authority is necessary for this judicial dictum, it may be found in the danish proverb to the effect that 'he who eats out of the same dish with the devil needs a long spoon.' ... it is fundamental that a master cannot delegate his primal duties as master by a gen- eral order or rule and thus avoid responsibility. if the courts would tolerate such ready at hand scheme of easy avoidance, then the employer of men might weil add new worldy significance to the lines of the good old hymn: "this is the way i long have sought, and mourned because i found it not.'” “the underlying reason of the thing requires that each case should stand on its own pertinent facts, in order to give that flexibility to ordinary care which would make it a test of liability in the interlacing and interlacing - relations the varying relations of modern life.... the law of nature, the spontaneous and impelling law of self- preservation, is of ancient and entirely respectable origin and a brakeman on top of a derailed, swinging freight car seems fairly within its purview; and all this without giving any force to the maxim, ‘all that a man hath will he give for his life.' this doctrine formulated in that often misquoted saying is unorthodox, and is not only stated too loosely, but its gloomy and sinister au- thor does not recommend it to the courts of a christian commonwealth. “such a view was too close and narrow, adheres to the dry letter of the text, and squeezes the life out of a humane regulation." wit, wisdom and philosophy sport of chance public elective office, voter, scratched ballot "a public elective office is a public agency, which, barring any constitutional inhibition, express or im- plied, may be abolished, curtailed, or regulated by legis- lative enactment. nevertheless, it does not follow, be- cause a public office created by law is not property in a precise sense, that a duly elected incumbent is at the whimsical sport of chance, caprice, or of intermeddlers or any form of illegal and unauthorized interference. a privilege or status so conducive of longevity and de- light, that once incumbents of office, 'few die and none resign' (see jefferson's letter to elias shipman, of new haven, july , , where the substance of the doc- trine is announced), may not be held by a thread so slender - thread slender and precarious.... indeed, in the times past the custody of court records was intrusted to one of the judges, 'custos rotulorum.' see ‘master of rolls,' black’s l. dict. the word 'clerk' (known to our fore- fathers as 'clark') at root denoted a member of the clergy, and the time was when the law and the gospel flowed from the same fountain; judges of the courts were taken from the ranks of the clergy ( bl. ), and the maxim, ‘nullus clericus, nisi causidicus,' was in full vigor of bloom and fruitage.... howbeit, it does not follow that a clerk of a court, charged with the heavy crime of murder in the first degree and ar- raigned in his own court, should be compelled to act as clerk at the trial of his own case, and ultimately sign, peradventure, his own death warrant. such condition is abhorrent to right feeling, the fitness of things, and the decencies of life, and ought not to be demanded or tolerated by law. manifest scandals and misgivings would flow from such unseemliness and indecency, not alone because it would be unnatural and unmerciful to compel a man to act as clerk where his own life or death was trembling in the scales of justice, but poor human wit, wisdom and philosophy deep and keen nature may well be deemed inadequate to resistance of temptations incident to such opportunity. deep and keen is the significance of the master's formula, 'lead us not into temptation,' and not without force is the ad- monitory precept of that great jurist, who taught his law at the feet of gamaliel, ‘abstain from all appear- ances of evil.' the law should first cast the mote out of its own eye before it can see clearly the beam in an- other's. “an office, speaking in colloquial figure, is a hole. an officer is a peg. peg and hole go together even as a pea fits the pod, or a hand the glove." “could the very solomon himself know how liberally a voter would use a pencil in scratching a name from a ballot, absent evidence on habit, temperament, time, con- dition of mind, taste, and surroundings, as here? we trow not. not knowing, to that lack of knowledge a beatitude or admonition applies—found, i think, in beatitude theophrastus—(i quote off hand from memory and may corrupt the text): 'blessed is he who knowing nothing avoids giving wordy evidence of the fact.'” the court wrote at length upon the legal and histori- cal meaning of the word “commons.” “therefore, they say, as the word has been carried forward in the statute from that day to this, the mind of the juristic scholar must go back to the quaint and singular conditions and usages of french and spanish villages in upper louisiana to gather the meaning of the word 'commons.' informed by the annals of those times, it is argued the word ‘commons' in the incor- porating act means commons as existing and understood at that time in those villages; that the lawmaker was dealing with commons of that sort. certainly, the day was when the villages of portage des sioux, st. charles, st. louis, st. ferdinand, village a robert (now bridg- ton), ste. genevieve, new bourbon (afterwards a part wit, wisdom and philosophy prowling indians sub of ste. genevieve) and carondelet were governed by syndics and had common field lots, out lots, village lots, and commons, each with a well defined and peculiar meaning in a french or spanish village, whose inhab- itants brought from their mother country customs and laws singular to community village interests, not native to english speaking people. in the case of common field lots, they were aggregations of narrow parallelo- grams, loosely speaking, of land under one fence, each lot of so many arpents (an arpent being a little more, a little less than an acre, varying with locality and with whether it was an arpent d'ordonnance, an arpent cum- arpent mun, or an arpent de paris), and doubtless were culti- vated by villagers, each working his own lot at the same time his neighbor did his, not only for sociability, but for mutual protection from 'clawed' beasts of the forest and prowling indians. . . . one division of this court in a case now sub judice, heard with pleasure and judice profit an illuminating discourse on the several meanings of french and spanish ‘out lots,' 'village lots,' 'com- mon field lots,' and 'commons' from edward c. kehr, esq., of the st. louis bar, a short time before the in- stant case was argued in banc. on the argument of the instant case i leaned to the view of respondents' learned counsel, to the effect that the meaning of 'com- mons' took controlling color and twist from commons as known to the early french village, and, since such commons had passed away, the word in our present statute became in a sense a dead letter as referring to a dead thing; therefore the incorporating petition by per- mitting all reference to commons, whether existing or not existing at wellston, could not be held to be fatally defective as violating the statute. but research and re- flection altered my views. we need hardly go back a hundred or more years to the days when kaskaskia of illinois was in her pristine and now forgotten glory— color and twist wit, wisdom and philosophy indiges- tible com. modity made pie company.' we do not understand (or hold) that said corporation made all the pies eaten in that great and hungry city, but we do understand from the evidence (and would be inclined to hold, if necessary) that it had the monopoly in the making and selling of that sad and indigestible commodity known as commer- cial (as distinguished from political) pie, a commodity abounding in the marts of that town, it is said and traf- ficked in for gain; a pie made of the ben davis apple (this is pure hypothesis and, hence, obiter), split, dried, and subjected to other forms of mysterious unpalatable manipulation. ... the pie end of mann's business never busted." "they put all their eggs in that one basket. the basket fell. their eggs broke and rightly so; for there is no showing made disclosing an abuse of discretion nisi in allowing the amendment." " ... defendant's discontent was apparently allayed by the verdict, whereas plaintiff's seemed to be inflamed thereby. thus is beaumont & fletcher’s dic- tum in love's cure (act iii, sc. ), shown to be well grounded, viz.: ""what's one man's poison, signor, is another man's meat and drink.'” deceit borrowed “ ... 'if it could not be done in a straight line, it could not be done in a circle.' ... the transaction finds its counterpart in a very ancient one in which, by b. uniting a borrowed hand, to a real voice, a notable prop- hand erty transaction was brought about. as preserved in an authenticated record, it runs as follows: 'and jacob went near isaac his father; and he (that is, isaac) felt of him, and said, the voice is jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of esau.' the record of wit, wisdom and philosophy birthright this last case further shows that isaac's eyes were dim, and, because the hands extended to him were hairy, like esau's jacob effected, in conjunction with a prior trade of birthright for a meal of pottage, a transfer of esau's interest, contingent and expectant—those intended for use, as well as those intended for ostentation. if we may be permitted to loiter afield a moment, it may be said that jacob by that transaction showed he was well named, “the supplanter' (“sub,” under; "planta” sole of the foot, or heel). the record has it that in the very act of birth he held esau by the heel, and certainly, by afterwards laying him by the heels, he justified his venerable name. but we are not called upon to review this ven- erable transaction, and adjudicate upon it. live busi- action ness presses, and 'sufficient unto the day is the evil there- of.' ... this contention respondent answers, in one form, in the pioneer figure and warlike metaphor, fol. lowing: ‘lovan has done like many a good man has done under similar circumstances. he sat quiet in his castle, blunderbuss in hand, while the wolves howled and prowled through the woods.'" rang- contempt stream of justice "indeed, so manifest is it that the stream of justice must be kept pure from contamination at its sources, and that the judge of the court, jurors, witnesses, and officers should be shielded from the humiliation of in- sult or the terror of violence, or itching desires or sinis- ter attempts to improperly influence the one or the other, that the majesty of the administration of the law should find its prototype in the gravity and dignity of a court- room free from the belittlement of contemptuous inde- contemptu- corum, and that the trials should be conducted, and the indecorum decrees, orders, and judgments of the courts of a free people should be carried into execution, without molesta- ous wit, wisdom and philosophy corrup- tion tion or interference, unawed by power, unfrightened by intimidation, unemasculated, and unperverted by cor- ruption. we say all these things are so manifest that it has become accepted doctrine everywhere that the right of punishment for contempt is inherent in every constitutional court having common law powers, and in the very nature of things, and that such courts cannot be shorn of that right by the legislative branch of the government. it is an inalienable right in court, of the very essence of its being, one that it may not ignore or allow to be clipped away if it would. these are horn- book propositions, asserted by all text writers, laid down by all courts, and worthy of all acceptance by intelli- gent men as of course, hence need no citation of au- thority to sustain them at this day. ... on the last head, i do not hesitate to say that the unregulated, ar- whimsical bitrary, whimsical power to fine or imprison for con- power tempt, a power that will not brook a mere temperate and reasonable control, is contrary to the genius of our institutions and the policy of our constitution and stat- utes." wills “wills are favored. the maxim is: it is to the in- terest of the state that the last wills of its citizens be sustained. “interest reipublicae suprema hominum tes- tamenta rata haberi'. of course that maxim is merely a cautionary one of use in dealing with an important subject of great tenderness among all enlightened peo- ple. there is another rule of interpretation heading to the same end, viz.: that an instrument should be so construed that the thing shall stand and not fall (ut res magis valeat quam pereat). attending to them both a doubt arose, viz.: whether, reading the will by all its four corners to get at its illuminating purpose, it could wit, wisdom and philosophy be said to be the intent of testator to give his son (in the grasp at intervals of a tyrannical and uncontrollable vice, subversive of business judgment) the power to give away or alienate his estate, or hypothecate or anticipate his income. whether the father did not intend to guard against that, and therefore whether the construction put upon his will should not do so. whether if the will is not to be given that construction, it might as well not have been written, for at bottom, does it effect anything of substance? is it to all vital intents not an empty thunder ing in the noise, a thundering in the index? but on the other index hand, can it be surely said the father had lost all hope of his son's reformation? did he intend to cut him for- ever off with an income optional with the trustee? or create an irrevocable spendthrift trust with no title in the corpus of the estate? if he did, he used unfortun- ate and inexact language of doubtful import that is not sufficient to cut down the estate granted in a former clause." "figuratively, judges dealing with wills are to stand in the shoes of the testator, or, sitting in his arm chair, look through his spectacles as near as may be, and thereby, when the intent is obscure, try to get at it and give its effect. ... the intent of a testator, ... has been called the pole-star of judicial interpreta- tion. “counsel hazard the suggestion that what money they had was the test, not what they spend.' so ? there is quicksand there, and one should sound at every step for firm ground. does the pecuniary value of a father's life to his household (stand) on the cash he has and not on what uses he puts it to; i. e., on what he spends for the household—in this case $ , ? that concept philosoph- not only opens a philosophical vista for the mind's eye ical vista to gaze down, but provokes at least one inquiry, thus: quicksand wit, wisdom and philosophy is a cheese-paring, close-fisted father who hoards like a miser, of more pecuniary value to a mother and child than an open-handed, great-hearted gentleman whose earnings during life flow for his household as unchecked and ungrudgingly as does the love he bears them? there is a philosophy about keeping, as over against giving, hid away as a kernel in a nut in the epitaph on an old nut in epitaph tombstone in doncaster, yorkshire, worth something on the thought, to-wit: "" "that i spent, that i had; that i gave, that i have; that i kept, that i lost.'" pikestaff “dr. a died ... possessed of an estate of $ , and mrs. k and her husband lodge a bill in equity ... against his heirs the object being to decree her a distributee on behalf of her son. that dr. a was inter- ested in the boy is as plain as a pikestaff; that he in- dulged himself with, and excited the hopes of the boy's parents by, promises looking to his advancement and preferment, is plain; that at spells he was warmed by a benevolent testamentary disposition is also plain; that the kirks stored away and nursed these promises and were solicitous for their fulfillment is natural and plain. but, when he came to the making of a will, it can be said of him, as set forth in the speculation of the melan- choly dane, viz. : "and thus the native hue of resolution is sickled o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprise of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.'" wit, wisdom and philosophy idem sonans “the question may be put in another form, namely: is ‘troth' idem sonans with ‘yroth ?' we cannot well give an affirmative answer to that question. the name ‘yroth’ is so archaic and singular in its spelling that archaic we cannot rid ourselves of a suspicion that the record of the patent was read into the record instead of the original, and that it is imperfect (in) that the copyist mistook ‘y' for 't' which might readily happen. if that be so, the truth may be ascertained on another trial by reference to the records at washington. we must take the unchallenged record here as we find it and as importing verity. the letter 'y'a consonant (when not a vowel), has fricative (and we might add frisky) qual- ity values in sound; for example, the sound of short or long ‘i;' the sound of 'e' as in ever (vide 'zephyr'); the sound of long 'e.' take the french town, yvetot which a scholar tells me is pronounced ev-to, or the patron saint lawyer, dead for years, st. yves, pro- nounced as if spelled ev. (nota bene): we mention this saint for scientific purposes to illustrate a dry point in pronunciation and the values of the letter 'y' not to bring up anew or blazon forth in mother tongue the sar- castic and scandalous innuendoes slyly sleeping in the shade of the dead language of processional chant in his honor, which a pundit once told me ran this way: pundit slyly sleeping "'sanctus yvo erat breto; advocatus, et non latro, res mirana populo.'” “but i know of no tolerated usage permitting ‘y' to have the sound value of 't.' hence notice to troth as here, cannot be held notice to yroth. accordingly we rule that, upon the utmost fringe and stretch of liber- ality, the two names are not idem sonans.” wit, wisdom and philosophy eminent domain “my reasons for concurring in the result reached by my brother are these: it is the settled doctrine of this court that a party whose land has been appropriated by a railway company for quasi public purposes, as was this land, is not entitled to recover the possession of the land by ejectment or by any possessory action. his remedy is for the value of the land wrongfully appro- priated. the solidest grounds exist for that proposition which those curious in that behalf may verify by con- sulting the case ... (just handed down, and not yet officially reported, and cases cited), and which grounds these plaintiffs recognized in bringing their suit in its present form for value, and not for possession; and the fact that the courts were able to work out that sensible and useful theory but demonstrates that the adminis- tration of justice is a practical affair, an invention for the adjustment of the rights of individuals and is not a technical and accurate science, but is an applied science, adjusting itself to work out justice in all the protean shapes the dealings of mankind assume. there being no fraud, no concealment, no covin, no fiduciary relation, and plaintiffs' ancestors having received, kept, and used the purchase price of this land a half century ago, and they having stood by with folded arms until a great city was built on it, the healing influence of time must be al- lowed full play, and the result reached does exceedingly exceed- excellent justice.... i agree to the result reached u excellent by my brother bond. this is one of those cases where justice the court is put in a strait betwixt two because the broad justice of the matter runs in a strong current with defendant, but where (on some phases) there is judi. cially made technical law in favor of plaintiffs in this jurisdiction as is abundantly shown by the strong brief of respondents' counsel. it is true that under married protean shapes wit, wisdom and philosophy power or state, under a bounden duty to proceed in administer- ing justice with calmness and dignity, set out on the road inevitably leading up to such conflicting jurisdic- por tion? is jurisdiction a mere matter of power or caprice? caprice if the federal court assume it in the first instance (as here), may the state court take it away directly if it has the might? or circumscribe it, baffle it, or whittle it away by ingenious indirection? or may two courts proceed on contrary theories at the same time, and grind a litigant between the upper and nether millstones of jurisdiction, the one saying aye and the other nay, and each speaking in an imperative voice? in the old days on the border, rob roy and his clan had a property no- tion based on power alone. of them it was said: . rob roy " the good old rule suffice them—the simple plan, that they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can.' sleight of hand “such ‘simple plan' has no place in jurisprudence when applied to jurisdiction. so what a state court may not seize with power, directly, it may not take in a roundabout way by 'inching' over on the edges, or get- judicial ting the same result by indirection.” necro- “under some sleight of hand in judicial necromancy, mancy hitherto unheard of, it acts the role in the childish play of ‘now you see it and now you don't see it.' it is argued that it (the court) has nothing whatever to do until the judge of division says so. if he never says so, that ends it. it sleeps on until he awakes it into life and action. · being dominant, division , may leave it in that pickle, and go to the general statutes for power to call in outside help in changes of venue. if a court, a judicial judicial entity, can be created of that sleepy and novel entity character, it would seem to be under some doctrine more wit, wisdom and philosophy nounced? i trow not. ... to so hold would be the same as saying that the fox, who takes his prey secretly by adroit cunning and indirection when the farmer is not by or looking, is entitled to more respect than the hungry lion, who takes his in the open day by use of sheer might, main, tooth, claw, and terror, unafraid of the face of man.” real estate law bow mother's knee “'enough specks make an apple rotten.' the enough specks theory, thus making its virgin and blush- virgin and blushing ing bow on the stage of real estate law, may well ex- cite a mild judicial interest-an interest to be tem- pered by a word of caution, thus: if comparisons are not 'odious' as some writers put it, they may be 'odor- ous' as others will have it, and, finally, in dealing with similitudes must we not be chastened by the thought that so great a jurist as lord mansfield found it wise to declare (so lord westbury vouches) that ‘nothing in the law is so apt to mislead as a metaphor.' ... we are told at mother's knee that continued dropping wears away a stone, that enough pebbles change the course of rivers, that while a swallow may not, yet many swallows may, make a summer, and why not many specks spoil an apple? we shall attend to the cumulative effect of ‘specks' on real estate titles be- fore we dismiss this opinion. . . . it is next ar- gued, as we grasp it, that though the defects and ir- regularities specified are not fatal singly, yet, taken together, their cumulative effect so weights down de- fendants' title in a seal of illegality as to drown it seal of out. such theory is more specious than sound as a illegality working rule in reaching justice. it runs on the no- tion that in unity there is strength-witness, the fable of the father, sons, and bundle of sticks. but there bundle of sticks wit, wisdom and philosophy face like flint notion that men are bound to be enemies wherever and whenever one employs and the other serves, this court, as i read its judgments, has set its face like flint against that pestiferous heresy as unknown to the law of the land, ruinous to the social compact in a nation of free people, unsound in philosophy and false in fact. we but play with the fire when we directly or indi- rectly countenance it. we cannot agree a. loses or weakens his humane instincts toward b. when he hires b. to labor, or when he takes out a policy of insurance partially indemnifying himself against loss by reason of imperfect machinery, inadvertent lapses, lack of due care, forgetfulness, or other form of unintentional wrong. labor is honorable. it accords with divine law. it accords with natural law. there is mischief in idleness. respect for the life, limb, and happiness of the laborer is implanted in man and reigns among the natural equities of the human breast. that there may be now and then those who violate these equities does not militate against the rule itself. a predispo- sition to fraud, neglect or any form of wrong is never presumed by the law. it must be established by proof. in dispensing justice through the courts, where one of two open theories must be taken, and the other left, one ignoble and the other noble, the law takes the nobler one of the two where the facts warrant either. to say that partial indemnity is bound to produce neglect, and that because the master cannot contract against his own neglect, therefore he cannot contract for indemnity, is unsound argument because the pre- mise is fanciful and unsound.” “a bare licensee (barring wantonness, or some form of intentional wrong or active negligence by the owner or occupier) takes the premises as he finds them. his fix may be likened unto that, of one, who,, buys buying lands, buys stones; or buying beef, buys bones ; bones wit, wisdom and philosophy or borrowing a coat, takes it with holes in and but- tons off — that is in the use of his bare license he takes on himself the risk of perils from defects in the prem- ises. mere permission, without more, involves 'leave and license' but bestows no right to care. if a. gives b. leave to hunt mushrooms for his table in a.'s field, and b. falls into a ditch or uncovered pit, and is harmed, no duty was raised, no breaches made, and hence no action lies. as put by way of illustration in the books, suppose a. owns a sea view, a cliff, and gives b. permission to walk on the edge of the cliff for pleasure or air, it would be absurd to contend that such leave cast on a. the burden of fencing the cliff to keep b. from falling off.” stare decisis “surely we should not slavishly follow precedents, revolting to right reason however long the line of them, or whatever glamour be about the names of those deciding them. surely it is good doctrine that a court hew to of justice should fearlessly hew to the line of the law, - the line though in doing so such hewing distressed and unset- tled the business affairs of the state. but should such business affairs be distressed and unsettled unless reason revolts at maintaining the status quo. and speaking of a court's hewing to a line, without fear and without favor, are not those brave words auda- cious, and would not one be a bold and bad axman in hewing to the line, unless prime care be taken to first chalk down the right line to hew to? so, is it alto- gether philosophical to disregard precedents? is the venerable doctrine of stare decisis to be quite whis- whistled down the tled down the wind in the case? is not certainty of wind the very essence of good law? if many wise and good judges in different times in widely separated jurisdic- bad axman wit, wisdom and philosophy axiom ch reagitatio-onger to be of an axiom tions, each of them with open minds seeking for truth and justice on independent lines, each looking at the subject-matter from all sides, all finally with one ac- cord agree on a given proposition, does not that prop- osition partake of the nature of an axiom; that is a proposition no longer to be questioned and about which reagitation, discourse, and argumentation come to an end? is there not a strong presumption, to be indulged by a seeker after truth, that a conclusion is right which has been arrived at by the trained minds of many just men in possession of all the facts and in full light of possible reasoning (pro as well as con), and unreservedly acquiesced in after re-examination?” “a court has nothing to do with what is not before it. a court should not judicially decide what is not judicially presented. to hold one way or the other on the constitutionality of a fire insurance law in a case where fire insurance and a fire insurance policy are not the subject-matter of litigation is to inad- vertently step aside obiter. the decision, therefore, illuminate decides nothing. it may illuminate or persuade (as it persuade does), but it cannot control when the question comes up in some case riding off on the point. its only office is to mark time; it leads nowhere; it goes nowhere. if by ruling the statute constitutional in part the de- cision would come under the doctrine of stare decisis or res adjudicata and thus be a precedent to be fol- lowed below or above, i would be inclined to agree to it, as now advised; but, as it can have no such effect i mark myself as saying nothing on the question of constitutionality. if the thing 'were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly' (by a side stroke as my brother does it). but as 'tis not done when 'tis done, then were it not well it were not done at all till the time is ripe to so do it that it will be done once for all? 'reserve your fire,' said the bun- or wit, wisdom and philosophy white of their eyes limbo on nonsense ker hill officer, 'till you see the white of their eyes'; that is, till you have a mark to shoot at in close range. may not judicial 'fire' profit by that advice ?”' “broadly, as a main proposition, it is contended by appellants' aggregation of veteran counsel that we de- termined nothing correctly in those two cases. there- fore nothing was set at rest, and every question there involved must be reagitated and redetermined. to that end we are cited to the same authorities relied on to sustain the selfsame propositions advanced in briefs in those cases and ruled adversely. it must be appar- ent that if there was a general rule allowing two hear- ings on the same questions it would be a blazing in-b infirmity firmity in the law. if courts put themselves in a limbo on nonsense and set themselves continuously to plant- ing and then pulling up, weaving, and then raveling (vide the classical legend of penelope's web) to stitch- ing and ripping, or, what amounts to the same thing, to deciding and then setting aside their own solemn adjudications, men and their posterity would think ill of our understanding. the doctrines of the law of the case are related to stare decisis and res adjudicata, and are settled doctrines of this court-doctrines hav- ing their exceptions in emergencies—but none of those exceptions apply here. there would be no end to liti. gation and no certainty in the law unless we adhered rigidly to the general rule of the law of the case and applied the exception to that general rule with rare palpable wound circumspection and only when a palpable wound had been inadvertently given to justice and where no in- jury would result from a change in our judgments. in the named prohibition cases we halted the trial be- low on the prayer of these appellants. why so? to settle vital questions of jurisdiction they deemed nec- essary to a just hearing. we did settle them on full consideration, and the trial judge resumed the trial wit, wisdom and philosophy at the point where he was arrested, and thereafter proceeded with it in conformity with our rulings. de- lay has occurred in a matter of pressing public mo- ment, and outlays have been made on the strength of our rulings. we deem it in the nature of a scandal to scandal to adminis- the administration of the law to undo at this late day tration what we have done by treading back on our tracks and sending this proceeding out of court with a tan- gle of confusion left behind and to the detriment of a great city, unless we are forced to do so by the im- perious call of the law itself. we hear no such call. we see no such necessity. the stiff general rule is that the lower court was bound by our former de- cisions, and so are on second appeal.” boulevard mountain “in the jurisprudence, as in the other affairs of mankind, a mountain should not be made out of a molehill. those judges who strain at gnats are in the molehill same category of those who swallow camels. matt. , . is it likely the lawmaker cunningly hid away the meaning of his law in a word of not only one sylla- ble, but of one letter-a meaning to be got at by boring with a gimlet of grammatical construction? that would be to try to stand a cone on its apex. it would be multum in parvo with a vengeance, indicating a legis- lative power of condensation hitherto undreamed of. appellants conceded that two lines are meant by the charter language; and this, although the word 'line' is used in the singular number. that concession is due to the very reason of the thing, since there are two sides to every boulevard, and therefore two building lines, both of which must be within the purview of the law. reason, therefore teaches us, concedes counsel in effect, that the phrase "a building line' means two wit, wisdom and philosophy cupid's bow building lines. does not the same reason teach us that, if the lawmaker had meant two straight lines, he would have said so? the word line in and of itself may (but does not necessarily) mean a straight line, even in mathematics, and certainly not in everyday speech. hogarth's line of beauty was a combination of curves somewhat like cupid's bow. we speak of a boundary line, but we do not mean in all cases a straight line. we speak of a line fence, and may mean zigzag a virginia worm fence—zigzag fence. we speak of a fence bee line, and then we mean a straight line. the sub- ject matter must be looked to to see whether 'line' means straight line. as used in the charter, we think the word means a mark of division or demarcation an outline or contour, a limit or boundary. vide web. since there is no dispute about tastes (de gustibus, etc.) it is not worth while to argue that good taste re- quires a straight building line in a street reconstructed for travel as well as beauty and pleasure to the eye. jones may like straight lines; brown, curves; smith, broken lines. the legislative mind may prefer a com- bination of all-a fantastic or rococo style. is there anything in the word 'boulevard' that necessarily means straight building lines? let us look into that. it was once a war-like term, and meant the flat top of a bulwark or rampart—the fortified wall roundabout pelshazzar a city. for all i know belshazzar, the son of a grass- eating nebuchadnezzar, drove his chariots on the wall of babylon and hurled defiance at his foes. if he did, he drove on a 'boulevard'. as though beating a sword into a plowshare or a spear into a pruning hook, we are told by scholars that when in the course of time a city's obsolete walls were razed, the space occupied by the foundations was frequently turned into a street or avenue for the use and pleasure of citizens, and that rococo style wit, wisdom and philosophy pool of justice bills of exceptions and case records “it is entirely plain that the waters of the pool of justice had become somewhat troubled from causes ap- pearing as well in the lines as between the lines of the record; and not only from that, but from prima facie reasons, relators were advised by unequivocal danger signals of a fixed predetermination in the trial judge to take no other steps in the premises either ex mero motu or on their prayer. but in the evolution of the practical and of the written law a certain flexibility, providing for hardships, for new needs, and for the suitable accuracy in preserving the incidents of a law suit, to wit, the official stenogra- pher's notes, was created . . . finally the legis- legislative lative torch burned up all the learning of those cases torch requiring the trial judge, and no other, to settle and sign bills of exceptions. writs of error cannot be sued out after one year from date of judgment. 'right and justice,' says our bill of rights ... 'should be administered without sale, denial or delay, and, if reasons afield be permissible (see hamlet's monologue, hamlet, act , sc. ) where the law's delay is enumer- ated among the grounds for felo de se.... to the contrary, the cases were fighting lawsuits and par- ties litigant dealt at arm's length with each other throughout. relators were not inops consilii, but had the benefit of attorneys learned in law. in this condi. tion of things, instead of suing out a timely writ of mandamus in the case as consolidated, covering all nine bills of exception, they elected to let eight of them sleep, and used the m. case as a pioneer to blaze the way. ... their claims arising out of an alleged minority of relators' female ancestors at the date of their said conveyance, had been lurking in ambush for nearly a half century, and without a shadow of sug- lurking in ambush wit, wisdom and philosophy hot and cold gestion on our part as to its merits (for they are not before us), we may with propriety say that it would be expecting an uncommon amount of blandness on the part of defendants so assailed to hope that, when smitten on one cheek with suits of that character, de- smitten on one fendants would turn the other cheek to be further cheek smitten by stipulations which had for their purpose the easing of the burdens of claimants in the litiga- tion. the record shows that the defendants, each for himself, were contesting every inch of the ground, and therefore a ‘hope' for a stipulation had no substance or reason to be. he who knows all cannot be de- ceived." “this record was read from the same book as the other, and by its introduction plaintiff should be deemed to have measurably vouched for both book and officer; that is, it comes with ill grace for him to dis- credit either. by so doing plaintiff blows hot and blows cold in the same breath, and the infelicity of blowing that way is illustrated in the fable of the man and the satyr (see aesop's fables); it being permis- sible we think, to levy on and seize a parcel of the homely wisdom of these immortal fables to point a moral in the law now and then—for may not a judi- cial wayfarer, traveling in the dry and dusty high- ways of the law, at spells lighten his labor without lowering the dignity of his case by gathering a nose- gay for use as do other wayfarers, so long as he does not loiter afield and miss the main traveled road to ultimate justice? we read the abbreviation 'd. c. s.' in defendant's certificate as meaning 'county surveyor deputy’; that is, that whilhelmi was merely a deputy in both instances, and, by casting the shadow of his own personality over his unknown principal, placed said principal in (at least) partial eclipse, while at the same time he 'exalted his own born' unduly. ... partial eclipse wit, wisdom and philosophy it is plain that plaintiff's position while at peace with kopp was that the line was settled and satisfactory; but when ill humor took the place of good humor, and ill humor the moore survey followed, then his acquiescence van- ished and he went to law. “behold how great a mat- ter a little fire kindleth.' whatever was the very right of this case during the time these neighbors were in accord remains the very right of the case when in discord. justice is not a weathercock, to veer about with the moods of the parties litigant.” “with patience, line upon line, and precept upon precept, we have steadily pointed out what the ‘rec- ord proper' is, and the mandatory requirements of statutes and of the appellate rules calling for an ab- stract, of the record proper, as such. over and over again it has been pointed out that no part or parcel of the record proper has lot or place in the bill of excep- tions; and if put into such bill, and left out of the ab- stract of the record proper, it is a fatal infirmity. in saying so, our yea has been yea, our nay, nay to the crossing of a 't' and the dotting of an 'i'." fatal infirmity depository bond na tack of “in the foregoing view of the bond, we should not take the law of this case from doctrines announced in, and applicable to, suits on official bonds, as such, and search in a great haystack of insolvency for the needles insolvency of this, that, or the other, loss suffered by the salmon bank. it would serve no purpose in the law to chal- lenge or encounter the anxious danger of becoming puzzle-headed with bewilderment in a labyrinth of in- solvency—a labyrinth more intricate than that of fair rosamond at woodstock. ... the payments came into the trial unapplied, and, in accordance with the minnesota and kansas rule of application, the de- ency-a lapy woodstock. a in accord wit, wisdom and philosophy ‘blind guides which strain at a gnat and swallow a gnat and camel camel,' if we refused to take judicial notice of the patent and large fact that defendant is now and al- ways has been actively engaged in interstate com- inerce? as pointed out by defendant's learned coun- sel, we know as well that defendant's railroad is a art main traveled highway—a throbbing artery—of com- commerce merce stretching from st. louis on the eastern line of this state to kansas city on the western line and away into other states, as we know that the missouri river exists as a navigable stream and takes the same course. let us look at it from another point of view, viz.: that defendant has the charter power to do an interstate commerce business no one would question. that defendant is organized for the very purpose of commercial gain as a common carrier no one would question. given such power and such congenital and appetite organized appetite for profit, would any court require for pro proof that defendant was using such power and ap- peasing such appetite in ways ready to its hand? as well (speaking in a homely way) require a solemn allegation or proof that fish swim, or that birds fly, as to require allegation or proof that a going railroad corporation is doing what it is born to do, to wit, en- gage in interstate commerce, when the alluring gains of such traffic are spread like a feast before its eager corporate eyes corporate eyes and nothing nigh to hinder.” automobile “an automobile is not a lethal weapon like a gun, a pistol, a dagger, or a billy. hence no evil intent to kill or harm is presumed by its mere use. it does not fill the malignant office of poison in taking life.” wit, wisdom and philosophy line of wits, including butler, scarron, and goldsmith, that: "'for he who fights and runs away may live to fight another day; but he who is in battle slain can never rise and fight again.' he who fights “translating that notion into allowable law phrase, it might be read thus: he who fights and runs away from a position taken on his answer and at the trial, because driven away by the court, may live to fight another day on appeal in the same position, if he marked the spot by an exception; but he who is in battle slain, that is, who selects his place voluntarily, dies in and who legally (speaking in figure) dies in his tracks his tracks on his selected theory, can fight no more on appeal, because (so once a mortgage, always a mortgage, so) once fairly dead, always dead.”. maintenance bone to pick “that maintenance is a doctrine of the law in this state is a proposition questioned by neither party to this suit, and presents no new or open question. we have no bone to pick with it, we take no issue with the views of our brother on the abstract doctrine of maintenance, put with animation and eloquence, nor say we aught against the cases marshaled and arrayed in support of the general doctrine of maintenance. but observe, that doctrine, as announced anciently, goes now with a grain of salt; for it must be under- stood that the rigors of the rules of the very old com- mon law in that regard have been tempered and mel- lowed in modern times. the modern doctrine takes out of the rule against maintenance those who interfere rigors of law wit, wisdom and philosophy in which they, or honestly believe they have, an in- terest." fence amcoius and syuan devil's invention fecund womb “now, breachy stock and a low or broken line fence are the devil's own invention for discords and squab- bles between coterminous proprietors—a fecund womb of a miserable brood of infelicities, viz., bad blood, bickering, bloodshed, fuss, litigation. in this case some of those things were hatching. accordingly for the good of her pocket and peace of mind, she gave the roadway in return for a fence, presumably bull- strong, and hog-tight, as the saying runs." femme sole “is estoppel applied to a married woman in her dealings with her husband precisely as to other per- sons ? counsel for respondent argue that way. orally at this bar it was stoutly and with animation exclaimed that (in that regard) old things had passed away and all things became new; that there issued from mar- ried woman's acts a still. small voice of command to stil small the courts, viz., ‘forward ! march'! that in the 'glad- some light' of modern jurisprudence the wife appeared from head to foot armed as a feme sole; that she takes the bitter with the sweet, hence her new power to con- tract and control her estate involves a new responsi- bility and danger, to wit, estoppel in pais, now to be applied to her unsparingly with a rigid, stern, and un- accommodating vigor. we think no consideration of this question can justly proceed by overlooking the fact that estoppel in pais is not the creature of statu- tory law. it was the creature of elevated and refined ethics administered in a court of equity. moreover, when in former days it was held that estoppel in pais elevated ethics wit, wisdom and philosophy (except as to her separate equitable estate) did not lie against a married woman at all, the grace of free- dom from that burden did not spring from statutory mandate, but was a product of judicial reasoning to attain justice. since that grace was not given by statute, even if an order come to, 'forward ! march !' may we not at least look about a little to inquire if statutes (silent as ours in the giving or denying of it) take it quite away? and to inquire: who issued such order? on what road are we to march? how far? where? if we are to march blindfolded, we might say with a certain unhappy person, who once hesitated long and doubted much in a certain crisis : “ 'if it were done when it is done, then it were well if it were done quickly,' —and have the thing over with. estoppel in pais, cre- rest in ated by the reason of the thing should rest in reason, reason and we are not called upon to write the law relating to the estoppel of a wife one inch beyond where reason and common sense compel us to go; because, absent a statute on estoppel, if any command had come to march, it is from the forum of reason and nowhere else.... was she required to post her husband ? did she have to sue him instanter, although the stat- ute of limitation still treats her as under disability ? shall she quarrel and fuss with him, and, what is more, blazon their squabble abroad in order that cred- itors may know how the matter stands? if the order to march requires that the peace of the household must be sacrificed in order to protect her property rights, that the love, honor, and trust at the very root of the marriage relation shall be turned into bitterness and gall of dissension and strife, then is the reform a re- bitterness and gall wit, wisdom and philosophy form? do we march forward or retreat? this wife did what she could in a gentle way to protect her in- terests, having in mind the fact that her husband was the head of the household, that she loved him, and trusted him to comply with her requests and his own promises, and that concord in the household was a wifely duty. we do not think she was estopped as to his creditors, absent a fraudulent intent on her part. we agree that in a given case estoppel in pais may now be applied to a married woman. her right to con- tract and control her estate results by necessary in- ference in that conclusion. but we cannot agree to apply the rule of estoppel harshly and with close par- ticularity under any and all circumstances where the marital relation is involved. such holding would in- jure the very class of married women's acts it in- tended to protect, and would not subserve the welfare of society. the personnel of those involved in estop- pel must not be lost sight of, and it is not unreason- able to hold that facts sufficient to estop a socrates or socrates other 'lord of creation' would estop susan, jane, and mary-good missouri mothers all.... we do not rule that creditors must see for themselves the actual record of an actual deed in their debtor's name; for faith, says a sound lawyer (heb. xi; , q. v.), is the substance of things not seen." constitution “a grave provision of the constitution may be in- voked by every litigant at every turn to cause an act of the legislature to perish by judicial construction, or to take away or confer jurisdiction. not only may the right to raise a constitutional point be waived, but such point may be injected untimely, and (what is more to the point) it may be raised by a litigant not wit, wisdom and philosophy circumstance' of civilization. so much is history, and courts know history. we may, peradventure, also know (without any proof whatsoever and by the same token) that the red man went his way and the white man came at his heels; and, presently speaking in recognizable figure) behold, the happy land of the big red apple! one flowing, may be, with ‘milk and honey.' withal we may know as a court that the milk and pomme de terre, the east fork of sac, the asher,“ clear, pickerel, together with wilson creek, the james and its tributaries meander and murmur within the spacious bounds of greene. so much, we take it, is ge- ography and appellate courts know geography." honey meander and murmur legislative acts “a law at the outset may be too short or too nar- row, too long or too broad; hence it is subject to re- consideration by the legislative mind. it may be lengthened, broadened, shortened, or narrowed. so laws are passed to meet new or changed conditions. astuteness in the law breaker may be met by astute- ness in the law maker. one law may supplement an- other, and when such is a fact the duty of the court is to construe them together, so far as possible, as a harmonious and symmetrical body of law, so that all symmetri- of them may stand as related and cognate, and none cal of them perish by construction, unless there is clear repugnance, irreconcilable conflict, or complete over. lapping.” bastards “there is a primary maxim of the law that, in favor of life, liberty, and innocence, all things are to be pre- sumed. (in favorem vitat, etc.) there is another: wit, wisdom and philosophy equity and matrimony eternal verities “it accords with the equity maxims. equity looks to the substance not form. equity proceeds in accord- ance with what is good and right (ex aequo et bono). indeed conscience and the very merits of a matter are inseparably joined by the eternal verities, the nature of things; and in administering equity, pure and unde- filed, we may adopt as a cardinal rule the command- ment of the marriage ritual, viz. : whom god hath joined together, let no man put asunder. and to pre- vent that untoward result, the sayings of phillips c. ... anent the conversation of our courts, which 'would sacrifice the ends of justice upon the sharp edge of technicality.'" “in a pinch, in court or out, much is seen through a keyhole, or, put otherwise, some one illuminating fact often throws a gleam of light into the obscure corners of litigation, to aid the eye of the chancellor, flash of precisely as a flash of lightning on a dark night re. veals the landscape to a bewildered traveler. the wise latin hath it that every living thing comes from a germ (“omne vivum ex ovo')—which, broadly, may be put into: every lawsuit is hatched from an egg or grows from a seed. if such commonplace generalities are allowable as a foreword to this case, involving charges and countercharges of perjury and fraud, they may be rounded with a bit of record to find the egg of the case.” “the atmosphere of the plane on which a court moves is not so frosty that no buds of sentiment may frosty swell and bloom there. no court is so high and cold that it may not be generous; therefore far be it from us to refuse judicial aid and judicial commendation to a gentle flow of filial affection, whether that be early or late, weak or strong." in topical index eggs . ......... election laws ... eminent domain . equity equity and matrimony evidence . ...... exaggeration .. page ........... ......... , . , , , ....... ........ ........ femme sole . ..... fence .. fishermen .. fraud ...... freedom of speech ... ...... ............... .... , , , , , , , , ...... ..... habeas corpus . ........ hammurabi, code of ..... history ... homestead ... horse trading ........... huntsmen hypothetical questions ..... .. , ...... n a u s . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . idem sonans . ... improbabilities . . injunction ... instructions . .. insolvency . ..... insurance indemnities ... in vino veritas .... ..... ....... ........ , , , , , , , ........ ess . ............................................. judge . ...... judgment ..... judicial calmness . .. judicial notice . ...... jurisdiction .... jury system. .... ........... , . , , .. .............................................. .. , laches . .... landmarks of the law ..... land tenures . . res . ............................................ lawyer and money lender .. legislative acts . ........... liability ... d e r . . . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . topical ind e x page .... , . , usee . liar . ..... libel. ..... licensee ..... lis pendens ... logic. loss and gain . .................................................. .......................................................... . . . maintenance . ....... ...... .......................................... ...... marital infelicity . , matrimony ......... metaphysics . . . ............................................. milk ........... ..................................................... .... misjoinder . .... misnomer m e r . ................................................ moot court. ......... , mule .. .......................................................... ...... multiplicity of suits . s . ............................................ . . ...... , , , , , , negligence . .... new trial . nicknames . ..... nuisance . ....... nullius filius . ... .............................. ons............................................ objections .... opinion evidence . ..... ordinary care . ...... ......... , , ......... , . , , .............................................. patriotism . .... perilous situation ....: personal liberty ... pie ....... pleadings . ..... precedent. presumption of honesty preparation . ..... principal and agent . profitless litigation ... public elective office . ................................................... ....................................... , real estate .... record . . ........ religious liberty . . , .... , .......... topical index page seal of secrecy ........ sense of the law ... soldiers' homes . ... speed ordinance . ...... standard oil . .. stare decisis . statutory construction .... stockholders ... ... , , ....... , , , , ............... , taxes . ...... tenancy at will .. tres passer .. trial .. passer . ................................................... . , .... truth . useless litigation ........ . , , ..................................................... vendee . voter . ......... ....... ........ , warranties . .... wills .... witnesses. ........ .......... , , , cucosos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .. . .. . .. .. . case index page on which quoted . libel. cook v. globe printing co. .... s.w. - . libel . ....... ..meriwether v. publishers: geo. knapp & co. ............... s.w. . libel ......... ....deiner v. star-chronicle pub. co......................... s.w. - . libel .ukman v. daily record....... s.w. . libel ..orchard v. globe printing co... s.w. . negligence . . .... applegate v. q. o. & k. c. r. co. s.w. . negligence . .... rollinson v. wabash r. co.... s.w. - . negligence . ... ... kane v. st. l. & s. f. r........ s.w. . negligence . ... ... . hill v. union electric light & power co. .................. s.w. . negligence . ........ . . . . lyman v. dale ............... s.w. - . negligence . ..... ....hunt v. st. l. & s. f. r. ...... s.w. . contributory negligence ... williams v. k. c. s. r. co. .... s.w. . religious liberty ......... state v. c. b. & q. r. co. ..... s.w. - . law, logic and new trial. star bottling co. v. lou. pur. ex. co. . ................... s.w. . law, oratory and rhetoric.peltzer v. gilbert ............ s.w. - . new trial ...maplegreen realty co. v. miss. valley trust co. ........... s.w. . jury system . ..... .... whiteaker v. c. r. i. & p. r... s.w. - . jury system . .... . simpson v. witte iron wks. co. s.w. - . jury system ... troll v. spencer .... .. s.w. . jury system . .... flaherty v. st. l. transit co.. s.w. . jury system . ... . dean v. k. c. st. l. & c. r. co.. s.w. . jury system . ... ....devoy v. st. l. transit co..... s.w. . matrimony . . bishop v. britain inv. co...... s.w. . marital infelicity .... medlin v. morris ............. s.w. - . marital infelicity ......... viertel v. viertel ............ . s.w. - . marital infelicity .........hynds v. hynds ............ . s.w. . exaggeration, huntsmen, fishermen ............. cummings v. parker ......... s.w. . historic land tenures ....troll v. city of st. louis...... s.w. - . habeas corpus and per- sonal liberty . .........ex parte clark ............... s.w. . habeas corpus and per- sonal liberty . ......... state v. broaddus ............ s.w. . attorneys' briefs ......... johnson v. united railways of st. louis . ................. s.w. - . statutory construction ....greene county v. lydy........ s.w. - . the law's delays ........ adam v. c. b. & q. ry. co..... s.w. - . the law's delays ........wilson v. st. louis transit co.. s.w. case index page on which quoted . objections .... ......... e. st. l. ice co. v. kuhlman. . s.w. - . objections ................ cohron v. polk ............... s.w. . statutory construction .... henry county v. salmon...... s.w. . statutory construction ....clark v. k. c. st. l. & c. r... s.w. . statutory construction .... bishop v. britain ins. co. ..... s.w. - . statutory construction .... mott v. morris ............... s.w. - . statutory construction .... strother v. barrow ........... s.w. - . statutory construction .... simpson v. witte iron wks. co. s.w. . statutory construction .... in re aiken ................. s.w. . moot court, etc. .......... state v. imel ................. s.w. - . moot court, etc. .......... state v. thomas .............. s.w. - . multiplicity of suits ...... troll v. city of st. louis. ..... s.w. - . verity of judgment .......jeude v. simms .............. s.w. - . court may change its mind.padgett v. smith ............. s.w. . judicial astuteness ....... state v. mayor, etc. .......... s.w. comity. ......... hughes v. winkleman ........ s.w. . interpretation ............ state v. city of st. louis ..... s.w. . instructions in chancery ..lee v. lee ................... s.w. . landmarks of the law .... linn county v. clifton ........ s.w. . attorney . ..... . state v. standard oil ......... s.w. . briefs . .baumhoff v. st. l. & k. r. .... s.w. . briefs ......... cook v. newby ............... s.w. . briefs ... .........gass v. evans ............... s.w. - . advice to young attorney. donaldson v. donaldson ....... s.w. - . attorney's lien ........... whitecotton v. st. l. & h. ry. co. . ......... ... s.w. . brief ..........sullivan v. holbrook ......... s.w. . preparation ...............devoy v. st. l. t. co. ......... s.w. . confidential communica- tions, secrecy .......... smart v. kansas city ......... s.w. . confidential communica- tions, secrecy .......... epstein v. pa. r. co. ......... s.w. . ordinary care, negligence. strother v. kansas city milling co. ...... ... s.w. - . ordinary care, negligence. benton v. city of st. louis.... s.w. - . trespasser . .............. whiteaker v. c. r. i. & p. r. r.. s.w. - . contributory negligence .. dyrcz v. missouri pac. ry....- s.w. . liability. ................ kelly v. benas ............... s.w. . negligence, mine .........knorpp v. wagner ........... s.w. - . ordinary care ............ harper v. st. louis merchants bridge terminal co. ........ s.w. - . public elective office ..... state v. sheppard ............ s.w. case index page on which quoted . public elective office ..... kavanaugh v. gordon ........ s.w. . public elective office .....gass v. evans . .............. s.w. . commons . . ...... state v. wood ................ s.w. - . improbabilities ... .....burnel v. nester ............. s.w. . cleanliness ..., .....harkreader v. vernon county.. s.w. . pie . ...... .....welch v. mann . ............. s.w. . eggs . ...... .....wright v. groom . ........... s.w. . loss and gain ...... ...... st. louis, m. & s. e. r. co. v. aubuchon ................. s.w. . deceit . ...... cobe v. lovan . .............. s.w. . contempt . ..c. b. & q. ry. v. gildersleeve.. s.w. - . wills. . cornet v. cornet ............. s.w. . wills . ........ .... powell v. u. r. r. co. ........ s.w. . wills. ...... kirk v. middlebrook .......... s.w. . idem sonans........ ..... akins v. adams ............. s.w. . eminent domain .... .....rivard v. mo. p. r. co. ...... s.w. - . eminent domain .. . kansas city v. woerishoeffer. s.w. - . jurisdiction . ....... ..... state v. williams ............ s.w. . jurisdiction .............. state v. fort . ............... s.w. . adverse possession ....... mccune v. goodwillie ........ s.w. . adverse possession ....... himmel-berger v. harrison lumber co. ................ s.w. . adverse possession .......hafner mfg. co. v. city of st. louis . ......... ........... s.w. . real estate law .. . skillman v. clardy ........... s.w. . injunction . .............. viertel v. viertel ............. s.w. - . injunction . ............. . state v. canty ............... s.w. - . insurance indemnity ......breeden v. frankfort m. a. & p. g. ins. co. .............. s.w. - . licensee . ................ glaser v. rothschild ......... s.w. . stare decisis ....... .breeden v. frankfort m. a. & p. g. ins. co. .............. s.w. - . stare decisis ......nalley v. home ins. co. ...... s.w. . stare decisis ............ .kansas city v. st. louis & kan. city land co. .............. s.w. - . boulevard . ..... ...... city of st. louis v. handlan. . s.w. - . warranties in ins. policies. matthews v. modern woodmen of america . ............. s.w. - . bills of exceptions ........state v. gibson .............. s.w. . record; officer and dep- uty . ...... ............... stumpe v. kopp . ............ s.w. . record ......... ...... bennowfski v. coerver ....... s.w. . depository bond ..........henry county v. salmon...... s.w. lu case index page on which quoted . misjoinder . ...... hudson v. wright ............ s.w. - . judicial notice ........... state v. mo. p. r. co. ......... s.w. . automobile . ............. diener v. star-chronicle pub. co......................... s.w. - . tenancy at will .......... idalia realty & development co. v. norman ............. s.w. . the common people ...... stonemets v. head ........... s.w. - . pleadings ................state v. kansas city gas co... s.w. - . presumption of honesty ..hendricks v. calloway ....... s.w. . precedent . aiple-hemmelman r. e. co. v. spellbrink . ....... ... s.w. . death and debts .......... keeney v. mcvoy ............ s.w. - . trial and appeal .........kennefick v. norwich u. fire ins. co. .................... s.w. . maintenance ............breeden v. frankfort m. a. & p. g. ins. co. ............... s.w. - . fence . ........... .sanford v. kern . ...... ... s.w. . femme sole . ..... ....... blake v. meadows ............ s.w. - . constitution . . . ordelheide v. modern b. of a.. s.w. . taxes-historical ......... decker v. diemer ............ s.w. . legislative acts . ........ city of st. louis v. myer ..... s.w. . bastards . ................nelson v. jones .......... .... s.w. - . in vino veritas .......... baecker v. mo. pac. r. ........ s.w. . equity and matrimony ....troll v. spencer .............. s.w. . egg, lawsuit .............howard v. scott ............. s.w. - . filial affection ........... chambers v. chambers ....... s.w. ---- - -- - - - - . , - bx .al harvard divinity school andover-harvard theological library from the collection of the universalist historical society universalist the top rimerica, .o ani v the %, niwyork, isst, occasional sermon, delivered before the universalist general convention, at its session in the city of new-york, sept, ; together with thirteen other sermons, delivered on the same occasion. new-york: p. price, fulton street. . bx . al u copil entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by p: price, in the clerk's office of the district court of the southern district of new york. *** sementing on the stereotyped by j. s. redfield, chambers street, new york. w ay note to the reader. in giving the following sermons to the public—as “ convention sermons,"—it may be inferred by the general reader that they were prepared and arranged expressly for the occasion. it is, therefore, due the authors to say, that, with the exception of the oc- casional, no previous arrangements are made for the discourses to be delivered during the session of the convention. the whole direction is left to a com- mittee, usually designated at the opening of the session ; and they make all arrangements, select speakers, &c. consequently, those called upon to officiate, must go before their audiences with such preparation as they may happen to possess ; or at best, with but few hours' additional preparation. we cannot but express the hope, in this connex- ion, though it may possibly be deemed out of place, that this evil (for evil, or difficulty, we regard it) will be eventually removed—that the council of the general convention will sooner or later take the matter into its own hands, and not only select all the preachers for its succeeding annual session, but allot each one some specific subject to discourse upon. in this way, time may not only be allowed the preachers to prepare themselves, but we shall obtain a series of discourses on important and useful note to the reader. subjects, and which may be made highly servicea- ble in advancing the cause which we profess to revere and honor. as a farther apology, for this volume, it is proper to state, that the plan of collecting the sermons into a book, was not suggested till several of the preach- ers had left the city. most of the discourses, also, were mainly extemporaneous, and have been written out since, from memory, after two or three weeks de- lay, and in considerable haste. time has likewise been consumed in communicating with the authors, and the subsequent hurry in crowding the work through the press, has left no opportunity for them to examine proof-sheets. errors, consequently, may have occurred. if so, let them be regarded, under the circumstances, with a lenient eye. with every needed allowance, however, it is be- lieved this little volume will be found highly inter- esting and valuable ; and, in the confident hope that it will accomplish much good, it is sent forth on its errand of love. the publisher. new york, nov. . contents. page. occasional sermon, delivered before the convention, in the elizabeth street church, wednesday morning, sept. , , by t. j. sawyer, new york... ii. the wisdom of god manifested in his works. a sermon delivered in the orchard street church, tuesday evening, sept. , , by a. a. miner, methuen, mass...... iii, brotherly love, a sermon delivered in the elizabeth street church, tuesday evea ning, sept. , , by asher moore, philadelphia................ iv. man an active being. a sermon delivered in the orchard street church, wednesday after noon, sept. , , by hosea ballou, d, medford, mass......... . v. the ministry of reconciliation. a sermon delivered in the orchard street church, wednesday eve- ning, sept. , , by hosea ballou, boston, mass............... vi. faith and works. a sermon delivered in the elizabeth street church, wednesday eve- ning, sept. , , by sebastian streeter, boston, mass.......... • contents. vii. page. the true grounds of christian rejoicing. a sermon delivered in the bleecker street church, wednesday eve- ning, sept. , , by merritt sanford, middletown, conn........ viii. the good shepherd. a sermon dolivered in the houston street church, wednesday eve- ning, sept. , , by john m. austin, danvers, mass........... ix. christian and protestant freedom. a sermon delivered in the bleecker street church, thursday morn- ing, sept. , , by e. h. chapin, charlestown, mass.......... x. the gospel, the power of god unto salvation a sermon delivered in the orchard street church, thursday after- noon, sept. , (at the close of which about individuals participated in the communion services), by o. a. skinner, boston, ........ xi. mass.... character of the religion of jesus. a sermon delivered in the elizabeth street church, thursday eve- ning, sept. , , by t. j. greenwood, marlboro', mass........ xii. accomplishment of the savior's mission. a sermon delivered in the bleecker street church, thursday eve- ning, sept. , , by s. r. smith, albany, n. y............... xiii. object and character of true religious worship. a sermon delivered in the houston street church, thursday eve- ning, sept. , , by h. g. smith, berlin, conn................ xiv. the evidence of a true faith. a sermon delivered in the houston street church, tuesday evening, sept. , , by w. s. balch, then of providence; r. i., now ot new york... .. ... ..... ........................ .. convention sermons. occasional sermon, before the general convention of universalists, at its session in the city of new york, september , . by rev. t. j. sawyer. “say not ye, there are yet four months and then cometh the harvest. behold i say unto you, lift up your eyes and look on the fields, for they are white already to the harvest."-john iv. . what is the cause in which we are engaged ? what is the position it now occupies? what are the prospects that lie open before it? what is the ministry it is destined to perform ? and, finally, what are the duties it requires at our hands? i know not, my brethren, that i can better fulfil the duty assigned me on the present occasion, than by calling your attention to these several questions, and endeavoring, as well as i may, to answer them. the field which they open before us is obviously one of great extent, and even a brief discussion of the sev- eral topics it presents will necessarily occupy con- siderable time ; but as i deem it a subject of no in- considerable importance to universalists, i indulge the hope that my auditors may be so far interested in its consideration as to relieve me from the fear of soon wearying their patience, while i attempt to un- fold it, were we to listen to the representations of our opposers, we should be led to think that the cause in occasional sermon. which we are engaged is one full-fraught with mis- chief; that it is opening wide the flood-gates of licentiousness, paving a highway for vice and crime, and, if successful, will “convert our world into a hell,” and end only by working out the certain and hopeless ruin of millions and millions of our race ! but we, my brethren, do not so apprehend it. on the contrary, in the light of scripture, according to the dictates of sober reason, and under all the lessons of experience, we cannot but regard it as the cause of truth, of humanity, and of god,-a cause whose spirit is that of divine benevolence, breathing uni- versal good-will, and is inwoven with the best and holiest aspirations of many a heart that knows not whence those aspirations come, nor whither they tend. the cause in which we are engaged is an open and manifest one, that shrinks not from observation or scrutiny, and may therefore be easily defined. it is the cause of universal goodness and grace. it combines two considerations which must ever be of the highest importance to rational and moral beings : i mean the glory of god, and the happiness of man- kind. we name it after no man; we designate it by no appellation drawn from outward or trifling circumstances. we give it a title indicative of its broad and comprehensive character. we call it. universalism. it stands opposed to all partial and narrow-minded schemes; it lifts itself up above all low and grovelling systems, and comprehends the whole vast plan of the divine goodness and grace, from the moment of creation, when the morning-stars sang together, to the grand consummation of heav- en's purposes in relation to man, when all moral bea ings shall be brought into willing subjection to the gentle reign of jesus christ, and “god shall be all occasional sermon. in all.” we call it universalism, because it rests upon, and teaches the universal benevolence of god; because it inculcates the great truth that the mission of the savior was designed by the father for a uni- versal purpose, viz., that he might be the savior of the world, and, finally, because it proclaims, as the result of the divine government and grace, the uni- versal holiness and happiness of the family of man. we differ,—and we would by no means conceal the fact, we differ widely from most of the christian sects by which we are surrounded, and on grounds, too, which we cannot but regard as fundamental in the system of revealed truth. i allude to our views of the moral character of god. we hold it to be one of the highest-perhaps it is also one of the most difficult-duties of the christian, to sanctify the lord god in his heart; that is, to think worthily of that great and good being, in whom we live and move, and from whom we receive our every bles- sing. we should strive to form just and noble con- ceptions of him; to entertain lofty and comprehensive views of his perfections and character; and to as- cribe to him no purpose or mode of working which casts dishonor upon his holy name. the world seems to fear thinking too well of god. we believe the danger is far greater of thinking meanly of him. we see in all ages how prone men are to bring down the deity to a level with their own moral character, and not unfrequently to degrade him even below themselves. it is the spirit of christian- ity to reverse this unhallowing process, by lifting man up, and conforming him to the moral excellence of the godhead. it was observed with too much truth, by dr. adam clarke, that “the system of hu- manizing god, and making him, by our unjust con- ceptions of him, to act as ourselves would in certain occasional sermon. circumstances, has been the bane both of religion and piety; and on this ground,” says he, " infidels have laughed us to scorn." now we regard it as one of the chief excellences, nay, as the ground of all the excellences, of our faith, that it represents god as worthy at once of our highest love, and our profoundest reverence. we believe him to be possessed of all moral perfection. we believe him to be infinitely holy, just, and good; that in the depths and essence of his very being he is love, from whose inexhaustible fountains come forth all the divine purposes in reference to his whole intelligent and moral creation. we believe that he regards every human soul with an affection so pure and true, that no transgressions can destroy it, no waywardness or perversity can alienate it, no ingrate itude or forgetfulness can cool it. we believe that while his infinite holiness forbids that he should ever look upon sịn with the least approbation or allowance, he still loves the sinner: and that while his perfect justice requires him to “bring every work into judg, ment, with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil,” and to "render to every man according to his deeds," it is still the glory of his character to remember mercy; and though he visits man's transgressions with the rod and his iniquities with stripes, nevertheless his loving-kindness he does not utterly take from him, nor suffer his faithfulness to fail. in short, we believe what our savior so clearly and frequently taught, that god is a father, and that his government is parental in its principles, its spirit, and its end. amid all the multiplied evils of this world, we believe none is so great as to bid defiance to the wonder-working power and love of god; and perhaps we should not go too far to say there is occasional sermon. - none which the divine wisdom and grace will not make the occasion for their own manifestation and glory. where sin abounded grace did much more abound. we believe, therefore, that with god there is no unconditional toleration of evil in the universe, and that in the economy of his grace will be found the most ample and efficient means for its counteraction and ultimate destruction. we confess that these rational and cheering views of god and his government are to us unspeakably dear. they seem to us essential to an enlightened and cordial piety. they constitute, in our opinion, the only ground of an elevated, pure, and truly chris- tian morality. we cannot, therefore, but cling to them as to the glory of the gospel; at least as one of its most amiable features, and replete with divine consolation. and we feel bound by every consider- ation of love, of gratitude, of veneration, to proclaim and defend them. we see traces of the divine goodness everywhere around us. it seems to us to sparkle in the stars of heaven, to bloom in the flow- ers of earth, to spread beauty like a garment over the whole face of creation, and to scatter the mani- fold blessings which bestrew the pathway of all life. it shines in the sun that rises alike upon the evil and the good; it falls in the shower that equally de- scends upon the just and the unjust. but most clearly and fully do we behold it in the face of jesus christ. we see its mild and gentle reflections in his pure and benevolent life; we hear its voice in the words of truth and love that came forth from his lips ; but most of all does it speak to our hearts in mov- ing accents from calvary, where it triumphed over all the agonies of the cross and all the malice of men. it is written out in letters of light in the volume of inspiration, and we feel that we cannot, dare not, ro ra occasional sermon. doubt that god is indeed good unto all, that he loves his enemies, and is kind even to the unthankful and the evil. in promulgating these views, it is needless for me to say how much opposition and obloquy we have been and are still doomed to encounter. for although all professed christians acknowledge in words that the goodness of god is infinite, it requires no great discrimination to perceive that most of them deny it in fact. we need only glance at the popular sys- tems of faith in order to see that they limit this di- vine attribute, circumscribe its sphere of operation, subject it to the conditions of time and place, and thus narrow it down and suit it to their own preju- dices and passions. some of these creeds boldly maintain, for instance, that god created a large part of the human race on purpose to make them the subjects of his endless wrath and curse! and they all involve the fearful idea that he brought millions and millions of our fela low-beings, perhaps ourselves, into existence with the infallible foreknowledge that that existence will be one of measureless and unmitigated wo! need i ask what notions of divine goodness can consist with such representations as these ? clothe malig- nity itself with the attribute of omnipotence, and what worse could it do? but this is not all. it is a common doctrine of those who claim the honor of orthodoxy, that all men are born with moral powers so corrupted as to be opposed to all good and inclined to all evil, and that continually, and that they are therefore morally in- capable of thinking a good thought, or doing a good action. and yet while man is lying in this deplor- ably helpless condition, they teach that god requires of him a pure, spiritual, and perfect obedience to occasional sermon. ask, can be greater than that which changes the light of god into darkness, denies his paternity, and makes all the exhibitions of his goodness an illu- sion and solemn mockery. i need not say that these two views can never coa- lesce, never be harmonized. if what the scriptures teach be true, that god is good, universally, infinitely, changelessly good ; that he is the father of the spirits of all flesh; that we are all his offspring ; that he is love, and love worketh no ill to its objects; and that of his infinite love jesus christ was sent forth from the bosom of the father, with all power in heaven and earth, to work out man's salvation, if all this be true as the scriptures plainly teach, then it seems to us to follow, that god can neither purpose nor do much that human creeds ascribe to him. if, on the contrary, he be not all this, if he is such a being as confessions of human origin rep- resent him, then we have read the volume both of his works and his word wrongly; then indeed are we blind, and misguided; then is man miserable be- yond expression, and may give himself over to de- spair. but it is not, my brethren, it cannot be so. "god is light and in him is no darkness at all.” he is love without hatred, goodness without malice, jus- tice without cruelty or revenge ; and the measures of his beneficence already communicated to our race, should be gratefully acknowledged as the pledge and foretaste of the boundless store reserved to show forth his goodness in the future. we can believe anything of god, rather than that he will choose evil and perpetuate it in his empire for ever, or that his plan of goodness shall end in defeat. we cannot ascribe to our father in heaven the base passions of fallen and sinful man. this would be to dishonor rather than to glorify him. we know that he who occasional sermon. commands us to love our enemies cannot hate his. we know that he who enjoins it upon weak man to put away all bitterness and wrath and anger, with all malice, cannot indulge these dark passions himself. nor can he who requires us to overcome evil with good, attempt to rectify the evils of time by the tor- ments of an eternity. i have now pointed out what i conceive to be the prominent feature of our cause, the characteristic that distinguishes it from all other causes around us. it is true our system of faith differs from most others in many other particulars ; but they are gen- erally more or less intimately connected with the great doctrine of the divine goodness, and cannot be separated from it. these minor differences i shall not stop to specify, nor is it necessary. the grand excellence, or the grand error, of our faith is be- lieved by us and our opposers to be the doctrine that god is good ; or in the language of that excellent man, williain law, that “ god from eternity to eter- nity is mere unchangeable and ever-overflowing love ;" and that his whole economy of providence and grace is benevolent, not only to the whole, but to every individual part, and all tending wisely and certainly to the chief end of man, which is "to glo- rify god, and enjoy him for ever." having thus glanced at the cause in which we are engaged, and contemplated its principal and dis- tinctive feature, i shall now pass to consider the position which it is at the present time occupying in the world. : it admits of no doubt, so apparent is the fact, that the cause of universal goodness and grace is now far more prosperous than it has been in any period for centuries past. it is more widely diffused, and more ardently and successfully, if not more ably ad-. occasional sermon. vocated; it holds a more conspicuous place in the church, and is commanding a greater degree of at- tention, than it has in many a bygone age. in some respects its position is new and more favorable for exerting an influence, securing respect and making progress. that the great truth, which we maintain, in rela- tion to the divine character and the end of the divine government, was taught by our lord and his apos- tles, is capable, we think, of conclusive proof. that all the early christians fully understood and appre- ciated it, may, i suspect, admit of much doubt. this will at least appear probable when we reflect how slow even the apostles themselves were to compre- hend the spirituality and all-embracing design of the gospel. with the crude and grovelling views that, we know, existed in many a mind in the apostolic churches, with the avowed anxiety on the part of the apostles to perfect that which was lacking in their faith, we have much reason to conclude that there were many who had not attained to clear con- ceptions of god, or to comprehensive notions of his . government and purposes. indeed i cannot think that the intellectual and moral development of that age was generally high enough to justify an expect- ation on our part, that all the disciples were cordial and intelligent believers in the universality of the divine grace and salvation. it is enough for us that christ and his apostles clearly taught it. in the writings of the fathers called apostolic, from the circumstance that they succeeded the apos- tles, but who were all illiterate and ignorant men, we find their views undeveloped with respect to the ultimate condition of the wicked. but as early as the year of christ we meet with distinct traces of the doctrine of universal salvation. in several occasional sermon. seemed to revel in universal destruction--gathered like a thunder-cloud around the roman empire. the hoofs of attila's war-horse were heard clat- tering through all the south of europe, and behind them rushed on the myriads of his barbarous huns. the sun of civilization, of philosophy, of moral culture, was going down, and the night of the dark ages was about to set in. the church wrapped herself in the folds of her drapery, and amidst im- posing forms and ceremonies sat down till the storm was overpast and a brighter morning should dawnl on the cross. it is instructive to observe how universalism waned after the close of the fourth century, and seems soon to have become extinct throughout nearly all christendom. the peculiar spirit of christianity, the spirit of gentleness and love, van- ished away, and all that remained of our holy reli- gion was the shell, the form, was what was im- bodied in sensible rites, well calculated, and wise. ly designed i doubt not, by a beneficent heaven, to preserve its being in the earth. but in the spirit of the dark ages universalism found no sympathy, no aliment. the ignorance, the cruelty, the superstition of that period of the world's history, proved uncon- genial to so high and pure a faith. the dogma of endless torments, on the contrary, then held its car- nival. never before had it enjoyed such an authority, and never will it again unless the dark ages return once more. during the long lapse of eight or ten centuries, i know of but two or three names that can be enrolled among the friends of universalism, and these seem to have been born before the world was prepared either to receive or appreciate them. the human mind seemed incapable of rising to the conception of a grace broad enough for the salvation occasional sermon. judgments of others; while denying the authority of the pope and the church over them, they perse- cuted to the death those who differed from them- selves. they began the reformation but they did not know how to finish it; and hence it happens that our cause has been struggling on through good re- port and evil report from that day to this. it has gone wherever the reformation has gone, and wher- ever there has been the most intelligence, the most earnest striving after truth, the most intellectual free- dom, there has then been the most universalism. for confirmation of this remark, look at germany, the cradle of the reformation, where universalism is generally adopted by the learned of both the evangelical and rationalist parties, and where as in the ancient church it makes no one a heretic. look at england, in whose establishment it has by a wise policy been tolerated from the time of elizabeth, and where, it is said, on the authority of the bishop of exeter, to be now widely entertained. and not in the established church alone, but in many of the dis- senting communions, it extensively prevails. look, too, at france, among whose protestant population it finds an asylum and exerts no inconsiderable power. but turn with me, my brethren, to our own country. it was not the puritans who brought the principles of religious freedom to our shores. they brought a spirit of intolerance, of persecution. for no soon- er were those adventurers, so long and deeply per- secuted, come in possession of power, than they be- gan to persecute all who chanced to differ from themselves. they disfranchised all: who did not belong to the church; they whipped the baptists and banished the quakers. they were the true dis- occasional sermon. ciples of their great teacher calvin. they loved to rule, but not to be ruled. it is instructive to observe that while massachu- setts under a puritan, and virginia under an episco- palian, government, were grossly intolerant and per- secuting in the early ages of these colonies, mary- land, governed by catholics, exhibited the most noble example of political wisdom and religious toleration. pennsylvania, also, under the guidance of the quakers, manifested a very tender regard for the rights of conscience. it is to the influence of these two colonies, connected with the fact that such a variety of religious faiths were established along the atlantic shores, that we are to ascribe the religious liberty enjoyed here before the revolution. nor was it less a matter of necessity, than of far- reaching policy and sound principle, that freedom of thought and speech were secured in the constitu- tion of the united states. i cannot but admire the wisdom of divine provi- dence in directing murray with the lamp of truth, to our shores at the precise juncture it did. the year of was the eve of a great political revo- lution. that year the first american blood was shed by the british soldiery. the spirit of freedom was awakening from the north to the south, and the bands of fellowship and brotherhood were being knit more closely between the several colonies. the diversi- ties of religious opinion were forgotten, or less re- garded, in the growing necessity for political union, and in a growing love of liberty. it was a time for the spirit of general toleration to be cultivated and prosper. at the same time the universal prevalence of church, orthodoxy prevented murray from being lost in the bosom of any existing sect. a new truth, oi occasional sermon. rather an old truth restored, was to now take its place in the religious world, and a place so promi- nent that all eyes could behold it ; that it could make itself intelligible to all minds that would consider, and to all hearts that would listen to its voice. the public mind had been prepared, too, in some degree at least, for this new doctrine. it did not, therefore, come to a barren desert. in this new world, religion had always been an important ele- ment of its culture, and in many a soul of that early day, both the intellectual and moral nature were so far developed as to fit it for the reception of a better faith. nay, in many a soul these better views of god and his government were already slumbering, or half-revealing themselves, “ felt, but not ex- pressed," or like the visions of beauty sometimes caught in our dreams, were floating indistinctly, but with a spiritual peace about the sanctuary of the heart. to these mysterious anticipations, so pure and hallowing, the excellent potter of good luck, was no stranger, and with him were sympathizing hun- dreds, unknowing and unknown, scattered through- out the whole country. they only needed the elo- quent voice of that herald of salvation to awake them to the full consciousness of their inward faith and trust. it is now years since murray was cast upon the shores of new jersey. from that day to this, our cause has been constantly progressing, and year after year has added to its growth, till now it stands the fourth denomination, probably, in point of numbers and religious and social influence in the united states. but rapid as has been its course, it has still been doomed to battle its way amid diffi- culties and dangers, and gained its present elevation in spite of the combined resistance, and steady and occasional sermon. not always christian opposition of most other sects. we owe everything, my brethren, to god and a good cause, and little to the moderation, the sympa- thy, or even the kindness of our opposers. they have met us at every pass, they have disputed every inch of ground, and yet the tide has rolled on, and discomfiture and defeat have attended them on every well-tried field. i say this not in the spirit of vain- glorying, but with humble gratitude to god, and a manly confidence in the truth of our holy cause. but in estimating the condition of universalism in our country at the present time, we must not con- fine our attention and remarks exclusively to our own denomination. it is well known that universalism is entertained by several sects beside ourselves. the unitarians, it is said, generally believe in the ultimate salvation of all men. several german sects, scattered through the middle and western states, also believe it. it is adopted by many, it is supposed, in the lutheran church, and is believed to be by no means uncommon in the episcopal church. prof. stuart confesses that not a few per- sons in the community believe in the final restoration of all men and of these“not a few are professed preachers of the gospel.” indeed to what point can we turn, where this truth is not insinuating itself? in what sect does it not find at least secret friends and believers? it is like theleaven hid in three meas- ures of meal; nor will its ministry cease till the whole be leavened. but let us turn from the present to the future, and ask what prospects lie open before our cause in time to come? this is a question of some importance to us all. we need the conviction that we are not la- boring in a cause that is destined to speedy ruin. we need it to strengthen us midst the toils and sac occasional sermon. rifices that are demanded in the maintenance and ad- vocacy of our faith. the consideration of all the circumstances that will bear upon the future pros- perity of universalism would lead me too far for the present occasion, and a glance at them is all that i shall attempt. the past history and the present condition of our cause may satisfy all who will reflect upon them in an unprejudiced manner, that it is now in a sound and healthy state. it has within it a strong princi- ple of vitality, which has hitherto resisted all the untoward influences by which it has been surround- ed, and vigorously developed itself notwithstanding all the opposition the world has been able to offer it. it is no jonah's gourd, which has grown in a night to perish in a night, but a hardy and thriving plant which drives its root deep into the soil, and lifts its branches in strength on high. let any man com- pare universalism, as it now exists, with what it was forty, or twenty, may i not say even ten years ago, and tell me if he does not observe within it a plastic power, working mightily, and giving form: and beauty to the denomination which it animates, and exhibiting, year after year, more and more of its inward activity and strength. many of the meas- ures now most successfully applied in furtherance of our cause, and for the fuller development of its moral power, were unknown twenty years ago. the tone of its journals and of its public ministry has been greatly modified, and improved, and a higher and better influence is going out from the pulpit and the press. there is an increasing spirit of pure and elevated piety, a growing religiousness, and an ear- nest striving for higher and higher attainments in the christian life, which clearly show that the di- rection of our minds and hearts is right. occasional sermon. but no inward soundness of universalism can avail to make it lastingly prosperous unless it finds a soil naturally congenial in the human heart. but for this, it may spring up and flourish for a little time, like the seed sown in stony places, and flourish the more abundantly because it has no deepness of earth, but no sooner should the sun shine upon it than it would be scorched and wither away. i observe, then, that our cause cannot be regarded as a merely temporal or local phenomenon; it is not the growth of any particular age or country, to come forth and flourish for a time and then vanish away. it belongs to all ages and to all countries, where the mind and heart are adequately developed under the gentle culture of christianity. it has its ground in- deed in human nature, and needs but the quickening spirit of the gospel to wake it into life; and the con- tinued influences of that spirit will urge it on every- where toward perfection. that universalism is in harmony with the best desires of the human heart, is proved by the con- cessions even of its enemies. they confess that they wish it were true : they pray that it may prove so; still they dare not or cannot believe it, and the reason they often assign is curious as well as in- structive. it is too good to be true. as if god were not able and willing to do exceeding abun- dantly above what we can either ask or think! in- deed, no man, professing to be a christian, can be made to avow a sentiment so horrible as the desire that any creature in god's universe should be end- lessly tormented. “he is not a christian,” says jeremy white, speaking of universalism,“ he is not a man, he hath put off the tenderness and bow- els of a man, he hath lost humanity itself, he hath not so much charity as dives expressed in hell, that occasional sermon. cannot cry out, this is good news, if it be true ; that will not say amen to it provided it be agreeable to god, and what his word will countenance and own.” olshausen, the most popular commentator of the new testament in germany, tells us that the feel- ing in favor of the final restoration of all men "is without doubt deeply rooted in noble minds; it is a longing after perfected harmony in the universe.". i cannot but conclude, then, that universalism, strong and healthy as it is, and deeply rooted as we know it to be in the human heart, and congenial as it is confessed to be with all the better sympathies and desires of human nature, its wants, aspirations, and hopes,--i cannot but conclude, i say, that uni- versalism will not die of itself, as many seem to think; it will live and prosper; and the next genera- tion shall see it more vigorous than ever. but per- haps it may be refuted, exploded, destroyed ? yes, truly ; but who is to do this work? has not every means been already employed, which human inge- nuity could devise, for its destruction ? silence and neglect will not destroy it: sneers and scoffs will not destroy it: calumny and persecution will not destroy it : nay, appeals to argument, to scripture and reason, will not destroy it! these have all been tried in vain ; and under them all has the truth gone on from strength to strength. . but once more. this is an age of great mental activity, of much freedom of inquiry and speech. there is a rapid progress making in civilization, in refinement, in politics, and religion. in every do- main of thought, old opinions and institutions are being canvassed anew. few doctrines or practices can be long received and honored on the authority of prescription. men are learning, not to reverence their fathers less, but to love truth more. this occasional sermon. spirit of reform is abroad everywhere; it is felt in every walk of life, and its fruits are already mani- fest on every hand. under these circumstances, here are but three probable results, and hence we sée our fellow-men divided into three corresponding parties. one is conservative. it would stand still and preserve in safety what it has already in its possession. it would not risk its present goods in attempts to gain greater. it is willing to suffer the inconveniences of present evils, rather than subject itself to change. perhaps it soberly thinks that it has already attained the perfection of human condi- tion, and believes that every change is but a step toward ruin. but can it stand still, can it prevent the wear and tear of time and of public opinion upon its faith and its institutions ? no: nor could it if they were immured in a triple wall of brass. look at the presbyterian church for an illustration. what has the old school been doing for twenty years past, but vainly endeavoring to hold fast its antiquated standards? yet in this puerile attempt she has herself been explaining them away, in order to make them acceptable to the new school. it was all in vain. the church is split asunder, and ten years more will probably not pass before another division will take place. conservatism will not avail to preserve old errors ; there is nothing but truth that can abide the test of scrutiny. there is another party in religion in england, and they have disciples in the episcopal church here, who, alarmed at the aspect of affairs, are reso- lutely bent on turning back, with the hope of finding security under the broad folds of old and long-re- jected tradition! they, it must be remembered, are the genuine apostolic succession. they are the church. but will they succeed? succeed ! occasional sermon. think you it is possible for any class of men to stay the current of public thought, to check inquiry, and turn back the whole theological mind to the study of the fathers, to receive their dictum with humility and abeyance? you might as well think of turning back the tide when it is coming in, or of sending back the hudson to its sources and chain- ing it there. but the truth is worse than this. the shore by which the oxford tractators are endeavor- ing to moor themselves and the church, is, unfortu- nately, but a bank of fog. the mark and token of catholic tradition, the quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus-that which has been believed always; everywhere, and by all-would make a singularly short creed, and one too capable of being proved, i trust, in a manner much more satisfactory to a rational mind than by the pitiful way of tradition. the truth is, the fathers no more agreed among themselves than the moderns do, except when they copied from one another, and then the whole au- thority rests with the first who made the assertion, nor could it be increased by being repeated by a million fathers after him. we suspect the protestant principle that, “ the bible is the only and sufficient rule of faith and prac- tice ;" that what the bible teaches is orthodoxy, and what that does not teach or plainly imply, is not necessary to the integrity of christian faith, will outlive conservatism and puseyism, and go down from generation to generation, as one of the great maxims of practical reason. the reforma- tion rested upon this maxim in the sixteenth century. and the reformers, who constitute the third class of men to whom i referred, will carry it out. they make the great majority of thinking men in this and occasional sermon. . every other civilized country. those even, who are regarded as sound orthodox do not hesitate to acknowledge that theology has been obviously im- proving within the last two centuries, and to lament that their systems of faith were hammered out by so hard-nerved, and hard hearted men. they no longer hesitate to speak of the breaking up of old sys- tems, of the dupes of the old creeds, &c., &c. they hint in quite intelligible language that many men who think better, are obliged to conform in their speech to obsolete modes of expression, and finally acknowledge that none of the existing forms of or- thodoxy is suited to be generally received. they see that they are all corrupt, all narrow, all growing obsolete. it is pleasing to observe that in all the modifica- tions to which the popular faith has been and is daily being subjected there is exhibited some traces of a more catholic and truly christian spirit. the hard features of those creeds are being frittered away. the doctrines to which a just moral sense, or the sentiments of humanity, most readily and effect- ually objects, are smoothed down, and a thousand means employed to make them appear just and hu- mane. indeed, we see on every hand a disposition to make the creeds harmonize with reason and the moral sentiments, and so far as this is done there is an obvious approximation to the truth as we hold it. little it may be has yet been done, but an attempt to do anything augurs well for the future. i look upon the reforming spirit of the age, as full of hope to our cause. i look upon the spirit of humanity that is growing more and more strong, every year, as another source of encouragement and hope. i look upon the progress of civilization and moral refinement, as auguring a corresponding prog- occasional sermon. ress in universalism. i look upon every improve- ment in mind or manners, as destined to exert an influence on our cause, by promoting in some degree the improvement of religious theories and feelings in those around us. but is universalism itself to do nothing in this great work? is it to stand still and see the pro- cess of human improvemont go on, without putting forth a single energy, or exerting the slightest influ- ence? is it alone to be benefited, and not return even the favors it has received ? no, believe me, my brethren, as our faith and labors have not been without their influence in producing this very state of things, so they shall not hereafter be either idle or employed in vain. i fear we do not sufficiently reflect upon that influence which our cause both has and hereafter is to exert on the public mind. we do not sufficiently reflect how much observa. tion our despised faith does really attract. we should remember that a city set on a hill cannot be hid. but what is the ministry that universalism is des- tined to perform? resting as it does on the infinite benevolence of god, and proclaiming that benevo- lence to all, holding forth the almighty as our kind and gracious father, the common benefactor and friend of the whole human race; and jesus christ as the common savior of the world ; and heaven as our last common home, where the children of earth shall all finally be gathered, glorified and made par- takers of an endless felicity, at once spiritual and divine ; it cannot be otherwise than that universal- ism should exert, wherever it is cordially received, a high and hallowing influence. breathing as it does the spirit of love and appealing more to the affections than the fears of men, it wins its way occasional sermon. silently to the heart and executes its beneficent mis- sion there. it diffuses its influence over the whole character, and makes itself felt in all the duties and relations of life. but perhaps i ought to be more particular and point out a few of the individual bles- sings which our faith has conferred and is destined to confer still more widely. i observe, then, in the first place, that universal- ism will operate effectually to render religion more cheerful; to strip religious services of the gloom with which they are too generally clouded, and to make the intercourse between the soul and its cre- ator, like that between the loving and grateful child and the condescending and beneficent parent. i need not say how desirable this is. for it is one of the most observable of the many unhappy effects of the popular creeds, that they generally chill the warm currents of devotional feeling, and make the services of the house of god a cold and formal cere- mony. we see little of natural life in the scenes of the sanctuary. everything is forced, constrained. men go to their temples of worship less under a feeling of warm desire to meet and bless god for his goodness, than from a sense of irksome duty. this has been confessed by one of the most popular and effective preachers of the age. “ the religion of the great mass of the church," says he, “is not the religion of love, but of fear. they fear the lord, but serve their own gods. they are dragged along in a dry performance of what they call duty, by their consciences. they have a dry, legal, earthly spirit; and their pretended service is hypocrisy and utter wickedness." are we to wonder at such results ? what is the character of god as they represent it that it should be greatly loved, or that man should find spiritual occasional sermon. delight in contemplating or praising it? i cannot for myself feel that the sad and disfigured counte- nances which are so often seen in the house of god are a matter of wonder ; the wonder is that they ever glow with a smile or are lighted up with even a temporary cheerfulness. there is enough in their religion, if it be true, to dry up every source of hap- piness in the human heart, and chase away every image of pleasure from the mind. make me be- lieve that god is an angry, vindictive being who will punish the sins of a moment with endless pains, who will pursue his own erring children with the cruelty of a demon for ever; make me believe that i am suspended by a single thread over an infinite abyss of torture, and that my wife, my children, my parents, my friends, my whole race, are all exposed to the most imminent hazard of going down to hell, and i will bid farewell to earthly happiness ; there shall be nothing in all this beautiful world, in the sweets of society, in the charms of friendship, in the services of religion, that can please me more. such a faith would fill my pillow with thorns ; i could see nothing but darkness here below; and if i looked upward, oh, heaven would be a thousand- fold darker than earth itself; for there in his terri- ble majesty would he sit, the author at once of my existence and miseries! and could i worship god? my very soul would shrink from such a being as from pollution, could i praise him—could i speak well of his name? what words of praise could my lips frame that would not belie the sentiments of my heart ? how different this picture from that drawn by the psalmist of old. “o come, let us sing unto the lord ; let us make a joyful noise unto the rock of our salvation. let us come before his presence 'occasional sermon. with thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him with psalms. know ye that the lord he is god : it is he that made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people and the sheep of his pasture. enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise : be thankful unto him, and bless his name, for the lord is good : his mercy is everlasting, and his truth endureth to all generations."'--and if under a dispensation so dark as that of moses was, the people still had so abundant occasion to rejoice in god, what shall we say of those who live under the light of the new and better covenant made through jesus christ? we need say nothing but repeat the first words of the lord's prayer: our father who art in heaven. then god is our father; and he who worships the father must worship him in spirit and truth. such too are the lessons of our holy faith. it teaches us that the being before whom we bow is our father, is love: that we cannot think of him with half the affection he merits; that we cannot praise him as he deserves. our nature craves such a religion as this. we need sympathy and encouragement. we need to know that god is ever more ready to hear than we are to ask, and that it is his glory to condescend and dwell with the hum- ble and contrite heart. but it is not alone in the closet or the sanctu- ary, in the ordinary services of religion, that univer- salism is, and will be more and more felt. it goes out also into the duties and business of every-day life. ours is not a religion that confines itself to the cloister, or that breathes only on the sabbath- day. were it so, i should deem it of little worth. no, it is fitted to go with us and speak to our hearts as we take our walk in the forests or among the occasional sermon. fields. it throws its light over the face of all nature, and makes everything beautiful in its time. it en- ables us to read the traces of our father's hand everywhere. those gentle teachings of the bird and the flower which did not escape the notice of the savior, should be felt again in the heart of that say. ior's disciples. the earth, the air, the sky, are all full of sweet lessons of sympathy and love, and to the christian soul they should not speak in vain. universalism will make religion more cheerful, piety more true and cordial, and it will aid greatly in dif- fusing its influence through the whole week and through the whole life. this leads me to observe, in the second place, that the prosperity of our cause is blended with the progress of mind, and will exert an influence of no small weight in elevating the tone of morality. the world is exceedingly slow to learn that as love to god is the measure of piety, so love to our fellow, men is the measure of virtue. i need not say that notwithstanding all the improvements of the age, there is still little truly christian morality in the world : and the modes usually adopted to promote it, seems to me to have little tendency to accomplish this purpose. the truth is there is too much morality abroad that takes its root in hell, and gathers its chief strength from its terrors. the motives of love, of humanity, of justice, are too seldom appealed to. orthodox moralists dare not exhort us to imitate god, for they represent him as angry, vindictive, and cruel. thus the eternal ground on which morality rests is lost, and fear is deemed the great preserva- tive from vice and ruin. and yet we see how easily men can silence their fears. are those who believe and even preach that infinite torments are threaten- ed against every transgressor of the purity of the occasional sermon. divine law, more secure from sin than other men? let history answer. the world needs a purer morality, and how shall it be obtained ? i answer, by representing the divine character in its own true light, by teaching that while god is intinitely just, he is still good, that he loves his enemies, blesses those that curse him, and does good to those that hate him ; by teaching that god is our father, and we all his children, and hence brethren, born in a common humanity, and destined to a com- mon home. let all men know and understand, that under the divine administration, every sin meets with its adequate and certain punishment, and every work of love with an unfailing reward. in short, let the world know that the moral laws of god are not design- ed as traps and snares to work out its everlasting ruin, but as gracious expositions of the divine will for man's best and highest good. not a sinful gratification is forbidden which, if tasted, would not make us miser- able; not a moral duty is required, which, if performed, will not work out our happiness. these are truths of revelation, and if heeded they will cultivate a pure and healthy tone of morality. . but we may consider the subject in a still higher and broader sense. universalism is to blend in every truly benevolent enterprise. it is emphati- cally the cause of humanity. it has already taken a noble stand in relation to capital punishment, and the day is not far distant when this relic of a bar- barous age shall be done away throughout the length and breadth of our land. the world is yet to learn, and our faith is to do much in teaching it, that even the vile degraded criminal is still a man, a fellow- being, a child of god and a brother! it is yet to learn that justice is something very unlike revenge, that justice indeed is “twin-sister of mercy” itself. occasional sermon. the age has outgrown the systematic tortures of the olden time, and cast aside many of the abominations that darkened the statute-books of other days. but it is painful to remark that, while the church has generally been intolerant and cruel, the avowed infi- del has espoused the 'cause of humanity and labored to meliorate the criminal law. may i not be permitted in this connexion to say also, that few agents could do more for the interests of humanity in claiming justice and love for the slave, than universalism. let its spirit of christian phi- lanthropy go abroad in the south ; let the master learn its sublime truths concerning god, and con- cerning the relations existing between himself and the slave ; let him feel that we have all one father, that we are all made of one blood, and that high heaven looks down with equal eye upon the rich and the poor, the master and his slave, and i do not say, it will break asunder the negro's iron mana- cles, but it will change them to silken cords, which shall be soft with kindness and love. universalism is destined to stand as a barrier against the tide of infidelity. in an age like this when the old systems are breaking up, when men are inquiring rather what is true, than what their fathers and fathers' fathers believed, it is reasonable to expect that some minds should lose their balance and fly to an opposite extreme, and instead of be- lieving everything come to believe nothing. such a result is ever ascribed by old school men to the new movement, and it is represented as one of its fatal tendencies, that it leads to infidelity. they forget that it was old errors, more than the spirit of reformation, which produced this result. it is un- questionable that we should ascribe the infidelity formerly in france, to popish errors and supersti- occasional' sermon. the tions, rather than to the writings of voltaire and n diderot. psl are at the present time, there are several doctrines belonging to the church creeds which are really indefensible on any rational grounds. let the eyes of their confident believer be by any means opened to them, and especially if done suddenly, he incurs the hazard of discarding all religion at once. the reason is obvious. he sees how completely he has been duped and misguided, and fearful that he may be deceived again he launches out into the ocean of skepticism. it is one of the best ministries of our cause, that it teaches such men that although some of the dogmas of one form of christianity are false, all others are not necessarily so. the better views of god which it inculcates, the happy solution which it furnishes of several of the most difficult problems of theology, its benevolent character and tendency, can- not but exert a great influence in checking the prog- ress of the infidel, and bringing him back to the faith of the gospel. it is pleasing to reflect that several of the best works yet published in our country in de- fence of revelation, are from the pens of univer- salists; and perhaps i should not overrate the influ- ence of our cause were i to say that it is doing as much to counteract infidelity as any other sect, or all other sects together. its influence shall be greater still. i have before-said that universalism would make religion more cheerful, and throw its calm and pure light over the whole domain of human life. i will only add, that it is its province also to do what no other system ever can do, impart a steady and joy. ous hope to the dying, and the sweetest consola- tions to those that mourn. it is destined to go out as it has hitherto gone, but more and more widely, i occasional 'sermon. ) to visit the dwellers in dust, to stand with its gentle ministries at the bedside of the sick, and to point the eye of the dying away from earth to his father and home in heaven. it will enter alike the cottage of the poor and the palace of the rich, and speak to the suffering heart that pines over the sundered ties of earthly love ; it will strengthen the fond mother as she takes her gentle babe from her bosom and lays it down in its quiet beauty in the dark cold grave. oh, it will go where earthly sorrow goeth ; it will bend like an angel of mercy to sustain the weak, to encourage the faltering, to sooth the fearful, to comfort the afflicted, and bless all who need its blessing. under its benign influence the earth shall look bright again, and love take up its abode here, and faith be strong, and the gift of life shall be re- garded as a boon for which men shall thank god. i have now glanced at our cause, its position, its prospects, its ministry, and i cannot but feel that it is a great cause. we, my brethren, have perceived something of its magnitude, as we have enrolled ourselves among its friends, and some of us have con- secrated to it our labors and our lives. but i doubt much whether any of us have yet seen half of its real greatness. in its own intrinsic nature, in its bearings, relations, and influences, it has heights and depths, worth and excellence, which, perhaps, no finite powers can comprehend. it has been despised; it is now regarded by thousands with feelings of se- rious apprehension; it is seen to be progressing, and no power on earth can stay its course. but do we ourselves sufficiently reflect upon this fact? do we bear along with us in all our labors and sacrifi- ces the conviction that we are laboring in a great cause, great in its intrinsic excellence, and great in what it is to be and do? are we sufficiently ac- occasional sermon, customed to contemplate our duties from this point of vision ? are we sufficiently accustomed to lift our- selves up in feeling, in high resolve, to real magni- tude and dignity of the cause in which we are en- gaged? do we always strive to act under the sol- emn consciousness that on us devolve great inter- ests and great responsibilities? but what are our duties? that universalists have duties' to perform, important duties, and duties that are peculiar, must be obvious to every one who will reflect upon the subject. we stand apart from the great mass of the christian world. we entertain re- ligious views of a fundamental character, which they deny. we feel bound to maintain these views, and not only to maintain, but to promote, diffuse them. we believe them to be the chief moral excellence of the divine character.' we believe that their uni- versal reception would indefinitely increase the di- vine glory, and the piety, virtue, and happiness of mankind. what then is our duty ? obviously to strive with all our powers to advance a cause we deem so fraught with blessings, so'sacred. in the real progress of our faith, of its truth, and its spirit, we believe there is combined almost everything that the christian is required to promote'; love to god and love to one another, together with the various interests which concern man's spiritual well being and peace... but how shall we most effectually promote uni- versalism? no doubt there are various agencies necessary to the greatest progress of our cause, and many that i shall not have time to consider, or scarce- ly to hint at; but i must mention a few that seem to me essential to our best success. the first and most important, and without which nothing can be effected, is a clear, exhibition of the - occasional sermon. truth. it was for this purpose that our savior came into the world, that he might bear witness to the truth, and it is the knowledge of the truth that is to make us free indeed. -error on all subjects, and re- ligious error especially, always misleads, embarras- ses, perverts, and destroys; truth alone is consistent, and guides in the way of permanent sunshine and peace. standing as we do in the midst of a world of misconceptions and errors, it becomes us to pro- claim the truth as it is in jesus, boldly, fervently, affectionately, in season and out of season, whether men will hear or whether they will forbear. let this be done by the pulpit and by the press. and reflect one moment, my brethren, on the facilities we now enjoy for accomplishing much in this way. it is a moderate estimate, which' reckons the dis- courses delivered by the ministry of reconciliation in the united states to one thousand every week, and probably upon an average to more than a hun- dred thousand hearers. what an engine of power is here!. and what an influence is the pulpit alone capable of exerting over a large mass of the public mind. let the pulpit then be enlightened, dignified, affectionate, and it will be effective. it has already done much for our cause ; it is capable of doing much more.. but while the pulpit is to be honored as one of the chief instruments of carrying forward our cause, let not its able coadjutor the press be forgotten. through that the truth can be carried where the voice of the pulpit is not heard. when the book, the periodical, the pamphlet, the tract, leaves the press, it is impossible to foretell where they shall go, or where their influence shall end. they may wander away, we cannot tell how, and find their final resting-place in the distant village, or the remote occasional sermon. : plantation, in the hut of the border settlement, and carry wherever they go the glad tidings of salvation. we cannot estimate the influence of the press. let it be duly honored, encouraged, supported. ours is an active and faithful one, it deserves the thanks of every lover of the truth. but still it is sometimes neglected, and by those too who owe it a debt of gratitude. and here i cannot but mention one pe- ; riodical which has been suspended for want of en- couragement, we are told—one that stood at the head of our periodicals, one that should have been in every minister's hands, and sought for by thousands, instead of lingering out a weary life and at last perishing for want of support,--i need not name the universalist expositor. are we to suffer the odium of allowing that work to go no farther ? lét those whom i now address give the answer... but important as the exhibition of truth is to the furtherance of our cause, i cannot regard that alone as sufficient-that truth must be so presented, so ap- plied, that it shall take fast hold of the heart. for, however intellectual religion may be, however con- sonant its doctrines are to enlightened reason, how- ever fine a subject its theory may be considered for speculation,-nothing can be more certain than that christianity was designed chiefly to occupy the af- fections, guide the conscience, and thus improve and purify man's moral nature. he who does not preach it thus essentially fails in doing his duty; he who does not thus receive it, receives it, i had almost said, in vain. in other words, ours is a spiritual religion, and where it does not exert a spiritual in- fluence, it does not exert its highest influence at all. universalism and a life of sin are eternally incom- patible. yea, he is the worst enemy of universal- ism, who, professing it, lives in habitual violation of occasional sermon. : interfere with all the independence which any chris- . tian can reasonably claim; and we should find, i believe, that it would impart a vigor and efficiency to our cause, above what any of us can well imagine. wherever it now exists, as it does in all the eastern and northern states, we see its beneficent'tendencies.' but it needs to be extended. in this convention should all the states, where any body of universalists are found, be duly represented : and this convention, thus formed, should spend its sessions in earnest endeavors to devise the best measures for our gen- · eral prosperity... from some remarks made in a former part of this discourse, it will be perceived that universalism is a child of the light, that it cannot flourish in the midst of darkness and barbarism. it needs light, it needs freedom. it finds some of its best support and en- couragement in the spirit of science, civilization, and moral refinement. this circumstance, which i would not have forgotten, seems to me, to point in a very significant manner to one and no unimportant part of our duty. if universalism cannot prosper except where the human mind enjoys a good measure of freedom, and consequent enlightenment, it seems to follow, that every endeavor to advance this cause should be accompanied by a love of popular educa- tion, and efforts to promote it. where is univer- salism most prevalent now? in germany, in england and the united states.. and if you will observe in our own country, its prevalence may be inferred with tolerable accuracy from the state of education in its several sections. in new-england, distinguished for its schools and its general intelligence and tone of morality, we find most of it. in new york and ohio it meets with its next best soil. where there are few schools there is little universalism. this, , occasional sermon. '. i believe to be a uniform fact. and what should this teach us ? but that our cause is identified with that of education. have we done- our duty in this view of the sub- ject. have we showrı an interest so lively, so sin- cere in the cause of education as we ought? are we, doing so now? hereafter let'us see to it, that we are attentive to the subject of popular education, and by all the means in our power striving to pro- mote it. let us foster and encourage the public schools ; let us found and endow academies ; let us found and endow at least one university, to be a monument to the coming age of our zeal for educa- tion. let all this be done soon. but have we means? · yes; we have the means ; means to do anything that we need and almost anything that is really desirable! we have the means, let them be employed, and in five years we may enjoy the pleasure of seeing a univer- şity, second to few in the country, devised by our wis- dom, reared by our hands, endowed by our wealth, governed by our counsels, and employed for the true and noble purpose of furthering our great cause, together with the cause of literature and science, and of every high interest of humanity. and while speaking on this subject of general ed- ucation let me call your attention to the pressing necessity existing among us for a theological sem- inary, where in the shortest time, in the best man- ner, and at the least pecuniary expense, the candi- dates for the ministry may be educated and fitted for an honorable discharge of the various functions be- longing to the most important calling of this lower world. my brethren, how long shall this subject be neglected ? how long shall we suffer it to be kept back? if any man can see no necessity for such an institution, he surely ought to be excused from occasional sermon.' . contributing to its establishment. but while we generally think it expedient to found schools of sci- ence and literature, i trust there will be but few who cannot believe that a school of theology would prove equally profitable. let all sectional feelings be done away, and the friends of this enterprise unite in accomplishing what must prove of incalculable advantage to our ministry and ultimately to our cause. · finally, my 'brethren, let us remember that in fifty years more, instead of being contemned and trampled upon, universalists may be one of the first re- ligious denominations in our then great country-that in fifty years more, they may stand among the first, if not at the head of all, in point of social, civil, moral, and literary influence—that in fifty years more, they may give tone to a majority of the public mind, may control, in no small degree, the great moral enterprises of the day, impress their views upon the principles of legislation, of criminal juris- prudence, and on most of the questions now agitated in the community. : all this may be done in fifty years, if we and those who follow us shall be faith- ful to their duty. much, very much, my brethren, depends upon us. our councils will throw their in- fluence perhaps far beyond our lives. the direction which we shall give to our cause, may be preserved for many years, years after we have finished our course, and our labors are ended. in all our thoughts, let this be remembered, and let our meas- ures look forward to the future. the liberal man deviseth liberal things. let us show that we have taken comprehensive views of our cause, its posi- tion, its capabilities, its prospects, and the blessings it is destined to work out, and that all our duties have been contemplated in this, the true light of the occasional sermon. subject. if we prove unfaithful, or narrow-minded, if we pursue a policy that sees nothing, and heeds nothing but the present, we may manage to spend our days in ignoble 'ease, and see our cause standing still, or misdirected, and only taking false steps, which the future must retrace.. but we need not look forward fifty years to see the fruits of our labors. we are not now sowing the seed, and must wait in patience for the harvest. the 'seed has been sown before : by the labor of our fathers, by the influence of public events, by the changes in the religious world, by the spirit of the age, by the growing love and reverence for humanity and justice,-by all these has the seed been already sown. say not, therefore, it is yet four months and then cometh the harvest. behold, i say unto you, lift up your eyes and look on the fields, for they are white already to the harvest. we need, my breth- ren, but gird ourselves for the labor, and go forth to gather in the sheaves. the macedonian cry is heard on every hand, “ come over and help us." a more numerous ministry is demanded. the peo- ple are calling, too, for a more and more enlightened ministry. the harvest is truly great, but the labor- ers, alas ! are few. · pray, my brethren, pray the lord of the harvest, that he would send forth more laborers into his vineyard. : . the wisdom of god, etc. sermon ii. the wisdom of god manifested in his works. by rev. a. a. miner. "in wisdom hast thou made them all.”—psalm civ. . when man performs an act, or accomplishes a work, we pronounce the act or work good or bad, wise or unwise, according as it possesses or lacks certain characteristics of wisdom. and i think it will be found on reflection to be universally true, that in deciding the character of any work of man, we adopt the following principles of judgment, viz: in the first place, there must be manifested therein a design, or end to be accomplished. in the second place, that design must be a good one, a benevolent one. and in the third place, there must be an adapt- ation of means to the accomplishment of the design- ed end. whenever these three characteristics meet in the same work, that work is a wise one. when- ever a work is wanting in all, or any one of them, it is an unwise one. i would have the hearer carefully observe these positions, for if we agree in the prem- ises, we here adopt as the standard of judgment, we cannot widely differ in our conclusions. but if we disagree in our principles of judging, we may arrive at very different results. i therefore repeat, that in order for any work of man to be pronounced a wise one, there must be a design in performing the work; that design must be a good one ; and the the wisdom of god means must be adapted to the accomplishment of the designed end. apply these principles now to the works of man, and judge of their soundness. suppose, for illus- tration, a carpenter should proceed to frame timbers, adjusting them one to another to' a great extent, em- ploying many workmen and expending much money, but on placing them together, one timber is found to take this direction, another that, and a third yet another, till it shall appear that no building will be formed thereby, and no end whatever answered by the work. now it matters not how nice the work may be, or how high a finish may be given to the tenons and mortises, so long as it can be of no pos- sible service, no man would pronounce the work a wise one. it is wanting in the very first essential characteristic of wisdom. again: suppose 'a physician is called to visit a patient, and let that patient be if you please his most deadly enemy. he sits down and reasons with himself in a manner like the following: here now is my enemy completely in my power. by the aid of my knowledge of the laws of chymical affinity and the properties of chymical compounds, i can prepare a medicine, which under the guise of a remedy shall be a most active poison. acting upon these wicked suggestions, he proceeds to administer the poison, and thus accomplishes his diabolical de- signs. here it will be seen is a design, and a most fatal adaptation of means to the accomplishment of that design ; but no sane mind would pronounce the work a wise one. accordingly, we find it wanting in the second grand characteristic of wisdom; the design is not a good one. once more : suppose the goldsmith should pro- ceed to manufacture a time-keeper. here is an end manifested in his works. . in view, and that end is a good one. he finishes the instrument; but on putting the parts together, it is found they do not bear the requisite proportion to each other. the instrument is worthless, because it cannot be made to measure time. the third grand characteristic of wisdom is in this case wanting. the means are not adapted to the accomplishment of the end. all would agree in pronouncing such a work destitute of wisdom. . thus there must be in every work a design ; that design must be a good one; and the means must be adapted to its accomplishment. when these three characteristics meet in the same work, all agree in acknowledging that work to be a wise one. . when they are wanting in any work, there is the same agreement in pronouncing such work unwise. such are the principles by which we judge of the works of man; and they are the principles, too, by which we should judge of the works of god. we are not to suppose that wisdom in man is one thing, and wisdom in god something entirely the opposite. it is true, the scriptures inform us that the wisdom of man is foolishness with god, and the reason is obvious : god's wisdom is so much higher and so perfect, that man's in the comparison is but foolishness. but we are nowhere told that the wis- dom of god is foolishness with man. such a truth, i grant, would conflict with our principles of judging. when, therefore, david declares that god in wis- dom has made all his works, we are not to under- stand him as affirming that they are made in wisdom because he made them, but because they conform to certain great, self-existent principles of wisdom. moreover, it is necessary to suppose that these prin- ciples were in some measure understood by those the wisdom of god to whom he addressed the text ; else they could be none the wiser for the revelation of the truth it con- tains. if they knew nothing of the wisdom of which david spake, they could know no more of god's works when told that they were made in wisdom. · david was a mạn”; he spake unto men; he used the language of men; and undoubtedly designed that his language should be understood by the aid of the same common sense, and the same great principles by which any language would be understood. we have already seen what are the great characteristics of wisdom as applied to the works of man, and from the foregoing considerations, we are forced to con- clude that the same principles meet in the works of god. , it is proper here to remark, that it is not our ob- ject in this discourse to prove the truth of the text, but admitting that, to use it as a guide in the inquiries before us. the psalmist had examined, more or less minutely, the works of god, and had become convinced that they were all made in wisdom. it will be our endeavor to walk in his footsteps, and to discover some of the same manifestations that he discovered. and should we in any part of the field of our present labors find ourselves shrouded in darkness, the text will be to us a light to lead us on in safety. if any of our preconceived opinions are found to stand opposed to the truth of the text, we should not reject the text, but those opinions. thus will it be to us a compass and chart, guiding us from the ocean of error into the port of truth. and since we cannot bring before us for actual investigation all the works of god, we shall be obliged to content ourselves with presenting examples from the several great departments of his works, and exhibiting the wisdom therein manifested, as a foundation on which manifested in his 'works. to build our principal argument. these works nat- urally divide themselves into animate and inanimate. the former of these very well admits of another di- vision, of which man will form one portion, and the lower orders of animals the other. thus we have three classes of god's works from which to select examples for examination, viz: inanimate matter; the lower orders of animals ; and mankind. our inquiry will constantly be, do we discover those marks of wisdom in the works of god, which we have found to be essential to the works of man that they may be allowed to be wise ?' or in other words, do they manifest a design ? is that design a good one? and are the means adapted to its accom- plishment ? before proceeding with the labor before us, i wish to notice an objection, which may have arisen in some minds, to the character of our present in- vestigations. not a few ministers of the gospel may be found, who object to what they call “ preach- ing philosophy," and pride themselves on preaching nothing but “ jesus christ and him crucified.” it is unbefitting the pulpit, they think, to talk of the creatures which god has made. they forget that the savior taught his disciples the duty of loving their enemies, by setting forth to them the example of their father in heaven, who manifests his love to his enemies by causing the sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sending rain upon the just and the unjust. they forget that he taught them the universality of god's care and watchfulness by instancing the falling of sparrows to the ground, and the numbering of the hairs of their head. they forget that god's kindness toward the rebellious jews is shown forth by the figure of a hen gather- ing her chickens under her wings., the psalmist, the wisdom of god too, could talk of the “cattle, the wild-goats, the conies, the wild-asses, the stork, the lion, the levia- than, and creeping things innumerable ;” and by the wonders exhibited in them, impress the mind with the wisdom of their creator. surely we may follow in his footsteps, and study, that our minds, too, may be led “through nature, up to nature's god.”.' to proceed, then, with the object before us, let us select an example from the inanimate works of god, and inquire whether those characteristics, which we have supposed essential to wisdom, are exhibited therein. and i know not that any object is better suited to our purpose than the earth, on which we live. that there was an end in view in creating the earth, will be readily allowed. the fact that it is made the habitation of men and ani- inals, is sufficient proof that it was designed for that purpose. that this design is a good one, will ne- cessarily follow, if we admit the creation of man a good work. this last point we shall assume for the present, and attend to an examination of it in another part of this discourse. here, then, we. have two of the three great characteristics of wis- dom, and it only remains for us to inquire whether 'or not the means be adapted to the designed end. is the earth fitted to be the habitation of man and animals? should this question be answered in the affirmative, we shall be able to pronounce this work of god a wise one. to satisfy ourselves of the perfect adaptation of means to ends in this depart- ment of god's works, we have but to become ac- quainted with existing facts, and to perceive their bearing on our subject. for example : the earth, as every school-boy knows, has two great motions given to it; the one a daily motion on its axis, the other an annual one manifested in his works. : around the sun. neither of these motions could be dispensed with, other things remaining the same, without rendering the earth uninhabitable. suppose its diurnal revolution should cease, what would be the consequences ? evidently, that portion of the earth which would then be turned toward the sun, would receive the sun's rays continually, until it would become parched and barren as afric's burn- ing sands ; while the opposite portion, turned con- tinually from the sun, would be entirely deprived of its heat, and would ultimately become more bar- ren than lapland's frozen shores. in such a tem- perature as would then exist on both sides of the earth, vegetation must cease, consequently animal life must cease also. but again ; suppose its revolution about the sun to cease, the changes of the seasons must likewise cease. one portion of the globe would have con- tinual summer, while another would have continual winter. the heat of summer and cold of winter would constantly increase till both would become insupportable, and the earth again from this cause become a desert, waste. but neither of these mo- tions is wanting. now this question presses itself. upon our attention : how does it happen that these two motions, so very essential to make the earth a fit residence for man, are given to it? and it is a question that can be satisfactorily answered in no way but by admitting that the earth was designed for, and fitted to be a residence for man, by that god, who “in wisdom has made all his works." but it is not in these motions alone that the wis- dom of god is seen. in the velocity given to the earth, taken in connexion with the quantity of matter in the sun, there is a striking adaptation of means to ends. were that quantity of matter increased, or * .. the wisdom of god ; the velocity of the earth diminished, thereby dimin- ishing its centrifugal force, the existing equilibrium between the sun's attractive power and the earth's receding tendency would be destroyed, and the con- sequence would be, the earth would rush to the sun and be dashed in pieces by it. on the other hand, were the attractive power of the sun lessened, or the centrifugal tendency of the earth increased, the con- trary effect would be produced. the earth would be dragged from its orbit and wrecked amid the worlds that revolve in the regions of space. here then is again seen the wisdom of god in giving the earth just that momemtum which balances the sun's 'at- traction, and causes it to move on, age after age, in its accustomed orbit. another illustration of the adaptation of means to ends, is seen in the nature of the air we breathe. it is very well known that the air is not a simple sub- stance, but is principally a mixture of two simple substances. these substances, though in some re- spects alike, in others are very different. one of them, which we will now call vital air, is the sup- porter of combustion in inflammable bodies, and of respiration in men and animals. had we an atmo- sphere of this kind of air pure, the consequences would be most disastrous both 'to men and animals, and even to the earth itself. every living creature would soon be thrown into a raging fever, which would speedily terminate its life. bodies would burn in it, that can now hardly be made to burn. the mainspring of your watch would not only burn readily, but it would throw off scintillations as rap- idly and brilliantly as the hottest iron from the smith's forge. instead of the oil in your lamps, the very sockets of those lamps would burn. instead of the coal in your grates, the grates themselves would manifested in his works. be on fire. instead of the lavà simply pouring from the crater of the burning mountain, the very base of that mountain would be in flames, and the whole earth would be one vast scene of combustion.. had we an atmosphere of the other kind of air, pure, the effect would be equally disastrous, though entirely the reverse of the foregoing. instead of breathing too freely, no animal or man could breathe at all. death would result from it as instantane- ously as from decapitation. instead of burning too rapidly, no substance could be made to burn at all. even powder would cease to be a combustible, and every burning body would be as suddenly extin- guished as if plunged beneath a flood of waters. now why have we not an atmosphere of the one or the other of these gases pure? for the plain rea- son, that such an atinosphere would be wholly un- suited to the wants of god's creatures. another example of the wise arrangements of god, is found in the reciprocal action of the atmo- sphere and growing vegetables upon each other. every instance of combustion or respiration forms in the atmosphere a gas, termed carbonic acid gas, which is quite as destructive as the air before al- luded to, even when considerably diluted with com- mon air. when we consider therefore the great number of animals which are constantly breath- ing the atmosphere and therefore constantly throwing off from their lungs this destructive gas, and also the vast amount of combustion continually taking place, which is likewise producing the same gas, we shall readily perceive that, unless some means were in operation to purify the air again, it would ultimately become wholly unfit either for respiration or combustion. but happily, means are in operation for counteracting such effects. growing plants and the wisdom of god vegetables absorb this gas, decompose it, and give off the vital portion again into the atmosphere, thus restoring it to its original purity. thus has god wisely put in operation those laws, which keep in repair, if i may so speak, the machinery of the uni- vèrse. to whatever quarter we turn our eyes, we behold the same adaptation of means to ends. no lack, no oversight exists in any of his works. and the same wise arrangements which we have seen to exist in connexion with the earth, exist also in connexion with the other planets of the solar sys- tems; and, if analogical reasoning may be trusted, in connexion with all the heavenly bodies that re- velve in infinite space. · well might the psalmist exclaim in view of these facts, “ the heavens declare the glory of god, and the firmament showeth his handywork.” but we pass to consider the circumstances of the lower orders of animals, and to inquire if the same characteristics of wisdom may be found in this department of god's works. i trust, i need not labor here to show that in creating animals there was an end in view, or that that end was a good one. giv- ing them an existence, however short it may be, will be allowed to be a benevolent work, if that existence be a happy one. now their existence will be happy or miserable, according as there is a fitness or un- fitness in the powers given them to the situations in which they are placed. it is only necessary for us here then, to examine some of the various powers given unto animals, and notice their adaptation to their wants and modes of living. if we find that per- fect adaptation here of means to ends that we have discovered elsewhere, we shall be constrained to acknowledge that god in wisdom has made this portion of his work. manifested in his works. let me instance the camel, an animal very useful in traversing the deserts of africa and asia. few animals can live in those regions, because few can endure the thirst and fatigue, consequent upon trav- elling from one water-fountain to another. let the horse, that animal of which we are so justly proud, be transported thither, and one hour of labor upon the burning sands, beneath a tropical sun, would ex- haust his vigor and perhaps destroy his life. such would be the case with the camel too, were he not particularly fitted by his organization for the hard- ships of such a land., by means of a false stomach he can take a supply of water sufficient for several days, and use it according to his necessities. thus does he become himself a moving water-fountain, ever ready for any emergency. now here is a most peculiar organization, one given to no other animal, and i may add, one needed by no other. it is a most singular adaptation of organization to the cir- cumstances of the animal, and clearly exhibits the wisdom of god in its creation. , none the less to our purpose is the construction of the elephant. imagine for a moment the large, unwieldly head of this animal to be attached to the long, slender neck of the camel. how extremely inconvenient! how laborious must be its transport- ation! we cannot bring ourselves to believe that wisdom would have constructed an animal thus. it far better comports with our conceptions of wisdom to see that large head attached at once to the shoul- ders of the animal, almost without a neck, as we really find it. but here a difficulty presents itself. how shall this huge animal, with its large head and no neck, reach its food upon the surface of the earth ? a difficulty, by no means trifling, and to remove which another organ becomes necessary. . accord- the wisdom of god ingly the elephant is furnished with a long, flexible trunk, by means of which, his food and drink can be conveyed to his mouth. . is it not remarkable that he is the only animal furnished with such an or- gan, and at the same time, the only animal that needs one ? i again. the soland goose is another example of the wise adaptation of means to ends. this fowl is led by instincts to feed upon fishes and other animals taken from the bottom of ponds and rivers. this, however, it could not do were it not particularly fit- ted' therefor. the hearer will perceive that with the bill of the common goose, so slippery a créature as a fish could not be held. but the bill of the - land goose, instead of being smooth, is furnished with sharp teeth hooking backward toward the throat, so that its prey when once seized is easily held fast. in addition to this contrivance, it has long legs and a long neck to aid in seizing its prey. thus deity has not only given it an instinct leading it to a certain mode of life, but he has fitted it with suffer me to name one more example, and i will leave this part of my subject. there is a small bird well-known to every sportsman, that lives upon worms and insects, taken from decayed wood and under the bark of trees. to reach its prey a hole, must be perforated with its bill through the bark and into the wood. instead therefore of having a hook- ed bill like the eagle, it has one far better adapted to its use ; à straight sharp-pointed one, . with this it can make its perforation and seize its prey. but here a question arises. when the prey is seized in the extremity of the bill, how is it to be conveyed to the mouth. to meet this difficulty the tongue is peculiarly constructed. it is not only long, but the manifested in his works, ; end of it is a hard bony substance, very sharp, and barbed like an arrow. this is thrust through the prey which is held by the barbs, and thus convey- ed to the mouth. now what could be more admi- ! rable than this adaptation of means to ends? what can be more illustrative of the truth of the text. nor are these solitary cases of the manifestation of wisdom. we find the same wonderful adaptation of means to ends throughout the animal kingdom. every creature is fitted to its circumstances, and every organ adapted to its use. we never find the fish clothed in feathers, nor the eagle furnished with fins ; but :- "all in exact proportion to the state; nothing to add, and nothing to abate." the question here perhaps may arise, how are we to be satisfied that god in wisdom has made all his works, since we can examine but a small part of them? i answer; we may rely on the text as proof of this; or we may deduce the general truth from * an examination of individual examples. suppose it were proposed to prove that pears grow upon trees, how should we proceed? we should examine some hundreds or thousands of cases, and if in every in- stance they were found to grow upon trees, we should be safe in deducing therefrom the general truth that they always grow upon trees. but if in one instance they were found growing upon a'vine like the melon, the rule would be destroyed. the general truth would be no longer such. now the only danger that exists in such cases, consists in drawing our conclusion from the examination of too few examples. so when we have examined a multitude of ex- amples from the works of god, and find every one the wisdom of god • of them to manifest the three essential characteris- tics of wisdom in the creator, it is logical to infer that all his works are made in wisdom. and the truth of this inference is rendered certain by the declaration of the text. we have already examin- ed cases enough to form the rule, seeing they have been promiscuously selected, and we are led to the same conclusion set forth in the text, “in wisdom hast thou made them all." but we wish to pursue our examination even far- ther. having selected examples from the inanimate works of god, and from the lower orders of ani- mals, we come now to the consideration of man.. so far as man's animal nature is concerned, there is the same adaptation of means to ends as in the other departments of god's works. he is possessed of certain wants and appetites, and is abundantly furnished with powers and organs for the satisfaction of those wants. every part of the human frame ex- hibits the most consummate skill, and is most wonder- fully adapted to its use. no human artist has ever been able even to approach thereunto. it is true, man may construct optical instruments which can con- vert a drop of water into a world teeming with or- ganic life, and bring those revolving globes from the remotest regions of space, down to the ken of hu- man vision; but god alone can make an eye. man may construct musical instruments rich in tone and varied in harmony ; but god alone can make the human voice. man may construct locomotives pos- sessing astonishing power and almost annihilating space ; but god alone can make the living, moving man. so in whatever particular we make the compari- son, the organization which god has given us, as manifested in his. works. . far transcends aught that man's wisdom can devise, - as the heavens are higher than the earth. but man has a moral nature also, and we must pass to inquire whether the same characteristics of wisdom are discoverable here. we learn from scripture that man's end is not here upon the earth, consequently the ultimate design of god in creating him is not here seen. that he had a design, and that that design was a good one, is now very gene- rally believed by all classes of religionists; and i am happy that i shall not be under the necessity at this time of laboring to prove that god in creating man did design him for happiness. it only remains, therefore, for us to inquire whether the means are adapted to the designed end. the public mind seems to be somewhat confused on this point, and i am aware there may be a difference of opinion here, though i see not how such difference can be main- tained. that we may approach this part of the sub- ject understandingly, let us briefly state the common view of man's situation. it is said that although god designed man for happiness, he made him a free agent, capable of choosing good and refusing evil ; and that through the exercise of this agency some will arrive at last to the haven of rest, and others go down to the regions of everlasting night. thus it is distinctly said that although god designed man for happiness, he has not so adapted means to ends as to accomplish that design. is this a wise work! can it be, so long as it is wanting in the third great characteristic of wisdom. we have found our principles of judging to hold good in every example tried by them thus far, wheth- er it be selected from the inanimate world or from the lower orders of animals. shall we now, in com- ing to the most important of all god's works, aban- . manifested İn his works. . the powers given to man, free agency not excepted, are subservient to the end god had in view in creat- ing him. if therefore he has made man a free agent, he is abundantly able to control that agency. a stream cannot rise higher than the fountain, nor can à creature overturn the designs of the creator. well, says the hearer, the speaker's' conclusions certainly seem reasonable, and his principles of judging appear to be sound. but i would like to inquire, do the scriptures teach that in creating man god had a design, and that that design was a good one, and sure of accomplishment ? in answer to this inquiry i am happy to be able to adduce the language of inspired men. first, was there a design in creating all things ? - says paul to the ephesians, (iii. , .) “who created all things by jesus christ, to the intent that now unto the principalities and powers in heavenly places, might be known by the church the manifold wisdom of god.". thus it is seen there was an “ intent," and that intent was to show forth the very wisdom of which we speak. again'; the revelator exclaims (iv. ), “thou art worthy, o lord, to receive glory, and honor, and power; for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.” paul to the colossians (i: ) speaks to the same effect: “ for by him were all things created that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and in- visible invisible things are included], whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or pow- ers; all things were created by him and for him.” - these scriptures not only declare that there was a design, but they go farther and show what that de- sign was ; thus establishing our second principle of judging. “for him"-" for god's pleasure, they were created.". to know the character of this de- the wisdom of god sign in full, it will be necessary to inquire what the pleasure of god is touching the salvation of man. the prophet ezekiel can give us some light on this point (xxxiii. ): * as i live, saith the lord god, i have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live.”. thus the pleasure of the lord is in the life, not in the death of the wicked; or, in other words, in their happiness, not in their misery.' so paul informs timothy ( tim. ii. ), that god "will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.” interpret this scripture as you will, it can- not be made to mean less than that it is god's de. sire that all should be saved. thus it for ever set- tles the question of his pleasure on this point. it only remains, therefore, for us to consider the scripture teachings on our third principle of judg. ing, which is comprised in the certainty of the ac- complishment of his pleasure. by the mouth of the prophet isaiah (xlyi. ), god says, “ i am god, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times the things not yet done, saying, my counsel shall stand, and i will do all my pleasure.". to the same purpose is paul's declaration to the ephesians (i. ), that god “ worketh all things after the counsel of his own will.” thus do the teachings of scripture coincide with the deductions of reason. . and though it be not given us to “know the times and the seasons which god hath put, in his own power," it is given us to enjoy the holy consolation of be- lieving that god “in wisdom has made all his works.” . side one or two remarks on the practical bearings of this subject, and i close. in the first place, the truth of the text is calculated to beget in our hearts - manifested in his works. confidence toward god. we learn to look upon all his dealings and providences as wise and good. we submit cheerfully to his will, knowing that he “ doeth all things well.” so that, though we may be called to mourn the loss of friends, though we ourselves may be prostrated upon the bed of sick- ness and of death, it matters not. god “in wisdom has made all his works,” and if it has pleased him thus to “subject us to vanity,” shall we not trust him that he will ultimately “deliver us from the bondage of corruption unto the -glorious liberty of the children of god ?" may we not believe that s our light-affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory?" such is surely the christian's privilege, and such is the view of god's provi- dencés our subject naturally leads us to entertain. : i remark in the second place, that our subject not only teaches us to submit confidingly to the provi- dences of god, but also to obey implicitly his com- mands. man is by nature a religious being. the moral law is woven into his very constitution. to be happy, he must obey that law. to love is heav- en, and to hate is hell. the written law is little else than a revelation of this law of our natures, and when we obey the one, we obey the other, and are happy. now should we destroy the bible, should we prove christianity false, and should the whole world turn infidel, our duties, in the main, would still be the same they now are. we could not change our constitution, or eradicate from our na- tures those laws that demand obedience. there might no longer be a written law commanding us to be temperate, but the same law would rule in our natures, that now ensures health to temperance, and misery and death to intemperance. there might to * the wisdom of god, etc. . no longer be, as it were, an audible voice, bidding us to “ love the lord our god, with all our souls, and our neighbor as ourselves,” but it would still be true that the exercise of love would give us a holy delight, and create a pure and heavenly joy in the soul. thus, would our happiness then as now lie in obeying the commands of god. my brethren, let' it be our meat and our drink to do the will of our father in heaven, and faithfully to discharge all those duties he in his wisdom has made to devolve upon us. amen. brotherly love. . she sermon iii. brotherly love. . " by rev. asher moore. " " let brotherly love continue.”—heb. xiii. . : various and contradictory systems of doctrine and of ethics have been conceived by the human mind; and in every instance the system brought forth has borne evident marks of its true parentage. although the framers of the different modes of faith that have obtained credence among men, have been prompted by the workings of the same natural re- ligious feelings, their 'several productions have in- variably partaken of their own peculiar characters. no feelings of our nature are so strong and un- yielding as those which constitute , us religious be- ings-none so powerfully influence the thoughts and actions of the whole man. - the haughty, self- righteous, and narrow-minded theorist never devised a system of impartial doctrine, that placed all men upon a level with' himself, and contemplated the human race as heirs of a common inheritance. his selfishness and pride are blended with all his thoughts and feelings; and must give a distinctive character to the whole system of his religious be- lief. the influences which actuate all the opera- tions of his mind, cannot be separated from the products of his labor ; and the fruits brought forth will attest the nature and qualities of the tree. brotherly love. tam" and whatever may be the pretensions of men sus. taining this character and indulging these feelings, with them, . .' "hell is built on spite, and heaven on pride." a single glance at the diversified systems of doc- trine to which human ingenuity has given birth, will sufficiently establish the truth of these statements. the jewish people, after they had forsaken the good old way of their fathers, imbibed the errors and superstitions of the heathen, and invented new doctrines, to please their own fancy, and conform to . their cherished prejudices. and in the doctrines which they devised, their own feelings and charac- ter were as strikingly delineated, as they were ex- 'emplified in practical life. did they possess exclu- sive feelings and a self-righteous spirit?. their religion taught them that they should eternally enjoy 'the favors of heaven, to the utter exclusion of all others. did they view the gentiles as a mass of living pollution, utterly unfit for their holy com- munion? they held that, in the world to come, the whole horde of the gentiles would be made fuel for an unceasing fire ! the church of rome, when it apostatized from the simplicity of christian truth, and began to-form new doctrines and establish its own peculiar insti. tutions, moulded all the novel'inventions by the pride and selfish corruption which characterized its un- godly priesthood. did they, in possession of civil power and worldly honors, esteem themselves infi- nitely exalted above the rest of mankind ? the same haughty and exclusive spirit was blended with all their religious faith, and even carried be- yond the peaceful grave! in the world of spirits they pictured to their contracted minds a little brotherly love, . edgment that those proclaimed and established by the son of god are infinitely 'superior to all ? his mild spirit and benevolent character run through all his doctrine, and give a superlative excellency to all his moral teachings.' other doctrines and morals have been built upon fear and pride, and policy—the foundation of his is love. as the representative of that great and good being whose name and nature is love-as the messenger of peace and the bearer of good tidings to the world, he had no revelations to make, and no instructions to impart, but such as originate, and operate, and terminate in love. he came to commend the love of god -to the world; and the great commandments of his moral code, upon which hang all his preceptive teachings, re- quire us to love our maker supremely and our fel- low-beings as ourselves. it was therefore proper that the apostle should use the language of our text, in addressing those who had embraced the doctrine and imbibed the amiable spirit of christ. let brotherly love con- tinue.” remain steadfast in the excellent 'spirit wherein you stand, ever cherishing for each other, the same benevolent, regard that the master bears toward you. suffer no root of bitterness to spring up in your midst, and alienate your kind affection from one another-and while you profess to follow a common savior and to be guided by his heavenly religion, let your love bę mutual and constant. nor are the disciples of christ required merely to love one another. their affections, like their faith, must embrace the whole world. and whatever may be their peculiar attachments for kinsmen according to the flesh and those of the same household of faith, they are bound to do good unto all men as they have opportunity. nothing short of universal brotherly love. so far, therefore, as the spirit of love reigns in the heart, man becomes assimilated to the divine nature, and renders acceptable obedience to the high commands of heaven. and by the duty of loving all men, we understand that we should culti- vate and cherish feelings of good-will toward all ; and instead of attempting to wrong or injure any one, constantly labor for the well-being of all within the sphere of our influence. jesus is our great ex- ampler ; and the pure spirit of kindness that ap- peared in his life and tempered his whole conduct, should be allowed to exert its benign power upon our hearts, and characterize all the actions of our lives. · and in view of these considerations, we shall now proceed to offer a few brief reasons for the per- formance of the christian duty inculcated in our text. . the fact that we are all members of one fami- ly, children of the same father, and linked together by the sacred ties of a common brotherhood, furnish- es a powerful reason why “brotherly love" should be exercised and continued between man and his fel- lows. in rehearsing the history of israel, stephen represents moses as saying to two hebrews who were at enmity and disposed to injure each other, “ sirs, ye are brethren; why do ye wrong one another?” the simple fact that they were united by the bonds of brotherhood, was deemed sufficient to justify the rebuke for their mutual strife and hostility. and when an unhappy contention arose between the herdmen of abraham and those of lot, the former thus addressed the latter, “let there be no strife, i pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be brethren." here was a sufficient reason for a speedy and ami. cable settlement of a dispute which threatened the brotherly love. most dangerous results. and in all the controver- sies that arise in the world, and array man in hostility against his fellow, the same reason calls for meas- ures of peaceful adjustment. so far as the ties of brotherhood extend, the ques- tion may properly be applied, “why do ye wrong one another ?" and as our savior declared to a mixed assembly consisting of his disciples, his ene- mies and others, “ one is your master, even christ, and all yè are brethren,” we inſer that our obligations to refrain from evil and do good, extend to all hu- man kind. the law of retaliation is utterly con- demned in every case by the benevolent spirit of christianity ; and no provocation whatever can jus- tify the return of evil for evil. our own rights may be defended, and our persons guarded against the attacks of malevolence; but no conceivable cir- cumstances can render it lawful for man to wrong or injure his brother. in vain do we plead that we have been wronged-two wrongs never make one right. the true rule of our conduct—the proper standard of our morals is not found in the conduct of others, but in the righteousness of god and his son. we may overcome evil-duty demands it- but the work must be effected by the power of goodness. in reproving the perfidy and wickedness of the israelites, the prophet reminds them of their com- mon relation to “ the father of spirits," and thence shows the unreasonableness and injustice of their disregard and hatred of each other." have we not all one father ? hath not one god created us? why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother, by profaning the covenant of our fathers ?" it is a violation of the most sacred bonds of union- it is unnatural and wicked to deal treacherously with brotherly love. those who are members of the same family, and children of a common parent! and to all belonging to the same fraternity with ourselves, and sharing the parental relations of the same great being, we are solemnly obligated to maintain affectionate re- gard, and “ let brotherly love continue.” but according to that doctrine which holds that but a portion of mankind are the children of god and the purchase of his son, how can it be consistently maintained that our “ brotherly love” should extend to those who do not belong to the family of which we are members, and who are not, therefore, our brethren ?. we might regard them with favor and compassion as we sometimes do the beasts of the field ; but our“ brotherly love" cannot extend beyond the brotherhood in which we stand. and whatever professions may be made, fraternal obligations cannot be realized, and discharged any farther than the mind feels and acknowledges the extent of brotherhood. think ye, that the friends of royalty, in the early struggles of this country for independence, cherish- ed any sympathetic feelings for our noble and ven- erated sires, who pledged to each other" their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor," for the main- tenance of common rights, and the interests of a great republic ? no! they only lacked the op- portunity to betray the land of their birth into the hands of invading foes! they realized no fellow- feeling for the chivalrous patriarchs of american liberty. they belonged to another fraternity; and their sympathies as citizens were all confined to the enemies and oppressors of their country. and think ye that a man can really believe that but a part of our race are the children of god, and yet feel kindly affectioned toward all men with brotherly love ? as well might you suppose that brotherly love. filled the law ....... love worketh no ill to his neighbor: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law." and in directing how the spirit of christianity should be exemplified, he says, “ if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink." overcome his enmity by the subduing power of kindness ; and thus by a single effort obtain a double advantage, in destroying an enemy and in gaining a friend, ! what peace, and harmony, and happiness, would bless our dwellings, sanctify all our social re- lations, and exalt us to honor and dignity, were the divine command to love one another realized in its great importance, and faithfully practised in our daily conduct! the harsh noise of discord would soon die away upon the distant wind-the violence of angry passions would be hushed into stillness and the party strifes and jealousies that sever the bonds of union, and alienate the affections of man from his brother, would soon be absorbed in one generous and all-pervading philanthropy! . in the exercise of the momentous duty under consideration, we evince our love to god. “if [says the apostle a man say, i love god, and hateth his brother, he is a liar : for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love god whom he hath not seen ?" all our devotional acts and protestations of love to the deity, are hollow and hypocritical, while we harbor rancorous and malicious feelings toward our neighbor! the im. age of god is in his children if we love not the image, our affections are removed from the original, and how odious in the sight of heaven must be the character of that man who bows with affected so- lemnity before the public altar, to pay his vows unto the most high, and straightway circumvents one brotherly love. neighbor, and vents his malice and fury upon anoth- er! of what avail are loud pretensions to godli- ness, and repeated expressions of brotherly love for the world, while the denion of hatred reigns ascendant in the heart, and the dagger of death is concealed under our garinents! brotherly love is the test of christian discipleship, and the only sure evidence that we love god. in destitution of this shining excellency, our loudest professions of piety are as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal! the deity himself can neither be profited nor in- jured by us ; but he requires us to serve him by do- ing good to one another. he has made man his receiver. and in reference to god, we may well adopt the language of the book of job; “ if thou sinnest, what doest thou against him ? or if thy transgressions be multiplied, what doest thou unto him ? if thou be righteous, what givest thou him? or what receiveth he of thy hand ? thy wicked, ness may hurt a man as thou art ; and thy righteous- ness may profit the son of man.” god is too highly exalted to be affected by the doings of feeble mor- tals ; and he requires us to obey his commandments, that we ourselves and our fellow-beings may thus be advantaged. “for all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this ; thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” but, , and lastly. still another reason for obeying the exhortation of the text, is found in the fact that our own happiness, as well as that of our fellows, greatly depends upon the possession and exercise of “ brotherly love." we are not only allowed, but duty requires that we should seek enjoyment. man is naturally a social being; and the happiness of which we are susceptible can never be attained in solitude. and the purest and highest felicity which brotherly love. we are capable of enjoying is the result of brotherly affection. so far as this feeling is cultivated, in the same ratio, is man blessed with the richest happi- ness of social life. the household where love dwells is the abode of blessedness. jealousies and strifes are there ex- cluded ; and peace with its attendant joys, reigns triumphant. the same harmony and peace proceed from the cultivation of fraternal affections in the social circle ; and wherever real brotherly love is gener- ously reciprocated, the same happy fruits must al- ways appear. aside, therefore, from every consideration of duty, our policy is bad when we seek for happiness in selfish exclusiveness, or hatred of neighbors and fellow-beings. our happiness or misery is connected with that of our kindred flesh; and in the promotion of another's welfare, we ourselves must participate in the enjoyment. " look round our world; behold the chain of love combining all below, and all above. see plastic nature working to this end; the single atoms each to other tend, attract, attracted to, the next in place formed and impelled its neighbor to embrace. see matter next, with various life endued, press to one centre still, the general good.” as children of one father and members of a com- mon family, our affections should therefore be re- ciprocal, and our interest mutual. the religion of our savior aims to strengthen the bonds of union between man and man—to level every factitious distinction in society and to promote peace and universal good will on earth. and though christi- anity has been perverted by narrow-minded bigots and intolerant zealots, its power to improve the brotherly love, morals and promote the happiness of man, yet re- mains undiminished. it imposes no onerous duty, but invites us to be happy, it asks no service at our hands, save that in which our greatest interests are deeply involved. and god is well pleased with our labors when we pursue that course of conduct which secures to us the blessings of peace, and the enjoyment of good days. instead of fleeing the path of christian duty, we should therefore thank god that it has been opened to our view, and run with cheerfulness and rejoicing the race that is set be- fore us. let us, then, my brethren and friends, cultivate the spirit and temper of our divine master. let us make each other's joys and sorrows our own, in rejoicing with the prosperous and happy, and in sympathizing with the afflicted and distressed. let our lives be conformed to the standard of our faith ; and while we realize the sacred ties of universal brotherhood, toward all men, “ let brotherly love con- tinue." amen. man an active being. sermon iv. man an active being. by rev. h. ballou, d. " and the lord god took the man, and put him into the garden of eden to dress it and to keep it.”—gen. ii. . —that was the purpose for which man was plac- ed there : as our text expresses it, to dress the garden and to keep it. that was the business assigned him. “ and the lord god took the man, and put him. into the garden of eden, to dress it and to keep it." you are aware that there has been no little dis- pute among christians, whether the account of the garden of eden, which we have here, in the be- ginning of genesis, is a literal narrative, or merely symbolical representation ; whether there really was such a place as is here described, with such trees, such fruits, &c., or whether the whole is an allego- rical picture, as it were, designed to represent in a general way the primitive state of man. i wish it to be understood, that it is not our intention to enter, at all, into this question ; for it is immaterial to the object we now have in view, which way we decide it. decide it either way, let it be observed that adam had a regular business, an allotted task, to attend to. that is the only idea we shall insist on. if we understand the narrative literally, then, ac- cording to our text, adam was to take charge of the garden of eden, as we would take charge of a gar- man an active being. den at the present day. he was to dig it, to prune it, to do everything necessary to keep it in good order. and that must have been no small task. if, on the other hand, we regard the account as figura- tive, and the garden as denoting man's original state, then the passage must mean, that adam was to have a similar responsibility in the care and improvement of that state. he was to discipline his mind, to cultivate its powers, to govern his passions, to superintend the interests of his moral and intellec- tual natnre. at all events, one thing is clear; he had something to do and not a little, neither. whether it were physical, or mental labor, or both, the charge, with which he was put in commission, was enough to occupy his time, and task his powers. let it, now, be distinctly remarked, that all this took place immediately after adam was formed of the dust of the ground, as you may see by the con- text, and before he had partaken of the forbidden fruit. the very first thing we hear of him, after god breathed into him the breath of life, is, what is stated in the text, that “the lord god took the man, and put him into the garden of eden, to dress it and to keep it.” it was while he was yet innocent; it was before sin had entered into the world. let this important circumstance be remembered; we shall have some use for it, in the sequel. having stated these preliminaries, we are now ready to lay down our general proposition, or doc- trine, which you will all see, at once, is founded in the text, viz: that man was originally designed, originally made for an active, laborious creature. it was not the original design, that man should pass through this world without much care, and toil, and hardship. he was not made for indolent ease, pas- sive enjoyment. that is not consistent with his na- man an active being. . ture. he was made for exertion. sin, or not sin, he must work. the very fact, that he was created with active powers, shows what he was intended for-for activity. when you meet with a creature manifestly constructed for the water, though you find it on deserts of sand, a thousand miles from the ocean, you know, by its fins, its gills, and other pe- culiarities, that it is an aquatic animal, and that wa- ter is its native and indispensable element. or, if you find a creature evidently constituted and formed for the air, you know it must live in the air, or no- where. and if god has constituted us with powers and capacities adapted to care, toil, and hardship, we know that these form our indispensable element. we can no more enjoy life, out of them, than the fish out of water, or the bird out of the air. true, in all these cases, life may indeed be supported, a little while ; but it will soon become a painful struggle and end in death. i am aware, my friends, that all this is so mani- fest, so evident of itself, that it seems hardly neces- sary to mention it thus particularly. and yet, we must remind you, that this very idea, self-evident as it is, has been overlooked in the old systems of di- vinity. it is a favorite hypothesis with many, that none of the care and labor, to which we are here subjected, belonged to the state of innocence, or was embraced in the original design of our being, but that they come upon us as a punishment for sin, either our own, or adam's. how does this notion agree with the import of our text ? the common belief is, that, were it not for adam's fall, which, it is said, deranged the whole constitution of things, we should have escaped all the burdens of life. it is certainly remarkable what fantastic ideas people form to themselves, of the original condition of man. man an active being. . they imagine it to have been like a long, uninter- rupted holyday; and in that peculiarity they place the chief of its excellence, so far as outward cir- cumstances are concerned. no trouble, no anxiety, no toil, was known. young spring reigned the whole year around ; the winds never mustered their strength; the air never grew inclement; but soft zephyrs laden with perfume, breathed along, exactly attempered to the senses. above and below, was one perpetual smile. earth spontaneously bore her fruits and flowers, unmixed with weeds, and man had only to put forth his hand and pluck the food that invited him on every luxuriant bough. his mind developed itself of its own accord, without solicitude or strenuous discipline. all that the hap- py blessed creature had to do, was, to make himself as quiet as possible. and that is regarded as the supreme height of felicity! that was eden! - such is the gorgeous, rainbow-colored vision, that people have conjured up, of the original state of innocence. my friends, would you now see that vision all disappear, like the rainbow when the sun comes out and drives the clouds from the firmament ?. bring our text into view; and take notice, that, in the state of innocence itself, the very first thing the creator did with the man he had formed, was, to give him his task and set him to work. he was not suffered to lie idle, a single day, he would have been unhappy-out of his element. and if man had never sinned, if the same 'state of innocence had continued down to the present hour, we should have been obliged to labor with all the faculties god has given us. what else were they given for? no doubt, if our fond, languor-loving, sickly, senti- mental taste had been consulted in the formation of nature, we might have had a very pretty, delicate, ... man an active being. genera). look into any department of life you please; and what a thronged, crowded, moving, busy, hurrying scene do we behold! every class of people is on the alert. those of every trade and occupation are toiling and struggling, from morn till night, from month to month, from year to year- the landsmen, the sailors, husbandmen, mechanics, merchants, professional men, all are alive in their respective pursuits. as we approached your city, the other morning, we heard, from afar, the hum and clatter of industry going up, like distant thunder, from every quarter. if you listen, now, the tu- multuous sound invades the silence of this temple. at this instant, all without these walls is like a vast ,hive, swarming with intense activity. and your city is but the great world in miniature. the myr- iads, who cover the whole face of earth and ocean, are at work, some in one pursuit, some in another, some in serious business, some in frivolous-but all are in motion. so effectually has god made man active and laborious." a question, of great and far-reaching significance, arises here. there must be at the bottom of all this, some moving power, universally felt, some mo- tive, operating throughout the human race, to keep them in this incessant activity, what is it? when you go into a vast establishment of machinery, and see the thousand wheels, and shafts, and spindles, flying on every hand, above and below, you know there is some one propelling power to the whole : some spring, some weight; or some band, which the builder provided for the purpose, and which, if you detach, all will stop.' and now, what is the strong motive-power, that god has placed in our nature, to keep the innumerable wheels of human labor at their task ? here, we wish to lay down the an- man an active being. swer, in the plainest terms possible, that you may have the opportunity to try its correctness. my brethren, the motive to exertion in all these cases, is supplied by immediate wants and circumstances, by the present necessity of action, by consideration of consequences that belong exclusively to this state of being ; and is never, in a single instance, drawn from any idea of eternal retributions in another world. such is the character of the motive that propels all the machinery of life's toil and struggle. how shall i illustrate this subject so as to bring out the naked matter of fact, here? let me appeal to yourselves : what is it that drives the ten thousand husbandmen, scattered from the st. lawrence to the gulf of mexico-what is it that drives them regularly into their fields, at every rising sun, and holds them there till nightfall, drudging, their lives long, till they wear themselves out? what motive? the motive to obtain a living, a competence, or wealth ; 'to support in comfort and respectability those who are dependant on them ;,or, perhaps, love of the employment; at any rate, something of this kind. may i just ask, is it not the fear of eternal damnation that makes the farmer work ? no, never. my friends, nobody ever thought of so absurd an a idea. and the same is true of all the other voca- tions in community. ye mechanics ! what do you toil for, in your shops? or, could i lift my voice so as to be heard by all the merchants in this city, and ask, what chains them to their counters, or sends them through the perilous mazes of specula- tion, you would hear the same answer returned from them all, and from every other profession, too : immediate rewards, present gratification, present use- fulness or honor! there, my friends, lies the om- nipotent force, that moves the ponderous, multifari- man an active being. . ous machinery of the world. and it works well- is efficient. god, who made our nature, understands perfectly what motive will best answer to keep it in action. suppose,' now, that in our scherning wisdom, we should conclude to change this universal motive- power, and to introduce one of our own contrivance, in place of that which the creator provided, and which has operated so'well for six thousand years. we will suppose (pardon the absurdity!) that our convention has, this day, the power to set aside the old motives, drawn from present considerations, to annul them entirely in all the business of the world, and to substitute a new set, drawn from the doctrine of eternal retribution. how would this new set work, in the hard tug of life? i think that would test them. people seem confident that the motives presented by an eternal retribution must be infinitely more effective than those derived from present con- siderations--they come from so infinitely greater objects. it would gratify at least an innocent curi- osity to know how they actually would operate ; how they would operate, not in theory, but in practice ; for it is often the case that what looks very imposing in theory, proves worthless in practice. let us, then, try them. we will go to the husbandmen, the mechanics, to every class, and say, friends, you have hitherto been under a prodigious delusion. we will convince them, thoroughly, that it can make no dif- ference in any respect, during this life, whether they ever strike another blow or not; that they will be just as rich, as healthy, as wise, as respected, in every sense as happy ; that their farms, their mer- chandise, their studies, will prosper just as well, if they never give them another thought. we will completely paralyze all their natural incentives to * yan an active being, activity; and then, bring the terrors of eternity to bear upon them, in order to set them again in motion. make them believe that their everlasting weal or wo depends on their striving incessantly, as now, in all the pursuits of human enterprise. that is the boast- ed motive ; enforce it upon them. try to drive on the business of life, for two or three years, by the fear of eternal damnation--and how will it work? my friends, we know how it would work. the whole system of affairs would stand still, like a set of machinery when the main band is detached, true, we might; now and then, get up a partial re- vival of business, and bring perhaps a sixth part of the community, in certain towns, into some degree of action, for eight or ten months; and then all would be dead again. we might employ a few agi- tating terrorists, to go through the country, and proa duce a commotion; but their course would be like that of a boat through stagnant water-all froth and foam around, and no trace at a little distance behind, nobody would do more than just enough to secure the eternal prize; there would be no spontaneous, hearty, life-long struggle in business, as now. so great is the difference, in actual effect, between the motives which god has adapted to our nature, and those which we might substitute. . . i shall not stop, now, to apply this illustration to the ulterior object we have, all along, had in view; for i am confident that you have already anticipated me, in your own thoughts. we need only say, if you would move mankind to moral and religious ef- fort, you must pay some deference to the indications god has given us, in the very constitution of our nature, as to the choice of means. make use of those motives which our creator has provided with- in us, and immediately around us; and you will find man an active being. them operate infinitely better, in practice, than any remoter considerations we can adduce, how power-y ful soever they may seem 'in theory. the history of all the moral reforms, that are succeeding to any noticeable extent; confirms this position. look at the great temperance reformation in our country. many of you can remember, some twenty years ago, when the endeavor was, to check intemperance, and rescue its victims, by appeals to an eternal retribu- tion hereafter. what good did it do? the pulpits thundered with the sound of everlasting wo. the tippler and drunkard were told, and believed, that an endless hell awaited them. all the force which this motive could exert was exhausted upon them. and to what effect? i will not say that it never re- claimed one ; for, amid the infinite combinations of temperament, occasion, and circumstance, there is, perhaps, no means, howsoever trivial or perverse, that has not, in some individual instances, been attended with success. but it is well known, that no deliv- erance was wrought in the earth. intemperance still increased. the cry arose, that it was coming down, like a sea, upon us, and that the ship was on the point of sinking. another method was tried : the appeal was, directed to the present evils and immediate consequences of the vice; the whole matter was laid open to'public view, and the natural mode of cure pointed out ; and then, a change began to be felt throughout the entire body of society. the steersmen had, at last, laid their hands upon the helm, and the ship instantly luffed up into the wind. that was the helm; they had, before, been hauling at the air. but let us return. we shall now take up the general principle, so fully asserted in the former man an 'active being. . - part of this discourse, and follow it into the depart- ment of moral and religious duty. in these re- spects, too, man was made for an active, laborious creature. in morals and religion, as in all other concerns, he has much to do, which he cannot'neglect with impunity ; for here, as otherwhere, activity, toil, is still his element, and he cannot be happy out of it. i state this, with the more particularity, because there are gross misapprehensions of our doctrine on the point. it is sometimes thought that universal- ists hold mankind have little to do, in religion. they hold, it is said, that our future salvation is all sure, perfectly secured in god's own counsel; and that, of course, nothing is left for us, but to be glad, and to make ourselves just as quiet as possible. never was there a greater misrepresentation. true, · we do believe our creator intended our existence to be a blessing to, us, and not an everlasting curse. and we believe, that, when he brought us into being, he knew what he was about; that he did not leave the matter at loose ends, but took care of the result. to us it seems no mark of piety to suppose that god created us without knowing or caring what should be our final destiny. but then, we know, also, that it is the law, both of his revelation and of our nature, that we should toil, with all our powers, in the great field of spiritual exertion ; that we should labor, not to change god, or his purposes, nor to alter our final condition, but to change our- selves, and to improve our own characters. we must strive in the way of repentance, of reformation. of experimental and practical piety. we must train up our affections in love to god and heavenly things, and conquer that engrossing worldly-mindedness to which we are so prone. evil passions and wicked desires are to be subdued, and the divine spirit of man an active being. condition on which you can either enjoy, or prop- erly know, the truth.' perhaps it will be said, the speaker seems to make out religion a hard, laborious way of life ; we thought it was an easy, instead of a toilsome service. yes, my friends, it is an easy service, when we have become accustomed to it. and one reason why it is easy and delightful is, that it is laborious. it would be at war with our nature, were it not so. people sometimes appear to think that a pleasant religion must be one in which there is little to do. if some scheme could be, devised, that required nothing at all of us, that prescribed no duties what. soever, not even the trouble of going to church, that would be perfection! if you know anything of hu- man nature, you know that such a religion would be the most insupportable, ever conceived of. it might - answer for a day, possibly for a month ; but try it. for two or three years, and there is not a soul under heaven that could endure it. take that little child, who complain's of his task at school, and who wishes, in his ignorance, that he were released from every- thing of the kind. provide an institution, for him, completely to his taste, send him where there are no books, no study, no instruction, where he shall have nothing to do, but to sit still ; and, at the close of the first half-day he may, perhaps, come home well pleased. that is the school for him! but send him again ; let him try it, a week, 'or a month ; : and he will beg, as for life, that you will give him something to do, or send him to any school rather than to that. it is the imperative demand of na- ture- within him. we, my brethren, have a reli- gion of joy unspeakable and full of glory. but, would you know how to turn it, at once, into a dull, taste- less, insipid affair, disgusting ever to the most man an active being. thoughtless ? only take away its requirements, so that it shall exact no effort on our part; or, which is the same thing, pay no attention to its com- mands, neglect its duties, throw off its yoke entirely from our necks; and you will soon find it a dead carcass, that would nauseate the stoutest spirit under heaven. people will not, and cannot abide long by any religion unless it be presented to them in a way to give scope to their active powers, and call them forth into exertion. my brethren, you especially who are engaged in the ministry, i pray you bear with the freedom of this address : would you see a society grow and prosper ? remember the principle we have now illustrated. put every member, you can, of that society, to work -to work, personally, in the cause of religion. that is the great secret of success and permanent stability, let there be no idleness, in any quarter. there are the children that need to be gathered into your sunday schools ; bring them into the work. there are your youths and maidens; give them a sphere of activity as teachers, and as members of other as- sociations for religious improvement. there are the older men and women, to be brought under the responsibilities of a solemn and explicit profession of their savior's name. and there is, above all things, the duty of diffusing, through every class, the spiritual influences, which shall make the doc- trine you preach a living power, working in the heart, and prompting to continual attainments in holiness. and you, my hearers all, let us not forget these things, but carry the remembrance away with us. let us make a practical reality of our religion. be assured, that, to know the depths of its consolations, and the strength of its support, we must engage in it, for ourselves. if we do so, we shall find that our labor in the lord is not in vain. amen. the ministry of reconciliation. sermon v. ! the ministry of reconciliation. by rev. h. ballou. " therefore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint nöt."- . cor. iv. . . as the first word in the text evidently has refer- ence to the apostle's argument and theme which go before, we shall duly notice the same, that thereby we may arrive at a correct understanding of the ministry mentioned in our text. beginning with the fifth verse of the third chap- ter, and carefully observing the theme of the writer, we arrive at our object. “ not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think anything of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of god; who also hath made us able ministers of the new testament; not of the letter, but of the spirit ; for the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life!" here are several things worthy of notice. . the entire dependance of the gospel minister on god to render him efficient in his holy calling, as an abstract proposition, this fact will be admitted by all, and yet it is to be feared, that the absence of a realizing sense of its truth, often renders the la. bors of preachers little better than sounds without substance. . when god makes a minister, he makes an able one. by their wisdom, ways, and means, men the ministry of reconciliation. may succeed in making ministers; and they may be such as those who make them will be pleased with, and even proud of. they may be learned and elo- quent ; fashionable and fascinating; yet they will be as vain as are those who make them, and as des- titute of the true spirit, wisdom, and meekness of the gospel of life and salvation. . we learn from what we have before quoted, that the apostles were not made ministers of that which killeth, but of that which giveth life. the apostle proceeds : “ but if the ministration of death, written and engraven in stones, was glorious, so that the children of israel could not steadfastly be- hold the face of moses for the glory of his counte- nance ; which glory was to be done away, how shall not the ministration of the spirit be rather glorious. for if the ministration of condemnation be glory, much more doth the ministration of righteousness exceed in glory. for even that which is made glorious had no glory in this respect, by reason of the glory that excelleth. for if that which was done away was glorious, much more that which remain- eth is glorious !” here, again some remarks may be proper. on what we have here quoted, it seems reasonable to remark : .. . the ministration of which the apostles were not made ministers, is called a ministration of death and of condemnation; and the ministration of which they were made ministers, is called a ministration of the spirit, and of righteousness. and we may fur- ther add, that as the ministration of death is so call- ed because it killeth, the other, because it giveth life, may be called the ministration of life. and we may moreover add, thạt as the one ministration is called the ministration of condemnation, so may the other be called the ministration of justification. the ministry of reconciliation nation, to the glory of the ministration of life, of righteousness, of the spirit, and of justification. : we have now come to our text; and we have come to it in the way in which the apostle himself came to it. and in a way too, by which we under- stand what he means by $this ministry.” ".therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not.” the attention of the audience will now be called to the consideration of the following subjects :, ; . the nature and attributes of this ministration of life: ii. what it communicates and what it effects; and, iii. the reasons why the apostles did not faint, or were not discouraged in their labors in this min- istry. i. as to the nature and attributes of this ministra- tion, we shall find it a fixed and an abiding law, or principle, of our moral nature. it is as old as man. all the account we have of this fixed law, recorded in the scriptures, is but a representation or manifest- ation of what was, before the scriptures were writ- ten, as true as it has been since. the fact which we here state, though obviously true, when duly considered, seems not to have been generally noti- ced. in its development, or manifestation, it is suc- cessive to the ministration of condemnation, that is, in the mind and understanding of the moral agent. · · we come to the knowledge of moral principles, by experience; but all moral principles are the same, at all times, the same before we experience or know them, as afterward. the transgression of any known duty is, in the nature of things, necessarily followed with conscious condemnation. this is a ministra- tion of death. and though this ministration is to be done away, while the transgressor lies under it, he the ministry of reconciliation. beholding the glory of the lord, were changed into the same image. its transforming power wrought this change in their hearts, and delivered them from the power of sin, and the ministration of condemna- tion, into the liberty of the sons of god. before this apostle experienced the change of which we are speaking, he was under the condem- nation of the ministration of death. and though that ministration was done away in christ, the me- diator of the new and better covenant, he could not see to the end of that which was abolished. he knew not either the nature or the power of that grace by which sin is taken away. yet that grâce or mercy was an eternal, abiding principle, and was manifested to him by the lord jesus, who, by its divine power, removed the veil which was on his heart, and appeared to him in the glory of the min. istration of the spirit, and of life. ..and here it may be well to notice the manner of communication which characterized this ministra- tion of divine mercy. this we shall find perfectly to agree with the apostle's statement in the chapter following the one in which our text is recorded. he describes the character and condition of one, on whom the transforming power of the ministration of life had wrought the change of which we have spoken : “ therefore, if any man be in christ, he is a new creature ; old things are done away; be- hold, all things are become new.” and then he adds—“and all things are of god, who hath recon- ciled us unto himself by jesus christ, and hath given to us the ministry of reconciliation; to wit, that god was in christ, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them; and hath committed unto us the word of reconciliation. now, i then, we are ambassadors for christ, as though god the ministry of reconciliation. which had been gathering strength for ages, pre- sented an opposing front, which no human wisdom or human means could successfully encounter. if we duly consider the mighty power which the schools always exert in all communities, and more especially in communities in which the common people are illiterate, and consider likewise that there was not one in the world which favored the cause in which the apostles labored, or did not oppose it, as far as possible, we shall be fully convinced that it was not because there were no adversaries to the gospel, that the apostles were not discouraged. the same opposition, in kind, existed in the abominable superstitions of the gentiles, whose idols, priests, and altars exerted all their influence, as did the superstitions of the jews, against the religion of jesus. add to all this the arm of civil government, in every place, where the apostles preached, and we have before us, a strength of opposition, that would have discouraged any one, not armed with di- vine power and authority. the sore persecutions which the messengers. of jesus suffered, for his name's sake, fully confirm these suggestions. nor was it the expectation of any worldly gain of wealth or honor, which sustained the courage of the meek, humble disciples of the divine master. poverty, stripes, bonds, and imprisonments, with dis- honor, in the eye of the rich and great, and even death itself, lay in their path. yet, notwithstand- ing all this mass of opposition, these heralds of the cross were not discouraged ; nor did they faint ; for which the following reasons may be assigned : . they were fully persuaded of the truth of the doctrine which they preached. their personal, - knowledge of jesus, as to his preaching, his miracles, bis sufferings and death, and his resurrection and the ministry of reconciliation. ascension, left no scruples in their minds. the gospel which they preached, they learned of jesus; its divine testimony he had sealed with his blood, and god had sanctioned its truth, by raising him from the dead. as they knew all these facts, they could entertain no doubts in relation to them. on this rock of truth they stood confirmed, as on a rock in the ocean. they could look on their right hand, pand see the mighty waves of opposition raging, and on their left, and behold the foaming surge, and all without the least dismay. without allowing this confidence to the apostles, who can'render a reason for their firmness and perseverance ?. granting it, to them, who can wonder that they were not disé couraged ? . they had, themselves, received the mercy, the forgiveness of their sins, which this ministry, to which they were appointed, freely bestows. and they felt themselves indebted to communicate to others what they had received, accordingly as they were directed by their master, who said to them, “ freely ye have received, so freely give.” he had freely laid down his life for this cause, and they were willing to lay down theirs. thus devoted, they fainted not. had they not been acquainted, by their own experience, with the grace of this for- giving ministry, being destitute of its spirit, they could not have been willing to labor, at such cost, to communicate it to their enemies. but as they were in possession of its spirit and life, their servi- ces were free, and sweet to themselves. . they loved their divine master, they loved the truth which he had committed to them, and they loved the labor to which they were appointed ; and moreover, they rejoiced that they were accounted worthy to suffer for his sake. in full possession of the ministry of reconciliation. such love, who can wonder that they were not dis- couraged ? in room of weakening them, the oppo- sition they had to encounter, gave them joy and filled them with a courage which no danger could intimidate. what power can dishearten love? what can overcome it? it is stronger than death ; it overcomes the power of death : and according to its strength are its triumphs. if we contemplate the care, the toil and labor, which fathers and moth- ers encounter and endure for the love they have for their offspring, we have before us but a faint rep- resentation of the strength of that love which sus- tained the savior and his apostles in the work, in which they were engaged. in room of wondering at the perseverance of the apostles, we are rather surprised at the blindness and enmity of their per- secutors. . the apostles had directly before their eyes, the bright example of the divine master; and all they had to do was to follow it. they therefore labored, “ looking unto jesus, who, for the joy which was set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame.” there is a power in example which im- parts a stimulation which is hard to overcome, or successfully to oppose. these apostles were ac- quainted with the scriptures of the prophets; they had read isaiah's description of the sufferings of jesus, and they had seem him endure them. they had seen him "despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” they had seen men hide their faces from him, and they had done this themselves ; they had seen him “ brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth.” they had seen the meekness, the humility, the un- feigned love which characterized the life of their .. the ministry of reconciliation. example. they had seen him weep over his deadly enemies, and they recorded his dying prayer for their forgiveness. with such an example before them, all fresh and alive in their memory, how could they, when filled with his love, faint or be discour- aged in his service ? . in the discharge of their duties and labors, the apostles enjoyed the felicity of carrying glad tidings to the people, wherever they went. this is a most gratifying and pleasing service whoever enjoys this honor esteems it a favor. even angels gladly accept such an appointment. the heavenly messenger who announced the information to joseph, that the son who should be born of mary, should be the savior, must have highly esteemed his appoint- ment; and he also, who proclaimed to the shep- herds the birth of jesus, had the unspeakable satis- faction of saying, “ fear not; for, behold, i bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be unto ali people!" such an honorable, such a pleasing ap- pointment did the apostles receive from their divine master, who charged them to go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. had the apostles been compelled, by their appointment, to publish evil, or bad tidings, their labors would have been painful. but there was no part of their mes- sage that was not full of joy and comfort to them- selves, and to all who heard and believed it. so elated was the messenger who carried the glad tidings of the victory gained at the battle of marathon, to the city of athens, that he so over- came his physical strength, as only to proclaim the news, and immediately expire! "the delight, the exquisite pleasure by this messenger enjoyed, as he ran on that glorious message, can hardly be ima- gined, much less described. when st. paul carried the ministry of reconciliation. the blessed tidings of the gospel to his countrymen, and to the gentiles, in antioch, in pisida, full of the holy spirit, and elated with joy, he said, “we declare unto you glad tidings, how that the promise which was made unto the fathers, god hath fulfilled the same unto us their children, in that he hath raised up jesus again. to know a world's redemption, to know that mercy which forgives sins and transgres- sions, to know that death is abolished, and life and immortality are brought to light, to know that in the fulness of times god will gather together, in christ, all things in heaven and, in the earth, and that, as in adam all die, even so in christ shall all be made alive, and to be appointed, by divine authority, to spread abroad the glad tidings of all these glorious things, was an honor and a felicity which could well support these heralds of salvation, and suffer them not to faint, or be discouraged.” . nothing gives stronger support, nothing in- spires greater confidence, nothing imparts more cool, undaunted courage in any enterprise, than a full confidence in certain ultimate success. all this fell to the lot of the apostles of jesus. like their divine master, they knew what is in man. however ignorant men may be of themselves, however deter- mined they may feel to oppose this ministration of divine life and righteousness, the word of this truth is nigh them, even in their heart and in their mouth, the word of faith, which the apostles preached. it. is, as was stated in the former part of this discourse, a fixed, an abiding law or principle of our moral na- ture. of the existence of this principle in man, we may, for a season, be ignorant. but god has provided means to bring us to the knowledge of it, and to awaken it into activity, and to an exertion of its mighty energies. if the persecuting saul had the ministry of reconciliation. been told, when on his journey to damascus, before he was met by jesus, that he would soon be a christian, and a preacher of the doctrine to which he was so much opposed, he would have treated such a declaration with scorn. at that time, he knew not what was in himself; he did not know that he was possessed of such a quality of nature, which could be so wrought upon, as to make him willing to embrace christ, and to suffer persecution for his sake. but all this was true, and jesus knew it was true; and “appeared to him, to make him a minis- ter and a witness” of the gospel of his grace. there was no uncertainty in the case. knowing these things, the apostles were confident that their labors would not be in vain. we have often heard preachers, learned, eloquent preachers, display the power of their improved tal- ents, by endeavoring to enforce on the minds of their hearers the terrors of endless condemnation and wo. they believe, no doubt, the doctrine they preach ; and are ignorant of the fact, that they are possessed of a principle, which, when awakened, and called into action, will utterly demolish, and finally over- throw this doctrine. should one of those learned, grave doctors, after having concluded one of his most vehement efforts, to awaken in the hearts of his audience the fearful apprehensions and horrid fears of never-ending wrath, hear à voice from heaven, and believe it was from heaven, calling on him to take his pen and paper, and set down, and coolly and in a deliberate manner, after taking time to reflect, set down the number of human beings which he is willing should be finally excluded from the favor of god, how large a number can we be- lieve we should find on his paper ? look at him he is now reflecting in his mind-he deliber- ger . the ministry of reconciliation. let us then, my brethren, constantly direct our eyes to the mark of the prize set before us; and may we be faithful unto death. the crown is, sure. . faith and works. sermon vi. faith and works. by rev. sebastian streeter. "a man may say, thou hast faith, and i have works; show me thy faith without thy works, and i will show thee my faith by my works."-james ii. . . from the days of the apostles down to the pres- ent time, there has been a marked difference of opinion among christians, with respect to the true grounds of human salvation. some have made it depend wholly upon faith, some upon good works ; some upon the union of faith with good works; and others still, upon the merits of the lord jesus christ, and upon those exclusively. something of this kind of diversity of opinion seems obviously to have obtained among the avowed friends of christianity in the days of james. he plainly brings it forward in the chapter from which the text has been selected, so far at least as faith, good works, and the union of these eminent chris- tian virtues, are concerned. there were some, it would seem, among the christians of his acquaint- ance, who strenuously contended for the saving effi- cacy of faith alone. they were, in this respect, to say the least, what theologians in later times have denominated anti- nomians. those of this opinion were not, i am aware, organized, and formed into a distinct sect in the age of the apostles, nor till the time of martin * faith and works. and mercy. they relied solely upon the power and saving efficacy of their faith. now there were some of this class of christians, substantially, in the days of james, though not dis- tinguished by the appellative antinomian, nor hold- ing, perhaps, all the doctrines to which i have just referred; but still they attached a supreme impor- tance to faith, even in the absence of good works ; and to all such the apostle alludes in the text: “ show me thy faith without thy works, and i will show thee my faith by my works.” the apostle, it is evident, and probably most of the early christians, viewed with abhorrence this idolatrous homage to a single christian virtue. they looked upon it as not only visionary, but corrupting and dangerous in its influence upon the cause of evangelical truth, and upon the interests of the com- munity at large ; and therefore, as highly reprehen- sible. hence some, as might naturally have been expected, assumed directly opposite ground. in avoiding one extreme, they fell under the dominion of another. they relied chiefly, if not solely, upon their good works, and attributed to them precisely the same office and power which the others had er- roneously ascribed to their faith. they contended with much assurance, though without a particle of truth on their side, that good works, an habitual con- formity of life to the requisitions of the law of god, without the co-operation of any faith at all, would effect their salvation. this opinion, also, the apostle gave his erring brethren to understand, was an extreme, and one about as wide from the truth in the case, as that, the groundlessness of which he had so fully ex- posed ; and in opposition to both the foregoing opin- ions, that which makes salvation depend exclusively faith and works. . upon the power of faith, and its counterpart, that which makes it depend solely upon the efficacy of good works, he contends for the union of faith with good works. he obviously considers these virtues to be inseparable the one from the other. he plainly rests his whole argument upon the tenability of the ground that a true and living faith in christ cannot exist in the mind of a sinner, with- out producing a change in his purposes and pursuits ; or at least awakening within him a resolution to maintain a uniform course of good works in subse- quent life. these are its legitimate fruits ; at any rate, they were evidently so considered by our apostle. the way in which he treated the subject in the text and context plainly evinces this fact: “ what doth it profit, my brethren,” he asks, “though a man say he hath faith, and have not works? can faith save him? if a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food; and one of you say unto them, depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled : notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body, what doth it profit? even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone." “ for as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also.” here we plainly perceive the insufficiency of the soundest faith, where acting single-handed and alone, utterly dissociated from those holy acts which form its legitimate fruits. it is lifeless, powerless, wholly incapable of subserving any of the high interests of its possessor. but still, though faith be not all- sufficient, it is not, as some in these boasting days of increased light and of improvement, seem to imagine, utterly weak and useless. it has its department in the system of christian truth, and in the culture and perfecting of the mind and heart, the character and faith and works. condition of man. it claims a high rank among the christian virtues, and cannot be dispensed with but at the peril of public order and peace.. some, however (and vigorous efforts are put forth to increase the number), profess to think otherwise. they speak of faith, even that of christians, as quite a trivial and unimportant affair. it is avowedly held by them, and they do all in their power to induce others to hold it, in very low estimation. if a man conduct well, they say, all is well ; no matter what his faith may be, or whether he has any faith at all. in support of this sweeping assumption, pope, the inimitable english poet, is often quoted, and with an air of the most triumphant assurance: "for modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight; his can't be wrong whose life is in the right." '. it may be so, my friends. at any rate i have no wish to controvert a poetic dogma so beautifully ex- pressed. but there is a question of paramount im- portance back of this fact. it is the following: will that man's life be right, whose faith is wrong? have we any security for the occurrence of so singu- lar an anomaly? as a general thing, if a man's faith be fundamentally wrong, will not his life be habitually wrong also ? if i believe that a course of roguery and fraud will, beyond every other, promote my own interest, and that of my family, shall i be likely to live the life of a practically honest man ? with a settled conviction that the cup of the inebriate would con- tribute largely to my comfort, is it probable that i should pursue a rigid and uniform course of sobriety? if i believe, as saul of tarsus once did, “that i ought to do many things contrary to the name of jesus of nazareth,” can i reasonably calculate upon faith and works. attaining to anything like high eminence as a practi- cal christian? these, and many other questions of a similar character, which might be asked, must surely be answered in the negative. hence, faith is not a con- cern of such proverbial indifference, as some among us seem to suppose. it has a mission of high re- sponsibility to accomplish, both in the world of re- ligion, and in that also of morals; but still, it is but a single virtue, and ought not, therefore, to be cher- ished to the exclusion of all others, and especially that of good works. “ these are” eminently “ good and profitable unto men,” and must on no account be neglected, or treated with contempt. the apostle, however, in the course of his illustrations, shows clearly, that even good works, if disconnected with a well-grounded faith, are not available to any con- siderable extent. “wilt thou know, o vain man," he asks, “ that faith without works is dead? was not abraham our father justified by works, when he had offered isaac his son upon the altar ? seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect? ye see then how that by works a man is justified, and not by faith alone!” hence it must be evident to every one, it would seem, that it was the leading aim of the apostle to urge upon his brethren, and all under whose eye his teachings might fall, the deep importance of uniting a true christian faith with the uniform practice of the christian virtues. he wished to have it univer- sally known and felt, that the most orthodox belief will prove of very little, if any avail, provided it be associated with an habitually heterodox life. and this is unquestionably a fact. a moment of dispassionate reflection upon the subject, cannot fail - -- faith and works. of confirming this fact in every mind. let us sup- pose a few cases by way of illustration. here is a man who professes to believe, and he does believe, that he is solemnly bound to speak the truth to his neighbor, and to all men, and nothing but the truth ; and yet, he is in the daily habit of uttering falsehood. instances of this kind frequently occur in every com- munity. now this man's faith is right; but will this fact be of any avail to him, while the general tenor of his conduct is palpably wrong? surely not. it will not save him from the dishonor and fearful doom which await the liar. to escape these, and secure to himself the reputation, and the rewards, of a man of truth, he must not only believe right, but also speak right. in the language of the text, he must “show his faith by his works.” in the whole inter- course of his life, he must exhibit to those around him, the union of a holy belief with a habit of holy living. in this way, and in this only, can any man save himself from the dishonor and misery insepar- able from the odious vice of falsehood. again: let us suppose a man to believe in the obligations of strict honesty in all his dealings with his fellow-men ; but who, in his commerce with the world, is grossly dishonest, constantly developing some new and deep-laid project of dissimulation and knavery. in this case, can the man reap any last- ing benefit from the soundness of his faith? will it shield him from impending harm? has it power to save him from the infamy and ruin which await the rogue ? can it palsy the strong arm of justice, or ward off its fatal blows? most assuredly not. we know it is invested with no such power. once more : suppose a man to be loud and con- postant in the avowal of his belief that the low, unnat- od to faith and works. ural and loathsome habit of intemperance is a fool- ish, criminal, and deeply degrading vice. the great body of drunkards, it is presumed, do thus believe. thousand on thousands of our fellow-beings, of all ages and conditions in life, from all periods and countries of the world, and from every sect in chris- tendom, might be adduced in support of this singular fact. this man's belief then is right. his is the geti- uine orthodox faith upon this thrillingly interesting subject. but let us suppose further, that, in direct opposition to his sound faith, this same man lives in the daily practice of intoxication! that he quaffs often and deeply the burning chalice which is con- suming his reason and his property, his health, his self-respect, ay, and his life also ; and what is still more deeply to be deplored, destroying the quiet and comfort of his home, of his wife and his chil- dren, of his neighbors and his friends. this has often, very often been done, by those too, possessed of a high order of intellects, of gen- erous and feeling hearts; and who seem to have been designed and qualified by the creator for an exalted rank among the genuine nobility of the world. now if the man we have supposed, or any other, shall stubbornly persist in the course described, is it possible that he should reap any enduring advantage from the soundness of his faith? will this save him from the drunkard's fate? can it guard him against the swimming of his head, or the reeling of his gait, as he staggers along your streets ? can it arrest the inroads, and stay the progress of dis- ease ? can it shield his vitals against the deadly effects of the fiery potations which he is constantly pouring down upon them? faith and works. can it bind up, and heal, and sooth, the deep wounds of his mother's broken and bleeding heart ? can it hush the tumultuous throbbings in his father's anguished and heaving bosom? can it wipe the crimsoned blush from the cheek of a doting sister? or throw back the sickening look of mortification which has gathered in a brother's pitying eye ? in a word, can it wipe the burning tears from the grief-stricken face of his once fond, and always de. voted wife ? can it lull the pains, and calm the wild sorrows of her crushed, distracted, sinking spirit? can it clothe, and feed, and educate his neglected and abused little ones? can it impart new grace to the innocent gambols, or infuse a fresher and higher charm into the music of their artless prattle ?:"", these are questions of thrilling interest to every father, every mother, every child, and it is painful to give them negative answers; and still no others can be given, if given in truth. no, my friends, the profession of the soundest faith, under the circumstances i have supposed, can do none of these things, and none which in the slight- est degree resemble them. it has neither soul nor life. it is a dead faith, and can only work a deep, and still deeper moral death in all that is truly valu- able to its possessor, to the community in which he lives, and to all the charities and endearments of his home ; or rather the dishonored and ruined wreck which should have been his home. you see then, my kind hearers, that james was right in contending that neither faith, nor good works, when separated from each other, can be of any great value to the christian ; and that to fill the measure of his good, there must be a union of the two of a il . faith and works. sound christian faith, and a conformity of the life to the great requisitions of christian truth and duty. hence all who would secure to themselves the high advantages of our holy religion must not only believe in christ, and make an open profession of their faith in him, but they must show it to all around them by their works; exhibit by their daily conduct its genuineness and' worth to the scrutini- zing eye of the world. let all who name the name of christ be careful to live like true christians, and the gazing world, the skeptical wise, will ere long perceive, and frankly acknowledge, that christianity is a boon worth possessing, and ear- nestly to be sought. actions, it has often and truly been said, “ speak louder than words.” the max- im is a sound one. they unquestionably do ; and hence the wisdom of resolving that we will spare no pains, in our efforts to display the excellency and value of our faith by the purity and usefulness of our lives. from the view of the subject now taken, it will be perceived, that our partialist brethren have fallen into a palpable mistake, with respect to the nature and demands of our own faith. they often and very confidently assert, that if the distinguishing sen- timents which we have espoused be true, there is no necessity at all for the practice of good works. we may fold up our arms, it is said, and do nothing; or we may live as we list, commit sin, or follow after holiness, as appetite, or passion, or caprice, or inter- est, or anything else, may seem, for the time being, to demand. · this, however, we have just seen, is an egre- gious mistake. it is the result of prejudice; the off- spring of a superficial, and culpably hasty investi- gation of the subject. the assumption is utterly faith and works. unfounded. the spirit and legitimate requisitions of our distinguishing sentiments constrain us to set a high value upon good works. we cannot but view them as "good and profitable unto men;" as essen- tially necessary to our individual security and peace; to the safety and repose of our families and friends, and of the community in which we live. we con- sider good works, or as some would say, holy living, as the natural fruits, the legitimate consequences of our faith, when received in the knowledge and love of it. hence you perceive that, so far from rendering practical holiness unnecessary, or contracting the circle of its demands, a belief in the universality of the grace and salvation of god, enlarges indefinitely the sphere of its obligations. indeed, we deem its pre-eminent tendency to prompt and perpetuate good works, one of the higher recommendations of the holy faith we have espoused. we prize this faith, it is true, almost above all price, because it takes hold of immortality, and safely places it in our hands, as the last great gift of god to man; but we also deem it of incalculable worth on account of its high practical tendency ; because it enables its subjects to suppress every criminal and sordid propensity ; to rise above the power of tempt- ation in all its aspects and forms. in a word, be- cause it uniformly, “works by love, purifies the heart, and overcomes the world.” having shown the necessity of an indissoluble union between the christian faith, and christian life, which was the principal object of the present discourse, i shall ask your attention, for a few mo- ments, while i endeavor to solve a difficulty to which the reasoning of james, in the context, has given faith and works. : is believed, no real difference in the views enter- tained by these two apostles on the subject before us. when paul repudiates works, he refers, no doubt, to the services required by the ceremonial law by moses. the observance of these were not demanded, nor was it of any avail under the gospel of christ. they had fulfilled their mission, and become obsolete. hence, when paul says, “ not of works,” he means, not of the ceremonies of the mosaic ritual ; and when james speaks of "faith without works," he undoubtedly refers, as the cele- brated john wesley has justly remarked, to" a dead, imaginary faith. it is not, though he have faith ; but, though he say i have faith. he does not, there- fore, teach that true faith can, but that it cannot, sub- sist without works. nor does he oppose faith to works, but that empty name of faith, to real faith, working by love. can that faith which is without works save him? no more than it can profit his neighbor." the ground which james assumes is, that a spu- rious faith, one which does not inspire its possessor with a love of good works, and especially works of charity and mercy, can no more benefit himself, than it can his fellow-being, who stands in pressing need of his commiseration and bounty. hence it is per- fectly plain that there is no contradiction between the apostles paul and james on the subject of faith and good works. i must ask your patience for a few moments longer, while, in conclusion, i direct your attention to the text, as furnishing an infallible test of a true and false faith. according to the teachings of the apostle in the words before us, the true christian faith may be shown by our works ; of course a false faith cannot * , faith and works. be thus shown. in other words, if we have adopt-... ed the genuine christian faith, we may reduce it to practice, in all the relations and intercouse of life, without infringing upon any plainly-required duty; but if, on the other hand, we have embraced a faith in opposition to that of christ, and uniformly con- form our practice to its principles, and their legiti- máte requisitions, we shall inevitably violate some of the known and most sacred duties of social and fraternal beings. ' to illustrate the truth of the position here assumed, let it be remarked, that many christians profess to beliere, and no doubt do believe, that every human being is born into the world with a nature utterly corrupt and hateful; totally dispossessed of moral goodness, and of all the capacities requisite to the performance of a morally good act, or the acquisi- tion of a morally good character. now can such a faith be shown by the works of those who embrace it? in other words, can it be exemplified through- out all the relations and intercourse of civil, social, domestic, and religious life, and still no law of christianity, or of the human heart, be violated ? -trampled under foot ? certainly not. the thing is literally impossible. we are solemnly required by christianity, and by the laws of our own nature, to love our kind, and especially our immediate kin- dred and friends ; but christianity and the laws of human nature are reasonable things, and, therefore, cannot surely require us to love that which is utterly hateful and worthless.. according to the faith we are considering, how- ever, there is nothing in any human being, nor in all human beings, to love, nothing which god does not hate'; which the spirit of christianity does not oppose ; and which, of course, all christians faith and works. ought not to hate, and loathe, and abominate. if we would show this faith by our works, or, which is the same thing, exemplify it in our practice, we must cordially hate our whole race; not our ene- mies only, but our most intimate kindred and friends. we must become “ worse than infidels," and instead of “providing for our own households," unfeelingly abandon them to nakedness, and want, and starva- tion, and death. husbands must hate their wives, and wives their husbands. parents must hate their children, and children their parents. brothers must hate their sisters, and sisters their brothers. chris- tians must quench the flame of love and good-will enkindled within them, and assume toward each other, and all around them, the ferocity of the tiger. neighbors and friends must steel their hearts against every tender and sympathetic emotion ; arm them- selves with the weapons of violence and of blood, and seek only to swell the already fearful aggregate of human wo. these are but the beginning of the abominations which must be done, to show by works the belief of which i am speaking! and can a faith which demands the commission of outrages like these, be the true christian faith?. it were folly to pretend it. we know it cannot. · again : there are great numbers in christendom, who avow their belief in a complete and eternal separation between the members of the human fam- ily, and between even those of their own families. with the truth of this belief i have, at present, noth- ing to do. the great questions to be settled are these : true or false, can this be the genuine chris- tian faith? can it be any part of that faith to which james refers in the text ? would it do for the champions and votaries of this faith to show it by their works ? should they pursue the course of faith and works. conduct it demands, with respect to their families and the community, would they violate no injunction of christ, and outrage no law of humanity, and es- pecially of their homes ? what would become of their connubial, paternal, and social relations and duties? would they not all, or most of them, be dissevered, and trodden in the dust ? who would sustain and carry forward the great and benevolent enterprises of the age? who would rear temples of worship, support the ministry of the word of life, and perfect the grand missionary projects of the church? the little handful of the evangelically regenerated would, beyond all question, be insuffi- cient for so mighty a task. - but further : there are not a few among us, who believe, or profess to believe, in the unmixed and endless misery of millions on millions of their fellow- beings, and of some even of their own families and friends. they believe that god will make these victims of his wrath as miserable as their natures will admit, without mitigation or the slightest inter- mission, through ages interminable. they believe, moreover, that it is the solemn duty of all christians to be “ followers of god as dear children.” now can the abettors of this faith “show it by their works,” and not openly do violence to the laws of the land, and those of humanity ? can they thus show it, and not wage open war against the holiest and the highest injunctions, both of god, and of his son jesus christ? it is plain that they cannot, and hence it follows inevitably, that their faith is a false one; at any rate, that it is not the faith which the apostles showed by their works. but the remarks i have offered must suffice. they prove conclusively, if i mistake not, that a false faith cannot be shown by the works of its sub- faith and works. jects, without an open and daring rebellion against the laws both of heaven and of earth. not so, however, with respect to the genuine christian faith. the inflexible and uniform prac- tice of this involves no difficulty. those who em- brace it, may freely and fully develop its principles by their works, and still not do one act of indignity against any law of their maker, of their country, or of their own nature. it takes hold upon god as the father and the friend of all ; upon jesus as the savior of all ; upon each human being as a brother ; upon heaven as the ultimate home, and love and good-will, and kind offices, as the endless employ- ment of universal man. such, 'in brief terms, is the faith of the real christian ; and such also is the faith of the real universalist. they are one and the same; and what a tide of order and peace would roll through our towns, and cities, and hamlets, were it fully and uniformly exhibited in the lives of those who pro- fess it; could every avowed universalist truly adopt the language of the apostle, “ the life which i now live in the flesh, i live by the faith of the son of god, who loved me, and gave himself for me." could we, one and all, thus live, what a beauty and glory would gather around our communion ! and we ought thus to live.' we have the best faith in the world, and it ought surely to be shown by our works. and this may be done. it is only to com- mence loving god with all our heart, and oùr neigh- bor as ourselves, and then to keep straight forward, through life, and for ever, turning neither to the right hand nor to the left. this is all ; and o! that every brother, and every sister, throughout our widely extended and rapidly increasing connexion might this day firmly resolve to do thus. i would true grounds of christian rejoicing. . sermon vii. the true grounds of christian rejoicing: by rev. merritt sanford. "notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you ; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven.”—luke x. . so spake the great teacher on an occasion of pe- culiar interest. he had sent forth his disciples as “ lambs among wolves, to teach the principles of his religion to a perverse and persecuting generation"; and, notwithstanding the errors and prejudices with which they had to battle, wherever they went, they had met with success ; they had found the gospel "mighty, through god, to the pulling down of strong- holds;" and they now returned to their master to tell of their conflicts, and relate the results of their mis- sion. with joy and rejoicing, they said unto him, "lord, even the devils are subject unto us through thy name. and he said unto them, i beheld satan as lightning fall from heaven.” this he spake fig uratively, signifying that he foresaw the success of the gospel in defeating its adversaries. that this was his meaning, is conceded by the ablest comment- ators. newcome says, “ by this language, christ signifies the rapid propagation of the gospel.” and john tells us that “by the term satan, christ meant all the adversaries of the gospel, who are afterward · the true grounds . called serpents, scorpions, and the host of the ene- my,” and that “ satan's falling from heaven signified the fall of those adversaries from the political heaven, that is, from power and authority in the world.” moreover, jesus continued and said to his disciples, “ behold” (speaking in the same figurative man- ner), “i give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you. notwith- standing, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are sub- ject unto you; but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven.” . a word of explanation may be needed here also. it may be asked, what is meant by names being written in heaven? i answer, allusion is here made to the custom, which prevailed in some countries, of writing the names of the inhabitants of cities in books, or registers, when they were born, or when they become citizens. the names of dutiful and upright citizens were kept on these records, to tes- tify that they had the approval of the civil authority, and were entitled to all the privileges of good citi- zens. but those who were turbulent and rebellious, had their names blotted out of those records, as a testimony against them, that they were denied the honor and privileges of dutiful citizens. agreeably to this, in the scriptures, those who are faithful to the divine commands, and are “good stewards of the manifold grace of god,” are said, by a figure of speech, to have their “names written in heaven," because they received the approbation and merit the blessing of god. thus, it is said of 'christians, “their names are written in heaven," and their o names are in the book of life." when, therefore, christ told his disciples to rejoice, because their names were written in heaven, his meaning was, of christian rejoicing. that they should rejoice in being faithful and good stewards in his moral vineyard, or in living and act- ing in such a manner as to have a conscience void of offence in the sight of god. consider now, what is taught in this lesson of the great reformer. his disciples were filled with joy, at the prospect of getting the victory over their outward enemies. they saw that the gospel was destined to be triumphant, and that it would sweep away the errors and false doctrines of ages; and they thought it a matter of great rejoicing. their master confirmed them in these expectations, but he added a caution, lest they should think more of the downfall of error, than of the spread and prevalence of the truth : “ notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you, but rather re- joice, because your names are written in heaven.” as if he had said, “ although your triumph over the enemies of the gospel is certain, yet glory not so highly in their downfall, as in building up the gospel itself. count it less joy to tear down the old castle of error, than to erect the temple of truth on a permanent foundation. rejoice not so much in gain- ing the victory over your religious opposers, as in getting the mastery over yourselves, and living in agreement with the dictates of my peaceful and heavenly religion.". the principle, here laid down by our savior, ad- mits of a very important use, and a wide application. in all the efforts of man at revolution, at reforma- tion, or improvement, he is in danger of falling into the very error which' was the stumbling-block with the disciples of christ, when they first entered on the work of revolutionizing the world by the power of the gospel. he is in danger of delighting more in the overthrow of his enemies, than in the wel- . the true grounds fare of his race-more in tearing down, than in building up—more in the glory of conquest, than in the virtue of turning the spoils of conquest into instruments of human good. this has been, and still is, the greatest error to which he is exposed in his revolutionary effort ? and it is one of the highest aims of christianity, to save him from this false cur- rent of his ambition, and cause him to rejoice, not so much in subjecting others to his sway, as in being himself a servant in the work of virtue and truth. look, for a moment, into the annals of military fame. read of the warriors that have led the ar- mies and carried on the wars of past ages, and ask yourselves, what was their object? on what did they base their glory? in what did they rejoice? i need not answer. every one, at all acquainted with history, very well knows that with here and there an exception, bare conquest has been their ob- ject. like alexander the great, who, when he had conquered the world, sat down and wept, be- cause he could not have another to conquer ; the most of military champions have been content to be mere conquerors. the fields and nations over which they have gotten the victory they have done little or nothing to turn into domains of peace and freedom, thinking their work done, and well done, where vic- tory was obtained; they have then sat down amid the spoils of their power, and if they have not wept because they could not extend their conquests far- ther, they have rejoiced because they have been able to extend them so far. and down to this day, there are some men and some nations; who, when they hear of a victorious general, or a victorious army, will rejoice, almost with joy unspeakable, even without having the least prospect of seeing the victory used as a step toward human liberty and of christÍan rejoicing. freedom. let all such turn from the bloody honors of war to the mild “ prince of peace," and learn a lesson of humanity. he would say to them, “in this rejoice not, that your enemies are subject unto you, but rather rejoice in being the friends of your race. glory not in getting the victory in the field of war, unless you can convert that field into à re- gion of peace. rejoice not in bringing a nation un- der your sway, if ye cannot make the people more peaceful, more virtuous, more happy." this great lesson, we rejoice to know, was learn- ed and acted upon by our washington ; and it gave a crown of glory to his head, which shall grow brighter and brighter with every age. when he had succeeded in conquering the enemy, and had brought this great country under his sway, did he sit down and weep because he could not conquer others ? no; he thought that he had already extended his conquering arm too far, unless he could improve the condition of the people. he therefore laid down the sword, and took up the sceptre. what he had gained by the first, he was now determined to con- vert into a realm of peace and freedom by the last. of his success i need not speak. o washington ! i honor thee as a disciple of my master. thy spirit, even on the gory field of battle, was animated with the benevolence of christianity. thou didst rejoice more in liberty, than conquest." thou hast loved righteousness and hated iniquity; therefore, god, even thy god, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows." let us now. look into the political world. and how is it here? it ought to be very different from what it has been in the military world, but what is the real fact? ah! i fear it is something like this the political parties in this country are very much the true grounds like two ancient armies. many in their ranks are, unquestionably, sincere lovers of political and moral freedom, and would, especially on an emergency, do anything to promote the welfare of the country ; but i greatly err, if the old spirit of warlike ambition, does not quite generally animate their bosoms, and if their main object is not power, conquest, victory! to secure this, hów do they manage ? before an election comes on, the leaders are all chosen, and marshalled on each side, and then comes a long, in- cessant drill, to prepare the corps political to march to the music of their respective parties. conven- tions are called, fiery and exciting speeches are made, and papers and documents are printed and circulated in all parts of the country-for what? to teach the people the principles of the government, and to make them feel their moral duties? no; but to see which party shall have the heaviest troops with which to meet their enemy at the ballot-box; and when they have been there, and tried their strength, the party that proves the strongest proclaims their victory (for such it is called) throughout the length and breadth of the land ; and thousands re- joice over the defeat of the weaker party, as though it were a matter of national virtue ! this, i know, is a discouraging view to take of this enlightened country, as it is proudly called ;- but is there not truth in it ? is there not a large class of our citizens who think they have really done the work of freemen, when they have secured the vic- tory in an election ? do not many prize the victorious side, rather than the side of virtue? is it not thought a matter of rejoicing, to be in the ranks of the suc- cessful party, and a matter of lamentation to be in the minority ? are not, in fact, our' elections called warfares, and does not each party act upon the old of christian rejojcing. principles of war, that “ to the victors belong the spoils ?” are not men put up for office, and voted for, on the ground of policy, instead of principle ? that is, because they will be true to a party, rather than because they are known to be men of moral worth and true friends to the country ? and again, when men are elected to office, do they not often consider themselves as being put in possession of their legitimate share of the spoils of victory, instead of feeling bound, by moral and re- ligious obligations, to seek and promote the welfare of the people ? these may be troublesome ques- tions to selfish and interested politicians, but they are questions which onght to be both asked and an- swered by every lover of american freedom. but what we wish, most of all, to say, is, that all, such, be they few, or many, in this country, or any other, need a lesson from jesus christ. his lan- guage to them would be, “ in this rejoice not, that your political enemies are subject unto you, but ra- ther rejoice in being faithful and dutiful to your country. think it less glory to obtain the victory in your elections, than to make the people prosper- ous, virtuous, and happy. this is the spirit of chris- tianity, and i dare say, even in the pulpit, that it is the spirit of republicanism. the prosperity of our coun- try does not lie in this party nor that party. if it did we might well despair of it. but it has a better, firmer basis. the first articles in our political creed tell us that our liberties, our welfare, and our prosperity, are based upon the intelligence and virtue of the peo- ple. and if the intelligence and virtue of the peo- ple are not preserved by schools and churches, by the spread of literature and science, and by the prae- tice of sound morality and pure christianity, not all the victories gained in our elections, nor all the sub- * of christian rejoicing. * the sainted murray," and at that time, the believers were “ few, and far between.” but how is it now? ye all know how it is. the doctrine has spread over the whole country, from east to west, from north to south. go into any back neighborhood, or into any remote district of our territories, and you will find its disciples there ; and if you listen to the preachers of other doctrines, whether in cities, or in regions yet scarcely peopled, you will notice that universalism is the great burden of their preaching. not that they believe the doctrine, but they see it going on with such rapid and gigantic steps, that they are afraid that it will prove triumphant, and like the rod of aaron swallow up all the rest. and this fear is not without foundation. the ad- vocates of our faith bring the good news of its prog- ress from every portion of our zion; and we can- not look about us, without asking ourselves the question, what can prevent its onward course till it has overcome all its opposers? we can think of nothing to prevent it. the errors and false doc- trines, to which it stands opposed, are fast giving way before it. infant damnation and a literal hell of fire have been given up, and the signs of the times clearly denote that the time is not very far distant when the doctrines of total depravity, origi- nal sin, election, and reprobation, the personality of the devil, the trinity, and endless misery, will be reckoned among the things that were. and beside this, the mightiest opposers have been already overcome. an ely, a campbell, a, stuart, and a hatfield, are numbered among the vanquished; and such has been the history of our controversies and discussions with the adversaries of our faith, and such is its present condition, we feel the utmost confidence in its power to triumph the true grounds over all opposing systems, and we seem to hear our divine master saying to us, as he said to his ancient disciples, “ behold, i give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you.” but still, he has an important caution to give us. will we hear it? “ notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you, but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven," although your triumph over your re- ligious opposers is certain, yet count this not so much a matter of joy as to get the victory over your- selves, over your propensities and passions, and to live as becometh the gospel. rejoice not so much in tearing down the doctrines of error, as in build- ing up the principles of truth. rejoice to build up the hopes of humanity, to carry peace and consola- tion to the sick and the dying, and to fill men with gratitude to god and love to man. rejoice to re- duce your faith to practice in treating every man as a child of god, and a brother to each member of the human race, and in giving to all men their dues in your intercourse with a world yet lying in wick- edness. let such be the grounds of your joy; and your rejoicing will be in the cause of virtue and the progress of truth. ' you will then be ornaments of my holy religion, and others, seeing your good works, will come and glorify your father who is in heaven. this is the lesson, my brethren, which our master has given us, and should we not take earnest heed to it? do we not see the wisdom of this lesson ? do we not see the importance of being more en- gaged in building up our own cause, than in tearing down its opposite ? let us ask ourselves, what should we have gained—what would the world have gained, provided we had fully succeeded in destroya of christian rejoicing. ing the whole system of what is denominated or. thodoxy, or partialism, without substituting more correct and exalted views of god and man in its place? i fear that there are many who think the gain would be great. i hear it said that, then, big- otry, superstition, and priestcraft, would be at an end. and it is possible that they would be, but this would not be all; for if the popular systems of religious faith were swept awiy, without occupying their places in the minds of the people with better views of religion, not only bigotry, superstition, and priest- craft, would be destroyed, but reverence for god, sympathy for man, and the love of truth and virtue would be destroyed with them. with the tares, we should destroy the wheat. what, then, shall we think of that warfare which skepticism and infideli- ty are carrying on against the doctrines and princi- ples of the christian religion? think of it! why, if we think at all of it, we must regard it as the most reckless and hazardous warfare ever waged on this bloody earth. because they have found some of the doctrines of religion false, infidels have jumped to the conclusion that all are false ; and with no creed of their own but universal doubt, with no prin- ciples but such as sap the foundation of moral obli- gation, they have declared a war of extermination against all religion, and they have pledged them- selves, upon the altar of what they call free inquiry, to sweep every form and vestige of it from the earth. . travellers tell us of a temple in mexico which is built of human bones, and cemented with human blood! such a temple infidelity is rearing, and in future generation's the horrid pile will be a fitting memorial of the ruined virtues and hopes which had fallen before the destructiveness of its builders. the true grounds. such a temple, in fact, is being built by all who are tearing down systems of religion without putting better ones in their place; while they are taking from man his old dwelling and his worn garments, they provide him with nothing for a substitute, but turn him out, naked and hungry, into a cold, un- sheltered world, and then tell him to take care of himself! let us beware, my hearers, that we do not labor in a work of this character. it is true, that error should fall, and that false doctrines should perish, but it is equally true that we had better not meddle with them, unless we can put truth and better doc- trines in their place. this we can do, and we shall do, if we are the true friends of universalism. our faith is not a negative system, which consists chief- ly in disbelieving and denying. it teaches positive and eternal principles. it tells us that “there is no respect of persons with god”-loving all with equal regard, and punishing the evil, and rewarding the good according to their respective works, and show- ing us that all his requirements are "holy, just, and good.” in a word, our faith shows us that god is our father, that man is our brother, that duty is our privilege, and that immortality is the gift of god to all his moral offspring. and should we not rejoice more to have these principles believed and enjoyed, than in destroying false systems of faith ?, indeed we should. and it is a solemn fact, that the only thing which can justify us in opposing doctrines we know to be false, is the purpose of having our views of god and man cherished in their stead. these views will not only save us from bigotry and super- stition, but will make them grateful to god and be- nevolent to man. they will fill the soul with the most ennobling conceptions, causing it to trust in .' of christian rejoicing. : god; under all circumstances in life, with filial and cheerful confidence, to regard virtue as the greatest earthly good, and to meet death as the passport to a better inheritance. but how shall we labor in this great and good cause ? in what way, can we do most to build it up, and make the world feel its redeeming power ? the obvious answer is, it is not enough to hate error, and to oppose sentiments and doctrines which we deem false and pernicious. in addition to this, we must love the truth, and be heartily engaged in favor of sentiments worthy of god and conducive to the moral welfare of man. this is the first thing need- ful. if we merely dislike the narrow system of partialism, 'without loving the broad principles of · universalism, let us not dream (for it would be nothing but a dream) of bringing about a reforma- . tion which will be of any benefit to ourselves, or to any one else. but, my hearers, if you have a deep and abiding love of these principles, you are prepared to help in building up the cause of god and humanity. the next thing is, to act. and here, it will not be enough to pay the preacher, and go to hear him when time and pleasure make it agreeable. he cannot do the work alone. he is only an agent, and unless you labor with him, he will tire and faint, and the cause will wither and die for want of your aid. you must be both hearers and doers of the word, and take heed that your whole conduct is in agreement with the broad and benevo- lent spirit of your faith. your labors will then not be in vain, and the work of truth will prosper abun- dantly. your own moral condition will improve and your happiness increase, more and more ; and better principles, and better practices, more cheering pros- pects and purer hopes, will spring up all around you. true grounds of christian rejoicing. your children and your children's children will grow up in the nurture of wisdom and virtue, to be ornaments to society and to religion, and to fill the places you now occupy with credit to themselves and benefit to their race; and when the time of your departure from earth draweth nigh, you will each be able to say, with divine satisfaction, “ i have fought a good fight ; i have finished my course ; i have kept the faith ; henceforth there is laid up for me. crown of righteousness." ". - the good shepherd. life, the same are his sheep, according to his own language. st. paul will instruct us as to the num- ber who thus belong to the flock of christ" that he by the grace of god should taste death for every man” _" he gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.” we learn from this testi- mony that all mankind are the sheep of christ. dr. adam clarke, in his remarks on the text, as- sents to this position. he says, “ the whole flock' of mankind, both jews and gentiles, belongs unto this divine shepherd.” ,' , this vast flock, in their ignorance and blindness, had gone astray--they had wandered away from the sheepfold of god, the divine owner of all. says isaiah-"all we like sheep have gone astray, we have turned every one to his own way.” the creator in describing, through the prophet, the con- dition of his earthly creatures, thus exclaims :. my sheep wandered through all the mountains, and upon every high hill. ,yea, my flock was scattered upon all the face of the earth, and none did search or seek after them." in this condition of things- his flock thus, scattered and lost--the beneficent owner, moved by the deepest compassion, resolved to send to the earth a shepherd, to seek out his be- wildered and straying sheep, and bring them back to luxuriate in the green pastures of mount zion. and the goodness and faithfulness of this shepherd, were thus foretold by the prophet: “he shall feed his flocks like a shepherd. he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and he shall gently lead those that are with young." in our text, jesus christ declares that he is the shepherd thus sent to take in charge the fold of god: ( ) heb. ii. . ( ) tim. ii. . ( ) isa. liii. . ( ) ezek. xxxiv. . ( ) isa. xl. the good shepherd. or in respect to himself, the nature and extent of the work he came to accomplish, or the final result of his reign in the mediatorial kingdom, which does not give the most joyful hopes, the most delightful anticipations, to every humane heart, to every chris- tian spirit, to every well-wishing soul! and look, too, at his descriptions of the future world. he fills not that future with pictures dark and gloomy, which affright the soul, and drive it to despair and destruction! no, never! but his teachings and promises in regard to the life to come, are calcula- ted to inspire the utmost confidence and trust in god, to fill the mind with peace in believing, and to give an assurance that blessings and enjoyments shall there be bestowed, upon the children of hu- manity, as rich, as extensive and universal, and as lasting, as the most ardent' love of mankind can pray for, or ask, or even think! these consistent principles, these glorious doctrines, these precious and heart-cheering promises, these joy-inspiring as- surances and hopes, are the green fields and fresh pastures, into which jesus, the great shepherd of the world, leads his flock—and there they eat that which is good, and their souls delight in fatness. is not this strong evidence that he is justly entitled to the name of is the good shepherd” ? * but on the other hand, it is a certain indication of an unfaithful shepherd, that he leads his flock into barren and desert places, where little food can be found, and little rest obtained. that there have been such shepherds in the world is made certain by the words of the most high, through the proph- et : “my people have been lost sheep : their shep- herds have caused them to go astray; they have turned them away on the mountains; they have gone from mountain to hill; they have forgotten their * .. 'the good shepherd. resting-place:"l" if there are any in our own day who lead their flocks into waste and arid deserts, where no nourishment can be found and no resting- place secured, it is evident they are not acting un- der the direction and authority of the great and good shepherd of the world. and are there not many religious teachers of this description now to be found ? are there not those who lead their hear- ers into doctrines and sentiments alike uncongenial to the spirit of philanthropy, and benevolence, and... mercy, and most violently in opposition not only to the prayers of the most righteous and pious men on earth, but to the feelings and wishes of every pure, humane, and god-like soul in the universe ? and can it be truly said that such teachers lead their flocks into green fields and pleasant'pastures? can doctrines which freeze the soul with horror-which fill the mind of the sincere believer with wild phrensy and insanity, and send many to the sui- cide's unhonored grave,--be called pleasant and agreeable ? are they fitly represented by rich meadows and luxuriant, pastures ? can those who are led into such sentiments by their pastors, find that spiritual food for which their souls hunger ? can they rest-can they repose in calmness and peace under these, teachings? can the prospects thus presented to their view, lurid with the imagined blaze of omnipotent and eternal wrath, fill them with joy and peace in believing? it is utterly im- possible! human nature rises in rebellion and de- testation against such doctrines. enjoy peace and repose in believing them! as well could we lie. down in calmness, and fall into gentle slumbers, on the verge of Ætna's burning crater, while the mountain trembles with mighty throes, and the seething bil ( ) jer. . . the good shepherd. lows are raging and rising to overflow in a wide stream of fiery destruction! these sentiments tru- ly represented by green pastures and smiling mead- ows? yes, as truly, as the scarred and blackened sides of the volcano, which for 'ages has received its annual layer of liquid lava, can be pictured by the same representation! i acknowledge the believer in the sentiments, to which i refer, may find occasionally a small degree of selfish enjoyment, under the hope of his own personal salvation. but the moment he turns his eyes from self, and beholds the millions of his fellow- beings whom he believes are going down to endless sin and wo, all his peace and satisfaction will flee away, and he will become unhappy, just in propor- tion as he possess the spirit of christian philan- thropy and gospel love for all ! hence the best view that can be taken of the field into which he has been led, is, that it affords here and there a tuft of herbage, while all around reigns one vast ex. panse of dreary barrenness and desolation! who- ever find themselves in such a pasture—whoever discover themselves in possession of sentiments which, so far from imparting peace and satisfaction, fill them with doubt, and suspense, and alarm whoever have been taught to believe that in the fu- ture world they may, and probably will, be for ever separated from many, around whom their dearest af- fections cling with a deathless grasp, and that they will be compelled to see them, dear as they are to their hearts, cast down-oh, horrid, awful sight! to the pit of eternal darkness and despair-should allow the distress and anguish which fill their hearts in anticipating such scenes, to admonish them that they have suffered themselves to be led by some other than the good shepherd sent of god! these the good shepherd. are not the green meadows--the soul-cheering and comforting doctrines into which this divine guide leads his sheep. . a good shepherd always defends his flock when danger approaches. this is one of the chief pur- poses for which he is intrusted with the care of the sheep. that this is one of the offices which jesus takes upon himself to discharge, is evident from his language in the context. “the thief cometh not but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: i am come that they (the sheep—the human family] might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly. i am the good shepherd : the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep." he as- sumes it here to be his duty as a good shepherd, not to kill and destroy the sheep, but to protect them, and preserve their lives, and if necessary, to lay down his life for them. in distinction to the good and faithful shepherd, the redeemer goes on to describe an unfaithful shep- herd--a hireling. “he that is a hireling, and not the shepherd, whose bwn the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep. the hireling fleeth because he is a hireling, and careth not for the sheep.” the hireling, by this test, is known from the good shepherd, in that he careth not for his sheep, but when the wolf draws near when they are, in the greatest danger, and the most need his protection he ignominiously for- sakes them and flees away, leaving them to inevit- able destruction. here, then, are the two shepherds—the faithful and the unfaithful—the good shepherd and the hire- ling. which of these characters shall we apply to jesus ? he declares himself to be the good shep- the good shepherd. . . herd-is he entitled to this name, according to the test which he has himself above laid down ? this is an important inquiry, not only as it regards the savior's character, but also in respect to the amount of confidence which the members of his flock can repose in their shepherd. to show the direct bear- ing of the question, we will suppose the world ac- tually tó be, as it is frequently represented, and quite generally believed. it is the popular doctrine of the day, that the great flock of mankind are ex- posed to the most imminent and awful danger—that ia being infinitely more blood-thirsty and cruel than the wolf-a being possessing the utmost subtlety and artfulness-having an ability and power of the greatest magnitude-capable of assuming every form and shape, to deceive and allure the unwary-is prowling around the sheep, whom god has intrusted to the charge of his son as shepherd, and is deter- mined to seize, and carry off to eternal wo, all that he can lay his fangs upon. :) anow if this supposition is true, the shepherd is undoubtedly aware of the danger of his flock. and the manner in which he proceeds, under these cir- cumstances—or rather, the manner in which men's doctrines represent him as proceeding—will deter- mine whether, according to those doctrines, he is the good and faithful shepherd; or the hireling. will the shepherd, whose duty 'it is to defend the flock, flee before this infernal wolf ? will he, when the ravenous monster makes his great and final on- set upon the human flock, hastily gather a few, and with a coward's dastardness, flee with them, leaving the remainder to be seized and devoure ? or, still more awfully abhorrent, will the shepherd invite the wolf to approach, and actually deliver into his pos- session, a large part of the flock god gave him to . the good shepherd. take care of and protect ? do our doctrines teach us that this, or anything like this, is the manner in which jesus, our shepherd, will discharge his duties? then let us understand, that either our doctrines which so teach, are radically and wholly false, or the redeemer, according to his own language, is not the good shepherd! for the proceeding which these doctrines ascribe to christ, are precisely such as he ascribes to the hireling, who “ careth not for the sheep.". . if we believe jesus to be the good shepherd, with what consistency can we suppose him to pur- sue the very course which he attributes to a “hire-. ling ?” believing him to be the good shepherd, - why not ascribe to him the characteristics and con- duct of a good shepherd ? being as he declares himself, the “ good shepherd,” those who possess a: genuine faith and confidence in him, will believe that he will guard his sheep with greater care, when danger approaches—that he will defend them at all times, and in all circumstances, with untiring faithful- ness—and in no case, 'under no contingency what- ever, will he ever allow one of the flock intrusted to his charge to fall into the hands of an enemy! and while there is more wisdom, and power, and · love, in heaven than in hell, no christian, cherish- ing the true gospel faith, can fear a result so disas- trous! . another characteristic of a good shepherd is, that he seeks and finds his sheep when they are lost. whenever any of the flock have strayed away, the · faithful shepherd not only seeks diligently for them, far and near, but continues his search, until he finds them and restores them to safety. he allows noth- - ing but success to terminate his exertions. it is evi. dent that jesus viewed it as the test of a good shep, - - - the good shepherd. they shall remain lost, and shall never have the privilege of returning; even though they may ardently desire it? do they represent the shepherd, as going out and seeking for the lost in the wilderness, for a short time, and then, not succeeding in finding them, returning and leaving them to wander for ever? it must be evident to all who possess but common discernment, that to take this view of the proceed- ings of christ, is in effect, but ascribing to him all the characteristics of a hireling, and representing him to the world as an unfaithful shepherd! either those parts of men's doctrines which represent the redeemer as pursuing either of these courses tow- ard the lost, must be as unfounded as “the base- less fabric of a vision;" or the claim which jesus put forth as the good shepherd cannot be sustained. how can a reasonable man hesitate which of these conclusions to adopi ? if the redeemer is indeed the good shepherd, he will manifest the faithfulness of such a shepherd. he will not seek the lost for a little season, and then abandon the work in despair. “but he will search unremittingly until the lost are found and restored to safety and peace. that jesus will in this man- ner, vindicate before his father and all intelligen- ces, his claim to the title of the good shepherd, is a truth which we have not been left to conjecture. he has given us the testimony that such is the course he will pursue in regard to the lost of his flock in the beautiful parable of the lost sheep. what man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety-and-nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he hath found it! and when he hath found it, he lay- eth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. and when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and the good. shepherd. , what unexampled diligence! what inexpressible tenderness! , what unwearied patience!" " thine eyes in me the sheep behold, whose feet have wandered from the fold; that guideles, hopeless, strives in vain to find its safe retreat again :- « now listens, if perchance, its ear; the shepherd's well known voice may leår, now, as the tempesis round it blow, in plaintive accents vents its wo." thus will the good shepherd continue his search, until the lost of the flock, yea, until the last of the lost, shall be found, and shall return to the sheep- fold of god, amid the rejoicings, of all the heavenly hosts! such is the testimony of the word of god. those who suppose the shepherd will restore none but those who are now his followers, or those only who in this life become his disciples, fall far short of comprehending the full scope of the gospel, and the everlasting faithfulness of the divine shepherd. “ other sheep have ,” exclaims the redeemer, “ which are not of this fold. [i have other sheep be- side the flock of present believers-even the entire sinful world, for whom the good shepherd gave his life. these also i must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold and one shep- herd.”? and in support of the same glorious truth are the declarations of the holy one. “ as à shep- herd seeketh out his ftock in the day that he is among his sheep that are scattered, so will i seek out my sheep, and deliver them out of all the pla- ces where they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark day..... i will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, ( ) names and titles of jesus. ( ). john x. . .... the good shepherd... i and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick." - so reasonable and consistent is the assurance that, the shepherd and bishop of souls, will find and re- store all the sheep which have been given him, that those of a limited faith have been compelled to ac- knowledge its propriety. ." the whole flock of man- kind,” says dr. adam clarke, “ belong to this di- vine shepherd ; and it is but reasonable to expect that the gracious proprietor will look after those who have gone astray.” in the assembly's annotations we read, “ christ, the good shepherd, came to seek that which was lost, and will never give over his work unperfected.” . most glorious and heart-thril- ling anticipation! my soul rejoices in prospect of that happy era, when the good shepherd shall lead home all his vast flock to the father of spirits! when he shall open unto them an abundant entrance into the ever-verdant fields of heaven, and allow them to partake of immortal fruits and drink from the sweet waters of the river of life! who, with a christian heart, can fail to rejoice with exceeding great joy, at this most worthy consummation of the reign of the son of god, or fail, in view of a pros- pect so glorious, to join in with the psalmist in ex- claiming"o clap your hands, all ye people; shout unto god with the voice of triumph !" amen. . ( ) ezek. xxxiv. .- . ( ) com.on luke, xv. . ( ) whittemore on the parables. , - * christian and protestant freedom. . : sermon ix. christian and protestant freedom." '..' by rev. e. h. chapin... . “let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.”- romans, xiv. . thÉse words were addressed by the apostle paul to the church at rome, in which, very early in the christian dispensation, a controversy had arisen rea specting the authority of the jewish rites. it is well known that in many of the primitive churches, the converts consisted of both jews and gentiles-the former of whom in embracing the gospel, did not renounce the rites and customs of their former wor. ship, but, on the contrary, openly proclaimed, that without the ceremonial law of moses there was no salvation. this doctrine the apostle labored to cor- rect-as we may see in the chapter from which we have taken our text. he inculcates here the praca tice of charity toward one another, in regard to opin- ions. the man who ate all things indiscriminate- ly, was not to despise his weak brother, who, from motives of conscience, would eat nothing but herbs. one was not to judge another, when all were equal as being servants of god. and as to days-one es- teemed one day above another; another esteemed all days alike ; but, says the apostlem" let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." here is evidently laid down a broad and liberal christian and protestant freedom. which miserably wasted the church in former times, and there would have been at this day more of the genuine spirit of the gospel among the disciples of christ, than in any period of christianity since the first ages.” but it is a singular fact, that in the very city to which the epistle was directed, there arose, in the '; course of time, a system that seemed the exact op- · posite of all this. instead of carrying out the truth set forth in this chapter, that the kingdom of god is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the holy ghost”-it made a religion of forms and ceremonies, of pomp and parade ; and encumbered that simple christianity with orna- ments and devices, of human invention. · this sys- tem was, for a time, supreme. “let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind," formed no part of its teachings. the creeds of the church, the bulls of popes, the decisions of councils, are the truth—not the convictions of reason—not the plain revelations of scripture. · the pope is infallible -he is the judge between truth and error. and so this system reigned over the minds of men for centuries. it assumed complete jurisdiction over those most intimate and personal faculties, the con- science and the will-and, if it did not possess, as it professed to, the keys of heaven and hell, it pos- sessed the key of reason and of faith. it was a mighty, ay, a magnificent power! with its kingly priests, their feet kissed by mailed barons, their stir. rups held by monarchs--with its perfect organiza- tion, extending to the minutest member, and binding each vein and artery to that papal control at the touch of which the remotest nerve of this great sys- tem quivered—with its immense powers of interdict and excommunication with its “secular arm," bare christian and protestant freedom. and bloody, holding on to the rack, the engine, and the stake-with its influence over crowned heads and armies, and, what was a power more fearful still, over the most inward thoughts and secret memories of millions—with its pomp of worship, its white-stoled priests, its gorgeous altars, its splendid paintings, its processions, masses, incense ;-with all this, i say, in its grasp, for centuries, it presents a spectacle in the annals of man, neither without its instruction nor its sublimity. but its strength was destined to be broken, and its · glory shorn. its dominion was contracted to a nar- rower sphere, when the rights of reason and of con- science began to be asserted. this took place in the sixteenth century. when corruption brooded upon the bosom of that blessed faith, for which paul had labored and stephen died—when the pure sim- plicity and the inward power of the religion that jesus taught at the well of samaria, were buried in the formalities of a worship that only awed the sen- ses and dazzled the eye—when vice grew in the hearts of the priesthood, and iniquity liſted its cowled head at the very altar—when the subtilties of the schools and the dogmas of the fathers, had taken the place of generous thought and plain revelation-then a rainbow appeared oyer the dark waters. luther stood forth to battle for the right alone, in the face of the christian world, with no outward aid, with no armor but that of reason, no sword but the bible, he presents to the impartial eye, the spectacle of a man, not like napoleon, with a host at his back-not like caur de lion, with a battle-axe in his hand- but of a man in the naked power of truth and moral courage, doing, and doing fearlessly and firmly. john tetzel, a dominican monk, began to proclaim in germany the doctrine of indulgences, which al- .- christian and protestant freedom. lowed, to those who had wealth enough to buy thein, the remission of all sins, past, present, and future. and, if the pope was infallible, if the human mind was not free to judge for itself, who should say that these enormous abuses were wrong? they were sanctioned by leo-who should dispute that sanc- tion ? but now the right of individual judgment began to bé asserted. luther stood up and boldly proclaimed the guilt of this matter of indulgences, and implicated the pontiff in it. tetzel, on the other hand, main- tained that the pope had authority as to all punish- ment, present and future, human and divine. the human authority luther admitted, the divine he de- nied. we will not dwell upon the controversy that ensued. it is the principle that we wish to draw out and exhibit. ' luther was desired to renounce his peculiar opinions, without any attempt being made on the other part to prove those opinions er- roneous. this he bravely refused to do, and the conflict increased to such a point, that on the tenth of december, , he publicly burnt the papal bull requiring him, on pain of excommunication, to retract his errors in sišty days and throw himself on the mercy of the court of rome. on the th of april, , luther appeared at worms, “and per- emptorily declared that he would never abandon his opinions, or change his conduct, unless he should be convinced by the word of god, or the dictates of right reason, that his opinions were erroneous, and his conduct unlawful.”. from this time there has gone forth a mighty impulse, that has, at many points overthrown a corrupt ecclesiastical power, and built up, upon the fundamental principle that reason and the bible are the arbiters of human opinions, the great fabric of protestantism. christian and protestant freedom. the new thought, it fell with them—to rise no more! in ' but we have something further to say of protest- antism. , we are protestants we live under prot- estant influences and protestant ideas. if catholicism was wrong, it was, at least, consistent with itself. can we say as much for protestantism? is prot- estantism-has it been always, consistent with it- self ? have protestants, professing to hold reason and scripture as the sole judges of opinion, never virtually contradicted this profession ? now, it is either catholicism or protestantism--there is no me- dium ground-no'assumption of both principles, ei- ther to be applied to suit circumstances. here is to be a choice, and it is the only choice-either let all the various opinions bow to a certain human authority as infallible ; or else—“let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” but what is the history of the protestant church ? wherever it has been in power, has it not generally, if not always, virtually assumed the position of the ancient romish church with respect to opinions—if it has not formally adopted its principles ? has it not denounced and persecuted, in one way and another--if not with the fagot and the rack, at least with legal and political deprivations, popular odium, and harsh language? how void and partial was that which we call “ the english reformation » “a mere change of popes”-a mere secession of one from the dominion of another, and the usurpa- tion of that dominion by the seceding party ; while every principle odious to truth, odious to right, re- tained its place and its influence. no new thought was given by that party to the popular heart below- no impulse of spiritual life and action ; it was left to work out this reformation for itself; to be moved, christian and protestant freedom. not by the winds from above, but by the eternal ebb and flow from beneath. the catholic on the one hand, the puritan on the other, felt this ; and the latter saw but little difference between the old yoke and the new fetter. yet, when the establishment was threatened, the dissenting party having become strong, the very men who struggled for freedom against laud and charles, would have spurned with as strong a hand the liberal independence of cromwell and vane. the idea was still "authority and unity”—"authority and unity" ever plucked from the falling sect to be exercised by the dominant party. so the church- man persecuted the puritan, so the puritan perse- cuted the baptist, and so the presbyterian, baptist, and methodist, with weapons suited to the times, persecute the unitarian and the universalist. now these are protestant professions, but catholic ideas. the same feeling that rises up in our bosoms at the announcement of a new heresy, and prompts to an expression of contempt, or an outbreak of persecu- tion, in earlier times set up the pillory, and grubbed out ears. and the same great truths that robinson preached, and chillingworth wrote, may now be ap- pealed to by any man, or any sect, in danger of popular punishment on account of opinions. do we not, after all, tread around on a wheel—while we are down low, declaiming against all who stand higher than we, yet when it comes our turn to mount, following on in pretty much the same routine -declaiming equally against those who, below us, are beginning to find a foothold for themselves ? let us see to it, that, in turn, we are not crushed by the advancing host! for, leaving history, is not the spirit of the text still disregarded at this day? to take an example christian and protestant freedom. he finds there the doctrines of the popular sects, he will be liable to lose popularity, friendship, church- membership. what, under these circumstances, with many, is a natural course of conduct? why, such a man says : " i will not trouble myself with these questions--it is of no use ; if they are false, then i shall only lose my time in learning that fact; if they are true, if i adopt them, i must meet un- popularity, misrepresentation, excommunication. i will examine no further." now we do not say, by any means, that this is the noblest or the loftiest view for a man to possess; but we ask, is not that which in so many instances produces such a result, calculated to confine the mind to particular points of view? is not this throwing a barrier between reason and scripture, on the one hand, and opinion on the other ? but let us look at another point. not long since, i saw in a certain paper a proposition for church- schools. the article began by attributing the cir- cumstance that the scotch had adhered so 'unwa- veringly to calvinism, to the fact that the church had a voice in the education of the children. the writer went on to say, that the common-school sys- tem of this country was not favorable to such a course of church-education in our schools, as the unitarian, the quaker, the free-thinker, would ob- ject to religious teaching. besides, if they could agree to meet upon some common bible ground, the catechism could not be taught there, and therefore it was advisable that that sect, like a family, should have a school for the education of its children in the catechisms and standards. now, let me ask, does this savor most of catholicism, or protestant- ism? we say, of course, nothing against the re- ligious education of the young ; but sabbath-schools christian and protestant freedom. ions of one man, or' of one set of men, as the right declaration of the truths of science." the other party, breaking off from these, should declare, on the other hand, that “ we are to study nature, and only upon a conviction by that, that we are wrong, are we to yield our opinions.” and now suppose, that, after a little while, the last-mentioned party should draw up a formula, saying "this formula contains all the truths in nature, and nothing but those truths, and he who disbelieves them is an er- rorist, and unworthy the name of a philosopher.” would you not say that they had fallen exactly into the error of the first-mentioned party ?-that this formula was, in principle, the same as the oth- er's decree ? '. now, if it should be said that this formula was drawn up only to express the belief of a particular sect of philosophers, allowing, at the same time, that others differing from them may be philosophers also, that all are so, who seek truth with honest hearts--then the formula would not occupy objectionable ground. but when it is said, virtually or professedly, that all who make disagree- ment with the declarations of that formula are error- ists, and not philosophers; and when it is found that this party has power to make many others think so, and thereby to do serious injury to the character of the dissenters, then it is that it becomes odious, and that party is convicted of the inconsistency of adopting as a main principle that which it once made a main principle of rejecting.. again, suppose that party, powerful and influen- tial, should say—“ all who differ from us we shall cut off from our association, and hold and publish as disreputable and ignorant men," and then should send out its members to survey nature, and form conclusions by their own judgment. would you christian and protestant freedom. and organize for the purpose of defending and prop- agating that opinion. we must have our ism, and preach our ism, and see if we cannot overthrow other isms and make ours the popular one. so the mind becomes narrowed to a small compass, and runs in a circle. from honest inquirers, we become zealous partisans--and, forgetting the infinite uni- verse that lies without, wide-spreading, far-reach- ing, we begin to look only for something to sustain our position; and so we live in controversy and bickering and loud-mouthed triumphs, and leave truth nearly where we found it-its deep well al- most as deep to us as ever, and its waters purling unheeded on our ears. of course, i speak of the extremes into which we run, not of the necessary struggles and controversies that ever attend new truths and new opinions. and, referring to these extremes, i say, why do so ? - why linger around one tenet, or set of tenets ? if they are true, press on ! they will go with us through eternity! if they are false, press on! we would not lock the soul in chains ! but the truth is, much of this narrow sectarianism springs from the fact that we do not sufficiently employ individual research. we move too much in masses. we take too much at second-hand. we go for “ the party,” right or wrong-we feel bound to defend the sect in all points—as if anything was vital but truth, as if any sect had all truth, or as if any truth could die. now these are the old ideas again coming up in another place—"authority and unity ;” and ideas, too, from which the more liberal sects are not ex- empt. well has a recent writer aimed the shaft of his sarcasm,"if i know your sect,” says he, “i anticipate your argument.” for instance, how often christian and protestant freswwind. is it complained, that such a one does not preach universalism, as if he were bound, in every dis- course, to linger around some particular trụth select- ed from the mass of truths, does he preach the truth? “ yes.” does he preach the gospel ? “why -yes." what then? thou wouldst have even thy particular ism. this is a narrow idea! . . no; let us, while for practical purposes, uniting upon some great fundamental article of faith-and remember, it is not against associated action i speak, not against organization, as essential to the practi- cal furtherance of truths--not of acting, am i treat- ing, but of opinions and here, i say, let us feel un- shackled-linked to the horns of no sect-altar. in, dividual freedom of opinion! here, after all, is the final analysis, and the true manifestation of protest- antism. here, too, lies the christian idea of liberty, “ let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind.” in his own mind, hearer. thou hast a mind, and for that mind open the glory and the beau- ty of this universe. for that mind speak the voices of earth, and the outspread ocean, and the lofty, burning stars. oracles there are, all through the universe-question them, they will answer. why, in intellectual matters, search měrely for what new- ton wrote, or shakespeare sung, or loeke or kout propounded ? search, too, for thyself, and feel that it is thy high prerogative to do so. and chiefly in those matters that pertain to thy spiritual interests- be fully persuaded in thine own mind, the bible is thine—the teachings of apostles are thine-and the precious words of christ, fresh from his lips, on star-lit galilee, or the mount of olives, or in the synagogue, are thine also. high privileges these- rich possessions! why barter them? why tame- ly sit and know only what others think? why not, christian and protestant freedom. of thyself, humbly, prayerfully, as becomes a child of frailty and of the dust, yet with a grateful confi- dence at heart—why not come where david sings, and isaiah prophecies, and paul exhorts--and, oh! where, filled with deathless love, the savior speaks ; and be fully persuaded in thine own mind! a few specific remarks upon this general topic of religious freedom, and i close. and first-what effect would such liberty have upon christianity ? would there not be stranger heresies than human ear has ever heard yet? new sects-dişorganizing opinions impious criticism-infidelity? i answer, doubtless, something of this there would be—some- thing of this we see, even now. rationalists and mystics, supernaturalists and evangelicalsmen of every sect-men of no sect-sects of every hue of belief, springing up on the right hand and the leſt. here comes one with his scalpel and thrusts it into the miracles, and lo! they are torn away from the body of the christian system. another reduces the evangelists to men merely of ordinary insight and capacity, and their records to mixtures of error and truth, fact and fable. another still, leaves chris- tianity but a lean, shorn anatomy, a mythus, an allegory; no savior, no cross, no personal immor- tality. and one more makes every word a sacred symbol, and every text an allegory, and chains the heart and the soul to a blind abject credence. such are the times—such, and worse perhaps for a sea- son they will be. and now perhaps one points to ine and says—“there is your individual freedom set to work! these are the legitimate results of your unitarian, universalist ideas !" i answer, no; go back of this—they are the results of protestant ideas they are the result of each individuals action upon the precept—" let every man be fully persuaded in christian and protestant freedom. his own mind." and because of these results shall we take catholic grounds ? shall we up with a standard and cry “authority and unity ?! no; these are but spots upon a firmament of light-mists that rise up in the everlasting morning ; behind them is a clear heaven, and a rising sun. the poorest reads his bible by the cottage-door ; the most untutored reasons, because of this very principle of freedom; and when the issue comes, as come it may, these shall refute the skeptic and the dreamer. let these errors go free-only let truth be free to meet them; pen them up in no prison-house, lest the explosion with which they burst from it do injury; persecute them not, lest pity make them powerful - let them live according to the principles of protestant free- dom, and in the light of protestant freedom shall they perish. in the exercise of true liberty i fear not much from anarchy-it is in unlawful restraint that confusion and rebellion break out—let each orb run its course and have free sway-behind all, there is a conserving principle--an eternal law, that draws and binds the vast whole to harmony and order. "truth, crushed to earth, will rise again, the eternal years of god are hers; but error, wounded, writhes in pain, and dies amid her worshippers.” and, after all, what kind of spirit is this that fears for christianity ? christianity-tossed about, and borne through tempest and darkness. coming down to us from among unhallowed relics and hoary. errors, and the tumults of eighteen centuries, pure and fresh as at its birth-morn. these glooms and distortions affect it not. it flows : "from its mysterious urn, a sacred stream, in whose calm depths the beautiful and pure christian and protestant freedom. thon sicken, and erasmus rail, because of just such things ? yet what had all this to do with the grand, central truths that the reformation developed and established ? nothing! nor has it now, with our truths. if, in some instances, evil has crept in among us, let us put it by, let it never be harbored again; but, remember, this is one thing and the truth another. so, not by retorting upon others, what so warmly and heavily might be rolled back upon them, but by clinging to and striving for the truth, what does the opposer gain—what does the truth lose? there is still a broad question between us on the issue of which hang results of infinite moment. again, let us look for the manifestation of truth in various associations, and under different phases. let us not expect to see that truth always in connexion with our particular ism. it may glow out here, and issue forth there, in another form and shape. and, once more, when we hold what we deem to be truth, let us not, because of persecution—not for self-interest, not for fashion, not for popularity-leave it, and go crouching with a sick-heart in other places. finally, what lesson may we, as individuals, car- ry away with us, from this subject ? we may learn by it to be honest seekers after and lovers of truth truth as the essence of all things—truth which is never to be lightly esteemed, never to be sacrificed. but, in doing this, let us not be proud or arrogant. it is, remember, toward man only that we are inde. pendent as it regards our right to knowledge and our judgment of opinions. from god let us ever seek wisdom, humbly, prayerfully, feeling that with- out his aid, we are fallible, blind, nothing. from him, earnestly, fervently, let us seek ever for truth--let us ever feel and acknowledge our dependance upon him. christian and protestant freedom. and let us remember, too, that truth, though a great end, is not the chief end, but the duty that the truth inculcates. and consider, too, that in propor- tion to our knowledge so accumulates our responsi- bility. do we feel this? do we act upon it? oh! say, say, do we live according to our knowledge ? do we, knowing much truth, do much duty ? car- ry home this reflection with you-carry it out into the world. remember, it is your duty not only to think but to live right. here, then, is an important query_let each one put it to his own heart-do i live right in the sight of god ? of this also, am i fully persuaded in my own mind? of god unto salvation. the halls of science, that can number among the pa- trons the learned, wealthy, and fashionable ? no, it is the gospel of christ, of him whose cradle was a manger, whose profession an humble mechanic, and whose apostles were fishermen of galilee ; of him who was crucified as a malefactor, and whose name was hated and despised at rome, and throughout the world-of his gospel, he says, i am not ashamed. but why not ashamed ? it could clothe him with no worldly honor, give him no temporal riches, and furnish him with none of the advantage of fashiona- ble society. on the contrary, it cut him off from all the honors and privileges he had enjoyed, subjected him to toils, and crosses, and sacrifices, and made him the object of hatred and bitterness, where be- fore he had been one of the most devoted love. why then, was he not ashamed of it? we answer -because it was the power of god unto salvation. corrupted judaism with its numerous rites, ceremo- nies, and traditions ; idolatry with its decorated tem- ples, its countless gods, its dark mysteries, and smoking incense ; and philosophy with its fine the- ories, nice speculations, and learned disquisitions, he had found wholly incapable of working any moral renovation in society; he had seen men daily grow- ing worse under their mightiest influence. but the gospel, hated as it was, poor and illiterate as were its advocates, could renovate and make anew those sunk in the deepest depravity ; it could arrest the mightiest current of sin, subdue the most violent and clamorous passions, and breathe life into those slum- bering in the grave of iniquity. wherever it pre- vailed licentiousness was exchanged for purity; oaths and curses for thanksgiving and praise ; and an utter disregard for truth, chastity, and honor, for the most scrupulous integrity and purity. * the gospel, the power but in what did its power consist ? what rend- ered it so mighty in its operations ? we may be as- sisted in answering these queries by considering some things, in which its power did not consist. . it did not consist in propitiatory worship. there are two kinds of worship in the world. one is de- signed to avert the anger and obtain the favor of the being adored; the other to enlighten the understand- ing, rectify the life, and elevate the affections of the worshipper. all heathen worship is propitiatory. whenever idolators bow before their gods, it is to change their wrath into mercy. they pay little or no adoration to their friendly gods, giving as a reason, that they will not injure them; and that the evil ones, may be prevented from doing so, by attention and devotion. the worship of a large part of christendom is propitiatory, performed from the same low and selfish motives of the heathen worship. once, it is said, let the idea universally prevail, that god is the friend of all, and worship would cease on the face of the whole earth. but here the question arises, why heathenism was so powerless, so utterly, unable to save, if the virtue of the gospel consists. in propitiatory worship? why was it so infinitely surpassed by the religion of jesus? according to the common opinion, they bear, in this respect, an exact resemblance in their nature ; and yet, one ruins, while the other saves! say not that the in- efficiency of heathenism was owing to its idols ; for they were quite as terrible as is the god of any christian ; and a heathen was much more solicitous to avert the anger of his divinities, than is any chris- tian to avert the anger of his divinity. the great defect, then, was in the nature of the worship. all their prayers, sacrifices, and penance, had no power to render them chaste, temperate, honest, and just.. of god unto salvation. hence, while the heathen were the most punctilious in observing the rites of their religion, “there was not a virtue held sacred among them, nor a vice they did not practise.” and it is not in the power of propitiatory worship to renovate human nature. it is like sacrificing to the sun, to make the earth teem with bounties and glories ; like laboring to still the tempest, instead of preparing our vessel for the storm. besides, the plant cannot grow without the sun to warm, the rain to moisten, and the earth to nourish it. so with the plant of virtue, nothing but the mild radiance of the sum of righteousness can start it into being; and nothing but the dews of di- vine grace can nourish and bring it to perfection. to suppose it can grow up under the cloud of infinite wrath, in the beating storms of vengeance and cruelty, is to suppose an effect directly opposed to its cause. it will not remove the difficulty to say—prayer, justice, purity, and charity, are the appointed means by which the favor of god is to be obtained, and therefore, christian propitiatory worship can save, while that of heathenism is powerless in the work of moral renovation ; for when we do right, through the fear of infinite vengeance, our actions have no more merit than those of the prisoner who goes daily to a labor which he hates, for fear of the lash and the dungeon. while the lip speaks reverence, and the hand moves to justice, the heart may be the seat of everything impure, and be filled with burning hatred, impatient wrath, and cankering envy. and so long as such is the state, the work of salvation is not done ; the soul is still in its fetters ; and the gospel has effected nothing toward the accomplish- ment of its great object. . the power of the gospel did not consist in the gospel, the power mystery. many christians fear nothing so much as reason in matters of religion. they imagine if the gospel is made plain, and suited to the comprehen- sion of the humblest capacity, it will lose its influ- ence, that men will cease to respect and obey it. hence we have the mystery of the trinity, of tran- substantiation, of vicarious atonement, of miraculous conversion, of election and reprobation, and of end- less misery. everything in religion is veiled in mystery, and doctrines are held sacred just in proportion to the inability of the people to explain and illustrate them. but if the power of the gospel consists in this, why was heathenism so utterly in- effectual ? “every maxim of morality, every tenet of theology, every dogma of philosophy, was wrapt up in a veil of allegory and mysticism.” and yet, with all the darkness in which it was shrouded, it had no power to regenerate and sanctify the soul. this accords with daily experience and observa- tion. all we see of the reign of mystery, proves its utter insufficiency to regulate the heart. those who will stand in awe before a mystery, will openly and unblushingly despise and denounce a doctrine, which their reason can grasp, and their judgment must approve. while they will defy deity, they will fear and tremble at the thought of an imaginary devil ; and while they will cling with tenacity to the idea of a wonderful influence to be excited by cer. tain mysteries, they will despise those very senti- ments, which if heeded, would create them anew. nor is this all. to suppose the gospel loses in pow- er in proportion as it is understood, is to suppose it void of real excellency and consistency; it is to make its worth merely imaginary. now for one, i have no faith in such an idea. so far from this, i con- sider that much of the unbelief of the world arises of god unto salvation. from ignorance, that were the gospel universally seen as it is, that were the eye capable of behold- ing all its bearings and tendencies, its power would be as great as in the hands of the apostles, and it would soon reign from sea to sea, “ with illimitable sway." . the power of the gospel did not consist in the doctrine of endless punishment. perhaps no class of people on earth have dealt more in the ter- rors of hell, than the heathen. they have relied almost exclusively on these, to enforce all the duties of their religion. not only have priests and spirit- ual teachers, dealt out the thunders of infinite wrath; but rulers and administrators of the law have done the same. the following description, by a christian poet, is perfectly applicable to the heathen hell. "wide was the place, and deep as wide, and ruinous as deep. beneath, i saw a lake of burning fire with tempest tost perpetually, and still the waves of fiery darkness, 'gainst the rocks of dark damnation broke, and music made of melancholy sort; and over head and all around, wind warr'd with wind, storm howl'd to storm, and lightning, forked lightning, cross'd, and thunder answered thunder, muttering sounds of sullen wrath; and as far as sight could pierce, or down descend in caves of hopeless depth, through all that dungeon of unfading fire, i saw most miserable beings walk, burning continually, yet unconsumed ; forever wasting, yet enduring still, dying perpetually, yet never dead." now although everything was done to make peo- ple see their infinite danger ; though in imagination, this pit of despair was kept constantly open, and its fires were perpetually burning, they were intemper- ate, licentious, cruel, revengeful, and given to every the gospel, the power species of wickedness. the efficacy of the gospel, therefore, does not consist in the eternity of punish- ment; for could this save, heathenism would be the power of god unto salvation. this is proved, too, by the history of the church. during the dark ages, the doctrine of endless pun- ishment reigned with undisputed sway. throughout all christendom, not a man was found to advocate the restitution of all things. but, at this time, the reign of sin and crime was as extensive as the reign of this doctrine. the whole mahomedan world, also, barbarous and cruel as it is, believes the punishment of sin to be endless. this, too, was the faith of those who murdered the savior and his apostles; who have carried on all the persecutions of the earth. now these things speak out as in a voice of thunder, and declare in language we cannot mistake, that the power of the gospel does not consist in the eternity of punishment. . i wish to mention one particular more in which the power of the gospel does not consist; but before doing this, i must ask you to mark the singular re- semblance between heathenism and the orthodoxy of our times. they agree perfectly in the nature of their worship, in the importance they attach to mystery, and in the duration of punishment. in these respects, the two systems are substantially the same. they are the same, not only in nature, but in effect; both failing to produce an enlightened piety, a generous affection, a sincere, whole-hearted worship, and a warm, expansive liberality and kind- ness. but i must not linger here ; and will proceed to show that the power of the gospel did not consist in human learning. the greeks were wise in the wisdom of this world; they were renowned for their philosophy, of god unto salvation. the purity of their language, and the graces of their elocution. they had been favored with eminent instructors, and their religion had been "lighted up with the rare lustre of zoroaster, pythagoros, and socrates.” but still it was powerless. not all the beauty of language, nor the fascinations of oratory, nor the discoveries of philosophy, could enable it to regenerate the heart. let me not be misunderstood. i am not opposed to human learning ; nor do i believe that truth loses any of its power from being connected with it. on the contrary, i know that learning enables us to pre- sent truth in its most forcible light, to bring out in the clearest and fullest manner all its excellencies and glories. the boy, to borrow a plain figure, who holds a lamp for the direction of another, is always instructed to hold it, so that he can himself see; and then he will be sure that he holds it right. so with the minister. unless he has learning sufficient to see the real character of the gospel, how can he hold the lamp for others ? i would have men, there- fore, thoroughly and liberally educated. i rejoice in every seminary that is established, and college that is endowed. and i should rejoice with joy un- speakable, to see schools rising up among us, to pre- pare young men for our ministry; and which should send forth those able to do justice to our holy gos- pel. but while i hold learning thus important, i do not believe it is the power of god unto salvation. the thirsty man needs something more than a gold- en pitcher; and the hungry man something more than a table loaded with massive plate. whenever i listen to preaching that is graceful, literary, and eloquent, but destitute of the great doctrines of re- demption, i feel like the man who has a splendid house, and splendid furniture, but is dying for food ; the gospel, the power would be the same with the laws of our land. they might be the most excellent that human wisdom could devise, and absolutely essential to the order and peace of society; and yet, if without authority, be entirely destitute of power. unless the people see that the laws will be enforced ; that those who made them have the power and will to sustain them, they will not have much effect. the multi- tude will not philosophize about the fitness of the laws; many of them are incapable of looking at their several bearings and relations and tendencies. but this is still more the case in regard to the laws of god. how poorly qualified are the young and ignorant, the careless and indifferent, to weigh the reasonableness, and fitness, and value of the various doctrines and laws of christianity! it is necessary, therefore, that they should see the divine authority with which it is clothed; for then they can under- stand that god who gave it will punish every act of disobedience, and reward them for every duty performed. hence god has confirmed his word by prophecies and miracles. neither were neces- sary to make known the doctrines or laws of chris- tianity. we could know just as much about god's love, grace, and mercy; his laws of justice, tem- perance, and truth, without miracles and prophecies, as with them. god, therefore, gave these, in order to show that he was with the prophets, apostles, and his son—that what they spake was his word, and clothed with his authority. remember, then, the gospel is from god; it is god's word; it is he that here commands his people. and has he not a right to command ? are we not his subjects, the sheep of his pasture ? and is he not almighty in power? yes—he is the creator of all things, and to him all nations are as a drop in a bucket, as a small dust in of god unto salvation. the balance. he taketh up the isles as a very little thing; he thunders in the heavens, and the inhab- itants of the earth tremble with fear. now how does the fact that the gospel is from such a god- that he will enforce all its laws, and execute all its penalties, make us fear to disobey, or despise its requisitions! its authority, then, renders it the power of god unto salvation. . it consists in the love of god. this love is free. he that spared not his own son, but freely delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him give us all things? this is a saving love. “ herein is love, not that we loved god, but that he loved us, and sent his son to be a propitiation for our sins." this love is impartial. god so loved the world, that he sent his son to save it. to this love, the inspired writers always appeal, in their efforts to redeem man from sin. their language is, "o! that men would praise the lord for his good- ness, and his wonderful works to the children of men.”_" the goodness of god leadeth to repent. ance.”—“ beloved, if god so loved us, we ought also to love one another.” to attempt this great work by any other means, is like shutting out the sun from our land, and substituting the light and warmth of artificial fires. and yet men have gone upon this principle, in the efforts they have made to convert sinners. they have veiled deity in robes of darkness and vengeance, and sought to save the soul by the fires of wrath. but this is against the whole scheme of redemption ; for the character which god has made to stand most visibly out in his mighty plan, is love, free, saving and impartial love. “ he saw," to use the language of chalmers, “ this to be the only method by which he could gain the heart. god, who knew what was in man, seems to the gospel, the power have known, that in his dark and guilty bosom, there was but one solitary hold he had over him,. and that to reach it, he inust put on a look of gra- ciousness, and demonstrate his infinite and ever- lasting mercy. hence he calls himself our father, speaks of his great love, wherewith he loved us, when we were dead in trespasses and sins, and points us to the unsearchable riches of his grace. now why should deity adopt this mode of dealing with his children ?-why should he take this meth- od to reform the worst of his offspring, if there be not an omnipotent influence in love-an influence which restores when all other means have failed an influence which is adapted to all characters and conditions ? the experience of howard, the great philanthro- pist, shows that we are right. this man's labors were among the outcasts of society; among, not only the ignorant, but those who had become hardened by repeated crimes, and who were stained by every moral pollution. after travelling through europe, and descending into every prison-house, and be- coming familiar with men in all the stages of de- pravity, he gives it as the fruit of his experience, that even the most hardened, defying, and dauntless criminals are not irreclaimable ; that there is one principle that can be touched, and they will live and that is the principle of love. “ treat them,” he says, “with tenderness, show them that you have humanity, and, without relaxing a single iota from the steadiness of a calon and resolute disci- pline, you will make them feel the workings of those powers which give man his dignity and moral worth.” our own experience testifies to the correctness of this doctrine. what fills our souls with such - of god unto salvation. lively emotions of gratitude and love, as undeserved kindness ? as the pity which weeps over us when : languishing in sickness ? as the charity which vis- its, like a guardian-angel, the home of poverty and wretchedness ? thus love is the power of god unto salvation. it does not simply rectify one passion ; but it ex- tends its influence over the whole man. it cleanses the fountain, and makes the stream run pure ; it is a light in the soul, which illuminates all its powers ; it is the end and fulfilling of the law; it is the sum of all duty, and the perfection of all bliss. for one, therefore, i have no fear that deity will be held up in a light too excellent and glorious ; that too much will be said about his love ; for it is love that ren- ders the gospel quick and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword; it is love that enables it to save. “ we love god because he first loved us." . the power of the gospel consists in true ex- cellency and perfection of the character which it presents for our imitation. it holds up the lord jesus christ as our pattern and guide, and shows that he was the perfection of every virtue : that in him centred all that love, mercy, forbearance, kind- ness and meekness which we are required to pos- sess. now who can estimate the power of such a character? the apostle says—we are changed by it from glory to glory ; that it transforms us into new creatures. and what could be more natural than such an effect? even the imperfect characters of those around us exert a vast influence. what could kindle in the soul such a love of benevolence as the character of howard ? how are we elevated in our aims and desires by the name of a distinguished hero, statesman, scholar or divine. we cannot even look upon the portrait of a great and good man, * the gospel, the power without having our souls swell with loſty purposes. how mighty is the influence exerted by that vast army of christians and christian martyrs, with whom every reader of the bible is familiar. the lights shining from them incites us to every good word and work. but all these are dim and imper- fect, compared with the lights shining from the char- acter of christ. he is the sun of righteousness; and in him there is a combination of all that is love- ly and excellent. in one of the most celebrated pictures ever paint- ed of our lord, the light shining from him, throws its mellow radiance over all the other characters of the painting. how true to life! all the light which gathers around us ; all the splendors by which we are encircled, are borrowed from jesus—they ema- nate from this great central sun. take away this, and those who are now stars in the church of god, would no longer shine in all the lustre and glory of virtue ; and christendom, instead of being illumia nated with the splendors of truth, would be enveloped in thick darkness. but few have yet realized the power of character upon character. it has been aptly likened to the effect which one harp has upon another when placed side by side. the tune you play upon one may be heard faintly but distinctly upon the other. so the man who lives near to the savior, will find the harp of his own soul giving forth the same sounds of love and mercy that are heard from the harp of the sav- ior himself; he will be moulded into the image of his lord, and reflect his likeness upon those around him. here, then, is one great reason why such an exalted rank is given to the savior; and why it is said, at his name every knee shall bow, and every the gospel, the power ing of names or sects. it stops not to ask whether the sufferer, bleeding with wounds, is sound in opin- ion. it waits not, before giving shelter to the weary traveller, to learn his country or kindred. it is enough for it to know, that a man is bleeding and suffering, and that a human being desires shelter from the pelting storm. it is a love for man as man, and wherever he is found, under whatever circum- stances, and of whatever kindred or tongue, there is an object for its exercise. here, then, in the doctrine of a common broth- erhood, we see the resistless power of the gospel. it is this that enables it to break down those division- walls which have stood for ages, and to stay those armies rushing forth to battle, in the name of re- venge and unsanctified ambition. it is this that enables it to break the yoke of oppression, to sun- der the fetters of bondage, and render nerveless the arm of cruelty. it is this, too, that enables it to eradicate hatred from the soul, to silence the tongue of slander, to exterminate every feeling of envy, and to unite men in cords stronger than those laws of attraction which bind together the boundless uni- verse. i behold, in this doctrine, a “majesty and power before which i stand in awe, and bow down in reverence ;" and, as i look forward through the history of coming ages, and see it sweeping on through the world, i behold thrones of despotism falling, partition-walls crumbling, the poor and de- graded rising from their oppression, and the human race living together as one family, in the enjoyment of light, liberty, and peace. . the power of the gospel consists in the na- ture of its punishment. before the promulgation of christianity, mankind went upon the principle that the severer and more terrible the punishment, of god unto salvation. the greater its restraining influence. this was the case, not only with religionists, but legislators, who framed their laws upon the same principle. such is the opinion of thousands and thousands at the present day.; of all, indeed, who say partialism is better in its influence than universalism, because its punishment is greater. now, would such consider the brutalizing effect of cruelty, its tendency to harden and drive to desperation, they would see at once their error. there is nothing so degrading and corrupting as cruelty and a slavish fear. the wretched being who has a tyrant-master, for ever feels himself fettered ; a blight is upon his soul, and a mildew upon his affections. with stinted powers of mind, a ruined disposition, and a frozen heart, he is boding by day upon dangers, and dreaming by night of ills. it is the same with those harassed by the terrors of infinite torture. « fancy constantly trembles before the picture, and superstition throws its darkest imagery over it.” they shudder at the thought of that being who sits in mysterious wrath, ready to hurl them to infinite perdition, and they become cold, and hard, and unfeeling. i can see nothing but evil in such terror. it is food for the hypochondriac and the maniac. the moment rea- son forsakes her throne, and the mind becomes shattered, that moment it dwells upon infinite tor- ture, or the unheard-of treachery of friends, or ca- lamities which, from their very nature, are impossi- ble. now the punishment of the gospel is as dif- ferent from endless punishment, as the reflections of a sane mind are from those of the maniac. the punishment of the gospel is reasonable, just, con- sistent, and merciful ; it is that which a father inflicts upon his wayward son, and which goodness itself ordains. it is not revenge, not cruelty, not the out- the gospel, the power breakings of wrath, but that wise discipline, that gracious correction, which is necessary to restore the wanderer. what, therefore, can exert such a restraining influence as this punishment ? certain in its nature, we see the impossibility of escaping the consequences of transgression ; just in its de- gree, it humbles and subdues ; benevolent in its object, it ends in reformation. once let these views of punishment prevail, and the progress of crime would be stayed ; for men would not only see that whoever does wrong must receive for that wrong, that worlds of inanimate matter may sooner go to ruin, than sin go unpunished; but they would see the righteousness of their punishment, and the good- ness of that being by whom it is ordained. this punishment does something more than restrain the restless spirit; it extends its influence over the very desires of the heart, and destroys the motive to transgress. thus it works out the salvation of the sinner. . the power of the gospel consists in the doc- trine of life and immortality. every man, says the apostle, that hath the hope of glory, purifieth himself, even as christ is pure. the reason is perfectly ob- vious. this hope sees the infinite riches of heaven; it beholds the blessed reunion of friends, long sep- arated, in a world where union, life, peace, and joy, are eternal ; it hears the great redeemer, having rescued all from the darkness of sin, from the ago- nies of death, from that shame of guilt, which makes us“ seem like some atom which god had made su- perfluously, and needed not to build creation with," saying="father, i have finished the work thou gavest me to do—i have reconciled the world unto thyself, and conquered the last foe of thy children.” now it is impossible to realize such blessings as the gospel, the power tions, and an angel's dignity. destined to heaven, he turns away from everything opposed to its spirit, its glory, its songs of praise, and crowns of rejoicing; and as immortality unfolds itself to his mind, his en- raptured soul rises into greatness at the grandeur of his final destiny; and emotions, such as the spirits of the just feel, take possession of his heart. blessed doctrine this ! mightier, far inightier than all the powers of earth; and dearer, infinitely dearer than all its treasures. such, my brethren, is the gospel, and such are the great doctrines which render it the power of god unto salvation, which enable it to enlighten the ig- norant, soften the obdurate, and reclaim the wander- ing. such, too, is the gospel by which the christian minister is to save his people, help the onward march of righteousness and peace, and convert the desola- tions of error and sin, into a paradise of love and joy. all who sincerely believe this gospel, will be made new creatures. other religions have power-paganisin and ma. hometanism exercise an iron sway over the people. the doctrine of endless misery has power. it can make the bosom of society heave with commotion, and send through community a wild spirit of excite- ment and terror, which makes men feel themselves to be mere victims of the cruelty of an angry divin- ity, infidelity has power. it can blot out the star of hope, which points to the glory of heaven, break down the barriers by which the peace of society, the sacredness of home, and the blessings of liberty are protected. but in all these, the power is unto destruction, while in the gospel, it is unto salvation. who then can be ashamed of the gospel ? asha- med? "sooner far, let evening blush to own its star !" the gospel, the power, etc. your gratitude kindled into a flame ; and when you shall have returned to your respective homes the holy influences of this occasion will be with you distilling like the dews of hermon, and enriching your hearts with all the virtues of the gospel. may the blessings of the father and the son be with us all for ever and ever. amen. character of the moral government of god, as resulting by decree, or by permission (to use the mildest term), in an event, from which even hardened malevolence starts back with unaffected horror! and it is full time, that men who have the scriptures in their hands-on a proper understanding of which, their happiness in life, and their peace and hope in the hour of death, depend- should understand what constitutes the difference between the religion therein taught, and those sys- tems which are based on principles more limited in benevolence, and less efficient in their operation and influence on the human soul. the voice of friendship we all know, in the ordi- nary operations of mind, has a most potent charm over the soul of man. and under the influence of her spirit, there is scarcely any length within the bounds of imagination, to which man may not be led. convince a man that you are in reality and unfeignedly his friend ; let him learn this faet by long experience ; let your deeds of kindness, love, and compassion, in all possible ways, bear to him the evidence that there is no deception on your part; minister to his wants in the hour of necessity; throw over his foibles, his follies, and his faults, the mantle of charitable forgiveness and forgetfulness; in a word, be kindly affectionate toward him in all your intercourse in life, and if his bosom be the seat of one kindly and grateful feeling, that feeling will be called forth in response to the spirit which touched its chords, and the harmonious numbers of friendship will flow like sweetest music to the soul. men, we know, under the influence of these feel- ings, have often periled comfort, wealth, and ease, and all the endearments of civilized and social life, on the altar of the heart's warm friendship; and have sometimes carried their beroic firmness even to the religion of jesus. verge of human existence! but here, it must be confessed, they have arrived at a point at which the stoutest quail. and the saying, “ all that a man hath will he give for his life,” will generally be found to hold good. few, very few indeed, when brought directly to the test, will be found equal to the trial of giving up their lives, even for their most devoted friends ; especially when they are brought to this test, in the moment of cool and deliberate choice. it is true, men have sometimes, perhaps in the heat of battle, even when the gleaming sabre was falling on a beloved companion's head, been spurred on by a momentary impulse of this powerful prin- ciple, to rush between the uplifted weapon of de- struction, and the object on which it was about to fall; and to receive in their own persons, the fatal blow. there have also been a few instances, perhaps, where the strong ties of friendship have been so closely entwined around the heart, as to prompt in. dividuals, coolly and premeditatedly, to meet death for the benefit of those with whose happiness their own was thought to be identified but those instances are oftener the creatures of the poet's dreams, than of sober reality ; and it will be admitted by every one, that the occurrence of such cases is extremely seldom. and when they do occur, they are herald- ed throughout the world, as the rare workings of the noblest and loftiest powers of the soul ; and those who are the authors of these self-sacrificing deeds, are immortalized in the praises and honors of their fellow-men. the warrior who generously pours out his life upon the battle-field, in defence of his country, does it from the promptings of pure friendship to that country, or to those whose interest, and happiness, * character of the ham on he hopes to subserve by the sacrifice he makes, and for his deed he is embalmed in the grateful recollection of those he fought to free. what american bosom does not kindle at the name of warren, of montgomery, and of pulaski ? yet even here there was no absolute certainty of their being compelled to make the sacrifice of life. but there was always a chance, at least, that they might outlive the struggle, and participate in the blessings which they toiled to purchase. so that this thought must take back something from the self-disinterested motives which urged them on. but i need not pursue this train of thought to greater length. for all know that the instances rarely occur, when even the strongest, and most benevolent minds will go so far as to sacrifice, what every man holds as an invaluable treasure, their own lives, even from motives of the strongest friendship. and when under any circumstances they do this, it will be confessed, they have manifested the very height of all love which man can bear to his fellow- man. and the divine teacher has well, and truly said, “ greater love hath no man than this, that he will lay down his life for his friend.” and here i wish to impress the idea deeply on the minds of all, that those deeds of nobleness of which we have been speaking, have been performed whenever they have taken place, only through the promptings of the most ardent love and friendship :-only because the de- voted persons knew that in the persons whom they designed to serve they had their warmest and most steadfast friends; or in the cause for which they labored was their greatest good. but whoever knew any man to go this great length in sacrifice for a person, a country, or a cause, in the success of which he felt a cold indif- religion of jesus. ference? whoever performed acts like these for a person, whom he knew felt cold and indifferent tow- ard him ? surely none. much more, then, we ask, who was ever known to go forward, and gener- ously sacrifice his pleasure, his ease, and even tem- poral happiness, for those whom he considered, or knew to be his enemies ? does the world, in all the noble and meritorious deeds which mortals have ever done, furnish one solitary instance where mor- tal man (aside from those who were divinely sup- ported in publishing the gospel of the grace of god), has manifested that magnanimity of soul, that ardent friendship, yea, that heavenly love, which has led him to take his life in his hand, and go forward vol- untarily to the sacrifice, and lay it down on the altar of his enemy's good ? no! the case is far other- wise. for men, so far from being actuated by prin- ciples like these, have almost always been taught ; and have certainly frequently acted on the principle, or rather want of principle, that men should love their friends only, while they might hate their enemies. and under the influence of such feelings, men have not only justified themselves in giving back friend- ship for friendship, and love for love, in exchange for those emotions in the bosoms of their fellows; but they have been inclined to pay back hatred for hatred, and cruelty for cruelty ; and they have sel- dom pleaded poverty in an ample addition of malig- nant interest to the original debt. so that men gen- erally go on the principle of doing good for their friends, while they will commonly render evil to their enemies; or at the least, they will settle down into a cold and hardened indifference toward them. so practices man, whose "inhumanity to man, makes countless millions mourn !” character of the but how, then, is it with the religion of jesus, and with the moral government of god ? has the former, professedly the world's regenerator, been proclaimed, and the latter developed to the erring sons and daughters of humanity, only to disclose to the world the astounding fact, that man's bitterness, and hatred, and cruelty, and revenge toward his fellow-man, hath its example, its antetype, in heaven -in the bosom of the immortal father ? we are told, indeed, and that too by men high in scholastic divinity, and theological celebrity, that, god the father deals with his erring children, pre- cisely as they in their weakness, and wickedness, deal with each other. and the pulpits and the presses of all limitarian sects throughout the world, have been long employed in descanting on the vin. dictive wrath and vengeance, with which the univer- sal parent will pursue his children ; and in laboring to set forth the manner in which he will requite their evil doings against him, and against each other ; by inflicting on them evils, devoid even of any good intention toward them, and which will prove to the devoted souls who suffer them, a tremendous and unending curse ! i need not stop here, then, to dilate on all, or any of the wild vagaries, and cold and heartless specu- lations, in which men have indulged, in order that the evils of which we speak, may be made to apo pear chargeable, alone, to the sinful conduct of those who suffer them. but it is sufficient now, to repeat what we have before intimated, that there are those even professing the christian name, who contend that the moral government which god has instituted over man, will result in the positive, unspeakable, and unending wretchedness of millions. i will not stop, therefore, to paint to your imaginations the at- religion of jesus. frighted and horror-filled spirits of the myriads of poor and benighted heathen, who shall be doomed, in the iron language of the poet watts, to “ shriek out and howl beneath the rod” of almighty and un- ceasing vengeance, in the immortal world, for the sole reason that they have been guilty of the heinous crime of not in this life believing on him of whom they have never heard ! nor will i now harrow up your sensibilities, by rehearsing in detail, the argu- ments which were once deemed sound orthodoxy, and designed to prove that fathers and mothers shall be doomed by him who gave them being, for ever in the spirit-world to walk the gloomy prisons which their own infant's sculls have paved; or less fortu- nate, perhaps, than thus to be made sharers of their sufferings, shall be doomed, while looking from the shining battlements of heaven on their agonies in the flames below, to shout thanksgiving and praise to the god who hurled their offspring there! but i will simply ask the candid mind to look at these dreadful systems, in contrast with the spirit and lan- guage of my text. and i ask you to do this, that you may discover the radical difference there is be- tween the spirit of the religion which jesus taught, and that which has palmed those cruel notions on the world, and found their thoughtless advocates even in the father's and the mother's lips. “for scarcely for a righteous man will one die, yet per- adventure for a good man some would even dare to die. but god commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, christ died for us." you will, of course, perceive that in the first clause of the text, the apostles, by the good man, for which some would even dare to die, intended to sig- nify only what the savior taught, when he said, * greater love hath no man than this, that he will character of the to remove all doubt of the fact that god does in re- ality love his enemies, we will appeal directly to the teachings of the savior. in his gospel, by matthew, he has these words which set the seal of utter falsehood on all the limitarian systems which men have ever devised ; and which ought, as a guide of our lives, in all our intercourse with the world, to be deeply engraven on the tablet of every heart : “ ye have heard that it hath been said, thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy : but i say unto you love your enemies ; bless them that curse you ; do good to them that hate you; and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your father which is in heaven; for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just, and on the unjust. for if ye love them which love you what reward have you ? ' do not even the publicans the same ? be ye therefore perfect even as your father which is in heaven is perfect." here there is no veil of obscurity thrown around the doctrine of god's love to his enemies ; for the savior has made it the standard and the example of moral virtue and holiness in man—the point to which he must continually aim, to 'imitate the perfect- ness of god. the fact, then, is placed beyond doubt, that god loves his enemies! and the im- portant question remaining, is on the character and tendency of his love. for it will be said the term love has been employed in various senses. it is said that balaam “ loved the wages of unrighteous- ness." and this was no doubt a sinful, inordinate, hurtful love, and ought not to have been cherished. we often say that men love wickedness—that which is hurtful to themselves and others. we read also in the scriptures, of those who loved darkness rath- ( ) matt. v, - . ( ) peter ü. . religion of jesus. er than light, because their deeds were evil. yea, the savage of the wilderness loves to torture and sport with the misery of his wretched captive, whom he has regarded as his enemy; but, in reason's name i ask, can the love of god bear any affinity to love like this? and when every soul shrinks from an af- firmative response, will any advocate of the limited love of our heavenly father tell us how god loves those enemies of his whom he has already thrust down to the regions of eternal night, to live in the midst of death, when death would be a blessing could they be permitted to die? would to heaven that all who have ever inclined to limit the holy one of israel in his love to man, could here bring their views in contrast with the fulness of god's love as revealed in his word, that they might see their utter destitution of foundation in the divine testimony--in the character of god and in the reason and fitness of things!" but how then does god love mankind ? does he love to torture ? or does he love to bless ? let the scriptures answer a question so important to the in- terests of the frail and dependant children of hu- manity ; and let us endeavor to profit by the answer which they give. and happily for us, in the decis- ion of this question, we have to make our appeal to no doubtful or equivocal testimony, but may rest our cause upon the savior's teaching. he has informed us how god loves the children of men; and also how many he loves. “for god so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever be- lieveth on him, should not perish, but have ever- lasting life. for god sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved."} ( ) john iii. , . character of the “herein," says the same author, “ ís love ; not that we loved god, but that he loved us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins." and again, when addressing christian believers-" he is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world.!!? such, then, is the love of god; and such its ex- tent, as set forth in the scriptures of divine truth. and it will be seen at once, also, that it is a love unlimited. that the voice of this testimony is con- sonant with that of universal nature, and centres in the breathings of the psalmist's strain : “the lord is good unto all, and his tender mercies are over all his works.” god's love to his enemies, then, is ne- cessarily included in his love to the world, and is hence universal. for if he love his enemies, he cannot hate his friends, as all will admit. and it will be seen, as a necessary inference, that if god love his enemies, then is his love unchangeable. and if he love the sinner at any one moment of his ex- istence, then that sinner must be the object of his love ; until the whole order of nature is reversed ; until the sun rolls backward in the heavens, the rains pour upward from the earth, the streams wind their journeys up the mountains, and the eternal mind has changed. so, then, is the love of god to man, as set forth in the sacred volume. god commendeth his love toward us, in that while we were yet enemies, christ died for us. and here you will discover an important point in the sacred teaching; that, con- trary to the teachings of all limited views of god's love, the savior came in commendation of it to the world. in other words, his mission was not to cre- ate, or awaken the principle, but was the conse- ( ) john iv. . - ( ) john ii. . character of the religion of jesus. moved by the bible maxim—"if god so loved us, we ought also to love one another. be ye stead. fast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the lord, for as much as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the lord.” amen. accomplishment of the savior's mission. " x sermon xii.* accomplishment of the savior's mission. by rev. s. r. smith. he shall not fail nor be discouraged, till he have set judg- ment in the earth; and the isles shall wait for his law.” isaiah xlii. . this part of the prophecy of isaiah, has by the common consent of all sects and parties of chris- tians, and in all times, been considered as peculiarly applicable to jesus christ and his gospel. indeed it seems impossible to make any other rational appli- cation of the whole passage which introduces, and stands in immediate connexion with, the part under consideration. thus: “ behold my servant whom i uphold; mine elect in whom my soul delighteth : i have put my spirit upon him; he shall bring forth judgment to the gentiles. he shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. a bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judg- ment unto truth. he shall not fail nor be discour- • the following discourse was delivered entirely without notes -of course the phraseology cannot be preserved. all that can be done-and it is hoped, all that will be expected, is, to furnish the substance of the discourse. this, together with the effect produced upon the speaker, by the presence of a congregation, will account for any deviations from the original which those who heard it delivered may observe. accomplishment of aged, till he have set judgment in the earth; and the isles shall wait for his law." who but jesus christ, can be the servant, the chosen, the delight of god, in this sublime sense ? on whom else was the unction of the divine spirit poured out; on whom, save him, was it shed without measure, and with such mighty and holy influences ? to whom but the man of nazareth-the adopted son of the eternal father, was the mission intrusted, the powers and qualifications given, for establishing the empire of god among men; and of holding the reins of government until he should “bring forth judgment unto truth?” certainly to none. the language, the bestowments, the motives, the results, are all suited to him, and to his mission, alone. they are adapted to no other person or character, which ever appeared on earth. christians have rightly judged, then, in applying this passage to jesus christ. hence we understand that it is christ, who is to " set judgment in the earth”—that it is he who • “shall not fail nor be discouraged," till this great work is accomplished in both jew and gentile lands. this is implied in the last clause of the passage, and which appears to be a poetic amplification of the fact previously asserted. the declaration that “ the isles shall wait for his law,” is equivalent to saying that the gentiles shall do so—in other words, that the empire of god, set up by christ, shall ex- tend to the whole race of man. to wait for the advent, and law, and reign of the messiah, implies, not so much the expectation of those events, as state or condition requiring or need- ing the divine interposition. it certainly requires no proof, to satisfy any one that the mass of man- kind-the whole gentile world—had no real expect- the savior's mission. ation of such an event. but their ignorance, deg- radation, and pollution—their crimes, their guilt, and their miseries, constituted them its appropriate sub- jects. they were in a condition, if not the most fit to appreciate the principles of the gospel, at least the best adapted to feel the benefits of their applica- tion. for it would enlighten their darkness, instruct them under their ignorance, purify them from sin, elevate them in the scale of being, comfort them in time of sorrow, and bring them up from guilt and misery to virtue, peace, and happiness. the word judgment, is one of large signification; and in this instance, means something more than mere justice. it implies all that constitutes the moral sway over man, in the administration of the divine government through the gospel—the establishment and exercise of the eternal principles of righteous- ness and benevolence, brought to light, and illustrated by the teachings and example of jesus christ. the way in which this term is used in the context, im- plies all this. to " bring forth judgment to the gen- tiles-judgment unto truth,” are too ample in mean- ing to admit of limitation to a single divine attribute, or the production of a solitary practical virtue. nor does this view rest upon mere conjecture. the word judge, or judgment, appears to be so used in other parts of the scriptures, as to imply more than simple equity-with an equal hand rewarding the good and chastising the transgressor. for instance : “ justice and judgment are the habitation of thy throne;", and also, « thou shalt judge the people righteously, and govern the nations upon earth.” we are unwilling to ascribe to the psalmist the utterance of an unmeaning tautology ; and therefore suppose that he imbodied in these ex- pressions, his highest conceptions of the perfect accomplishment of rule of the deity, in his capacity of “governor among the nations.” it is the assertion of the righteous reign of god in all things and over all be- ings—the concentrated glories of whose adminis- tration are here beheld as the very throne of the eternal, whence radiate the influences that reach and control the destiny of man. and hence to • set judgment in the earth,” comprises everything that mingles in, and renders the divine govern- ment effective-all that can inspire obedience in the life, or awaken hope in the soul of man. such is the meaning of judge, or judgment, which an is- raelite would more readily attach to the word, be- cause his rulers were denominated judges. a similar view is obviously taken by an apostle, who says : “ the times of this ignorance god wink- ed at [did not regard as incurable, or beyond forgive. ness], but now calleth upon all men everywhere to repent; because he hath appointed a day in the which he will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath ordained, whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.” the person by whom it is here said, that judgment shall be exercised, is the same which is pointed out by the text-the elected servant of god—the lord jesus christ. in the one case, it is foretold that he shall “ set judgment in the earth ;” and in the other, that he shall “judge the world in righteousness.” and on the same divine authority, we are also assured that "he must reign till he hath put all enemies under his feet.” the intention, then, is, that christ shall govern, reign over, and control the moral and mental world ; and that he shall do so, in the exercise of all those great principles of truth, equity, and goodness, which constitute righteousness—and which, therefore, re. accomplishment of and his whole soul into the subject, and become a co-worker with god. he must feel that he is one of the instruments by whom great and beneficent ends are to be brought about for man-one which even the deity condescends to employ, to perfect his own most holy and beneficent purposes. how then-by what means does the chosen ser- vant of god " set judgment in the earth.” it will not be expected that all the means to which we might refer, will be enumerated on this occasion. the most prominent only will be introduced for con- sideration. . the entire process of the revelation of god's truth and grace, by which his moral reign over man- kind is established, is by a public ministry. that ministry comprises a vast number of the most im- portant and interesting truths of which it is possi- ble for the mind to conceive-and which attain their proper application, only by being understood, and be- lieved, and obeyed. as a minister of god, jesus christ is the only perfect example. and from the moment that he was publicly consecrated to the work, by the descent of the holy spirit at his bap- tism, down to the consummation of his earthly la- bors and trials on calvary, he was constantly occu- pied in dispensing truth to mankind. whether we follow him through the wilderness of judea, during the days of his temptation, and listen to his rebukes of the adversary-the instrument of his trials ; or go with him from galilee to jerusalem, we still find him constantly intent upon the performance of the same great work—doing the “will of his father in heaven.” whether we stand by him in the precincts of the temple, or linger among the crowd on the shore of the sea of tiberias ; whether we contem. plate him surrounded by the multitude gathered at a the savior's mission. national festival, or sitting in the privacy of the family of his disciples—whether the day wax or wane, or night closes in with its silence and solem- nity, he is everywhere and at all times, emphati- cally the minister of god. and his doctrine is the imbodiment of the will of heaven, simplified and adapted to the mind of man. during the whole period of our lord's ministry, every discouragement was thrown in his way. the very “ gates of hell,” opened and disclosed the “ shadows of death,” to terrify him from his purpose and his duty. he encountered the most profound and revolting ignorance—he was engaged in perpet- ual conflict, with the oldest and worst prejudices of the human heart. the companions of his choice, the confidants of his bosom, denied or betrayed him, the powers which should have protected, outlawed him and set a price upon his head, and finally put him to a most cruel death. his word, which could give sight to the blind, healing to the sick and life to the dead, fell almost powerless upon the wretch- ed multitude that hung upon his steps, and received and enjoyed the benefit of his miracles. if a spirit conscious of its dignity, of its duty, of its destiny, of its high responsibilities to god and to man, could fail, that spirit and that abandonment had distinguished the son of god. but it was not possible for him to falter or fail. the arts of the adversary, whether human or diabol- ical, were frustrated, and triumphantly turned to mo- tives of new and greater perseverance. thus en- hancing the value, and elevating the character of his example to mankind. the dark and obtuse under- standing which could not at once comprehend the truths which he so familiarly delivered so beauti- fully illustrated, furnished the strongest reasons for accomplishment of continued efforts for its improvement. for instruc. tions only become needless and fruitless, when the mind is fully informed. it was, then, the prevailing ignorance of the jewish people the deep-rooted prejudices of the leading sects, of the priests and rulers, which rendered the benevolent teachings and humbling influence of the doctrines of jesus the more necessary and efficacious. his mild spirit could for the moment, disarm their fury, and frus- trate their cruel designs, while it overwhelmed the minions of authority with unwonted admiration. his charity knew neither favorites nor limitation, and extorted occasional wonder from the bigots whose narrow-mindedness and meanness withheld the ap- probation which even they could not but feel. and then the universal prevalence of sin, and guilt, and misery, in all classes and among all people, must have stim- ulated the son of god to constant endeavors to plant deep in the human heart, the eternal principles of truth and virtue. but an institution which was to be established, and promoted, and consummated among men by a pub- lic ministry, was not to depend entirely upon the personal labors of the instrument of its revelation. during the ministry of christ, he employed others for the advancement of the same great work. and when taking leave of the scenes and sufferings of earth, he distinctly and formally appointed his chosen disciples, and sent them forth as he had been “sent into the world,” to proclaim the truth of god to men, and " set judgment in the earth.” their duties and responsibilities were similar to those of their great master-and it was therefore expedient, that their qualifications should be of a similar description. we may not suppose them replenished with the same ample means" with all the fulness of the the savior's mission. father ; nor yet that they were imbued with the same measure of the divine spirit : but that they were qualified with an assured faith, and a fidelity and moral courage equal to any emergency. and their history presents few subjects of higher inter- est, or greater importance, than that part of it which relates to their reception of the holy spirit, and the consequent knowledge of the nature and duties of their mission. from the ascension of jesus, the disciples appear not to have known what part they were to act in the great business of the gospel, which they then but imperfectly understood. they lingered in jerusa- lem without any apparent design, and evidently ex- ercised great caution lest they should be recognised as the followers of the nazarene. but when “ the day of pentecost was fully come”—while they “were with one accord in one place,” suddenly there was the sound as of a “mighty wind,” and divided tongues of fire descended upon them. from that moment, the lethargy of fifty days is done away for ever-from that moment, the shrinking and cowardly disciples feel and are actuated by a new and mighty impulse. their terrors and misgivings have passed away, to return and be felt no more ; instead of se- curity, and ease, and privacy, they now seek to understand their duty. they stand forth in vindi- cation of themselves; they explain the cause of wonder in the minds of the multitude, and they charge home upon the priests and their minions the murder of their master-the immaculate son of god. the uncompromising and indomitable spirit of their lord, like the mantle of the prophet, had now de- scended upon them, and diffused its controlling might into every thought and over every action. they took their lives in their hands, laid the cross accomplishment of upon their shoulders, and went forth—to the endur- ance of continued toil, and privation, and suffering- to reproach, and ignominy, and persecution-to ex- patriation, and imprisonment, and stripes, and death. what a noble spirit was that, which knew but one fear-the fear of doing wrong!' and which, while it cherished and encouraged the purest, the strongest, and the holiest love of kindred and friends-loved christ and his service still more! they knew that the friends who had smiled upon them, would now become their enemies—that the parents who had watched over and cherished them, would abandon them—that the brother or sister whose affection seemed linked to them with indis- soluble bands, would deliver them to prison and to death. they knew that the endearments of home, the common rights of citizens, the protection of the laws, the security of their persons—were all jeop- arded beyond hope or remedy. and yet how calm, and meek, and patient, and undismayed, they enter upon their work with what persevering fidel- ity do they go forward in its promotion, from house to house, from city to city, from land to land, among jews and gentiles, till the isles not only waited for but received the law. and what is all this? it is the fulfilment of prophecy ; it is the transfer of the prediction of the text to the subject-matter of sober history and by it we are shown that there was neither discouragement nor failure in the servants of god, who were bound to “set judgment in the earth." . . . but the apostles passed away; and the work to which they devoted their lives, was committed to “ faithful men,” that it might by successive efforts attain its accomplishment, by being carried on through all coming generations. the christian ministry the savior's mission. still exists—and what it was when peter, and john, and paul, preached, it should still be. the record of their teachings must be the criterion of truth, and the everlasting standard of ministerial duty, under christ. and none should enter upon that field of labor who is not prepared to live and to die devoted to its duties and its toils. like the great teacher like the apostles, every minister of the gospel, and of every denomination, should come to his profes- sion with full purpose of heart, with a manly zeal, an uncompromising spirit, and a fearless independ- ence. he should love the truth which he inculcates, because it is the truth of god; because it is worthy of more sacrifices than he can make, and because it embraces his own, and the endless well-being of all his race. he should live for its promotion, and if necessary, suffer and even die in its vindication. but an efficient and successful ministry is not ex- clusively made up of moral courage, and the faithful inculcation of truth. there are far other elements, which must mingle in the character of the preacher of the kingdom of god. and its derivation from heaven, furnishes the most important reason of their necessity. an institution from any other source, might well be supposed to make fewer requirements of mankind—and especially of its public advocates and promulgators, than one from god. hence, we must look to the combination of other influences than those named, for the surprising results of the ministry of christ and the apostles—and to such causes must we still look, for the more effectual ad- vancement of the gospel among mankind. the great secret of the power which they exerted over the minds of men, consists in their living in conformity to the principles and doctrines which they taught. if they required reverence toward god, * the savior's mission. and merciful interposition, and alike received at his hands appropriate aid. the court of the temple, the palace of the proud pharisee, the dwelling of the hated publican, the cottage or the boat of the poor fisherman, received in turn the visits of the son of god, and felt and owned his virtue and his power. 'the family of disciples, the social circle, the mar- riage party, the mourners in the chamber of death-- even the dead themselves, shared his regard and companionship, and his beneficent administrations. in this wonderful display of all that is godlike and pure, nothing strikes the mind with more power and wonder, than the indulgence and gracious forgive- ness which our savior always manifested. this spirit never slumbered, never tired, and could not be exhausted. how it waited and condescended to the errors, and prejudices, and misconceptions of the disciples! how patient amid the constant ig- norance with which he was surrounded-how gen- tly and kindly it reproved the impetuosity and re- sentment of his followers, when they desired to call down fire from heaven upon the inhospitable samaritans! nothing can be more truly gracious than his reply-ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of; for the son of man is not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them.” this spirit meets and sooths the wayward, and sympathizes with the benighted, and lost, and guilty transgressor. it records the little which the self-righteous may feel to ask or need—sees the returning prodigal while yet a great way off," forgets his offences, and smiles upon and blesses him, while it welcomes him to his paternal home. it stoops down to record offences in the sand-but it rises up to utter its own principles and pass sentence upon the guilty" go, accomplishment of and sin no more.” this, it engraves upon the hu- man heart, and its impression is for eternity. and then again, the humility of jesus—the en- tire ease and freedom with which he was ap- proached by all classes and conditions, are among the remarkable features of his personal character. they constitute no inconsiderable part of the means most effectually employed in the establishment and prosperity of his kingdom among men. he was always accessible ; he would, in any place, on any occasion, at any moment of time, hear and answer the humblest petition. none were so low, so sunk in vice or pollution, so lost to themselves and to the sympathies of mankind, as not to find in him one who would listen to their supplications, and mitigate or relieve their sufferings. the anguish of a guilty or a broken heart, and the no less ré- volting maladies of a diseased and miserable body, yielded alike to his benevolent and renovating word: and whether teaching the people “as never man spake,” or pressing his weary way in the midst of the surrounding and accompanying throng, or for the moment reposing in the frail and tempest-tost boat on the sea of galilee-there was no moment when his ear was not open to the cry of distress- to the hopes and fears and desires of the wretched, and his hand stretched out for their safety and deliverance. nor did the motives of the petitioner, however palpably perverse or absurd, ever divert him from this condescending course. the captious and queru- lous scribe, or doctor of the law, whose queries were only made to ensnare and betray, and the urgent peti- tion of a jewish mother for a blessing on her child, met alike with instant attention, and received proinpt and suitable replies. the young man who “ had the savior's mission, great possessions," and the afflicted woman who had s spent all she had” for medical aid, were addressed in the same tones of kindness, as though they had approached him with the same freedom and success for very different purposes. and while the mild and beloved disciple might learn who should betray his master, that master instructed the crafty judas to perform his abhorrent work quickly, with the same equanimity and composure. the thoughts of simon the pharisee were at once rebuked, while forgiveness was extended to her whose tears of contrition bathed the feet of her savior. and the courtly and powerful ruler who " came to jesus by night,” heard no word of welcome more gracious and cordial than the sufferer who cried—“ lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean;"-heard in the response, “ i will: be thou clean." in all this impartiality, kindness, and condescen- sion, we see the workings of a greatness and a good- ness characteristic of the true servant and messenger of god. it need scarcely be asked why. because the truths which he teaches, the principles which he is commissioned to establish, the moral health and comfort which the religion of the gospel was intended to confirm and diffuse-are adapted to the circumstances, and designed for the benefit of all mankind. the jew and the greek, the wise and the unwise, the just and the unjust, are equally the subjects of that grace which was revealed from heav- en to " set judgment in the earth.” such a system can make no compromise with power-can have no especial condescensions for the great, because it be- longs to mind in every station, and to man in what- ever condition. and the bearer of such an economy of mercy should dispense it with equal measure to all • its subjects, and do so in faithfulness, whenever the accomplishment of season presents for its favorable inculcation. and when christ preached, that benevolence which could have compassion on the miserable, and the low, and the polluted, could find equal if not greater reasons for exercise, in contemplating the spiritual pride, and hypocrisy, and forgetfulness of god, which marked the legal interpreters of the divine will. in reference therefore to the character of the ministry of the gospel, and especially of its accredited messengers, when the disciples of john the baptist would learn whether jesus was the christ, he re- fers principally, not to the heavenly doctrines which he taught, not to the simple, and beautiful, and im- pressive eloquence in which it was communicated, nor yet to the multitudes “out of every place," that hung upon his steps, and who listened with rapture to his message of love-no; but to the things which he did. " go and show john the things that ye do hear and see : the blind receive their sight, and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear ; the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them.” in the estimation, then, of the son of god, it was not so much the effect of what was preached, as of how the preacher lived and what he did, that constituted the success of his message. and it is only when truth is illustrated by the beauty of holiness that it wins all hearts, becomes irresistible in its might, and glorious in its moral and social influences. how well the apostles carried out the doctrines and example of their master, may be learned from their brief history. we have already seen that they were actuated by the same sense of duty, and inspired with similar moral courage in its perform- ance. so far they resembled their great master, and worthily sustained the distinction of being his the savior's mission. pupils. but did they live like him? like him, were they kind, frank, self-sacrificing, and forgiv- ing? did they disclaim all service but that of truth, all good but that of obedience, all approbation but that of conscience and of god ?-we shall see, on the morning of pentecost, the proper duties and labors of the apostles commenced. and on that, and several immediately succeeding days, their duties and labors were so multiplied and va- rious, as to furnish an epitome of those of their whole lives. but the first observable trait in their conduct is indicative of the total abandonment of all the hopes and aspirations by which they were for- merly actuated. during the whole time that they were personally associated with jesus, they looked to place, power, and emolument, as the sole reward of their attachment, their sacrifices and toils. but now, when baptized into the spirit of the gospel- when its nature, and objects, and influences, were understood and felt, all these earthly considerations, these merely human motives were dissipated in a moment and for ever. instead of badges of hon- or, they sought the stigma of being the followers of a crucified master. instead of eminence among the great of this world, they desired only an humble place in that kingdom which was from above ; and for ease and wealth, they preferred a life of toil, and suffering, and poverty. these were now the things which they most coveted. they “ gloried in tribulation ;" they sought no distinction but that of fidelity to their trust; they looked for no crown on earth, save that of martyrdom; and they expected no praise, but that of all the just— well done, good and faithful servant.” with such principles and feelings, constituting such a preparation for the great work before them, the savior's mission. proached nearer and yet more near, they exclaimed, "i am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand; i have fought a good fight and finished my course; i have kept the faith; hence- forth is there laid up for me a crown of righteous- ness which god the righteous judge shall give me, and not to me only, but to all them that love his ap- pearing.” such must be the spirit and zeal, the devotion and firmness, the virtue and humility, of the minister of god's truth in any age-or that very truth will be his curse and reproach. but when to the correct understanding of the gospel, he adds the manly prac- tice of the duties it enjoins, he becomes a co-worker with god, an efficient servant of jesus christ, and an instrument however humble, of building up the divine kingdom in the hearts of men--of setting " judgment in the earth.” . but no ministry, however great and beneficent its objects; however good, and faithful, and per- severing, its servants, can reach and accomplish its proper ends without the co-operation of those for whose benefits it was instituted. who can suppose that the purposes of the gospel were in any direct sense answered in the mass of the jewish people, though the preacher was the immaculate son of god? who believes that the gracious intentions of the “new and better covenant” were effected in the entire population of corinth, or athens, of eph- esus, or rome-or any other city where the apostles planted churches ? who presumes that all who this day hear the great truth that christ came to save sinners, really and fully enjoy that salvation ? and why not? plainly and simply because they bave not met the overtures of favor and mercy which that ministry has tendered to their acceptance, with the savior's mission, influences which it should exert—and when all these continue their power, judgment will be more manifestly established in the earth, and the isles shall receive the law of the lord. amen. : * the object and character sermon xiii. the object and character of true religious worship. by rev. h. g. smith." “ worship god.”-revelation xxii. . in discoursing upon the subject of this short, but comprehensive sentence, i do not deem it necessary to enter into any argument to show that man is nat- urally a religious being.. this, i believe, is univer- sally conceded. indeed it would be hard for any man to dispute the united testimony of nature and reason. this principle in the human mind, which leads man to reverence a superior, is not the offspring of education ; it owes not its birth to any accumulated light, or external circumstances, but it was planted in his nature by that unseen power which ushered him into being, and daily supports his existence. it is that spark of the divine mind which god imparted to the creature when he breathed into his nostrils the “ breath of life," and constituted man a " living soul.” consequently, it is not confined to any grade, or class of beings who bear the divine image, but is discovered in the bosom of the uncultivated and un- lettered savage, as in the inind stored with the wis- dom and knowledge of civilized life. . the great difference which exists between the various classes of men that dwell upon the face of of true religious worship. the earth, consists not so much in the degree of rev. erence, if i may so speak, imparted to each, as in the degree of exercise which they allow to their moral and religious faculties. and this exercise is determined by the character which each is accus- tomed to ascribe to his respective object of rever- ence and worship. man, in the uncivilized state, is ignorant of the christian's god, whom we consider the only true and proper object of religious adoration, and he erects an altar to some fabulous deity—to some ob- ject in nature ; or he sets up the work and cunning device of his own hands, and prostrates himself be- fore it. it is a custom among all uncivilized nations, so far as our knowledge extends, to worship something; and what does this prove but the truth of the propo- sition which we laid down as universally conceded, viz: that man is a religious being. but my design in this discourse, is to call your attention to the object of religious worship, and to speak of the character and spirit of that worship which is alone acceptable in the sight of god. i am induced to do this service from a consideration of the fact, that this, the holiest principle of man's na- ture, is often exercised toward unworthy objects; and is frequently servilely bestowed, even when di- rected to the only existing power that is 'worthy of religious reverence which is god. first, then, i shall speak of the only true object of religious veneration-worship god. the ne- cessity of acknowledging, and regarding the su- preme being as the only true and proper object of divine worship, has not generally been considered in the light, and received that attention, even by the object and character christians, which the importance of the subject de- mands. it will not be disputed, i think, that many among the professed followers of jesus those who, of all others, should be best informed concerning the sub- ject, have failed to recognise this truth in their sys- tems of faith ; and it is likewise true that many have departed from the simplicity of the gospel, in erect- ing altars to supernumerary deities, forgetting, or seeming to forget, that there is but one god, even the father, and that all our acts of devotion should centre in him.. such has been the inconsistency of man, ever since the light of christianity dawned upon his be- nighted pathway, directing his mind to the true fountain of wisdom, virtue, and holiness. when jesus the great renovater and restorer of his race entered our world with the message of god's truth and love to man, the grossest idolatry almost universally prevailed. heathenism had spread her dark mantle over the face of the moral world, while superstition and anarchy held unlimited sway, and exercised undisputed power in the hearts of the people. both jew, and gentile worshipped in groves, and burnt incense to imaginary deities. the reverence which they paid to such objects of re- ligious worship, if objects they may be called, serv- ed but to debase their hearts, darken the divine im- age, and lead them still farther from god and his worship. the jews, who had enjoyed the true light which beamed from the oracles of god, de- livered by his servants from the days of moses, their lawgiver, were invited to return from their wander- ing, and keep themselves from the abominations of the heathen. thus saith god by the mouth of his prophet, “cast away from you all your trangres- of true religious worship. veneration. if we glance at the heathen world, we shall find striking evidence of the truth of this re- mark. by reference to their mythology, we learn that they were accustomed to ascribe to their deities no attributes but those common to themselves. with very few exceptions, if any, the gods of the heathen were passionate, lustful, and given to cruelty and revenge. they were objects of terror, and they ruled their subjects by the powerful influence of fear. and the reverence paid to their authority, and the character of their worship, are written upon the pages of their history; and the influence which they exerted upon human character was shocking to every principle of viriue, as disgraceful to the name of re- ligion. observation and experience teach us that even the christian world is not free from that superstitious fear gendered in the minds of the people by wrong perceptions of the divine character. not entirely have the good people of the civilized world freed themselves from the dark, gloomy, and corrupting doctrines of heathen origin, concerning god and the worship due to his name. even the professed dis- ciples of the humble jesus, who came in the image of the invisible, have erred from the truth. my heart has sickened within me, as i have listened to the descriptions which have been given of god's character, by some who claim the office of chosen messengers of the true gospel. often have i felt the better feelings of my nature quenched by these descriptions of vengeance and wrath, uttered by professed ministers of god's truth, to win converts to their peculiar systems of faith. and i have often witnessed the melancholy effects of so wide depart- ures from the mode of instruction pursued by the son of god. yes, often have i witnessed the scald- the object and character lightest not in burnt-offerings. the sacrifices of god are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, o god, thou wilt not despise." such my brethren, is the true and acceptable worship unto god, even the father. such worship alone is able to benefit man, and render his heart a fit temple for the indwelling of the spirit of peace. servile worship cannot benefit the creature ; it must be the freewill offering of the heart-a dedication of the soul to god, to find acceptance at the throne of his grace. i quote one more passage to illustrate my subject and i close. it came from the lips of the prophet isaiah, “ thus saith the high and lofty one that in- habiteth eternity, whose name is holy; i dwell in the high and holy place with him also that is of a con. trite and humble spirit.” may this testimony prove a light to our under- standings-create within us the true spirit of chris- tian devotion. i exhort you, my brethren, as believ- ors in god's impartial and efficient grace-as pro- fessed followers of the lord jesus—to “ worship god." worship him for he is worthy. worship him in spirit for such only is acceptable in his sight. amen. the evidence of a true faith. sen sermon xiv. cl. the evidence of a true faith. by rev. w. s. balch. « now the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace in belier. ing, that ye may abound in hope through the power of the holy ghost."-romans xv, . god is the supreme ruler of the universe. his wisdom is seen, and his goodness felt in all his works. the contemplative mind loves to study his character as revealed in all his providences, and the believer as it is more distinctly exhibited in the gospel of his grace. in either case enough may be learned of god to induce poor helpless mortals to trust in his goodness and hope in his mercy; for in everything is the ever-present divinity distinctly seen, and the overpowering excellence of his char- acter clearly presented to the devout consideration of his children. amid the weakness and frailties of earth man needs some higher support, some surer ground of hope than this world can give him. here nothing is stable, sure, nor soul-satisfying. though fed to the full on this world's dainties, there is a starved appe- tite which craves more nourishing food, which will not cease its demands till the “ bread of heaven” is dealt out to supply its utmost wants; then it will be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of god's house --being filled with all the fulness of god. * . the evidence of a true faith. in the gospel, god in the provisions of his grace, is so presented to the mind of the believer, that he becomes the object of trust and hope. in truth he is the only being in whom we may safely and joy- fully confide amid the sorrows and uncertainties of life. he is always the same, unchangeable in all his purposes, unbounded in the dispensation of his benefits, the universal father and the complete sa- vior of all men. in him we may place the most im- plicit confidence and never be deceived; our firmest reliance and never fail ; our surest hope, and not be disappointed. “hope then is god” in the lan- guage of the psalmist, and pre-eminently the privi- lege and joy of the christian. my text suggests several important truths which deserve serious consideration; but the particular subject to which i shall, in this brief discourse, at- tempt to direct your mind, is the connexion between faith and hope ; or the evidence of a true christian faith. i hope i shall be able to satisfy you, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that between faith and hope there is a most intimate connexion, and should be a most perfect agreement; that the test of the former is the existence of the latter ; and also to show you how you may satisfy yourselves whether you are in the true faith or not. the true test of christian faith is not so much the , accumulation or absence of outward testimony in favor of a particular point of doctrine, as has often been supposed. the true christian has the “ wit- ness in himself;" the spirit bearing witness with his own spirit that he is a child of god. he feels all the ease, security, and happiness, which the travel- ler feels when returned from his journeyings in far countries and in strange lands, where foes beset his path on either hand, to the home of his childhood, the evidence of a true faith. no reason to believe that we have embraced the faith once delivered to the saints, but must follow on to know the lord and obey the teachings of his word. let us inquire briefly into the nature of faith and hope, that we may discover in what way the truth of one is proved correct by the existence of the other. faith is the assent of the mind to the truth of a proposition, which may embrace things past or fu- ture, good or evil. this assent is produced by the force of testimony relied on as correct. the propo- sition may embrace a falsehood, and yet the evi- dence relied on accumulate to such an extent as to produce a conviction of its truth, when, in fact, it is false. on this ground we may account for the ex- istence of false doctrines, which have been and still are in our world, without calling in question the sincerity or honesty of those who support them. christian faith depends on surer evidence-on testi- mony which cannot be controverted-on the truth of god directly revealed from heaven to the soul of him who has it, giving the “ assurance of hope," and a joy unspeakable and full of glory.” but more upon this point hereafter. hope is the desire and expectation of future good. it does not regard the past. it cannot embrace the evil. it reaches forth to future good, and to that only. to make these ideas more distinct, you may say that you believe there once dwelt on the earth such a man as socrates ; that he was a teacher of wis- dom in the schools of greece; and that he was forced to drink the poisonous hemlock by the very men whose happiness he sought most sincerely to promote. you may say that you believe there was the evidence of a true faith. such a man as pontius pilate, who gave sentence of death against the innocent son of god, who went about doing good, seeking to bless and save a world, and to injure no man. but you cannot say you hope these things were so. again, you may say that you believe there will be a great dearth in the land ; that starvation, and death the most horrible, will be the fate of a great portion of the american citizens. you may be sincere in such belief. evidence may accumulate thick and strong, and force a conviction that such will be the fact. the severe drought, the killing frosts, the de- vouring insects, and the pestilential scourge, shall sweep over the length and breadth of the land, and leave no chance of safety from the evil. but you cannot say that you hope such will come to pass. you may honestly believe that god will become the bitter enemy of the creatures he has made, and sweep them from the earth as with the besom of destruction, and give them their portion amid the quenchless burnings of his perpetual wrath; that the oft-described miseries of the abyss of wo will become a sober reality; and that you, or some of your best friends, shall share the fullest measure of its horror and despair : but you cannot say that you hope such shall be the future revelation of god's purposes. the mind involuntarily revolts at the thought of the bare possibility of such a reckless disregard of all the accessible qualities of god's perfections, and such a wild waste of his children's good. with such a faith, hope settles into de- spondency, till despair takes full possession of the soul. let us bear in mind, then, this fact : while faith regards what is past or future, good or evil- hope embraces only future good. we are now prepared to adduce the testimony the evidence of a true faith. which will enable you to come to a safe and ready decision upon the truth or falsity of the faith you have respectively embraced. the only question to be decided, is, whether the faith you have received “ fills you with all joy and peace in believing," ena- bling you to “ abound in hope ;" or whether it does not. do your faith and hope agree? can you say that you hope the doctrine in which you believe is true, and that all you apprehend 'will actually come to pass ? do you hope for something you believe yourselves and others can never enjoy? are you filled with joy and peace in believing ? these are grave questions, and on their solutions depend much of your happiness, and the evidence of yonr chris- tian experience and gospel faith. it is needful for us to exercise great care upon this point. it is a critical matter, in which none should be deceived. let us, on that account, at- tend to the reading of our text, that we may the better apprehend its meaning. almost every word is emphatic, clothing the idea of great truths. each has force in it, for each is full of meaning. the whole conveys holy comfort to the believer, for by it is revealed the grace of god in its benevolent preparations and wise adaptation of blessings to the wants of suffering humanity. let us give heed to the words, that we may enjoy what they mean. “fill you.” when a thing is full, there is no .. emptiness in it. what is added afterward must run over, or abound. this is scripture phraseology. i like it much. there is something in it so full of satisfaction, which we call happiness, that no space is left for misery. jesus our lord was “ full of grace and truth,” and so he was true and happy, and there was no place for evil in him. there was no guile in his mouth. from the abundance within, in the evidence of a true faith. darkest despair. but our text does not read thus. the apostle did not pray that the brethren might be filled with some joy and some sorrow, with some peace and some sadness-abounding in the hope of heaven and the fear of hell. he sayg—"now the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace.” all joy and peace! there is no sorrow, sighing, or crying, in the positive state of the christian in the new jerusalem which came down from god out of heaven. it is only when our thoughts and affec- tions mingle in the contrasts of time—when we cherish earthborn hopes, and forget the ever-present help of our best friend--that his “ grace is suffi- cient for us” —that dark clouds hover over us, and shut out the bright prospect of never-ending bless- edness : the fulness of god's love as manifest in jesus christ. the true condition of the christian is perfect purity and happiness. short of this he comes short of a perfect man in christ. he fails of the full liberty and blessedness of the gospel. he is yet a slave to sin, and a man of the world ; and he must not complain if he tastes occasionally of the cup of sorrow--the dregs of his error, folly, and vice. the pure in heart see [enjoy] god. they are made happy through the power of his love, grace, and truth. they dwell in him and he in them, because the love of god dwells in their hearts, and is perfected in them. they are "filled with all joy and peace”-„when? how? where? “ in believing." have a care, my friends, lest you misapprehend the import of these words, and fall into an error which is too common among the professed followers of jesus. small words some- times have great meaning, and convey essential truth to the willing mind. “in,” does not mean for. and the text does not say that god will fill you with the evidence of a true faith. joy and peace for believing. much less, it does not say that for believing the doctrine of endless misery, or a trinity of gods, in this mortal world, you shall be filled with joy and peace, in the next, the spirit world. such a sentiment is not here rec- ognised. cause and effect are not so dissevered. they are close related, inseparably joined. one fol- lows close upon the other. they are not worlds apart. it is “in (not for] believing,” that we are filled with joy and peace. the same peter saith, “ believ- ing we rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glo- ry." when is the soul filled with joy and peace ? when it believes, of course. the tendency of true faith is to give peace and joy to the believer when in the faith, for he looks up to a power which in wisdom overrules all things for good and glorious ends—the development of his own perfections, and the promotion of his creatures' happiness. it in- spires the utmost confidence in the boundlessness of god's benevolence, wisdom, and power; and, by carrying the view beyond the reach of folly and im- perfection, sorrow and death, it reconciles the mind under the severest trials and deepest sorrows, and draws out the humble prayer—" not my will, but thine, oh god, be done." the great apostle had felt the inspirations of this blessed faith. it had conquered and subdued every rebellious passion in his soul. it had banished all fearfulness from his mind. it had given him good hope ; and, under a full realization of all its benefits. he earnestly desired that all his brethren might be filled with the same joy and peace, by embracing and cherishing the same glorious faith—" now the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace in be- lieving, that ye may abound in hope through the power of the holy spirit.” the evidence of a true faith. “ that ye may abound in hope.” here it is at once discovered that the evidence of a true faith, is the abundance of hope which it inspires in the mind. a faith which does not correspond with hope, or does not beget or give assurance to hope-cannot be the faith of the gospel. this is clear. the de- cision in reference to yoår faith, must rest on your- selves. do the views you entertain of god, the faith you have in christ, make you“ abound in hope ?" do you really hope that your doctrine is true ? happy, indeed, are you, if, in the far reach- ings of the soul's best desires, you can look forward and believe, beyond doubt, in the happy fulfilment of your highest hopes, the gracious answer to your holiest prayers, which could not embrace less than our whole suffering race. joy and peace fill your bosoms, and songs of thanksgiving burst from your lips. you must, with such faith, be reconciled to god, and completely happy. but have you such beliet? many professors who still linger in the twilight of increasing hope dare not yet embrace a doctrine so full of goodness. the thought that we may have faith in the full realiza- tion of our best hopes is too good, too glorious. they dare not believe it. if any such hear me now, the lord have mercy on them, and help them to pray, “ lord, increase my faith.” i rarely ever met an opposer of the great doctrine of god, who, at the conclusion of an argument, did not close by say- ing," though i dare not believe your doctrine, i hope it is true.” bless god! so do i; and that is one good evidence of its truth. it makes those who embrace it - abound in hope ;" while everything short of it, banishes hope, and fills the soul with horror and dis- may. in all my acquaintance with the world, i never the evidence of a true faith. found the man who hoped for endless misery, either for himself or anybody else. the profane man, the vile offender, the obdurate outlaw, can hardly indulge such a thought. can it then be the acme of christian attainment, to embrace a sentiment so full of wo-of hot, burning misery-of dark des- pair-of endless cursings-a doctrine which, in every feature of it, is calculated to banish the last ray of hope, and blast every prospect of joy ? as no man ever truly hoped in endless misery, so none ever sincerely prayed for its truth and applica- tion. can that then be a true faith ?—a christian faith?such a faith as will fill the soul of him who embraces it, with "all jay and peace," and make him abound in hope ? i speak as unto the wise, judge ye what i say. through the power of the holy ghost." god's spirit is in his truth. ere the master left his disci- ples, he promised them the “spirit of truth" to com- fort them. they were not yet full believers, for hé afterward upbraided them for their unbelief. when they were fully converted and put in possession of the true faith, they received the comforter, and henceforth abounded in hope. no scene was so dark their hope could not penetrate and look beyond it; no obstacle so mighty their faith could not re- move it: for they were upheld by the power of the holy spirit, by which they were sealed unto the day of their redemption, and made able to triumph over all opposition. it is so with christians now. until we are taught of god, led into the true and living faith which fills us with all joy and peace, we cannot abound in hope, nor be truly happy. short of the possession of the principle embraced in a true gospel faith, we are strangers to god, truth, and happiness. it is i the evidence of a true faith. theories of visionary enthusiasts, nor the profound dis- sensions of metaphysical science, or the abstruse questions of mere biblical interpretations : for the word is nigh you, even in your mouth, and in your heart, that is, the word of faith we preach. you have the witness in yourselves, the answer of a good con- science, and of a faith unfeigned. in the possession of a hope which always abounds from the overflow- ing joys within the soul, you cannot be otherwise than happy. no afflictions can molest your peace, no disappointment dim the bright prospect which is ever before you. the current of life will flow smoothly and sweetly on, giving verdure and beauty to all you possess, and the occasional rapids, or sudden cataracts, will serve to purify and enliven by arousing into greater activity the sluggish passions, and subduing them to the righteous government of god. may you ever live in the love of truth, and in the practice of virtue ; and may the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing that ye may abound in hope through the power of the holy spirit. the end. wisdom in charity. free movement of our people unsettles the stability of thousands of families and wastes their small resources, while they vainly strive to better their condition by change; business is often a lottery in which the hopeful investor draws a blank; and the successful gains of a minority leave a larger minority to encamp on the narrow, ragged edge between competence and want. worst of all, our grand attempt to raise high the standard of intelligence, by education through books alone, results in bring- ing forward hundreds of thousands of young men and women, with fine and dainty aspirations, but with neither training nor taste for productive industry. they marry, found families and pay the bills with drafts on the bank of hope. couple this with the expensiveness of modern life, growing out of the great in- crease of artificial wants, and it may appear that the plea of want of employment often means that many men and women cannot find just such work as they would like to do, at just such wages as they would like to command. now to this hungry and growing multitude it will never do for society to say, either through its public laws or its private charities, “the world owes you the living you covet, and you shall be maintained in idleness till your dreams come true.” what then? shall we adopt the motto, “every one for him- self, and the devil take the hindmost?” then he would surely catch us all ! we cannot innocently be indifferent to any form of suffering, however caused. shall we make every poor-house a workhouse, and drive all the needy to the overseers? the remedy for all this misery is not in indiscriminate harshness and pitiless severity. every poor-house and asylum ought in- deed to be in part a work-house; but society would be brutal- ized, along with its victims, if the delicate duties of humanity were discharged only through political functionaries as now se- lected. for a time, while population was thin, charity might safely be left as a duty between neighbors; but with the growth of cities, who knows, or can know, the people of his own street, to say nothing of the swarming myriads? and who can find time or means to deal with the hapless wanderers, or with the human rats the infest the crowded and sickly alleys y, t something must be done, or we all sink together. an ever-in- creasing deposit of misery and vice, disorder and desperation, - - - - - - - - * , - *- • - - --- wit and wisdom of the talmud. º. edited by - *~ º ºn madison c. peters author of "justice to the jew,” etc. with an introduction by rabbi h. pereira mendes is rew york the baker & taylor co. and east sixteenth street to trabbi . teomato tlevy, of philadelphia this volume is affectionately inscribed by the editor preface while gathering the facts for “justice to the jew,” i chanced upon so many wise pro- verbs, witty sayings, beautiful parables, and quaint legends of the talmud, that i became intensely interested in this remarkable literary production of antiquity. in its twelve folio' volumes it embodies the mental labors of the ancient jewish teachers during the period of. about eight hundred years. after a lecture at a western university, by a well-known rabbi, one of his hearers went to him and said: “i came to hear “the tal- mud,” in order to know what kind of mud it is,” confessing his utter ignorance as to the very name (talmud, study, from lamad, to learn). i once asked one of the most brilliantly gifted preachers in new york, if he had ever read anything from ‘the talmud.” “no,” ne answered, “only a few sentences which tyreface now and then i have met by chance.” then i determined i would add to my talmudic col- lection, which i had made for personal use, and give the christian public some idea of the book which has been so remarkably powerful in the influence it exercised upon the thought and life of the jews during the middle ages, and even down to the present time. i believe that readers will find this volume of incalcu- lable value in the pursuit of wisdom, helpful in gaining a knowledge of the jewish religion, and, i hope, that it will lead christian schol- ars to study the subject further. among scores of other periodicals and books consulted, i beg to acknowledge my indebtedness to the following works: “parabeln, legenden und gedanken, aus dem tal- mud,” by ludwig seligman. “the poetry of the talmud,” by s. sekles. “rabbinische blumenlese,” by leopold dukes. “the talmud,” by emanuel deutsch. “talmudic sayings,” by rabbi henry cohen. “talmudic legends,” by l. weiss. “translations of the talmud,” by polano. rodkinson’s “talmud.” “introduction to the talmud,” by mielziner. hershon's “genesis,” and the prayer-book. madison c. peters. introduction the torah (or law) was given a.m. . from the following forty years of the desert- life down to the present day, countless rulings, precedents, etc., have accumulated. some are indicated in various passages in the bible, e.g., ceremonies or rules observed in mourning, or have come to us by tradition. rabbi judah hanassi, surnamed the holy, collected all attainable and published them in what we call the mishna, a.m. . the mishna contains six sections or se- darim. each section or seder contains mas- sechtoth or treatises, as follows: section i: seeds.-after a chapter devoted to the benedictions, it treats of tithes, first fruits, sacrifices, and gifts due from the prod- uce of the land to the priests, the levites, and the poor; of the cessation of agricultural labor during the sabbatic year; and of the prohib- mtrobuction ited mixtures in seeds and in grafting.—in all eleven treatises. section ii: feasts.-of the sabbath and sabbath rest, of feasts and fasts: passover, tabernacles, new year, the day of atone- ment, and the fasts; of work forbidden, cere- monies to be observed, and sacrifices to be brought on those days.-twelve treatises. section iii: women.—the legislation con- cerning marriage, divorce, the levirate mar- riage, and adultery; vows and the regulations for the nazirite.—seven treatises. section iv: fines.—civil legislation, be- sides a tractate on idolatry, and one called aboth, consisting of a collection of the ethical sentences of the rabbis. this section treats of commercial transactions, purchases, sales, mortgages, prescriptions, etc.; of legal pro- cedure, of the organization of tribunals, of witnesses, oaths, etc.—ten treatises. section v: sacred things.-the legisla- tion concerning sacrifices, the first-born, clean and unclean animals; the description of her- od's temple.—eleven treatises. section vi: purifications.—laws concern- ing levitical cleanness and uncleanness; clean introbuction and unclean persons and things, objects capa- ble of becoming unclean by contact. purifica- tions.—twelve treatises. many decisions not included by rabbi jehudah, because not considered by him suf- \ ficiently authoritative, or because they were merely repetitions, were collected later under the name of boraithoth in a work called the tosiphtha, or addition (supplement), by rab- bis hiya and oshaya of babylon. yet other boraithoth are to be found in the gemara. the gemara is a comment on the mishna, just as the mishna is a comment on the torah or law. one gemara, the work of the pal- estine schools, inaccurately but generally called the jerusalem talmud, was edited in tiberias about c.e. the other, much larger, better known and constituting what is meant when the word “talmud '' is used, is the work of the babylonian schools, and was edited by rabbi ashi and his disciple, rabbi josé, about c.e. this is usually pub- lished with the commentary of the celebrated rashi, and with comments called tosephoth. the rabbis identified with the mishna are called tanaim, or teachers; those of the ge- t io fintrobuction mara are called amoraim, or speakers, and the latter commentators are called seburaim, or opinionists. imagine the debates, evidence or testimony, assertions, opinions, pro and con, identified with processes of law that continue through centuries. how much extraneous matter must naturally be met with! imagine the debates, evidence, assertions, opinions, etc., pro and con, identified with processes of law of only one year, of only one court, of only one modern city. how much in- formation will be incidentally stated! it is not surprising, therefore, that we find in- cidentally stated in the talmud much that may seem to have nothing to do with the case in point, but which is incidentally of value to a future student of men and manners, of value to historian, antiquarian, ethnologist, scien- tist, of value to preacher, lawyer, physician or other scientists, and of value to artisan, house- wife, humorist and philosopher. we can, if we like, dig out of the talmud —as dishonest christians and despicable con- verted jews have done—sentences which show the talmud in a bad light. to con- demn the talmud or the jews as a whole introbuction i for such sentences is as silly as to con- demn french history and frenchmen as a na- tion, for such songs of revenge, due to the war of , as “no shield henceforth but hate, hate equal to the enemy's,” or as victor hugo has it: “poison the wells, the sleeping murder, kill them with axes, pitchforks and scythes.” (see lazarus, ethics of judaism, p. , jewish pub. soc. of america.) such sentences do not interpret the true, natural spirit, but only a passing emotion due to sudden contingency. for man is human, and even a tenderhearted mother will utter imprecations on a foe who snatches her infant and hurls it to death. we hebrews have suf- fered such outrages—and more. it would be strange, indeed, if some of our fathers and mothers did not cry out against the treatment received from pagan and christian (?)! they were only human, after all. but let us see what is the recognized and legal attitude of jew to gentile, according to jewish law. “the law was revealed publicly in the un- claimed desert. if it had been revealed in the i fintrobuction land of israel, the israelites might have main- tained that other nations had no part in it. therefore, it was published in the open desert; it is the property of the whole world; every- one is at liberty to assume the responsibilities it imposes. (mechilta yithro. parashat bach- odesh.) “every house a temple, every heart an altar, every human being a priest " (cf. laz- arus, ibid., page ). “not priest, not levite, not israelite, but man is bearer of the law. moses declares not that israel is the only son of god, but that he is only his first-born. israel is my son, my first-born (exod. v. ), and twice, on most solemn occasions, once when mutiny threatened ruin to the people, and once when his successor was to be ap- pointed, moses appeals not to the god of the hebrews, but to the god of the spirits of all flesh. (numbers xvi. ; xxvii. .) the temple of solomon was consecrated not that only hebrews might know, but “in order that all the peoples of the earth might know that the lord is god’’ (i k. viii. ), and in his consecration prayer he prayed that “moreover concerning a stranger, that is i ſmtroouction up the grand ideal of jewish teaching, the universal fatherhood of god. “have we not all one father ” (malachi ii. io). furthermore, the admonition, “seek ye the peace of the city’’ (jerem. xxix. ); which is to this day the incentive to identification with the best interests of the city or community and the realization of the ideal of the prophet and dream of the poet, or zionism, means nothing but the establishment of our nation, not for our nation's glory or advantage, but for the advantage and benefit of the world. for there the court of international arbitration will rid the world of the crime, curse and cost of war. (isa. ii. ; micah iv. .) thence will spread the knowledge of the lord, to fill earth (it does not say to fill palestine only) with the knowledge of the lord as the waters cover the sea. (isa. xi. .) then “loving-kindness and truth shall meet, righteousness and peace embrace; truth shall spring forth from earth and charity look down from heaven.” (ps. lxxxv. ii, .) and the fact that it is a jewish axiom that the righteous of all nations have a portion in the future world shows the true catholic spirit : s of the calmuo i advice not as thou sayest, but as thy fellows say. - too many captains sink the ship. ~€a hear sixty advisers, but be guided by your own conviction. ~ the action of a fool cannot serve as a pre- cedent. ~ poor servants ask advice after a thing has happened. ~ \ - a thing to which a fool does not consent, know as the right thing. age none may be called venerable save the wise. o (ulit amo (uligoom happy is the old age that atones for the follies of youth; but happier still the youth for which old age needs not to blush. ~ an old man is a trouble in the house; an old woman is a treasure in the house. ancestry he who has no inner nobleness has nothing, even if he be of noble birth. ambition alexander the great, in his travels amidst the deserts and barren lands, came at last to a river which flowed between two verdant shores. the surface of the water was quite smooth, and not the slightest breeze was per- ceptible. it was the picture of contentment and silently seemed to say: behold here the seat of peace and quietness. thousands of happy thoughts this beautiful scenery might of the oſalmut) i - have produced in a contemplating mind; but what could have soothed alexander, who was full of ambitious plans, whose ear had become accustomed to the clashing of arms, and the groans of the dying warrior? alexander con- tinued his journey, but he soon felt exhausted, and was obliged to seek for rest. he fixed his tent on the shores of a river, drank some water thereof, which seemed to him very re- freshing, being of a sweet and agreeable taste, and even spread a sweet fragrance all over the place. “surely,” said he, “this river, en- joying such peculiar advantages, must take its source in a country rich in blessings. let us find out whence it springeth.” following thus for some time the shores of the river, he at length arrived at the gates of paradise. these were closed, and he knocked, demand- ing in his usual peremptory manner to be ad- mitted at once. “thou canst not have admission here,” a voice from within called unto him; “this is the gate of the master.” “i am the master, lord of the whole earth,” replied the impa- tient monarch. “i am alexander the con- queror. what! do you hesitate to admit me?” (ulit amo (uligöom “no,” he was answered, “here no conqueror is known but he who conquers his passions; the just only are allowed to enter here.” alexander tried hard to get admittance, but neither threats nor entreaties had any ef- fect. he then said to the keeper who held watch at the gates of paradise: “you know that i am a great king, who has received the homage of many nations; if you really refuse to admit me, give me at least some kind of a keepsake, in order that i may surprise the world in showing that i have been as far as this, the place which no mere mortal ever reaches.” “here, silly man,” replied the keeper, “here i give you something which can heal all sorrows. moreover, one glance at it will teach you wisdom, such as you have never thought to be master of ! now, go your way.” alexander took hastily what was given him and then returned to his tent. but how as- tonished was he, when perceiving that his present was nothing but part of a human skull! “this, then, is the nice keepsake,” he said, “which they offer to a king and a hero of the calmut) like me! this, then, is the fruit of all my labor, all the dangers and troubles i have hitherto undergone!” enraged, and disap- pointed in his hopes, he threw away the mis- erable portion of the mortal integument. “great king,” said a wise man, who noticed the act, “do not despise this present, however insignificant it may appear in your eyes; it possesses, nevertheless, extraordinary quali- ties, of which you may soon convince your- self by weighing it with gold or silver.” al- exander said he would like to try, and, order- ing a pair of scales, placed the skull in one and gold in the other. he was immediately surprised to find the one containing the skull going down. more gold was fetched, and the more they put on the scale, the more it went up. “it is extraordinary,” said alexander, “that such a small portion of matter should outweigh so much gold. is there no counter- balance to be had, in order to produce an equilibrium?” “certainly,” said the wise man, “very little will suffice.” whereupon he took a small por- tion of earth and covered the bone with it, which caused the scale in which it lay to rise (ulit amo (uligöom immediately. “this is certainly very singu- lar!” alexander now exclaimed, “ could you not explain to me this remarkable phenome- non?” “great king,” replied the wise man, “this fragment of bone is the part in which the human eye is enclosed, and, although in its extent limited, it is nevertheless unlimited in its desires; the more it has, the more it wants; neither gold nor silver, nor any earthly possession, is able to satiate its wishes. but being once in the grave and covered with earth, there it finds a limit for all its eager desires.” anger anger profiteth nobody. avoid anger and thou wilt not sin. ~ anger showeth the character of a man. ~£ to accept excuse shows a good disposition. of the oſalmut) the beginning of anger is madness, the end penitence. - he who gives way to his wrath makes desolate his house. - when the wise is angry, he is wise no longer. ~ a man may be known by three things: by his conduct in money matters, his behavior at the table and his demeanor when angry. - be not easily moved to anger. ~ to him who curbs his wrath, his sins will be forgiven. ~ he who is slow to anger and easily pacified is truly pious and virtuous. (ulſt amo (oligoom appearances two pieces of coin in one bag make more noise than a hundred. ~ look not at the cask, but at what is in it. a new cask may contain old wine, and an old one may be altogether empty. - where the sages bid us beware for the sake of outward appearances, they mean us to re- gard even our innermost chamber as a market- place. arrogance arrogance is a kingdom without a crown. associates ever associate with the good. ~ from vagrants chit-chat, from rags vermin. of the cºalmillo if thy associates be insane, be thou sensible. ~ we may say to the bee, neither thy honey nor thy sting. ~€a birds of a feather flock together; and so with men—like to like. - associate not with the wicked man, even if thou canst learn from him. ~ a man without a fitting companion is like the left hand without the right. ~£ not without reason goes the crow to the raven, but because it is of its kind. -e if you touch pitch, it will stick to your fin- gers; even so, if you associate with evil com- panions, you will acquire their vices. of the calmud the lie, too, asked admittance into the ark. noah, however, refused. “only pairs may enter here,” he said. the lie went in search of a companion, and at last met vice, whom it invited to go to the ark. “i am willing to keep company with thee, if thou wilt promise to give me all thy earnings,” said vice. the lie agreed, and they were both admitted into the ark. after they left the ark the lie re- gretted her agreement, and wished to dissolve partnership with vice; but it was too late, and thus it is current, that “what lie earneth, vice consumeth.” bribery a judge that takes a bribe, even if he be otherwise perfectly righteous, will not depart from the world before he has become de- mented. business he laid his money on the horns of a deer. o (ulſt amo (ſligöom attend no auctions if thou hast no money. ~ keep partners with him whom the hour fa- vots. ~ if thy business does not prosper in one town try another. - he who looks daily after his field finds a cot . care let not your heart with cares be filled, for care has many a victim killed. - do not worry thyself with the trouble of to-morrow; perhaps thou wilt have no to- morrow, and why shouldst thou trouble thy- self about a world that is not thine? of the calmut) i cleanliness poverty comes from god, but not dirt. conceit ignorance and conceit go hand in hand. consistency beautiful are the admonitions of those whose lives accord with their teachings. - take out the beam from thine eye. ~ first correct thyself, then correct others. character three names are given to a man: one by his parents, another by the world, and the third by his works—the one which is written in the immortal book of his fate. which of these three names is the best? solomon (ulſt amo (uligöom teaches us, when he says: “a good name is better than the sweetest oil.” ~€ as a tree is known by its fruit, so man by his works. ~ there are three crowns: that of the law, the priesthood, and royalty; but the crown of a good name is loftier than all these. ~ the righteous man is a pillar upon which all the world rests. charity charity is the salt of riches. -o charity is the greatest virtue. ~ charity is more than sacrifices. of the uſalmut) good deeds are better than creeds. - he who gives charity in secret is greater than moses. ~ even he who lives upon charity should practise benevolence. - it is better to lend than to give. to give employment is better than either. - the practice of beneficence will assure the maintenance of one's possessions. - our kindly deeds and our generous gifts go to heaven as messengers, and plead for us before our heavenly father. - he who turns away from the works of love and charity, turns away from god. (ulit amo (uligöom the merit of charitable works is in propor- tion to the grace with which they are prac- ticed. - the noblest of all charities is in enabling the poor to earn a livelihood. ~ charity is more valuable than sacrifices, and alone equals the exercise of all religious forms. ~ as a garment is made up of single threads, so every single gift aids in building the great work of charity. ~ it is our duty to relieve the poor and the needy, to visit the sick and bury the dead without distinction of race or creed. - whosoever engages in the study of the of the calmut law, and does not practise benevolence, is to be compared to a man who has no god. - spending alms and practising benevolence exceed in importance all the other laws of the torah. - the house that does not open to the poor will open to the physician. - he gives little who gives with a frown. he gives much who gives little with a smile. ~ the world stands on three things: on law, labor, and benevolence. ~ he who performs a single good action gains for himself an advocate, and he who commits a single sin procures for himself an accuser, (ulſt amo (uligoom iron breaks stone; fire melts iron; water extinguishes fire; the clouds consume water; the storm dispels clouds; man withstands the storm; fear conquers man; wine banishes fear; sleep overcomes wine, and death is the master of sleep; but “charity,” says solo- mon, “saves from death.” - four dispositions are found among those who bestow charity. there is he who is will- ing to give, but does not wish others to give: he has an envious eye towards others. there is he who wishes others to give, but who will not give himself: he has an evil eye towards himself. he who is willing to give and wishes others to give also, is a pious man. he who neither gives himself nor wishes others to give, is a wicked man. - blessed is he who gives from his substance to the poor; twice blessed he who accompa- nies his gift with kind, comforting words. of the calmut) almsgiving is practised by means of money, but charity also by personal services and by words of advice, sympathy, and en- couragement. almsgiving is a duty towards the poor only, but charity towards the rich as well as the poor, nay, even towards the dead (by taking care of their decent burial). ~ charitable people silence the complaints of the poor. god says to these pious ones: “by your liberality you reconcile the poor man with myself; you make peace between us.” ~ he who is continually struggling with pov- erty is often enticed, on account of his suffer- ings, to murmur against an all-wise provi- dence. he frequently thinks: “am i not also god's creature? why does there exist such difference between me and the wealthy? he sleeps quietly in his splendid mansion, and i have to lie in my miserable hut; he sleeps (vlit amb ulisoom in his soft bed, and i am obliged to take my rest on the hard floor.” man possesses three sorts of friends in this world: his children, his wealth, and his good works. in the hour of death he calls his children to his bedside: “oh, save me from the pangs of death,” he cries. and the afflicted children say: “thou knowest, dear father, that nothing can pre- vail against death; neither children, nor rela- tives, nor friends are able to save man from death.” the divine word has gone forth (dan. xii. ): “go, sleep in peace, and pre- pare thyself for the day of judgment.” then the dying man thinks of his wealth and calls it to his assistance: “oh, save me from that terrible sentence of death.” and his wealth answers him: “gold and jewels are power- less in the hour of god’s wrath; the divine word has proclaimed it.” o (ulit amo (oligoom i was travelling to my father-in-law, and i had with me thirty asses laden with provisions and all manner of precious articles. a man by the wayside called to me: ‘oh, rabbi, as- sist me.’ i told him to wait until i had un- loaded my asses. when i had removed the burdens from my beasts, and went to him, i found to my sorrow that he had fallen and expired. i threw myself upon his body and wept bitterly. ‘let these eyes, which had no pity on thee, be blind,” i said; “these hands, that delayed to assist thee, let them be cut off, and also these feet, which did not run to aid thee.’ and yet i was not satisfied until i had prayed that my whole bedy be stricken with sores.” one day the roman governor, t. annius rufus, asked rabbi akiba: “if your god loves the poor among the hebrews, why does he not support them?” “because god desires to give the rich an opportunity of doing good,” was the rabbi's reply. “how do you of the calmub know,” rufus rejoined, “that this virtue of charity pleases god, since no master can be pleased, if a person aids a slave, whom he has seen fit to deprive of food and clothing?” “even so,” said akiba; “but if the king, for some offence, had deprived his son of food and drink, and a person had prevented the prince from dying of hunger, would the king be wroth with that person? certainly not, neither will god be displeased with those who dispense charity to his children, even to the fallen and the sinful.” - it is said of rabbi tarphon that though a wealthy man, he was not charitable according to his means. one time rabbi akiba said to him: “shall i invest some money for real estate in a manner which will be very profit- able?” rabbi tarphon answered in the af- firmative, and brought to rabbi akiba four thousand denars in gold, to be so applied. rabbi akiba immediately distributed the same among the poor. some time after this rabbi tarphon met rabbi akiba and asked him - (ulit amo (uligoom where the real estate which he had bought for him was situated. akiba led him to the col- lege, and showed him a little boy, who recited for them the ii th psalm. when he reached the ninth verse, “he distributeth, he giveth to the needy, his righteousness endureth for- ever,'—“there,” said akiba, “thy property is with david, the king of israel, who said, ‘he distributeth, he giveth to the needy.’” “and wherefore hast thou done this?” asked tarphon. “ knowest thou not,” answered rabbi akiba, “how nakdimon, the son of guryon, was punished because he gave not according to his means?” “well,” returned the other, “why didst thou not tell me this; could i not have distributed my means with- out any aid?” “nay,” said akiba, “it is a greater virtue to cause another to give than to give oneself.” from this we may learn that he who is not charitable according to his means will be punished. commerce credit and mutual trust should be the foun- dation of commercial intercourse. of the calmub - consistency there are some who preach beautifully, but practise not their beautiful doctrine. ~ the learned man should judge himself ac- cording to his own teaching, and not do any- thing that he has forbidden others to do. contentment little is much, if the heart be but turned toward heaven. ~ who is rich? he who is satisfied with his lot. - the camel wanted to have horns, and they took away his ears. ~ one bird tied is better than a hundred fly- ing. (ulit amo (uligöom drink not from one cup with thine eye fast- ened on another. ~ the egg of to-day is better than the hen of to-morrow. ~ a small quantity in the house is better than much at a distance. ~ grasp a little and you may secure it; grasp too much and you will lose everything. - better eat onions all thy life than dine upon geese and chickens once and then long in vain for more ever after. - he that hires one garden will eat birds; he that hires many gardens, the birds will eat him. of the calmut) crave not after the table of kings: for thy table is greater than their table, and thy crown is greater than their crown; and the master who employs thee is faithful to pay the reward of thy labor. contrition one inward contrition in the heart of man is better than many flagellations. cordiality be in the habit of receiving every man with a pleasant countenance. cosmetics cold water, morning and evening, is better than all the cosmetics. covetousness the question is asked, “why is man born with hands clinched, but has his hands wide open in death?” and the answer is: on en- (ulit amo (uligöom tering the world man desires to grasp every- thing, but when leaving it he takes nothing away. even as a fox who saw a fine vineyard, and lusted after its grapes, but being too fat to get through the only opening there was, he fasted three days. he then got in; but, hav- ing fed, he could not get out until he had fasted three days more. “naked man enters the world, and naked does he leave.” cruelty-to animals do not put a greater burden upon thy beast than it can bear. - to have compassion upon animals is one of the laws of moses. ~ he who has no mercy upon animals shall himself suffer pain. of the qaſmuo a man should not buy cattle or poultry without having first bought food for them. death death is the haven of life, and old age the ship which enters the port. ~ do not speak ill of the departed, but re- member that his soul still lives, though the body is dead. - it is our duty to comply with the last wishes of a dying person. debt go to sleep without supper, but rise with- out debt. deceit he who deceives his neighbor would also deceive his god. (ulſt amo (uligöont under no consideration lead men astray. ~ the thief's end is the gallows. - there is no greater evil-doer than he who takes away the earnings of the poor. - a lie has not a leg to stand upon. ~~ dignity - dignity does not consist in a silk dress. discord one loose cord loosens many. discretion thy friend has a friend, and thy friend's friend has a friend; be discreet. of the calmut) dress in the town where one lives the name will do; outside of it the dress must do. ~ the learned man whose garment is soiled is undeserving of honor. economy live within your means; spend more on your clothing and most on your home. envy an envious man frowns when his neighbor rejoices. error error soon loses itself. example precept with example produces example. tjulit amo (oligoom two dry logs and one wet; the dry ones kindle the wet. - let every man watch his own doings that he may be an example to his fellow man through life. experience experience is the mirror of the mind. fame he who seeks fame often loses it. fasting no one is permitted to afflict himself by un- necessary fasting. fault-finders man sees all the faults but his own. ~ do not blame in others your own faults. of the calmuo he who seeks for a faultless brother will have to remain brotherless. ~ he who sees his own faults is too much occupied to see the faults of others. - he who blames others is full of blame him- self; and the fault he sees in others may be seen in himself. fellow man he who raises a hand against a fellow man, even if he injure him not, is called wicked. ~ he who shames a fellow man in public is a murderer. flattery let not your lips speak that which is not in your heart. ~ love those who reprove thee, and hate (iulit amo (uligöom those who flatter thee; for reproof may lead thee to eternal life, flattery to destruction. fools do not live near a pious fool. - an ass tied to the sun—(a fool in a high sta- tion). - ~ the pious fool, the hypocrite, and the flagellating pharisee are destroyers of human society. - be not the friend of one who wears the cloak of a saint to cover the moral deformi- ties of a knave. ~ if thy friends agree in calling thee an ass, go and get a halter around thee. - rather be thou called a fool all thy days than walk one hour before the all-seeing eye in evil ways, (ulit amo (uligöom if thy friend is honey, do not lick him up altogether. ~ thy own deeds make thy friends or thy enemies. ~€ one enemy is one too many, a thousand friends are none too many. ~ do not blame thy friend for shortcomings which thou hast thyself. - there are many friends at the door of the store, but there are none at the door of misery. - the dog follows thee, but his attachment is to the crumb which he expects of thee. ~ new things are the best things; old friends are the best friends. (ulit amo (uligöom we cannot comprehend either the pros- perity or the sufferings of the righteous. ~ from beginning to end god's law teaches kindness. - whatever god does is done for our good. - god’s presence the consciousness of god’s presence is the first principle of religion. good cling steadfastly to that which is good. ~ there are three who are especially beloved by god: he who is forbearing, he who is tem- perate, and he who is courteous. gratitude men should thank god alike for evil and for good. of the calmut) greatness how may a man obtain greatness? by fidelity, truth, and lofty thoughts. guilt he who denies his guilt doubles his guilt. - if any blame be attached to thee, be the first to declare it. ~ he through whose agency another has been falsely punished stands outside of heaven's gates. habit habit strips sin of its enormity. ~ habit becomes natural. home life duties between husbands and wives a man's home means his wife. of the calmut) when the wife of a man's youth dies, the altar of the lord is in mourning. ~ a true wife makes the home a holy place. ~ as soon as a man marries his sins decrease. ~ he who lives without a wife is no perfect iilan. ~ a man should be careful not to afflict his wife, for god counts her tears. - he who marries for money, his children shall be a curse to him. ~ love your wife truly and faithfully, and do not compel her to hard work. (ulit amo (oligoom if thy wife is small, bend down to take her counsel. ~ let a man be careful to honor his wife, for he owes to her alone all the blessings of his house. * ~€ let youth and old age not be joined in mar- riage, lest the purity and peace of domestic life be disturbed. - - a man's wife has scarcely breathed her last when another is waiting to take her place. - all the blessings of a household come through the wife, therefore should her hus- band honor her. ~ first build a house and plant a vineyard of the calmut) (i.e., provide for the means of the household), and then take a wife. ~ if in anger the one hand remove thy wife or thy child, let the other hand again bring them back to thy heart. ~ all ailings, only not the ailing of heart; all evils, but not an evil wife. ~ it is as difficult to effect suitable matri- monial matches as it was to divide the red sea. - to be unmarried is to live without joy, with- out blessing, without kindness, without reli- gion, and without peace. - a handsome dwelling, a pretty wife, and (ulit amo (uligöom beautiful furniture, exert a cheering influence upon a man's spirits. - the husband should always endeavor to provide bread for his house, for quarrel be- gins mostly on account of improvidence. ~ the majority of children resemble their maternal uncles; hence the choice of a wife should be determined by the character of her brothers. - he who loves his wife as his own self, and honors her more than himself, and he who educates his children in the right way, to him applies the divine promise, “thou shalt know that there is peace in thy tent.” ~ from the age of twenty, if a man remain in a state of celibacy, he lives in constant trans- of the uſalmut) gression. up to that age the holy one waits for him to enter the state of matrimony, and woe to his bones if he does not marry then! - he who sees his wife die before him has, as it were, been present at the destruction of the temple, and around him the world grows dark. it is woman alone through whom god’s blessings are vouchsafed to a house. she teaches the children, speeds the husband to the house of worship and instruction, wel- comes him when he returns, keeps the house godly and pure; and god's blessings rest upon all these things. duties between parents and children the daughter is as the mother was. - when the calf kicks, ’tis time to thrash the cow. - what the child says out of doors he has learnt in doors, (ulit amo (uligðom the daughter's doings have been the moth- er's acts. ~ do not confine your children to your own learning, for they were born in another time. ~ where the children honor their parents, there god dwells, there he is honored. ~ parental love should be impartial; one child must not be preferred to the other. - the honor and reverence due to parents are equal to the honor and reverence due to god. ~ it is a father's duty not only to provide for his minor children, but also to take care of their instruction, and to teach his son a trade (ulit amo (oligoom only when the father tempts the son to commit sin is disobedience justifiable. ~ he who honors his father and mother en- joys the fruit in this life, and stores up a treas- ure for the future. ~ while the son honors his parents, god holds it as if he were dwelling near the child, and were himself receiving honor. ~ even if it happens that the son is a teacher, yet if the father is present, the son must rise before him in the presence of all his pupils. - when a son is called to do a service for his parents, he must first see that his person is tidy and clean; for a child must attend to his parents as though they were his king and queen, of the calmut) a child must not stand or sit in the place which his father is in the habit of occupying. he must not contradict his father, and when he names him he must use a term of respect, such as “my honored father.” ~ a child must love and honor his parents while they are living, and must love and re- spect them after they are dead; and as they loved and honored god, he must love and honor god, and thus make his parents live again in his own good deeds. - if in after life the son prospers and is richer than his father, he must see that his prosperity is shared by his parents. he must not live in greater luxury than they; he must not allow them to suffer poverty while he enjoys wealth. but the son must not make himself obnoxious by too many attentions. (ulit amo (uligöom honesty do not buy stolen goods. - an israelite is prohibited from deceiving even an idolater. ~ the most worthy crown is a good reputa- tion. ~ when the thief has no opportunity to steal he considers himself an honest man. - it is not the amount of trade that makes the man poor or rich, but honest working and dealing. ~ he who unjustly hands over one man's goods to another, he shall pay god for it with his own soul. o (ulit amo uligoom resolved upon selling it at the price you of fered me yesterday. if you then pay me five pieces of gold, i shall be satisfied.” ~ “what induces theft?” asked a schoolmas- ter of his scholars. one answered “hunger; ” another “extravagance; ” another “envy.” but one, wiser than the rest, replied “receiv- ers.” “well answered,” said the schoolmaster. for king solomon says, “whosoever is part- ner with a thief hateth his own soul,” which means, he who derives gain from a thief by helping him to realize the profit of the theft is thoroughly dishonest himself, and of the two is the more culpable. this proverb is illustrated in the midrash as follows: a pow- erful and wise prince once made a law that the receiver of stolen property should be hanged, and the thief go free. this caused great discontent among certain people who lived in luxury and entertained lavishly, and likewise among others who had sufficient sense to understand the true intent of the law. the prince, anxious to teach the people (ulit amo (uligoom honor (neighbor's) guard with jealous care thy neighbor's honor. ~ hold your neighbor's honor as sacred as your own. ~ be as eager to secure thy fellow's honor as thine own, and yield not easily to anger. - the right way for man to choose is to do that which is honorable in his own eyes (i.e., approved by his conscience) and at the same time honorable in the eyes of his fellow men. hospitality hospitality is as important as divine wor- ship. of the calmud let thy house be open wide as a refuge, and let the poor be cordially received within thy walls. humility rather be thou the tail among lions than the head among foxes. - he who humiliates himself will be lifted up; he who raises himself up will be humiliated. ~ whosoever runs after greatness, greatness runs away from him; he who runs from great- ness, greatness follows him. idleness when the woman slumbers, the work- basket falls to the ground. (ulit amo (uligoom idolatry “if your god hates idolatry, why does he not destroy it?” rufus, the roman, asked rabbi akiba. “would you have him destroy this beautiful world for the sake of the foolish people who worship the sun, the moon, or the stars, that are but the servants of god?” akiba replied. imagination, evil the “spirit of evil” entices a man in this world, and testifies against him in the next. - the “evil imagination ” takes advantage only of visible objects. ~ an evil eye, an “evil imagination,” and misanthropy banish a man from the world. immortality a special mansion will be given in heaven to every pious man. of the calmub this world is like a road-side inn, but the world to come is like the real home. ~ the longest life is insufficient for the ful- filment of half of man’s desires. - better one hour's happiness in the next world than a whole lifetime of pleasure in this. ~ one man may earn immortality by the work of a few short years, while others earn it by the work of a long life. - he who lays up no store of good deeds dur- ing the working days of life can never enjoy the eternal sabbath. - this world is an antechamber to the next. uulit amo (oligoom prepare thyself in the antechamber that thou mayest worthily enter the throne-room. - the just of all nations have a portion in the future reward. - for the righteous there is no rest, neither in this world nor in the next, for they go, say the scriptures, “from strength unto strength, from task to task, until they shall see god in zion.” - the grave is like a melotian (silken) rai- ment for the pious man, who comes fully pro- vided with provisions; the pious man can look upon the future life without fear, because he comes to the other world well prepared. - “man is born to die, but the dead shall live again.” “better is the day of death than the of the uſalmut) day of birth.” these sayings are illustrated as follows: two vessels sail on the ocean at one and the same time; the one is leaving, the other entering the harbor. for the one which arrived a number of friends had prepared a great feast, and with clapping of hands and great vociferations of joy, they celebrated her arrival, while the one which was leaving re- ceived sighs and tears. an intelligent man, who was a spectator of what passed, said: “here quite the reverse appears to take place, as otherwise ought to happen. they rejoice over the one which cometh and feel saddened over the departure of the other. what a fallacy. rejoice over the one which has accomplished its voyage and is return- ing from many dangers to safety, and be- wail rather the vessel which is coming in, for she will have to brave again the storms of an inconstant sea.” the same when man is born, great rejoicing takes place, while at his death much grief is expressed. one ought to weep at his birth, because no one is certain whether he will be able to overcome the dangers and temptations of life; whilst at his death one ought to feel pleased if he only leaves a good name behind (ulſt amb (uligö m him. at his birth man is entered into the book of death; when he dies he is entered into the book of life. ingratitude despise not small favors. ~ into the well from which thou drinkest do not cast a stone. ~ he who eats and drinks, but blesses not the lord, is even as he who stealeth. - once a man journeyed from palestine to babylon. while at his meal, he noticed a fierce strife between two birds, which ended in the apparent death of the one. when the other, however, noticed that its companion was dead, it hastened to search for a special kind of herb, which it brought and laid on the of the calmub beak of the corpse, and soon thereafter the dead bird revived. the traveller saw this with astonishment and procured a sample of the herb. on journeying further, he met with a dead lion, and concluded to make the experi- ment upon him. he succeeded in reviving the lion, but no sooner had the latter regained his strength than he tore his benefactor to pieces. ~ when he was a puppy i fed him, and when he became a dog he bit me. intention do as much or little as thou canst, only let thy intention be always good. israel every nation has its special guardian angel, its horoscopes, its ruling planets and stars. but there is no planet for israel. israel shall look but to god. there is no mediator be- o (ulſt ant) (clígoom tween those who are called his children and their father which is in heaven. ~ a king married a woman and made her magnificent promises. soon after he was obliged to leave her and undertake a pro- tracted journey. he stayed away a long time, and the neglected wife was repeatedly of— fended by her neighbors, who said: “the king has left thee; he will never return.” the poor woman wept and lamented, but always regained comfort in the expectation of the fulfilment of her husband's magnificent prom- ises. after a long time the king at last re- turned, and exclaimed: “my beloved wife, i am really astonished at thy faithful perse- verance during so many years.” “my lord and king,” she rejoined, “if thy promises had not sustained me, i had long ago succumbed to the advice of my neighbors.” this woman, such is the beautiful application, represents israel, who, in spite of all temptations and en- ticements made by any other nations, faith- fully bears the long separation from god, (ulit amo (uligöom a certain man who was once hired to work for a stipulated daily wage, and who worked for three years without having drawn his earn- ings, at length desired to go home and de- manded his accumulations from his employer. “i have no money just now,” said the em- ployer. “give me then some of your prod- uce,” demanded the employee. “i regret very much,” said the master, “that i cannot com- ply with thy request.” he asked him for cat- tle, for wine or vineyard, but the master de- clared he was unable to give him anything. with a heavy sigh the poor laborer took his tools and without a murmur departed. scarcely had he gone when the employer or- dered three asses laden with eatables, drink- ables and wearing apparel, and personally rode to the residence of the laborer, who at once prepared a meal for his master, and they ate and drank together. after a while the employer drew forth a bag of money and handing it to the astonished employee, told him that the provisions-laden asses were his also. thereupon the following dialogue en- sued: of the calmut) justice whatever is hateful to thee, do not to thy neighbor. - thy neighbor's property must be as sacred to thee as thine own. - from the very spoon that the carver carved, he has to swallow hot mustard. ~ wrong neither thy brother in faith nor him who differs from thee in faith. ~ the shepherd is lame and the goats are nimble, but at the entrance of the fold they will have to meet him and at the door of the stable they will be counted. labor love labor and hate to be a professional minister. of the calmut) beautiful is the intellectual occupation, if combined with some practical work. ~ it is well to add a trade to your studies; you will then be free from sin. ~ work is more pleasant in the sight of the lord than the merits of your fathers. - he who lives by the work of his hands is greater than he who indulges in idle piety. ~£ he who derives his livelihood from the labor of his hands is as great as he who fears god. - happy the child who sees its parents en- gage in an honest trade; woe to the child who (ulit amo (uligöom must blush on account of their dishonest trade. - get your living by skinning carcasses in the street, if you cannot otherwise, and do not say, “i am a priest, i am a great man; this work would not befit my dignity.” the law the beginning and end of the law is kind- ness. - the study of the law, when not sustained by secular work, must come to an end, and involve one in sin. - he who studies the law in his youth gets its words absorbed in his blood, and they come readily from his mouth. ~ he who studies the law in his youth is like (ulit amo (olí m never take the clothes of wife or children in payment of a debt. ~ if you have taken of a man his plough or his pillow for debt, return his plough in the morn- ing and his pillow at night. - the possessions of a widow, whether she be rich or poor, should not be taken in pawn. long life. “wherewith prolongest thou life?” rab- bi nechuma's disciples asked him once. and the master answered: “i never sought my honor at the expense of my associate's degra- dation, and the thought of a wrong done to me in daytime never went with me to bed at night.” love love is blind. ~ love takes no advice. (ulit amo (ulí m man man, a tioral being the righteous control their desires, but the desires of the wicked control them. - man’s free will everything is foreordained by heaven, ex- cept the fear of heaven (i.e., the fear of god's anger when one is about to sin). - everything is ordained by god's provi- dence, but freedom of choice is given to man. ~ whether a man be strong or weak, rich or poor, wise or foolish, depends mostly on cir- cumstances that surround him from the time of his birth, but whether a man be good or bad, righteous or wicked, depends on his own free will. god’s will, as the guide of man's duties regulate thy will in accordance with god's will, and submit thy will to his will. of the calmut) be bold as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a roe, and strong as a lion, to do the will of thy father who is in heaven. man’s accountability to god every word, whether good or bad, acci- dental or intentional, is recorded in a book. - consider three things, and thou wilt never fall into sin: remember that there is above thee an all-seeing eye, an all-hearing ear, and a record of all thy actions. ~ consider three things and thou wilt never sin: remember whence thou comest, whither thou goest, and before whom thou wilt have to render an account for thy doings. - what meaneth “thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy soul” it meaneth that of the calmut) for he takes no pleasure in a sinful man. he hates every wickedness and abomination. he has created man from the beginning in purity and has left him to his free will to follow the path of righteousness or that of evil. behold, fire and water have been put before thee, and thou mayest stretch out thy hand and choose, even as life and death are given thee to select; hail to him if he taketh life, but woe to him if he chooseth death. - a king once engaged two watchmen to take care of his orchard. one was blind and the other lame. still they answered the pur- pose very well; for their presence was quite sufficient to keep depredators at a distance. one evening the lame watchman was sitting in the orchard, when his eyes fell upon a bunch of luscious grapes, the first and only ripe ones in the whole place. “are you very thirsty?” said he to his blind companion, who was walking up and down, feeling his way with a stick. “would you like a bunch of fine juicy grapes?” “yes,” was the blind man's reply. “but you know we cannot pick (ulit amo (uligðom them. i am blind and cannot see. you are lame and cannot walk.” “true,” said the lame man. “still we can get at them; take me on your back; i can guide you, and you can carry me to the grapes.” and so they stole the precious fruit and ate it. now, the next day the king went into the orchard to gather this very cluster of grapes; for he had already observed it as being just fit for the table. it had vanished, and he at once taxed the watchman with the theft. “how can my lord, the king, accuse me of such a thing?” exclaimed the lame man. “here i must sit all the days of my life, with- out moving a single inch; for am i not lame?” “and how can my lord, the king, accuse me of such a thing, when i am blind?” asked the other. “how can the heart long after, or the hands reach, that which the eyes cannot be- hold?” the king answered not a word. but he ordered his servants to place the lame man on the back of the blind man, and he condemned them to punishment just as if they had been one man. so it is with the soul and body of of the calmut) man. the soul cannot sin without the body, nor the body without the soul; the sin of both is the sin of each, and it will not avail in the great day of judgment to shirk the responsibil- ity; but even as the lame and the blind watch- men, body and soul will be judged as one. man's duty six hundred injunctions, says the talmud, was moses instructed to give the people. david reduced them all to eleven in the fif- teenth psalm: lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle, who shall dwell on thy holy hill? he that walketh uprightly, and worketh right- eousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. he that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbor, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbor. in whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoreth them that fear the lord. he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not. he that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. he that doeth these things shall never be moved. of the calmut) mercy to deserve mercy, practise mercy. ~ the mercy we to others show, heaven will show to us. ~ he who judges without mercy will himself be judged. ~ he who has compassion on his fellow man is accounted of the true seed of abraham. - underneath the wings of the seraphim are stretched the arms of divine mercy, ever ready to receive sinners. the tiiser a miser is as wicked as an idolater. of the calmut) ioi eat and drink to live; live not to eat and drink, for thus do the beasts. ~ the sensible man drinks only when he is thirsty. modesty a good man is modest. ~ they who are modest will not easily sin. - who are the pious? the modest. who are the modest? those who are bashful, knowing that god sees them. money money makes even bastards legitimate. io culit amo (ulisbont he is rich who enjoys what he possesseth. ~ he who lends money on usury consumes his own as well as the stranger's. ~ wealth may be like waters gathered in a house, which, finding no outlet, drown the owner. ~ the fortune of this world is like a wheel with two buckets, the full becomes empty and the empty full. - he who loves money cannot be righteous, and he who hastens after possessions is led away from the right path. happy the rich whose hands are clean and who do not cling to possessions. if there be such a man, we of the calmut) will praise him as happy, for he has done much for his people. if thus tested and found un- blemished, we will exalt him. if, having had the opportunity to deceive, he did it not, hav- ing had the means to act unjustly, he acted fairly. oaths which is a vain oath? if one affirms im- possibilities; as, for instance, that a camel was flying in the air. obscenity let a man never allow an obscene word to pass out of his mouth. obedience hasten to the performance of the slightest commandment, and flee from sin; for the performance of one virtuous act leads to an- other, and the commission of one sin leads to another; so is the reward of one virtuous act io (ulit amo (uligöom the performance of another, and the retribu- tion of one sin the commission of another. ~ it happened that a judge of a city sent his servant to the market to purchase fish. when he reached the place of sale he found that all the fish but one had been sold, and this one a jewish tailor was about purchasing. said the judge's servant: “i will give one gold piece for it; ” said the tailor: “i will give two.” whereupon the other expressed his willingness to pay three gold pieces for it, but the tailor claimed the fish, and said he would not lose it though he were obliged to pay ten gold pieces for it. the judge's servant then returned home, and in anger re- lated the circumstance to his master. the judge sent for the tailor, and when the lat- ter appeared before him he asked: “what is thy occupation?” “a tailor, sir,” replied the man. “then how canst thou afford to pay so great a price for a fish, and how dare you degrade my dignity by offering for it a greater sum than that offered by my servant?” of the calmut) “i fast to-morrow,” replied the tailor, “ and i wished the fish to eat to-day, that i might have strength to do so. i would not have lost it even for ten pieces of gold.” “what is to-morrow more than any other day?” asked the judge. “why art thou more than any other man?” returned the other. “because the king has appointed me to this office.” “well,” replied the tailor, “the king of kings has appointed this day (the day of atonement) to be holier than all other days; on this day we hope that god will pardon our transgressions.” “ if this be the case thou wert right,” an- swered the judge, and the israelite departed in peace. thus if a person's intention is to obey god, nothing can hinder its accomplishment. on this day god commanded his children to fast, but they must strengthen their bodies to obey him by eating on the day before. it is a per- son's duty to sanctify himself, bodily and spir- itually, for the approach of this great day. he should be ready to enter any moment into the of the calmub were it not for the existence of passions, no one would build a house, marry a wife, beget children, or do any work. - the wicked is in the power of his passion; the righteous keeps passion in his power. ~ what should man do in order to live? deaden his passions. what should man do in order to die? give himself entirely to life. - first, our passions are like travellers, mak- ing a brief stay, then like guests visiting us day by day, until at last they become our masters, holding us beneath their sway. patriotism do not isolate thyself from the community and its interests. of the calmub io peacefulness the bible was given to establish peace. - be the first to hold out the hand of peace. - where there is no peace, nothing flourishes. ~ be a disciple of aaron, loving peace, and pursuing peace. ~ what is sweeter than sweetness? peace after enmity. ~ sow peace at home, scatter its fruits abroad. i io tulit amo (uligoom peace is the wisp of straw which binds the sheaf of blessings. ~ he who maketh peace among strivers will inherit eternal life. - discord is like a leak in a cistern. drop by drop all the water escapes. - when two men quarrel, he who is first si- lent is the better man. ~ great is peace, for it is to the world what yeast is to the dough. ~ man, be ever soft and pliable like a reed, and not hard and unbending like a cedar. ~ when do justice and good will meet? ii tulit amo (uligðom perdition envy, lust, ambition, bring a man to perdi- tion. perjury the sin of perjury is great. - god may delay all other punishments, but the sin of perjury is avenged straightway. ~ do not accustom yourself to use oaths, or you will be led into perjury. persecution be of them that are persecuted, not of them that persecute. ~ whosoever does not persecute them that persecute him, whosoever takes an offence in of the calmut) ii silence, he who does good because of love, he who is cheerful under his sufferings—they are the friends of god, and of them the scrip- ture says: “they shall shine forth as does the sun at noonday.” ~ there is not a single bird more persecuted than the dove; yet god has chosen her to be offered up on the altar. the bull is hunted by the lion, the sheep by the wolf, the goat by the tiger. and god said: “bring me a sacrifice, not from them that persecute, but from them that are persecuted.” perseverance if thou hast commenced a good action, leave it not incomplete. physicians wait not to honor the physician till thou fallest sick. ii (clit amo (uligöom medicine is a science whose practise is au- thorized by god himself. ~ we ought not to live in a town where no physician resides. ~ the strict observance of sabbath and the day of atonement is set aside, when the phy- sician declares such desecration necessary, even against the will of the patient. - god causes the remedial herbs to grow up from the ground; they become a healing cause in the hands of the physicians, and from them the druggist prepares the remedies. popular prejudice the serpent’s tail had a long time followed the directions of the head with the best re- sults. one day the tail began, “thou appear- est always foremost, but i must remain in the of the calmud ii background. why should i not also some- times lead?” “well,” replied the head, “ thou shalt have thy will for once.” the tail, rejoiced, accordingly took the lead. its first exploit was to drag the body into a miry ditch. hardly escaped from that unpleasant situation, it crept into a fiery furnace; and when relieved from there, it got entangled among briers and thorns. what caused all these misfortunes? because the head sub- mitted to be guided by the tail. when the lower classes are guided by the higher, all goes well, but if the higher orders suffer themselves to be swayed by popular preju- dices, they all suffer together. position no position can dignify the man. it is the man who dignifies the position. powerty the eternal is the advocate of the poor. i i (ulſt amo (uligöom healthy poverty is opulence, compared with ailing wealth. ~ be mindful of the children of the poor, for learning comes from them. prayer cleanse your heart before praying. - always pray with humility and with a clear conscience. ~ prayer without devotion is like a body with- out life. ~ better little prayer with devotion than much without devotion. of the uſalmut) blessed are the women who send their chil- dren to the house of prayer. - even when the gates of heaven are shut to prayer, they are open to those of tears. - the value of the words uttered with the lips is determined by the devotion of the heart. ~ to pray loudly is not a necessity of devo- tion; when we pray we must direct our hearts towards heaven. ~ look not on thy prayers as on a task; let the supplication be sincere. - prayer is israel’s only weapon, a weapon inherited from its fathers, a weapon tried in a thousand battles. ii (ulit amo (oligoom a pious man was engaged in prayer while travelling on the highroad. one of the nobles of the land, who knew him, was pass- ing by and saluted him, but the pious man did not mind the salutation and continued his prayer. the nobleman became vexed, and with great effort he waited until the man had finished his prayers; whereupon he, in an ex- cited manner, said to him: “thou art a stu- pid fellow, for thou hast sinned against thine own law, which commands man to take care of his own life. but thou hast just risked thy life unnecessarily. why didst thou not re- spond to my salutation? if i had split thy head open with my sword, who could have called me to account?” “sir, i pray, suppress your wrath; i hope to quiet thee, if thou wilt allow me only a few words in reply. think, for instance, that while standing in conversation with thy king, a friend, passing by, saluted thee. shouldst thou like to be interrupted in thy conversa- tion with the king in order to answer that salutation?” “woe unto me if i were to do so.” “now, i pray, dear sir, consider only the i o (ulit amo (uligöom pride pride is like idolatry. ~ a penny in an empty box rattles loudly. ~ the prayers of the proud are never heard. - pride leads to the destruction of man. ~ pride is a sign of the worst poverty—ig- orance. - even to his own household the overbear- ing is distasteful. ~ the proud man is troubled at the slightest wind. - i (iulit amo (uligöom wicked men promise much and perform nothing. public opinion despise not public opinion. - the voice of the people is as the voice of god. ~ not what you say about yourself, but what others say. - he who fears the opinion of the world more than his own conscience has but little self- respect. ~£ whosoever is loved by mankind is also loved by the supreme, but whosoever is not loved by mankind is not loved by the su- preme. - of the calmut) i injuries which they encountered in so doing were not healed during the remainder of the voyage. but, alas for the fifth party. they ate and drank so deeply that they did not even hear the bell, and when the ship started they were left behind. then the wild beasts hid in the thickets made them a prey, and they who escaped this evil perished from the poison of surfeit. the “ship ’’ is our good deeds, which bear us to our destination, heaven. the “island ” typifies the pleasures of the world, which the first set of passengers refused to taste or look upon, but which when enjoyed temperately as by the second party, make our lives pleasant, without causing us to neglect our duties. these pleasures must not be allowed, how- ever, to gain too strong a hold upon our senses. true, we may return, as the third party, while there is yet time and with but lit- tle bad effect, or even as the fourth party at the eleventh hour, be saved, but with many bruises and injuries which cannot be entirely healed; but we are in danger of becoming as the last party, spending a lifetime in the pursuit of vanity, forgetting the future, and perishing (ulit amo (uligöom even of the poison concealed in the sweets which attract us. reproof he who cannot bear one word of reproof will have to hear many. resignation blessed is he who meekly bears his trials, of which everyone has his share. - when misfortune befalls you examine your conduct and knowledge that god's chas- tisement is just. - during rabbi meir's absence from home two of his sons died. their mother, hid- ing her grief, awaited the father's return, and then said to him: “my husband, some time since two jewels of inestimable value of the calmub i were placed with me for safe keeping. he who left them with me called for them to-day, and i delivered them into his hands.” “that is right,” said the rabbi, approvingly. “we must always return cheerfully and faithfully all that is left in our care.” shortly after this the rabbi asked for his sons, and the mother, taking him by the hand, led him gently to the chamber of death. meir gazed upon his sons, and realizing the truth, wept bitterly. “weep not, beloved husband,” said his noble wife; “didst thou not say to me we must return cheerfully, when 'tis called for, all that has been placed in our care? god gave us these jewels, he left them with us for a time, and we gloried in their possession; but now that he calls for his own, we should not repine.” - rabbi judah said: “if a person weeps and mourns excessively for a lost relative, his grief becomes a murmur against the will of god, and he may soon be obliged to weep for another death. we should justify the decree of god, and exclaim with job, ‘the lord i tÜlit amo (uligöont gave and the lord hath taken; blessed be the name of the lord.’” revenge misery and remorse are the children of re- venge. ~ he who gratifies revenge destroys his own house. ~ rabbi meir was vociferous against evil doers and often prayed god, saying, “de- stroy the sinners.” beruriah, his pious wife, gently admonished him, saying, “rather pray that god destroy sin and the sinners will be no more.” rewards in proportion to thy efforts will be thy rec- ompense. (clit amb (uligbont the righteous promise little and do much. ,- the righteous are heard when they perse- vere in prayer. ~ the righteous need no monuments. their deeds are their monuments. - alexander one day wandered to the gates of paradise and knocked. the guardian angel asked: “who is there?” “i, alexander.” “who is alexander?” “alexander, the con- queror of the world.” “we know him not. he cannot enter here. this is the lord’s gate; only the righteous enter here.” ~ the death of the righteous is a calamity equal in magnitude to the burning of the temple. - (ulit amo (uligoom sabbath the sabbath is given to man, not man to the sabbath. secrets do not reveal thy secret to the apes. ~ thy secret is thy slave. if thou let it loose, thou becomest its slave. -ca * though thousands do thy friendship seek, to one alone thy secret speak. ,- keep shut the doors of thy mouth even from the wife of thy bosom. - that which man conceals in his innermost chamber is plain and manifest to god. (ulſt amo (uligoom a man should be opposed to taking alms as well as to being a burden on the com- munity. -ca it is better to be a menial than to live upon the charity of others. - - all i weighed on scales, but found nothing lighter than bran; lighter than bran, how- ever, is a son-in-law living in his father-in- law's house: lighter still, a guest introduced by another guest. • whoever has no possessions may be com- pared to an infant that has lost its mother. it may be nourished by many women, but it does not thrive, because a mother's love no one is able to supply. the man who is sup- ported by others, were it even by his own father or mother, or his children, never feels of the calmub that contentment which his own exertions would give him. sick it is a bounden duty to visit the sick. ~ if your neighbor is sick, pray for him. silence silence is consent. ~ if silence is becoming to a wise man, how much more so to a fool? , do not deem they speech secure, for the wall has ears. (ulit amo (oligoom if a word spoken in time is worth one piece of money, silence in its time is certainly worth two. sin sin begets sin. - curse the sin, not the sinner. ~ commit a sin twice, and you will think it perfectly allowable. ~ the wiser the man, the more careful should he be of his conduct. •g) to resist sin is as meritorious as to be actively engaged in a good work. of the calmut) i i a man commits sin in secret; but the holy one proclaims it openly. sincerity be always sincere in your yea and your nay. slander to slander is to murder. ~ teach thy tongue to say, “i do not know.” - better no ear at all than one that listeneth to evil. - guard thy mouth from uttering an un- seemly word. ~ rather be thrown into a fiery furnace than bring anyone to public shame, i (clit amo (olí m cured the success!” at last the tongue par- ticipated in the dispute: “what would all your actions amount to without me?” the other members merely laughed derisively at the claims of the tongue, which, angry at such treatment, said, “you shall find it out to your sorrow.” when the man arrived at the court and offered the milk, the tongue called out, “that is milk from a kalba (bitch).” the king became very wroth and ordered the man to be hung. now all the members trem- bled, while the tongue laughed. “did i not tell you that you are given into my power? but i will save you again. bring me back before the king!” the tongue cried, and when again in the presence of the king it said, “you misunderstood the meaning of my words. i brought milk of a lebia (lioness), only in my haste i used the arabic term for lioness, kalba.” the milk being examined and found to be as the man said, he was richly rewarded. the tongue then proudly ex- claimed, “life and death are given into my power!” of the oſalmillo i slaves slaves should never be addressed as such, for the name itself is contemptible. soldiers the soldiers fight and the kings are called heroes. the soul the soul of one good man is worth as much as all the earth. ~ hillel, the gentle, the beloved sage, expounded day by day the sacred page to his disciples in the house of learning; and day by day, when home at eve returning, they lingered, clust’ring round him, loath to part from him whose gentle rule won every heart. but evermore, when they were wont to plead for longer converse, forth he went with speed, saying each day: “i go—the hour is late— to tend the guest who doth my coming wait,” i tulit amo (uligðom until at last they said: “the rabbi jests when telling us thus of his daily guests that wait for him.” the rabbi paused awhile, then made answer: “think you i beguile you with an idle tale? not so forsooth ! i have a guest, whom i must tend in truth. is not the soul of man indeed a guest, who in this body deigns awhile to rest, and dwells with me all peacefully to-day; to-morrow—may it not have fled away?” - “let thy garments be always white.”— eccl. ix. . a king once distributed state robes among his servants. the wiser among them took great care of these gifts; not a single spot sullied their purity, not a single stain dimmed their brilliancy. but the foolish servants did all their work arrayed in these robes, for- getting the grandeur of the gift, and the dig- nity of the donor. suddenly the king ordered the robes to be returned unto him, the wise servants came of the calmu') i and restored the dresses spotless and unde- filed, but the foolish ones brought theirs be- daubed and spoilt. the king was rejoiced at the thoughtful conduct of the wise servants, but was incensed at the carelessness of the others. “throw them into prison,” he exclaimed; “let them there cleanse their garments. but the good and discreet shall remain about me, and glory in their splendor, for they are wor- thy thereof.” such is the way of god: he giveth to all alike a precious gift, a pure and spotless soul. the pious who make good use of this divine gift are permitted to enjoy eternal bliss, but the wicked are debarred from this happiness, till their souls are purified from the taints of s . speech speech is the messenger of the heart. swearing swear not, even to the truth, unless the court compels you to do so, i (ulit amo (ulfgoom the world trembled with dread when god exclaimed: “take not my name in vain.” sympathy man's thoughts and ways shall always be in contact and sympathy with his fellow men. ~ × to what is a man likened, who consoles with his neighbor twelve months after his bereave- ment by death? he is like a surgeon, asking a man who had once broken his leg to let him break it again and heal it, that he may show him what excellent mendicaments he has. temper one who restrains his temper, all his sins meet forgiveness. temperament there are four kinds of temperament: to be easily provoked, and to be easily pacified, of the calmut) i i their late pleasant home, on the plain, moreb, and their friendly neighbors. being tired of their solitude, she begged her husband to in- vite any wayfarers to their tent to partake of their hospitality. one day abraham noticed an old man riding as one in haste, and, inquir- ing of him the cause, discovered the man to be in search of a scattered herd of cattle, so he invited him to his tent to refresh himself, promising that some of his young men would assist in the search. the old man assented. abraham had a bath prepared and a goodly feast, prior to the eating of which abraham invoked a blessing from god, in which the old man refused to join. on being asked the rea- son for his impiety he acknowledged being a fire worshipper. abraham, full of indignation at his refusal to join in prayer, drove the travel-worn old man out of his tent. as he departed sorrowfully an angel of the lord ap- peared to abraham and asked him what he did, saying: “see you not that the lord has had patience with this ignorant man these seventy years—can you not dwell with him for an hour?” so abraham recalled the old man, urged i tÜlit amo (uligöom him to partake, made ready his young men, who soon returned with the missing cattle, and who assisted the traveller to drive them home; on which the old man, in leaving, blessed abraham and sarah, and said their kindly actions made a believer of him, and that a living fire was burning in his heart to be of service to his fellow man. trial the future gains from present pains. ~ blessed be he who bears his trials. every- one has his share. ~ he who cheerfully submits to sufferings brings salvation to the world. truth truth is the seal of god. of the calmut) i promise little and do much. - truth is its own witness. ~ truth tells its own tale. ~ the liar is worse than the thief, ~ always acknowledge the truth. ~ truth will stand, but falsehood must fall. ~ truth is the seal to god’s works. i (ulit amo (uligöom truth is heavy, therefore few carry it. - truth lasts forever, but falsehood must vanish. ~ deception in words is a greater sin than deception in money matters. ~ to be faithless to a given promise is as sin- ful as idolatry. ~£ this is the punishment of the liar, that when he tells the truth nobody believes him. ~ it is sinful to deceive any man, be he even a heathen. ~ to break a verbal engagement, though legally not binding, is a moral wrong. qulit amo (uligöom the possessions of him who lends usuri- ously shall sooner or later decrease and van- ish. ~ the testimony of a usurer is not valid be- fore the court of justice. - the usurer will have no share in an ever- lasting life. ~ the usurer will not prosper. wow he who makes a solemn vow without ful- filling it, his book will be searched. wine drink not, and you will not sin. of the calmut) when the wine enters, the secret goes out. ~ when satan cannot come himself, he sends wine as a messenger. wisdom a scholar is greater than a prophet. ~ study is more meritorious than sacrifice. ~ z let thy house be a resort of the wise. ~ who is a wise man? he who learns of all inerl. ~ who is a wise man? he who looks into the future. (ulit amo (uligöom the disciples of the wise are engaged all their days in building up the world. - the end of wisdom is repentance and good works. ~ ~ wisdom is a tree and active virtue is its fruit. - the world depends on its school-children. - for the blind in mind there is no physician. ~ * a town which has no school should be abolished. ~ learn a little here and a lttle there, and you will increase in knowledge, o (ulſt amo (uligöom the chief thing is not learning, but the deed. ~ - beware of an over-pious ignoramus and of one badly trained. - if a man does not go after wisdom, wisdom will not come to him. ~ learn first and philosophize afterwards. ~ whosoever tries to make gain by the crown of learning perishes. - the more knowledge, the more spiritual life. of the oſalmut) i wisdom increases with years; and so does folly. -h ~ knowledge without religion blesses not its possessor. - the teachers are the guardians of a state. - &c. “repeat,” “repeat,” that is the best medi- cine for memory. ~ he who instructs a child is as if he had cre- ated it. - the rivalry of scholars advances learning. - god looks to the heart of man and then to the mind. (ulit amb Úligbont into the world, the former indicates the way into the next. but blessed is the son who has learned from his father; he shall revere him both as his father and his master; and blessed is the father who has instructed his son. ~ if any one telleth thee he has searched for knowledge and not attained it, believe him not; if he telleth thee he has attained knowl- edge without searching for it, believe him not; but if he telleth thee that he has searched for knowledge and attained it, thou mayest be- lieve him. - four dispositions are found among those who sit for instruction before the wise, and they may be respectively compared to a sponge, a funnel, a strainer, and a sieve; the sponge imbibes all; the funnel receives at one end and discharges at the other; the strainer suffers the wine to pass through, but retains the lees; and the sieve removes the bran, but retains the fine flour. (ulit amo (uligöom thief. he surprised adam in his sleep and robbed him of one of his ribs.” the rabbi’s daughter, who is present, craves permission to reply to the emperor. this is granted. “but first let me implore thy imperial pro- tection, puissant sire,” she exclaims. “a grave outrage has been perpetrated upon our house. under the cover of night an auda- cious thief broke into our house and took a silver flagon from our chest of plate and left a golden one in its stead.” “what a welcome thief,” cried hadrian. “would that such rob- bers might visit my palace every day.” “and was not the creator such a thief as this?" archly rejoins the blushing damsel—“who deprived adam of a rib and in lieu thereof gave him a loving, lovely bride?” youth happy is he who fears god when in the prime of life. -ca some are old in their youth, others young in their old age. aaa er & ta ylor co.’s publica tyoms. the real david harum. by arthur t. vance. mo, cloth, illustrated, cents. an indentification, with humorous anecdotes, sayings, and characteristic horse stories, together with many pic- tures of persons and places. “the indentification is rendered certain. mr. vance's book is curious and interesting and cannot fail to attract every one who has read ‘david harum.” one of the most interesting of the curiosities of literature.”—brooklyn life. “all those who enjoyed reading edward noyes west- cott's ‘david harum' will certainly be pleased to learn that the shrewd and entertaining character after whom the book is named was quite faithfully drawn from life. as the author proves conclusively, the real david harum of home ville was one david hannum of homer, n. y.” —buffalo inquirer. “mr. westcott seems undoubtedly to have taken for his model the person designated by mr. vance, with whom the novelist's father was connected by marriage. he has es- tablished the fact that the village of homer, cortland county, n. y., is the home ville ; that preble is peeble; that buxton hill is truxton ; that the eagle hotel is in reality called by a different name, etc.”—new york tribune. “arthur t. vance has discovered the original of edward noyes westcott's immortal hero. dave hannum of homer, n. y., is westcott's david harum of homeville. mr. vance has succeeded in making a delightful little book which will be appreciated by the thousands of admirers of ‘david harum’.”—evansville courier. “we like to read about him (mr. hannum) and his droll sayings quite as well as we did about dave. the volume is a most entertaining little one, with its horse talk and its good sound sensible advice as propounded by mr. hannum.”—jacksonville times, union, and citizen. . sent, fostpaid, on receipt of the arice, by the baker & taylor co., publishers, and east sixteenth st., new york. aaa e r & ta ylor co.'.s pubazca /oavs. a new book by josiah strong. expansion under new world-conditions. mo, cloth, $ . ; paper, cents. with the same exceptional qualities which insured a dis- tribution of more than , copies of “our country,” dr. strong has taken up the great theme of expansion. his book sparkles with striking and original thoughts, put in the most captivating way. the reader pursues the argument with breathless interest from chapter to chapter, and hurries through the most astonishing revelations of our nation's re- sources, growth and present-day power and stature to a brilliant summary of our relations at the century's dawn to other countries, and to the great questions that confront the nation under the new world-conditions of to-day. “the character, history and operations of the various forces combined in the movement toward expansion are described in the nine successive chapters of this little volume with all that argumentative skill and power, with all that masterful arrangement of statistical information, for which dr. strong has become justly famous.”—christian work. “dr. strong makes a clear statement of the changed world- conditions which render our former policy of isolation no longer practicable. the anglo-saxon race cannot refuse to take its place in the closer world-relationship which is to come.”—the outlook. “mr. strong would have us dismiss “the craven fear of being great,’ recognize the place in the world which god has given us, and accept the responsibilities which it de- volves upon us in behalf of a christian civilization. the book is one of the strongest statements of the expansion doctrine that we have seen. it will convince many because it clings to ideals while keeping an eye on the cold facts.”— public opinion. sent, postpaid, on receipt of the price, by the baker & taylor co., publishers, and east sixteenth st., new york. ||||iii] ii. | { date due demco, inc. - yang chus garden. of pleasure, arward eºſ ha ogical library theol wisdom of the east yang chu's garden t of pleasure translated from the chinese by professor anton forke, ph.d., etc. with an introduction by hugh cranmer-byng new york e. p. dutton and company i editorial note the object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west—the old world of thought and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. l. cranmer-byng. s. a. kapadia. nofthb rook society, cromwell road, kensington, s.w. introduction both philosophies press upon men the im- portance of happiness during life, but while to yang chu the study and cultivation of the senses are all, brihaspati is content to leave the expres- sion of pleasure in a formula at once singularly empty, and tinged with the indifference and cynicism of one to whom the subject is really of little moment. while life remains let a man live happily. let him feed on ghee, though he runs in debt. when once the body becomes ashes, how can it ever return again the larger view of the chinese philosopher in reality transcends the philosophy of brihaspati by that quality of attention to and intense feeling for life, which in some respects brings him closer to epicurus, his truer western prototype, though he accepts no basis of semi-moral self-interest for life, postulates no far-living philosophic deities, and gives to man the solitary satisfaction of his senses, and that only for the brief space of his lifetime. it is here that dr. forke traces the underlying pessimism of the sage, the blackness against which are silhouetted the scarlet pleasures of life. but this black pessimism is not real. it appears only in illustration of the folly of the desire for fame, or of the various means whereby man closes for himself the gateways of happiness. it is no part of his philosophy—rather it is the anti- thesis. that he dwells upon the shortness of life, introduction here is the clear dividing line between the two. to yang chu the senses are all, their satisfaction everything. youth and youth alone can obtain the full satisfaction that the senses demand. with age comes restraint and final renunciation. to the taoist, without this restraint and re- nunciation nothing can be done. the way of tao is closed. youth may not enter save by doing violence to his natural instincts. passivity, old age, introspection belong to lieh tzu ; joyousness and contentment to yang chu. the whole of his philosophy is sustained by this sense of happiness easily obtained, close at hand, a happiness that is independent of enforced and uncongenial labour, deadening the senses and turning men into unwilling beasts, and inde- pendent of the burden of riches, which in them- selves are a direct means of limiting personality. “yuan hsien lived in mean circumstances in lu, while tse kung amassed wealth in wei. “poverty galled the one and riches caused uneasiness to the other. - “so poverty will not do, nor wealth either. “enjoy life and take one's ease, for those who know how to enjoy life are not poor, and he that lives at ease requires no riches.” the philosopher does not say how this happy condition of life is to be brought about. to him it was possibly a corollary to the discovery of the uselessness of wealth for the purpose of happi- ness. there is no taint or suspicion of socialism introduction to the philosopher self-sacrifice is simply the corollary of a wrong and unbalanced condition of life. in a community where neither fame nor self- glorification at the expense of others is desired, self- sacrifice would not exist. it would be unnecessary. where all are happy and all are contented, there would be no need of either self-sacrifice or self-aggrandisement. that is a simple truth; and if, by the adoption of a false and selfish egoism and a false and equally selfish racial egoism, humanity has reached a point where self- sacrifice has become a good or desirable thing, the fault really lies with the vanity and ignorance that have led humanity to this point, and have ultimately justified a code of morals philosophic- ally unreasonable and unnecessary. it is important to state this quite clearly, because a superficial and misleading view of the philosophic meaning of this much-abused chapter has provoked a number of commentators to a righteous but quite undue sense of anger, which, while possibly justified by the curious makeshift view of modern morals, has no real bearing upon the philosophic position of the philosopher. in the view of the philosopher the care of self, for the preservation and expression of person- ality, is the primary and natural duty of all man- kind, and where this natural care is interfered with, warped or thwarted, a condition of affairs arises in which injustice, greed and vanity, in introduction beyond the solitary chapter in the book of lieh- tzu, which contains all that remains of the teaching of yang chu, there are, scattered through the book of lieh-tzu and the book of chuang-tzu, a few possibly authentic tales and anecdotes attributed to the philosopher of liang and illustrative of his teaching. these with one exception have already been included in two recently published works on the taoist philosophers," and may be omitted from the present work. the single anecdote referred to may be given here, as it illustrates in a singularly happy fashion the smiling scepticism of the sage to whom in life the one final and certain thing is death. the neighbour of yang chu once lost a sheep. he began to search for it with all his kinsfolk, and asked assistance also from the servants of yang chu, who in as- tonishment said: “oh, oh! why do you require such a large number of persons to seek for a single lost sheep " the neighbour replied : “there are many crossways to pursue and search out.” on his return he was asked if he had found his sheep, and replied that he had given up the search. yang chu asked him why he had given up the search. the neighbour answered : “among the crossways there were a great many small diverging tracts. not knowing which to follow i gave up the search and returned.” yang chu became pensive and wrapped in thought. for a whole day he neither smiled nor spoke. * musings of a chinese mystic, by lionel giles, m.a. taoist teachings, by lionel giles, m.a. john murray, “wisdom of the east series.” introduction his disciples, astonished at his attitude, asked him the reason, saying: “a sheep is an animal of little value; furthermore this one did not belong to you, master. why does its loss disturb your usual amiable humour and gaiety ’’ yang chu made no answer. his disciples were unable to understand the significance of his silence, and meng-sun-yang went out and asked hsin- tu-tse on the subject. another day hsin-tu-tse accompanied by meng-sun- yang came to yang chu and asked him saying: “once three brothers travelled through the provinces of chi and lu. “they were instructed under the same master and had studied the doctrine of humanity and justice. “when they came to their father's house their father asked them what was the final conclusion they had arrived at in regard to the doctrine of humanity and justice. “the one answered : “‘the study of humanity and justice teaches me to love and respect my body, and to consider of less importance what makes for fame and glory.’ “the second said : “‘the study of humanity and justice teaches me to sacri- fiee my body in order to obtain fame and glory.” “the third said: “‘the study of humanity and justice teaches me to dis- cover a method of conciliating the desire of my body and the desire for fame.” “these three contradictory theories arise from the teaching of the same master. which of them is true which is false ?” yang chu said: “there was once a man who lived on the banks of the river. he had a perfect knowledge of river lore, and was an expert swimmer. he was boatman of his state and gained his living managing his boat. “his gains were considerable and would provide for the maintenance of a hundred persons. “those who desired instruction under his direction came to him bringing a sack of grain and became his pupils. chapter i the vanity of fame yang chu, when travelling in lu, put up at meng sun yang's. meng asked him : “a man can never be more than a man ; why do people still trouble them- selves about fame * * yang chu answered : “if they do so their object is to become rich.” meng : “but when they have become rich, why do they not stop ” yang chu said: “they aim at getting honours.” meng : “why then do they not stop when they have got them : * yang chu : “on account of their death.” meng : “but what can they desire still after their death '' yang chu : “they think of their posterity.” meng : “how can their fame be available to their posterity ??” yang chu: “for fame's sake they endure all kinds of bodily hardship and mental pain. they dispose of their glory for the benefit of their clan, and even their fellow-citizens profit by it. how much more so do their descendants | howbeit the art of life a stone sarcophagus. all that depends on mere chance.” kuan-yi-wu looked round at pao-shu-huang- tse and said to him : “both of us have made some progress in the doctrine of life and death.” chapter ix the happy voluptuaries tse-chan was minister in cheng, and governed for three years, and governed well." the good people complied with his injunctions, and the bad were in awe of his prohibitory laws. so cheng was governed, and the princes were afraid of it. tse-chan had an elder brother, kung-sun- chow, and a younger, kung-sun-mu. the former was fond of feasting and the latter of gallantry. in the house of kung-sun-chow a thousand barrels of wine were stored, and yeast in piled-up heaps. within a hundred paces from the door the smell of drugs and liquor offended people's noses. he was so much under the influence of wine that he ignored the feeling of remorse, was un- conscious of the safe and dangerous parts of the path of life ; what was present or wanting in his * the famous minister of cheng, kung-sun-chiao, who lived about b. c. . the happy voluptuaries “you value proper conduct and righteousness in order to excel before others, and you do violence to your feelings and nature in striving for glory. that to us appears to be worse than death. “our only fear is lest, wishing to gaze our fill at all the beauties of this one life, and to exhaust all the pleasures of the present years, the reple- tion of the belly should prevent us from drinking what our palate delights in, or the slackening of our strength not allow us to revel with pretty women. “we have no time to trouble about bad repu- tations or mental dangers. therefore for you to argue with us and disturb our minds merely because you surpass others in ability to govern, and to try and allure us with promises of glory and appointments, is indeed shameful and de- plorable. “but we will now settle the question with you. “see now. if anybody knows how to regulate external things, the things do not of necessity become regulated, and his body has still to toil and labour. but if anybody knows how to regulate internals, the things go on all right, and the mind obtains peace and rest. “your system of regulating external things will do temporarily and for a single kingdom, but it is not in harmony with the human heart, while our method of regulating internals can be self-sacrifice this country and became a ploughman. the great yü" did not profit by his own body, which grew quite emaciated. “if the ancients by injuring a single hair could have rendered a service to the world, they would not have done it ; and had the universe been offered to a single person, he would not have accepted it. “as nobody would damage even a hair, and nobody would do a favour to the world, the world was in a perfect state.” ch'in-tse asked yang chu : “if by pulling out a hair of your body you would aid mankind, would you do it !” yang chu answered : “mankind is surely not to be helped by a single hair.” ch'in-tse said : “but supposing it possible, would you do it !” yang chu gave no answer. thereupon ch'in-tse told meng-sun-yang, who replied : “i will explain the master's meaning. “supposing for tearing off a piece of your skin you were offered ten thousand gold pieces, would you do it * * ch'in-tse said : ‘‘i would.” the great yü, the controller of the great flood, which task so occupied him that he entirely forgot his own wants. fcc esastes wsdom of solomon library of the hbibimitu Şchool. bought with money given by teie society for promoting teiheolog-ical education. [ _ f : * ‘.…” © (ſhe (dobern ireader' j ible wisdom series ecclesiastes the wisdom of solomon the modern reader's bible a series of works from the sacred scriptures presented in modern literary form .---- --…-a, "… ºry- * * * * **, o ecclesiastes and the wisdom of solomon edited, with an introduction and wotes º by ºv richard g. moulton, m.a. (camb), ph.d. (penn.) professor of literature in english in the university of chicago * nº goth m a c m i l l a n a n d co. london: macmillan & co.,ltd. all rights reserved av 'roduction i the present number of the modern reader's bible unites in a single volume the biblical ecclesiastes and the apocryphal wisdom of solomon. it is essential that the two works should be studied together. while they have their respective places in the development of wisdom lit- erature, yet from the two works previously introduced they stand separated by a gulf as wide as that between primitive and modern thought. proverbs and ecclesias- ticus, with all their force and beauty, belong to hebrew literature; the writings now to be considered form a part of that world literature which is independent of time and nation. in their thought the two works are contrasted to the extent of being antagonistic. but this antagonism is itself a unity; we have here semitic religious tradition and speculative greek thought struggling together over the supreme human problems of immortality and divine provi- dence. no literary styles could be more unlike than those of ecclesiastes and wisdom. the one carries to an ex- treme the indefinite suggestiveness of hebrew; in the v → introduction other there is a minuteness of analysis that goes beyond that of classical greek philosophy. yet the two agree in casting a spell of fascination over every reader; a spell nowise diminished by the fact that in ecclesiastes every second sentence is a literary puzzle, nor by the rebellious spirit with which the reader of wisdom follows the plunges of his author from passages of the noblest eloquence to subtilties of inference or analogy which delight to delay an argument in full course. such agreement and con- trast make reason enough for studying ecclesiastes and wisdom together; a more important reason yet is the fact that a leading point in their interpretation is the question whether one of the two is not a veiled answer to the other. our consideration of these works is at the outset en- countered by a critical obstacle of an unusual kind. i have said, in the opening volume of this series, that i con- sider it unnecessary to introduce historic questions of authorship and date in an edition that aims only at literary appreciation. but obviously an exception must be made where a mistaken view of authorship has been allowed to come in as a disturbing force, and throw a false colour over the interpretation of a classic. this i believe to have been the case in regard to the traditional view that acclesiastes was written by king solomon. in this ques- tion all the considerations from which authorship is usually inferred—local and historic colour, position in literary development, minutiae of language which fix the date of a s v . in troduction - book as clearly as handwriting betrays the age of a manu- script—all are on one side, and point to a period of writ- ing centuries later than solomon. on the other side there is only a single argument. but this is an argument which, if it could be maintained, might outweigh all the rest: for it is the plea that the book itself distinctly as- serts that solomon is its author. if this be true, he would be a bold critic who would run counter to such an asser- tion, and proclaim a work like ecclesiastes to be a literary fraud. what i desire to show is that, when the whole is carefully studied, the words supposed to proclaim the solo- monic authorship are capable of an entirely different inter- pretation. as a preliminary to all interpretation the exact literary form of the work must be settled. ecclesiastes is not a book with a continuous argument, but is a miscellany of wisdom: made up of a number of reasoned compositions, such as i designate essays, and also strings of disconnected brevities—maxims, epigrams, unit proverbs. in these re- spects the work agrees with proverbs and ecclesiasticus ; but it has one important point of difference from them. in ecclesiastes the essays, though each is an independent composition, unite in a common drift of thought; and they are further bound into a unity by a prologue and epi- logue. this again is what we might expect. the en- tirely isolated observations which make up the matter of proverbs were, in ecclesiasticus, found so far drawn to- vil → introduction gether as to be grouped into ‘essays.” in ecclesiastes there is a further advance, and all the essays are drawn together into a sequence. but this is not inconsistent with the fact that here, as in ecclesiasticus, disconnected sayings are used to fill in gaps between the more impor- tant compositions. this recognition in ecclesiastes of portions of the whole as outside the general argument must not be dismissed as an example of that vicious criticism which, in analysing a book, forms a theory and then pronounces spurious those passages which do not harmonise with it. partly of course this determination of the technical form of the work is based on internal evidence, and i must leave the arrange- ment presented below to speak for itself. but it is further supported by the analogy of the other books of wisdom which display the same features. a more important con- firmation still is the passage of the epilogue in which the author describes the contents of his work. and further, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge; yea, he pondered, and sought out, and set in order many proverbs. “pondered' suggests original composition, and it is unnec- essary to remark that a large part of this work bears the impress of a highly individual thinker. “sought out” may well mean borrowing from others; there are not a few of the miscellaneous sayings which lack the peculiari- will - introduction with the form of the work thus determined as a suite of five essays, separated by miscellaneous sayings, and bound together by a prologue and epilogue, we are pre- pared to consider the question whether this ecclesiastes asserts itself as the composition of solomon. when we turn to the prologue and epilogue, where it is most natural to expect light on the authorship of a work, we find not a single mention of solomon, nor anything to suggest his personality. indeed, so markedly is this absent from the epilogue, that those who hold the traditional view are driven to doubting the authenticity of these final sentences. again, there is no suggestion of solomon in the miscella- neous sayings, nor in four out of the five essays. on the contrary, there are in these portions of the book several passages which it is difficult to fancy the historic solomon as writing; and his general tone as he describes life is that of one who endures the oppression of the powerful, or at least sympathises with such suffering, rather than that of one who has held power in his own hands. the con- nection with solomon is wholly confined” to what is here called the first essay (from verse of chapter i to the end of chapter ii in the biblical arrangement); but this portion of the book is entirely occupied with solomon. it will be urged that if this section is from the pen of sol- omon then the general unity of connection between this * i have not thought it necessary to refer to the sub-title: on which see below, p. . * * * x introduction - and the other sections will extend the solomonic author- ship over the whole work. this is a fair argument; but on the other hand, if it can be shown that the words sup- posed to assert authorship are susceptible of another in- terpretation, then this confinement of the personal matter to a single essay will become a consideration of great importance. this essay opens with the words, “i the preacher was king over israel in jerusalem "; and proceeds to narrate a survey of life and all its good things. it is quite natural for a modern reader, in whose mind the idea of individual authorship is a matter of course, to understand these words as announcing the writer of what he is about to read. but to the student of comparative literature the expression will be equally suggestive of another meaning—that this king solomon is not the author but the hero of what is to follow. a modern philosopher as a matter of course gives out what he is to say in his own name. but it was a frequent custom in the literatures of antiquity to clothe a philosopher's thinking under some dramatic personality. thus plato never speaks in his own name, but puts his thoughts into the mouth of socrates in dialogue with other personages; no one supposing that socrates said what is thus attributed to him, but the writer conveying to all that he regards himself as of the school of socrates. the pythagoreans made it such a point of honour to speak their thoughts in the name of their common master, that they x → introduction regarded the violent death of one of their number as a judgment on him for the selfishness of speaking in his own name. to how large an extent the same spirit prevailed among the wise men of the hebrews is powerfully sug- gested by a passage of the palestinian talmud, which says that “scripture, mishnah, and talmud, and agadah, and even that which the diligent scholar was destined to point out before his master, were already spoken to moses from sinai.” ". in the bible itself we are able to see how much more prominent to its arrangers is the matter of the book than its authorship, in the fact that the titles (outside prophecy) reflect the former; the books of job, of ruth, of esther, of joshua, of judges, of samuel, of kings, are works of which these personages are heroes, not authors. but there is a parallel closer at hand. this very compan- ion work to ecclesiastes, which is written in greek, and belongs to a date not far removed from the christian era, nevertheless is found to use the same personality of solomon; its middle essay—like this first essay of eccle- siastes—narrating in the first person an incident of the historic solomon, and on it as a text preaching in his name to other kings; while this personality, which has not ap- peared until that part of the book, is dropped when its purpose has been served. in precisely the same way, the author of ecclesiastes in this essay identifies himself for * quoted in smith's dictionary of the bible, article ecclesiastes. see, also, below, p. . xii introduction – the moment with solomon, in order to picture an imagi- nary experiment which could have been fully carried out only by solomon, as the one personage who united the supreme forms of wealth, of wisdom, and of power. it seems reasonable, then, alike from literary usage and force of context, to understand in the opening words of this first essay a reference to something other than au- thorship. we now catch the significance of the circum- stance that outside this particular section no trace of solomon appears throughout the whole book. we must remember again how the whole weight of internal evi- dence is found by experts to tend in the opposite direc- tion; so much so that one of the most eminent of them has made the remark that if ecclesiastes be by solomon there can be no such thing as a history of the hebrew language. in view of all these considerations it becomes necessary to dismiss altogether the solomonic authorship of Æcclesiastes as a misunderstanding coming down to us by tradition from an uncritical age. who the author of the book was, and what is its age, i do not care to discuss. all that i have been anxious about has been to remove, even for the least critical reader, the great obstacle to the understanding of ecclesi- astes which the mistake as to its authorship has interposed. i believe no great work has ever been so much misunder- stood in its whole spirit as this present book of wisdom. commentators have come to it with the preconceived idea xill → introduction cluding those that their enemies would call follies; but all through he is to retain his “wisdom' or power to analyse. the experiment is supposed successful as an experiment: for his heart does rejoice because of all his labour. but this is his only ‘portion' from it; for when he comes to make his survey, all proves “vanity.” next, solomon is to turn reflection on to wisdom itself, together with its opposite, madness and folly, to see if here any genuine satisfaction is to be found. he sees at once that wisdom excels its opposite as light excels darkness; but this is neutralised by the further consideration that one event of death awaits the two. next he analyses “labour’—the production of goods as distinguished from the pleasure which consists in consuming them. but this again appears hateful in the light of death, and the neces- sity of leaving to another, who may prove to be a fool. there is yet a fourth question before solomon's experi- ment will have been exhaustive: may wisdom be found in appreciating the process, as distinguished from the result, whether of pleasure-making or labour? but the thought occurs that this power of appreciating life as it passes is a special gift of god, and does not depend upon the individ- ual himself. the fancied survey has in all its departments ended in illusion. this first essay then is negative, with one positive thought—that natural happiness, or the appreciation of life as it passes, is a special gift from god. xv in troduction - the second essay might be entitled, “the philosophy of times and seasons.” a particular theory of life is brought up for examination. it seems very likely that the writer has in mind the preface to the fourth book of ecclesiasticus; but the terms are not precise enough for us to insist upon this. the point of the theory is that the sphere of wisdom does not lie in the whole but in the parts; that all things have an interest of their own— have their “seasons'—and that here may be found an interpretation of life which may stand testing as “wisdom.” having stated this view in the form of a sonnet, the preacher proceeds to meet it with four objections. first, it is true that the parts have an inherent interest of their own; but equally inherent and god-implanted in man is the questioning of the universal—he hath set the ‘world' in their heart—and this is a questioning which makes satisfaction impossible. further, this appreciation of the interest in the details of passing life is a god-given thing, and god will act upon fixed principles which no effort of the individual will ever alter. a third consideration is that the ‘seasons' of things are seen reversed: wicked- ness is seen in the place of judgment. a momentary thought suggests — does not this imply an hereafter in which all these things will be set right the thought is dismissed: the facts may equally suggest that there is no difference between man and the beasts in the final event; death is the end of all alike. as a fourth objection xvil → introduction comes the thought of those things which no “season” can make interesting; and with a gloomy picture of oppres- sion, envy, and failure this second essay comes to an end. it has been negative in its general spirit, like the first. but the positive thought of that first essay—that true happiness is the gift only of god — has been repeated with emphasis. the third essay is on the vanity of desire. attain- ment without satisfaction, attainment followed by hurt and final failure, desire prompting effort only to encounter lim- itations inherent in humanity itself, while the knowledge of what is truly desirable will be given only by a future which the short life will never see: all these topics are briefly touched. but the place of prominence in this essay is devoted to two companion pictures: on the one hand is exhibited god-given wealth with god-given satis- faction in it, and on the other hand the same wealth granted by god and the satisfaction withheld. this last is pronounced the worst of all fates—an untimely birth is better than he. by contrast we may say that the other side of the picture presents the highest human good; and this is nothing else than the natural, god-given happiness which the previous essays have emphasised. the fourth essay starts with the impossibility of reach- ing the “wisdom” that is so far off and so exceeding deep; but recognises an employment yet left for the wise—to search out what distinctions of things are possible to be xviii introduction - made, as if notes by the way to a wisdom the traveller never expects to reach. the essay is entirely in the form of such disconnected notes. the mournful mysteries and paradoxes of our existence are passed in review by our author, each touched with his marvellous felicity of de- scriptive suggestion. only two paragraphs need be noted here. in one he has been describing the spectacle of the oppressor and his innocent victim coming to the same end of death and oblivion, and how such impunity of evil causes the hearts of the sons of men to be fully set in them to do evil. he continues: though a sinner do evil an hundred times, and prolong his days, yet surely i know that it shall be well with them that fear god, which fear before him: but it shall not be well with the wicked, neither shall he prolong his days, which are as a shadow; because he feareth not before god. in the other case the preacher breaks away from his gloomy thoughts, to apostrophise in a tone of rapture the man who has found natural happiness. gothy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for god hath already accepted thy works. in this fourth essay then, notwithstanding its general tone of gloom and despair, the writer recognises again the wholesome enjoyment of life, and how it constitutes god's special stamp of approval. and this positive thought is reinforced by another; that, in spite of all appearances to xix → introduction the contrary, it cannot be other than well with the right- eous and evil with the wicked. when we come to the fifth essay, the positive tone has triumphed over the negative, and made it subservient. truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun. life is a thing of joy. but it is a joy shadowed by the ‘judgment.” the word must not be allowed to suggest new testament ideas, but implies (as regularly in wis- dom literature) that fixed faith in the eternal controversy between good and evil, and the downfall of evil, which will make all conduct responsible. more than this: the gloomy mystery of life is to emphasise its happiness. the coming days of vanity are a reason for cherishing life while it lasts; the coming days of feebleness a reason for a more early recognition of the creator. the epilogue gathers up the results. the totality of things is incomprehensible. the function of wisdom, on its theoretic side, is limited: wise thoughts may be col- lected on the details, but to go further and attempt the mystery of the whole is lost labour. and on its practical side, all duty is summed up in one conception — human works within the limits of god's commandments. the whole thought of ecclesiastes is now before us. its negative side is the abandonment of the mystery of the universe as insoluble. its positive thoughts are two — xx introduction – immovable faith in god and duty, and sympathy with natural happiness. i believe a prejudice has been created against the system of ecclesiastes—especially with those who have had the idea of solomon in their minds — by the repeated occurrence of such words as “eat and drink,’ ‘mirth,’ ‘be merry’; and they have felt that its philosophy could be summed up in the saying, “let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.” but this is to be misled by a mere feature of literary style. a marked characteristic of eccle- siastes is its use of symbolic phrases; the final essay termi- nates in a tour-de-force of symbolism by which all the infirmities of old age are worked up into a picture of beauty.” now, just as this writer uses such expressions as ‘under the sun' over and over again as a formula for the world of the actual, so the phrase ‘eat and drink” is his regular formula to express, not only what is sensuous, but all appreciation of what life brings. this may be traced by a careful reader always, but it becomes indubitable where the expression “eat and drink” is applied to riches and to labour, and even to honour: —a man to whom god giveth riches, wealth, and honour, so that he lacketh nothing for his soul of all that he desireth, yet god giveth him not power to eat thereof, etc. there is throughout no note of abandonment to the revel, but the thought is always of simple satisfaction with the * compare the note on formulae: below, page . xxi - introduction play of life: and this it is which the preacher considers the special gift of god to his chosen. i say boldly that there is nothing unwholesome in ecclesiastes. the tradi- tion of hebrew and christian religion has in actual fact laid too much stress on the sterner side of things; it is good that at least one of the sacred canon should be found to remind us that one duty of life is happiness, and that nothing in religion can be higher than praise. we should have expected such doctrine from a system of thought in which had been incorporated some simple theory of providence. but to find a thinker whose analy- sis of the universe has broken down in perplexity, yet clinging resolutely to the ideas of god and duty, and keeping his sympathies with happiness fresh — it is this which makes the chief charm of ecclesiastes as an item in the world's great literature. but it may be asked, is there nothing ignoble in the pessimism which, with such painful iteration, insists on linking man with the beasts in their subjection to the common enemy death? pessimism there is, but surely nothing ignoble. for it is impossible to read ecclesiastes without seeing that the writer is one who longs to believe in a future, which absence of evidence forces him to reject; as he presses his search for intellectual satisfaction it is the hand of death which he finds closing up every avenue of thought along which he has attempted to trace wisdom. the passionate tone with which he dwells upon xxii introduction – the topic of mortality is prompted by the sense of honour, which will make a man judge with special severity the evidence of what it is his interest to believe. it is how- ever this despair of anything beyond the grave which makes the main point of conflict between ecclesiastes and the companion work which has yet to be considered. ii in its literary form the wisdom of solomon is peculiar, not to say unique. it is a series of discourses on texts. the texts are gnomic sentences standing out in their independence from the surrounding matter, in which the clauses are, after the manner of greek prose, bound together in the closest relation by connecting particles. such dis- courses are an expansion of the maxims, which —as i have used the term in this series — consist of prose comments on gnomic texts; and maxims of this kind form an impor- tant part of wisdom literature. another feature of the present work is what may be styled analytic imagination: not the spontaneous picturing of scenes, of which hebrew literature has its full share, but a conscious and artificial filling in of details into the out- line of another writer. the plagues of darkness, of hail, of the smiting of the firstborn, make passages of wisdom which catch the attention of every reader. exodus had xxill - introduction been content to describe such events in brief though preg- nant phrases. the present writer expands those phrases into elaborate and wonderful pictures, with touches that are the product of a reflecting mind turned upon the story of the older writer. it thus appears that this feature of wisdom is of the nature of a comment on a text: in fact, we have here the intrusion of commentary into creative literature. the next characteristic of the author of wisdom is no less peculiar: he is the great master of the digression. st. paul, and st. john in his gospel, make much use of digressions, and some of their noblest passages are to be ranked under that head. but with the present writer the digression seems to be an end in itself. in the long final discourse there appears an elaborate chain of digressions, and digressions from those digressions, and digressions removed a degree further still, like chinese boxes one within another; when the last degree of removal has been reached, the writer returns regularly on his steps, picking up without fail the broken threads, and thus resuming his argument by steps as formal as those by which he had departed from it. in my notes will be found a syllabus of the whole work, in which these transitions are accu- rately marked; and when the law has been caught, the clear thinking of our author is at once apparent. the spirit of digression appears again in what seem awkward parentheses as they stand in the text, but which fall into xxiv. introduction - the ‘murmuring” on which our author lays such stress may well be directed at the pessimism of the preacher. the concluding thought, that such false speech “destroy- eth a soul,” forms a link to the next discourse. in the second discourse the antagonism to ecclesiastes stands more clearly revealed. its very text speaks of a mistaken life “courting death "; and the first words of comment declare boldly that god made not death, that righteousness is immortal; it is ungodly men who by their words and life have “made a covenant with death.” their words are presented as an invitation to death in a monologue, in which the ungodly seem to be expanding phrases of the preacher as they declare that their life is a chance, that there is no return from hades; come then (they say) let us enjoy the good things that are; and from this they proceed to the further thought of persecut- ing the righteous because their ways are so different from their own. is this a fair representation of ecclesiastes ? by no means, nor is it meant to be. it is not the preacher himself that is attacked, but the easy perversion of his views of life which may be made by others. an exalted soul in spite of speculative despair clings to god and duty; but the same theory of life may be wrested by the ungodly to their destruction. in one of his grand outbursts the author cries that the souls of the righteous are in the hands of god: thus turn- ing against ecclesiastes one of his own phrases (chapter xxvil → introduction ix. ). their seeming death is but a trial of them; in the ‘time of their visitation' there awaits them splendour, a position in the hierarchy of god, and the grace and mercy he reserves for his chosen. at this point the tendency to digression appears. the author is going to supplement the monologue of the un- godly in this world with another monologue when they are awakened beyond the grave. but first he breaks off to notice the hopes of the ungodly, that is, the substitutes of earlier thought for this hope of immortality. these sub- stitutes are two: life over again in posterity, and length of days in this world. as to the first, the brood of the un- godly is unstable and rests under a curse: better than this is childlessness with virtue. and again, the old age of the wicked is without honour; whereas (another noble pas- sage declares) the life cut short may be the life crowned; made perfect in a short time, and caught away lest the be- witching of naughtiness should bedim innocence. the author now returns from his digression: catching up the phrase ‘grace and mercy to the chosen, he paints the overthrow of the opponents of the righteous, how they are in the grave dishonoured carcases, and how for them comes a day of reckoning, when they behold their despised victims standing in great boldness and triumph. another monologue expresses their amazement, and their sense of the vanity of that in which they had confided. then the author speaks to emphasise the fleeting nature of all un- xxv. introduction – holy hopes. but here an unexpected trend of thought is found. in a brilliant picture the author describes the whole creation uniting in vengeance—but on whom? not, apparently, on the wicked themselves, who have thus been followed through their life on earth to a judgment be- yond the grave, but on the general empire of wickedness upon earth: for the climax is that so shall lawlessness make all the land desolate, and their evil doing shall overturn the thrones of princes there follows naturally a warning to princes, whose greater responsibility will bring them greater punishment; and this makes the link leading to the third discourse. but meanwhile the question of the final condition of the wicked has been left unsettled. in the third discourse the author has fully assumed the “personality of solomon, and in his name proposes to speak to other kings of wisdom: to speak without grudging, for wisdom desires the multiplication of the wise. solomon is made to tell how he began with the helpless infancy of other men, and had to pray for the wisdom he sought. from his earliest youth he preferred this wisdom to all other good things. here comes one of the grand digressions. he preferred wisdom to all things; but in reality all good things came with her. in giving him this gift god gave him also the knowledge of all human and external nature. xxix → introduction fol himself gave me an unerring knowledge of the things that are: to know the constitution of the world, and the operation of the elements; the beginning and end and middle of times; the alternations of the solstices and the changes of seasons; the circuits of years and the positions of stars; the natures of living creatures and the ragings of wild beasts; the violences of winds and the thoughts of men; the diversities of plants and the virtues of roots. all things that are either secret or manifest i learned: for she that is the artificer of all things taught me, even wisdom. this is a most important passage. the earliest wisdom was a reflection on human life: the ‘works of god' in nature are mentioned only as a theme for praise. ecclesi- astes had touched external nature only to see in it a mean- ingless round of irresistible recurrence. but the above words imply that reflection and analysis have been brought to bear upon external nature; what to us is physical science has now become a part of wisdom. but this digression is at once followed by another. we have seen how in the earlier writers “wisdom' covered two ideas: wise conduct, and the adoration of the harmony that reigns in all things. in ecclesiastes these two ideas had been divorced: the harmony of things was a mockery, and conduct was all that was left for wisdom. in this work the severed ideas are to be united more closely than ever: the wisdom that animates conduct and the wisdom that reigns through creation are one and the same. in the most famous passage of the book it is proclaimed how ! & xxx introduct on – wisdom is all-pervasive, the spotless mirror of the working of god and an image of his goodness. even ecclesiastes had seen that wisdom excels folly as light excels dark- ness. for once the two thinkers are at one: being com- pared with light (says the present speaker) wisdom is found to be before it; for to the light of day succeedeth night, but against wisdom evil doth not prevail. she is indeed an effulgence from the everlasting light. returning from the digression, the discourse presents solomon as repeating how he chose wisdom as his bride; for she would bring him riches, understanding, experience, glory abroad and rest at home. the only mode of obtain- ing this desire he thought to be prayer. ecclesiastes had presented an imaginary incident of solomon, though one in keeping with the traditional conception of this person- age. but here the historic incident of the prayer at gibeon fits the writer's purpose; and along the lines of that inci- dent solomon is represented as invoking the wisdom that cometh from on high. closing with the impossibility of knowing god's will without wisdom, the prayer reaches the thought that, when in the past men did right, it was through wisdom that they were saved: and these words are the text of the discourse which follows. the fourth discourse gives us briefly, what the close of ecclesiasticus had treated at full length, a succession of the worthies of israel. but the purpose is very different; the present writer mentions famous men not to praise them, xxxi → introduction but to trace in their career the full conception of wisdom. the preceding discourse had brought together again the elements of wisdom which had been severed in ecclesiastes: the subjective wisdom which reigns in individual conduct, and the objective wisdom which binds together the totality of things. the two are now seen side by side in the fathers. the discourse touches adam's self-conquest after his first transgression; cain falling away from wisdom in his anger; abraham kept firm under sharpest trial; lot's wife passing wisdom by and perishing; wisdom entering into the soul of moses and enabling him to with- stand kings. it tells also of the external power that pre- served adam when he was a lonely thing in the midst of the whole creation; that called righteous abraham out of his land; that found a way of deliverance for righteous lot; that watched over the wanderings of jacob and the checkered career of joseph; that wrought deliverance for the people of god and guided them along a marvellous way through the red sea. but the discourse does not divide the two conceptions of wisdom as i am doing here; there is design in the way the writer sways alternately from the one to the other wisdom as he traverses the suc- cession of the worthies, as if to insist the more closely upon the union he has in the last discourse proclaimed. when the conclusion is reached, the conception of the objective wisdom as providence stands fully revealed; and it is a detail of god's providential care over his people that xxx introduction – makes the final words of this discourse, and the text of that which follows: by what things their foes were punished, by these they in their need were benefited. the fifth and last discourse is wholly given up to trac- ing this aspect of divine providence in the deliverance of israel from egypt. seven illustrations of the principle are treated at full length. water was turned into blood for the enemy; water was brought out of the solid rock for the people of god. on the egyptians came a plague of loathly vermin; dainty quails were sent to satisfy the appetite of the israelites. while the enemy were plagued to their death by the noxious bites of the locusts, the people of god suffered serpent bites only for admonition, and then found a wondrous salvation. rain unquenched by fire destroyed the food of egypt; a rain of manna fed the chosen in the wilderness, sweetly tempered to every taste. mystic darkness oppressed the oppressors of israel; for israel darkness was illumined by a pillar of fire. it was a night of deliverance and song to the fathers, that night which slew the firstborn of egypt. to the chosen death came indeed as a trial, but in the righteous phinehas a champion was found; the ungodly ventured a final folly, and upon them came strange death without mercy. the long digressions of which i have spoken are occupied with kindred themes: how sinners are punished xxxill introduction – life of evil, and awaking beyond the grave to understand their folly. ecclesiastes fancies solomon undertaking an experiment in evil to see what it yields to wisdom. the other thinker hints how the very act of experiment is fatal to the wisdom sought; and calls up another part of solomon's life to bring out, in the same imaginative picturing, how by prayer alone is the wisdom to be ob- tained of god. ecclesiastes had found the whole sum of things an insoluble mystery, and seeks wisdom elsewhere. his successor first goes to god for wisdom, and with the wisdom so obtained unfolds all things of nature and his- tory as an ordered scheme of providence. the other main point to note is the enlarged conception of “wisdom” that has come into this its last representative in scriptural philosophy. in proverbs wisdom suggested wise conduct, with an ordered universe to adore. eccle- siasticus adores the wisdom without and reflects on the wisdom within; but he adds the history of god's people, as a theme for that side of wisdom which is praise. in ecclesiastes we must recognise an advance, for reflection has been extended to that which is without. but in appearance there is only a loss: for the works of nature and the course of events yield to his analysis nothing but vanity; life only is left for wisdom, and this is a life miserably limited by the grave. but in the fourth work the discord of ecclesiastes has been harmonised by widen- ing the sphere of wisdom. life is no longer insoluble xxxv. → introduction when life is extended to a future beyond death. history is added to the field which philosophy may analyse, and this writer's analysis sees in it an harmonious scheme of righteousness and the protection of the righteous people. moreover, external nature is subjected to analysis; but this nature appears no less a theme for adoration. in its latest presentation wisdom has recovered the harmony between the world within and the world without; and in its enlarged sphere wisdom is identified with nature, with providence, with immortality. *...* the text followed in this series is that of the revised version, for the use of which i must express my obliga- tion to the university presses of oxford and cambridge. the marginal alternatives are often adopted. in the two works included in this volume more assistance than usual is necessary to enable the reader to follow the argument. but i have been unwilling to break up the pages of the text by marginal headings, and have preferred to transfer such helps to a syllabus (at the commencement of the notes), which is constructed on the principle of represent- ing each paragraph of the text by a paragraph of the syllabus. the prospectus to the modern reader's bible promises brief notes: i have, i fear, departed from the spirit of the announcement in the present case. but the xxxvil ecclesiastes or the preacher a cczes/astes a suite of essa ws with miscella nea prologue: all is vanity essay i (in the form of a dramatic monologue): solo- mon's search for wisdom essay ii (with a sonnet): the philosophy of times and seasons . miscellanea essay iii: the vanity of desire . miscellamea essay iv: the search for wisdom, with notes by the way miscellamea essay v (with a sonnet): life as a joy shadowed by the judgment epilogue: all is vanity — fear god - - - page i i prologue all is va/vitp" vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity. what profit hath man of all his labour wherein he laboureth under the sun? one generation goeth, and another generation cometh; and the earth abideth for ever. the sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he ariseth. the wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it turneth about continually in its course, and the wind returneth again to its circuits. all the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full; unto the place whither the rivers go, thither they go again. all things are full of weariness, man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. that which hath been is that which shall be; and that which hath been done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. is there a thing whereof men may say, see, this is new it hath been already, in the ages which were before us. there is no remembrance of the former generations; neither shall there be any remembrance of the latter gen- erations that are to come among those that shall come after. “i the preacher was king over israel in jerusalem. and “i applied my heart to seek and to search out by wisdom “concerning all that is done under heaven: it is a sore “travail that god hath given to the sons of men to be “exercised therewith. i have seen all the works that are “done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity, and a “striving after wind. that which is crooked cannot be “made straight, and that which is wanting cannot be num- “bered. i communed with mine own heart, saying, lo, i “have gotten me great wisdom above all that were before “me in jerusalem; yea, my heart hath had great experience “of wisdom and knowledge. and i applied my heart to “know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: i per- “ceived that this also was a striving after wind. for in “much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth “knowledge increaseth sorrow. “i said in mine heart, go to now, i will prove thee with “mirth: therefore enjoy pleasure. and, behold, this also “was vanity. i said of laughter, it is mad; and of mirth, “what doeth it? i searched in mine heart how to cheer “my flesh with wine—mine heart yet guiding me with “wisdom — and how to lay hold on folly, till i might see “what it was good for the sons of men that they should do ii essay i → ecclesia's tes “under the heaven all the days of their life. i made me “great works; i builded me houses; i planted me vine- “yards; i made me gardens and parks, and i planted trees “in them of all kinds of fruit; i made me pools of water, “to water therefrom the forest where trees were reared. i “bought menservants and maidens, and had servants born “in my house; also i had great possessions of herds and “flocks, above all that were before me in jerusalem; i “gathered me also silver and gold, and the peculiar treas- “ure of kings and of the provinces. i gat me men singers “and women singers, and the delights of the sons of men, “concubines very many. so i was great, and increased “more than all that were before me in jerusalem: also my “wisdom remained with me. and whatsoever mine eyes “desired i kept not from them; i withheld not my heart “from any joy: for my heart rejoiced because of all my “labour, and this was my portion from all my labour. “then i looked on all the works that my hands had “wrought, and on the labour that i had laboured to do: “and, behold, all was vanity and a striving after wind, and “there was no profit under the sun. “and i turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness “and folly. for what can the man do that cometh after the “king? even that which hath been already done. then i “saw that wisdom excelleth folly as far as light excelleth “darkness: the wise man's eyes are in his head, and the “fool walketh in darkness: and yet i perceived that one i or the preacher – essay i “event happeneth to them all. then said i in my heart, “as it happeneth to the fool, so will it happen even to “me; and why was i then more wise? then i said in my “heart, that this also was vanity. for of the wise man, “even as of the fool, there is no remembrance for ever; “seeing that in the days to come all will have been already “forgotten. and how doth the wise man die even as the “fool! so i hated life; because the work that is wrought “under the sun was grievous unto me: for all is vanity “and a striving after wind. “and i hated all my labour wherein i laboured under “the sun: seeing that i must leave it unto the man that “shall be after me, and who knoweth whether he shall be “a wise man or a fool? yet shall he have rule over all my “labour wherein i have laboured, and wherein i have “shewed wisdom under the sun. this also is vanity. “therefore i turned about to cause my heart to despair “concerning all the labour wherein i had laboured under “the sun. for there is a man whose labour is with wisdom, “and with knowledge, and with skilfulness; yet to a man “that hath not laboured therein shall he leave it for his “portion. this also is vanity and a great evil, for what “hath a man of all his labour, and of the striving of his “heart wherein he laboureth under the sun ? for all his “days are but sorrows, and his travail is grief; yea, even in “the night his heart taketh no rest. this also is vanity. “there is nothing better for a man than that he should i essay i → ecclesiastes “eat and drink, and make his soul enjoy good in his “labour. this also i saw, that it is from the hand of “god. for who can eat, or who can have enjoyment “more than i? for to the man that pleaseth him god “giveth wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the “sinner he giveth travail, to gather and to heap up, that “he may give to him that pleaseth god. this also is “vanity and a striving after wind.” i assay // he philosophy of thmes and seaso/ws to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; c or the preacher – essay ii righteousness, that wickedness was there. — i said in mine heart, god shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work. — i said in mine heart, it is because of the sons of men, that god may prove them, and that they may see that they themselves are but as beasts. for that which be- falleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them. as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; and man hath no pre-eminence above the beasts: for all is vanity. all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. who knoweth the spirit of man whether it goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast whether it goeth downward to the earth? wherefore i saw that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him back to see what shall be after him? then i returned and saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun; and behold, the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power, but they had no com- forter. wherefore i praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive; yea, better than them both did i esteem him which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun. then i saw all labour and every skilful work, that it cometh of a man's rivalry with his neighbour: this also i essay ii → ecclesiastes is vanity and a striving after wind. — the fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh. — better is an handful of quietness, than two handfuls of labour and striving after wind. then i returned and saw vanity under the sun. there is one that is alone, and he hath not a second; yea, he hath neither son nor brother; yet is there no end of all his labour, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches. for whom then, saith he, do i labour, and deprive my soul of good? this also is vanity, yea, it is a sore travail. o miscellanea i a maxim two are better than one: because they have a good reward for their labour. for if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth, and hath not another to lift him up. again, if two lie together, then they have warmth; but how can one be warm alone? and if a man prevail against him that is alone, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. a maxim better is a poor and wise youth than an old and foolish king, who knoweth not how to receive admonition any more. for out of prison he came forth to be king; yea, even in his kingdom he was born poor. i saw all the living which walk under the sun, that they were with the youth, the miscellanea ii, iii → ecclesiastes second, that stood up in his stead. there was no end of all the people, even of all them over whom he was: yet they that come after shall not rejoice in him. surely this also is vanity and a striving after wind. a maxim - reep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god: for to draw nigh to hear is better than to give the sacrifice of fools: for they know not that they do evil. be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter anything before god; for god is in heaven, and thou upon earth, therefore let thy words be few. for a dream cometh with a multitude of business; and a fool's voice with a multitude of words. when thou vowest a vow unto god, defer not to pay it; for he hath no pleasure in fools: pay that which thou vowest. better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay. suffer not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin; neither say thou before the angel, that it was an error: wherefore should god be angry at thy voice, and destroy the work of thine hands? for thus it cometh to pass through the multitude of dreams and vanities and many words: but fear thou god. or the preacher - miscellanea iv w a maxim if thou seest the oppression of the poor, and the violent taking away of judgement and justice in a province, marvel not at the matter: for one higher than the high regardeth and there be higher than they. but the profit of a land every way is a king that maketh himself servant to the field. azssay /// the waavity of des/re essay iii → ecclesiastes portion. every man also to whom god hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour: this is the gift of god. for he shall not much remember the days of his life; because god answereth him in the joy of his heart. there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, and it is heavy upon men: a man to whom god giveth riches, wealth, and honour, so that he lacketh nothing for his soul of all that he desireth, yet god giveth him not power to eat thereof, but a stranger eateth it: this is vanity, and it is an evil disease. if a man beget an hundred children, and live many years, so that the days of his years be many, but his soul be not filled with good, and moreover he have no burial: i say, that an untimely birth is better than he. for it cometh in vanity, and departeth in darkness, and the name thereof is covered with darkness; moreover it hath not seen the sun nor known it: this hath rest rather than the other—yea, though he live a thousand years twice told, and yet enjoy no good : do not all go to one place? all the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled. for what advantage hath the wise man more than the fool, or the poor man that hath under- standing, in walking before the living? better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire: this also is vanity and a striving after wind. whatsoever he be, his name was given him long ago, and it is known that he is o or the preacher – essay iii man: neither can he contend with him that is mightier than he. seeing there be many things that increase vanity, what is man the better? for who knoweth what is good for man in his life, all the days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow? for who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun? i miscellanea or the preacher – miscellanea x, xi side with the other, to the end that man should not find out anything that shall be after him. x a maxim all this have i seen in the days of my vanity: there is a righteous man that perisheth in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his evii- doing. be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy thyself? be not over much wicked; neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time? it is good that thou shouldest take hold of this; yea, also from that withdraw not thine hand: for he that feareth god shall come forth of them all. x a maxim wisdom is a strength to the wise man more than ten rulers which are in a city. for there is not a righteous man upon earth that doeth good and sinneth not. also take not heed unto all words a.ssay / v the search for wisdom with wotes by the wap · · · · essay iv → ecclesiastes presence; persist not in an evil thing; for he doeth what- soever pleaseth him. because the king's word hath power; and who may say unto him, what doest thou? whoso keepeth the commandment shall know no evil thing; and a wise man's heart discerneth time and judge- ment. for to every purpose there is a time and judge- ment; because the misery of man is great upon him, for he knoweth not that which shall be. for who can tell him how it shall be? there is no man that hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit, neither hath he power over the day of death; and there is no discharge in that war. neither shall wickedness deliver him that is given to it. all this have i seen, and applied my heart unto every work that is done under the sun. there is a time wherein one man hath power over another to his hurt: and withal i saw the wicked buried, and they came to the grave; and they that had done right went away from the holy place, and were forgotten in the city. this also is vanity. be- cause sentence against an evil work is not executed speed- ily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil. though a sinner do evil an hundred times, and prolong his days, yet surely i know that it shall be well with them that fear god, which fear before him : but it shall not be well with the wicked, neither shall he or the preacher – essay iv prolong his days, which are as a shadow; because he feareth not before god. there is a vanity which is done upon the earth: that there be righteous men unto whom it happeneth accord- ing to the work of the wicked; again, there be wicked men, to whom it happeneth according to the work of the righteous. i said that this also is vanity. then i com- mended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat and to drink and to be merry; and that this should accompany him in his labour all the days of his life which god hath given him under the sun. when i applied mine heart to know wisdom, and to see the business that is done upon the earth — for also there is that neither day nor night seeth sleep with his eyes— then i beheld all the work of god, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun: because however much a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it; yea, moreover, though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be able to find it. for all this i laid to my heart, even to explore all this: that the righteous and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of god; whether it be love or hatred, man knoweth it not, all is before them. all things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean and to the unclean; to him that sacrificeth and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath. this is an evil essay iv → ecclesiastes in all that is done under the sun, that there is one event unto all. yea also, the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead. for to him that is joined with all the living there is hope—for a living dog is better than a dead lion—for the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not anything, neither have they any more a reward. for the memory of them is forgotten: as well their love as their hatred and their envy is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in anything that is done under the sun. gothy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for god hath already accepted thy works. let thy garments be always white; and let not thy head lack ointment. live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, – all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in life, and in thy labour wherein thou labourest under the sun. whatsoever thy hand find- eth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave whither thou goest. i returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all. for man also knoweth not his time: as the or the preacher – essay iv fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare, even so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them. i have also seen wisdom under the sun on this wise, and it seemed great unto me. there was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it. now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man. then said i, wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard. xii the words of the wise spoken in quiet are heard more than the cry of him that ruleth among fools. x wisdom is better than weapons of war: * but one sinner destroyeth much good. xiv. dead flies cause the ointment of the perfumer to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly outweigh wisdom and honour. xv a maxim a wise man's heart is at his right hand; but a fool's heart is at his left. . yea also, when the fool walketh by the way, his under- standing faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool. e miscellanea xvi-xix → ecclesiastes xvi if the spirit of the ruler rise up against thee, leave not thy place; for yielding allayeth great offences. xvii a maxim there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, as it were an error which proceedeth from the ruler: folly is set in great dignity, and the rich sit in low place. i have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as servants upon the earth. xviii he that diggeth a pit shall fall into it; and whoso breaketh through a fence, a serpent shall bite him. x x whoso heweth out stones shall be hurt therewith ; and he that cleaveth wood is endangered thereby. o or the preacher – miscellanea xx-xxiii xx an epigram if the iron be blunt, and one do not whet the edge, then must he put to more strength: but wisdom is profitable to direct, xxi if the serpent bite before it be charmed, then is there no advantage in the charmer. xxii a maxim the words of a wise man's mouth are gracious; but the lips of a fool will swallow up himself. the beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness; and the end of his talk is mischievous madness. a fool also multiplieth words: yet man knoweth not what shall be; and that which shall be after him, who can tell him? xx the labour of fools wearieth every one of them; for he knoweth not how to go to the city. i miscellanea xxiv.–xxvii → ecclesiastes xxiv. an epigram woe to thee, o land, when thy king is a child, and thy princes eat in the morning ! happy art thou, o land, when thy king is the son of nobles, and thy princes eat in due season, for strength and not for drunkenness. xxv by slothfulness the roof sinketh in ; and through idleness of the hands the house leaketh. xxvi a feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh glad the life: and money answereth all things. xxv an epigram curse not the king, no, not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter. or the preacher – miscellanea xxviii-xxxii cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. xxix divide a portion into seven, yea, even into eight: for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth. xxx an epigram if the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth: and if a tree fall toward the south or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there shall it be. xxxi he that observeth the wind shall not sow ; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap. xxxii as thou knowest not what is the way of the wind, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child : even so thou knowest not the work of god who doeth all. miscellanea xxxiii → ecclesiastes iii a maxim in the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not which shall prosper, whether this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good. aºssay / zife as a joy shadowed by the }:udgmewt truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun. yea, if a man live many years, let him rejoice in them all; and remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many. all that cometh is vanity. rejoice, o young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things god will bring thee into judgement. therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh: for youth and the prime of life are vanity. the coming of the evil days a sonnet remember also thy creator in the days of thy youth: or ever the evil days come, and the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, i have no pleasure in them: or ever the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars, be darkened, and the clouds return after the rain : essay v → ecclesiastes in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, and the doors shall be shut in the street; when the sound of the grinding is low, and one shall rise up at the voice of a bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; yea, they shall be afraid of that which is high, and terrors shall be in the way; and the almond tree shall blossom, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and the caperberry shall burst: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern: and the dust return to the earth, as it was; and the spirit return unto god who gave it. fpilogue all is waav/tp- fea/& god ‘. the wisdom of solomoav a suite of discourses page discourse i: singleness of heart . . . . . discourse ii: immortality and the covenant with death discourse iii: solomon's winning of wisdom . . discourse iv: the world saved through wisdom. . discourse v: judgments on the wicked turning to blessings on god's people - - - - . f discourse / s/awgleavess of hear " love righteousness, ye that be judges of the earth, think ye of the lord with a good mind, and in singleness of heart seek ye him. because he is found of them that tempt him not, and is manifested to them that do not distrust him. for crooked thoughts separate from god; and the supreme power, when it is brought to the proof, putteth to confusion the foolish. because wisdom will not enter into a soul that - deviseth evil, nor dwell in a body that is held in pledge by sin. for a holy spirit of discipline will flee deceit, and will start away from thoughts that are without understand- ing, and will be put to confusion when unrighteousness hath come in. for wisdom is a spirit that loveth man, and she will not hold a blasphemer guiltless for his lips. because god beareth witness of his reins, and is a true overseer of his heart, and a hearer of his tongue; because the spirit of the lord hath filled the world, and that which holdeth all things together hath knowledge of every voice. therefore no man that uttereth unrighteous things shall be unseen; neither shall justice, when it convicteth, pass him by. for in the midst of his counsels the ungodly shall be searched out, and the sound of his words shall discourse // immortality awd the covenant with axeath court not death in the error of your life; aveither draw upon yourselves destruction by the works of your hands. because god made not death: neither delighteth he when the living perish. for he created all things that they might have being; and the generative powers of the world are healthsome, and there is no poison of destruc- tion in them, nor hath hades royal dominion upon earth: for righteousness is immortal. but ungodly men by their hands and their words called death unto them; deeming him a friend they consumed away, and they made a covenant with him because they are worthy to be of his portion. for they said within themselves, reasoning not aright: “short and sorrowful is our life; and there is no healing “when a man cometh to his end, and none was ever known “that gave release from hades. because by mere chance “were we born, and hereafter we shall be as though we “had never been ; because the breath in our nostrils is “smoke, and while our heart beateth reason is a spark, “which being extinguished, the body shall be turned into “ashes, and the spirit shall be dispersed as thin air. and of solo m on - discourse ii “we were accounted of him as base metal, and he ab- “staineth from our ways as from uncleannesses. the “latter end of the righteous he calleth happy; and he “vaunteth that god is his father. let us see if his words “be true, and let us try what shall befall in the ending of “his life: for if the righteous man is god's son, he will “uphold him, and he will deliver him out of the hand of “his adversaries. with outrage and torture let us put him “to the test, that we may learn his gentleness, and may “prove his patience under wrong. let us condemn him “to a shameful death; for he shall be visited according to “his words.” thus reasoned they, and they were led astray. for their wickedness blinded them; and they knew not the mysteries of god, neither hoped they for wages of holiness, nor did they judge that there is a prize for blameless souls. be- cause god created man for incorruption, and made him an image of his own proper being; but by the envy of the devil death entered into the world, and they that are of his portion make trial thereof. but the souls of the righteous are in the hand of god, - and no torment shall touch them. in the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died; and their departure was accounted to be their hurt, and their journeying away from us to be their ruin: but they are in peace. for even if in the sight of men they be punished, their hope is full of immortality; and having borne a little chastening, they discourse ii → the w is do m by the wind, and as foam vanishing before a tempest; and is scattered as smoke is scattered by the wind; and passeth by as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day. but the righteous live for ever, and in the lord is their reward, and the care for them with the most high. therefore shall they receive the crown of royal dignity and the diadem of beauty from the lord's hand; because with his right hand shall he cover them, and with his arm shall he shield them. he shall take his jealousy as complete armour, and shall make the whole creation his weapons for vengeance on his enemies; he shall put on righteousness as a breastplate, and shall array himself with judgement unfeigned as with a helmet: he shall take holiness as an invincible shield, and he shall sharpen stern wrath for a sword. and the world shall go forth with him to fight against his insensate foes. shafts of lightning shall fly with true aim, and from the clouds, as from a well-drawn bow, shall they leap to the mark; and as from an engine of war shall be hurled hailstones full of wrath; the water of the sea shall be angered against them, and rivers shall sternly overwhelm them; a mighty blast shall encounter them, and as a tempest shall it winnow them away. and so shall lawlessness make all the land desolate, and their evil-doing shall overturn the thrones of princes. hear therefore, ye kings, and understand; learn, ye judges of the ends of the earth; give ear, ye that have dominion over much people, and make your boast in mul- o discourse iii → the wisdom pass by the truth. neither indeed will i take pining envy for my companion in the way: because envy shall have no fellowship with wisdom, but a multitude of wise men is salvation to the world, and an understanding king is tran- quillity to his people. wherefore be disciplined by my words, and thereby shall ye profit. i myself also am mortal, like to all, and am sprung from one born of the earth, the man first formed. and in the womb of a mother was i moulded into flesh in the time of ten months, being compacted in blood of the seed of man and pleasure that came with sleep. and i also, when i was born, drew in the common air, and fell upon the kin- dred earth, uttering, like all, for my first voice the self-same wail; in swaddling clothes was i nursed, and with watch- ful cares. for no king had any other first beginning; but all men have one entrance into life, and a like departure. for this cause i prayed, and understanding was given me; i called upon god, and there came to me a spirit of wis- dom. i preferred her before sceptres and thrones, and riches i esteemed nothing in comparison of her; neither did i liken to her any priceless gem, because all the gold of the earth in her presence is a little sand, and silver shall be accounted as clay before her. above health and come- liness i loved her; and i chose to have her rather than light, because her bright shining is never laid to sleep. but with her there came to me all good things together, discourse // the world saved through wisdom |- .*,,+. · …’ → · ) -- through wisdom were they saved. wisdom guarded to the end the first-formed father of the world, that was created alone; and delivered him out of his own transgression, and gave him strength to get dominion over all things. but when an unrighteous man fell away from her in his anger, he perished himself in the rage wherewith he slew his brother. and when for his cause the earth was drowning with a flood, wisdom again saved it, guiding the righteous man's course by a poor piece of wood. moreover, when nations consenting together in wicked- ness had been confounded, wisdom knew the righteous man, and preserved him blameless unto god, and kept him strong when his heart yearned toward his child. while the ungodly were perishing, wisdom delivered a righteous man, when he fled from the fire that descended out of heaven on pentapolis: to whose wickedness a smoking waste still witnesseth, and plants bearing fair fruit that cometh not to ripeness. yea, and a disbelieving soul hath a memorial there, a pillar of salt still standing: for having passed wisdom by, not only were they disabled from recognising the things which are good, but they also discourse iv → the wisdom left behind them for human life a monument of their folly; to the end that where they went astray they might fail even to be unseen. but wisdom delivered out of troubles those that waited on her. when a righteous man was a fugitive from a brother's wrath, wisdom guided him in straight paths; she shewed him god's kingdom, and gave him knowledge of holy things; she prospered him in his toils, and multiplied the fruits of his labour; when in their covetousness men dealt hardly with him, she stood by him and made him rich; she guarded him from enemies, and from those that lay in wait she kept him safe, and over his sore conflict she watched as judge: that he might know that godliness is more powerful than all. when a righteous man was sold, wisdom forsook him not, but from sin she delivered him; she went down with him into a dungeon, and in bonds she left him not till she brought him the sceptre of a kingdom and authority over those that dealt tyrannously with him; she shewed them also to be false that had mockingly accused him, and gave him eternal glory. wisdom delivered a holy people and a blameless seed from a nation of oppressors. she entered into the soul of a servant of the lord, and withstood terrible kings in wonders and signs. she rendered unto holy men a reward of their toils; she guided them along a marvellous way, and became unto them a covering in the daytime and a of solo m on - discourse iv flame of stars through the night. she brought them over the red sea, and led them through much water; but their enemies she drowned, and out of the bottom of the deep she cast them up. therefore the righteous spoiled the ungodly; and they sang praise to thy holy name, o lord, and extolled with one accord thy hand that fought for them: because wisdom opened the mouth of the dumb, and made the tongues of babes to speak clearly. she prospered their works in the hand of a holy prophet. they journeyed through a desert without inhabitant, and in trackless regions they pitched their tents. they with- stood enemies, and repelled foes. they thirsted, and they called upon thee, and there was given them water out of the flinty rock, and healing of their thirst out of the hard stone. for by what thing their foes were punished, by these they in their need were benefited. h discourse v }udgmewt's ow the wicked turning to bless/awgs oav god's people aez ae, º discourse v → the wisdom unrighteousness, wherein they were led astray to worship irrational reptiles and wretched vermin, thou didst send upon them a multitude of irrational creatures for ven- geance — — that they might learn, that by what things a man sinneth by these he is punished. for thine all-powerful hand, that created the world out of formless matter, lacked not means to send upon them a multitude of bears or fierce lions, or new-created wild beasts, full of rage, of unknown kind, either breathing out a blast of fiery breath, or blowing forth from their nostrils noisome smoke, or flash- ing dreadful sparkles from their eyes; which had power not only to consume them by their violence, but to destroy them even by the terror of their sight. yea, and without these might they have fallen by a single breath, being pursued by justice, and scattered abroad by the breath of thy power. but by measure and number and weight thou didst order all things. for to be greatly strong is thine at all times; and the might of thine arm who shall withstand? because the whole world before thee is as a grain in a balance, and as a drop of dew that at morning cometh down upon the earth. but thou hast mercy on all men, because thou hast power to do all things; and thou overlookest the sins of men to the end that they may repent. for thou lovest all things that are, and abhorrest none of the things which thou didst make. for never wouldest thou have io discourse v → the wisdom wickedness inborn, and that their manner of thought would in no wise ever be changed, for they were a seed accursed from the beginning. neither was it through fear of any that thou didst leave them then unpunished for their sins. for who shall say, what hast thou done? or who shall withstand thy judgement? and who shall accuse thee for the perishing of nations which thou didst make? or who shall come and stand before thee as an avenger for unrighteous men? for neither is there any god beside thee that careth for all, that thou mightest shew unto him that thou didst not judge unrighteously; neither shall king or prince be able to look thee in the face to plead for those whom thou hast punished. but being righteous thou rulest all things righteously, deeming it a thing alien from thy power to condemn one that doth not himself deserve to be punished. for thy strength is the beginning of righteousness, and thy sovereignty over all maketh thee to forbear all. for when men believe not that thou art perfect in power, thou shewest thy strength, and in dealing with them that know it thou puttest their boldness to confusion. but thou being sovereign over thy strength, judgest in gentleness, and with great forbearance dost thou govern us; for the power is thine whensoever thou hast the will. but thou didst teach thy people by such works as these how that the righteous must be a lover of men; and thou didst make thy sons to be of good hope, because thou givest repentance when men have sinned. for if on io discourse v → the wis do m giving heed to the works did they recognise the artificer; but either fire, or wind, or swift air, or circling stars, or raging water, or luminaries of heaven, they thought to be gods that rule the world. and if it was through delight in their beauty that they took them to be gods, let them know how much better than these is their sovereign lord; for the first author of beauty created them. but if it was through astonishment at their power and influence, let them understand from them how much more powerful is he that formed them; for from the greatness of the beauty even of created things in like proportion does man form the image of their first maker. but yet for these men there is but small blame. for they too peradventure do but go astray while they are seeking god and desiring to find him; for living among his works they make diligent search, and they yield themselves up to sight, because the things that they look upon are beautiful. but again even they are not to be excused. for if they had power to know so much, that they should be able to explore the course of things, how is it that they did not sooner find the sovereign lord of these his works? but miserable were they, and in dead things were their hopes, who called them gods which are works of men's hands—gold and silver, wrought with careful art, and likenesses of animals, or a useless stone, the work of an ancient hand. yea, and if some woodcutter, having sawn down a tree that is easily moved, skilfully strippeth away all its bark, and fashioning ioğ discourse v → the wisdom - through which cometh righteousness. but the idol made with hands is accursed, itself and he that made it; because his was the working, and the corruptible thing was named a god. for both the ungodly doer and his ungodliness are alike hateful to god; for verily the deed shall be punished together with him that committed it. therefore also among the idols of the nations shall there be a visita- tion; because, though formed of things which god created, they were made an abomination, and stumblingblocks to the souls of men, and a snare to the feet of the foolish. for the devising of idols was the beginning of forni- cation, and the invention of them the corruption of life. for neither were they from the beginning, neither shall they be for ever; for by the vaingloriousness of men they entered into the world, and therefore was a speedy end devised for them. for a father worn with untimely grief, making an image of the child quickly taken away, now honoured him as a god which was then a dead man, and delivered to those that were under him mysteries and solemn rites. afterward, the ungodly custom, in process even in the sea thou gavest a way, and in the waves a sure path, shewing that thou canst save out of every danger, that so even without art a man may put to sea. and it is thy will that the works of thy wisdom should not be idle. therefore also do men entrust their lives to a little piece of wood, and passing through the surge on a raft are brought safe to land. for in the old time also, when proud giants were perishing, the hope of the world, taking refuge on a raft, left to the race of men a seed of generations to come, thy hand guiding the helm. ios of solo m on - discourse v of time grown strong, was kept as a law, and by the com- mandments of princes the graven images received worship. and when men could not honour them in presence because they dwelt far off, imagining the likeness from afar, they made a visible image of the king whom they honoured, that by their zeal they might flatter the absent as if present. but unto a yet higher pitch was worship raised even by them that knew him not, urged forward by the ambition of the artificer. for he, wishing peradventure to please one in authority, used his art to force the like- ness toward a greater beauty; and the multitude, allured by reason of the grace of his handiwork, now accounted as an object of devotion him that a little before was honoured as a man. and this became a hidden danger unto life, because men, in bondage either to calamity or to tyranny, invested stones and stocks with the incommunicable name. afterward it was not enough for them to go astray as touching the knowledge of god; but also, while they live in sore conflict through ignorance of him, that multitude of evils they call peace. for either slaughtering children in solemn rites, or celebrating secret mysteries, or holding frantic revels of strange ordinances, no longer do they guard either life or purity of marriage, but one brings upon another either death by treachery, or anguish by adulterate offspring. and all things confusedly are filled with blood and murder, theft and deceit, corruption, faith- lessness, tumult, perjury, turmoil, ingratitude for benefits io discourse v → the wisdom ~ received, defiling of souls, confusion of sex, disorder in marriage, adultery and wantonness. for the worship of those nameless idols is a beginning and cause and end of every evil. for their worshippers either make merry unto madness, or prophesy lies, or live unrighteously; or lightly forswear themselves, for, putting their trust in life- less idols, when they have sworn a wicked oath they expect not to suffer harm. but for both sins shall the just doom pursue them, because they had evil thoughts of god by giving heed to idols, and swore unrighteously in deceit through contempt for holiness. for it is not the power of them by whom men swear, but it is that justice which hath regard to them that sin, that visiteth always the transgression of the unrighteous. but thou, our god, art gracious and true, longsuffering, and in mercy ordering all things. for even if we sin, we are thine, knowing thy dominion. but we shall not sin, knowing that we have been accounted thine; for to be acquainted with thee is perfect righteousness, and to know thy dominion is the root of immortality. for neither were we led astray by any evil device of men's art, nor yet by painters' fruitless labour, – a form stained with varied colours, the sight whereof leadeth fools into lust; their desire is for the breathless form of a dead image. lovers of evil things, and worthy of such hopes as these, are both they that do, and they that desire, and they that worship. for a potter, kneading soft earth, laboriously mouldeth iio discourse v → the wisdom nor nostrils for drawing breath, nor ears to hear, nor fingers for handling, and their feet are helpless for walking; for a man made them, and one whose own spirit is borrowed moulded them *—yea, and the creatures that are most hate- ful do they worship. for being compared as to want of sense, these are worse than all others; neither, as seen be- side other creatures, are they beautiful so that one should desire them; but they have escaped both the praise of god and his blessing. for this cause were these men worthily punished through creatures like those which they worship, and tormented through a multitude of vermin. instead of which punish- ment, thou, bestowing benefits on thy people, preparedst quails for food, food of rare taste, to satisfy the desire of their appetite; to the end that thine enemies, desiring food, might for the hideousness of the creatures sent among them loathe even the necessary appetite; but these, thy people, having for a short space suffered want, might even partake of food of rare taste. for it was needful that upon those should come inexorable want in their tyrannous dealing, but that to these it should only be shewed how their ene- mies were tormented. for even when terrible raging of wild beasts came upon * for no one hath power, being a man, to mould a god like unto himself, but being mortal he maketh a dead thing by the work of lawless hands; for he is better than the objects of his worship, forasmuch as he indeed had life, but they never. ii of solo m on - discourse v thy people, and they were perishing by the bites of crooked serpents, thy wrath continued not to the uttermost; but for admonition were they troubled for a short space, having a token of salvation, to put them in remembrance of the com- mandment of thy law. for he that turned toward it was not saved because of that which was beheld, but because of thee, the saviour of all. yea, and in this didst thou per- suade our enemies, that thou art he that delivereth out of every evil. for them verily the bites of locusts and flies did slay, and there was not found a healing for their life, because they were worthy to be punished by such as these; but thy sons not the very teeth of venomous dragons over- came, for thy mercy passed by where they were, and healed them. for they were bitten, to put them in re- membrance of thine oracles; and were quickly saved lest, falling into deep forgetfulness, they should become unable to be roused by thy beneficence. for of a truth it was neither herb nor mollifying plaister that cured them, but thy word, o lord, which healeth all things; for thou hast authority over life and death, and thou leadest down to the gates of hades, and leadest up again. but though a man may slay by his wickedness, yet the spirit that is gone forth he turneth not again, neither giveth release to the soul that hades hath received. but thy hand it is not possible to escape; for ungodly men, refusing to know thee, were scourged in the strength of thine arm, pursued with strange rains and hails and i ii discourse v → the wisdom showers inexorable, and utterly consumed with fire. for — what was most marvellous * of all—in the water which quencheth all things the fire wrought yet more mightily. instead whereof thou gavest thy people angels' food to eat, and bread ready for their use didst thou provide for them from heaven without their toil, bread having the virtue of every pleasant savour, and agreeing to every taste: for thy nature manifested thy sweetness toward thy children, while that bread, ministering to the desire of the eater, tempered itself according to every man's choice. but snow and ice endured fire, and melted not, that men might know that fire was destroying the fruits of the enemies, burning in the hail and flashing in the rains. and this element again, in order that righteous men may be nourished, hath even forgotten its own power. for the creation, minister- ing to thee its maker, straineth its force against the un- righteous for punishment, and slackeneth it in behalf of them that trust in thee for beneficence. therefore at that time also, converting itself into all forms, it ministered to thine all-nourishing bounty, according to the desire of them that made supplication; that thy sons, whom thou lovedst, o lord, might learn that it is not the growth of the earth's * for the world fighteth for the righteous. for at one time the flame lost its fierceness, that it might not burn up the creatures sent against the un- godly, but that these themselves as they looked might see that they were chased through the judgement of god; and at another time even in the midst of water it burneth above the power of fire, that it may destroy the fruits of an unrighteous land. ii of solo m on - discourse v fruits that nourisheth a man, but that thy word preserveth them that trust thee. for that which was not marred by fire, when it was simply warmed by a faint sunbeam melted away; that it might be known that we must rise before the sun to give thee thanks, and must plead with thee at the dawning of the light. for the hope of the unthankful shall melt as the winter's hoar frost, and shall flow away as water that hath no use. for great are thy judgements, and hard to interpret; therefore souls undisciplined went astray. for when law- less men had supposed that they held a holy nation in their power, they themselves, prisoners of darkness, and bound in the fetters of a long night, close kept beneath their roofs, lay exiled from the eternal providence. for while they thought that they were unseen in their secret sins, they were sundered one from another by a dark cur- tain of forgetfulness, stricken with terrible awe, and sore troubled by spectral forms. for neither did the dark recesses that held them guard them from fears; but sounds rushing down rang around them, and phantoms appeared, cheerless with unsmiling faces. and no force of fire pre- vailed to give them light, neither were the brightest flames of the stars strong enough to illumine that gloomy night: but only there appeared to them the glimmering of a fire self- kindled, full of fear; and in terror they deemed the things which they saw to be worse than that sight on which they could not gaze. and they lay helpless, made the sport of ii of solo m on - discourse v rocks hurled down, or the swift course of animals bounding along unseen, or the voice of wild beasts harshly roaring, or an echo rebounding from the hollows of the mountains: all these things paralysed them with terror. for the whole world beside was enlightened with clear light, and was occupied with unhindered works; while over them alone was spread a heavy night, — an image of the dark- ness that should afterward receive them. but yet heavier than darkness were they unto themselves.” whereas thou didst provide for thy people a burning pillar of fire, to be a guide for their unknown journey, and withal a kindly sun for their proud exile. for well did the egyptians deserve to be deprived of light and imprisoned by darkness, they who had kept in close ward thy sons, through whom the incorruptible light of the law was to be given to the race of men. after they had taken counsel to slay the babes of the holy ones, and when a single child had been cast forth and saved to convict them of their sin, thou tookest away from them their multitude of children, and destroyedst all their host together in a mighty flood. of that night were our fathers made aware beforehand, that, having sure * but for thy holy ones there was great light; and the egyptians, hearing their voice but seeing not their form, counted it a happy thing that they too had suffered; yet for that they do not hurt them now, though wronged by them before, they are thankful; and because they had been at variance with them, they made supplication to them. ii discourse v → the wisdom knowledge, they might be cheered by the oaths which they had trusted. so by thy people was expected salva- tion of the righteous and destruction of the enemies; for as thou didst take vengeance on the adversaries, by the same means, calling us unto thyself, thou didst glorify us. for holy children of good men offered sacrifice in secret, and with one consent they took upon themselves the cov- enant of the divine law, that they would partake alike in the same good things and the same perils; the fathers already leading the sacred songs of praise. but there sounded back in discord the cry of the enemies, and a piteous voice of lamentation for children was borne abroad. and servant along with master punished with a like just doom, and commoner suffering the same as king, yea, all the people together, under one form of death, had with them corpses without number; for the living were not sufficient even to bury them, since at a single stroke their nobler offspring was consumed. for while they were dis- believing all things by reason of the enchantments, upon the destruction of the firstborn they confessed the people to be god's son. for while peaceful silence enwrapped all things, and night in her own swiftness was in mid course, thine all-powerful word leaped from heaven out of the royal throne, a stern warrior, into the midst of the doomed land, bearing as a sharp sword thine unfeigned commandment; and standing it filled all things with death; and while it touched the heaven it trode upon the earth. ii of solo m on – discourse v then forthwith apparitions in dreams terribly troubled them, and fears came upon them unlooked for: and each — one thrown here half dead, another there — made mani- fest wherefore he was dying: for the dreams, perturbing them, did foreshew this, that they might not perish with- out knowing why they were afflicted. but it befell the righteous also to make trial of death, and a multitude were stricken in the wilderness. howbeit the wrath endured not for long. for a blameless man hasted to be their champion : bringing the weapon of his own ministry, even prayer and the propitiation of incense, he withstood the indignation, and set an end to the ca- lamity, shewing that he was thy servant. and he over- came the anger, not by strength of body, not by efficacy of weapons; but by word did he subdue the minister of punishment, by bringing to remembrance oaths and cove- nants made with the fathers. for when the dead were already fallen in heaps one upon another, standing be- tween he stopped the advancing wrath, and cut off the way to the living. for upon his long high-priestly robe was the whole world, and the glories of the fathers were upon the graving of the four rows of precious stones, and thy majesty was upon the diadem of his head. to these the destroyer gave place, and these the people feared; for it was enough only to make trial of the wrath. but upon the ungodly there came unto the end indigna- tion without mercy. for their future also god foreknew, ii of solo m on – discourse v river cast up a multitude of frogs. but afterwards they saw also a new race of birds, when, led on by desire, they asked for luxurious dainties; for, to solace them, there came up for them quails from the sea. and upon the sinners came the punishments not without the tokens that were given beforehand by the force of the thunders.” for as the notes of a psaltery vary the character of the rhythm, even so did the elements, changing their order one with another, continuing always the same, each in its several sound: as may clearly be divined from the sight of the things that are come to pass. for creatures of the dry land were turned into creatures of the waters, and creat- ures that swim trode now upon the earth; fire kept the mastery of its own power in the midst of water, and water forgat its quenching nature; contrariwise, flames wasted not the flesh of perishable creatures that walked among them, neither melted they the ice-like grains of ambrosial food that were of nature apt to melt. for in all things, * for justly did they suffer through their own wickednesses, for grievous indeed was the hatred which they practised toward guests. for whereas the men of sodom received not the strangers when they came among them, the egyptians made slaves of guests who were their benefactors. and not only so, but god shall visit the men of sodom after another sort, since they re- ceived as enemies them that were aliens; whereas these first welcomed with feastings, and then afflicted with dreadful toils, them that had already shared with them in the same rights. and moreover they were stricken with loss of sight, even as were those others at the righteous man's doors, when, being compassed about with yawning darkness, they sought every one the passage through his own door. i i discourse v → the wisdom of solo m on o lord, thou didst magnify thy people, and thou didst glorify them and not lightly regard them; standing by their side in every time and place. i syllabus aawd awotes to ecclesiastes swllabus *...* each paragraph in this syllabus represents a paragraph in the text. prologue all is vanity the totality of things is incomprehensible, and the effort to interpret it is lost labour. in things of nature there is no movement which is not move- ment in a circle. in human enquiry there is no attainment. in the succession of events there is no advance. in the succession of human generations there is no continuity. essay i in the form of a dramatic monologue solomon’s search for wisdom the preacher identifies himself for the moment with king solomon, as supreme in wealth and wisdom, in order to trace a fancy experiment: the turning reflection on to all kinds of human effort, only to find that they yield nothing to analysis. syllabus - . the ‘seasons’ of things are seen reversed: wickedness in place of judgment. objection. —such facts argue an hereafter for rectification. rejoinder. — the facts fit equally with the view that man is not different in his end from the beasts. . there are things to which no “season' can give an inter- est: suffering under oppression — skill attained at the price of bitter competition—effort recognising its own purposelessness. essay iii the vanity of desire attainment without satisfaction. attainment attended by hurt. - attainment attended by hurt and followed by failure. side by side, a real good: god-given wealth with god-given satisfaction in it—and the worst of evils: god-given wealth and the satisfaction withheld. desire prompts effort, only to encounter limitations inherent in humanity. knowledge of what to desire belongs to a future which the short life never reaches. essay iv the search for wisdom with notes by the way wisdom [interpretation of the whole] is unattainable: but tentative approaches may be made, notes on the analysis of things. → ecclesiastes feminine temptation is worse than death. a wise man is a rarity; a wise woman not yet found. the creator's design in man was moral: his own bent is utilitarian. the wise man's spirit is reflected in his countenance. non-resistance a religious duty and a point of wisdom: within its limits there is safety; whereas the wisdom of resistance could only be proved in a future the individual will not live to see. sin is encouraged by the spectacle of the oppressor and his innocent victim coming to the same end of death and oblivion: but in spite of such impunity it is not well with the wicked. the spectacle of the righteous unfortunate and the wicked prosperous brings despair of wisdom: there seems nothing bet- ter than enjoyment. the vastness of the survey of things makes wisdom unattain- able.—this alone is more than any can solve: that the fate of the righteous for good or ill is a secret of god; the same death comes to all, and for the dead there is no portion in anything. happiness in life is the sign of god's acceptance: cultivate it before the grave cuts the life short. capacity does not secure attainment: time and chance hap- pen to all. wisdom achieving where strength failed is yet forgotten be- cause united with poverty. i → ecclesiastes in this connection “all” or ‘all things” is suggestive: it is anti- thetic to the conception of a unity in the universe. all that is done under heaven. all the works that are done under the sun. what it was good for the sons of men that they should do under the heaven all the days of their life. the work that is wrought under the sun. there is a grievous evil which i have seen under the sun. who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth. all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun. (many others) the whole group of expressions, under the sum, or upon the earth, etc., make formulae for the objective world, antithetic to the world of consciousness and reflection which fills the thought of the book. another antithesis to these expressions is the following: the work that god hath done from the beginning even to the end (ii). the work of god who doeth all (xxxii). consider the work of god . . . god hath even made [aros- perity] side by side with [adversity]. these are formulae, not for the phenomena, but for the under- lying principles which are hidden, and (ecclesiastes thinks) impossible to discover. the two formulae clash in one passage: notes - i beheld all the work of god, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun because however much a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it (iv). another set of expressions are used to introduce distinct stages or steps in the reflective process. i communed with mine own heart. i said in mine heart. i searched in mine heart how . . . then i looked. and i turned myself to behold. a returned, and saw. all this have i seen, and applied my heart unto . . etc. the following make an important group. there is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink, and make his soul enjoy good in his iabour (i). who can eat, or who can have enjoyment, more than i ? avothing better for them than to rejoice and to get good so long as they live : and also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy good in all his labour is . . . (ii). there is nothing better than that a man should rejoice in his works (ii). good . . . and comely . . . to eat and to drink, and to enjoy good in all his labour (iii). i → ecclesiastes riches and wealth and . . . power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour (iii). god giveth riches, wealth, and honour, so that he lacketh nothing for his soul of all that he desireth, yet god giveth him not power to eat thereof (iii). then i commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun than to eat and to drink and to be merry: and that this should accompany him in his labour all the days of his life (iv). when all these passages are read together it becomes evi- dent that the expression eat and drink is not used by this writer in the limited sense of indulging sensuous appetite, but as a formula for appreciation in the widest extent: some of these passages applying eat and drink to riches, to labour, and even to honour. a similar remark may be made as to mirth : the last quotation makes it an element of labour. as a fact, ecclesi- astes never dwells upon the revel, or the sensuous, by itself: all happy appreciation of life is treated as one. the word labour has the appearance of being used as a formula. what hath a man of all his labour, and of the striving of his heart wherein he laboureth under the sun ? (/). i hated all my labour . . . seeing that i must leave it unto the man that shall be after me (i). then i looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that i had laboured to do (/). etc. i notes - the sense suggested seems to be the effort of production, as antithetic to consumption. the word time enters into the usage of formulae. to everything there is a season, and a time to every pur- pose under the heaven (//). | he hath made everything beautiful in its time (ii). ſ a wise man's heart discerneth time and judgement: for to every purpose there is a time and judgement (iv). | for man also knoweth not his time . . . so are the sons of men snared in an evil time (iv). it will be argued below (pages - ) that the word time in the two sets of passages points to totally different ideas. in reference to the word wisdom itself a distinction may be made. to a great extent the word is used in this book in a very general sense, as the equivalent of knowledge, or the antith- esis to folly. to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly (/). whose labour is with wisdom, and with knowledge, and with skilfulness (/). it approaches a formula when used of the reflective process, either for the process itself or its results. all this have i proved in wisdom . . . to seek wisdom and the reason of things (iv). to search out by wisdom concerning all that is done under heaven (/). i notes - the words of the preacher, the son of david, king in jerusa- lem. these words are found in the r.v., but such editorial sub-titles are omitted in the present edition. there is no evi- dence to show that such titles were part of the original works, or to indicate what authority of tradition they bring. on the other hand they are often out of keeping with the matter to which they are prefixed (e.g. psalms xxxiv, lii); or at least de- scribe correctly only the beginning, and not the whole, of what they introduce (compare ecclesiasticus volume, page avi). in the present case they seem to be based on the opening words of essay i, the addition of an editor who did not perceive that such words would apply only to that essay. it may be pointed out, moreover, that it was a tendency of antiquity to describe loosely a whole work by what was a prominent part of it. thus the biblical title to proverbs uses the expression “the proverbs of solomon,” etc., although other authorship is recognised in the book itself, and further, the title “the proverbs of solomon’’ is repeated at the point (chapter x) where these actually begin. the title is further explained by the tendency (see introduction, page xii) to speak of all proverb literature by the name of the solomon who was regarded as its founder. to such an extent does this prevail in ecclesiastical tradition that clement (of alexandria) and cyprian use ‘solomon' even for ecclesiasticus, although that collection of wisdom has an author who names himself, and is named at the outset by his translator. — it is hardly necessary to add that the words are of no force in the question of the authorship of the book. i → ecclesiastes prologue for the general argument of the prologue see the syllabus. page . vanity of vanities: for this formula see above, page . — saith the preacher: for the word preacher see above, page . these or similar words constitute a formula that partly takes the place of the my son of other wisdom books. it is significant that the latter is only used in the epilogue. the older type of men of wisdom held a firmly established system, and so spoke down to their readers; the present writer has failed to solve life's mystery, and so speaks only as “one of the wise’ to others his equals. but when he, in the epilogue, is proclaiming this negative attitude as the true wisdom, he falls naturally into the authoritative my son. page . all the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full; unto the place whither the rivers go, thither they go again. so far as a circle can be said to have a starting point, this passage makes the sea the fountain for the round of waters: from the sea rises vapour, which falls in rain on the land, perco- lates into rivers, and so runs back to the sea. similarly homer: the mighty strength of ocean's fathomless flow, forth out of whom all rivers and all the sea-waves go, and all deep-slumbering wells and fountains sunlight plash- ing.” the same thought (with a slight difference in the process) is the foundation of one of the most beautiful similes in english poetry (in sir john davies's avosce teipsum). * iliad, xxi. (way's translation). notes – and as the moisture, which the thirsty earth sucks from the sea, to fill her empty veins, a rom out her womb at last doth take a birth, and runs a lymph along the grassy plains: iong doth she stay, as loth to leave the land, from whose soft side she first did issue make, .she tastes all places, turns to every hand, her flowery banks unwilling to forsake : yet nature so her streams doth lead and carry, as that her course doth make no final stay, till she herself unto the ocean marry, within whose watery bosom first she lay: e’en so the soul, which in this earthly mould the spirit of god doth secretly infuse, because at first she doth the earth behold, and only this material world she views: at first her mother earth she holdeth dear, and doth embrace the world, and worldly things. she flies close by the ground, and hovers here, and mounts not up with her celestial wings. yet under heaven she cannot light on aught that with her heavenly nature doth agree: she cannot rest, she cannot ſix her thought, she cannot in this world contented be. i → ecclesiastes i have thought it worth while to support this conception at full length, because so omniscient a writer as lord macaulay blundered over it, and fastened his own blunder on the author he was reviewing. in the celebrated essay on robert mont- gomery occurs the following passage. we would not be understood, however, to say, that mr. robert montgomery cannot make similitudes for himself. a very ſew lines further on, we find one which has every mark of originality, and on which, we will be bound, none of the poets whom he has plundered will ever think of mak- ing reprisals : “the soul, aspiring, pants its source to mount, as streams meander level with their fount.” we take this to be, on the whole, the worst similitude in the world. in the first place, no stream meanders, or can possibly meander, level with its fount. in the next place, if streams did meander level with their ſounts, no two motions can be less like each other than that of meandering level and that of mounting upwards. it is plain that macaulay thought only of the prosaic fountain of a stream, which must be its highest point; montgomery, with homer, and ecclesiastes and poetry, conceives the sea to be the true and ultimate fountain of the moving water. again, the reviewer parsed the sentence wrongly, in not seeing that level was “proleptic': when a maid “scrubs a floor clean” she scrubs i o notes - it till it is clean, not when it is clean ; so streams meander till they are level with their fount, the sea. so far from being original with robert montgomery, the couplet is a legitimate echo of the much praised simile of davies; and the whole verse about “tasting all places” and “turning to every hand” is summed up in the suggestive “meander” of the later poet. a poetic conception that trips up lord macaulay is one as to which the readers of the present volume will not object to be cautioned. essay i for the argument of the essay see the syllabus. page . i the preacher was king, etc. the author is here identifying himself with solomon, for the purpose of describing, in his person, an imaginary experiment. (see introduction, pages x–xiii, xv.) pages , . mine heart yet guiding me with wisdom . . . also my wisdom remained with me. the experiment included the pleasures that are called follies: he will give himself freely to them, but retain the wise reflecting power that can analyse them. (compare above, page .) on the idea of thus experi- menting in folly see a note on wisdom i (below, page ). page . for my heart rejoiced because of all my labour; and this was my portion from all my labour. the point of this sentence is that the imaginary experiment is successful consid- ered as an experiment, that the goods accumulated do bring their impression of pleasure: but when reflection is turned upon them there is no satisfaction. this element of the argument is neces- - i i notes – sways between one side and the other of a number of antitheses or “oppositions' (see ecclesiasticus volume, pages io , ) which are regarded as identical or related: positive and negative production and destruction joy and sorrow collection and dispersion speech and silence love and hate. page . to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. these important words contain the gist of the theory of life which this essay is to review. caution is required to prevent the misunderstanding of this epigram- matic statement of it. it is natural to associate, as plumptre and others have done, the expression ‘time and season’ with the greek word kairos, which in a particular phase of ancient thought was as prominent as perhaps the word “evolution’ is in our own day. but i wish to show that ‘time and season’ in the present passage represent a totally different set of ideas from ‘time’ associated with other terms in other parts of ecclesiastes. the idea underlying the special usage of the greek word kairos is precisely that embodied in shakespeare's familiar saying: there is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the remnant of their lives is bound in shallows and in miseries. i → ecclesiastes it is part of the fatalism of greek thought, but represents a favourable aspect of fate; the drift of things is irresistible, but an individual, by watching and adapting himself to it, can make irresistible destiny achieve his purpose. hence the maxim of pittacus: “know the kairos,” the opportunity. hence, at the opening of sophocles' electra, orestes says: the true, right time is come, the mightiest master of all works of men. the idea (in a limited sense) has been allegorised by spenser in his occasio (faerie queene, ii. iv): the lame hag— her lockes, that loathly were, and hoarie gray, grew all afore, and loosely hong unrold; but all behinde was bald, and worne away, that mone thereof could ever taken hold: — for of course we must “take time by the forelock.” the same idea seems to underlie the expression ‘time and judgement’ in one of the most difficult passages of the present work. (essay iv, paragraph ; page .) the whole para- graph (see the syllabus) seems to lay down the doctrine of passive obedience or non-resistance, and this argument is used: whoso keepeth the commandment shall know no evil thing; and a wise man's heart discerneth time and judgement. for to every purpose there is a time and judgement; because the misery of man is great upon him, for he knoweth not that which shall be. for who can tell him how it shall be there i - ecclesiastes asticus to be the earlier work; if not, the passage is none the less a clear indication of the theory of life which both authors notice, the one to accept and the other to reject it..] in the preface to book iv the son of sirach undertakes to give the principles upon which divine praise is to be based. all the works of the lord are exeeeding good, and every command shall be accomplished in his season. mone can say, what is this wherefore is that for in his season they shall all be sought out. . . . he beholdeth from everlasting to everlasting, and there is nothing wonderful before him. mone can say, what is this wherefore is that for all things are created for their uses. . . . aſis ways are plain unto the holy; so are they stumblingblocks unto the wicked. details follow of things— water, fire, iron, salt, etc. — good for the godly, for sinners turned into evil; winds and terrors that shall be ready for vengeance in their ‘seasons.” therefore from the beginning i was resolved, and i thought this, and left it in writing. all the works of the lord are good; and he will supply every need in its season. and mone can say, this is worse than that: for they shall all be well approved in their season. the writer is making a formal reconciliation between the tra- ditional adoration of the works of the lord, and the growing difficulty of the recognition of evil in the world. his reconcilia- tion is, that there is no absolute good or absolute evil, but that i notes - all things have their share of good and of evil. they are not to be looked at in themselves, but to be “sought out” in god's “season,’ that is, when his use of them has shown them as con- taining good or containing evil; what he expresses in one place by “seasons’ he expresses in another place by “uses.’ so far does he carry the argument that he will not admit that one thing is “worse’ [or better] than another: it is a question of the “season’ of each. whether the allusion be to the work of the son of sirach or not, this is clearly the theory which ecclesiastes here reviews: that all things are by their ‘seasons’ demonstrated to have their part in good. the notion of an absolute good (or summum bonum) has been the thought of essay i; now he deals with the other view, that good is to be looked for in the parts; that there are multa bona ; that everything has a share of good, and that appreciation of life is to be adjusted to this. the expres- sion ‘time and season” is a temporal one; the meaning is not temporal, but is what we should express by the metaphor of place: “there is a place for all things in our estimate of good.” hence the total divergence from the idea of the greek kairos. the latter implies a “season’ which alone makes a thing good. but the ‘seasons’ of ecclesiasticus are god's seasons of approv- ing things—seasons required only to reveal the relation of a thing with good and with evil, which relation belongs to it always. that this is the meaning is abundantly clear, not only from the sonnet-like statement of the theory, but also from the arguments by which it is met: that the interest of the ‘parts’ does not exclude the interest of the whole, that the places of i → ecclesiastes these “parts” are seen reversed, that there are ‘parts” which can have no place in a scheme of good. page . also he hath set the world in their heart. the margin offers the alternative etermity instead of world: either expresses what is required, the antithesis of universal and par- ticular. the work that god hath done, etc. : see above, page . on the whole passage compare bacon, advancement of learning, paragraph of book i. he quotes this verse and proceeds: declaring not obscurely, that god hath framed the mind of man as a mirror or glass, capable of the image of the uni- versal world, and joyful to receive the impression thereof, as the eye foyeth to receive light, and not only delighted in be. holding the variety of things and vicissitude of times, but raised also to find out and discern the ordinances and decrees, which throughout all those changes are infallibly observed. and although he doth insinuate that the supreme or summary law of mature, which he calleth the work which god worketh from the beginning to the end, is not possible to be found out by man, yet that doth not derogate from the capacity of the mind, but may be referred to the impediments, as of shortness of life, ill conjunction of la- bours, ill tradition of knowledge over from hand to hand, and many other inconveniences, whereunto the condition of man is subject. the latter part of this comment would not have been admitted by ecclesiastes; nevertheless it is a real answer to his diffi- notes - culty. the failure of the preacher to find harmony in the uni- verse is due to his confinement of the enquiry to the short life of a single thinker; the evil of such limitation is pointed out by the literary representative of that inductive philosophy which is an organisation of all thinkers, from generation to generation, for the solution of what ecclesiastes pronounced insoluble. page . there is a time there for every purpose: the there is the indefinite future implied in the preceding shall: “god shall judge the righteous and the wicked.” the words natu- rally suggest judgment beyond death. but the important point of the passage is that this is a passing thought, immediately re- jected in favour of the other thought, that there is nothing to sup- port such a future for man more than for the brutes. (see the syllabus; and above page xvii.) no other passage recognises any future existence: the expression of the final sonnet, and the spirit return unto god who gave it, clearly means that by death man will become what he was before birth. on the contrary, the negative of existence after death is insisted upon in place after place of this book. page . the fool foldeth his hands together, etc. i under- stand these words as the interposition of an imaginary objector, and the words that follow, better is an handful of quietness, etc., as the rejoinder of ecclesiastes. such citation of objections in the words of the supposed objector occurs more than once in job. miscellanea ii. there is no historical allusion here: it is a maxim of gen- eral experience on the vanity of kingship. out of prison he i → ecclesiastes came forth to be king; yea, even in his kingdom he was born poor. i understand by the prison the womb; and for born poor com- pare: “naked came i out of my mother's womb, and naked shall i return thither.”” the thought of the whole is: in essence, apart from outward trappings, the king is as poor as the poor youth: at birth one was as poor as the other. and what do these outward trappings amount to ? when the old king is gone, all the world flocks to his successor; but that suc- cessor will be equally forsaken in his turn. — the youth, the second has no necessary reference to the poor and wise youth : the main antithesis of king and poor was merely strengthened by the further antithesis of old and foolish and youth and wise. iii. a maxim founded upon an image (compare ecclesiasticus i. xxii); pious volubility no better than the talking in sleep of an overworked brain. iv. a maxim with the text in the middle: compare x, xvii. [for the maxim in general, compare the ecclesiasticus volume of this series, page aci.] the saying puts two conceptions of government: one looking upon the people as a field for extor- tion, the other upon the land as a thing to be developed. essay iii for the general argument of this essay see the syllabus. page . he shall not much remember the days of his li/e; because god answereth him in the joy of his heart. cheyne * similar words are found in essay iii. o notes – the misery of man is great upon him, for he knoweth not that which shall be. for who can tell him how it shall be there is no man that hath power over the spirit, to retain the spirit; etc. (iv). these passages read together bring out how the impossibility of man's reading the future is one of the fixed ideas of ecclesi- astes. this seems to give a clew to one of the sources of his intellectual despair. he belongs to a stage of philosophic development which has just grasped the crushing thought of ‘law.’ or invariable sequence, in nature and human events. to us, such law seems to imply power of foreseeing the future when the laws of things have been traced. but this would con- flict with a more fundamental conception of the hebrew mind —the inscrutability of the creator, which plays such an im- portant part in the earlier speeches of job in answer to the friends. accordingly ecclesiastes seems to recognise an ele- ment of the incalculable in divine providence, sufficient to defeat all efforts to foresee: and thus man has the double “misery' of perceiving law, and yet being powerless to secure the event by acting on law. so the sense of the present maxim is: if your [wise] action results in prosperity, be glad of it; if notwithstanding all your wisdom adversity comes, remember this is the incalculable dispensation of the creator, without which man would be able to read into the future. x. this is a maxim with the text in the middle (compare iv, xvii); moreover, it is unique in having, not a couplet, but a sextett for text. — be not righteous over much . . . yea, also from that [wickedness] withdraw not thine hand, etc. some i notes - essay iv for the general argument of the essay see the syllabus. page . i said, i will be wise; but it was far from me . . . i turned about, and my heart was set . . . to search out, etc. these words contain the purpose of the essay, and make clear its difference from essay i. the words imply two stages of thought (compare above, page ): the first (like essay i) recognises the hopelessness of solving the mystery of things; then another suggests the possibility of a partial or tentative solution: and this essay iv follows out. page . they have sought out many inventions: the antith- esis is between moral and utilitarian. a commentary on this saying of ecclesiastes is the common reflection of modern writers that a man will endure insinuations against his moral character with more equanimity than suggestions of his mental incompetence. page . i counsel thee, keep the king's command, and that in regard of the oath of god. the general doctrine of passive obedience or non-resistance: the same combination of thoughts as in romans xiii. - , though of course st. paul is providing for a very different situation of things—a ‘kingdom not of this world’ in the midst of secular rule. whoso keepeth the com- mandment shall know no evil thing, etc. for this difficult pas- sage see above, page i . page . and withal i saw the wicked buried, etc. this passage becomes clear when the paragraphs are arranged as in the text (see also the syllabus). the thought is: there is a i → ecclesiastes time when an individual has the power to oppress another; the wicked oppressor dies and is buried; similarly the righteous victim is taken away [by death] from the holy place and the city: both have the same end, and the sight of this “vanity’ of providence encourages sin. this is strikingly parallel to a diffi- cult saying in job (chapter xxi. ): the two passages explain one another. ahave ye not asked them that go by the way and do ye not know their tokens that the evil man is spared in the day of calamity that they are led away in the day of wrath & who shall declare his way to his face # and who shall repay him what he hath done Ž moreover he is borne to the grave, and they shall keep watch over his tomb; the clods of the valley are sweet unto him, and all men draw after him. both passages are concerned with the providential mystery of the oppressor and wicked man honoured in the time of their death. — though a sinner do evil . . . yet surely i know, etc. a paradox: in spite of appearances, it is not so; or in spite of individual cases, the principle of judgment on the wicked is sound. the importance of the passage is the maintenance of moral principle side by side with complete scepticism as to understanding the mystery of god's ways. (introduction, page xxii.) page . then i commended mirah, etc.: for mirth, eat and i notes - drink, etc., see above, page . the point of commended is, that this seems an inevitable deduction from the facts. page . the business that is done upon the earth . . . all the work of god: for these phrases see above, page . page . madness is in their heart while they live : this does not apply to the wicked only, but to all; madness being one of the synonyms of laughter (as well as of folly) in essay i. page . god hath already accepted thy works : for the im- portance of this thought in the whole argument, see introduc- tion, page xix. for already compare above, page . all the days of thy vanity, etc.: the point of these impressive reiterations is the same as that of essay w: the briefness of life is reason for appreciating to the full what is given. page . time and chance happeneth to them all . . . for man also knoweth not his time: see above, page . miscellanea xxii. yet man knoweth not what shall be: see above, page i . xxiv. thy princes eat in the morning: compare such pas- sages as acts, chapter ii. ; isaiah, chapter v. ii. xxx. according to the structure of an epigram (proverbs vol- ume, page xxii) the two lines standing out to the left ought to con- tain a couplet proverb complete in itself. in substance this prin- ciple is carried out here; only the nouns of the preceding lines need substituting for the pronouns; thus the form would be: full rain clouds empty themselves upon the earth, and the tree, where it falleth, there shall it be. i → ecclesiastes the saying puts the thought of irresistible necessity, as in the prologue. xxxii. for an interesting parallel compare psalm cºxix. – . essay v for the general argument see the syllabus. compare also introduction, page xx. page . but know thou that for all these things god will bring thee into judgement. this is not ( ) an ironical challenge: revel away, but the judgment will come down upon thee. ( ) nor a reference to any ‘day of judgment” in the far future. it is the main positive thought of the book that happi- ness is god's best gift; but it must be happiness with a sense of responsibility; for their enjoyment, as for everything else, men must be prepared to give account. throughout the o.t. the word ‘judgment’ implies the irreconcilable antagonism of good and evil, the recognition of which makes responsibility. this passage by itself is sufficient to differentiate the ‘joy’ of our author from the abandon of the reveller. sonnet. the form of this sonnet is the pendulum structure (proverbs volume, page ): the middle lines put symbolic descriptions of old age; the left hand lines drop the symbolism and speak in plain terms. [the lines indented on the extreme right are subordinate clauses.] the matter of the sonnet is a tour-de-force of symbolism, under which are veiled the symptoms of senile decay followed i notes - by death. it is very likely that some of the symbols may be lost; but it is not difficult, without straining, to see a possible interpretation for each; and some of them have passed into tra- ditional use. the poetic beauty of the passage is marvellous. it has, however, been the subject of extraordinary ingenuity in pressing details to too literal significance. those who are cu- rious are referred to the notes of plumptre, or the elaborate edition of dr. ginsburg. i attempt no more than a simple suggestion for each detail. or ever the sun, and the light . . . be darkened: in view of the opening words of essay v, which take the “light’ and “sun’ as symbols of the whole happiness of conscious existence, it is clear that the darkening of this light is the gradual failing of the joy of living. — and the clouds return after the rain : an exqui- site symbol, closely akin to the last. in youth we may overstrain and disturb our health, but we soon rally; these are storms that quickly clear up. in age the rallying power is gone: “the clouds return after the rain.” — the keepers of the house shall tremble : cheyne understands of the hands and arms, the trem- bling of which is a natural accompaniment of old age. compare in the parallel below (page ) the withered fist knocking at death's door. — the strong men shall bow themselves: the stoop- ing frame; the plural is merely by attraction to “keepers."—the grinders cease because they are few : obviously of the teeth. — those that look out of the windows be darkened: the eyes becom- ing dim. — the doors shall be shut in the street: the general con- nection of ideas makes it inevitable that the ‘folding-doors’ should be the jaws; clenched jaws are so marked a feature in the i notes - dently a symbol for a small object, which is nevertheless heavy to feeble age. the caper-berry shall burst: the last stage of its decay: the failing powers at last give way. and then follows the dropping of the symbolism: “man goeth to his long home.” so far we have had symbols for failure of powers; now for actual death and dissolution. or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken : a symbol from the house-lamp of gold, suspended by a silver cord, suddenly slipping its cord and break- ing, its light becoming extinguished. for bowl in this sense compare zechariah, chapter iv. , . – or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern : these are ex- quisite symbols for the sudden and violent cessation of every-day functions. compare the popular proverb: “the pitcher goes to the well once too often.” – and the spirit return unto god who gave it: this by analogy with the previous line must be inter- preted to mean no more than that the man becomes just what he was before he was born. with this symbolic picture of old age may be paralleled an elaborate passage of sackville, which it may be interesting to have side by side with the text. and next in order sad old age we found, his beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; with drooping cheer still poring on the ground, as on the place where nature him assigned to rest, when that the sisters had untwined his vital thread, and ended with their knife the fleeting course of fast declining life. m i i → ecclesiastes there heard we him with broken and hollow plaint a'ew with himself his end approaching fast; and all for nought his wretched mind torment with sweet remembrance of his pleasures past, and fresh delights of lusty youth forwaste. recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, and to be young again of /ove beseek. but and the cruel fates so fixed be that time for past cannot return again, this one request of jove yet prayed he, that in such withered plight and wretched pain as eld (accompanied with his loathly train) aad brought on him, all were it woe and grief, iłe might awhile yet linger forth his life, and not so soon descend into the pit, where death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, with retchless hands in grave doth cover it, thereafter never to enjoy again the gladsome light, but in the ground ylain, in depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, as he had never into the world been brought. but who had seen him, sobbing how he stood onto himself, and how he would bemoan his youth for past, as though it wrought him good to talk of youth, all were his youth foregone. aïe would have mused, and marvelled much, whereon i notes - this wretched age should life desire so fain, and knows full well life doth but length his pain. crookback'd he was, tooth shaken, and blear-eyed; went on three feet, and sometimes crept on four; with old lame bones that rattled by his side, his scalp all pill'd, and he with eld forlore; aſis wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; tumbling and drivelling as he draws his breath : for brief, the shape and messenger of death.* epilogue see the syllabus. he pondered, and sought out, etc. . . . of making many books there is no end. for the whole of this paragraph see introduc- tion, pages viii, ix. — god shall bring every work into judge. ment: see above, page . * from the induction to the mirror for magistrates. -- - , ! → the wisdom of solo m on . by their life: wickedness blinds them to the wages of holiness—and being thus of the ‘portion’ of the devil (whose envy was the means of death's entering into the world) they make trial of death. the seeming death of the righteous is only a trial of them — in the time of their visitation there awaits them splen- dour, a position in the divine hierarchy, and divine grace and mercy. digression. — the hopes of the ungodly [substitutes for immortality]. — ( ) zife in posterity. but the brood of the ungodly is unstable and accursed: better is childlessness with virtue. ( ) long life. but their old age is without honour; and a life cut short may be a life perfected. the ungodly who ignore the grace and mercy vouchsafed to the chosen shall be suddenly overthrown—dishonoured carcases among the dead—in the day of reckoning amazed at the sal- vation of their former victims. monologue of the ungodly: the derided righteous among the saints—their own great things passed away without a trace left. the author breaks in: vanity of the ungodly hopes—immor- tality of the righteous—the whole creation uniting to overwhelm the foes of god. the personality of king solomon is gradually assumed in a final appeal to kings, as those on whom will fall a sterner judgment because of their greater position: this makes the transition to the next discourse. i syllabus - discourse iii in the form of a dramatic monologue solomon's winning of wisdom wisdom meeteth every purpose of her seekers—from first desire of discipline to a final kingship by the side of god. kings therefore are addressed. the author (identifying himself with wise king solomon) will speak of wisdom to his brother kings— without grudging, for wisdom desires the multiplication of the wise. he began like all other kings, and had to pray for wisdom — he preferred her to all other good things. digression.— but in reality all other good things came with her — god gave him knowledge of all human and ex- ternal nature in giving him wisdom. for wisdom is all-pervasive [moral and intellectual wis- dom are one]—an effulgence from everlasting light and an image of divine goodness. her then he sought as a bride: for she would bring riches, understanding, experience, glory abroad and rest at home. the mode of obtaining this wisdom he thought to be prayer —this thought was the result of a pure nature and under- standing. solomon's prayer for wisdom. — closing with the impossi- bility of knowing god's will without wisdom, it reaches the i syllabus - wisdom guided jacob in his varied career. wisdom raised joseph from a dungeon to a sceptre. wisdom delivered a holy - people from their oppressors: entering into the soul of moses, so that he withstood kings: guiding and protecting the people in their marvellous passage. in the desert wisdom mar- vellously supplied their wants. [the supplying of water for the thirsty israelites suggests the thought that becomes the text for the next discourse.] discourse v judgments on the wicked turning to blessings for god’s people i. thirst. — water turned into undrinkable blood for the egyptians—water brought out of the solid rock for the israelites. . appetite. — for the egyptians a plague of loathly vermin. a. digression.— vermin on vermin-worshippers : men punished by that in which they sin. i → the wisdom of solo m on aa. digression. — such measured punishment (ad. monishing to repentance) is the mercy of omnipotence —just as again the wicked inhabitants of the holy land perished by little and little through the hornets that were forerunners of the coming people—by such sovereignty over his strength god teaches his people love of men, and hope under chastisement. a. digression resumed. this mocking punishment of vermin on vermin-worshippers meet for those so far gone in the folly of idolatry as to worship what their very enemies dishonoured. b. digression.— for all idolatry is folly, but there are degrees in its folly.— least blamable are those who worship the works of god in mature — next, those who make gods out of the works of men's hands, silver, gold, painted wood: corrupting what god has created. c. digression. — for idolatry is a corruption, and not a thing from the beginning nor destined to last. — origin of idolatry in the vaingloriousness of man : images for remembrance, gradually coming to be worshipped—the ambition of the artist assisting— a hidden danger that culminated in imaging the in- communicable mame – all moral dissolution follows, especially perjury. b. digression resumed. the worshippers of our god are saved from the folly of idolatry—like that of the potter, treating life as a fair for selling images made out of the clay into which he must soon return. syllabus - a. digression resumed. but the last degree of foly is that of the egyptian oppressors: adding to all other idolatry the worship of things hateful. resumed. so the egyptians suffered from loathly vermin: while for god's people dainty quails were sent to satisfy appetite. . noxious bites. – locusts and flies plagued the enemy without healing—the israelites the serpent bites but admon- ished, and then salvation was found. . rain of fire and hail destroying the food of egypt – rain of manna feeding the people of god — the same fire raging or slackening its power to work the creator's will. . darkness imprisoned the oppressors. to guide the israelites night was illuminated by the pillar of burning fire. . the night of deliverance and song—a night of destruc- tion to the firstborn of egypt. . death came as a trial to the righteous, but a champion was soon found. to the ungodly in their final folly came a strange death with- out mercy. summary. —thus, reviewing the whole deliverance, we see the elements of nature interchange like the notes of a psaltery to magnify god's people. i awoz’es on footnotes it is a fact that writers of antiquity — hebrew, greek, roman — and english writers who (like milton) composed under the immediate influence of ancient literature, used parenthetic sen- tences of length and complexity such as would be used by no modern writer in any language. to some extent this reflects a real difference in mental habits as regards involution of thought. but the difference is partly due to an advance in the mechanism by which literature is presented to the eye. in such matters as punctuation and the use of brackets, and in paragraphing, the printed page does far more to assist the comprehension of the subject matter than was done by the manuscripts of antiquity or the earliest printed books. but the most important device of this kind is the ‘footnote.” it is clear that the footnotes of modern books are no more than parentheses, removed to a distance so as not to interrupt the main flow of the argument; their matter has an indicated place in the order of the thought, but their separation assists the mind to hold the train of thought suspended while the subordinate matter is being taken in. it seems to me, then, legitimate to apply this device to some of the elaborate parentheses in such a work as wisdom. it is i → the wisdom of solo m on hardly necessary to explain that by putting such portions of the text into footnotes i am not meaning to suggest that they are “glosses,” or that they have any less authority as representatives of the writer's thought than the rest of the matter. all that is meant is that the passages so treated carry their parenthetic char- acter to the degree which in a modern work would be indicated by the use of footnotes. to the modern reader, whose mental attitude is determined by the custom of such devices, this treat- ment seems a necessity, if such works as wisdom are to be appreciated without being weighted with an appearance of awkwardness which in reality does not belong to them. title the early title is the wisdom of solomon; and in uncritical ages it was supposed to be his composition. st. jerome and the vulgate, throwing over this tradition, entitle it the book of wisdom. it is also often cited (in ancient and modern litera- ture) simply as wisdom. discourse i for the argument see the syllabus. the language of wisdom, especially in the full rendering of the revised version, is transparently clear; the difficulties of the book lie in the argument, and especially in the order of the thought. thus, in regard to this first discourse, while the sen- tences are clear, the difficulty is to see any point in the whole, notes. - apart from the question of the relation between this work and ecclesiastes. the denunciation of crooked thoughts and blas- pheming or murmuring words seems to have little relevance to judges of the earth. one explanation might be this: the first part of this discourse deals with improper thoughts, the rest with improper words, the opening words of the following discourse speak of ‘life’ and ‘works’: thus thoughts, words, and actions of evil are men- tioned before the death they bring is contrasted with immortality and righteousness. but ( ) there is no symmetry in the whole argument such as this explanation would suggest. ( ) it runs counter to the division into discourses. this division is very marked. (a) the “texts’ of the first three discourses are the only independent sentences in the whole work; all others being bound into grammatical sequences. if the texts of the last two have particles connecting them with what precedes, yet these sentences are so unmistakable as new departures that their connection with the preceding context simply illustrates the characteristic of form next to be mentioned. — (b) this is that the final thought of each discourse directly leads to the commencement of the next. this is brought out in the syllabus. on the other hand, the matter of this discourse receives point at once, if we understand a veiled attack on ecclesiastes and the fancied experiment of solomon. love righteousness. in singleness of heart seek ye him. ae is found of them that tempt him not. crooked thoughts separate from god. n i → the wisdom of solo m on wisdom will not enter into a soul that deviseth evil, nor dwell in a body that is held in pledge by sin. all these have direct relevance to the supposed experimenter's idea of “laying hold on folly” while his “wisdom remained with him.” it may be worth noting that milton's interpretation of the temptation in eden has the same underlying idea of experiment- ing in evil as the supreme sin. knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. (iv. .) let him boast his knowledge of good lost, and evil got, happier had it sufficed him to have known good by itself, and evil not at all. (xi. .) what fear i then, rather, what know to fear, onder this ignorance of good and evil . . . aere grows the cure of all, the fruit divine, fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, of virtue to make wise. (ix. .) so with regard to the latter part: the idea of wisdom as a spirit that loveth man, the denunciation of murmuring, blas- pheming lips, backbiting, may well be called forth by the pessi. mism of ecclesiastes; his passionate reduction, in the name of wisdom, of human to the level of brute life seems a ‘blasphemy' on the “wisdom that loveth man”; and his reiteration of “vanity’ in regard to every department of human life is a ‘mur- muring” and ‘backbiting.' ecclesiastes keeps saying that “all notes - things are vanity”: the present writer insists that “that which holds the all things together” must hear such slander of his wisdom. discourse ii for the argument of the whole see the syllabus. page . god made not death . . . righteousness is im- mortal: compare below (page ) “god created man for in- corruption, and made him an image of his own proper being.”— ungodly men called death unto them : there is no allusion at this point to the fall as related in genesis (which is introduced later on); the reference is to the ungodly of the monologue that immediately succeeds. – deeming him a friend . . . and they made a covenant with him. it is tempting to compare isaiah (chapter xxviii), particularly as the present writer has many echoes of isaiah. but the “covenant with death’ in that writer is a totally different idea. because ye have said, we have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through it shall not come unto us . . . . and your covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell shall not stand; when the over- flowing scourge shall pass through, then ye shall be trodden down by it. in this passage the covenant with death is that he shall pass them by and take others. but in wisdom the ungodly, instead of holding death as something hostile, accept him for a friend, i → the wisdom of solo m on digressions that follow: the words are caught up again as the argument is resumed (page ). pages – . this is a digression (see the syllabus) on the hopes of the ungodly, their substitutes for the hope of immor- tality. their hopes are two: ( ) life in posterity, ( ) long life in this world; but the whole is best considered together, as the ideas attaching to the two are entangled. . the brood of the ungodly is accursed: their wives foolish : hence the begetting accursed. children of sin reach no maturity [bastard slips, etc.]— share the short-livedness of the wicked generally — and their hopelessness in death. thus the children witnesses to wickedness of the parents [compare ecclesiasticus i. xliv; and on the general subject iv. v). better than this is childlessness with virtue. for the celibate and chaste a peculiar favour—and a lot in the sanctuary of the lord [compare isaiah, chap- ter lyi. i- ; and (?) psalm lxxiii. , where a similar phrase is used in connection with the kindred problem of prosperous wickedness.] [if there be children]: the root of understanding cannot fail. childlessness and virtue: universal recognition of virtue and immortal memory. . the ungodly setting their hopes in long life. they shall be requited even as they reasoned [taken at their word: “our life is short,” etc.]. i → the wisdom of solo m on recognise the triumph of their despised victims, and blindness of their own hopes. [their further future left untouched: see next note.] page o. he shall take his jealousy as complete armour, etc. this brilliant description appears not to relate to the over- throw of the ungodly who have been presented as rising from the dead and mourning their folly. those overthrown in this passage are represented by the general term his enemies: and the final words, so shall lawlessness make all the land desolate, and their evil doing shall overturn the thrones of princes, con- nect the destruction with those who are yet living on earth to be affected by it. it thus appears to be a general destruction directed against what might be called the empire of evil on earth. the necessity (according to the scheme of the book) of making the close of this discourse join on to the next has led the writer to leave the subject of the “ungodly' treated so far, and pass suddenly to that which affects ‘princes,’ such as in the next discourse king solomon will directly address. thus the idea of judgment, which in wisdom literature gen- erally is a principle undetermined by time or place, in the present writer covers four distinct incidents: ( ) the overthrow [in death] of the individual sinner; ( ) his ‘day of reckoning’ beyond the grave [the future beyond that day left blank]; ( ) the ‘time of visitation’ for the righteous, when their seeming death is changed for a glorious position in a divine hierarchy; ( ) a supernatural overthrow of the powers of evil on earth. the ‘day of the lord’ in prophetic literature sometimes com- bines ( ) an immediate vindication of the chosen people, the notes - evil amongst them being sifted out; and ( ) a final overthrow of ‘the nations,’ with the chosen people left supreme. the prophecy of joel is a clear type. the details of this description seem like an enlargement from the similar interposition for judgment in isaiah, chapter lix. - . discourse iii for the general argument see the syllabus. page . she forestalleth them, etc.: for the general spirit of this passage compare ecclesiasticus i. xiii, xxiv, l. — so then desire of wisdom promoteth to a kingdom this, taken with the words immediately preceding, bringeth near to god, seems to make kingdom refer to the position in the divine hierarchy men- tioned in the preceding discourse. page . i will not hide mysteries from you . . . envy shall have no fellowship with wisdom, but a multitude of wise men is salvation to the world: this (especially in a book written in greek) must be a stroke directed at the “mysteries,” or con- finement of doctrine to the initiated, which was a feature of early greek thought. compare the use of the word throughout the new testament (especially ephesians, chapter iii. ). there is no corresponding word in the old testament. pages – . these two paragraphs constitute a digression (see the syllabus), after which the idea of seeking “her’ as a bride is resumed.— with her there came to me all good things ... she was the mother of them : compare proverbs i. v, vi; and especially sections and of i. xvii. — to know the constitution → the wisdom of solomon of the world, etc.: for the whole of this passage compare intro- duction, page xxx. the successive clauses are intended as a sum- mary of the various branches of what we should call “natural history’ [thoughts of men would mean anthropological rather than ethical science]. a foundation for the attribution of this to solomon would be i kings, chapter iv. . but the probable significance of this is, not natural science, but wise sayings founded on things of the animal or vegetable world: fables, apologues, riddles (compare such sayings of agur as proverbs v. vi., viii, xi, xii). there is no tradition, or trace in wisdom literature, of the application of analysis to external nature for its own sake before the present passage. (introduction, page xxx.) — all things that are either secret or manifest: possibly there is another reference here to the “mysteries,' or knowledge of the initiated; but the phrase may be general, as in ecclesiasticus i. viii: “the things that have been commanded thee, think there- upon; for thou hast no need of the things that are secret.” it is natural to compare deuteronomy, chapter xxix. : but there the reference is probably confined to secret sin and visible judg- ment. — for in her there is a spirit quick of understanding: this celebration of wisdom is the counterpart in the present book of the monologues of wisdom in proverbs (i. xvii) and ecclesiasticus (preface to book ii), and of the well-known passage in job, chapter xxviii. its position in the argument is to identify objective wisdom [mirror of the working of god] with subjective wisdom [image of his goodness]. compare intro- duction, pages xxx-xxxi. pages - . these paragraphs resume the general purpose → the wisdom of solomon page . to rebuke the decree for the slaying of babes: here (as in instance ii) the idea of ‘nemesis” is added to the main argument: the bloody river was fit retribution on the shedders of innocent blood.— baving shewn them by the thirst which they had suffered how thou didst punish the adversaries. this is a corollary to the main argument. the main thought is, what punished the foe became blessings to god's people; the corol- lary is, that god's people experienced the punishment in question just enough to appreciate the punishing of the foe, and no more. — yea, and whether they were far off from the righteous or near them, etc. the thought of this obscure passage is: the egyp- tians suffered, when the israelites were with them [the plague of water changed to blood], and when they were far away [by the news of the rock yielding water to quench thirst]; in the latter case a double grief took hold of them, [the deliverance of their foe] and the mortifying memory of their own unrelieved thirst: when they realised that water, in which they had suffered punishment, had been made a miraculous blessing to the enemy, they felt the presence of the lord. even in the first case they left off mocking moses; but in this final manifestation they could only marvel, and think how very different their own thirst had been. page . that they might learn, etc. i have thought it best to represent here the abrupt commencement of a para- graph in the middle of a sentence: a solecism of style just fit- ting in with the unique use of digressions in this book. (see the syllabus.) the sentences preceding this break of the para- graph are not carried sufficiently far to make the argument i – the wisdom of solo m on tion, but when this was slighted there came real destruction on the egyptians. page . for verily all men by mature were but vain who had no perception of god: here commences digression b. (see the syllabus.) it is occupied with the degrees in the folly of idolatry. — let them know how much better than these is their sovereign lord: the whole passage is founded on the widely diffused tradition of abraham, which is thus given in the qur'an vi. . - thus did we show abraham the kingdom of heaven and of the earth, that he should be of those who are sure. and when the night overshadowed him he saw a star and said, “this is my lord”; but when it set he said, “i love not those that set.” and when he saw the moon beginning to rise he said, “this is my lord”; but when it set he said, “if god my lord guides me not i shall surely be of the people who err.” and when he saw the sun beginning to rise he said, “this is my lord, this is greatest of all"; but when it set he said, “o my people / verily, i am clear of what ye associate with god; verily, i have turned my face to him who originated the heaven and the earth.” page . yea, and if some woodcutter, etc. though such idolatry is a common topic of hebrew literature, yet this passage seems inspired by isaiah, chapter xliv. - : besides the em- phasis on using the residue to make the god, there is the notice- able phrase (after the further digression, page ) : his heart i notes – is ashes (isaiah's: “he feedeth on ashes, a deceived heart hath turned him aside”). page : footnote. this is clearly a digression of the nature of a modern footnote, on the words more rotten than the vessel that carrieth him. two points are conceived as differentiating the wood of the ship from the wood of the idol: ( ) the design implied in a ship is an element of wisdom; ( ) the ship in its navigation is a subject of providential guidance. from this last the thought widens to the providential guidance of a helpless raft, and of the ark. page . for blessed hath been wood through which cometh righteousness. the word righteousness may here be used in the sense of setting right, vindication, salvation (compare isaiah, chapter li. , lvi. ), in allusion to the “raging waves”: but it is not so used elsewhere in this book, unless perhaps in the close of essay ii (page ): “he shall put on righteousness as a breastplate.” or it may simply imply right doing; wood used for the righteous purpose of carrying travellers in safety. page . for the devising of idols was the beginning of for- nication : here begins digression c, on the origin of idolatry. (see the syllabus.) fornication or adultery is a regular image in the o.t. for departure from god. page iio. but thou, our god, art gracious and true : at these words we resume digression b, on the folly of idolatry. (see the syllabus.) page . but most foolish were they all: here we pass back to digression a: the main point in which is the monstrous idea of vermin-worship—and almost immediately the main argument i i → the wisdom of solo m on is recovered, at the words for which cause were these men worthily punished. the contrast of dainty quails with loathly vermin makes instance ii of the text of discourse v. page : footnote. this is clearly a parenthesis of the nature of a footnote to the idea: “a man made them.” page . for even when terrible raging of wild beasts: in- stance iii of the text. (see the syllabus.) page : but thy hand it is not possible to escape: and page : footnote. the difficulties of this passage (which i would call subtle rather than obscure) are considerably reduced by the recognition of certain sentences as a footnote. read without the footnote the paragraph is regular in its order of thought. first: the writer contrasts the destruction by fire fierce enough to burn amid water with the bounty of food wrought by fire [tempered] into every variety of taste. this last rests upon the tradition that the manna was cooked food. then he repeats the contrast: the unmelting snow and hail were evidence that the fire was a destructive force sent against god's enemies; on the other side, fire slackened to act according to the desire of each eater. the footnote adds a distinct marvel: this fire so fiercely destructive must have restrained itself so as not to destroy the lice and similar creatures still plaguing the egyptians. compare the same circumstance noted in the perora- tion: page . — for that which was not marred by fire: this is a further contrast brought out of the account of the manna: while the tempering fire harmed not [but improved] the miracu- lous food, yet a faint sunbeam destroyed it (exodus, chapter xvi. ): a miracle designed to teach early rising to offer praise. i → the wisdom of solo m on were they unto themselves; they express the uncomfortable thoughts suggested to the egyptians as they heard through the darkness the sound of israelite voices. page . for well did the egyptians deserve : once more the idea of nemesis is added to the main argument. page . after they had taken counsel; here commences instance vi: the same night brought deliverance to the israel- ites and death to the firstborn of the egyptians. again the thought of nemesis is added to the main argument: the slaying of the firstborn fitly punished the egyptians for slaying the males of the israelites. page . but it befell the righteous also to make trial of death. here begins the final instance of the text: death as a form of mercy to the israelites in the incident of phinehas: death as utter destruction to the egyptians in the red sea. page o. for the whole creation, each part in its several kind, was fashioned again anew. here commences the peroration, or summary. (see the syllabus.) it draws into one view the past [they still remembered the things that came to pass in the time of their sojourning: and plagues of egypt are enumer- ated], and the present [then was beheld the cloud . . . and dry zand rising up out of what before was water, etc.], and the future [but afterwards they saw also a new race of birds]: in order to make a basis for the climax that the elements of nature interchanged like the notes of a psaltery. page : footnote. this lengthy passage is clearly an elab- orate parenthesis or note exegetical of the word tokens. the egyptians did not perish so suddenly but that the thunders i notes - reminded them that it was for their sins that they were going to be destroyed. the footnote enlarges upon these sins, making an elaborate parallel between the inhospitality of the men of sodom (punished by an overwhelming of fire) and the greater inhospitality of the egyptians towards the israelites. the par- allel is carried to the degree of making the plague of darkness a counterpart to the sudden blinding of the men of sodom by the angels (genesis, chapter xix. ii). i iwdex ge/veral invdex -eoe- a. cclesiastes page prologue: all is vanity............................. • - - - - - - - i essay: solomon's search for wisdom................... • ii essay: the philosophy of times and seasons........ • . . . . i i a maxim (“two are better than one")............. • . . . ii a maxim (“better is a poor and wise youth”) iii a maxim (“keep thy foot when thou goest”) iv a maxim (“if thou seest the oppression”).............. iii essay: the vanity of desire............................ v a maxim (“a good name is better than precious ointment") vi unit proverb. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii a maxim (“better is the end of a thing")............... viii a maxim ("wisdom is as good as an inheritance") ..... ix a maxim (“consider the work of god")............... x a maxim (“all this have i seen") ..................... xi a maxim (“wisdom is a strength to the wise man").... iv essay: the search for wisdom with notes by the way.... xii-xiv unit proverbs...................................... xv. a. maxim (“a wise man's heart is at his right hand”). ... oi in small mo volumes. cloth extra. price, cents each. the modern reader's bible a series of books from the sacred scriptures pre- sented in modern literary form the purpose of this series has regard to the bible as part of the world's literature, without reference to questions of religious or historic criticism. it is based upon the belief that the natural interest of sacred literature is considerably impaired by the form in which the bible is usually read. the division into chapters and verses was made at a time when the literary significance of scripture was not much considered. moreover, the proper arrangement of the printed page, which to a modern reader has by familiarity become essential, and which is adopted as a matter of course in a modern edition of a greek or roman classic, has never been applied to our bibles. such arrangement includes the distinction between prose and verse; in verse passages the indication to the eye of different metrical forms; the insertion of the names of speakers in dialogue; the assignment of titles to such compositions as discourses and essays. it may be added that the inclusion of many diverse kinds of litera- ture in a single volume is unfavourable to the due appreciation of each. each number of the series will be issued as a separate volume, edited, with an introduction, by richard g. moulton, m.a. (camb.), ph.d. (penn.), professor of literature in english in the university of chicago. the introductions will be confined strictly to the consideration of the book as a piece of literature; what little is added in the way of annotation will be of the same kind. the text will be that of the revised version, the marginal readings being usually preferred. the order in which it is proposed to issue the volumes is as follows: wisdom series in four volumes the proverbs a miscellany of sayings and poems embodying isolated obser- vations of life. mow ready ecclesiasticus a miscellany including longer compositions, still embodying only isolated observations of life. mow ready ecclesiastes — wisdot of solonion each is a series of connected writings embodying, from dif- ferent standpoints, a solution of the whole mystery of life. avow the book of job ready a dramatic poem in which are embodied varying solutions of the mystery of life. march deuteronotty. the orations and songs of moses, constituting his farewell to the people of israel. april biblical idyls the lyric idyl of solomon's song, and the epic idyls of ruth, esther, and tobit may history series genesis in five volumes bible history, part i: formation of the chosen nation. june the exodus bible history, part ii: migration of the chosen nation to the land of promise. — book of exodus with leviticus and num- bers. uly the judges bible history, part iii: the chosen nation in its efforts towards secular government. — books of joshua, judges, i samuel. august the kings bible history, part iv: the chosen nation under a secu- lar government side by side with a theocracy. — books of ii samuel, i and ii kings. september the chronicles ecclesiastical history of the chosen nation. books of chron- icles, ezra, nehemiah. october prophecy series in four volumes isaiah - - - - - - - movember jeremiah - - - - - - - december ezekiel - - - - - - - january the minor prophets - - - - february macmillan & co., publishers, fifth avenue, new york. zºº ſº fºº ſº. the book of libraru of the hbibimitu $thool. bought with noney given by the soci ety fort promoting teiheoilog-icai, hsdtucation. received , /*, b. t- ** • *- (ſhe (idooern reader' jºible wisdom series the book of job the modern reader's bible a series of works from the sacred scriptures presented - in modern literary form ** *- : - * , , , , -> c. the book of job edited, with an introduction and notes by richard g. moulton, m.a. (camb), ph.d. (penn.) professor of literature in english in the university of chicago 'h' sctº $ th m a c m i l l a n a n d c o. london: macmillan & co.,ltd. all rights reserved copyright, , by macmillan and co. nortocol. .}regg j. s. cushing & co. —berwick & smith norwood mass. u.s.a. iwtroduction to arrange works of art in order of merit, and discuss which are to be considered greater and which less, is out- side formal criticism. all the same it is an elementary in- stinct of appreciation to express a sense of the greatness of a particular work by claiming that it is greatest. if then a jury of persons well instructed in literature were impan- elled to pronounce upon the question what is the greatest poem in the world's great literatures, while on such a ques- tion unanimity would be impossible, yet i believe a large majority would give their verdict in favour of that which is the subject of the present volume, the book of job. it deals with the most universal of all topics, the mys- tery of suffering. even the frivolous are driven by suffer- ing to think about the meaning of life. for the theologian, next to the existence of a good god, the most fundamental question is the presence of pain and evil in a world he has ordered. the significance of these terms is no less funda- mental in philosophy. the whole of sociology rests upon the same basis of human suffering. if the theory of pain and evil is outside physical science, yet to fight against these makes great part of its practical application. and of y → introduction poetry the larger half draws its inspiration from the tragedy of life. for the treatment of so universal a subject hebrew has advantages over other languages. it bases its verse system on a parallelism which is also a function of prose; accordingly it constitutes a highly elastic medium, which can shift at will from the measured beauties of verse to the freedom of prose, while the verse itself can reflect any change of feeling in some metrical variation. again, what seems at first a defect of hebrew literature in reality in- creases its range: the lack of a theatre to specialise drama has caused the dramatic impulse to spread through other literary forms, until epic, lyric, discourse, are all drawn to- gether on a common basis of dramatic presentation. thus of the two distinguishing features of hebrew, the one draws together the different forms of poetry, and the other tends to unite poetry with prose. thus in the book of job all these literary forms can be combined, and all the modes of thinking of which these forms are the natural vehicles. the bulk of the work is a philosophical discussion of the question of suffering, and different mental attitudes to this question are successively exhibited. but the philosophical discussion is also a dramatic debate: with rise and fall of passion, varieties of personal interest, quick changes in the movement of thought; while a background of nature, ever present, makes a climax in a whirlwind which ushers us into the supernatural. interest of rhetoric is added for vl → introduction mental vision. the description of job's wealth displays the pastoral life united with the settled life of agriculture, and house or tent is used indifferently to express a dwelling place. the mention of camels implies traffic and mer- chandise which would draw out of isolation into world intercourse. country has combined with city: we have the administration of justice in the gate, – simple justice, with its daysman to lay hands on combatants, its single witness, its simple infamy of the stocks. the picture stops short only of the enterprise and competition that tend to swallow up life in adding to the means of liveli- hood. the age of the patriarchs seems to make a borderland in social evolution, from which the whole can be studied; and a speech of job describes with scientific precision the changes from the primitive commune to the turbulence of crowded life. but for themselves these chil- dren of the east have adopted a stationary life: absorbed in higher thoughts they are content to sit still and let the world go by, as swift posts between great empires hurry past them, or the caravans of tema stay a night in their neighbourhood, passing to and from the desert. in their thoughts they are familiar with the whole range of the larger world. they speak of kings and counsellors and judges and priests; of solitary sepulchral piles where the great lie with their buried gold; egypt, under the name rahab, is a byword with them. they have marked the lessons of nations in their rise and fall. they know of will introduction – cities, the abode of the prosperous wicked, who cover their faces with fatness and have collops of fat on their flanks; the place also of prisons, slaves, and taskmasters. they talk familiarly of the gold of ophir, and the topaz of ethiopia, and can picture every detail of the miner's venture into the earth. war they know: the casting up of military roads and encampments, the warrior with his thick bosses of bucklers, his iron weapon and bow of brass; they know the chances of war, and have perhaps had their share in redeeming from oppressors, and delivering the fatherless from the casting of lots. they know also the robber bands, whose god is their strong right hand, break- ing upon the prosperous out of their lairs in desolate and ruinous cities. their knowledge extends even to the out- casts of mankind, savages gaunt with want and famine, gnawing the dry ground in the gloom of wasteness and desolation, children of fools, driven out of the land. of all these extremes they are content only to know : they have themselves attained the golden mean of restful serenity, as far from the glitter of life as from its stains. so, for all its simplicity, it is a stately life that is lived by these patriarchs in the land of uz. for the young there are rounds of feasting on ceremonial days; sisters lend their presence to their brothers, for their joy is not sensuous indulgence but festal mirth. the old also have their days of observance, marked by solemnity and ritual offerings. as brothers and sisters are in the world of ix → introduction youth, so in mature life is the relationship of friends. visits of ceremony are exchanged between these friends, and they behave with formal dignity of manners; it is an elementary instinct of order that leads job's visitors to move together in their weeping, and rending their gar- ments, and casting dust upon their heads; they sit down on the ground “for seven days and seven nights” before they can break in upon the silent majesty of grief. the speech of these patriarchs is sparing because it is so weighty: pointed words of wisdom, inherited riches of tradition multiplied by long brooding and observation; if there is occasion for more, it takes the shape of a formal curse or ritual oath of innocence. their moral principles are as fixed as the laws of nature; if one is violated, it is as if a rock were removed out of its place. their venera- tion is for antiquity, for tradition uncorrupted from with- out. the greatest of them feels that he is but of yesterday; no disputant can be expected to resist a cause supported by one “much older than his father”; they or their fathers have received wisdom from “those to whom the land was given, and no stranger passed through it.” the greatest sensation of the poem, short of the supernatural climax, is when the aged have to endure, in astonished silence, youth breaking in to plead nervously for a view of truth separated by but a hair's breadth from their own. thus, amid the various ideals which men have formed for themselves, the ideal of the patriarchs is the stable life: a x introduction – life in league with the very stones of the field, that can laugh at destruction and dearth; a life of substance increas- ing in the land, that there may be no lack of relief for the distressed and hospitality to force upon the stranger: for what use is there in wealth but this? while the wicked are snatched away before their time, their own life is to reach its end with the stateliness of a shock of corn carried in in its season. only with this last hope can they stave off the one thing inevitable, dark horizon bounding the light of their life—the thought of sheol, into which every man must at last go down to return no more, a land of darkness without order, where in secret isolation he must abide, half consciously wasting from flesh to shade, stranger to all that has succeeded to his place, enduring to himself what pain there may be of flesh, what mourning of spirit. life in this land of uz is a life of poetry; but it is poetry without books. not a hint is to be found of named poets or quoted works. job speaks of writing in a book in the same breath with writing on the rock; for inscrip- tions, or the indictment of an adversary, writing may be appropriate, but it never occurs to the speakers in this story to associate it with poetry. the floating literature of oral speech, in which the foundations of the world's voetry were gradually fashioned, is here seen in full sway. moreover the people of our story are in close touch with the fountain of poetry—external nature. violent things of nature have been within their experience: lightning xl → introduction bolts that destroy job's whole wealth of sheep in a moment, winds from the wilderness laying low a hall of feasting, earthquakes, monsters of sea and land, to that remotest monster on the horizon of the imagination — the swift, whirling serpent that whirls round the earth and at times invades it, or darkens the sun in eclipse till pierced by the might of god himself. and the things of every- day nature make imagery for the poem: the rush, the flag, the spider leaning on his web, the flower cut down, the fallen tree, the landslip, the water wearing the stones. nay, so saturated are the speakers with nature sympathies that they seem to pass beyond imagery; it is more than a fashion of speech when job says that his steps are washed with butter and the rock pours him out rivers of oil, that his root is spread out on the waters, that god in his anger lifteth him up to the wind, and causeth him to ride upon it, and dissolveth him in the storm. above all, the life of the patriarchs is a life filled with god. though the language of the poem is hebrew, and the god worshipped is the god of the hebrews revealed under his various names, yet we have not here the hebrew religion as we know it in the rest of the old testament. whatever ‘the land of uz' may be in geography, in essence its people are the worshippers of the invisible god from whom originally abraham went forth, first of missionaries, charged with the work of founding a people who should uphold the worship of the unseen god against x introduction – nations of idolators, until in his seed all nations of the earth should be blessed. meanwhile, the patriarchs have maintained the worship of the invisible god at home. throughout the whole work there is no mention of idols; the only false religion the most daring impiety can con- ceive is to offer homage to the fairest works of the creator in the lights of heaven. like melchisedek, who gave his blessing to abraham while the chosen people was yet unborn, like balaam testifying from without jehovah's care over his own, so these patriarchs worship israel's god outside the ranks of israel; if abraham was the friend of god, job is before the hosts of heaven pro- nounced god's servant on earth. here then we see the religion of the bible as a religion without a law, without a temple, with no national ritual, with nothing in which the modern mind can recognise a church. the only revelation these patriarchs know is the vision vouchsafed to the individual worshipper; or rarely, at long intervals, “an angel, an interpreter, one among a thousand” raised up to tell the meaning of some strange experience. their creed, as rehearsed in heaven, is to fear god and eschew evil. their sense of god is as deep seated as their very consciousness: when job's wife, in momentary distraction, bids him renounce god, it comes as an impulse to suicide. their elementary feelings are fresh, and the religious sense in them is overpowering awe. it makes their whole life one of hallowed restraint: the besetting god numbers their x → introduction steps, they “make a covenant with their eyes,” they dread lest they may for a moment walk with vanity; with more than the sensitive conscience of a greek chorus they will not curse an enemy, lest they may be asking for his life. divine providence they conceive as an enlargement of their own ideals, redressing the wrongs of the poor, tak- ing the crafty in their counsels; mercy too mingles with judgment, and he who maketh sore bindeth up. sickness, earthquake, and every human event is fraught with mean- ing. the divine presence fills the universe, from the council of the holy ones on high down to the shades shivering beneath the seas; while in the nature that comes between it is the divine hand alone that stretcheth out the north over empty space, and hangeth the earth upon noth- ing. and at times there is a more awful sense of his nearness : lo, he goeth by me, and i see him not: he passeth on also, but i perceive him not. for the tempest is the presence passing through the startled earth, shrouded in the clouds with which he closeth in the face of his throne and the thick darkness cast under his feet. the craving to enter into that presence is for job religious ecstasy. in such an atmosphere as this the story is to move, which shall first exhibit human suffering that is unique, xiv introduction – and then concentrate upon this suffering light from succes- sive points of view. the prologue introduces us to the court of heaven, and presents the lord surrounded by his council of holy ones. two days of the lord are represented, days of ceremony and ritual observance, — so it would seem from the recurrence of formal phrases. the sons of god pass in review before the throne, and are questioned as to the provinces of the universe which they have in charge. among them comes ‘the satan.” most unfortunately, the omission in english versions of the article has led the popular mind astray on this incident. unquestionably in this passage, and the precisely similar passage in zecha- riah, the word is the title of an office, not the name of an individual. the margin of the revised version gives ‘the adversary”; the word expresses that he is the ad- versary of the saints in the same way that an inspector or examiner may be considered as adverse to those he in- spects or examines. it is easy to understand how such a title should pass over to form the name of an individual — the adversary of god, satan the prince of evil. in the present case he describes his office as the inspection of earth: “going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it”: he uses just the language applied in zecha- riah to the ministering spirits who carry out the divine decrees in our world. he appears on the scene among the sons of god; and there is nothing to distinguish his xy introduction - in a ‘state of probation”? this much may safely be said: so vast is the disproportion between the suffering of the individual and the question of the possibility of earthly perfection, that job himself, could he have assisted at that session of heaven's court, would have gladly assented to the test of the adversary. by permission then of god we have the fire from heaven, the winds of the wilderness, the forayers of the desert, concentrating their powers in a single moment to bring about a colossal ruin. it is encountered by as colossal a patience. in orderly dignity job goes through the ges- tures of bereavement, bidding farewell to all the accessories of life, which have left him only his naked manhood. but when he turns to his god, he shows no tearful resignation, but a grateful courtesy, that hastens to make mention of the giver when the gift has been taken away. the lord hath given, and the lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the lord. when the council of heaven reassembles god triumphs in his servant. the adversary no less honours him, in proposing yet more implacable trial: he acts in the spirit of some mechanician who tasks himself to devise some terrific strain, in admiration of a substance which has stood an extremity of testing. nor is the lord any more doubtful of his servant: and the test is permitted. job is smitten in his person, with skin disease at once agonising xvil → introduction and loathsome. he must creep out, as unclean, from the village, and sit down on the ash-mound with other beggars and outcasts. there as he sits in his misery, his good wife — no less patient than job in all that had touched herself—breaks down when she gazes on the suffering which she can neither share nor relieve, and speaks wild words, which job gently rebukes. to him it seems mean- ness that a man should accept from a wise providence things of good, and draw back when its dispensations are things of evil. the prologue has served its purpose of setting up, by supernatural machinery, a spectacle of suffering equally severe and undeserved. the questions generated by such a spectacle it leaves to be debated in the limited sphere of human knowledge. but already this prologue has in the superhuman mysteries it has unveiled suggested a first solution of the mystery of suffering: suffering a test of saintship, made the more severe as the saintship is stronger to endure. the materials for our drama are gathering. the suf- ferer sits on the ash-mound as on a stage, with all sur- rounding nature for scenery; round about stand a chorus of silent spectators, gazing on the fallen glory of their land; travellers too stop to wonder at the sight, some smiting on their breasts as they go on their way to spread the sad story abroad, some lingering, like elihu, to gather wisdom. at last the three friends of job, in the pomp of xvill introduction – woe and exalted station, have arrived; the spectators rev- erently make way for them to ascend the mound and sit opposite their comrade on the bare ground. the scene is complete: yet all wait for the suffering hero himself to break the painful silence. he opens his mouth in a ‘curse.” once more an infe- licity of translation (corrected in the revised version) has led the english reader astray. the word is quite different from the expression for “renouncing god,” used before. in what job proceeds to speak there is not the smallest approach to the sin which the adversary thought possible for job, and job thought possible for his children. he does not renounce god, but appeals to him ; he does not complain of what has been taken, but only asks for the stripped and suffering life to be brought to a speedy end; even job's friends attack, not what he says, but what he has failed to say. what then is his “curse'? as the hecuba of euripides cries in her total ruin: even here the unhappy have a muse, so job simply sets his woe to music — the music of an unsurpassable lyric elegy. all variations of darkening that fancy can suggest are invoked to blot out that day which betrayed job into life. the dreaded sheol is viewed as a world of stately rest in comparison with the singer's crushed life. and why should longer life be thrust upon a heart that is broken? xix → introduction this last is the starting point of the whole discussion. though surely the gentlest of murmurs, it is enough to show that job has separated himself from that which is to the friends the truth of truths, and which may be here presented as a second offered solution of the mystery of suffering: that all suffering is judgment upon sin. the discussion that follows may be analysed in detail, and it is so analysed in the notes to this volume: notes which are arranged according to the metrical sections of the poem, for — as the student of comparative literature will be prepared to find — in so highly wrought a dramatic poem a change of the metrical system accompanies every change in the tone or movement of a scene. but it must at the same time be remembered that this is a dramatic debate even more than a philosophic discussion: passion and personality are factors in the movement. the friends appear before us as persons absolutely committed to a fixed theory of life. their minds are closed: job's ob- jections do not disturb their confidence for a moment, while they pour out in voluble eloquence generalities which are in accord with their theory. and resistance to their view of god's action they treat as resistance to god. against them is pitted a job who has been the ideal of the views they and he had held, but who has spiritual life enough to cast them aside now that they have proved in- sufficient; he dares to have an open mind on a funda- mental question of divine action; though servant of god xx introduction – he can appeal to him against his own visitation, and im- peach god's providence in the name of god's justice. accordingly, minute connections of argument seem to me less important than to catch the general play of feeling and prominent trains of thought which are found in job, as he is thus tossed to and fro in waves of passionate utterance, beating against the immovable rock of the friends' theory. eliphaz opens for the friends with dignity and tender- ness. he has the delicate task of hinting that the ideal of human perfection has been shown by his afflictions to be a sinner. but his opening words speak of nothing but job's kindness with other sufferers, and how he would strengthen them with the consolation eliphaz now offers to himself. thus the first word of the friends' doctrine is made a word of hope: if affliction were an accident, springing without seed out of the ground, then indeed job might despair; but since it is only they who have sown iniquity that reap its fruit there must lie a way of return to prosperity by forsaking the sin. the basis on which the doctrine of the friends rests — the infinite distance be- tween god and finite man — is developed by eliphaz in a story of a vision, in which a supernatural voice proclaimed to the terrified sleeper that mortal man could not be just before god: that thus from a visitation of god there can be no appeal. then eliphaz passes to the happy restora- tion which follows the divine correction, and finds a con- xxi introduction - i despise my life, it is all one; therefore i say, he destroyeth the perfect and the wicked. thus job is led to what is one of his fixed trains of thought: that this affliction is persecution: a persecution by god of god's own handiwork. for god has poured him out like milk and curdled him like cheese; yet he watches against him as if he were a sea-monster, and shows himself a mar- vellous hunter, harassing a driven leaf. as to the doctrine of judgment on the wicked, the very beasts of the field know it: yet does that alter the fact that the tents of rob- bers are found prospering, while the just man is made a laughing-stock? job thus recoils from the false friends who have given him rebuke where consolation was due, brooks found by the thirsty traveller to have run dry in the sands of the desert. they will lie on god's behalf: job though god is slaying him will wait for him. so, by a strange irony, job's antagonism against his friends' miscon- struction is leading him to appeal from them to the very god he had before pronounced inscrutable, and in his almightiness indifferent as between righteous and wicked. at the climax of this portion of the drama the thoughts of the hero sway to and fro — and the metre, with its ‘pendu- lum figure,' sways with them—between the effort to make this appeal, and the overpowering awe of the being to whom he is to address his cause. and at this point the feeling of awe gains the mastery; in the final section job falls back xxiii → introduction into the picturing of the hopeless life of man, too short and feeble to attain the vindication which is its due: the fallen tree may revive again, but man lieth down and ariseth no more. here we get the first gleam of that new thought, which is to light up job's despair from time to time: how happy would sheol itself be, if only there could come a vindication of his cause beyond it. oh that thou wouldest hide me in sheol, that thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy wrath be past, that thou wouldest appoint me a set time and remember me ! — if a man die, shall he live again? — all the days of my warfare would i wait till my release should come; thou shouldest call, and i would answer thee: thou wouldest have a desire to the work of thine hands. but no : the thought is dismissed as unthinkable: man's hope is destroyed with the slow certainty of the crumbling landslip, and in the grave he suffers to himself, ignorant of happiness or woe that is in the world above. in the second round of speeches there is intensification of feeling on both sides. the speakers interrupt one an- other; each supports his views, not with argument only, but with tours-de-force of sustained rhetoric, enumerating instances or elaborating pictures. on the side of the friends there is no advance except in the expression of their views. but job's thoughts and feelings are still de- veloping. the appeal to god, as to which he had before xxiv. introduction – wavered, is now made: and for the friends he has only contempt. again, whereas his complaint before was the difficulty of bringing his case before the divine tribunal, he now declares in set terms that god subverteth him in his cause. as he enlarges on the misery of his persecution, he is so prostrated as to appeal to the friends themselves for pity. but, the more hope is excluded in other direc- tions, the more strongly the strange new hope moves him; and from his lowest despair he springs suddenly to the thought of vindication beyond death, before hinted at and dismissed, now an inspiration and a certainty. oh that my words were now written! oh that they were inscribed in a book! that with an iron pen and lead they were graven in the rock for ever! for i know that my vindicator liveth, and that he shall stand up at the last upon the earth; and after my skin hath been thus destroyed, yet without my flesh shall i see god! whom i shall see on my side, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another. in the last speech of the cycle another important ad- vance is made by job. hitherto he had, almost carelessly, both recognised the doctrine of judgment and flung out facts against it. but now that it has been pressed upon him again and again job is compelled to look the doc- xxw → introduction trine fairly in the face. he trembles at the doubts which begin to gather in his mind. even when i remember i am troubled, and horror taketh hold on my flesh. he begins to describe the visible impunity of the wicked, nay, their prosperity through life and honourable burial; the stock objections used to bolster up the appearance of providential equity he tears to pieces. his own case is forgotten for the time; what can the friends say as to these doubts? they have nothing to say; nothing at all in their formal speeches, and even if the arguments job answers are supposed to be interjected by the friends, yet these are not really arguments, only re-statements of the theory in other terms. but in this final round of speeches their heated tone subsides: the case has become too serious for passion. they seem to speak under a sense of making final pronouncement; and it would appear as if each charged himself with bringing to a climax a different ele- ment of the common contention. eliphaz feels bound to drop the general terms he had used in the hope that job would be his own accuser; he now enumerates actual transgressions. but he seeks to soften down the effect by dwelling on the theme of submission and restoration, now touched for the last time. bildad deals with the basis of the doctrine; and the distance between finite and xxvi. in troduction e- infinite overpowers us as we read of the authority that is arbiter among the sanctities, architect of the universe, artist finding flaws in heaven's own brightness. lo, these are but the outskirts of his ways; and how small a whisper do we hear of him but the thunder of his power who can understand? zophar reiterates for the last time the doctrine of unfailing judgment on sin, and brings it to a worthy peroration. this fear of god and his judgments zophar makes the foundation of all wisdom, in the most famous passage of the whole poem. no miner for all his skill can find wis- dom among the precious things he brings out of the earth. god alone knows its place; and when he wrought the structure of his creation he linked wisdom with the fear of the lord, understanding with the retreat from evil. job also carries to a climax each train of thought which has appeared in his former speeches. the cruel accusa- tions of eliphaz intensify his appeal to the heavenly vindi- cator; though in this narrow life job looks forward and backward, to the left and to the right, without finding him, yet — he knoweth the way that i take; when he hath tried me, i shall come forth as gold. calmed by this meditation, job returns to the doubts which closed the last cycle; no longer in a hesitating and xxvii introduction - no more, and job waves his hand in dismissal of the con- troversy: the words of job are ended. we enter upon another section of the poem, and a new actor appears upon the scene. among the spectators about the ash-mound was elihu, of the family of ram. he is a foreigner, and his speech abounds in aramaisms. he is moreover a young man, and the decorum of patri- archal life is to be broken in upon by the wisdom of youth. elihu feels to the full the bashfulness of a young man in- terposing in a conversation of elders. but he feels also the fervour of youth, longing to champion orthodoxy; he has moreover juvenile confidence in the clearer grasp of truth which his generation possesses. and yet, for all his dissociating himself from the speeches of the friends, we who read at this distance of time need effort to catch wherein his case differs from that already presented. both enlarge upon the immeasurable distance between god and man. both are full of the judgment upon sin- ners. all that elihu seems to do is to emphasise one side of the common contention which had been less empha- sised by the friends. his contribution to the poem may then be presented as a third offered solution of the mys- tery of suffering: suffering is judgment warming the sin- ner by repentance to escape from heavier judgment. elihu ascends the mound, and confronts the seated xxix introduction – doubly slighted, elihu can yet, from a single glance at the sky, draw an inspiration that strengthens him to con- front both his adversaries. i will answer thee, and thy companions with thee. look unto the heavens, and see. his new answer proves to be the old topic, handled so fully by the former speakers, of the infinite distance be- tween god and man. he combines it with his own argu- ment as to the blindness of sinful men, who will complain of the suffering and yet refuse to read its lessons. and he continues to hint of worse things to come, if job should be visited in anger. still he is met by silence. there is something almost pathetic in the way this youthful disputant, in his struggles for recognition from his severe elders, is driven to greater extremes of self-assertion: truly my words are not false: one that is perfect in knowledge is with thee. though he is to fetch his knowledge from afar, yet it proves to be no more than the oft reiterated theme of god's judgments on the mighty in defence of the weak: if these be slighted there is reserved a final destruction. and already job seems ripe for such destruction: he is “full of the judgement of the wicked.” xxxi → introduction so far youth has been exhibited on its weaker side: from this point we see it in another light. the brilliant atmos- phere around begins to show ominous signs of change, and elihu catches the thought that the further judgment of which he has been warning job is that moment impending. with youth's keen responsiveness to nature he eagerly drinks in every detail of the growing change, and through his words we are able to see the gradual rise of the whirl- wind. we have spreadings of clouds, small drops of water, such lightning and mutter of thunder as makes the cattle stand expectant of the “storm that cometh up.” then some heavier crash makes elihu tremble and his heart move out of its place: now beasts go to their dens as the thunder thunders with a voice of majesty, and the lightning reaches the ends of the earth. it is a tem- pest of all the winds of heaven: elihu and his companions have to endure the sultry sweep of the south, under which their garments are felt too warm for them, and the icy breath of the north, that mingles snow with the mighty rain. the thick storm cloud overhead balances itself as it descends and wraps all in a darkness that appals even elihu. teach us what we shall say unto him, for we cannot order our speech by reason of darkness. shall it be told him that i would speak? if a man speak, surely he shall be swallowed up. xxxii introduction - at last there comes a transition beyond even tempest. the whirlwind, in mystic fashion, spreads the thick clouds round the horizon like a curtain shutting in holy ground. from the cleared sky come flashes of intolerable brightness. lastly, in that northern quarter from which hebrew imag- ination looks for the advance of divine judgments, is seen a “terrible majesty” of “golden splendour"; and the roar of the whirlwind has become an articulate voice. the divine intervention is the finale and climax of the whole drama. but its purport is, i believe, commonly misunderstood. it is often supposed to be an indignant denial of job's right to question the ways of god. that this is not its significance a single consideration is suf- ficient to show. such denial of the right to question had been the position of the friends: job had resisted, and questioned. yet in the epilogue god is represented as declaring that the friends had not said of him the thing that was right, as his servant job had. nor can this be met by the suggestion that job had made submission, whereas the friends had not, and were therefore under the divine displeasure because of their misinterpretation of the visitation on job. the friends have not been called upon for submission: no part of the divine intervention is addressed to them, nor does it bear upon their case. it is impossible to interpret the epilogue except as a pro- nouncement on the side of job, however much there may be of rebuke for his wilder utterances. unless then we xxxiii → introduction are to say that the divine intervention pronounces on one side and the epilogue on the other, it cannot be that the former is a denial of the right to question. it is a different thing, and nearer the truth, to lay down that the divine intervention denies the possibility of job's reading the meaning of god's visitation. indeed, this is unquestionably part of the significance of this section. but to say this is to say nothing: such inscrutability of providence is a commonplace of the whole poem: the friends and elihu proclaim it, job himself has recognised it in strong language. it would seem that the emphasis upon this topic is a necessity arising from the very char- acter of the literary task here attempted. the poet has undertaken to dramatise god's ways in heaven and earth, god himself being introduced as one of dramatis personae; the instinct of reverence makes him seek to counterpoise such bold imagination by making prominent at every point the awful distance between the creature and the creator. to arrive at the exact significance of this portion of the book of job we must examine further. it must be remem- bered that we have here, not an outburst of angry rebuke, but an elaborate and unique poem, with a strong tone of thought supported by a wealth of details. when we study these details, we find presented a conception of deity very different from what might have been anticipated. the god of judgment confounding the mighty in their pride, xxxiv → introduction creator of the world, he is not here a creator by fiat, but an earth-builder, rejoicing in his task to secure its founda- tions and determine its measures, while the corner-stone is laid with the morning stars singing together and all the sons of god shouting for joy. there is power in his shutting up ocean with bars it may not pass: there is another conception in his watching for it as it issues from the womb, making a garment for it of cloud, and swad- dling bands of thick darkness. there is power in the dayspring taking hold of the ends of the earth and shak- ing the wicked out of their darkness: there is the artist's joy also in viewing the earth under this dawning light change as clay under a seal, while the dulled landscape suddenly stands forth as a patterned garment. what to man are the mysteries of the stars, of the ocean depths, of darkness, of light, of death itself, of the sources of the snow and hail, these make the common round of this nature power: who walks through the heavens binding the clusters of the pleiades, loosing the bands of orion, leading the signs of the zodiac in their season, guiding the bear with her train; he enters the springs of the sea, or walks in the fathomless recesses of the deep; now visits the gates of death, now takes the way to the dwelling of light, arranges by what angle the lightning shall fork, keeps treasuries of hail and snow against the day of battle. we have here, not the flood and tempest overwhelming the nations, but the rain with glorious redundancy rejoic- xxxvi introduction - ing to rain on the wilderness where no man is, satisfying the waste and lonely land with his gift of the tender springing grass; or he watches the sport of the dust run- ning into a mass, and the clods having their time of embracing, as he pours out for them the bottles of heaven. man has his ox, that eats out of his crib, and harrows after him the valleys: but here is sympathy with the passionate liberty of the wild ass which scorns the noisy city and the driver's shout, finding a palace of freedom in the salt wilderness and a pasture meadow in the rocky tableland. here is sympathy with the hawk soaring southwards, with the eagle in her spy-house of inaccessible crags, with the lioness crouching for the spring, with the food-winning anxieties of the raven, with all the family cares of the desert goat—the numbering of the months, the bowing in travail, the moment of casting out her sorrows, the young ones growing in good liking, their going forth at last to return to the parent no more. the stupid ostrich, with not enough of nature's first instinct to guard her eggs against the chance footfall, even she has her time, when she lifteth up herself on high and puts to scorn the horse and his rider. but what of this war horse with the quiv- ering mane, who has his joy in the terrors of mankind, swallowing the ground in the fierceness of his spirit as the trumpet and shouting tell of battle at hand! what of the nature monsters on the dim border of man's knowledge— behemoth, “which i made with thee,” with man's strong- xxxv. → introduction est things for but fragments of his frame, the cedar's swing for his tail, bones of brass, limbs of iron bars, with the mountain for his storehouse of food, the waterflood a care- less trifle to him; leviathan himself, with a panoply that all man's ways of war cannot break through, ocean turn- ing white as he passes! when such a conception of deity has been taken in- joyous sympathy with the infinities of great and small throughout the universe — then we are able to see how this divine intervention makes a distinct section of the whole work. for the hopeless suffering in which there is nothing of guilt what treatment can be better than to lose the individual pain in sympathetic wonder over nature in her inexhaustible variety? but the connection can be more logically indicated. the mystery of suffering is not to be solved within the limits of human knowledge; and an im- perfect or tentative solution could not be put into the mouth of deity. but what the divine intervention in this drama does is to lift the discussion into a wider sphere. job and his friends had fastened their attention upon suffering and evil, and had broken down under the weight of the mystery: but the individual experience now seems a small thing in the range of all nature's ways. hence we have a fourth solution of the mystery of suffering: that the whole universe is an unfathomed mystery, and the evil in it is not more mysterious than the good and the great. the problem of the poem may be insoluble; but there is xxxwill introduction :- an advance towards a solution when it can be compre- hended in a wider category. but it may be objected, job makes submission and re- pents: of what sin, according to this reading of the divine intervention, does he repent? sin might be found, if nec- essary, in the wild picturings of providence into which his helplessness under false accusations betrayed him. but surely it lowers the tone of the climax to look for positive transgressions. job, conscious of innocence as regards the contentions of the friends, had passionately desired to come into the very presence of his judge. his desire is granted: but in the purity of that presence the whiteness of innocence abhors itself in dust and ashes. the drama terminates, and the narrative story is re- sumed, to introduce a brief epilogue. the purport of this epilogue has been already anticipated. god is rep- resented as declaring that his anger is kindled against the friends of job, because they had not said of him the thing that was right, as his servant job had ; they are com- manded to offer sacrifice, and job is to intercede for them. we have here a fifth solution of the mystery of suffer- ing—the right attitude to this mystery: that the bold faith of job, which could aft/eal to god against the justice of god's own visitation, was more acceptable to him than the servile adoration of the friends, who had sought to dis- tort the facts in order to magnify god. as job intercedes for his friends, god also turns his own captivity; wealth xxxix → introduction and prosperity are granted him greater than before, and he dies happy and full of years. the whole of the book of job has now been traversed. it remains to speak of its relation to the rest of wisdom literature. that we have here a hebrew poem outside the system of hebrew religion seen in the rest of the old testament need create no difficulty. the other books of wisdom are associated with an order of wise men who stand apart from the distinctively religious life of israel, in full har- mony with it, but not resting on it for their philosophy. it makes no difference to the framework of ecclesiasticus that the son of sirach identifies wisdom with the law, or celebrates the succession of the fathers. ecclesiastes and wisdom use solomon only as an illustration; and though the latter elaborately reads providential meaning into the deliverance of the chosen people, yet it does this without in any way resting on the law or the prophets. it is obvious that the subject matter which is worked up into the speeches of job is wisdom in its most technical sense. the habits of thought and turn of sentences are the same here and in the other wisdom books; many times the same sentences are common to both, with expansions or condensations. as the original gnomic couplets were found to have developed into the essays of ecclesiasticus, so here they have developed into dramatic speeches and xl introduction - rhetoric perorations. moreover, the very special concep- tion of wisdom which the earlier books associated with the harmony of all creation enters into the final section of job : the germ of the divine intervention is found in the great monologue of proverbs, though in the drama the ordering of the universe is directly attributed to god himself, and not to any mediating “wisdom.” further, the topic of job is the main thought of wisdom literature, brought into question by a particular application of it in actual life. in all books of wisdom the real subject is judgment, the sifting between the evil and the good. the violation of this judgment in the visible prosperity of the sinner is mentioned as a thought not to be entertained in proverbs, is provided against in the arguments of eccle- siasticus; it drives the preacher to his despair, while the wisdom of solomon devotes a discourse to the reversal of the seeming prosperity hereafter. in job the converse of this—the affliction of the righteous—makes the whole situation discussed; and in the actual discussion it is the prosperity of the wicked which is the most prominent topic. again, the attitudes of mind successively exhibited to the question at issue in the dramatic debate have their relations to the other books of wisdom. the friends, in their immovable dogma that all suffering must be judg- ment upon sin, are precisely at the mental standpoint of the earliest wisdom. the slight variation from this of xli introduction - for him beyond the grave. four times such elevation of faith flashes out. the first time the new thought comes as little more than a figure of speech. job is recoiling from his friends and their false pleas on god's behalf; for himself he cries, though he slay me, yet will i wait for him: nevertheless i will maintain my ways before him. what job actually says here might have been said by ecclesiastes : that he will never give in to the untruth urged upon him. but as an exaggerated way of saying this he uses words which imply a waiting beyond death for god. at the close of the same speech the thought comes out, now as a fancy dwelt upon with lingering love —how sheol would be sweet, were he but waiting in it for a release when his time of justification should arrive: but the fancy is dismissed with emphasis of despair. later in the discussion he rises out of his deepest distress with a sudden inspiration; and here the vindication after his flesh has been destroyed by death has become a sure hope, which he would grave deep in the rock for ever. once again his confidence in future vindication appears, and it has now passed to the still higher stage of calm assurance: though the judge is not to be seen in his searchings through the world, yet he knoweth the way that i take; when he hath tried me, i shall come forth as gold. xliii → introduction the hope of immortality which was to crown the latest work of scriptural philosophy is seen struggling into birth in the book of job. we may say then, taking a general survey, that the philosophical observation of life, which is the basis of all wisdom literature, enters into the book of job in applica- tion to a particular situation; that the various stages of development in the philosophic attitude which had made the separate books of wisdom, have, in general though not exact correspondence, their reflections in the poem, em- bodied in the dramatic personages and the attitudes they take to the mystery of life's sufferings; and these varying attitudes to the question of life are drawn into a unity by the movement of a dramatic plot. the book of job is wisdom literature dramatised. but it is more than this; it contains an element which is no part of wisdom. the hymns to wisdom of proverbs and ecclesiasticus may be termed devotion, but in job we have the devout life itself in all its fulness: the personal relation of the individual soul to god, and its correlative, the relation of god to the individual soul; the stages of spiritual struggle and doubt, of triumph and reconciliation. we have yet more. the prologue invades the sphere of prophecy, which, in discourse or dramatic vision, under- takes to reveal what transcends human knowledge. so here amid the sanctities of heaven is presented a solution of life's mysteries which human minds may guess at, but xliv introduction - not know. the book of job dramatises the spirit of wis- dom literature; and then encircles this with the wider spirit of prophecy and the devout life. sk * sk the text in this as other volumes of the modern read- er's bible is that of the revised version, for the use of which i must express my obligations to the university presses of oxford and cambridge. from this text (in- cluding the marginal alternatives) i never depart, as re- gards the individual sentences; but the form in which the matter is presented i adapt to modern literary presenta- tion. in the present case such editing involves slight change in the division of the matter between the different speakers. this is fully explained at the commencement of the notes. the poem is divided according to its metrical sections; but a reference table at the end con- nects these with the chapters and verses of the bible. xlv. the book of job the book of /ob a dramatic poem framed in aav epic storp’ persoavs of :he storp” the lord the sons of god, or guardian spirits the adversary: guardian spirit of the earth job the wife of job the friends of job messengers the scene of the story changes between heaven and the bouse of job in the land of uz. persoavs of the da’ama job eliphaz the temanite bildad the shuhite friends of job zophar the naamathite elihu the buzite: a young man spectators (mute) voice out of the whirlwind scene of the drama: the ash-mound outside a village in the zand of uz. story prologue . - e - i. the curse . - • ii. the debate . iii. the oath of clearing iv. the interposition of elihu v. the divine intervention story epilogue . • - - page i i iow i i story prologue there was a man in the land of uz, whose name was job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared god, and eschewed evil. and there were born unto him seven sons and three daughters. his substance also was seven thousand sheep, and three thousand camels, and five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she-asses, and a very great household; so that this man was the great- est of all the children of the east. and his sons went and held a feast in the house of each one upon his day; and they sent and called for their three sisters to eat and to drink with them. and it was so, when the days of their feastings were gone about, that job sent and sanctified them, and rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt offerings according to the number of them all; for job said, it may be that my sons have sinned, and renounced god in their hearts. thus did job continually. now there was a day when the sons of god came to present themselves before the lord, and the adversary came also among them. and the lord said unto the adversary, “whence comest thou?” then the adversary answered the lord, and said, - the book of job “from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.” and the lord said unto the adversary, “hast thou considered my servant job? for there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth god, and escheweth evil.” then the adversary answered the lord, and said, “doth job fear god for nought? hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath, on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land. but put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will renounce thee to thy face.” and the lord said unto the adversary, “behold, all that he hath is in thy power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand.” so the adversary went forth from the presence of the lord. and it fell on a day when his sons and his daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house, that there came a messenger unto job, and said: the oxen were plowing, and the asses feeding beside them; and the sabeans fell upon them and took them away; yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee! io story prologue - while he was yet speaking, there came also another and said: the fire of god is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the sheep, and the servants, and consumed them; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee! while he was yet speaking, there came also another and said: the chaldeans made three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have taken them away, yea, and slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee! while he was yet speaking, there came also another and said: thy sons and thy daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house; and behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee! then job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped; and he said: ii * the book of job naked came i out of my mother's womb, and naked shall i return thither! the lord gave, and the lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the lord ! in all this job sinned not, nor charged god with foolishness. again there was a day when the sons of god came to present themselves before the lord, and the adversary came also among them to present himself before the lord. and the lord said unto the adversary, “from whence comest thou?” and the adversary answered the lord, and said, “from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.” and the lord said unto the adversary, “hast thou considered my servant job? for there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth god, and escheweth evil: and he still holdeth fast his integrity, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause.” and the adversary answered the lord, and said, “skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life. but put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will renounce thee to thy face.” and the lord said unto the adversary, “behold, he is in thine hand; only spare his life.” i | _ — ———— )======= m the cowa’se job let the day perish wherein i was born ; and the night which said, there is a man child conceived! let that day be darkness; let not god regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it! let darkness and the shadow of death claim it for their own; let a cloud dwell upon it; let all that maketh black the day terrify it! as for that night, let thick darkness seize upon it; let it not rejoice among the days of the year; let it not come into the number of the months! lo, let that night be barren ; let no joyful voice come therein! let them curse it that curse the day, i i, - the book of job who are ready to rouse up leviathan! let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark! let it look for light, but have none; neither let it behold the eyelids of the morning: because it shut not up the doors of my mother's womb, nor hid trouble from mine eyes! | why died i not from the womb? why did i not give up the ghost when i came out of the belly? why did the knees receive me? or why the breasts, that i should suck? for now should i have lien down and been quiet; i should have slept; then had i been at rest, with kings and counsellors of the earth, which built solitary piles for themselves; or with princes that had gold, who filled their houses with silver; or as an hidden untimely birth i had not been ; as infants which never saw light. there the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be at rest. i ii the debate eliphaz if one assay to commune with thee, wilt thou be grieved? but who can withhold himself from speaking? behold, thou hast instructed many, and thou hast strengthened the weak hands. thy words have upholden him that was falling, and thou hast confirmed the feeble knees. but now it is come unto thee, and thou faintest; it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled. is not thy fear of god thy confidence, and thy hope the integrity of thy ways? remember, i pray thee, who ever perished, being innocent? or where were the upright cut off? according as i have seen, they that plow iniquity, and sow trouble, reap the same. by the breath of god they perish, and by the blast of his anger are they consumed. i * the book of job the roaring of the lion, and the voice of the fierce lion, and the teeth of the young lions are broken. the old lion perisheth for lack of prey, and the whelps of the lioness are scattered abroad. now a thing was secretly brought to me, and mine ear received a whisper thereof. in thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. then a spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up. it stood still, but i could not discern the appearance thereof; a form was before mine eyes: there was silence, and i heard a voice, saying, “shall mortal man be just before god? shall a man be pure before his maker? behold, he putteth no trust in his servants; and his angels he chargeth with folly: how much more them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth! betwixt morning and evening they are destroyed: o the debate - they perish for ever without any regarding it. is not their tent-cord plucked up within them? they die, and that without wisdom.” call now: is there any that will answer thee? and to which of the holy ones wilt thou turn? for vexation killeth the foolish man, and jealousy slayeth the silly one. i have seen the foolish taking root: but suddenly i cursed his habitation. his children are far from safety, and they are crushed in the gate, neither is there any to deliver them. whose harvest the hungry eateth up, and taketh it even out of the thorns, and the snare gapeth for their substance. for affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; but man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward. but as for me, i would seek unto god, and unto god would i commit my cause: which doeth great things and unsearchable: marvellous things without number: i the debate - , at destruction and dearth thou shalt laugh: neither shalt thou be afraid of the beasts of the earth. for thou shalt be in league with the stones of the field; and the beasts of the field shall be at peace with thee. and thou shalt know that thy tent is in peace; and thou shalt visit thy fold and shalt miss nothing. thou shalt know also that thy seed shall be great, and thine offspring as the grass of the earth. thou shalt come to thy grave in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in in its season. lo this, we have searched it, so it is ; hear it, and know thou it for thy good job oh that my vexation were but weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together! for now it would be heavier than the sand of the seas: therefore have my words been rash. for the arrows of the almighty are within me, the poison whereof my spirit drinketh up : the terrors of god do set themselves in array against me. doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth the ox over his fodder? , - the book of job can that which hath no savour be eaten without salt? or is there any taste in the white of an egg? what things my soul refused to touch, these are as my loathsome meat. oh that i might have my request; and that god would grant me the thing that i long for! even that it would please god to crush me; that he would let loose his hand and cut me off! then should i yet have comfort; yea, i would exult in pain that spareth not: for i have not denied the words of the holy one. what is my strength that i should wait? and what is mine end, that i should be patient? is my strength the strength of stones? or is my flesh of brass? is it not that i have no help in me, and that sound wisdom is driven quite from me? to him that is ready to faint kindness should be shewed from his friend; even to him that forsaketh the fear of the almighty. my brethren have dealt deceitfully as a brook, as the channel of brooks that pass away; the debate - which are black by reason of the ice, and wherein the snow hideth itself: what time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their place. the paths of their way are turned aside, they go up into the waste and perish. the caravans of tema looked, the companies of sheba waited for them; they were ashamed because they had hoped; they came thither and were confounded. for now ye are nothing; ye see a terror, and are afraid. did i say, give unto me? or, offer a present for me of your substance? or, deliver me from the adversary's hand? or, redeem me from the hand of the oppressors? teach me and i will hold my peace; and cause me to understand wherein i have erred. how forcible are words of uprightness but what doth your arguing reprove? do ye imagine to reprove words? seeing that the speeches of one that is desperate are as wind. yea, ye would cast lots upon the fatherless, and make merchandise of your friend. - the book of job now therefore be pleased to look upon me; for surely i shall not lie to your face. return, i pray you, let there be no injustice; yea, return again, my cause is righteous. is there injustice on my tongue? cannot my taste discern mischievous things? is there not a time of service to man upon earth? ...and are not his days like the days of an hireling? as a servant that earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling that looketh for his wages, so am i made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me. when i lie down, i say, when shall i arise? but the night is long; and i am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. my flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin closeth up and breaketh out afresh. my days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope. oh remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good. the eye of him that seeth me shall behold me no more: thine eyes shall be upon me, but i shall not be. the debate - as the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away, so he that goeth down to sheol shall come up no more. he shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more. therefore i will not refrain my mouth; i will speak in the anguish of my spirit; i will complain in the bitterness of my soul. am i a sea, or a sea-monster, that thou settest a watch over me? when i say, my bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint: then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions: so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than these my bones. i loathe my life; i would not live alway; let me alone; for my days are vanity. what is man, that thou shouldest magnify him, and that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him, and that thou shouldest visit him every morning, and try him every moment? how long wilt thou not look away from me, nor let me alone till i swallow down my spittle? , → the book of job if i have sinned, what can i do unto thee, o thou watcher of men? why hast thou set me as a mark for thee, so that i am a burden to myself? and why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity? for now shall i lie down in the dust; and thou shalt seek me diligently, but i shall not be! bildad how long wilt thou speak these things? and how long shall the words of thy mouth be like a mighty wind? doth god pervert judgement? or doth the almighty pervert justice? if thy children have sinned against him, and he have delivered them into the hand of their transgression: if thou wouldest seek diligently unto god, and make thy supplication to the almighty; if thou wert pure and upright, surely now he would awake for thee, and make the habitation of thy righteousness pros- perous. the debate – and though thy beginning was small, yet thy latter end should greatly increase. for inquire, i pray thee, of the former age, and apply thyself to that which their fathers have searched out: (for we are but of yesterday, and know nothing, because our days upon earth are a shadow :) shall not they teach thee and tell thee, and utter words out of their heart? can the rush grow up without mire? can the flag grow without water? whilst it is yet in its greenness, and not cut down, it withereth before any other herb. so are the paths of all that forget god; and the hope of the godless man shall perish: whose confidence shall break in sunder, and whose trust is a spider's web. he shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand: he shall hold fast thereby, but it shall not endure. he is green before the sun, and his shoots go forth over his garden; his roots are wrapped about the heap, he beholdeth the place of stones. , - the book of job if he be destroyed from his place, then it shall deny him, saying, i have not seen thee. behold, this is the joy of his way, and out of the earth shall others spring. behold, god will not cast away a perfect man, neither will he uphold the evil-doers. he will yet fill thy mouth with laughter, and thy lips with shouting. they that hate thee shall be clothed with shame, and the tent of the wicked shall be no more. job of a truth i know that it is so: but how can man be just with god? if he be pleased to contend with him, he cannot answer him one of a thousand. he is wise in heart and mighty in strength: who hath hardened himself against him and prospered? which removeth the mountains and they know it not, when he overturneth them in his anger. o the debate - which shaketh the earth out of her place, and the pillars thereof tremble. which commandeth the sun and it riseth not; and sealeth up the stars. which alone stretcheth out the heavens, and treadeth upon the waves of the sea. which maketh the bear, orion, and the pleiades, and the chambers of the south. which doeth great things past finding out; yea, marvellous things without number. lo, he goeth by me, and i see him not: he passeth on also, but i perceive him not. behold he seizeth the prey, who can hinder him? who will say unto him, what doest thou? god will not withdraw his anger; the helpers of rahab do stoop under him. how much less shall i answer him, and choose out my words to reason with him! whom, though i were righteous, yet would i not answer; i would make supplication to mine adversary. the debate – , the earth is given into the hand of the wicked: he covereth the faces of the judges thereof. if it be not he, who then is it? now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no good. they are passed away as the swift ships: as the eagle that swoopeth on the prey. if i say, “i will forget my complaint, i will put off my sad countenance, and be of good cheer:” i am afraid of all my sorrows, i know that thou wilt not hold me innocent; i shall be condemned; why then do i labour in vain? if i wash myself with snow water, and make my hands never so clean : yet wilt thou plunge me in the ditch, and mine own clothes shall abhor me. d , → the book of job for he is not a man as i am, that i should answer him, that we should come together in judgement; there is no daysman betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both : let him take his rod away from me, and let not his terror make me afraid, then would i speak and not fear him: for i am not so in myself. my soul is weary of my life; i will give free course to my complaint; i will speak in the bitterness of my soul. i will say unto god, do not condemn me; shew me wherefore thou contendest with me. is it good unto thee that thou shouldest oppress, that thou shouldest despise the work of thine hands, and shine upon the counsel of the wicked? hast thou eyes of flesh, or seest thou as man seeth? are thy days as the days of man, or thy years as man's days, that thou inquirest after mine iniquity, and searchest after my sin, the debate - although thou knowest that i am not wicked; and there is none that can deliver out of thine hand? thine hands have framed me and fashioned me together round about; yet thou dost destroy me. remember, i beseech thee, that thou hast fashioned me as clay; and wilt thou bring me into dust again? hast thou not poured me out as milk, and curdled me like cheese? thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews. thou hast granted me life and favour, and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit. yet these things thou didst hide in thine heart; i know that this is with thee: if i sin, then thou markest me, and thou wilt not acquit me from mine iniquity. if i be wicked, woe unto me; and if i be righteous, yet shall i not lift up my head, being filled with ignominy, and looking upon mine affliction. the debate – ii zophar ii should not the multitude of words be answered? and should a man full of talk be justified? should thy boastings make men hold their peace? and when thou mockest, shall no man make thee ashamed? for thou sayest, my doctrine is pure, and i am clean in thine eyes. but oh that god would speak, and open his lips against thee; and that he would shew thee the secrets of wisdom: for sound wisdom is manifold. know therefore that god exacteth of thee less than thine iniquity deserveth. canst thou by searching find out god? canst thou find out the almighty unto perfection? it is high as heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than sheol; what canst thou know? the measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea. if he pass through, and shut up, ii → the book of job and call unto judgement, then who can hinder him? for he knoweth vain men: he seeth iniquity also, and him that considereth not. but vain man is void of understanding, yea, man is born as a wild ass's colt. if thou set thine heart aright, and stretch out thine hands toward him; if iniquity be in thine hand, put it far away, and let not unrighteousness dwell in thy tents; surely then shalt thou lift up thy face without spot; yea, thou shalt be stedfast, and shalt not fear: for thou shalt forget thy misery; thou shalt remember it as waters that are passed away: and thy life shall be clearer than the noonday; though there be darkness, it shall be as the morning. and thou shalt be secure, because there is hope; yea, thou shalt search about thee, and shalt take thy rest in safety. also thou shalt lie down, and none shall make thee afraid; yea, many shall make suit unto thee. but the eyes of the wicked shall fail, and they shall have no way to flee, and their hope shall be the giving up of the ghost. the debate - job no doubt but ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you. but i have understanding as well as you; i am not inferior to you: yea, who knoweth not such things as these? i am as one that is a laughing-stock to his neighbour, a man that called upon god, and he answered him, the just, the perfect man is a laughing-stock. in the thought of him that is at ease there is contempt for misfortune, it is ready for them whose foot slippeth. the tents of robbers prosper, and they that provoke god are secure, that bring their god in their hand. but ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee; or, speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee; and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee: i - the book of job surely i would speak to the almighty, and i desire to reason with god. but ye are forgers of lies, ye are all physicians of no value. oh that ye would altogether hold your peace! and it should be your wisdom. hear now my reasoning, and hearken to the pleadings of my lips. will ye speak unrighteously for god, and talk deceitfully for him? will ye respect his person? will ye contend for god? is it good that he should search you out? or as one deceiveth a man, will ye deceive him? he will surely reprove you, if ye do secretly respect persons. shall not his excellency make you afraid, and his dread fall upon you? your memorable sayings are proverbs of ashes, your defences are defences of clay. hold your peace, let me alone, that i may speak, and let come on me what will. at all adventures i will take my flesh in my teeth, and put my life in mine hand. though he slay me, yet will i wait for him: the debate - i nevertheless i will maintain my ways before him. he also shall be my salvation; for a godless man shall not come before him. hear diligently my speech, and let my declaration be in your ears. behold now, i have ordered my cause; i know that i shall be justified. who is he that will contend with me? for now if i hold my peace i shall give up the ghost. only do not two things unto me, then will i not hide myself from thy face: withdraw thine hand far from me; and let not thy terror make me afraid: then call thou, and i will answer; or let me speak, and answer thou me. how many are mine iniquities and sins? make me to know my transgression and my sin. wherefore hidest thou thy face, and holdest me for thine enemy? wilt thou harass a driven leaf and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble? for thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to inherit the iniquities of my youth : thou puttest my feet also in the stocks, and markest all my paths; thou drawest thee a line about the soles of my feet: i , i → the book of job though i am like a rotten thing that consumeth, like a garment that is moth-eaten. i man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble; he cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down, he fleeth also as a shadow and continueth not. and dost thou open thine eyes upon such an one, and bringest me into judgement with thee? who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? not one! seeing his days are determined, the number of his months is with thee, and thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass; look away from him, that he may rest, till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, his day. for there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease; the debate - i though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground, yet through the scent of water it will bud, and put forth boughs like a plant. but man dieth, and wasteth away: yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? as the waters fail from the sea, and the river decayeth and drieth up, so man lieth down and riseth not; till the heavens be no more they shall not awake, nor be roused out of their sleep. oh that thou wouldest hide me in sheol, that thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy wrath be past, that thou wouldest appoint me a set time and remember me! — if a man die, shall he live again? all the days of my warfare would i wait, till my release should come; thou shouldest call, and i would answer thee: thou wouldest have a desire to the work of thine hands. , → the book of job but now thou numberest my steps: dost thou not watch over my sin? my transgression is sealed up in a bag, and thou fastenest up mine iniquity. and surely the mountain falling cometh to nought, and the rock is removed out of its place, the waters wear the stones, the overflowings thereof wash away the dust of the earth: and thou destroyest the hope of man: thou prevailest for ever against him, and he passeth; thou changest his countenance, and sendest him away; his sons come to honour, and he knoweth it not; and they are brought low, but he perceiveth it not of them ; only for himself his flesh hath pain, and for himself his soul mourneth. eliphaz i should a wise man make answer with vain knowledge, and fill his belly with the east wind? should he reason with unprofitable talk, or with speeches wherewith he can do no good? the debate - i yea, thou doest away with fear, and restrainest devotion before god. for thine iniquity teacheth thy mouth, and thou choosest the tongue of the crafty. thine own mouth condemneth thee, and not i; yea, thine own lips testify against thee. art thou the first man that was born? or wast thou brought forth before the hills? hast thou heard the secret counsel of god? and dost thou restrain wisdom to thyself? what knowest thou, that we know not? what understandest thou, which is not in us? with us are both the grayheaded and the very aged men, much elder than thy father. are the consolations of god too small for thee, and the word that dealeth gently with thee? why doth thine heart carry thee away? and why do thine eyes wink? that thou turnest thy spirit against god, and lettest such words go out of thy mouth. what is man, that he should be clean? and he which is born of a woman, that he should be righteous? , - the book of job behold, he putteth no trust in his holy ones; yea, the heavens are not clean in his sight: how much less one that is abominable and corrupt, a man that drinketh iniquity like water! i will shew thee, hear thou me; and that which i have seen i will declare: (which wise men have told from their fathers, and have not hid it; unto whom alone the land was given, and no stranger passed among them :) the wicked man travaileth with pain all his days, even the number of years that are laid up for the oppressor. a sound of terrors is in his ears; in prosperity the spoiler shall come upon him: he believeth not that he shall return out of darkness, and he is waited for of the sword: he wandereth abroad for bread, saying, where is it? he knoweth that the day of darkness is ready at his hand: distress and anguish make him afraid; they prevail against him, as a king ready to the battle: because he hath stretched out his hand against god, and behaveth himself proudly against the almighty; he runneth upon him with a stiff neck, the debate - with the thick bosses of his bucklers: because he hath covered his face with his fatness, and made collops of fat on his flanks; and he hath dwelt in desolate cities, in houses which no man inhabited, which were ready to become heaps. he shall not be rich, neither shall his substance continue, neither shall their produce bend to the earth. he shall not depart out of darkness; the flame shall dry up his branches, and by the breath of his mouth shall he go away. let him not trust in vanity, deceiving himself: for vanity shall be his recompence. it shall be accomplished before his time, and his branch shall not be green. he shall shake off his unripe grape as the vine, and shall cast off his flower as the olive. for the company of the godless shall be barren, and fire shall consume the tents of bribery. they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity, and their belly prepareth deceit e → the book of job job i have heard many such things: miserable comforters are ye all. shall vain words have an end? or what provoketh thee that thou answerest? i also could speak as ye do; if your soul were in my soul's stead, i could join words together against you, and shake mine head at you. but i would strengthen you with my mouth, and the solace of my lips should assuage your grief. though i speak, my grief is not assuaged: and though i forbear, what am i eased? but now he hath made me weary: thou hast made desolate all my company. and thou hast laid fast hold on me, which is a witness against me: and my leanness riseth up against me, it testifieth to my face. he hath torn me in his wrath, and persecuted me; he hath gnashed upon me with his teeth: mine adversary sharpeneth his eyes upon me. o the debate - they have gaped upon me with their mouth; they have smitten me upon the cheek reproachfully: they gather themselves together against me. god delivereth me to the ungodly, and casteth me into the hands of the wicked. i was at ease, and he brake me asunder; yea, he hath taken me by the neck, and dashed me to pieces: he hath also set me up for his mark. his archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare; he poureth out my gall upon the ground. he breaketh me with breach upon breach ; he runneth upon me like a giant. i have sewed sackcloth upon my skin, and have laid my horn in the dust. my face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death; although there is no violence in mine hands, and my prayer is pure. o earth, cover not thou my blood, and let my cry have no resting place. even now, behold, my witness is in heaven, and he that voucheth for me is on high. my friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto god, that one might plead for a man with god, as a son of man pleadeth for his neighbour. .i i → the book of job for when a few years are come, i shall go the way whence i shall not return. my spirit is consumed, my days are extinct, the grave is ready for me. surely there are mockers with me, and mine eye abideth in their provocation. give now a pledge, be surety for me with thyself; who is there that will strike hands with me? for thou hast hid their heart from understanding: therefore shalt thou not exalt them. he that denounceth his friends for a prey, even the eyes of his children shall fail. he hath made me also a byword of the people; and i am become an open abhorring. mine eye also is dim by reason of sorrow, and all my members are as a shadow. upright men shall be astonied at this, and the innocent shall stir up himself against the godless. yet shall the righteous hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall wax stronger and stronger. but return ye, all of you, and come now! and i shall not find a wise man among you. my days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart. they change the night into day: the light, say they, is near unto the darkness. the debate - , if i look for sheol as mine house; if i have spread my couch in the darkness; if i have said to corruption, thou art my father; to the worm, thou art my mother, and my sister; where then is my hope? and as for my hope, who shall see it? it shall go down to the bars of sheol, when once there is rest in the dust. bildad i how long will ye lay snares for words? consider, and afterwards we will speak. wherefore are we counted as beasts, and are become unclean in your sight? thou that tearest thyself in thine anger, shall the earth be forsaken for thee? or shall the rock be removed out of its place? yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out, and the spark of his fire shall not shine. the light shall be dark in his tent, and his lamp above him shall be put out. i - the book of job the steps of his strength shall be straitened, and his own counsel shall cast him down. for he is cast into a net by his own feet, and he walketh upon the toils. a gin shall take him by the heel, and a snare shall lay hold on him. a noose is hid for him in the ground, and a trap for him in the way. terrors shall make him afraid on every side, and shall chase him at his heels. his strength shall be hungerbitten, and calamity shall be ready for his halting. it shall devour the members of his body, yea, the firstborn of death shall devour his members. he shall be rooted out of his tent wherein he trusteth; and he shall be brought to the king of terrors. there shall dwell in his tent that which is none of his : brimstone shall be scattered upon his habitation. his roots shall be dried up beneath, and above shall his branch be cut off. his remembrance shall perish from the earth, and he shall have no name in the street. he shall be driven from light into darkness, and chased out of the world. he shall have neither son nor son's son among his people, nor any remaining where he sojourned. the debate - i , they that come after shall be astonied at his day, as they that went before were affrighted. surely such are the dwellings of the unrighteous, and this is the place of him that knoweth not god. job o how long will ye vex my soul, and break me in pieces with words? these ten times have ye reproached me: ye are not ashamed that ye deal hardly with me. and be it indeed that i have erred, mine error remaineth with myself. if indeed ye will magnify yourselves against me, and plead against me my reproach: know now that god hath subverted me in my cause, and hath compassed me with his net. behold, i cry out of wrong, but i am not heard; i cry for help, but there is no judgement. he hath fenced up my way that i cannot pass, and hath set darkness in my paths. o → the book of job he hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head. he hath broken me down on every side, and i am gone: and mine hope hath he plucked up like a tree. he hath also kindled his wrath against me, and he counteth me unto him as one of his adver- saries. his troops come on together, and cast up their way against me, and encamp round about my tent. he hath put my brethren far from me, and mine acquaintance are wholly estranged from me. my kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me. they that dwell in mine house, and my maids, count me for a stranger; i am an alien in their sight. i call unto my servant, and he giveth me no answer, though i intreat him with my mouth. my breath is strange to my wife, and my supplication to the children of my body. even young children despise me; if i arise, they speak against me. all my inward friends abhor me: and they whom i loved are turned against me. my bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh, and i am escaped with the skin of my teeth. → the book of job zophar (interrupting) i therefore do my thoughts give answer to me, even by reason of my haste that is in me. i have heard the reproof which putteth me to shame, and the spirit of my understanding answereth me. knowest thou not this of old time, since man was placed upon earth, that the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the godless but for a moment? though his excellency mount up to the heavens, and his head reach unto the clouds; yet he shall perish for ever like his own dung: they which have seen him shall say, where is he? he shall fly away as a dream, and shall not be found: yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night. the eye which saw him shall see him no more; neither shall his place any more behold him. his children shall seek the favour of the poor, and his hands shall give back his wealth. his bones are full of his youth, the debate - i but it shall lie down with him in the dust. though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it under his tongue; though he spare it, and will not let it go, but keep it still within his mouth ; yet his meat in his bowels is turned, it is the gall of asps within him. he hath swallowed down riches, and he shall vomit them up again: god shall cast them out of his belly. he shall suck the poison of asps: the viper's tongue shall slay him. he shall not look upon the rivers, the flowing streams of honey and butter. that which he laboured for shall he restore, and shall not swallow it down; according to the substance that he hath gotten, he shall not rejoice. for he hath oppressed and forsaken the poor; he hath violently taken away an house which he builded not. because he knew no quietness in his greed, he shall not save aught of that wherein he delighteth. there was nothing left that he devoured not, therefore his prosperity shall not endure. in the fulness of his sufficiency , - . the book of job he shall be in straits: the hand of every one that is in misery shall come upon him. when he is about to fill his belly, god shall cast the fierceness of his wrath upon him, and shall rain it upon him while he is eating. he shall flee from the iron weapon, and the bow of brass shall strike him through; he draweth it forth and it cometh out of his body: yea, the glittering point cometh out of his gall; terrors are upon him; all darkness is laid up for his treasures: a fire not blown by man shall devour him; it shall consume that which is left in his tent. the heavens shall reveal his iniquity, and the earth shall rise up against him. the increase of his house shall depart, his goods shall flow away in the day of his wrath. this is the portion of a wicked man from god, and the heritage appointed unto him by god. job hear diligently my speech, and let this be your consolations. Óo the debate - suffer me, and i also will speak: and after that i have spoken, mock on. as for me, is my complaint to man? and why should i not be impatient? mark me, and be astonished, and lay your hand upon your mouth. even when i remember i am troubled, and horror taketh hold on my flesh. wherefore do the wicked live, become old, yea, wax mighty in power? their seed is established with them in their sight, and their offspring before their eyes. their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of god upon them. their bull gendereth, and faileth not, their cow calveth, and casteth not her calf. they send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children dance. they sing to the timbrel and harp, and rejoice at the sound of the pipe. they spend their days in prosperity, and in a moment they go down to sheol. yet they said unto god, “depart from us, for we desire not the knowledge of thy ways. , - . the book of job what is the almighty that we should serve him? and what profit should we have if we pray unto him p” eliphaz (interrupting) lo, their prosperity is not in their hand: the counsel of the wicked is far from me. job how oft is it that the lamp of the wicked is put out? that their calamity cometh upon them? that god distributeth sorrows in his anger? that they are as stubble before the wind, and as chaff that the storm carrieth away? bildad (interrupting) god layeth up his iniquity for his children. job let him recompense it unto himself, that he may know it. let his own eyes see his destruction, and let him drink of the wrath of the almighty. for what pleasure hath he in his house after him, when the number of his months is cut off in the midst? the debate – for thou hast taken pledges of thy brother for nought, and stripped the naked of their clothing. thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and thou hast withholden bread from the hungry. but as for the mighty man, he had the land, and the honourable man, he dwelt in it. thou hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have been broken. therefore snares are round about thee, and sudden fear troubleth thee. or darkness that thou canst not see, and abundance of waters cover thee. is not god in the height of heaven? and behold the height of the stars, how high they are! and thou sayest, “what doth god know? can he judge through the thick darkness? thick clouds are a covering to him, that he seeth not; and he walketh in the circuit of heaven.” wilt thou keep the old way which wicked men have trodden? who were snatched away before their time, whose foundation was poured out as a stream: who said unto god, depart from us; and, what can the almighty do for us? f , - the book of job yet he filled their houses with good things: but the counsel of the wicked is far from me. the righteous see it, and are glad; and the innocent laugh them to scorn: saying, surely they that did rise up against us are cut off, and the remnant of them the fire hath consumed. acquaint now thyself with him and be at peace: thereby good shall come unto thee. receive, i pray thee, the law from his mouth, and lay up his words in thine heart. if thou return to the almighty, thou shalt be built up; if thou put away unrighteousness far from thy tents. and lay thou thy treasure in the dust, and the gold of ophir among the stones of the brooks; and the almighty shall be thy treasure, and precious silver unto thee. for then shalt thou delight thyself in the almighty, and shalt lift up thy face unto god. thou shalt make thy prayer unto him, and he shall hear thee; and thou shalt pay thy vows. thou shalt also decree a thing, , → the book of job behold i go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but i cannot perceive him: on the left hand, when he doth work, but i cannot behold him; he hideth himself on the right hand, that i cannot see him. but he knoweth the way that i take; when he hath tried me, i shall come forth as gold. my foot hath held fast to his steps; his way have i kept, and turned not aside. i have not gone back from the commandment of his lips; i have treasured up the words of his mouth more than my necessary food. but he is in one mind, and who can turn him? and what his soul desireth, even that he doeth. for he performeth that which is appointed for me: and many such things are with him. the debate - , therefore am i troubled at his presence; when i consider, i am afraid of him. for god hath made my heart faint, and the almighty hath troubled me; because i was not cut off before the darkness, neither did he cover the thick darkness from my face. why are times not laid up by the almighty? and why do not they which know him see his days? there are that remove the landmarks; they violently take away flocks, and feed them. they drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow's ox for a pledge. they turn the needy out of the way: the poor of the earth hide themselves together. behold, as wild asses in the desert they go forth to their work, seeking diligently for meat; the wilderness yieldeth them food for their children. they cut his provender in the field; and they glean the vintage of the wicked. - the book of job they lie all night naked without clothing, and have no covering in the cold. they are wet with the showers of the mountains, and embrace the rock for want of a shelter. there are that pluck the fatherless from the breast, and take in pledge that which is on the poor; so that they go about naked without clothing: and being an-hungered they carry the sheaves; they make oil within the walls of these men; they tread their wine-presses, and suffer thirst. from out of the populous city men groan, and the soul of the wounded crieth out: yet god imputeth it not for folly. these are of them that rebel against the light; they know not the ways thereof, nor abide in the paths thereof. the murderer riseth with the light, he killeth the poor and needy; and in the night he is as a thief. the eye also of the adulterer waiteth for the twilight: saying, no eye shall see me; and he putteth a covering on his face. o the debate - , .i he stretcheth out the north over empty space, and hangeth the earth upon nothing. he bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds; and the cloud is not rent under them. he closeth in the face of his throne, and spreadeth his cloud upon it. he hath described a boundary upon the face of the waters, unto the confines of light and darkness. the pillars of heaven tremble and are astonished at his rebuke. he stirreth up the sea with his power, and by his understanding he smiteth through rahab. by his spirit the heavens are garnished; his hand hath pierced the swift serpent. lo, these are but the outskirts of his ways; and how small a whisper do we hear of him! but the thunder of his power who can understand? job how hast thou helped him that is without power! how hast thou saved the arm that hath no strength! how hast thou counselled him that hath no wisdom, and plentifully declared sound knowledge! i, → the book of job to whom hast thou uttered words? and whose spirit came forth from thee? as god liveth, who hath taken away my right; and the almighty, who hath vexed my soul; all the while my breath is in me, and the spirit of god is in my nostrils: surely my lips shall not speak unrighteousness, neither shall my tongue utter deceit. god forbid that i should justify you; till i die i will not put away mine integrity from me; my righteousness i hold fast, and will not let it go : my heart shall not reproach me, so long as i live. zophar let mine enemy be as the wicked, and let him that riseth up against me be as the unrighteous! for what is the hope of the godless, when god cutteth him off, when he taketh away his soul? will god hear his cry, when trouble cometh upon him? the debate - will he delight himself in the almighty, and call upon god at all times? i will teach you concerning the hand of god; that which is with the almighty will i not conceal. behold, all ye yourselves have seen it; why then are ye become altogether vain? this is the portion of a wicked man with god, and the heritage of oppressors, which they receive from the almighty. if his children be multiplied, it is for the sword; and his offspring shall not be satisfied with bread. those that remain of him shall be buried in death, and his widows shall make no lamentation. though he heap up silver as the dust, and prepare raiment as the clay; he may prepare it, but the just shall put it on, and the innocent shall divide the silver. he buildeth his house as the moth, and as a booth which the keeper maketh. he lieth down rich, but he shall not be gathered; he openeth his eyes, and he is not. terrors overtake him like waters; a tempest stealeth him away in the night; the debate – the proud beasts have not trodden it, nor hath the fierce lion passed thereby. he putteth forth his hand upon the flinty rock; he overturneth the mountains by the roots. he cutteth out passages among the rocks; and his eye seeth every precious thing. he bindeth the streams that they trickle not; and the thing that is hid bringeth he forth to light. but where shall wisdom be found? and where is the place of understanding? man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the land of the living. the deep saith, it is not in me: and the sea saith, it is not with me. it cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof. it cannot be valued with the gold of ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire. gold and glass cannot equal it, neither shall the exchange thereof be jewels of fine gold. no mention shall be made of coral or of crystal : yea, the price of wisdom is above rubies. the topaz of ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure gold. whence then cometh wisdom? , - the book of job and where is the place of understanding? seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of the air. destruction and death say, we have heard a rumour thereof with our ears. god understandeth the way thereof, and he knoweth the place thereof. for he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole heaven; to make a weight for the wind; yea, he meteth out the waters by measure. when he made a decree for the rain, and a way for the lightning of the thunder: then did he see it and declare it; he established it, yea, and searched it out. and unto man he said, behold, the fear of the lord, that is wisdom: and to depart from evil is understanding. job oh that i were as in the months of old, as in the days when god watched over me; when his lamp shined upon my head, the debate - and by his light i walked through darkness; as i was in the ripeness of my days, when the secret of god was upon my tent; when the almighty was yet with me, and my children were about me; when my steps were washed with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil! when i went forth to the gate unto the city, when i prepared my seat in the street, the young men saw me and hid themselves, and the aged rose up and stood; the princes refrained talking, and laid their hand on their mouth ; the voice of the nobles was hushed, and their tongue cleaved to the roof of their mouth. for when the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness unto me: because i delivered the poor that cried, the fatherless also, that had none to help him. the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me: and i caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. i put on righteousness and it clothed me: my justice was as a robe and a diadem. - the book of job i was eyes to the blind, and feet was i to the lame. i was a father to the needy, and the cause of him that i knew not i searched out. and i brake the jaws of the unrighteous, and plucked the prey out of his teeth. then i said, i shall die in my nest, and i shall multiply my days as the phoenix: my root is spread out to the waters, and the dew lieth all night upon my branch: my glory is fresh in me, and my bow is renewed in my hand. unto me men gave ear and waited, and kept silence for my counsel. after my words they spake not again; and my speech dropped upon them; and they waited for me as for the rain; and they opened their mouth wide as for the latter rain. if i laughed on them they believed it not; and the light of my countenance they cast not down. i chose out their way, and sat as chief, and dwelt as a king in the army, as one that com- forteth the mourners. o the debate - but now they that are younger than i have me in derision, whose fathers i disdained to set with the dogs of my flock: — yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me, men in whom ripe age is perished? they are gaunt with want and famine; they gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation. they pluck salt-wort by the bushes; and the roots of the broom are their meat. they are driven forth from the midst of men; they cry after them as after a thief. in the clefts of the valleys must they dwell, in holes of the earth and of the rocks. among the bushes they bray; under the nettles they are gathered together. they are children of fools, yea, children of base men; they were scourged out of the land — and now i am become their song, yea, i am a byword unto them. they abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and spare not to spit in my face. for he hath loosed his cord and afflicted me, and they have cast off the bridle before me. g i , - the book of job upon my right hand rise the rabble; they thrust aside my feet, and they cast up against me their ways of destruction: they mar my path, they set forward my calamity, even men that have no helper — as through a wide breach they come: in the midst of the ruin they roll themselves upon me. terrors are turned upon me, they chase mine honour as the wind; and my welfare is passed away as a cloud. and now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold upon me. in the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest. by the great force of my disease is my garment dis- figured: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. he hath cast me into the mire, and i am become like dust and ashes. i cry unto thee, and thou dost not answer me: i stand up, and thou lookest at me. thou art turned to be cruel to me: with the might of thy hand thou persecutest me. the debate - thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride upon it; and thou dissolvest me in the storm. for i know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. howbeit doth not one stretch out the hand in his fall? or in his calamity therefore cry for help? did not i weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the needy? when i looked for good, then evil came; and when i waited for light, there came darkness. my bowels boil and rest not; days of affliction are come upon me. i go mourning without the sun: i stand up in the assembly, and,cry for help. i am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches. my skin is black, and falleth from me, and my bones are burned with heat. therefore is my harp turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice ºf them that weep. the oath of clearing – and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my sheep; if i have lifted up my hand against the fatherless, because i saw my help in the gate: then let my shoulder fall from the shoulder blade, and mine arm be broken from the bone. for calamity from god was a terror to me, and by reason of his excellency i could do nothing. if i have made gold my hope, and have said to the fine gold, thou art my con- fidence; if i rejoiced because my wealth was great, and because mine hand had gotten much ; if i beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walking in brightness; and my heart hath been secretly enticed, and my mouth hath kissed my hand: this also were an iniquity to be punished by the judges: for i should have lied to god that is above. if i rejoiced at the destruction of him that hated me, or lifted up myself when evil found him; (yea, i suffered not my mouth to sin by asking his life with a curse;) – the book of job if the men of my tent said not, who can find one that hath not been satisfied with his flesh? the stranger did not lodge in the street; but i opened my doors to the traveller; if, like adam, i covered my transgressions, by hiding mine iniquity in my bosom; because i feared the great multitude, and the contempt of families terrified me, so that i kept silence, and went not out of the door: —oh that i had one to hear me! lo, here is my signature, let the almighty answer me; and that i had the indictment which mine adver- sary hath written! surely i would carry it upon my shoulder; i would bind it unto me as a crown! i would declare unto him the number of my steps; as a prince would i go near unto him!— if my land cry out against me, and the furrows thereof weep together; if i have eaten the fruits thereof without money, or have caused the owners thereof to lose their life: let thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockle instead of barley! the words of job are ended! [he sits down. - the book of job i said, days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom. but there is a spirit in man, and the breath of the almighty giveth them under- standing. - it is not the great that are wise, nor the aged that understand judgement. therefore i say, hearken to me; i also will shew mine opinion. behold, i waited for your words, i listened for your reasons, whilst ye searched out what to say. yea, i attended unto you, and, behold, there was none that convinced job, or that answered his words, among you. beware lest ye say, “we have found wisdom; god may vanquish him, not man: ” for he hath not directed his words against me; neither will i answer him with your speeches. they are amazed, they answer no more: they have not a word to say. and shall i wait because they speak not, because they stand still, and answer no more? i also will answer my part, i also will shew mine opinion. inter position of elihu - for i am full of words; the spirit within me constraineth me; behold, my belly is as wine which hath no vent; like new bottles which are ready to burst. i will speak that i may find relief; i will open my lips and answer. let me not, i pray you, respect any man's person; neither will i give flattering titles unto any man. for i know not to give flattering titles; else would my maker soon take me away. howbeit, job, i pray thee, hear my speech, and hearken to all my words. behold now, i have opened my mouth, my tongue hath spoken in my mouth. my words shall utter the uprightness of my heart: and that which my lips know they shall speak sincerely. the spirit of god hath made me, and the breath of the almighty giveth me life. if thou canst, answer thou me; set thy words in order before me, stand forth. behold, i am according to thy wish in god's stead. i also am formed out of the clay: behold, my terror shall not make thee afraid, neither shall my pressure be heavy upon thee. i , → the book of job surely thou hast spoken in mine hearing, and i have heard the voice of thy words, saying, “i am clean without transgression; “i am innocent, neither is there iniquity in me: “behold, he findeth occasions against me, “he counteth me for his enemy; “he putteth my feet in the stocks, “he marketh all my paths.” behold, i will answer thee, in this thou art not just; for god is greater than man. why dost thou strive against him, for that he giveth not account of any of his matters? for god speaketh once, yea twice, though man regardeth it not. in a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings upon the bed; then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction, that he may withdraw man from his purpose, and hide pride from man; inter position of elihu – he keepeth back his soul from the pit, and his life from perishing by the sword. he is chastened also with pain upon his bed, and with continual strife in his bones: so that his life abhorreth bread, and his soul dainty meat. his flesh is consumed away, that it cannot be seen; and his bones that were not seen stick out. yea, his soul draweth near unto the pit, and his life to the destroyers. if there be with him an angel, an interpreter, one among a thousand, to shew unto man what is right for him; then he is gracious unto him, and saith, “deliver him from going down to the pit, i have found a ransom.” his flesh shall be fresher than a child's; he returneth to the days of his youth : he prayeth unto god, and he is favourable unto him; so that he seeth his face with joy: and he restoreth unto man his righteousness. he singeth before men, and saith, “i have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not : inter position of elihu – i let us choose for us that which is right: let us know among ourselves what is good. for job hath said, “i am righteous, and god hath taken away my right: notwithstanding my right i am accounted a liar; my wound is incurable, though i am without trans- gression.” what man is like job, who drinketh up scorning like water? which goeth in company with the workers of iniquity, and walketh with wicked men. for he hath said, “it profiteth a man nothing that he should delight himself with god.” therefore hearken unto me, ye men of understanding: far be it from god, that he should do wickedness; and from the almighty, that he should commit iniquity. for the work of a man shall he render unto him, and cause every man to find according to his ways, yea, of a surety, god will not de wickedly. neither will the almighty pervert judgement. who gave him a charge over the earth or who hath disposed the whole world? i → the book of job if he set his heart upon man, if he gather unto himself his spirit and his breath; all flesh shall perish together, and man shall turn again unto dust. if now thou hast understanding, hear this: hearken to the voice of my words. shall even one that hateth right govern? and wilt thou condemn him that is just and mighty? is it fit to say to a king, thou art vile, or to nobles, ye are wicked? how much less to him that respecteth not the persons of princes, nor regardeth the rich more than the poor. for they all are the work of his hands. in a moment they die, even at midnight; the people are shaken and pass away, and the mighty are taken away without hand. for his eyes are upon the ways of a man, and he seeth all his goings. there is no darkness, nor shadow of death, where the workers of iniquity may hide themselves. for he needeth not further to consider a man, that he should go before god in judgement. inter position of elihu - i he breaketh in pieces mighty men in ways past find- ing out, and setteth others in their stead. therefore he taketh knowledge of their works; and he overturneth them in the night, so that they are destroyed. he striketh them as wicked men in the open sight of others; because they turned aside from following him, and would not have regard to any of his ways: so that they caused the cry of the poor to come unto him, and he heard the cry of the afflicted. when he giveth quietness, who then can condemn? and when he hideth his face, who then can behold him? whether it be done unto a nation, or unto a man, alike: that the godless man reign not, that there be none to ensnare the people. for hath any said unto god, “i have borne chastisement, though i offend not: h i, - the book of job that which i see not teach thou me: if i have done iniquity, i will do it no more?” shall his recompence be as thou wilt, that thou refusest it? for thou must choose, and not i: therefore speak what thou knowest. men of understanding will say unto me, yea, every wise man that heareth me: job speaketh without knowledge, and his words are without wisdom. would that job were tried unto the end, because of his answering like wicked men. for he addeth rebellion unto his sin, he clappeth his hands among us, and multiplieth his words against god. [elihu looks to the three friends: they give no sign. he looks upward and continues. elihu thinkest thou this to be thy right, or sayest thou, my righteousness is more than god's, that thou sayest, what advantage will it be unto thee? and, what profit shall i have more than if i had sinned? inter position of elihu - i will answer thee, and thy companions with thee. look unto the heavens, and see ; and behold the skies, which are higher than thou. if thou hast sinned, what doest thou against him? and if thy transgressions be multiplied, what doest thou unto him? if thou be righteous, what givest thou him? or what receiveth he of thine hand? thy wickedness may hurt a man as thou art; and thy righteousness may profit a son of man. by reason of the multitude of oppressions they cry out; they cry for help by reason of the arm of the mighty. but none saith, “where is god my maker, who giveth songs in the night; who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the fowls of heaven?” there they cry, but none giveth answer, because of the pride of evil men. surely god will not hear vanity, neither will the almighty regard it. inter position of elihu &- and if they be bound in fetters, and be taken in the cords of affliction; then he sheweth them their work and their trans- gressions, that they have behaved themselves proudly. he openeth also their ear to instruction, and commandeth that they return from iniquity. if they hearken and serve him, they shall spend their days in prosperity, and their years in pleasantness. but if they hearken not, they shall perish by the sword, and they shall die without knowledge. but they that are godless in heart lay up anger: they cry not for help when he bindeth them. they die in youth, and their life perisheth among the unclean. he delivereth the afflicted by his affliction, and openeth their ear in oppression. yea, he would have led thee away out of distress into a broad place, where there is no straitness; and that which is set on thy table should be full of fatness. ioi , - the book of job but thou art full of the judgement of the wicked: judgement and justice take hold on thee. for beware lest wrath lead thee away into mockery. neither let the greatness of the ransom turn thee aside. will thy riches suffice that thou be not in distress, or all the forces of thy strength? desire not the night, when peoples are cut off in their place. take heed, regard not iniquity: for this hast thou chosen rather than affliction. [from this point the signs of an approaching storm become visible in the sky. behold, god doeth loftily in his power: who is a teacher like unto him? who hath enjoined him his way? or who can say, thou hast wrought unrighteousness? remember that thou magnify his work, whereof men have sung. all men have looked thereon; man beholdeth it afar off. behold, god is great, and we know him not; the number of his years is unsearchable. io inter position of elihu - for he draweth up the drops of water, which distil in rain from his vapour: which the skies pour down and drop upon man abundantly. yea, can any understand the spreadings of the clouds, the thunderings of his pavilion? behold, he spreadeth his light around him; and he covereth the bottom of the sea. for by these he judgeth the peoples; he giveth meat in abundance. he covereth his hands with the lightning; and giveth it a charge that it strike the mark. the noise thereof telleth concerning him, the cattle also concerning the storm that cometh up. [a loud peal of thunder: the storm steadily increases. at this also my heart trembleth, and is moved out of its place. hearken ye unto the noise of his voice, and the sound that goeth out of his mouth. he sendeth it forth under the whole heaven, and his lightning unto the ends of the earth. after it a voice roareth ; he thundereth with the voice of his majesty: and he stayeth them not when his voice is heard. god thundereth marvellously with his voice; io - . the book of job great things doeth he, which we cannot comprehend. for he saith to the snow, fall thou on the earth; likewise to the shower of rain, and to the showers of his mighty rain. he sealeth up the hand of every man; that all men whom he hath made may know it. then the beasts go into coverts, and remain in their dens. out of the chamber of the south cometh the storm: and cold out of the north. by the breath of god ice is given: and the breadth of the waters is congealed. yea, he ladeth the thick cloud with moisture; he spreadeth abroad the cloud of his lightning: and it is turned round about by his guidance, that they may do whatsoever he commandeth them upon the face of the habitable world: whether it be for correction, or for his land, or for mercy, that he cause it to come. [the storm has become a whirlwind; the whole scene is wrapped in thick darkness, broken by flashes of lightning. io → the book of job and to judgement and plenteous justice he doeth no violence. men do therefore fear him : he regardeth not any that are wise of heart. [the roar of the whirlwind gives place to a voice. ios → the book of job and prescribed for it my decree, and set bars and doors, and said, “hitherto shalt thou come, but no further; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?” hast thou commanded the morning since thy days began, and caused the dayspring to know its place; that it might take hold of the ends of the earth, and the wicked be shaken out of it? it is changed as clay under the seal; and all things stand forth as a garment: and from the wicked their light is withholden, and the high arm is broken. hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? or hast thou walked in the recesses of the deep? have the gates of death been revealed unto thee? or hast thou seen the gates of the shadow of death? hast thou comprehended the breadth of the earth? — declare, if thou knowest it all — where is the way to the dwelling of light, and as for darkness, where is the place thereof; that thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest discern the paths to the house thereoff — doubtless, thou knowest, for thou wast then born, and the number of thy days is great! — hast thou entered the treasuries of the snow, or hast thou seen the treasuries of the hail, io → the book of job who hath put wisdom in the inward parts? or who hath given understanding to the mind? who can number the clouds by wisdom? or who can pour out the bottles of heaven, when the dust runneth into a mass, and the clods cleave fast together? wilt thou hunt the prey for the lioness? or satisfy the appetite of the young lions, when they couch in their dens, and abide in the covert to lie in wait? who provideth for the raven his food, when his young ones cry unto god, and wander for lack of meat? knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve? canst thou number the months that they fulfil? or knowest thou the time when they bring forth? they bow themselves, they bring forth their young, they cast out their sorrows. their young ones are in good liking, they grow up in the open field; they go forth, and return not again. who hath sent out the wild ass free? or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass? whose house i have made the wilderness, and the salt land his dwelling place; iio - the book of job hast thou given the horse his might? hast thou clothed his neck with the quivering mane? hast thou made him to leap as a locust? the glory of his snorting is terrible. he paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth out to meet the armed men. he mocketh at fear and is not dismayed; neither turneth he back from the sword. the quiver rattleth against him, the flashing spear and the javelin. he swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage; neither standeth he still at the voice of the trumpet. as oft as the trumpet soundeth he saith, aha! and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting. doth the hawk soar by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south? doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high? she dwelleth on the rock, and hath her lodging there, upon the crag of the rock and the stronghold. from thence she spieth out the prey; her eyes behold it afar off. her young ones also suck up blood: and where the slain are, there is she. ii divine intervention – , , shall he that cavilleth contend with the almighty? he that argueth with god, let him answer it. [a lull in the storm. job behold, i am of small account; what shall i answer thee? i lay mine hand upon my mouth. once have i spoken, and i will not answer; yea twice, but i will proceed no further. [the whirlwind continues. voice out of the whirlwind - - gird up thy loins now like a man: i will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. wilt thou even disannul my judgement? wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be justified? or hast thou an arm like god? and canst thou thunder with a voice like him? i ii , → the book of job deck thyself now with excellency and dignity; and array thyself with honour and majesty. pour forth the overflowings of thine anger: and look upon everyone that is proud, and abase him. look on everyone that is proud, and bring him low; and tread down the wicked where they stand. hide them in the dust together; bind their faces in the hidden place. then will i also confess of thee that thine own right hand can save thee. behold now behemoth, which i made with thee; he eateth grass as an ox. lo now, his strength is in his loins, and his force is in the muscles of his belly. he moveth his tail like a cedar: the sinews of his thighs are knit together. his bones are as tubes of brass; his limbs are like bars of iron. he is the chief of the ways of god; he only that made him can make his sword to ap- proach unto him. surely the mountains bring him forth food; where all the beasts of the field do play. ii divine inter vention – he lieth under the lotus trees, in the covert of the reed, and the fen. the lotus trees cover him with their shadow; the willows of the brook compass him about. behold, if a river overflow, he trembleth not: he is confident, though jordan swell even to his mouth. shall any take him when he is on the watch, or pierce through his nose with a snare? canst thou draw out leviathan with a fish hook? or press down his tongue with a cord? canst thou put a rope into his nose? or pierce his jaw through with a hook? will he make many supplications unto thee? or will he speak soft words unto thee? will he make a covenant with thee, that thou shouldest take him for a servant forever? wilt thou play with him as with a bird? or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens? shall the bands of fishermen make traffic of him? shall they part him among the merchants? canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons, or his head with fish spears? lay thine hand upon him; remember the battle, and do so no more. story epilogue and it was so, that after the lord had spoken these words unto job, the lord said to eliphaz the temanite, “my wrath is kindled against thee, and against thy two friends: for ye have not spoken of me the thing that is right, as my servant job hath. now, therefore, take unto you seven bullocks and seven rams, and go to my servant job, and offer up for yourselves a burnt offering; and my servant job shall pray for you; for him will i accept, that i deal not with you after your folly; for ye have not spoken of me the thing that is right, as my servant job hath.” so eliphaz the temanite and bildad the shuhite and zophar the naamathite went, and did according as the lord commanded them: and the lord accepted job. and the lord turned the captivity of job, when he prayed for his friends: and the lord gave job twice as much as he had before. then came there unto him all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house: and they bemoaned him, and comforted him concerning all the evil that the lord had brought upon him: every man also gave him a piece of money, and everyone a ring of gold. i i - the book of job so the lord blessed the latter end of job more than his beginning: and he had fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and thousand she-asses. he had also seven sons and three daughters. and he called the name of the first jemimah; and the name of the second, keziah ; and the name of the third, keren-happuch. and in all the land were no women found so fair as the daughters of job: and their father gave them inheritance among their brethren. and after this job lived an hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons' sons, even four gel crations. so job died, being old and full of days. i ſk rea, it will t tied from *is in a * r. w. it to *ing then ( then | ther the the the h th kiker the ºws. → the book of job either as actually spoken by the other speakers, or as imaginary ob- jections of theirs cited by job for the purpose of answering them. the absence of any break in the received text has little weight: the considerations adduced in the last note show that the head- ings of speeches have not the same authority as the speeches themselves. the evidences on this question seem to me uncer- tain; on the whole, i have been led to different conclusions in respect to the different passages. the clearest case seems to be section : and i have here assigned the three passages to the three friends respectively. ( ) the fact that there are three is significant: the sense of symmetry running through the whole poem is so distinct that it is easier to understand a triple interruption than the interven- tion of a single objector. ( ) it comes as a confirmation that the three passages fit in with the individual speakers in the order in which they always speak. the words falling in this arrangement to eliphaz are: lo, their prosperity is not in their hand: the counsel of the wicked is far from me. now the first of these lines is an echo of the picture painted by eliphaz in his speech of this cycle (page , line io), and the second line occurs in his next speech (page , line ). bil- dad's interruption is: god layeth up his imiquity for his children. it will be remembered that bildad is the only one to allude (in his first speech, section ) to the overthrow of job's children; i → the book of job jections making irregular breaks, and the answers advancing by augmentation ( , , , ). the most difficult case is the first four lines of section . here the rhythmic form is interruption, as in . the words would suit zophar, who seems to admit interrupting at the com- mencement of his speech in section . but it is a solitary break, and can perfectly well be read as a citing of objection by job. the evidence here seems equally balanced, and i have left the arrangement to stand as in the received text. a kindred question, but much more difficult, indeed, to me the most perplexing question of form in the whole poem,- arises in the last section ( ). job's speech of submission is interrupted by the words: who is this that hideth counsel without knowledge and again, later, by the words: i will demand of thee, and declare thou unto me. are we to understand these words to be spoken at the time by the voice out of the whirlwind; or are they echoes by job of the divine words spoken before? it seems to me that the considerations on both sides of the question are very evenly balanced. it will be noted that these sentences are the opening words of the divine intervention, the first slightly, and the second con- siderably abridged; the second also commences the divine speech following job's former submission, and the word “de- i o - the book of job another metre is to rule means a change of thought, as clearly as when the reader of a printed book comes upon a new chap- metrical ter with a fresh title. in the book of job this variations usage is so fundamental that it makes the basis on in job which the whole can be analysed: the changes of metre tally with the stages in the argument. i have accordingly arranged the poem on this principle. i have divided it into metrical units, numbered from one to fifty: the meaning of the term is only that between one of these divisions and the next the metre changes, as for example from antistrophic to stanza system, or vice versa. such an arrangement enables me, in the notes which follow, to treat together points of metre and steps in the progress of the argument. first it may be well to pass in review the leading features of metrical effect, the details of which will be analysed in the notes. in the opening volume of this series i laid down the princi- recapitula- ples of the metrical system which is found to pre- tion of prin- vail in wisdom poetry; and to this the reader is ciples of wis- referred. the distinction was made between the dom metres stanza structure, familiar in modern poetry, and the antistrophic structure, in which, as in greek, the stanzas run in pairs; the passage from strophe to antistrophe being in harmony with grammatical or rhetorical relations in the thought expressed. it was seen that the antistrophic structure admitted introductions and conclusions of independent form; and at any point of wisdom verse might be found single independent couplets, like passages of musical recitative breaking strict time. i notes - these elementary structures were found to be intensified by distinct elaborations. the simple succession of strophes each followed by its antistrophe (aa' bb' cc'), which is so common in greek, associates itself with the pendulum structure which is prevalent through all hebrew literature, the swaying to and fro between two thoughts; and wisdom poetry also exhibits the irregular pendulum, where there is the swaying backwards and forwards without the equality of stanzas. other arrangements of strophes were those named interlacing and inversion, the one represented by the scheme ab a'b' and the other by the scheme ab bla'. duplication naturally expresses an arrange- ment by which in a series of stanzas (say) of the form , one is found of the form , . a single example was found in pro- verbs of augmenting—a succession of stanzas in which the number of lines continually increased. variation was found where two stanzas, equal in the number of their lines and agreeing in the proportion of their dissimilar parallelism, yet distributed this dissimilar parallelism differently, as where a stanza abaaab was answered by the form ababaa. one more elaboration was named interruption: the regularity of a stanza interrupted by a mass of independent form, the interrupting mass representing a corresponding break in the thought. the same metrical elements, and the same elaborations of metre, appear in the dramatic poetry of job, with greater variety and elasticity. and a slight addi- tion is to be made to the list. the antistrophic and stanza structures are the basis of the whole. the famous celebration of wisdom with which zophar metrical feat- ures of job i ~ the book of job brings to a conclusion the arguments of the friends is a com- plete sonnet, of complex strophe, antistrophe, and conclusion. antistrophic the very special form of sonnet designated num- and stanza ber sonnet is found once, in the opening speech structures of eliphaz; this is constructed on the number seven, and is worked out in couplets. recitative couplets are freely used, and twice ( , ) they are extended to triplets. considerable use is made in job of alternate parallelism. in proverbs this was confined to passages not prominent; but in ecclesiasticus it made up the body of the great monologue of wisdom, while this rose to a climax in stanzas. so in job some of the cli- maxes or sustained outbursts are in alternate parallelism. and it is extensively used for transitional passages, between one division and another of a lengthy argument, or where a speaker at the commencement of his speech notices half contemptuously the words of the last speaker before he enters upon his own line of attack. the elaborations mentioned above appear, with more fulness and variety, but always in harmony with the elaboration of the thought. the regular pendulum is not found in job; but the irregular form of this structure is several times employed in the sustained outbursts. and there is an extension of this structure in what may be called the triple pendulum. here the swaying of thought is between three and not two ideas. job's oath of clearing is of this form. this is, as it were, a song constructed on three notes: one de- scribes the sins to be disavowed; a second invokes penalties if alternate parallelism pendulum structure notes - the speaker has been guilty of them; while a third note is made by a recoil from the very thought of entertaining such sins against god. if i have walked with vanity, and my foot hath hasted to deceit, (let me be weighed in an even balance, that god may know mine integrity;) if my step hath turned out of the way, and mine heart walked after mine eyes, and if any spot hath cleaved to mine hands: then let me sow, and let another eat; yea, let the produce of my field be rooted out. the same figure seems to underlie the first part of the divine intervention: one note is made by the startling questions of nature mysteries, another subsides into exquisite picturing of details in these wonders of nature, while for a third there is an occasional word of challenge to job to answer. where the structure is antistrophic, interlacing and intro- version are regularly used. in a single instance the two are found to be combined (see note to section ). duplication of stanzas regularly occurs. in job’s answer ( ) to eliphaz an extension of it is found in a group of verses taking the forms i, ; , , , . the effect is in- creased by the order of the stanzas: job having three times used the form , , in an accession of bitterness rises to the form , , and then subsides into despair in a verse of the form , . a new variety of duplication is to be noticed, duplication i notes - five lines, then of eight lines, finally of eleven. and here must be noted the augmenting alternation of elihu. this speaker, it must be remembered, occupies the position of a young man intervening uninvited in a debate of old men. with the almost superstitious reverence for old age that belongs to early civilisations, it is natural to find that elihu has great difficulty in nerving himself to this effort; and it takes him fifty-two lines to complete his apology for speaking at all in so venerable a presence. the stanzas which express this gradual conquest over nervousness are found to take the highly suggestive forms, , ; , , , , , , , , ; , . later on he has been threatening job with judg- ment, when a rumble of distant thunder darts into his mind the idea that the judgment is that moment impending. his thoughts now become engrossed with the advancing signs of the storm; and the growing excitement expresses itself in stanzas of the forms, , , , , , , , , , . this second ex- ample is duplication combined with augmenting. it would be impossible to imagine any closer harmony between the outer form of a scene and its inner spirit (sections , ). of variation it is enough to say that it is used as in other wisdom literature, but to a much less extent than we should have expected. interruption plays an important variation part in the dramatic poetry of job. its first and interrup- appearance is at the opening of the curse. the * essence of this whole section is contained in two couplets. augmenting alternation zet the day perish wherein i was born ; and the night which said, there is a man child conceived: i ~g tne book of job brief conspectus of the argument a dramatic debate may have all the force, but will certainly not have the logical order, of a philosophic discussion; irrup- tions of personal feeling, and glancings at details of attack and defence, will sway the main argument out of its regular course. it will be well then for the reader, before he enters upon the detailed analysis of the poem, to fix in his mind the leading lines of thought, which, with whatever interruptions, are followed from the beginning to the end. the starting-point is the position taken up by job in his curse: his misery, and claim for a speedy end. to this position job is continually subsiding after outbursts of passionate argument. the friends treat this as ignoring a visitation of god. first round of speeches the friends job the doctrine: all calamity is opposition of facts to the doc- judgment upon sin. trine: impunity of the wicked exists. basis of the doctrine: the in- helplessness of short-lived finite distance between god man to bring his cause be- and man. fore omnipotence — mo- mentary thought: a vindi- cation beyond death (dis- missed). i n ote s re- personal bearing of the doc- trine: job a sinner, with a sinner's hope of restoration upon submission. wavering courage for appeal to the inflicting god against the friends' misinterpreta- tion of the infliction. second round all three lines of argument maintained. job's opposition of facts against the doctrine enhanced to a doubt whether impunity of the wicked is not a general thing. his helpless position enhanced, his cause is actually sub- verted—thought of a vin- dication beyond death en- hanced to a glorious cer- tainty. appeal to god from the friends now passionately made, and the friends treated with contempt. third round all three lines of argument advanced to a climax. the doctrine [zophar] made identical with all wisdom. job rises to corresponding climaxes. the visible impunity of the wicked formulated as one of the laws of providence. i notes - the story prologue the dramatic poem of job rests upon a basis or frame of nar- rated story, which appears at the beginning, the end, and briefly at the passage from the debate to the interposition of elihu. dramas regularly contain (or imply) a trace of story element in the ‘stage directions,' which in modern literature there is a growing tendency to expand (compare wagner, ibsen). this story frame to job is partly an enlargement of such stage direc- tions. [the story prologue is in prose. the only exceptions are: ( ) the messengers' speeches exhibit a form inter- mediate between verse and prose, external without inter- nal parallelism; the lines correspond not with others in the same speech, but with similar lines in other speeches. ( ) job's first words of submission make two recitative couplets; a form which suggests a pause between the two. the same form is taken by his first submission at the end of the poem (section ); his later submission ( ) enlarges from this by augmentation, with interruptions. the same form (interrupted) underlies the curse ( ).] the greatest of all the children of the east. the name children of the east seems to be given in scripture to the arabian nomad peoples to the east of palestine. their present successors claim descent from abraham. (genesis, chapter xxix. i; jeremiah, chapter xlix. .) — it may be that my sons have . . . renounced l i notes – aries through whom god's government is carried on. ( ) in psalms lxxxii and lviii the sphere of government of these sons of god would seem to be the different peoples of the earth. they are in these poems regarded as neglecting their duties, and (in psalm lxxxii) threatened with degradation from their rank of immortals. but in job the suggestion is rather that the various parts of the universe, of which our earth is only one, are under their charge; and that “satan,’ or ‘the adversary,' has the oversight of ‘the earth.” in support of this view, compare the regular association of angels with stars (implied in such a phrase as ‘the host of heaven,' and in such passages as deuter- onomy, chapter iv. ; isaiah, chapter xxxiv. ; psalm cylviii. ) with the picture later in this poem of the rejoicings over creation: when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of god shouted for joy. and the adversary came also among them. the adversary is the marginal alternative of r. v. for “satan’ in the text. either ‘the adversary’ or ‘the satan’ will convey the right impression. the essential points are: ( ) the word is not a proper name, but a common noun, the name of an office. ( ) this officer is represented as coming amongst the other sons of god, and there is nothing in his reception to suggest any difference between him and the rest. ( ) his office is that of inspector or guard- ian of the earth: the words from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it, besides being in them- selves just descriptive of such an officer, are close to the words (“walk to and fro through the earth,” five times repeated) in i - the book of job the vision of zechariah (chapters i. to vi. ), which undoubt- edly are a formula expressing spirits of ministration of god on the earth. ( ) when associations with the other use of the word “satan’ are dismissed, it is easy to see that there is no malignity or sin in the adversary's action in the present inci- dent. to be suspicious is the function of an inspector; and he only does his duty in suggesting a possible flaw in the apparent integrity of job. the lord is not represented as showing any displeasure. the position of the adversary is exactly that of the advocatus diaboli in the usages of the roman church, who has the function of making opposition to the canonisation of a saint, lest any flaw should be passed over. he is an ‘adversary’ only in the sense in which any inspector or examiner is opposed to those on whom he exercises his office. the same title of an officer of heaven, and the same functions, appear in other pas- sages of scripture: compare zechariah, iii. ; i chron. xxi. , and i kings, xxii. . finally ( ) it is intelligible how the name of an office should in time come to be applied as the name of an individual: the adversary of god, and so champion of evil. with regard to the whole incident, it may be remarked that the views presented above are assisted by the ritualistic charac- ter of the narrative. the exact repetition of questions and for- mularies in the description of the two days suggests that these are to be regarded as periodical gatherings, with formularies of ritual, as each son of god presents himself. it may be added, that the popular notions of ‘satan,” and his connection with the early stages of the world history presented in the bible, are derived from milton's working up of scripture into paradise i notes - lost, rather than from the bible itself. bishop bickersteth, in his yesterday, to-day, and forever, has reconstructed the bib- lical story of milton, and harmonised the conception of satan in job with the conception in the n. t. it is unnecessary to point out that the prologue to goethe's faust is wholly founded on the ideas of this incident of job. skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life. the general sense is clear enough; but the exact force of the proverb is difficult to catch. cox quotes a jewish proverb which is helpful: “one gives one's skin to save one's skin, and all to save one's life.”— and he sat among the ashes. david- son quotes from wetzstein a passage which brings this clearly before our imagination. the dung which is heaped upon the mezbele of the hau- ran villages is not mixed with straw, which in that warm and dry land is not needed for litter, and it comes mostly from solid-hoofed animals, as the ſtocks and oxen are left over-night in the grazing places. it is carried in baskets in a dry state to this place before the village, and usually burnt once a month. . . . the ashes remain. . . . if the village has been inhabited for centuries the mezhele reaches a height far overtopping it. the winter rains reduce it into a com- pact mass, and it becomes by and by a solid hill of earth. the mezbele serves the inhabitants for a watchtower, and in the sultry evenings for a place of concourse, because there is a current of air on the height. there all day long the children play about it; and there the outcast, who has i → the book of job swift, in the quotation from isaiah) with the sea itself, twisting round the land, and at times invading and destroying. the feeling expressed in the first section is carried for- ward: if he was doomed to be born, why was the luxury of immediate death denied him? why now is life forced upon the miserable? [after a transitional quatrain the metre is antistrophic : each of the thoughts, death denied, life forced on him, has a strophe of the form , , , .] the debate eliphaz eliphaz opens the doctrine of the friends: that all calamity is a judgment on sin — but this is made a source of hope for job through submission. — a climax passage makes a basis for the doctrine by a supernatural vision setting forth the infinite distance between god and man: there can be no human plea against a visitation of god. — the strain of hope yields another climax passage in the picture of job's restoration. [stanza system, with duplication and climax passages. (it is unnecessary to mention recitative couplets, which may occur anywhere.) the doctrine (with its hope) ap- pears in quatrains; the enlargement in stanzas of , duplicating into , . the climax vision is antistrophic ( , ); the other climax passage is a number sonnet (see i notes – proverbs volume, page xxiii) on the base , worked out in couplets.] is not thy fear of god thy confidence, etc. the tenderness and grace of eliphaz must be noted. he has the delicate task of suggesting to this pattern of the world that he has been secretly a sinner. his first hint of this is conveyed under the form of a hope for job: if this overwhelming disaster were a capricious accident, the sufferer would indeed be hopeless. but now his confidence in god's justice shows him penitence as a way of escape. — to which of the holy ones will thou turn : see above, page . — man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward: that is, the visitation of calamity is no accident, but is as much a law of nature (viz. its connection with sin) as that of the upward tendency of fire. , job job [in antistrophic interlacing: , , , ], as if speak- ing to himself, justifies the position taken up in the curse: his sufferings give him a right to complain and ask for a speedy end. speaking aloud, job now expresses disappointment at the friends who have given him rebuke instead of comfort— then, after a transitional passage challenging them to look him in the face and accuse him, job turns to god, and justifies the position taken in the curse: man's life is that of one hired for a period of service — after another transitional passage of misery, job rises to a climax of bitter appeal against what he presents as god's persecution of the helpless — finally he subsides into a i - the book of job cry for pardon of whatever transgression he may have com- mitted, in view of the near end. [the transitional passages, as always, are of alternate parallelism. the rest is in stanzas with extreme duplication ( , , , , , ). the protests against the friends and the first appeal to god make three stanzas of , , then the climax intensifies to , , and the final subsidence is in , .] am i a sea or a sea-monster: see above, page . bildad the doctrine of the friends reasserted, with appeals to nature and tradition. hope of restoration not omitted. [stanzas of , , with very curious examples of inter- ruption. the first stanza, which is a conditional sentence (if thou wert pure and holy, etc.), has the interruption of conditional sentences more remote (if thy children, etc.). similarly, the fourth stanza, which is to work out the pre- viously suggested illustration of the rush, is interrupted (at the beginning) with a further illustration of the spider's web.] – job job [in antistrophic introversion: , , , and , ; , bis] dwells on the hopelessness of submitting his cause to overpowering strength. i → the book of job [the figure is antistrophic inversion: , , , , ; , . this is a curious example, almost amounting to in- troverted introversion.] who knoweth not in all these that “the hand of the zord hath wrought this " delitzsch makes the excellent suggestion that there is a proverb quoted here (comparing isaiah, chapter xli. ); this turns what seems a vague weakness (in the this) into a fine stroke of argument. this line must be connected with the previous line, who knoweth not such things as these ? they have offered job commonplaces of divine judgment; he retorts with commonplaces of impunity, bringing out their com- monplaceness by the phrase of a current proverb. continuing, job confronts the “wisdom of the aged,’ which has been cited to him, with another wisdom seen in the actions of irresistible strength (as it were, the logic of events). [the form may be called augmenting interruption. an objection (as if in the objector's words) interrupts the speaker: his reply makes two rhetoric masses, augmenting from , to , . compare sections and .] the idea is gathering strength of an appeal to god against god's own visitation as interpreted by the friends—job sways between longing to make the appeal, and awe of the power to be appealed to. [two pendulum figures. in the first the swaying is be- tween the idea of appealing to god against god himself (left) and the friends making false pleas out of subservi- i → the book of job as relating to some one present, though, of course, they need not have this meaning. zophar seems to speak with the tone of extreme age; and it would be in accordance with this idea that to him is given the peroration (so to speak) of the friends' case, as eliphaz has its formal opening. but of course this whole idea rests on very slender foundation. doctrine of the friends emphasised: judgment is descend- ing on the impious, while all appearances are to the contrary. [pendulum figure, with quintett opening and conclusion. the pendulum sways between the secret or open misery of the wicked (left) and his proud sin (right).] he hath covered his face with his fatness, and made collops of fat on his flanks. the same association of fat and sin is promi- nent in psalm lxxiii. job after a transitional passage [alternate parallelism] of con- tempt for the friends, job gives himself to a sustained appeal to god: swaying [in pendulum figure] between the misery of his visitation [left] and his appeal to the visiting god rather than the misinterpreting friends [right]. bildad after a passing rebuke to job's contempt [alternate parallel- ism] bildad supports the doctrine in a sustained outburst [triplet recitative and alternate parallelism]: shall job be an exception to universal law p i → the book of job [in alternate parallelism] his doubt whether the impunity of the wicked is not a general principle. the thought is continued, in the way of dealing with stock objections against such alleged impunity. according to the note above (page ) i understand these objections to be actually spoken by the three friends. [the form, as in the similar section , is augmenting in- terruption: the objections (four) appear irregularly as in- terruptions; the answers augment in the proportions , , , .] , eliphaz falling back on the basis of the doctrine, the awful dis- tance of god from man, eliphaz then brings the personal bear- ing of the friends' doctrine to a climax in direct accusations of offences on job's part. [stanza system: stanzas of , contain the basis ideas; stanzas of , the direct accusations.] then eliphaz puts for the last time the hope that lies for job in submission. [transitional quatrain and pendulum figure, swaying between job's submissive attitude (right) and his restora- tion (left).] – job this attack has brought back job to his own case; he falls back [in antistrophic inversion: , ; , ] upon the thought of the heavenly vindicator, who is not to be found in this world, but will certainly clear him. i o notes – the meditative strain is continued [in quatrain stanzas] : job feels his innocence and yet his helplessness against the almighty. then he passes from his personal case to the general impunity of the wicked; and what before was a doubt, is now calmly formulated as apparently one of the laws of mysterious providence. [after the question has been opened in a recitative coup- let, the section falls into triplet stanzas with duplication. but the duplication is irregular in the first of the two sex- tetts: instead of the parallelism running aabbbb, it runs abbbaa. i suppose this may be classed as a form of varia- tion; but there is no similar case in job.] why are times not laid up by the almighty p on the word times, see a note in volume iii of this series, pages – . the use here is close to that in essay ii of ecclesiastes (page ): “god shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work.” in the whole passage the steps of social evolution are scientifically discrimi- nated: (a) encroachment, by removing boundaries, on the com- mon land; (b) the consequent formation of a class sinking into hardship and poverty; (c) the intensification of this hardship by close contact with wealth : and being an-hungered they carry the sheaves; they make oil within the walls of these men; they tread their wine-presses and suffer thirst. m i - the book of job (d) next we have the crowding of population in cities, and the violence of city crime; (e) finally, the rise of a distinctly criminal class, whose whole existence is a warfare against the light: in this way the morning is to all of them as the shadow of death. the stock objections against this view of the impunity of the wicked as part of god's providence are cited and answered. [unlike the previous sections dealing with objections ( , ) the form of this passage is antistrophic inversion: , , , .] o bildad bildad brings to a climax the basis of the friends' doctrine: the infinite distance between god and man [in a single pendu- lum figure: god's infinite greatness (right), inability of man to maintain his cause against such power (left)]. the shades tremble: see note above, page —beneath the waters and the inhabitants thereof. this is the location of sheol as the lowest conceivable region. compare amos, chap- ter ix. ; psalm crxxix. . — destruction hath no covering: below (section ) this term is used as a synonym of sheol. — he closeth in the face of his throne, and spreadeth his cloud upon it: the idea is, that the storm is the moving presence of god, but the clouds conceal him from our eyes; compare psalm xviii. . he bowed the heavens also, and came down ; and thick darkness was under his feet. and he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: i notes – yea, he ſlew swiftly upon the wings of the wind. he made darkness his hiding place, his pavilion round about him ; darkness of waters, thick clouds of the skies. he hath described a boundary upon the face of the waters, unto the confines of light and darkness. this is the mystery of the horizon: which is associated with ocean, because there only is it visible without interruption. compare below ( ): as for darkness, where is the place thereof * that thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest discern the paths to the house thereof.” the idea of this last is, being able to carry darkness forward to the horizon, and back again to the place from which it came. so milton's satan, wandering on the outer surface of the “world,' sees the light of the empyrean streaming through the opening passage from heaven to earth: so wide the op'ning seem’d, where bounds were set to darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. his hand hath pierced the swift serpent: see note above, page i. job as the friends persist in ignoring his doubts, job, after a transitional passage of contempt [alternate parallelism], briefly returns to the assertion of his own personal case: he will never be moved from the position that god has subverted his cause [antistrophic]. i - . the book of job , zophar zophar, on behalf of the three friends, prepares to bring the discussion to a conclusion. he first ( ) calmly states over again the doctrine of judgment on the wicked; and then ( ) makes the fear of god and his judgments the basis of universal wisdom. this makes the climax or peroration of the friends' case. [alternate parallelism as zophar begins to speak ( ), followed by quatrain stanzas for the simple statement of the doctrine. the climax ( ) is a complete sonnet, consisting of elaborate strophe, antistrophe, and conclusion. here is one of the few examples of variation in this poem (above, page and proverbs volume, page ). the couplets of the strophe are broken by two successive triplets, and the same thing occurs in the antistrophe, but not at the same place.] behold, all ye yourselves have seen it; why then are ye become altogether vain these words are in accordance with the idea that zophar is summing up the case for the friends, as the ma- terials of the debate are evidently exhausted, and job is more immovable than ever. he has said, i will teach you, and then turns to include his colleagues in his views: ye yourselves have seen it; why then, he asks, are ye become altogether vain p that is, why are your united attestations to go for nothing with job? —the difficulty of these words in the bible arrangement of the speeches, by which all this falls to job, is felt by all commenta- i → the book of job – the interposition of elihu takes the form of a succession of speeches: there is no speaker beside elihu, but the multiplication of his addresses is due to circumstances connected with the scene and the demeanour of the auditors. after he has gradually introduced and then expounded his argument, he then (at the close of ) appeals to job, and pauses for his reply: if thou hast anything to say, answer me: speak, for i desire to justify thee. if not, hearken thou unto me. job's silence evidently nettles elihu, and he turns to the friends: afear my words, ye wise men . . . what man is like job, who drinketh up scorning like water the speech so provoked deals with presumption; and at the end elihu again tries to take the friends with him in his condemnation of job: men of understanding will say unto me, yea, every wise man that heareth me: job speaketh without knowledge . . . for he addeth rebellion unto his sin he clappeth his hands among us. but the friends evidently ignore this appeal. accordingly the next speech ( ) is directed against them as well as job: i will answer thee, and thy companions with thee. i → the book of job in this short section elihu briefly states job's position, and briefly opposes to it what is the basis of the friends' doc- trine: the distance between god and man. [a case of antistrophic suspension: see above, page .] here elihu reaches his real answer to job, and con- tribution to the argument. it is that calamity is a warning, just as truly so as eliphaz's vision, which was the foundation for the doctrine of the friends. he urges this view on job, and pauses for his reply. [the form is antistrophic duplication, set in a suspended introductory sextett. as to the latter, the couplet— for god speaketh once, yea twice, though man regardeth it not — is clearly continued in the four lines: lo, all these things doth god work, twice, yea thrice, with a man ; to bring back his soul from the pit. that he may be enlightened with the light of the living. between comes the whole doctrine of elihu. similarly, in section , his negation of job's doctrine was contained in a sextett, which was suspended to interpose in the middle of it the statement of job's position. — the antistrophic duplication which is the form of elihu's main argument is fully explained above; see page . note also the reitera- o notes – present disturbance: to a certain extent elihu may generalise upon what the visible scene presents (e.g. he sealeth up the hand of every man is most naturally understood of winter in general). of course, in regard to a large proportion of lines, the language would be the same whether elihu were speaking of the general works of god in nature or of a tempest then rising. but some of the lines cannot be interpreted in this general sense; for example: at this also my heart trembleth, and is moved out of its place. hearken ye unto the noise of his voice, etc. and again: hearken unto this, o job : stand still, and consider the wondrous works of god. again: we cannot order our speech by reason of darkness. these being necessarily called forth by present phenomena, the rest of the description goes with them. the most important point is to note the order of the natural phenomena pictured by elihu, and how this agrees with the approach of the whirlwind. the transition to this section is made by the words: behold, god doeth loftily in his power. who is a teacher like unto him i notes - out of the north cometh golden splendour : god hath upon him terrible majesty. they recognise this blaze of glory, golden yet too bright to gaze upon, as the visible glory of god. the north must not be taken of the north wind cleansing the skies, but of the north as in prophetic imagination the quarter specially associated with the divine abode, or the direction from which the god of judgment makes his appearance. this is perfectly clear from isaiah, chapter xiv. : and thou saidst in thine heart, i will ascend into heaven, i will exalt my throme above the stars of god; and i will sit upon the mount of congregation, in the uttermost parts of the north : i will ascend above the heights of the clouds; i will be like the most high. (compare ezekiel, chapter i. ; }eremiah vi. i; i. – , etc). it is a regular feature of the theophanies of scripture to have a supernatural brightness as a stage beyond the natural tempest. thus in ezekiel's vision (i. ): behold, a stormy wind came out of the north, a great cloud, with a fire ſlashing continually, and a brightness round about it, etc. again, in the appearance to elijah the order is, wind rending the mountains, then earthquake, then fire, and then the voice. (compare verses and of psalm xviii. in the ode of habakkuk there is the combination of supernatural brightness and nature convulsion, but the wind and darkness are wanting.) i the order in which it is proposed to issue the volumes is as follows: wisdom series in four volumes the proverbs a miscellany of sayings and poems embodying isolated obser- vations of life. ready ecclesiasticus a miscellany including longer compositions, still embodying only isolated observations of life. ready ecclesiastes — wisdont of solonion each is a series of connected writings embodying, from dif- ferent standpoints, a solution of the whole mystery of life. ready the book of job a dramatic poem in which are embodied varying solutions of the mystery of life. april deuteronotty the orations and songs of moses, constituting his farewell to the people of israel. may biblical idyls the lyric idyl of solomon's song, and the epic idyls of ruth, esther, and tobit. june history series genesis in five volumes bible history, part i: formation of the chosen nation. july - … • • phil . . christo vart von ! viny an salute the gift of m samuel abbott green. . of boston (class of ), may, . ja www dummit ņminebata; . the bridgewater treatises on the power, wisdom and goodness of god as manifested in the creation. · treatise vi. geology and mineralogy considered with reference to natural theology. by the rev. william buckland, d. d. in two volumes. vol. ii. thou lord in the beginning hast laid the foundation of the earth. psalm cii. . geology and mineralogy considered with reference to natural theology. by the rev. william buckland, d. d. canon of christ church and reader in geology and mineralogy in the university of oxford. a new edition. with supplementary notes. in two v olum e s. vol. ii. philadelphia: lea & blanchard, . phil . . , atau , cm. s. . griggs & co., printers. list of engravings. plate '. fossil crocodileans and chelonian. . footsteps on red sand-stone near dumfries. '. footsteps on red sand-stone at hessberg, (double plate.) ''. hind footstep of chirotherium on sand-stone from hessberg. /", footsteps of some unknown reptile on sand-stone from hessberg. . several species of ornithichnites on sand-stone in the valley of the connecticut, (double plate.) ". ornithichnites giganteus, on sand-stone from connecticut. . scales, jaw, and teeth, of fossil fishes. . recent and fossil sauroid fishes. . fish from the coal formation of saarbrück. °. fish from the oolite formation. d. jaws, teeth, and spine of recent and fossil sharks. º. teeth on the palate of acrodus nobilis, ! teeth of ptychodus polygyrus. . pens and ink pag of recent and fossil loligo. . fossil pens and ink bags of loligo, from the lias. . large fossil pen of loligo, from the lias. . nautilus pompilius with its animal ; and rhyncholites. . chambers and siphuncle of nautilus hexagonus. . chambers and siphuncle of nautilus striatus. . animal of nautilus pompilius. . exterior of ammonites obtusus. . chambers and siphuncle of ammonites obtusus. . various forms of mechanism to strengthen ammonites. . lateral view of ammonites heterophyllus. . longitudinal view of ammonites heterophyllus. . ammonites henslowi; a. nodosus ; a. sphæricus, and a. striatus. . chambers of ammonites giganteus. . chambers and siphuncle of nautilus and ammonite. . nautilus sypho, and n. zic-zac. . chambered shells allied to nautilus and ammonite. '. illustrations of the genus belemnosepia. ". ink bags of belemnosepia. . trilobites and recent animals allied to them. . various forms of trilobites, list of engravings. plate . fossil scorpions from the coal formation in bohemia. ". fossil limulus, arachnidans, and insects. . apiocrinites, and actinocrinites. . fragment of a lily encrinite, encrinites moniliformis. . stem of encrinites moniliformis dissected. . body of encrinites moniliformis dissected. . briarean pentacrinite from the lias at lyme regis. . recent and fossil pentacrinites. . briarean pentacrinite from the lias, (double plate.) : . recent corals with their polypes. . fossil tree (lepidodendron sternbergii) from a coal mine in bohemia. . remains of plants of extinct families, from the coal forma- tion. . highly magnified sections of coniferæ. . remains of a subterranean forest on the coast of dorset. . cycas revoluta producing buds. . zamia pungens, and sections of recent zamia and cycas. . trunk and transverse section of cyadites megalophyllus. . trunk and sections of buds and petioles of cycadites mi- crophyllus. . sections of petioles of recent and fossil cycadeæ. . fossil fruit of podocarya, and recent pandaneæ, (double plate.) . remains of fossil palms, from tertiary strata. . sections illustrating the structure and disposition of coal basins. . sections illustrating the silurian and carboniferous systems; and part of the newcastle coal field. . sections illustrating the origin of springs, and the disposi- tion of metallic veins. . sections showing the cause of the rise of water in artesian wells in the basin of london. . sections illustrating the theory of artesian wells. total number of plates . total number of figures . explanation of the plates. introductory notice, and description of the geological phenomena illustrated by plate i. ppate , is an imaginary section constructed to express, by the insertion of names, and colours, the relative positions of the most important classes, both of unstratified and stratified rocks, as far as they have yet been ascertained. it is found- ed on many series of accurate observations, on several lines taken across europe, between the british islands and the mediterranean sea. although no single straight line exhi- bits every formation complete in the full order of succession here represented, no fact is inserted for which authority cannot be found. the near approximation of this synoptic representation to the facts exhibited by an actual section, may be estimated by comparing it with the admirable sec- tion across europe, published by mr. conybeare in the re- port of the proceedings of the british association for the advancement of science, , and with his sections of england, in phillips and conybeare's geology of england and wales. the chief merit of the above section is due to the ta- lents of mr. thomas webster; it is founded on a more simple section which has for several years been used by him in his lectures, and which exhibits the relations of the granitic and volcanic rocks to the stratified formations, vol. ii.- explanation of plate . and to one another, more intelligibly than i have ever seen expressed elsewhere. this original drawing by mr. web- ster has formed the basis of the present enlarged and im- proved section, into which many important additions have been introduced by the joint suggestions of mr. webster and myself. the selection and arrangement of the animals and plants is my own; they have been drawn and engraved (together with a large proportion of the woodcuts) by mr. j. fisher, of st. clements, oxford. for facility of reference, i have numbered the principal groups of stratified rocks represented in the section, accord. ing to their most usual order of succession; and i have de- signated by letters the crystalline or unstratified rocks, and the injected masses and dikes, as well as the metallic veins, and lines of fracture, producing dislocations or faults. the crowded condition in which all the phenomena represented in this section, are set together, does not admit of the use of accurate relative proportions, between the stratified rocks and the intruded masses, veins and dikes by which they are intersected. the adoption of false proportion is, how- ever, unavoidable in these cases, because the veins and dikes would be invisible, unless expressed on a highly exagge- rated scale. the scale of height throughout the whole sec- tion is also infinitely greater than that of breadth. the plants and animals also are figured on no uniform scale. the extent of the different formations represented in this section, taking their average width as they occur in europe, would occupy a breadth of five or six hundred miles. a scale of heights, at all approaching to this scale of breadth, would render the whole almost invisible. the same cause makes it also impossible to express correctly the effect of valleys of denudation, which are often excavated through strata of one formation into those of another subjacent for- mation explanation of plate i. . as it would encumber the section to express diluvium, wherever it is present, it is introduced in one place only, which shows its age to be more recent than the newest of the tertiary strata; it is found also lodged indiscriminately upon the surface of rocks of every formation. granite. in our early chapters we have considered the theory which refers unstratified rocks to an igneous origin, to be that which is most consistent with all the known pheno- mena of geology, and the facts represented in the section now before us are more consistent with the postulates of this hypothesis, than with those of any other that has hitherto been proposed. i have, therefore, felt it indispen- sable to adopt its language, as affording the only terms by which the facts under consideration can be adequately de- scribed. assuming that fire and water have been the two great agents employed in reducing the surface of the globe to its actual condition, we see, in repeated operations of these agents, causes adequate to the production of those irregular elevations and depressions of the fundamental rocks of the granitic series, which are delineated in the lower region of our section, as forming the basis of the entire superstructure of stratified rocks. near the right extremity of this section, the undulating surface of the fundamental granite (a. . a. . a. . a. .) is represented as being, for the most part, beneath the level of the sea. on the left extremity of the section (a. . a. . a. .) the granite is elevated into one of those lofty alpine ridges, which have affected, by their upward movement, the entire series of stratified rocks. corresponding formations of primary and transition explanation of plate i. strata, are represented as occurring on each side of this ele- vated granite, which is supposed to have broken through, and to have carried up with it to their present elevated and highly inclined position, strata that were once continuous and nearly horizontal.* the general history of elevation appears to be, that mountain chains of various extent, and various directions, have been formed at irregular intervals, during the deposi- tion of stratified rocks of every age; and that granite had, in many cases, acquired a state of solidity before the period of its elevation. within the primary granite, we find other forms of gra- nitic matter, (a. .) which appear to have been intruded in a state of fusion, not only into fissures of the older granite, but frequently also into the primary stratified rocks in con- tact with it, and occasionally into strata of the transition and secondary series, (a. . a. .) these granitic injec- tions were probably in many cases, contemporaneous with the elevation of the rocks they intersect; they usually as- sume the condition of veins, terminating upwards in small branches; and vary in dimensions, from less than an inch, to an indefinite width. the direction of these veins is very irregular: they sometimes traverse the primary strata at right angles to their planes of stratification, at other times they are protruded in a direction parallel to these planes, and assume the form of beds. some of the relations of these granitic veins to the rocks intersected by them are repre- sented at the left extremity of the section. (a. .t) * cases of granite thus elevated at a period posterior to the deposition of tertiary strata, occur in the eastern alps, where the transition, seconda. ry, and tertiary strata have all partaken of the same elevation which raised the central axis of the crystalline granitic rocks. see geol. trans. n. s. vol. iii. pl. . fig. . f in the granite at the right extremity of the section, the gra. nitic veins are omitted, because their insertion would interfere with explanation of plate i. a. . represents a dike and protruded mass of granite, intersecting and overlying stratified rocks of the primary and transition series. a. . represents the rare case of granite intersecting red sandstone, oolite, and chalk.* sienite, porphyry, serpentine, greenstone. closely allied to granite veins, is a second series of irregularly injected rocks, composed of sienite, porphyry, serpentine, and greenstone (b. c. d. e.) which traverse the primary and transition formations, and the lower regions of the secondary strata ; not only intersecting them in vari- ous directions, but often forming also overlying masses, in places where these veins have terminated by overflowing at the surface, (b'. c'. d'. e'.) the crystalline rocks of this series, present so many modifications of their ingredients, that numerous varieties of sienite, porphyry, and green- stone occur frequently in the products of eruptions from a single vent. the scale of our section admits not of an accurate repre- sentation of the relations between many of these intruded rocks, and the strata they intersect; they are all placed, as the representation of the injections of basaltic and volcanic matter which that portion of the section is intended to illustrate. * an example of the rare phenomenon of granite intruded into the chalk formation, in the hill of st. martin, near pont de la fou in the pyre. nees, is described by m. dufrenoy in the bulletin de la société géologique de france, tom. . p. . at weinböhla, near meissen in saxony, prof. weiss has ascertained the presence of sienite above strata of chalk; and prof. nauman states, that, near oberau, cretaceous rocks are covered by granite, and that near escheila and neiderfehre, the cretaceous rocks rest horizontally on granite ; at both these places the limestone and granite are entangled in each other, and irregular portions and veins of hard limestone, with green grains and cretaceous fossils, are here and there embedded in the granite. de la beche. geol, manuel. d edit, p. . i * explanation of plate i. if they had been injected, either at the time of, or after the elevation of all the strata, and had produced but little dis- turbance in the rocks through which they are protruded. it should however be understood, distinctly, that some in- jections may have preceded the elevation of strata to their present height, and that numerous and successive eleva- tions and injections, attended by various degrees of frac- ture and disturbance, have prevailed in various localities during all periods, and throughout all formations; from the first upraising of the earliest primary rocks, to the most recent movements produced by existing volcanoes. m. elie de beaumont has discovered probable evidence of no less than twelve periods of elevation, affecting the strata of europe. examples of the fractures and dislocations attending these movements, and producing faults, are represented in our section by the lines designated by the letter l. some of these fractures do not reach to the present surface, as they affected the lower beds at periods anterior to the deposition of more recent strata, which cover unconformably the sum- mits of the earlier fractures. (see . . . . . .) basalt. a third series of igneous rocks is that which has formed dikes, and masses of basalt and trap, intruded into, and overlying formations of all ages, from the earliest granites to the most recent tertiary strata.. these basaltic rocks sometimes occur as beds, nearly parallel to the strata, into which they are protruded, after the manner represented in the carboniferous limestone of our section, f. . more frequently they. overspread the surface like expanded sheets of lava. our section gives examples of trap under all these circumstances. at f. , it intersects and overlies primary strata ; at f. . f. . f. . f. .. it stands in similar explanation of plate i. relations to transition and secondary strata ; f. . represents an example of an extensive eruption of basaltic matter, over chalk and tertiary strata, accompanied by an intru- sion of vast irregular masses of the same materials into the body of the subjacent primary and transition rocks. f. . represents strata of columnar basalt, immediately beneath streams of cellular lava, in regions occupied also by craters of extinct volcanoes. f. . represents similar beds of columnar lava in the vicinity of active volcanoes. trachyte and lava. the fourth and last class of intruded rocks, is that of modern volcanic porphyries, trachytes,* and lavas. the undeniable igneous origin of rocks of this class forms the strongest ground-work of our arguments, in favour of the igneous formation of the older unstratified and crystalline rocks; and their varied recent products, around the craters of active volcanoes, present gradations of structure, and composition, which connect them with the most ancient porphyries, sienites, and granites. the simplest cases of volcanic action are those of tra- chyte (g. l.) and of lava (i. .) ejected through apertures in granite; such cases prove that the source of volcanic fires, is wholly unconnected with the pseudo-volcanic re- sults of the combustion of coal, bitumen, or sulphur, in stratified formations, and is seated deep beneath the primary rocks.t * the appellation of trachyte has been given to a volcanic porphyry, usually containing crystals of glassy felspar, and remarkably harsh to the touch, (hence its name from rgzxus ;) it does not occur in britain, but abounds in the neighbourhood of almost all extinct and active volcanic cra- ters. † the occurrence of angular fragments of altered granite, embedded in pillars of columnar lava, in the valley of monpezat in the ardêche, shows s explanation of plate . craters. our section represents three cases of volcanic craters; the most simple (i. .) rising through granite, or stratified rocks, at the bottom of the sea, and accumulating craters, which, like those of lipari and stromboli, sabrina, and graham islands, are occasionally formed in various parts of the ocean.* the second case is that of volcanoes, which, like etna and vesuvius, are still in action on the dry land, (i. . to i. .) the third is that of extinct volcanoes, like those in auvergne, (hé. h².) which, although there exist no historical records as to the periods of their last eruptions, show by the perfect condition of their craters, that they have been formed since the latest of those aqueous inunda- tions, that have affected the basalt and tertiary strata, through which they have burst forth. one great difference between the more ancient basaltic eruptions and those of the lava and trachyte of existing volcanoes, is that the emission of the former, probably taking place under the pressure of deep water, was not accompa- nied by the formation of any permanent craters. in both cases, the fissures through some of which these eruptions may have issued, are abundantly apparent under that these fragments were probably torn off during the upward passage of the lava through fractures in the sordid granite. at graveneire, near clermont, a strcam of lava still retains the exact form in which it issued through a fissure in the side of a mountain of granite, and overflowed the subjacent valley. most accurate representations of this, and many similar productions of volcanic eruptions from the granite of this district may be seen in mr. poulett scrope's inimitable panoramic views of the volcanic formations of central france.. * within the last few years, the volcanic cones of. sabrina in the atlantic, and of graham island in the mediterranean, have risen suddenly in the sea and been soon levelled and dispersed by the waves.. explanation of plate i. the form of dikes, filled with materials similar to those which form the masses that have overflowed in the vicinity of each dike.* changes effected by the igneous rocks, on the strata in contact with them. the peculiar condition of the rocks that form the side walls of granitic veins and basaltic dikes, affords ano- ther argument in favour of their igneous origin; thus wherever the early slate rocks are intersected by granitic veins (a. .) they are usually altered to a state approxi- mating to that of fine-grained mica-slate, or hornblend- slate. the secondary and tertiary rocks also, when they are intersected by basaltic dikes, have frequently undergone some change; beds of shale and sandstone are indurated, and reduced to jasper; compact limestone and chalk are converted to crystalline marble, and chalk-flints altered to a state like that resulting from heat in an artificial fur- nace.t in all these cases, the phenomena appears to be through- out consistent with the theory of igneous injection, and to be incapable of explanation on any other hypothesis that has been proposed. a summary statement of the probable relations of the granitic and trappean rocks to the other materials of the globe, and to one another, may be found in de la beche's geological researches, st edit. pag. , et seq. * in many dikes the materials have been variously modified, by their mode of cooling, and differ from the masses which overflowed the surface. + examples of this kind occur on the sides of basaltic dikes intersecting chalk in the county of antrim, and in the island of raghlin. see geol. trans. london, o. s. vol. iii. p. . pl. . explanation of plate . - explanation of letters and figures used in the references to unstratified and crystalline rocks in plate . a, granite. b. sienite. c. porphyry. d. greenstone. e. serpentine, f. basalt, or trap. g. trachyte. h. products of extinct volcanoes. i. products of active volcanoes. a. .-a, . mountains of granite, raised into lofty ridges, from beneath gneiss and primary slates. a. . granite intermixed with gneiss. a. .—a. . granite, subjacent to stratified rocks of all ages, and intersected by volcanic rocks. a. . granite veins, intersecting granite, gneiss, and pri- mary slate. a. . granite vein, intersecting primary and transition rocks, and forming overlying masses at the surface.. a. . granite vein intersecting secondary strata, and overlying chalk.* b. dikes of sienite. b. . overlying masses of sienite. c. dike of porphyry, c. . overlying masses of porphyry. d. dikes of ancient greenstone. d. . overlying masses of the same. the rocks repre- sented by d. and e. often pass into one another. e. dikes of serpentine. e. . overlying masses of serpentine. f. dikes and intruded subterraneous masses of basalt. f. . to f. . masses of basalt protruded through, and overlying strata of various ages. * in the locality quoted in the explanation of plates, vol. ii. p. , the granite which comes to the surface over the chalk, is not covered by terti. ary deposites, as represented in our section, pl. . explanation of plate i. f. . basaltiform products of modern volcanoes. g. trachyte forming dikes. g. . trachyte forming overlying domes. (puy de dome.) h. . h. . lava of extinct volcanoes, forming undisturbed cones. (auvergne.) .-. . lava, scoriæ, and craters of active volcanoes. (i. .-i. . etna. .- . stromboli.) k.-k. . metalliferous veins. k. '. lateral expansions of veins into metalliferous cavities, called by the miners pipe veins, or flats. .- . . faults, or fractures and dislocations of the strata. the continuity of stratified rocks is always inter- rupted, and their level more or less changed on the opposite sides of a fault. it is unnecessary here to give detailed descriptions of the divisions of the stratified rocks represented in our sec- tion. their usual order of succession and names are expressed in their respective places, and detailed descriptions of their several characters may be found in all good trea- tises on geology. the leading groups of formations are united by colours, marking their separation from the adjacent groups; and the same colours are repeated, in the headings above the figures of plants and animals that characterize the several series of formations, to show the extent of the strata over which the organic remains of each group are respectively dis- tributed. although the deposites of peat bogs, and calcareous tufa are of too local a nature to be generally included in the series of stratified rocks, they are represented in the sec- tion (figs. , ,) because they sometimes operate locally to a considerable extent in adding permanent and solid matter to the surface of the globe. explanation of plate i. list of the names of the plants and animals, represented in pl. . to denote the prevailing types of vegetable and animal life, during the formation of the three great divi- sions of stratified rocks. references. r. recent. f. fossil. ad. b. adolphe brongniart. l. lindley. ag. agassiz. p. page of vol. i. remains in transition strata. land plants. . araucaria. norfolk island pine. r. & f. p. . . equisetum. r. & f. p. . . calamites nodosus. f. (l. pl. .) . asterophillites comosa. f. (l. .) . asterophyllites foliosa. f. (l. .) . aspidium. r. pecopteris. f. . cyathea glauca, tree fern. r. (ad. b. hist. veg. foss. pl. .) p. . . osmunda. r.* neuropteris. f. . lycopodium cernuum. r. (from mirbel.) p. . . lycopodium alopecuroides. r. (from mirbel.) p. . . lepidodendron sternbergii. f. . lepidodendron gracile? f. . flabelliform palm. r. (from mirbel.) palmacites. f. marine animals and plants. . acanthodes. f. ag. . catopterus. f. ag. . amblypterus. f. ag. . orodus, extinct shark. f. (imaginary restoration.) * an error in this figure represents the fructification as branching from the tallest frond, instead of rising by a separate rachis from the root. explanation of plate i. . Čestracion phillippi, port jackson shark. r. (phillip.) p. .* '. palatal tooth of cestacion phillippi. r. . tooth of psammodus, from derbyshire limestone. f. '. tooth of orodus, from mountain limestone, near bristol. f. . calymene. f.) . paradoxus. f. trilobites. p. . . asaphus. f. ) . euomphalus. f. . producta. f. . spirifer. f. . actinocrinites. f. (miller, p. .) p. . . platycrinites. f. (miller, p. . ) *. fucoides circinatus. f. (ad. b.) from transition sand-stone, sweden. . caryophyllia. r. & f. . astrea. r. & f. . turbinolia. r. & f. remains in secondary strata. land plants. . pinus. r. & f. . thuia. r. & f. . cycas circinalis. r. cycadites. f. . cycas revoluta. r. cycadites. f. . zamia horida. r. zamia. f. . dracæna. r. allied to bucklandia and clathraria. f. . arborescent fern. r. p. . . pteris aquilina. r. pecopteris. f. * this shark is the only known living representative of the extinct genus psammodus. † fig. . in most, if not all the species of platycrinites the arms are subdivided; they are not so in this figure, as from its small size they could not well be represented. the figure is intended to give only a general idea of the subject. vol. ii- explanation of plate i. . scolopendrium. r. rough. f. tæniopteris in oolite scarbo- land animals. . didelphys. r. stonesfield slate, small species. f. . didelphys. r. cheirotherium ? f. p. . . pterodactylus brevirostris. f. . pterodactylus crassirostris. f. . gavial. r. allied to teleosaurus. f. . iguana. r. iguanodon. f. . testudo, land tortoise. r. scales of tortoises, at stonesfield, oxon. f. footsteps of tortoises, dum- fries. f. . emys. r. soleure. f. . buprestis. r. stonesfield. f. . libellula. r. solenhofen. f. marine animals, and plants. . plesiosaurus. f. . ichthyosaurus. f. . marine turtle. r. at luneville, in muschel kalk. f. p. . . pygopterus. f. (ag. vol. i. pl. d. .) in magnesian limestone. . dapedium, in lias. f. . hybodus. f. extinct genus of sharks. (imaginary restoration.) . loligo. r. lyme regis. f. . nautilus pompilius. r. many species. f. . ammonites bucklandi. f. peculiar to lias. . astacus. r. & f. . limulus, king crab. r. solenhofen. f. . trigonia. f. new holland. r. . ophiura. r. & f. . asterias. r. & f. explanation of plate i, . echinus. r. & f. . apiocrinites. f. °. fucoides recurves. f. (ad. b. hist. veg. foss. pl. . fig. .) remains in tertiary strata. land plants. . mauritia aculeata. r. (martius, t. .) palmacites. lamanonis. f. p. . . elaeis guineensis. r. (martius, t. .) fruits of pinnate palms. f. p. . . cocos nucifera. r. (martius, pl. .) fossil cocoa- nut, sheppy, brussels. p. . . pinus, pine. r. & f. . ulmus, elm. r. & f. . popolus, poplar. r. & f. . salix, willow. r. &. f. land animals of first period. birds. . scolopax, woodcock. r. & f. . ibis. r. & f. . tringa, sea lark. r. & f. . coturnix, quail. r. & f. . strix, owl. r. & f. . buteo, buzzard. r. & f. . phalacrocorax, cormorant. r. pelecanus. f. . reptiles. . emys, fresh-water tortoise. r. & f. . trionyx, soft tortoise. r. & f. . crocodilus, crocodile. r. & f. mammifers. . vespertilio, bat. r. & f. . sciurus, squirrel. r. & f. , myoxus, dormouse. r. & f. explanation of plate i. . castor, beaver. r. & f. . genetta, genet. r. &. f. . nasua, coati. r. & f. . procyon, racoon. r. & f.. . canis vulpes, fox. r. & f. . canis lupus, wolf. r. & f. . didelphys, opossum, small. r. &. f. . anoplotherium commune. f.. . anoplotherium gracile. f. . palæotherium magnum. f. . palæotherium minus. f. marine animals.. mollusks. ſa. planorbis. r. & f. b. limnæa. r. & f. c. conus. r. & f. d. bulla. r. & f. e. cypræa. r. & f. f. ampullaria. r. & f. genera of shells most g. scalaria. r. & f. characteristic of the h. cerithium.. r. & f. tertiary periods .. j. cassis. r. & f. j. pyrula. r. & f. k. fusus. r. & f.. . voluta, r. & f. m. buccinum. r. & f. in. rostellaria. r. & f. mammifers. . phoca, seal. r. & f. . trichechus, walrus. r. & f. . delphinus orca, (phocæna, cuv.) grampus. r. del- phinus. f. . manatus, lamantin. r. & f. . balena, whale. r. & f.. explanation of plate i. land animals.* birds. ( . columba, pigeon. r. & f. . alauda, lark. r. & f. . corvus, raven. r. & f. ( . anas, duck. r. & f. aves .... ruminantia ... rodentia .... carnivora .... mammifers. . alces, elk. r. & f. . elaphus, stag. r. & f.. . bos urus, bison. r. & f. ( . bos taurus. ox. r. & f. . lepus, hare. r. & f. ( . urus, bear. r. & f. . mustela, weasel. r. & f. . hyæna. r. & f. ( . felis, tiger. r. & f. ( . sus, hog. r. & f. . equus, horse. r. &. f. . rhinoceros. r. & f. . hippopotamus. r. & f. . elephas. r. mammoth. f. pachydermata .. animal of the present epoch, supposed to have recently be- come extinct. . didus, dodo. r. & f. the bones of the dodo have been found under lava of unknown age in the isle of france, and in a cavern in the island of roderigue. see zoological journal, , p. , loudon's mag. nat. hist. vol. ii. p. . and london and edin. phil. mag. dec. . * many of the following genera occur both in the second, third and fourth formations of the tertiary series, and also in caverns, fissures, and dilu. vium. * explanation of plate . plate . v. . p. . still farthes a small magnified a. jaw of didelphys, bucklandi (magnified to twice nat.. size,) in the collection of w. i. broderip, esq., and described by him in the zoological journal, v. iii. p. , pl. xi. (broderip.) . second molar tooth magnified. . fifth molar tooth still farther magnified. b. fragment of lower jaw of a small didelphys from stonesfield, in the oxford museum, (magnified one- third.) this jaw has been examined by cuvier,. and is figured by m. prevost, ann. de sci. nat. avr. , p. , pl. . the removal of a part of the bone displays the double roots of the teeth, in their alveoli, and the form of the teeth shows the animal to have been insectivorous. (original.) . fourth molar tooth magnified. . ninth molar tooth magnified. c. . lower jaw of dinotherium giganteum, (tapirus. giganteus, cuv.) the length of this jaw, including the tusk, is nearly four feet. v. i. p. . (kaup.) . lower jaw and part of upper jaw of dinotherium medium. (kaup.) . jaw of dinotherium medium, exhibiting the crown of five molar teeth, most nearly resembling those of a tapir. (kaup.*) * all these unique remains of dinotherium are preserved in the museum at darmstadt; they were found in a sand pit containing marine shells at epplesheim near alzey, about forty miles n. w. of darmstadt, and are de. scribed by professor kaup. bones of dinotherium have lately been found in tertiary fresh-water limestone, near orthes, at the foot of the pyrenees; and with them, remains of a new genus, allied to rhinoceros ; of several unknown species of deer;. and of a dog, or wolf, the size of a lion. our figures of dinotherium are copied from the atlas of kaup's descripta tion d'ossemens fossiles de mammifères, darmstadt, - .. explanation of plates plate . v. i. p. . imaginary restoration of four species of pachydermata, found in the gypsum quarries of mont martre.. (cuvier.) plate . v. i.. pp. , . nearly perfect skeletons of the four species of fossil ani.. mals, whose restored figures are given in the last plate.. (cuvier.) plate . v. i. p. .. . skeleton of megatherium, copied from pander and d’alton's figure of the nearly perfect skeleton of this animal, in the museum at madrid. . bones of the pelvis of the megatherium, discovered by woodbine parish, esq.. near buenos ayres, and now placed in the museum of the royal college of sur- geons, london. the bones of the left hind-leg, and several of those of the foot, are restored nearly to. their natural place. (original.) . front view of the left femur. . front view of the left tibia and fibula. . bones of the foot, imperfectly restored. '. large ungual bone, supposed to be that of a toe of the hind-foot. – . teeth of megatherium.. from the near approximation of this animal to the living tapir, we may infer that it was furnished with a proboscis, by means of which it conveyed to its mouth the vegetables it raked from the bottom of lakes and rivers by its tusks and claws. the bifid ungual bone (kaup, add. tab. ,) discovered with the other remains of dinotherium, having the remarkable bifurcation which is found in no living quadrupeds, except pangolins, seems to have borne a claw, like that of these animals, possessing peculiar advan- tages for the purpose of scraping and digging; and indicating functions, con.. current with those of the tusks and scapulæ. (see vol. i. page .) explanation of plates . . , . armour supposed to be that of megatherium. * – . armour of dasypus and chlamyphorus. plate . v. i. p. . . sections of teeth of megatherium, illustrating the re- lative dispositions of the ivory, enamel, and crusta petrosa, or cementum. (original. clift.) . posterior surface of a caudal vertebra of megatherium exhibiting enormous transverse processes. on its lower margin are seen the articulating surfaces which received the chevron bone; the superior spi- nous process is broken off. v. i. p. . (sir f. chantrey. original.) plate . v. i. p. . ichthyosaurus platyodon from the lias at lyme regis, discovered by t. hawkins, esq. and deposited in the bri- tish museum, together with all the other splendid fossil re- mains that are engraved in his memoirs of ichthyosauri and plesiosauri. this animal, though by no means full grown, must have measured twenty-four feet in length. the ,extremity of the tail, and left fore paddle, and some lost * mr. darwin has recently discovered the remains of megatherium along an extent of nearly six hundred miles, in a north and south line, in the great sandy plains of pampas of buenos ayres, accompanied by bones and teeth of at least five other quadrupeds. he has also found that the bones of this animal are so often accompanied by those of the mastodon angustidens, as to leave no doubt that these two extinct species were contemporary i learn from professor lichstenstein, that a fresh importation of bones of megatherium, and bony armour has lately been sent to berlin from buenos ayres, and that there remains no room to doubt that some portion of this ar- mour appertained to the megatherium. it appears very probable, from more recent discoveries, that several other large and small animals, armed with a similar coat of mail, were co-inhabi- tants of the same sandy regions with the megatherium. explanation of plates . . . fragments of the rest of the skeleton, are artificially restored. (hawkins.) plate . v. i. p. . . skeleton of a young ichthyosaurus communis, in the collection of the geological society of london, found in the lias at lyme regis. (scharf. original.) . ichthyosaurus intermedius, from lyme regis, belong- ing to sir astley cooper. (scharf. original.) plate . v. i. p. . and . ichthyosaurus tenuirostris, from the lias near glastonbury, in the collection of the rev. dr. wil- liams, of bleaden, near bristol. the position of the ribs is distorted by pressure. scharf. original.) . view of the right side of the head of the same animal. (original.) plate . v. i. pp. , . . head of ichthyosaurus platyodon, in the british mu-. seum, from the lias at lyme regis, copied from sir e. home's figure in the phil. trans. . . copied from mr. conybeare's figure, (in the geol. trans. lond. . s. pl. xl. fig. .) showing the analogies between the bones of the head of ichthyo- saurus, and those which cuvier has marked by cor- responding letters in his figure of the head of the crocodile. . two of the bony plates in the sclerotic coat of the eye of ichthyosaurus platyodon. . circle of bony plates in the eye of the snowy owl.. (yarrel.) . circle of similar plates in the eye of the golden eagle. (yarrel.) explanation of plate . . front view of bony plates in the eye of an iguana. . profile of the same. . two of the fourteen component scales of the same. i owe these last three figures to the kindness of mr. allis of york. a , , , . petrified portions of the skin of a small ichthyosaurus, from the lias of barrow on soar, leicestershire, presented to the oxford museum, by the rev. robert gutch, of segrave. (original.) in fig. ; a, b, c, d, are portions of ribs, and e, f, g, h, are fragments of sterno-costal bones (nat. size.) the spaces between these bones, are covered with the remains of skin; the epidermis being represented by a deli- cate film, and the rete mucosum by fine threads of white carbonate of lime; beneath these the corium, or true skin, is preserved in the state of dark carbonate of lime, charged with black volatile matter, of a bituminous and oily consistence. . magnified representation of the epidermis and rete mucosum. the fine superficial lines represent the minute wrincles of the epidermis, and the subjacent larger decussating lines, the vascular net-work of the rete mucosum. in fig. , the epidermis exhibits a succession of coarser and more distant folds or wrinkles overlying the mesh-work of the rete mucosum. in fig. , the epidermis has perished, and the texture of the fine vessels of the rete mucosum is exhibited in strong relief, over the black substance of the sub- jacent corium, in the form of a net-work of white threads.* * nothing certain has hitherto been known respecting the dermal covering of the ichthyosauri; it might have been conjectured that these reptiles were incased with horny scales, like lizards, or that their skin were set with dermal bones, like those on the back of cros explanation of plat plate . v. i. p. .. . side view of the head of an ichthyosaurus, marking by corresponding letters, the analogies to cuvier's figures of the same bones in the head of the croco- dile. (conybeare.) . posterior part of a lower jaw of ichthyosaurus com- munis, in the oxford museum. (conybeare.] – . sections presented by the component bones of fig. in fractured parts above each section. (conybeare.) . view of the lower jaw of ichthyosaurus seen from codiles ; but as the horny scales of fishes, and dermal bones of crocodilean animals are preserved in the same lias with the bones of ichthyosauri, we may infer that if the latter animals had been furnished with any similar appendages, these would also have been preserved, and long ere this dis. covered, among the numerous remains that have been so assiduously collected from the lias. they would certainly have been found in the case of the individual now before us, in which even the epidermis, and vessels of the rete mucosum have escaped destruction. similar black patches of petrified skin are not unfrequently found attached to the skeletons of ichthyosauri from lyme regis, but no remains from any other soft parts of the body have yet been noticed. the preservation of the skin shows that a short interval only elapsed be- tween the death of the animal, and its interment in the muddy sediment of which the lias is composed. among living reptiles, the betrachians afford an example of an order in which the skin is naked, having neither scales or dermal bones. in the case of lizards and crocodiles, the scaly, or bony coverings protect the skin from injury by friction against the hard substances with which they are liable to come into contact upon the land; but to the ichthyosauri which lived exclusively in the sea, there would seem to have been no more need of the protection of scales or dermal bones, than to the naked skin of the cetacea. in the case of plesiosauri also, the non-discovery of the remains of any dermal appendages with the perfect skeletons of animals of that genus, leads to a similar inference, that they too had a naked skin. the same negative argument applies to the flying reptile family of pterodac. tyles. explanation of plates . . a. hollow conical vertebræ of a fish. (original.) b. c. d. vertebræ of ichyosaurus. see note, v. i. p. . (home and conybeare.) d. a. g. e. a. g. spinous processes, showing the peculiar articulation of their annular portions, with the ver- tebræ, to be adapted to increase the flexibility of the spine. see note, v. i. p. . (home.) plate . v. i. p. . skeleton of a small ichthyosaurus, from the lias at lyme fig. , b. oblique triangular facet on the lower margin of the front of the atlas; this facet articulated with the first sub-vertebral wedge, placed be- tween the atlas and occiput. between the atlas and axis, the two sub-vertebral facets formed a trian. gular cavity for the reception of a second wedge (fig. . c.) and a similar, but smaller cavity received another wedge of the same kind, between the axis and third vertebra. this third wedge gave less support to the head, and admitted of more extensive motion than the second. all these three wedge-shaped bones are seen nearly in their natural position in a specimen from lyme regis, in the collection of sir p. g. egerton. fig. '. first sub-vertebral wedge, auxiliary to the anterior cavity of the atlas, in completing the articulating socket for the basilar process of the oce ciput ( . a.) . a. crescent-shaped front of the first sub-vertebral wedge. '. b. head of the same wedge. '. c. obtuse apex of the same, articulating with the triangular frontal facet of the atlas ( . b.) in young animals this frontal facet is nearly smooth and flat; in older animals ( . b.) it is rugged and furrowed. this articulation must have given to the first sub-vertebral wedge great power as a stay or prop, to resist the downward pressure of the head, at the same time facilitating the rotatory movements of the occipital bone. fig. . c. second sub-vertebral wedge articulating with the triangular cavity formed by the marginal facets of the atlas and axis. this second wedge acted as a strong prop supporting firmly the lower portion of the atlas, and at the same time admitting the small amount of motion here re- quired. c's head of the sub-vertebral wedge (c) strengthened by a projecting boss of solid bone. vol. ii.- explanation of plate . regis, presented to the oxford museum by viscount cole, enclosing within its ribs scales, and digested bones of fishes, in the state of coprolite. this coprolitic mass seems nearly to retain the form of the stomach of the animal. c, coracoid bone. d, scapula. e, humerus. f, radius. g, ulna. (scharf, original.) plate . v. i. p. . skeleton of the trunk of a small ichthyosaurus in the fig. . nearly flat articular surface of (probably) the third cervical ver- tebra of the same large individual as fig. . this surface of the bone has only a small cylindrical depression at its centre, instead of the deep, conical cup of the more flexible vertebræ, c. b. e. near its upper margin is a wedge-shaped elevation (b) and near the infe- rior margin, a notch or furrow (a.) these salient and re-entering portions articulated with corresponding depressions and projections on the surface of the adjacent vertebra, and acted as pivots, admitting a limited amount of la- teral vibrations, and at the same time preventing any slip, or dislocation. fig. . concave surface of fig. .; the wedge-shaped projection near its lower margin (a) must have articulated with a corresponding groove or depression on the front of the vertebra adjacent to it, like that at (fig. . a.) as one surface only of these vertebræ had a conical cavity, the inter- vertebral substance must have formed a single cone, admitting in the neck but half the amount of motion, that the double cones of intervertebral matter allowed to the dorsal and caudal vertebræ, (c. b. e.) where greater flexure was required, to effect progressive motion by vibrations of the body and tail. these dispositions of the articulating facets of the cervical vertebræ, act- ing in conjunction with the three sub-vertebral wedges before described, afford an example of peculiar provisions in the neck of these gigantic rep- tiles, to combine a diminished amount of flexure in this part, with an in. creased support to their enormous heads. it is probable that every species of ichthyosaurus had peculiar variations in the details of the cervical vertebræ, and sub-vertebral wedges, and that in each species these variations were modified by age. in the gavial mr. mantell has recently observed that the first caudal ver. tebra is doubly convex, like the last cervical vertebra in turtles. these peculiar contrivances give to the animals in which they occur increased flexibility of the tail and neck. explanation of plate . oxford museum, from the lias at lyme regis, containing within the ribs, a coprolitic mass of digested bones, inter- spersed with scales of fishes. â, furcula. b, clavicle, c, coracoid bone. d, scapula. e, humerus. (fisher. ori- ginal.) plate . v. i. p. . the specimens are all of the natural size except where the figures denote otherwise. (original.) and . intestines of the two most common english species of dog-fishes, injected with roman cement. the vascular structure, which is still apparent in the dessicated membrane, resembles the impressions on the surface of many coprolites. . coprolite from the lias at lyme, exhibiting the spiral folding of the plate of digested bone, and impressions of the intestinal vessels and folds upon its surface. (see note, v. i. p. . et seq.) '. magnified scale of pholidophorus limbatus, embedded in the surface of the coprolite, fig. . this scale is one of those that compose the lateral line, by which a tube passes to convey mucus, from the head, along the body of fishes; a. is the hook, on the superior margin, which is received by a depression on the inferior margin of the scale above it, corresponding with b.; c. is the serrated edge of the posterior margin, perforated at e. for the passage of thé mu- cous duct; d. is a tube on the interior surface of the scale to carry and protect the mucous duct. (see note v. i. p. .) ". exterior of the scale '.; the same parts are repre- sented by the same letters; the larger portion is covered with enamel; the smaller portion next d. is the bony root forming the anterior margin of the scale. explanation of plate . . transverse section of another coprolite from lyme, showing the internal foldings of the plate, with sec- tions of scales of fishes embedded in it. . exterior of a spiral coprolite, from the chalk marl, near lewes, showing folds and vascular impressions analogous to those in no. . . longitudinal section of another coprolite, from the same chalk marl, showing the spiral manner in which the plate was folded round itself. . exterior of another spiral coprolite, from the chalk at lewes, showing vascular impressions on its sur- face, and the transverse fracture of the spiral fold at b. in many other figures of plate , a similar abrupt termination of the coiled plate is visible at b. , . two other small species of spiral coprolites in chalk; these as well as figs. , , , are probably derived from fishes found with them in the chalk, near lewes. , , . coprolites from the lias at lyme, exhibiting well-defined characters of the spiral fold, with vascua lar impressions on their surface. . similar appearances on a coprolite found by dr. mor- ton in the greensand of virginia. . coprolite from the lias at lyme, bearing strong cor- rugations, the result of muscular pressure received from the intestines. . transverse section, showing the abrupt termination of the folded plate in fig. , and representing the flat- tened form of the spiral intestine. . longitudinal section of the intestinal tube of a recent shark, showing the spiral valve that winds round its interior, in the form of an archimedes screw; a similar spiral disposition of the interior is found in intestines of dog-fishes, figs, and . explanation of plates '. . . . . coprolite from lyme, containing large scales of da. pedium politum. . coprolite from the lias at lyme, containing undi- gested bones of a small ichthyosaurus. plate '. v. i. p. . cololite, or petrified intestines of a fossil fish from solen- hofen. (goldfuss.) plate . v. i. p. . . conjectural restoration of the skeleton of plesiosaurus dolichodeirus. (conybeare.) . skeleton of plesiosaurus delichodeirus, in the british museum, from the lias at lyme regis. (scharf., original.) plate . v. i. p. . · a nearly entire and unique skeleton of plesiosaurus doli- chodeirus, feet inches long, from the lias of street, near glastonbury. this skeleton forms part of the splendid series of fossil saurians, purchased for the british museum, from t. hawkins, esq. in . see v. i. p. , and note. (hawkins.) plate . v. i. p. , note. . under jaw of plesiosaurus dolichodeirus, forming part of the series last mentioned. (original.) . head of the plesiosaurus, figured in pl. . fig. . seen from beneath. (original.) . ventral portion of the ribs of the plesiosaurus, figured in pl. . see v. i. p. . (original.) a. c. central bones forming the crown of the sterno.costal arch. b. triple series of intermediate bones between the central bones, a. c. and the true ribs, d. d. e. ex lower extremity of coracoid bones. * explanation of plate plate. . v. i. p. . fig. . a beautiful specimen of plesiosaurus macroce- phalus hitherto undescribed, found in the lias marl at lyme regis, by miss anning, and now in the col-. lection of lord cole. (original.) on comparing this figure with those of p. dolichodeirus at pl. , . the following differences are obvious ::: . the head is very much larger and longer, being nearly one-half the length of the neck. . the vertebræ of the neck are thicker and stronger in: proportion to the greater weight they had to sustain. . the hatchet-shaped bones differ in form and size, as may be seen by comparing them with those of p. dolicho-. deirus. pl. . fig. . and pl. . . the bones of the arm and thigh are shorter and stronger than in p. dolichodeirus, and corresponding dif- ferences may be traced throughout the smaller bones of the paddles; the general adjustment of all the proportions being calculated to produce greater strength in the p. ma- crocephalus, than in the more slender limbs of p. dolicho-, deirus. these differences are not the effect of age; as the two. specimens, from which they are here described, are nearly of the same lengtk. fig. . hatchet-shaped bones of the neck of plesiosaurus: dolichodeirus, copied from the specimen figured in pl. . . anterior extremity of an insulated lower jaw of ple- siosaurus, from the lias at lyme regis, in the bri- tish museum, part of the collection of mr. hawkins. v. i. p. . note. (original.) . the entire bone, of which fig. . forms part, reduced: to a small scale, explanation of plates . .. q. os pterygoideum. r. os transversum. s. os palatinum. t. processus palatinus maxillæ superioris. v. pars augularis inferior maxillæ inferioris. w. pars angularis superior.. x. pars condyloidea. y. pars complementaria, cuv. (coronalis, auctor.) z. os hyoideum.. i. atlas. ii. epistropheus. iii–vii. vertebræ colli. viii—xxii. vertebræ dorsi. xxiii. xxiv. vertebræ lumborum.. xxv. xxvi. os sacrum.. xxvii. ossa coccygea. xxviii. sternum. - . costæ. . scapula. . os coracoideum., . ilium. . os pubis. . os ischium. . humerus. . ulna. . radius. . carpus. . os metacarpi primum s. pollicis.. . . m. secundum. . . m. tertium.. . o. m., quartum. . o. m. quintum. . , . phalanges pollicis.. – . ph. indicis. - . ph. digiti medii.. explanation of plate .. by dr. goldfuss. no authority for this seems to be afforded by the fossil specimen n. h. right foot p. longirostris. (cuvier.) i. foot of p. macronyx. (buckland.) k. hind-foot of a bat. l. skeleton of draco volans. (carus. comp. anat. p. .) showing the elongated bones, or false ribs, which support the membranous expansion of its pa- rachute. m. skeleton of a bat. (cheselden.) n. skeleton of p. crassirostris, in the museum at bonn, in solenhofen slate. (goldfuss.) . skeleton of p. brevirostris, near aichstadt, in the same slate. (goldfuss.) p. imaginary restoration of pterodactyles, with a co- temporary libellula, and cycadites. plate . v. i. p. . fig. '. anterior extremity of the right jaw of mega- losaurus, from the stonesfield slatė, oxon. (buck- land.) fig. . outside view of the same, exhibiting near the extremity, large perforations of the bone for the pas- sage of vessels. (buckland.) fig. . tooth of megalosaurus, incomplete towards the root, and seen laterally as in fig. . nat. size. (buckland.) fig. . side view of a tooth nearly arrived at maturity. the dotted lines mark the compressed conical cavity, containing pulp, within the root of the growing tooth. scale two-thirds. (buckland.) fig. , transverse section of fig. '. showing the thick- ness of the largest tooth (a.) and its root set deep and firmly in the bony socket, which descends explanation of plates , . nearly to the bottom of the jaw. scales two-thirds. (buckland.) fig. . transverse section of the tooth (fig. .) showing the manner in which the back and sides are enlarged, and rounded in order to give strength, and the front brought to a strong and thin cutting edge at d'. (buckland.) plate . v. i. p. . fossil teeth and bony nasal horn of iguanodon; and lower jaw and teeth of iguana. (mantell and original.) in mr. mantell's collection there is a perfect thigh bone of this animal, feet inches long, and inches in circum- ference at its largest and lower extremity. plate . v. i. p. . fig. . fossil crocodilean found at saltwick near whitby, eighteen feet long, and preserved in the museum of that town. this figure is copied from plate xvi. of bird and young's geol. survey of the yorkshire coast. as this appears to be the same species with that engraved in the phil. trans. , vol. . pt. . tab. , and tab. , and presented to the royal society by captain chap- man, mr. könig has applied to it the name of teleo- saurus chapmanni. fig. . another head of teleosaurus chapmanni, also in the museum at whitby, and from the lias of that neighbourhood. (original.) fig. . head of a third individual of the same species from the same locality, placed in , in the british museum, showing the outside of the lower jaw. (young and bird.) fig. . view of the inside of a lower jaw of the same , explanation of plates '. . '. species, in the oxford museum, from the great oolite, at enslow, near woodstock, oxon. (ori- ginal.) plate '. v. i. p. . fig. . head of a crocodile found in , by e. spencer, esq. in the london clay, of the isle of sheppy. see v. i. p. . (original.) fig. . extremity of the upper and lower jaw of teleo. saurus in the oxford museum, from the , great oolite at stonesfield, oxon. see v. i. p. . (ori- ginal.) fig. . anterior extremity of the upper jaw of steneo- saurus, in the museum of geneva, from havre; the same species occur in the kimmeridge clay of shotover hill, near oxford. see v. i. p. . (de la beche.) fig. . fossil turtle, from the slate of glaris. see v. i. p. . (cuvier.) plate . v. i. p. . fossil footsteps indicating the tracks of ancient animals, probably tortoises, on the new red sand-stone near dum. fries. (from a cast presented by rev. dr. duncan.) plate '. v. i. p. . fig. . impressions of footsteps of several unknown ani- mals upon a slab of new red sand-stone found at the depth of eighteen feet in a quarry at hessberg, near hilderburghausen in saxony. (sickler.) the larger footsteps a. b. c. are referred to an animal named provisionally, chirotherium. the fore-feet of this animal were less by one half than the hind-feet, and the tracks of all the feet are explanation of plate "'. which lies in the middle region of that large, and widely extended series of sand-stones, and conglomerates, lime- stones, and marl, which english geologists have usually designated by the common appellation of the new red sandstone group, including all the strata that are interposed between the coal formation, and the lias. m. brongniart, in his terrain de l'ecorce du globe, , has applied to this middle division the very appropriate name of terrain pæcilien, (from the greek toxínos), a term equivalent to the names bunter sandstein, and grés bigarré, which it bears in germany and france; and indicating the same strata which, in england, we call the new red sand- stone. (see plate . section no. .) mr. conybeare, in his report on geology to the british association at oxford, (page , and p. , note,) has proposed to extend the term pæcilitic to the entire group of strata between the coal formation and the lias; including the five formations designated in our section (pl. , no. , , , , ,) by the names of new red conglomerate, magnesian limestone, variegated sand- stone, shell limestone, and variegated marl. some com- mon appellative for all these formations has been long a desideratum in geology; but the word pæcilitic is in sound so like to pisolite, that it may be better to adhere more literally to the greek root wooxínos, and apply the common name of poikilitic group to the strata in ques- tion.* * the general reception of such a common name for all these strata, and the reception of the gruwacké series into the cambrian and salurian systems, as proposed by professor sedgwick and mr. murchison, fwill afford three nearly equal and most convenient groups or systems, into which the strata composing the transition and secondary series may respectively be divided; the former comprehending the cambrian, salurian, and carboni. ferous systems, and the latter comprehending the poikilitic, oolitic, and cretaceous groups. explanation of plate . plate . ornithichnites, or foot-marks of several extinct species of birds, found in the new red sand-stone of the valley of the connecticut.* (hitchcock.) • in the american journal of science and arts, january, . v. xxix. no. . professor hitchcock has published a most interesting account of his recent discovery of ornithichnites, or foot-marks of birds in the new red sand-stone of the valley of the connecticut. these tracks have been found at various depths beneath the actual surface, in quarries of laminated flag-stones, at five places near the banks of this river, within a distance of thirty miles. the sand-stone is inclined from º, to °, and the tracks ap- pear to have been made on it before the strata received their inclination. seven of these tracks occur in three or four quarries within the space of a few rods square; they are so distinct that he considers them to have been made by as many different species, if not genera, of birds. (see pl. a. figs. – . the footsteps appear in regular succession, on the continuous track of an animal in the act of walking or running, with the right and left foot always in their relative places. the distance of the intervals between each footstep on the same track is occasionally varied, but to no greater amount than may be explained by the bird having altered its pace. many tracks of different individuals and different species are often found crossing one another; they are some. times crowded like impressions of feet on the muddy shores of a stream, or pond, where ducks and geese resort. (see pl. a. figs. . . .) none of the footsteps appear to be those of web-footed birds; they most nearly resemble those of grallæ, (waders) or birds whose habits resemble those of grallæ. the impressions of three toes are usually distinct, ex. cept in a few instances; that of the fourth or hind toe is mostly wanting, as in the footsteps of modern grallæ. the most remarkable among these footsteps are those of a gigantic bird, twice the size of an ostrich, whose foot measured fifteen inches in length, exclusive of the largest claw, which measured two inches. all the three toes were broad and thick. (pl. a. fig. . and pl. b. fig. .) these largest footsteps have as yet been found in one quarry only, at mount tom near northampton; here, four nearly parallel tracks of this kind were disco. vered, and in one of them six footsteps appeared in regular succession, at explanation of plate *. the fossil tracks on this plate are all nearly on the same scale: viz. one twenty-fourth. the recent footsteps are on a larger scale. the distance of four feet from one another. in others the distance varied from four to six feet; the latter was probably the longest step of this gigantic bird while running next in size to these are the footsteps of another enormous bird (pl. a. fig. .) having three toes of a more slender character, measuring from fifteen to sixteen inches long, exclusive of a remarkable appendage ex- tending backwards from the heel eight or nine inches, and apparently in- tended, like a snow.shoe to sustain the weight of a heavy animal walking on a soft bottom. (see pl. b. fig. .) the impressions of this appen. dage resemble those of wiry feathers, or coarse bristles, which seem to have sunk into the mud and sand nearly an inch deep; the toes had sunk much deeper, and round their impressions the mud was raised into a ridge several inches high, like that around the track of an elephant in clay. the length of the step of this bird appears to have been sometimes six feet. on the other tracks the steps are shorter, and the smallest impression indicates a foot but one inch long, with a step of from three to five inches. (pl. a. a . - .) in every track the length of the step increases with the size of the foot, and is much longer in proportion than the steps of any existing species of birds; hence it is inferred that these ancient birds had a greater length of leg than even modern grallæ. the steps at four feet asunder probably in- dicate a leg of six feet long. in the african ostrich, which weighs lbs., and is nine feet high, the length of the leg is about four feet, and that of the foot ten inches. all these tracks appear to have been made on the margin of shallow water that was subject to changes of level, and in which sediments of sand and mud were alternately deposited, and the length of leg, which must be inferred from the distance of the footsteps from each other, was well adapted for wading in such situations. no traces of any bones but those of fishes (palæothrissum) have yet been found in the rock containing these footsteps, which are of the highest interest to the palæonthologist, as they establish the new fact of the existence of birds at the early epoch of the new red sand-stone formation; and farther show that some of the most ancient forms of this class attained a size, far exceeding that of the largest among the feathered inhabitants of the present world, and were adapted for wading and running, rather than for flight. explanation of plate ". fig. . ornithichnites giganteus. many tracks of this species occur at mount tom, near northampton, . u.s. fig. . o. tuberosus. portions of three tracks, and a single footstep of a fourth appear on the same slab. the longest two of them are in opposite directions. fig. . o. tuberosus, on a slab in front of the court house in northampton, from mount tom. fig. . o. ingens, from a quarry called the horse race, near gill. the appendage to the heel is not distinct in this track. fig. . o. diversus, on a flag-stone near the first church door at northampton, u. s. fig. . o. diversus. we have here three rows of tracks and a single footstep, from the horse race quarry. these tracks show no marks of any appendage to the heel fig. . o. diversus; found near south hadley, u. s. fig. . (. diversus; curvilinear track from the horse race quarry. fig. . o. diversus. two parallel tracks from the horse race quarry. fig. . o. diversus; nearly parallel tracks of two birds, with an appendage behind each foot; from the quar- ries at montague, u. s. fig. . . minimus; common at the horse race quarry ; similar impressions of the feet of small birds vary from half an inch to an inch and half in length. figs. . . . . diversus; from the horse race quarry. tracks of different individuals of different species, and different sizes cross one another con- fusedly in these three slabs. fig. . recent track of probably a snipe. explanation of plates . , fig. . recent track of a pea-hen. fig. . recent track of a domestic hen plate . fig. . ornithichnites giganteus. the natural cast here figured represents the form and size of the foot, and part of the claws. (hitchcock.) fig. . ornithichnites diversus, with impressions of the appendage to the heel, drawn from a plaster mould sent by prof. hitchcock to the geol. soc. of london. (original.) * fig. . track of a small animal on oolitic slate near bath. see journal of royal institution of london, , p. , pl. . (poulett scrope.*) plate . v. i. p. . figs. – . tubercles and scales, illustrating the four new orders of fishes, extablished by professor agassiz. (agassiz.) * mr. poulett scrope has presented to the geol. soc. of london a series of slabs selected from the tile quarries worked in the forest marble beds of the oolite formation near bradford and bath. the surface of these beds is covered with small undulations or ripple markings, such as are common on the sand of every shallow shore, and also with numerous tracks of small animals. (apparently crustaceans) which traversed the sand in various directions, whilst it was yet soft, and covered with a thin film of clay. these foot.marks are in double lines parallel to each other, showing two inden- tations, as if formed by small claws, and sometimes traces of a third claw. (see pl. , fig. .) there is often also a third line of tracks between the other two, as if produced by the tail or stomach of the animal touch. ing the ground. where the animal passed over the ridges of the ripple markings or wrinkles on the sand, they are flattened and brushed down. thus a ridge between b. and d. (pl. , fig. ) has been flattened, and there is a hollow at e. on the steep side of the ridge, which may have been produced by the animal slipping down or climbing up the accli- vity. explanation of plate . fig. . a. tube on the under surface of a scale for the passage of the mucous duct. see v. i. note, p. . (agassiz.) fig. . anterior extremity of the lower jaw of holop- tychius hibberti, from the limestone of burdie house, near edinburgh. see note, v. i. p. . the rugged surface of this bone is very remarkable. (hibbert.) fig. '. small teeth of holoptychius hibberti, fluted ex- ternally towards their base, and having a hollow cone within. (hibbert.) fig. ". a small tooth magnified. (hibbert.) fig. . one of the larger teeth in the jaw of holop- tychius hibberti, deeply fluted at the base, and having a hollow cone within. none of these teeth have sockets, but they adhere by a bony attachment to the jaw. (hibbert.) fig. . tooth of holoptychius hibberti. (hibbert.) fig. . tooth of megalichthys hibberti.* (hibbert.) figs. , . teeth of the holoptychius hibberti. (hib- bert.) figs. . . . . are from burdie house. * since the discovery of megalichthys, which we have quoted in v. i. p. , mr. w. anstice of madeley, has found two jaws and punctate scales of the same species, in nodules of iron stone from the coal field of coalbrook dale; he has also found ichthyodorulites, bones of fishes, and coprolites, forming the nuclei of other balls of the same iron stone. mr. murchison has still more recently ( ) discovered remains of the megalichthys, holoptychius, and coprolites, with several species of unio, in the wolverhampton coal field. these great sauroid fishes, which were first recognised at edinburgh, in sept. , have also been detected in the eng- lish coal fields of newcastle on tyne, leeds, and newcastle under lyne. explanation of plates *. . plate *. v. i. p. . fig. . lepidosteus osseus, or bony pike of north ame- rica. (agassiz. vol. . tab. a.) fig. . portion of the lower jaw of lipidosteus osseus, showing the occurrence of a row of larger conical hollow teeth, fluted externally, between two rows of smaller teeth. (original.) . a. longitudinal section of a large tooth, showing the internal hollow cone. (original.) . b. transverse section of a large tooth. (original.) fig. . transverse section of the jaw. fig. . (original.) fig. . fragment of a small upper jaw of megalichthys hibberti, from burdie house, showing a disposition of large and small teeth, similar to that in fig. .. (hibbert.) . a. b. transverse section of the larger teeth. . c. longitudinal section of a large tooth.* . d. punctate scale of megalichthys. fig. . aspidohrynchus: a fossil sauroid fish from the limestone of solenhofen. (agassiz, vol. i. tab. f.) plate . v. i. p. . amblypterus: one of the fossil fishes peculiar to the car- boniferous strata. (agassiz, vol. i. tab. a. fig. .) * it appears that in the megalichthys and holoptychis the structure of the teeth, both large and small, was precisely the same as in the large and small teeth of lepidosteus osseus, both as to the hollow internal conical cavity, and the external autings towards the base, and also as to their mode of growth by ascent of fibrous matter from the bony substance of the jaw, and not from, roots placed in deep alveoli, as in many of the saurians, explanation of plate d. fig. . psammodus, from mountain limestone, bristol, fig. . orodus, from the same. fig. . acrodus, from the lias, lyme regis. fig. . ptychodus, (upper surface) from the chalk., fig. . side view of fig. . figs. – . teeth of extinct fossil sharks in the sub- family of hybodonts; in this family the enamel is plicated on both sides of the teeth. see v. i. p. . note. fig. , side view of tooth of onchus, from the lias at lyme regis. fig. . front view of the same. figs. . . . teeth of hybodonts, from the oolitic slate of stonesfield, oxon. figs. . . . fossil teeth of true sharks in the squa- loid division of that family, having the enamel smooth on the outer side. from the chalk and lon- don clay. see v. i. p. , note. fig. . palatal teeth of myliobates striatus, from the london clay of barton cliff, hants. see v. i. p. . much of the enamel is worn away by use, as frequently happens in the tongue and palatal bones of living rays. (original.) c. petrified remains of an extinct genus of shark. fig. . jaw of hybodus reticulatus, from the lias at lyme regis. (scale one-half.) many of the teeth retain their place on the margin of the bone. the granulated structure of bone is distinctly preserved. (de la beche.) fig. . teeth selected from the jaw last figured. nat. size. · fig. . ichthyodorulite, from the lias at lyme regis, being the dorsal spine of hybodus incurvus, set with teeth-like hooks, to suspend the membrane of the dor- sal fin. (de la beche.) explanation of plate . a double row of similar hooks occurs on the first dorsal ray of the barbel, (barbus vulgaris.) and on the anterior ray both of the dorsal and anal fins of the carp, (cyprinus carpio.) fig. . transverse section of fig. , at a.* (de la beche.) plate º. v. i. p. . fig. . portion of the palatal teeth of acrodus nobilis, resembling a cluster of contracted leeches. these teeth are in their natural place, adhering to the curved granular bone of the palate, which is well preserved, and impregnated with carbonate of lime. (miss s. c. burgon. original.) fig. . continuation of the three rows of teeth on the re- verse of fig. . scale one-half. (original.) fig. . one of the largest teeth on the centre row, having the upper part of the enamel worn away by friction. nat. size. (original.) fig. . magnified view of the minute tubercles of enamel which grew upon the skin; the decay of the skin * in the lond. and edin. phil. mag, jan. , the author has published a notice of his recent discovery of the jaws of four extinct species.of fossil fishes of the genus chimæra, a genus hitherto unknown in a fossil state. the only known species (c. montrosa) approximates most nearly to the family of sharks; and is found pursuing herrings and other migratory fishes. the chimæra is one of the most remarkable among living fishes, as a link in the family of chondropterygians; and the discovery of a similar link, in the geological epochs of the oolitic and cretaceous formations, shows that the duration of this curious genus has extended through a greater range of geological epochs, than that of any other genus of fishes yet ascer- tained by professor agassiz, and leads to important considerations in physio- logy. the chimæra partakes of one remarkable character with the cestracion phillippi, whereby this species alone, among living sharks, is connected with the extinct forms of that family, in having the first ray of the dorsal fin enlarged into a strong bony spine armed with sharp hooks, like the ichthyo- dorulite of the earliest fossil sharks. explanation of plates '. . has brought clusters of these tubercles into contact with the bone in several parts of fig. . (original.) fig. . magnified view of similar minute tooth-like tuber- cles of enamel, forming the shagreen on the skin of the head of the recent squatina angelus. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) plate . v. i. pp. & . beautiful cluster of palatal teeth of ptychodus polygyrus, from the chalk. insulated teeth of many species of this genus abound throughout the chalk formation. the mouth of these and all the other numerous extinct species of sharks in the family of cestracionts, was lined with a pavement of similar powerful teeth, forming a most efficient apparatus, for crushing the shells of crustacea and conchifera, which probably formed their principal food. the surfaces of the enamel are often worn away, like that at pl. º. fig. . the strength and efficacy of these teeth, viewed as intru- ments for crushing shells, is very remarkable. beneath the enamel, the body of each tooth is composed of a strong mass of bone. (miss f. c. burgon. original.) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . represents the common calmar or squid (loligo vulgaris, lam. sepia loligo, linn.) showing the place and excretory duct of its ink bag, and the position of the feet on the anterior margin of the head. (blain- ville.) fig. . side view of the pen of the loligo vulgaris, show- ing its position in the back of the animal, fig. . (original.) fig. . concave under surface of the same pen. (ori- ginal.) explanation of plates . fig. . convex upper surface of portion of another re- cent pen, of the same kind. the structure of figs. and closely resembles that of the fossil species represented at fig. , of this same plate, and also at pl. . fig. . and pl. . in all of them, the horny plates are composed of a series of longitudi- nal fibres, intersected by another series of transverse fibres. the disposition of the transverse fibres is most simple in the recent species; passing obliquely outwards from each side of the central shaft, like the barbs or fibrils in the vane of a feather, and being the most distinct towards the outer margin. the longitudinal fibres are scarcely visible in the recent species, except where they are collected into auted fasciculi, (pl. . fig. . bb.) in those parts which correspond with the marginal bands of the fossil species. (original.) c. central part of the pen, raised like the shaft of a quill between its fibrils. fig. . ink bag of a recent cuttle fish, dissected by the author at lyme regis, , containing its na- tural ink in a desiccated state; it is a black shining jet-like substance, having a splintery fracture, and resembling the substance and fracture of the fossil ink. its bulk is not much reduced by desiccation. (original.) fig. . upper convex surface of a fossil pen of loligo aalensis from the lias of lyme regis. a.a. the barbs ; b.b. the marginal bands; c. axis of the shaft; d. excretory duct of the ink bag, distended with petrified ink.* (original.) * in this specimen we see distinctly the disposition of the marginal bands. vol. ii.- explanation op plate . fig. . upper surface of fossil loligo from the lias of lyme regis. a,a, barbs of the pen. b,b, mar- ginal bands. c, axis of the pen. d, upper plate of marginal band, having an unusually corrugated surface, which may be the result of imperfect growth of the transverse fibres ; if fully expanded they would probably have resembled those of the subjacent plate at d”. (original.) d'. magnified representation of the rugous surface of d. d'". magnified representation of the second plate of the marginal band, fig. .d". e. upper surface of second plate of the shaft of the pen ; here the transverse wavy lines predominate over the vertical straight lines ; but both are visible. f. upper surface of third plate ; here the vertical straight fibres prevail over the transverse wavy fibres. plate . v. i. pp. and . fig. . fossil loligo from lias at lyme, in the col- lection of miss philpot, exhibiting nearly the same structure at figs. . . at pl. . and containing be- neath the pen, a very large ink bag, d. the greater proportionate size of this ink bag indicates a differ- ence in species from fig. . (mrs. buckland. ori. ginal.) fig. . loligo aalensis from lyme regis showing the under surface or concave side, and the duct of the ink bag distended with ink. a.a. barbs or fila. ments of the pen; b.b. marginal bands ; c. axis of shaft; d. duct of ink bag. (mrs. buckland. ori. ginal.) the wavy lines here seen between the ing bag and the apex of the pen, are the inferior termi- nation of the successive laminee of growth; each explanation of platr . larger and superior plate overlapping the edges of the next subjacent and smaller plate. these edges are rendered more irregular by decomposition. d'. magnified representation of very minute curved lines passing from the marginal band across the shaft, at d. e. thin lamina of the white pulverulent substance of a decomposed plate: it retains partial traces of the transverse wavy fibres. f. minute perpendicular filaments prevailing over the transverse fibres of the shaft. fig. . fossil loligo from lyme regis, showing the same structure as the preceding figures, in the seve- ral portions of the pen that are preserved; and having its ink bag distended nearly in its natural shape and place beneath the pen. (original.) c.c. axis of the shaft. figs. . . . . . . fossil ink bags from lyme regis. the membranous sacs and excretory ducts are still preserved, and closely resemble those of a recent ink bag; see pl. . fig. . (original.) fig. . fossil ink bag found by miss anning in the lias near watchet, somerset. (original.) plate . v. i. p. . a large fossil pen of loligo; from the lias at lyme regis. in the collection of miss philpot. (mrs. buckland. original.) a.a. barbs of the pen, proceeding from the outer edges of the marginal bands. b.b. marginal bands dividing the bases of the barbs from the internal part or body of the shaft. c. axis of the pen, dividing the body of the shaft into two equal parts. explanation of plate . d. transverse section across the ink bag. d. first or upper plate. this plate is very thin, and smooth, and its structure is obscure, except on the right marginal band at d', where the longitudinal ridges on its surface are very distinct e. upper surface of second plate, marked with broad wavy lines, passing on each side from the axis out- wards, across the body of the shaft, and over the marginal bands. f. upper surfaces of a third plate, exhibiting minute curved striæ, ascending symmetrically in opposite directions from each side of the axis of the shaft c, and descending towards its margin. these curved striæ are intersected by minute longitudinal straight lines, running nearly parallel to the axis of the shaft. towards the apex of the shaft at f , the broad trans- verse curves predominate over the fine longitudinal fibres which lie beneath them. at g, no trans- verse curves are visible.* (mrs. buckland. ori- ginal.) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . animal of nautilus pompilius, fixed in its shell. the shell is copied from one in the collection of mr. w. i. broderip. (animal from owen. shell ori- ginal.) n. the hood, or ligamento-muscular disk that surrounds the head. p. the digital tentacles protruded from their sheaths. k. funnel. a, b. c. d, e. siphuncle. the desiccated membrane of * herman von meyer (palæologica, , p. ,) mentions the occur. rence of ink bags, together with the horny internal shels of sepia, (onycho- teuthis) in the lias of culmbach and banz. explanation of plate . the siphuncle is laid bare at a. b. e. d. at e, e, and from thence inwards, it is covered by a soft calcare, ous coating or sheath. y. y. collar, projecting inwards from the transverse plates, and supporting the siphuncle. see note, v. i. p. . fig. . upper horny mandible of the animal, with a hard calcareous point. (owen.) fig. . lower horny mandible, armed with a similar cal- careous point. (owen.) fig. . calcareous point, and palate of upper mandible separated from the horny portion. (owen.) fig. . under surface, or palate of a rhyncholite, or fos- sil beak, from the lias at lyme regis, analogous to the recent specimen, fig. . (original.) fig. . upper view of another rhyncholite from the same stratum and place. black portions of the horny substance, in a state resembling charcoal, remain attached to its posterior surfaces. (original.) fig. . side view of the calcareous portion of an upper mandible, from the muschelkalk of luneville. (original.) fig. . upper view of another rhyncholite from lune- ville. (original.) fig. . palatal view of fig. . (original.) fig. . calcareous point of an under mandible from luneville. the dentations on its margin resemble those on the recent mandible, fig. , and co-ope- rating with the dentations on the margin of the up- per mandible, fig. , must have formed an instru- ment (like the recent beak, figs. and ,) well fitted for the rapid demolition of crustacea and small shells. (original.) fig. . under surface of fig. .; it is strengthened by * explanation of plate . a double keel-shaped indented process, enlarging from its apex backwards.* (original.) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . part of the petrified shell, and casts of the interior of some of the chambers, of a nautilus hexagonus, from marcham, berks. this fossil exhibits at its smaller end, from d to b., a series of casts of the air-chambers, from which the external shell has been removed. the cavity of each chamber is filled with a disc of pure calcareous spar, representing the exact form of the chamber into which it had been infiltrated. in the larger portion of this fossil, the petrified shell retains its natural place, and exhibits fine wavy lines of growth. forming minute ribs across its surface. (original.) fig. . fractured shell of n. hexagonus, from the calca-. reous grit of marcham. the chambers are lined with calcareous spar, and a circular plate of the same spar is crystallized around the siphon. the interior of the siphon is filled with a cast of calcare- ous grit, similar to that which forms the rock from which the shell was taken. see. v. i. p. . (original.) * although the resemblances between these fossil beaks, and that of the animal inhabiting the n. pompilius, are such as to leave no doubt that rhyn- cholites are derived from some kind or other of cephalopod, yet, as they are found insulated in strata of muschel kalk and lias, wherein there occur also the remains of sepiæ that had no external shells, we have not yet sufficient evidence to enable us to distinguish between the rhyncholites derived from naked sepiæ, and those from cephalopods that were connected with chambered shells. i possess a specimen of a fossil nautilus from the lias at lyme regis, in which the external open chamber contains a rhyncholite. + this fossil exbibits the siphur.cle in its proper place, passing across explanation of plate . fig. . represents in its natural size, a portion of the siphuncle which in fig. . is laid bare along its course through the chambers, d. e. f. in the trans- verse plate h, the siphuncular collar is entire, but a section of another collar in the transverse plate, i, shows the contraction of the siphon at its passage, through this aperture, and exhibits also the overa lapping, or squamous suture by which the collar is fitted to the superior and inferior portions of the cal- careous sheath of the siphon. see v. i. pp. , . note. (original.) a similar structure may be seen at the collars of the transverse plates of the n. striatus. see pl. . the cavities of the air-chambers. as in the recent nautilus pompilius, there is no communication between the interior of the siphon and that of the air. chambers, so in this fossil shell, there is proof that no communication existed between these cavities. a transverse section at ai shows the thin edge of the sheath of the siphuncle, surrounded externally with calcareous.spar, and filled internally with grit. other sections of the siphuncle at b. d. e. f. show the calcareous grit within its cavities to be contracted at its passage through the collars of the transverse plates, and most enlarged midway between one transverse plate and another. · this fossil affords two proofs that no communication existed between the interior of the siphuncle and that of the air-chambers.. st. the calcareous: sheath of the siphuncle is seen at d. e. f. completely enclosing the calcareous grit which forms the cast within it. dly, had there been any communica- tion between the interior of the siphuncle, and that of the air-chambers, these chambers must have received some portion of the materials of the grit that have filled this siphuncle : not. a particle of grit is found in any one of the adjacent air-chambers, but they are all lined, and some of them nearly filled with a crystalline deposite of carbonate of lime, disposed in uniform plates around the interior of each chamber, and around the siphuncle. see fig. . c. cl. a. a'. a?. a . and fig. . d-k. this deposite can only have been formed from water charged with carbonate of lime, introduced by infiltration, after the interment of the shell, and filling the chambers which are thus uniformly invested. explanation of plates , . plate . v. i. pp. , . note. longitudinal section of nautilus striatus, from the lias at whitby, in the collection of mrs. murchison. the inte- rior of the chambers is filled exclusively with calcareous spar, and that of the siphuncle with lias. (original.) a. the siphuncle: the union of the siphuncular calcareous sheaths, with the aperture or collar of each trans- verse plate, is so closely fitted, that no fluid could have passed between them into the air-chambers. b. one of the transverse plates forming the air-chambers. c. white calcareous spar, filling the middle region only of the air-chambers. d. stratified zones of dark coloured calcareous spar, de- posited in equal thickness on both sides of the trans- verse plates, and also on the inside of the shell, and around the calcareous sheath of the siphuncle.* e. portion of the external shell, showing a laminated - structure. plate . v. i. p. . note. drawing of the animal of the nautilus pompilius, pre- pared at my request by mr. owen, to show the manner in which the siphuncle terminates in the pericardium. (ori- ginal.) * the successive zones of this dark spar show that the lime composing it was introduced by slow and gradual infiltrations into the cavity of the air-chambers.. hence it follows that no communication existed between the siphuncle and these chambers, at the time when this pipe was filled with the auid mud, that has formed a cast of lias within it. as the fractures across the siphuncle in the d and d chambers are filled only with spar, of the same kind as that within these chambers, these frac. tures could not have existed, when the mud of the lias formation entered the siphuncle, without admitting it also into the chambers adjacent to them. explanation of plate . a. the heart. . a bristle passing from the pericardium through the membranous siphuncle laid bare. c. bristles passing from the pericardium through the orifices of communication with the branchial cham- ber. d. d. d. d. follicles communicating with the branchial arteries.* , 'd. 'd. 'd. 'd. pericardial septa, forming thin muscular receptacles of the follicles, e. e. the branchiæ. f. the branchial chamber. g. the funnel, or branchial outlet. h. the infundibular valve. i, i. the digital processes. k. the gizzard. . the ovary. m. m. the mantle dissected off. n. the membranous siphuncle. . o. the siphuncular artery, p. p. the boundaries of the pericardial cavity. . portion of the siphuncle between the pericardium and first transverse plate of the shell.t * mr. owen supposes that these follicles discharge the impurities of the blood into the pericardium, when there is no access of water to the bran- chiæ, during the time that the animal is contracted within its shell. the overflowings of this pericardial fluid may pass out through the orifices marked by the bristles, c. c. + this upper portion or neck of the siphuncle, has the form of a flattened canal, with thin parietes of the same substance as the pericardium; when the animal expands itself at the bottom of the sea, this neck is probably closed by the lateral pressure of the gizzard, k, and ovary, ) and so acts instead of a valve to prevent the return of the pericardial fluid into the siphuncle. at such times the deep-sea water must press with great force on the exterior of the pericardium, and tend to force the pericardial fluid into the siphuncle; but as an equal amount of pressure is applied simultaneously to the ovary and explanation of plates . . plate . v. i. p. . cast of the interior of the shell of ammonites obtusus from lyme. fragments of the shell remain near b. and e. one object of this plate and of many of the figures at pl. . is to show the manner in which the external shell is for- tified by ribs and flutings, (pp. . .) and farther sup- ported by the edges of the internal transverse plates, that form the air-chambers. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) plate . v. i. p. . note. longitudinal section of another shell of ammonites obtusus from the lias at lyme regis. (original.) the greater part of the outer chamber, and the entire ca- vities of the air-chambers are filled with calcareous spar, and the siphuncle, (preserved in a carbonaceous state,) is seen passing along the entire dorsal margin to the com- mencement of the outer chamber. see v. i. p. , note. von buch has found evidence to show that the mem- branous siphuncle of ammonites was continued to a con- siderable distance along the outer chamber, beyond the last or largest transverse plate. this discovery accords with the analogies afforded by the membranous neck of the siphon of the n. pompilius, which is continued along the outer chamber from the last transverse plate to the pericar- dium. see pl. . q.* gizzard, the lateral pressure of these two organs on the neck of the siphun- cle would tend to close it with a force exactly counterbalancing the external pressure on the pericardium. * as the body of the animals that inhabited the ammonites was more elongated than that of those inhabiting the shells of nautili, in consequence of the smaller diameter of their outer chamber, the place of their heart was probably more distant from the last transverse plate, than that of the heart of nautili; and the membranous siphon connected with the pericar- dium consequently longer. explanation of plates . . plate . v. i. p. . note. figs. locality. stratum. . ammonites amaltheus gibbosus. . (schlotheim). gloucester. lias. . a. varicosus . (sowerby) black down, devon. green sand. . a. humphriesianus (sowerby). shernborne. inferior oolite. . a. lamberti . (sowerby). . oxford .. oxford clay. . a. planulatus · (schlotheim). franconia . jura limestone. . a. bucklandi . (sowerby) , bath ... lias. . a. lautuso . (sowerby) . . folkstone . gault. . a. catena .. (sowerby) . marcham • calcareous grit, . a. varians .. (zieten)... geislingen , jura limestone. . a. striatus .. (reinicke). . gros eislingen lias. a. exterior dorsal margin. b. back view of the shell. c. transverse section of shell. the figures in this plate are selected to exemplify some of the various manners in which the shells of ammonites are adorned and strengthened by ribs, and flutings, and bosses. in vol. i. p. , instances are mentioned of similar contrivances which are applied in art to strengthen thin plates of metal. workers in glass have also adopted a similar expedient in their method of fortifying small wine flasks of thin glass, made flat, and portable in the pocket, with a series of spiral flutings passing obliquely across the sides of the flask, as in many of the flattened forms of ammonite. similar spiral flutings are introduced for the same purpose on the surface of thin glass pocket smelling- : bottles. in other glass flasks of the same kind which are made in germany, the addition of bosses to the surfaces of the flat sides of the bottles, produces a similar double result of ornament and strength. plate . v. i. p. . note. air-chambers of ammonites heterophyllus, filled with lias, and showing in a remarkable degree the effect of the umdulating course of the edges of the transverse plates beneath the flat sides of the outer shell. explanation of plates . . a portion of the outer shell is preserved at c. and im- pressions of the fluted interior of the shell, which has fallen off, are visible at d. (original.) plate . v. i. p. . note. this plate presents a longitudinal view of the same fossil, of which a side view is given in the last figure. the same transverse plates that approximate so closely beneath the sides of the shell, where it is flat and feeble, (pl. .) are dis- tant from each other along the dorsal portion, which from its convex form is strong. the siphuncle is preserved in its proper dorsal place at d. the elevations and depressions of the transverse plate in front of this figure exemplify the theory of von buch, respecting the use of the lobes and saddles formed by the undulations of its outer margin. see v. i. p. , and note. (original.) plate . v. i. p. . note. fig. . ammonites henslowi (goniatites,) from transi. tion limestone in the isle of man. the lobes are simple, and without foliations ; their form resembles that of the slipper-shaped lobe of the nautilus ziczac, and nautilus sypho. see pl. . the lobes d. l. . v. are pointed inwards, and the intermediate saddles s. d. s. l. s. v. are rounded outwards; according to the type of ammo- nites. (original.) fig. . ammonites striatus (goniatites,) from the coal shale of lough allen in connaught, having its lobes and saddles disposed in the same directions as in fig. , the delicate longitudinal striæ and explanation of plates . . transverse ribs of the outer shell are strengthened by repeated intersections of the subjacent edges of the transverse plates. (original.) fig. . back view of ammonites sphæricus, from the limestone of derbyshire, showing the position of the siphuncle upon the dorsal margin, with its collar advancing outwards between the two simple dorsal lobes; the lateral lobes are also simple and without foliations, and pointed inwards. (martin pet. der. t. .) fig. . ammonites nodosus (ceratites.) this is one of the species peculiar to the muschel kalk. the de- scending lobes terminate in a few small denticula- tions, pointed inwards, and the ascending saddles are rounded outwards, after the normal character of ammonites. (zeiten. tab. ii. fig. . a.) fig. . back of a. nodosus, showing the dorsal lobes pointed inwards, and the collar around the siphuncle advancing outwards. no edges of the transverse plates are placed beneath the dome-shaped tuber- cles; these derive sufficient strength from their vault- ed form. (zeiten. tab. ii. fig. . b.) : plate . v. i. p. . ammonites giganteus, found in the portland stone at tisbury in wiltshire. this beautiful fossil is in the col- lection of miss benett. the chambers are all void, and the transverse plates and shell converted to calcedony. (original.) plate . v. i. pp. , . note. fig. . cast of a single chamber of nautilus hexagonus, showing the simple curvatures of the edges of the transverse plates, and the place of the siphuncle. (original.) vol. ii.- explanation of plate . fig. . cast of a chamber of ammonites excavatus, having a complex form derived from the denticulated edges of the transverse plates. see v. i. pp. , , note. (original.) fig. . casts of three chambers of ammonites catena, with the membrane of the siphuncle on its dorsal margin. see v. i. p. , note, and p. , note. the course of the transverse plates is beneath the depressed and weakest parts of the external shell, avoiding the bosses at c, d, e, which from their form are strong. (original.) fig. . ammonites varicosus, from the green sand of earl stoke, wilts. nat. size. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) figs. . . portions of the same shell, having the trans- verse plates and siphuncle converted to calcedony. see v. i. pp. and , note. (original.) fig. . ammonites varicostatus, (nobis,( an undescribed species of ammonite from the oxford clay at hawnes, m. s. of bedford. diameter inches. the name varicostatus expresses the remarkable change in the character of the ribs, near the outer termination of the air-chambers. on the inner whorls of the shell, these ribs are narrow, and highly raised, set close to one another, and bifurcated at the back of the shell, (from d. to c.;) but near the outer chamber ( . to a.) they become broad and distant, and the dorsal bifurca- tion ceases. the edges of the transverse plates are exposed by the removal of the shell from c. to b., they appear also at a. d. (original.) similar variations in the form of the ribs occur in ammonites biplicatus and ammonites decipiens. explanation of plate plate . v. i. pp. . . fig. . fragment of nautilus sypho, in the collection of w. i. broderip, esq. from the miocene division of the tertiary formations at dax, near bourdeaux. the accidental fractures of this fossil afford an in- structive display of the disposition of the transverse . plates and siphuncle. (original.) fig. . another fractured shell of the same species from dax, in the collection of mrs. buckland, showing at a', a’, a', the disposition of the lateral lobes. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) fig. . cast of the interior of nautilus ziczac, in the col- lection of mr. james sowerby, showing the disposi- tion of the lateral lobes. (see v. i. pp. , . (original.) fig. . cast of a single chamber of nautilus ziczac, in the collection of mr. j. sowerby, showing the dis- position of the ventral and dorsal lobes and siphun- cle. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) . plate . v. i. p. , et seq. fig. . molluscous animal enclosing the spirula peronii. see v. i. p. * (blainville.) fig. . section of a spirula (nat. size,) showing its trans- verse plates and siphuncular sheath. (original.) * m. robert has recently discovered between the canaries and cape blanc, several imperfect bodies of a small species of molluscous animal, each enclosing a spirula. in all these the position of the shell is not at the posterior extremity, as in the figure of the specimen found by peron, but in the back, parallel to the axis of the body, like the shell of the sepiostaire, or internal shell of the common sepia. this position agrees with that of the animal figured by blainville, if we suppose the caudal portion of the latter to have been lost. on each side of the body are two expansions that act like fins, as in the sepiole. beneath the neck is the aperture of the funnel. in explanation of plate . fig! . lituite in the transition limestone of oeland. a. siphuncle of lituite. (original.) fig. . section of an orthoceratite in the transition limestone of oeland, in the collection of c. stokes, esq. (original.) a. siphuncle of the same, fig. . baculite, from chalk of the cotentin ; terminating at its large end in the chamber a. (original.) fig. . . front view of the transverse plate of a bacu- lite, showing the margin to be disposed in lobes and saddles, and the place of the siphuncle to be on the back of the shell at c. (original.) fig. . transverse section of a nummulite. (parkinson, v. . pl. x. fig. .) fig. . longitudinal section of another nummulite.* (parkinson.) one specimen the eye is preserved, and is very large in proportion to the body. these mollusks form the prey of the physali, and were caught en- tangled in their tentacula. l'echo du monde savant, mai, . * among the microscopie fossil shells placed by d'orbigny in the same order as nummulites (foraminiféres,) count munster enumerates species from the cretaceous free slone of maestricht. mr. lonsdale also has dis- covered species of microscropic foraminifers in the english chalk. (see v. i. p. , note.) microscopic shells of this order occur in countless myriads throughout the tertiary strata. (see v. i. p. .), the sand of the shores of the adriatic, and many islands in the archi- pelago, is crowded with recent microscopic shells of the same kinda it is mentioned in our note, v. i. p. , that doubts have arisen as to the supposed origin of many of these minute multilocular shells from cephalo. pods. some recent observations of m, dujardin have induced him to refer the animals which construct the miliola and some other microscopic fora- miniferous shells, to a new class of animals of a lower degree than the radiata, and possessing a locomotive power by means of minute tentacular filaments. he proposes to give them the name of rhiza podes. ann. des sci. nat. mai, . p. . explanation of plate . fig. . hamites bucklandi, (phillips,) from the gault or speeton clay, in the collection of mr. i. phillips, of york. (original.) fig. . transverse septum of fig. , showing the lobes and saddles, and the siphuncle at a. fig. . hamites armatus, from the upper green sand, near benson. (sowerby.) fig. . transverse section of the same, showing the siphuncle, on the back, between the spines. fig. . hamites from folkstone clay, showing the spiral ribs of the outer shell. at a. we see the siphuncle, and the lobes and saddles of the transverse plate. fig. . fragment of the cast of the interior of another hamite from folkstone clay, showing the siphuncle at a. the removal of the outer shell shows the sinu- ous edges of the transverse plates beneath the ribs. (original.) fig. . fragment of hamites articulatus (sow.) from the green sand at earl stoke, showing the si- phuncle (a.) covered by a small portion of the shell. the sinuous terminations of the transverse plates are visible beneath the ribs, having their secondary lobes rounded outwards ( .) and pointed inwards (c.) like the secondary lobes of ammonites. (ori- ginal.) fig. . fragments of turrilites bergeri, in the collection of g. b. greenough, esq. from the green sand for- mation. the siphuncle is seen near the upper or dorsal margin of two whorls at a. a.; the sinuous edges of the transverse plates are visible on the middle whorl; and the entire surface of a transverse plate is laid open at the smaller end of a third whorl, showing its lobes and saddles to be analogous to the same parts in ammonites. (original.) * explanation of plate '. fig. . scaphites equalis, from chalk near rouen, in the collection of mr. j. sowerby; the sides of the external shell are strengthened and ornamented by ribs and tubercles; and the edges of the transverse plates disposed in sinuous foliations (c.) as in ammo- nites. the mouth or outer margin ( .) returns so nearly into contact with the air-chambers (c.,) that the want of space at this part for the expansion of arms and head, makes it probable that the scaphite was placed entirely within the body of its animal. (original.) fig. . transverse section of the chambered portion of fig. , showing the arrangement of the lobes and saddles to be similar to that of ammonites; the siphuncle also is seen on the dorsal margin at a.. (original.) fig. . longitudinal section of the calcareous sheath and alveolus of a belemnite. a. alveolus, or internal shell, divided by transverse septa into air-chambers. see v. i. p. . . b. siphuncle, passing along the margin of the air-cham- bers. c. apex of the fibro-calcareous sheath, or solid cone of the belemnite. plate . v. i. p. , et seq. illustrations of the probable nature of the animals that gave origin to belemnites. * * in the description of pl. '. and pl. ''. the following letters indicate the same parts in each specimen to which they are applied. a. the apex of the calcareous shell, or sheath. . aleveolar portion, or chambered shell. c. ink bag. d. portions of the thin anterior horny, sheath, sometimes highly naa e. s creous. f. neck of ink bag. explanation of plate '. fig. . imaginary restoration of belemnosepia, showing the probable place of its ink bag, and of the internal shell or belemnite. the three component parts of this belemnite are represented as if longitudinally bisected: the place assigned to this ink bag is nearly the same as in the recent loligo. (original.) fig. . sepia officinalis, showing the position of the inter- nal shell or sheath (sepiostaire) within the dorsal portion of its sac. its apex (a,) and calcareous dor- sal plates (en) correspond with the apex calcareous conical sheath of a belemnite. fig. . sepia officinalis, laid open along the ventral pore. tion of its sac, to show the position of its ink bag. (original.) figs. . a. . b. . c. rhyncholites, found in contact with belemnites in the lias at lyme regis. nat. size. (original.) fig. . d. beak of a small testudo from chalk, in the collection of mr. mantell, showing a fibro-cancel- lated bony structure, very different from the com- pact shelly condition of the rhyncholite, for which it may from its size and shape be mistaken. (ori- ginal.) fig. . ventral surface of a sepiostaire; the elongated shallow cone, or cup, (e. e. e. e.') is composed of very thin calcareous plates, alternating with horny membranes, which are expanded outwards to form the thin margin of the cone. this irregular cone or shell represents the hollow cone at the larger extremity of the belemnite, (fig. . b. . e. e'. e".) which includes its alveolus (b. .) and ink bag (c.) within this shallow sub-conical shell of the sepio- staire is contained its alveolus, or calcareous cham- bered portion, (fig. . b.) which represents the explanation of plate '. chambered alveolus in the belemnite, (fig. .. .. b.) but has no siphon. (blainville.) fig. '. longitudinal section of the apex of the shell of sepia officinalis. this apex is composed of granular calcareous matter (a.,) alternating with conical horny laminæ, which expand laterally into the horny margin (e.) (original.) fig. . longitudinal view of fig. . the apex (a.) re- presents the apex of a belemnite. the back of the shell (e.) the dorsal part of a belemnite; and the alveolar portion (b. '.) represents the internal cham- bered shell of a belemnite. (blainville.) fig. . anterior extremity of the lamellæ, or alveolar plates, exposed by a longitudinal section in fig. . in the mature animal these lamellæ are nearly in number; a few of them only are here represented. these alveolar plates form the internal chambers of the sepiostaire, and represent the transverse plates of the alveolus in belemnites, and other chambered shells; but as the sepiostaire has no siphuncle, its chambers seem not subservient, like those of the belemnite, to the purpose of varying the specific gravity of the animal; the intervals between its plates are occupied by an infinite number of thin winding partitions standing perpendicularly between the lamellæ. figs. '. ". thin calcareous partitions winding between and supporting the alveolar plates of the sepiostaire. the sinuous disposition of these partitions increases their efficacy in resisting pressure, on the same principle, as in the foliated' edges of the transverse plates of ammonites.* the sinuosity of the cal- * dr. fleming has accurately described the structure of these partitions, as exhibiting perpendicular laminæ, waved and folded in brainlike gyrations, which occasionally anastomose. explanation of plate '. careous partitions is least near the margin of the lamellæ. see fig. '. (original.) fig. !”. columnar appearance of the sinuous partitions when viewed laterally. (original.) . fig. . unique specimen of belemnites ovalis, from the lias at lyme regis, in the collection of miss philpotts. a fracture at b, shows the chambered areolæ of the alveolus. at e. the thin conical anterior horny sheath originates in the edge of the calcareous sheath, and extends to e". the surface of this anterior sheath exhibits wavy transverse lines of growth; it is much decomposed, slightly nacre- ous, and flattened by pressure. within this anterior conical sheath the ink bag is seen at c. somewhat decomposed, and partially altered to a dark gray colour. (original.) fig. . portion of the ink bag broken off from fig. . c. and covered by that portion of the horny case which lay above it. the transverse lines e. on this por- tion, are the continuation of the lines of growth on the horny sheath of fig. . e. e'.e”. (original.) fig. . belemnites pistilliformis ? from the lias at lyme in the collection of miss philpotts, having a portion of its ink bag at c. (original.) figs. . . . belemnites from the jura limestone of solenhofen, figured by count munster in boué's mé- moirs géologiques, vol. i. pl. . in and the form of the anterior horny sheath is preserved, to a length equal to that of the calcareous shaft of the belemnite, but in none of them is the ink bag visi- ble.* (munster.) * von meyer mentions (palæologica, p. , first edition, ,) that he has seen an ink bag at the upper end of a belemnite from the lias of banz, and asks, “do belemnites possess an ink bag like that of the sepia ?" explanation of plate . the circular lines on the surface of its horny mem- brane d, are lines of growth. (original.) fig. . belemno-sepia from the lias at lyme, in the oxford museum; the ink bag is preserved entire within the interior conical sheath e. e. e.; the greater part of this sheath is highly nacreous, in a few places (d.) it is horny. (original.) . fig. . large ink bag from the lias at lyme, in the collection of mrs. murchison, bearing on its surface undulating lines of growth similar to those on the surface of fig. . the ink is exposed at c. c.; in other parts it is surrounded by the sheath, e. e. e. · nearly one-half of this sheath retains the appear- ance of horn, whilst the other half is highly na- creous. this interchange of condition, from horn to brilliant nacre, occurs in almost every specimen from the lias at lyme, in which the ink bag is ac- companied only by the flexible anterior sheath, and the calcareous sheath has perished. (original.) : figs. . . . . ink bags from the lias at lyme, partially surrounded by brilliant nacre. in one of the spe- cimens represented in pl. " is the least trace of the calcareous sheath of the belemnite preserved. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) plate .* v. i. p. et seq. fig. . limulus americanus (leach,) a young speci- men from honduras, one-third of nat. size. b. right compound eye magnified. b. two single • the following letters are applied in pl. and pl. , to correspond- ing parts of different animals. a. the shield; a'. lateral portion of the shield; b. the eye; b. eye magnified; ". frontal eyes; c. the back; d. the tail; e. branchiæ. explanation of plate . eyes in front of the shield. see v. i. p. . (ori- ginal.) fig. . view of the under surface of fig. , showing the crustaceous legs beneath the shield (a,) and the swimming feet bearing the branchiæ (en) beneath the body (c.) scale, one-seventh of nat. size. fig. . e'. swimming feet, (see fig. e,) enlarged to the scale of fig. . fig. . e". posterior surface of one of the swimming feet, bearing the fibres of the branchiæ. (original.) fig. . front view of magnified figure of branchipus stagnalis. . b. the left eye mounted on a peduncle. . b'. the right eye still more magnified. (original.) fig. . side view of branchipus stagnalis, nat. size. fig. . magnified view of the back of branchipus stag. nalis. see v. i. p. . (original.) fig. . view of the back of a serolis from senegal, given by m. dufresne to dr. leach. see v. i. p. . (original.) fig. . view of the under surface of fig. , showing the union of crustaceous legs with the membranous branchiæ, e.* (original.) fig. . magnified view of the branchiæ at fig. , e. fig. . back of asaphus caudatus, from dudley, in the collection of mr. stokes. (original.) fig. . side view of the left eye of fig. , is magnified. fig. '. another eye of asaphus caudatus, in the col- lection of mr. bright, from the w. side of malvern hill. in the front of this fossil are circular depres- sions on the stone, from which the petrified lenses have fallen out; on each side, the lenses remain in their natural place. (original.) * figs. , , and , are from original drawings by mr. curtis in the col- lection of mr. c. stokes. explanation of plate . fig. . anterior segment of the left eye of fig. , still more highly magnified, to show the circular lenses set in their respective margins, each surrounded by six minute tubercles. (original.) fig. '. magnified view of a portion of the eye of caly- mene macrophthalmus. (hoeninghaus.) fig. . under surface of the anterior portion of the shield of asaphus platycephalus, from lake huron. a unique specimen, showing at f. an entrance to the stomach, analogous to that in recent crabs. see geol. trans. n. s. vol. i. pl. . (stokes.) plate . v. i. p. et seq. fig. . . . calymene blumenbachii, from the tran- sition limestone of dudley. a. the shield cover- ing the head. a'. lateral portion of the shield, separated by a suture from a.; the central part of this suture forms the lateral margin, or rim of the cavity of the eye. this margin is composed of two parts, united to receive the lens, like the rims that enclose the edges of the glasses, in a pair of spectacles. the lens has usually fallen out from the eyes of fossils of this species, as often happens after death in the eyes of the recent grapsus pictus, and also in the common lobster. b. the eye. c. the dorsal portion, composed of articulating plates, that move on one another like the plates of a lob- ster's tail. d. the tail. fig. . side view of the animal rolled up like an oniscus. (scharf.) fig. . view of the back of the animal expanded for swimming; the tail d, is composed of plates that had no moveable articulations. (original.) fig. . front view of the same animal rolled up; the vol. ii.— explanation of plate ". argillaceous schist, sufficiently hard to be used for building. nat. size. (v. i. p. , note.) even the skin, hairs, and pores of the tracheæ of this animal are preserved. - in the same stone are many carbonized fragments of vegetables, and on the right of the body is a large fossil nut (a ;) this side of the animal has been laid open by cutting away the stone. (stern- berg.) . lower surface of the same animal, discovered in splitting the stone in search of fossil plants; nat. size. near the point of the right claw, is a fragment of the tail of another and larger scorpion. (see pl. ", fig. .) we have here also the side of the same nut that is seen in fig. . a. this trifid nut exhibits traces of the structure of the outer coating in which it was enclosed. (sternberg.) . magnified representation of the head and eyes. see v. i. p. . (sternberg.) . magnified jaw, armed with teeth, and partially covered with minute hairs. (sternberg.) . hairs on fig. , highly magnified. (sternberg.) . magnified representation of a portion of the skin, con- sisting of two divisible layers. see v. i. p. . (sternberg.) . magnified impressions of muscular fibres connected with the legs. (sternberg.) plate ". v. i. p. . fossil insects, arachnidans, and limulus. the following description of the insects represented in this plate is founded on information received from mr. curtis and mr. samouelle. explanation of plate ". v. l. of a nodule of iron ore from coalbrook dale. p. .* (original.) parently a fragment of the proboscis; the legs are all imperfect; the thorax is very large, and only its inferior surface is visible, being exposed by the removal of the pectoral portion of the trunk; this surface is covered with irregular indentations, which represent the hollow interior of a series of spinous tubercles, and verrucose projections on the back of the thorax. in the centre of the thorax is a compound depression larger than the rest, indicating the presence of a corresponding projection on the back. among living curculionidæ irregular tubercles and projections of this kind occur on the thorax of the brachycerus apterus. the left elytron only is distinctly visible, embracing with its margin the side of the abdomen; its outer surface is irregularly and minutely punctate. two spinous tubercles project from near its posterior extremity, and a cor- responding tubercle from the extremity of the right elytron. similar spines occur on the elytrons of brachycerus; and of some curculionidee of n. hol- land. the abdominal rings are very distinct, i shall designate this insect by the provisional name of curculioides presvicii, m. audouin exhibited at the meeting of the naturforscher at bonn, in september, , a beautiful wing of a neuropterus insect, in a nodule of clay iron stone, apparently also from the neighbourhood of coalbrook dale, which had been purchased at the sale of parkinson's collection by mr. man- tell, and transmitted by him to m. brongniart. this wing is nearly three inches long, and closely resembles that of the living corydalis of carolina and pennsylvania; it is much broader and nearly of the length of the wing of a large dragon fly. * several specimens of this species are in the collection of mr. wm. anstice at madely wood, our figure is taken from a cast or impression of the back of the animal in iron stone, in which the transverse lines across the abdominal segment are not very apparent; other specimens exhibit deep transverse flutings, externally resembling the separate segments of the back of a trilobite, but apparently not dividing the shell into more than one abdominal plate, nor admitting of flexure like the articulating segments of a trilobite. the transversc depressions on the back of the second segment of the body * explanation of plate ". figs. – . elytra of insects in the oolitic slate of stones- field. mr. curtis considers all these to belong to the family buprestis. (original.) fig. . leg of an insect in the stonesfield slate, oxon, considered by mr. curtis to be that of a curculio.* (original.) fig. . a fossil fly from the fresh-water formation of aix in provence, in the collection of mrs. murchison, mr. curtis considers this fly to be of the same spe- cies with one of those engraved in fig. of his plate of insects from this locality, in jameson's journal, oct. . (originala) although it agrees with no living genus, he thinks it undoubtedly belongs to the family of tipulidæ, of this animal, form a character wherein it approaches nearer than the living limulus to the structure of trilobites. the articulation of the long awl. shaped tail with the body in fig. , and in other specimens is very distinct. this limulus is the entomolithus monoculites of martin, (petrifacta derbi. ensia, tab. , fig. .) and belinurus bellulus of könig, (icon. sect. pl. xviii. no. .) m. parkinson, org. rem, iji. pl. xvii. fig. , has figured a similar fossil from dudley, in iron stone of the coal formation. * mr. rr. c. taylor mentions the occurrence of the wing covers of beetles in the shale of the danby coal pits, in the eastern moorlands of yorkshire. this shale has nearly the same place in the oolitic series as the stonesfield slate. see loudon's mag. nat, hist. v. iii. p. . in the private collection of dr. de siebold at leyden, i saw in oct. , o most beautiful and unique specimen of buprestis, from japan, about an inch long, converted to calcedony. even the antennæ and portions of the legs are distinctly preserved. in the same collection are fragments of solicified trees, bored with tubular cavities, apparently by the larvæ of animals of this kind.; and within these cavities, a quantity of dust, produced by the boring, was observed by m. brongniart to be converted to calcedony. from this circumstance we may conjecture that the perfect inscct was lodged in a similar tube, when it hecame transformed into calcedony. the surface of this insect is covered with clusters of minute concentric rings of calcedony (orbicules of brong- niari) so common in silicified fossil shells. explanation of plate . and is nearly related to the genus bibio, which is now widely distributed, being common in europe, and in n. and s. america. see curtis brit. ent. vol. iii. pl. . this fossil presents the under surface of the animal. fig. . a fossil spider from the miocene fresh-water formation at aix, in provence, in the collection of mrs. murchison ; the under surface of the animal is presented, and the little tubercles near the hinder part of the abdomen are papillæ of the spinning organs, apparently, protruded by pressure. see kirby and spence, introduction to entomo- logy, th edit. vol. i. p. ; and herold, von der erzeugung der spinnen im eie, tab. . figs. . . . r. (original.) fig. . from a drawing by m. cotta of the fragment of a larger scorpion, which is slightly delineated in pl. ', fig. , near the forceps of the smaller and more perfect scorpion figured in that plate. i received this drawing from count sternberg, in august, , (original.) a. dorsal scales of the abdomen. b. caudal segments. c. intestinal canal.? d. fragment of intestinal canal.? plate .* v. i. p. , note. fig. and . copied in part from the restoration of the bradford, or pear encrinite (apiocrirites rotundus) in miller's crinoidea, pag. . pl. , in fig. . the arms are expanded, and in fig. . nearly closed. * much value is added to this and the following plates, relating to crinoi- dea, by their having been engraved (except pl. .) by a naturalist so con- versant with the subjects, a mr. james sowerby, explanation of plate . the length of the jointed flexible stems has been taken from some entire stems in the collection of mr. chaning pearce of bradford, near bath. two young individuals are attached to the calcareous pedicle or base of the largest specimens. (miller.) fig. . a. represents the remedial effect of calcareous secretions in repairing an injury of the joints of the stem. (miller.) fig. . pyriform body of apiocrinites rotundus, show- ing at its upper extremity the internal disposition of the bones surrounding the cavity of the stomach. (original.) fig. . vertical section of another pyriform body, show- ing the cavity of the stomach, and a series of lower cavities, or hollow lenticular spaces, between the central portions of the enlarged joints of the upper portion of the vertebral column. miller considers these spaces as enlargements of the alimentary canal, which descends through the axis of the entire co- lumn. the surfaces of the joints of the vertebral column are striated with rays, which articulate with corre- sponding rays on the adjacent plates, and allow of flexure without risk of dislocation ; locking into one another nearly in the same manner as those figured in pl. . figs. . . . (original.) fig. . restored figure of acinocrinites, -dactylus, copied from miller's crinoidea, page , pl. . fig. . (see v. i. p. . note.) b. base and fibres of attachment. d. auxiliary side arms.* * these side arms afford a beautiful example of mechanical adap- tations and compensations, which are thus described by mr. miller explanation of plate . · fig. . body of apiocrinites -dactylus (nave encrinite of parkinson) copied from miller's crinoidea, p. . pl. . (see v. i. p. . note.) q. pectoral plates. r. capital plates. x. orifice of the mouth, or proboscis, capable of elonga- tion for sucking in food. fig. . another body of a nave encrinite, drawn by mr. j. sowerby from a specimen in the british museum. the same is figured by parkinson, in his organic remains, vol. ii. pl. xvii. fig. . the lateral pro- jections are the commencement of the side arms. this specimen has been corroded with acid, and consequently has lost the superficial corrugations and in his admirable monograph on crinoidea, p. . "the mechanism of the joints of the side arms, where these insert into the column, is well worthy of notice, particularly in old specimens. in the earlier stage of their for: - mation, the side arms being very short, and having then little weight, a less firm mode of adhesion to the column than becomes requisite at a sub- sequent period, being then sufficient, we no not find more than one joint lodged in a socket, or concave impression on the column; but when increase of size renders a stronger support necessary, two or three suce ceeding joints of the side arms become embedded in this socket, (for which its extension as already noticed allows room) and these joints instead of being arranged in a series branching off at right angles from the column, become oblique, their direction inclining upwards, so as to aid in bearing the additional weight. the first joint of the side arms, where thus ob. tiquely inserted in the columnar socket, have that portion of their circum. ference which is presented towards the upper part of the column, trun. cated, in such a curve as may fit them to the concavity of the impression where they rest against it. the surface of these joints, which fit into the columnar impression, is smooth, being destined for adhesion only, but the articulating surface between the contiguous joints, where motion also is to be allowed, ex. libits the usual mechanism of radiated ridges and furrows. these joints are convex on the side nearest the column, and concave on that most re. mote. explanation of blates . . tubercles which appear on the surface of fig. . (original.) x. orifice of the mouth. plate . v. i. p. . lily encrinite, (encrinites moniliformis,) from the mus- chel kalk, near gottingen; in the cabinet of the marquis of northampton. (original.) vii. plate . v. i. p. . note. all the figures in this plate except fig. , are taken from the petrefacten of dr. goldfuss, pl. liii. and pl. liv. they are so fully explained in our vol. i. p. and notes, as to supersede the necessity of any farther de- tailed description. fig. . restoration of the body and vertebral column of encrinites moniliformis. fig. . base of attachment. fig. . portion of the summit of a vertebral column. (original.) fig. . longitudinal section of fig. . magnified. (see vol. i. p. . note.) figs. , , , joints from different parts of the vertebral column, showing the manner in which the articu- lating surfaces are crenulated to admit of flexure. figs. , , . vertical sections through the axis of figs. , , . showing the forms of the internal cavity for the alimentary canal. – . profile and view of the articulating surfaces of joints, from various parts of the vertebral column. (see v. i. p. . note.) th explanation of plate plate . v. i. p. , et seq. fig. . fragment of the upper portion of encrinites moniliformis, showing the exterior of the body, arms, and fingers nearly closed around the ten- tacula. from a specimen belonging to mr. stokes. (original.) k. arms. m. hand. n. fingers. fig. . another fragment of the upper portion of the same species, reduced one-third, showing the sum- mit of the column, the exterior of the body, arms, and fingers, and the manner in which the tentacula are folded when the animal is closed. see v. i. p. . note. (copied from parkinson's organic re- mains, vol. . pl. xiv. fig. .) fig. . side view of one finger, with its tentacula, (gold- fuss, pl. liv.) fig. . interior of the body. see v. i. p. . note. (miller, p. . pl. ii.) Æ. column. e. pelvis first costal plate second costal plate. h. scapula. fig. . articulating surface of the base. (goldfuss, pl. liv.) fig. . dissection of the scapula. see v. i. p. , note. (miller.) fig. . dissection of upper costal plates. (miller.) fig. . dissection of lower costal plates. (miller.) fig. . dissection of pelvis. (miller.) fig. . summit of vertebral column. (miller.) fig. - . articulations of the plates composing the explanation of plates . . abdominal cavity. see v. i. p. . note. (copied from miller's crinoidea, p. . pl. iii.) plate . v. i. p. , and . fig. . pentacrinites briareus, (nat. size) on a slab of lias from lyme regis, covered with a large group of the same animals, in the collection of the geolo- gical society of london. (original.) fig. . rare and beautiful specimen of briarean penta- crinite, from the lias at lyme regis, in the collec- tion of mr. johnson, of bristol, showing the plated integument of the abdominal cavity, terminated up- wards by a flexible proboscis, and surrounded by the commencement of the arms and fingers. this part of the animal is very seldom preserved. see v. i. p. . (original.) plate . v. i. p. . fig . recent pentacrinus caput medusæ, from the bottom of the sea, near the i. nevis, in the w. in- dies, reduced from the figure in miller's crinoidea, p. , pl. i. in the front of this figure, two of the arms with their hands and fingers are much smaller than the others, and show that these ani- mals, when mutilated, have the power of reproducing lost parts. d. auxiliary side arms, articulating at distant intervals, - with the vertebral column; these also, when muti- lated, are reproduced. . first costal plate. second costal plate. h. scapula. i. interscapulary joint. explanation of plate . miller's description of this recent type, of a family of which a few individuals only have hitherto been found, affords examples of many very delicate and beautiful mechanical contrivances, which throw im- portant light on corresponding parts of the fossil species of this, and of kindred genera that abound in strata of the secondary series, and more especially in the lias. (see v. i. pp. . . .) fig. . pentacrinus europæus, discovered in the cove of cork, and on other parts of the coasts of ireland, by j. v. thompson, esq. (see v. i. p. .) in this figure several individuals in different stages of de-. velopment, adhere by the base of an articulated column to the stem of the coralline. fig. '. one of the individuals magnified and fully ex- panded. see v. i. p. . mr. j. v. thompson has more recently conjectured that the pentacrinus europæus, which in early life is fixed by its stem to other bodies, is produced from the ovum of the comatula, and becomes afterwards detached, and forms a perfect comatula, capable of moving freely in the ocean; at one time crawling amongst sub-marine plants, at others floating, or swimming like medusæ. (see proceedings of royal society, london, june, .) fig. . small briarean pentacrinite, adhering to a frag- ment of jet from the lias at lyme regis. (see v. i. p. , note.) fig. . fragment of the column of pentacrinites sub- angularis. the vertebræ are nicely articulated to admit of flexure without risk of dislocation. the uppermost joint d. shows the lateral cavities for the articulation of auxiliary side arms. (goldfuss. pl. · lii. f. g.) fig. . vertical section of fig. . in this fig. and in vol. ii.- explanation of plate . fig. , the joints are of three degrees of magnitude ; those at a. being the largest, those at c. the smallest and thinnest, and those at b. of an intermediate size. the edges of c. appear at the surface only upon the salient portion of the column, fig. . (see v. i. p. , note.) figs. , , , , , . portions of the vertebral column of pentacrinites basaltiformis. , , , show the stellated crenulations on the articulating facets of different parts of the column; , , show the tuber- cles on the exterior of each columnar joint, for the attachment of cortical contractile fibres. . d, shows the articulating facets of the auxiliary side arms. (goldfuss.) fig. . articulating facet of a columnar joint of penta- crinites scalaris. (goldfuss. pl. lii. . h.) fig. . fragment of a column of the same species. the joint d. bears sockets for the articulation of the side arms. the other joints have large tubercles for the attachment of cortical fibres. (goldfuss, pl. lii. . p.) fig. , , , . articulating surfaces of joints in different parts of the column in pentacrinites sub- angularis. the mechanism of each star seems dif- ferently disposed, to modify the amount of motion required at their respective places in the column. the tubercular surfaces between the rays or petals of the star indicate the action of the intervertebral contractile fibres. (goldfuss, pl. lii. . m. n. . p.) plate . v. i. p. , note, et seq. fig. . . upper parts of two nearly entire specimens of briarean pentacrinite, projecting in high relief from the surface of a slab, nearly two inches thick, explanation of plate . and entirely composed of a mass of petrified ossicula of the same species of pentacrinite. the surface of these fossils is covered with a delicate film of iron pyrites, which gives them the appearance of beauti- ful bronze. (original.) . continuation of the stem of fig. . . portion of the stem of fig. . the length of these stems when entire, was three or four times that of the fragments here remaining. upon the stem ”, nearly all the side arms retain their places in the grooves on each side of the salient angles of the pentagonal column; they diminish in size as they approach its upper extremity. this is also distinctly seen at the upper end of the column of fig. . first costal plate. second costal plate. fig. . portion of a third column retaining nearly all its auxiliary side arms in their natural place. ; fig. . continuation of the same column deprived of the side arms. fig. . portion of another column, with traces of a few side arms rising from the lateral grooves. fig. . continuation of fig. . fig. . fragment of another column, the joints of which are so much bent without dislocation, as almost to give the column the appearance of a spiral disposi- tion. fig. . body of a briarean pentacrinite and summit of its column, showing the interior of the ossicula that surround the abdominal cavity. e. pelvis. first costal plate. from a specimen in the oxford museum. (original.) fig. . fragment of a column in the collection of mr. j. sowerby, showing the oblique articulation of the explanation of plate . base of the side arms, with the larger joints of the vertebral column. see v. i. p. . note. (original.) fig. . magnified section of a portion of a column in the oxford museum. the joints, as in pl. , fig. , , and in pl. , figs. , , are alternately thicker and thinner; with a third, and still thinner joint interposed between them. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) fig. . nat. size of fig. . fig. . portion of a column, showing the manner in which the edges of the thinnest plates, c, are visible along the salient angles only. in the intermediate grooves the thicker plates, of the first and second sizes, a, b, overlap and conceal the edges of the thinnest plates, c. the principle of this mechanism is the same as pentacrinites subangularis, pl. , figs. , , and in encrinites moniliformis, pl. , figs. , ; but the circular form of the column in the latter, causes the smallest plate, c, to be visible around its entire circumference. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) the bases of two side arms are seen in two of the grooves, articulating with the uppermost large joint of this column. on other large joints are seen the sockets from which similar side arms have fallen. figs. , , , , . various stellated forms on the articulating surfaces of vertebræ, preserved in the dislocated mass beneath figs. , . these petal- shaped, and crenated rays were probably adapted to produce various degrees of flexibility, according to their respective places in the column. the small vertebra on fig. , is derived from another indi- vidual. (original.) the aperture at the centre of all these vertebræ was for the passage of the alimentary canal, which explanation of plati miller considers to have sent off ten branches at every joint, five to the interior and five to the exte- rior of the petals. fig. . one of the largest auxiliary side arms. some of these contained more than joints. see v. i. p. . (goldfuss.) a, b, c, represent different forms of the joints at different parts of the side arms, with their nicely adjusted ar- ticulating surfaces. figs. , , a, b, &c. various modifications of the arti- culating surfaces of the joints composing the fingers and tentacula. (goldfuss, pl. li.) fig. . magnified extremity of one of the tentacula. the last two joints form a very delicate pair of pin- cers to lay hold on its prey. (original.) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . caryophyllia arbuscula, nat. size, with the ani- mals expanded. (mem. du mus. d'hist. nat. tom. , pl. , f. .) fig. . the animal of fig. . magnified; as seen from above. fig. . vertical section of the cup of meandrina laby- rinthica, with the animal placed within it. (mem. du mus. d'hist. nat. tom. . pl. , b.) fig. . a. the common actinia, or sea anemone, ex- panded. b. the same contracted within its external skin. (encyc. method. pl. . .*) fig. . madrepora gyrosa. (ellis. zooph. tab. , fig. .) * this animal has no calcareous cell, but contracts itself into a tough fleshy sac, see fig. . b. at a. the tentacula are represented in a state of expansion. some of these polypes present the same display of bril- liant colours as many of these which construct persistent calcareous cells. explanation of plates . . fig. . section of the animal of meandrina viridis, and of the coral in which it is placed. fig. . animals of meandrina limosa as seen from above, and magnified ; they are placed in confluent stellated cells similar to those in fig. . fig. . one of the same, seen in profile, with the edges of its coralline plates behind the tentacula. (mem. du mus, d'hist. nat. tom. , pl. . .) fig. . caryophyllia smithii, from torquay. nat. size. fig. . the same, with its animal partially expanded, within the centre of the coral. fig. . the animal expanded and seen from above. (zoological journal, vol. . pl. .) płate . vol. i. p. . fig. . a. b. c. trunk, and dichotomous branches of a fossil tree, lepidodendron sternbergii, found in the roof of a coal-mine at swina, in bohemia. (stern- berg, tab. i.) fig. . the extremity of a branch with leaves attached to it, from ten to twelve inches long. * (sternberg, tab. ii.) fig. . extremity of another branch, with indications of fructification somewhat resembling a cone. (stern- berg.) plaȚe . v. i. p. , et seq. extinct plants from the coal formation.. fig. . copied from a sketch by mr. sopwith, of the base of a large trunk of sigillaria standing in , in the cliff at bog hall, near newbiggin, on the * by an error in copying this figure the branches are made too broad in proportion to the leaves, explanation of plate . coast of northumberland. this fragment is about five feet high, and two feet three inches in diameter at its base.* scale one-twenty-fourth. (sopwith.) . fragment of the bark on the trunk of a sigillaria, from earl fitzwilliam's coal-mine at elsikar, near rotherham. in this mine many large trunks are seen inclined in all directions, and some nearly ver- tical. (see v. i. p. , note.) the bark is converted into a thin lamina of coal, and remains attached to the lower portion of this specimen. it exhibits on its outer surface scars formed by the articulations of the bases of leaves; these are penetrated near their centre by three apertures for vessels that passed from each leaf into the trunk. the decorti- cated upper part of this specimen presents an im- pression of its striated internal surface, and exhibits beneath each scale two oblong parallel apertures, through which the vessels from a leaf penetrated the trunk. scale one-half. (original.) the substance of the trunk must have been in a state of decay, before the mud, which is now har- dened into shale, could have entered the interior of the bark. when trunks of this kind are inclined at an angle exceeding °, they are usually dis- tended with sand-stone, or sandy shale; when at a less angle than °, they are most commonly com- pressed, and have only a thin flat portion of shale, formed of indurated mud within their bark. the bark, wherever it has not perished, is converted to coal. . articulating leaf-scar on the exterior of the bark of another large trunk of sigillaria from elsecar. nat. * m. ad. brongniart found a stem of sigillaria in a coal-mine at essen in westphalia, which was dichotomous near its top. explanation of plate . size. on comparing this scar with those upon the bark of fig. , it may be seen that the different modes of articulation of the leaves with the cortical integument present obvious characters, on which specific distinctions may perhaps most easily be esta- blished, in this very obscure and curious family of extinct plants. see various figures of these leaf- scars in lindley and hutton's fossil flora, plates . . . . . &c. in figs. , and ', as in many other species, decurrent lines are visible on both sides of the scar. (original.) fig. . ulodendron allanii, (nobis) scale one-fifth. see v. i. p. . note. drawn from a plaster cast of an impression on sand-stone, in the museum of the royal society of edinburgh from the coal formation at cragleith. this sand-stone has formed a natural mould on the outer surface of a stem, which has entirely perished; our cast gives a fac-simile of the small rhomboidal scales, and of three large round scars on the exterior of the trunk. this impression has been figured, in an inverted position, by mr. allan in vol. ix. trans. royal soc. edin. . pl. xiv. p. . (original.). our figure represents the trunk in its natural position. in the centre of each scar is a cavity, indicating the place of attachment of a cone. the upper portion of each scar is marked with furrows, produced by pressure of the long radiating scales at the bottom of the cone. this pressure has nearly obliterated the smaller rhomboidal scales of the bark, in those parts where the furrows are deepest; on the lower portion of the scars, the scales of the bark have been but slightly modified by pressure of the cone. explanation of plate . fig. . a single scar formed by the attachment of a cone of another species, ulodendron lucasii, (nobis,) dis- covered by mr. lucas in the s. wales coal field near swansea. some scales and speared-shaped leaves of the trunk are still preserved around the mar- gin of this scar. as the bark has fallen off, we have only the impression of its inner surface. this sur- face exhibits small apertures, through which vessels entered from beneath the bark-scales into the trunk. on the upper part of the disk, the traces of many of these vessels have been obliterated by pressure of the cone. scale one-fourth. (original.) fig. . ulodendron stokesii. (nobis.) a large oval scar, ( inches in its longer, and } inches in its shorter diameter) preserved in shale from an unknown lo- cality in the english coal formation. on the margin of this scar are the remains of rhomboidal scales, and impressions of scales, and a few small leaves. within the disk a few fragments only of the bark remain near its upper margin. near its centre, is the mark of the insertion of the stem of a large cone. the lower half exhibits a series of small tubular cavities, marking the place of vessels which passed from the bark into the trunk, one beneath each of the bark-scales that have fallen off. in the upper half of the scar, there are but slight traces of these cavities, and the surface is marked with furrows, produced by pressure of the long radiating scales of the base of the cone. scale one- fifth. (original.) · fig. . ulodendron rhodii. (nobis.) scar on a scaly stem, from the coal field of silesia, figured by rhode in his beitrage zur pflanzenkunde der vorwelt, l. . pl. . fig. . the lower portion of this scar explanation of plate . retains the bark-scales modified by pressure of the strobilus or cone that grew from the centre of the disk. the upper portion of the scar is without in- dications of bark-scales, and is covered with radi- ating furrows, impressed on it by the long slender scales of the base of the strobilus, which have obli- terated the bark-scales.* , the character of this scar approaches to that of fig. , but its proportions differ, measuring inches in the longer, and inches in the shorter diameter. the scaly bark (which in fig. has been almost en- tirely removed from the area of the scar,) is pre- served on the lower portion of the disk of fig. . scale two-ninths. (original.) fig. '. cast of ulodendron conybearii (nobis) formed by pennant sand-stone of the coal formation at staple- ton near bristol. this cast expresses the exact form of an oval scar, or cavity on a stem from which a cone had fallen off. the disk is covered with slight ridges and furrows, radiating in all directions from the point of insertion of the cone, and formed by pressure of its lowest scales upon the portion of the stem to which it was attached. beneath the point of insertion, a few small * the portions above and below the line drawn across fig. , are copied from two scars in rhode's figure. rhode considers these impressions to be flowers, and the compressed bark-scales to be the petioles of the flower, and has represented the trunk in an inverted position. as, in every species of ulodendron which we have seen, the furrows pro- duced by scales at the base of the cone, are deepest on the upper portion of the scar, we infer from this circumstance that the cone were inclined up. wards and inwards, with their axis approximating to that of the stem from which they issued explanation of plate . fig. . longitudinal sections of araucaria excelsa, show- ing polygonal disks, in double and triple rows, on the surface of the longitudinal tubes. some of the tubes are without disks, as in all conifera. fig. . transverse section of araucaria excelsa. a. portion of concentric annual layer. fig. . radiating and concentric structure of a branch of pinus, as seen by the naked eye in a transverse section; the microscopic reticulations are omitted (see v. i. p. . note.) a. a. concentric annual layers, indicating periodical growth. fig. . longitudinal section of pinus, showing the rela- tive positions of the longitudinal vessels and medul- lary rays. a, longitudinal vessels, forming the woody fibres. b, medullary rays. plate . v. i. p. . sections exhibiting the silicified remains of coniferæ and cycadeæ, in their native bed, between the portland and purbeck stone, on the coast of dorsetshire. fig. . appearance of trunks and roots of large coni- ferous trees, and of trunks of cycadites, in the black earth, which formed the soil of an ancient forest in the isle of portland. (de la beche.) fig. . remarkable concentric ridges of stone, around the erect stump of a fossil tree in the isle of port- land. see v. i. p. . note. (henslow.) fig. . inclined position of the petrified stumps of large coniferæ, and of the bed of black mould and pebbles in which they grew, near lulworth cove, on the coast of dorset. (buckland.) vol. ii.- explanation of plate plate . v. i. p. . cycas revoluta, producing buds from the axillæ of the scales, or persistent bases of leaves that form the false bark. drawn from a plant in the conservatory of lord grenville at dropmore, . plate . v. i. p. . fig. . zamia pungens, with its fruit, as it grew at walton on thames, , in the conservatory of lady tankerville. (lambert.) fig. . transverse section of the trunk of zamia horrida, from the cape of good hope. (buckland.) fig. . transverse section of a young trunk of cycas revoluta. see geol. trans. lond. . n. s. vol. ii. pt. . pl. . (buckland.) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . silicified trunk of cycadites megalophillus, from the dirt bed in the isle of portland. (original.) fig. . portion of the base of fig. . sce v. i. p. , note. (original.) in plates , , a represents the central mass of cel- lular tissue. b the single circle of radiating woody plates. c the circle of cellular tissue, surrounding b. and d the case or false bark, surrounding c. and in pl. , fig. , b, represents a second circle of radiating woody plates. plate . v. i. p. , note. fig. . silicified trunk of cycadites microphyllus, from the isle of portland with numerous buds rising from the axillæ of the petioles. (original.) i explanation of plate . figs. , . vertical sections of agatised petioles, com- posing the false bark on the trunk of cycadites microphyllus, and of embryo buds. in the bud, fig. . d. the division between the two woody circles is not distinct. in fig. '. d. it is very obvious ; but the intermediate circle of cellular tissue is repre- sented only by a fine line. see v. i. p. , note, and p. , note. (original.) . in the sections of pl. , figs. , , and pl. , the fol- lowing letters are used to indicate the same parts. a, cot- ton, or down; b. integument of petioles or scales; c, bun- dles of vessels ; d, woody circles; e, imperfect woody circles ; f, cellular tissue; g, embryo bud; h, gum ves- sels.* plate . v. i. p. , note. fig. . longitudinal section of a petiole of zamia spiralis magnified two times. it exhibits four bundles of vessels passing longitudinally through the cellular tissue, which is interspersed with gum vessels. v. i. p. . (original.) a. transverse section of fig. , magnified, and showing the irregular disposition of the bundles of vessels. (original.) c'. magnified view of one of the bundles of vessels at a, c. (original.) b.c". magnified transverse section of a bundle of vessels in the petiole of zamia horrida. (original.) fig. . longitudinal section of a portion of an agatised petiole of cycadites microphyllus, from portland, magnified four times. the down or cotton at a, is * these very beautiful and instructive sections were presented to me by mr. witham, being portions of a trunk which i had placed at his disposi- tion. explanation of plate . most beautifully preserved, and the integuments of the petiole b, longitudinal vessels e, and gum vessels f, correspond with those in fig. . see v. i. p. , note. (original. *) fig. . transverse section of a portion of the lowest petioles, in pl. , fig. , b, c, magnified four times. the disposition of the bundles of vessels is nearly · parallel to the integument of the petiole.f d, magnified portion of the double woody circle, within the embryo bud, pl. . fig. . d. d' more highly magnified portion of the embryo double woody circle d. c'. more highly magnified section of one of the bundles of vessels, adjacent to c. these bundles of vessels, exhibit, in their transverse sec- tion, a series of minute tubes, arranged in rows, and be- tween these rows, opaque plates of compressed cellular tissue, resembling portions of medullary rays. the fibrous structure of the integument is preserved in several parts of b. see v. i. p. , note. (original.) * mr. robert brown has noticed in the cellular tissue of a silicified trunk of cycadites, portions of calcedony bearing the form of extravasated gum within the trunks of recent cycadeæ, he has also recognised spiral vessels, in the laminated woody circle of a mature trunk of fossil cycadites, and also in the laminated circle within a silicified bud of the same, near its origin. † a familiar example of a nearly similar disposition of bundles of vessels, passing into the petiole or leaf-stalk, may be seen in the base of the fresh fallen leaves from a horse-chestnut tree, or in the scars on a cabbage-stalk from which leaves have fallen off. explanation of plate . plate .* v. i. p. . fig. . recent pandanus, of s. america, twenty feet high, , with its fruit attached. (mirbel.) fig. . fossil fruit of podocarya, from the interior oolite, near charmouth, dorset. great part of the surface is covered with a stellated epicarpium; the points of many seeds project in those parts (e) where the epicarpium is wanting. (original.) fig . reverse of fig. . showing the seeds placed in single cells ( ) around the circumference of the fruit. these seeds stand on a congeries of foot-stalks (d) composed of long fibres, which terminate in the re- ceptacle.(r) the surface of the receptacle is studded over with small disks, in which these foot-stalks ori- ginate. (original.) fig. . base of the same fruit, showing the transverse section of the receptacle (r,) and the summits of many abortive cells on the left side of the receptacle. (original.) fig. . a single seed of podocarya converted to carbo- nate of lime, nat. size. (original.) fig. . the same magnified. (original.) fig. . transverse section of a seed magnified. two lunate marks, of a darker colour than the other part, appear near its centre, f'. see fig. , and the mid- dle of fig. . (originala) * explanation of letters of reference. a. stellated tubercles, each one covering the apex of a single seeda b. sections of the seed cells. . bases of cells of which seeds have fallen. d. fibrous foot-stalks between the seeds and receptacle. e. apices of seeds uncovered. f. transverse section of seeds. * explanation of plate . fig. . magnified portion of fig. : showing a withered stigma in the centre of each hexagonal tubercle (a ;) beneath these tubercles is a longitudinal section of the single cells (b,) each containing one seed (f;) and in front of these cells are the hollow bases of other cells (c, c) from which seeds have been re- moved. (original.) fig. . another magnified portion, showing the apices of many seeds (e) from which the epicarpium has been removed. (original.) fig. . another magnified portion, showing at a, b, c, more distinctly the same parts as at fig. ; and at d, the upper portion of the fibrous foot-stalks beneath the bases of the cells, c. (original.) fig. . summit of one of the drupes or groups of cells into which the fruit of the recent pandanus is di- vided; showing a hexagonal disposition of the coro- nary tubercles, each bearing at its centre the re- mains of a stigma, as in the podocarya. see figs. . . (original.) fig. . exterior of a single seed-cell of pandanus odora- tissimus. (jaquin. frag. bot. pl. .) fig. . section of a drupe of pandanus odoratissimus. the central cell containing a seed, is placed between two abortive cells. at the apex of each cell in this drupe (a) is a withered stigma. (roxborough coro- mandel. pl. .) figs. , . sections of a drupe of pandanus odoratis- simus, showing the seeds within the prolific cells surrounded by a hard nut. beneath this nut is a mass of rigid fibres like those beneath the seeds of podocarya. (jaquin.) fig. . summit at the hexagonal tubercle at the apex of a cell of pandanus humilis, with a withered stigma in the centre. (jaquin. frag. bot. pl. .) , explanation of plates . . fig. . side view of another tubercle of the same spe- cies. (jaquin. frag. bot. pl. .) plate . v. i. p. . fig. . fossil leaf of a flabelliform palm from the gyp- sum of aix in provence. (brongniart.) fig. . upper portion of the fossil trunk of a tree allied to palms (nearly four feet in diameter,) from the calcaire grossier at vaillet, near soissons, preserved in the museum d'hist. nat. at paris. see p. . note. (brongniart.) eneza dora plate . v. i. p. . fig. . section across the wednesbury coal basin from dudley to walsall. (jukes.) the extensive iron foundries which cover the sur- face of this district, and the greater part of the manufactures in the adjacent town of birmingham, originate in the coal and iron ore, with which the strata of shale in this coal basin are richly loaded. the dudley limestone here found immediately below the coal formation, occurs usually at a much greater depth in the series. the mountain lime- stone, old red sand-stone, and ludlow rocks, are here wanting. (see pl. , fig. .) fig. . section showing the basin-shaped disposition of the carboniferous strata in s. wales. (rev. w. d. conybeare.) the richest beds of coal and iron ore are placed almost immediately above the mountain limestone. (see pp. , .) it is to this district that our posterity must look for their future supplies of coals, and transfer the site of their manufactures, when wer ma explanation of plate . the coal fields of the northern and central parts of england shall be exhausted.* fig. . section of inclined carboniferous strata, overlaid unconformably by horizontal strata of new red sand-stone, lias, and oolite, in somersetshire. this section illustrates the manner in which car- boniferous strata have been elevated at their extre- mities around the circumference of a basin, and de- pressed towards its centre, and also intersected by fractures or faults. see v. i. pp. , . in section , , of this plate, no notice is taken of the faults which intersect the coal basins. plate . v. i. p. , note. fig. . section of the strata composing the silurian system, and the lower part of the carboniferous system, on the frontiers of england and wales. (murchison.) fig. . appearance of faults intersecting the coal for- mation near newcastle-on-tyne, copied from a portion of one of mr. buddle's important sections of the newcastle coal field, in the transactions of the nat. hist. society of northumberland, v. i. pt. , pl. xxi. xxii. xxiii. the advantages * the lower and richest beds of this coal district are not only raised to the surface, and rendered easily accessible around the external margin of the basin, but are also brought within reach in consequence of another im- portant elevation, along an anticlinal line, running nearly e. and w. through a considerable portion of the interior of the basin, in the direction of its. longer diameter. + i feel it a public duty to make known an act of mr. buddle, which will entitle him to the gratitude of posterity, and has set an example, which, if ge- nerally followed in all extensive collieries, will save the lives of thousands of unfortunate miners, that must otherwise perish for want of information, which can, at this time, be easily recorded for their preservation. this eminent engia explanation of plate . resulting from these interruptions of the continuity of the strata are pointed out in pp. , . a large portion of the surface of these strata near newcastle is covered with a thick bed of diluvial clay interspersed with pebbles, in the manner re- presented at the top of this section. the effect of this clay must be to exclude much rain water that would have percolated downwards into the coal mines, had strata of porous sand-stone formed the actual surface. plate . v. i. p. . fig. . represents the case of a valley of denudation in ncer and coal viewer has presented to the natural history society of new- castle, copies of his most important plans and sections, accompanied by writ- ten documents, of the under ground workings in the collieries near that town, in which all those spaces are carefully noted, from whence the coal has been extracted. every practical miner is too well acquainted with the danger of approaching ancient workings in consequence of the accumulation of water in those parts from which coal has been removed. the sudden irruption of this water into a mine adjacent to such reservoirs is occasionally attended with most calamitous and fatal results. see history of fossil fuel, the col. lieries and coal trade, . p. et seq.. the dictates of humanity which prompt us to aid in the preservation of human life, nu less than the economical view of rendering available at a future time the residuary portions of our beds of coal, which will not now repay the cost of extracting them, should induce all proprietors and other persons connected with coal mines, and especially engineers and coal viewers, to leave to their successors a legacy, which will to them be precious, by pre- serving minute and exact records of the state of the coal in their respective districts. it can, however, scarcely be expected, that such measures will be generally and systematically adopted throughout the many coal fields of this country, unless the subject be legislatively taken up by those official persons, whom it behooves, as guardians of the future welfare of the nation, to institute due measures, whilst the opportunities exist, for preventing that loss of life and property, which a little attention bestowed in season, will pre- serve to posterity. explanation of plate . stratified rocks, terminated abruptly by a cliff on the sea-shore; this figure is intended to illustrate two causes of the production of springs by descent of water from porous strata at higher levels; the first, producing discharges in valleys of denudation, along the line of junction of porous with imperme- able strata ; the other, by the interruption offered to descent of water by faults that intersect the strata. the hills a, c, are supposed to be formed of a permeable stratum a, a', a", resting on an imper- meable bed of clay b, b', ". between these two hills is a valley of denudation, b. towards the head of this valley the junction of the permeable stratum a, a', with the clay bed b, b', produces a spring at the point s.; here the intersection of these strata by the denudation of the valley affords a perennial issue to the rain water, which falls upon the adjacent upland plain, and percolating down- wards to the bottom of the porous stratum a, a', accumulates therein until it is discharged by nume- rous springs, in positions similar to s, near the head and along the sides of the valleys which intersect the junction of the stratum a, a', with the stratum b, b'. see v. i. p. .* the hill c, represents the case of a spring pro- duced by a fault. h. the rain that falls upon this hill between h, and d, descends through the porous stratum a", to the subjacent bed of clay bu, * the term combe, so common in the names of upland villages, is usually applied to that unwatered portion of a valley, which forms its continuation beyond, and above the most elevated spring that issues into it; at this point, or spring head, the valley ends, and the combe begins. the conveniences of water and shelter which these spring-heads afford, have usually fixed the site of the highest villages that are planted around the margin of elevated plains. explanation of plate . the inclination of this bed directs its course towards the fault h, where its progress is intercepted by the dislocated edge of the clay bed b', and a spring is formed at the point f. springs originating in causes of this kind are of very frequent occurrence, and are easily recognised in cliffs upon the sea-shore.* in inland districts, the fractures which cause these springs are usually less apparent, and the issues of water often give to the geologist notice of faults, of which the form of the surface affords no visible indication. see. v. i. p. , note. fig. . section of the valley of pyrmont in westphalia, a cold chalybeate water rises in this valley at d, through broken fragments of new red sand-stone, filling a fracture which forms the axis of elevation of the valley. the strata are elevated unequally on opposite sides of this fracture. see v. i. p. . (hoffmann.) explanation of letters referred to in this figure. a. keuper. b. muschel kalk or shelly limestone. c. variegated sand-stone. d. cold chalybeate springs rising through a fracture on the axis of elevation of the valley. m. the muhlberg, feet above the sea. b. the bomberg, feet above the sea. p. pyrmont, feet above the sea. fig. . section reduced from thomas's survey of the mining district of cornwall ( ; it exhibits the * * three such cases may be seen on the banks of the severn near bristol, in small faults that traverse the low cliff of red marl and lias on the n. e. of the aust passage. see geol. trans. n. s. vol. i. pt. ii. pl. . explanation of plate . manner in which the granite and slate near red- ruth are intersected by metalliferous veins, ter- minated abruptly at the surface, and descending to an unknown depth; these veins are usually most productive near the junction of the granite with the slate, and where one vein intersects another. the mean direction of the greatest number of them is nearly from e. n. e. to w. s. w. they are inter- sected nearly at right angles by other and less nu- merous veins called cross courses, the contents of which usually differ from those of the e. and w. veins, and are seldom metalliferous. the granite and killas and other rocks which in- tersect them, e. g. dikes and intruded masses of more recent granite, and of various kinds of por- phyritic rocks called elvans (see pl. , a . b. c.) are considered to have occupied their present relative positions, before the origin of the fissures, which form the metalliferous veins, that intersect them all. (see v. i. p. .* * in vol. i. p. , note, a reference is made to some important obser- vations by mr. r. w. fox on the electro magnetic actions which are now going on in the mines of cornwall, as being likely to throw important light on the manner in which the ores have been introduced to metallic veins. the following observations by the same gentleman in a recent communi- cation to the geological society of london, (april, ,) appear to contain the rudiinents of a theory, which, when maturely developed, promises to offer a solution of this difficult and complex problem. “ if it be admitted that fissures may have been produced by changes in the temperature of the earth, there can be little difficulty in also admitting that electricity may have powerfully influenced the existing arrangement of the contents of mineral veins. how are we otherwise to account for the re. lative positions of veins of different kinds with respect to each other, and likewise of their contents in reference to the rocks which they traverse, and many other phenomena observable in them? copper, tin, iron, and zinc, explanation of plate plate . v. i. p. . section showing the basin-shaped disposition of strata belonging to the tertiary and cretaceous formations, in the basin of london, and illustrating the causes of the rise of water in artesian wells. see v. i. p. . note. (original.) in combination with the sulphuric and muriatic acids, being very soluble in water, are, in this state, capable of conducting voltaic electricity; so, if by means of infiltration, or any other process, we suppose the water to have been impregnated with any of these metallic salts, the rocks containing dif. ferent salts would undoubtedly become in different or opposite electrical conditions ; and hence, if there were no other cause, electric currents would be generated, and be readily transmitted through the fissures containing water with salts in solution; and decompositions of the salts and a trans. ference of their elements, in some cases, to great distances, would be the na- tural result. but, on the known principles of electro-magnetism, it is evi. dent that such currents would be more or less influenced in their direction and intensity by the magnetism of the earth. they cannot, for instance, pass from n. to s. or from s. to n. so easily as from e. to w. but more so than from w. to e. the terrestrial magnetism would therefore tend, in a greater or less degree, to direct the voltaic carrents through those fissures which might approximate to an east and west bearing, and in sepa- rating the saline constituents, would deposite the metal within or near the electro.negative rock, and the acid would be determined towards the electro. positive rock, and probably enter new combinations. or, the sulphuric acid might, by means of the same agency, be resolved into its elements; in which case the sulphur would take the direction of the metal, and the oxy. gen of the acid, and in this way, the metallic sulphurets may have probably their origin; for, if i mistake not, the metallic sulphates, supposing them to have been the prevailing salts, as at present, would be fully adequate to supply all the sulphur required by the same metals to form sulphurets; in- deed more than sufficient, if we deduct the oxide of tin, and other metalli- ferous oxides found in our mines. the continued circulation of the waters would, in time, bring most of the soluble salts under the influence of these currents, till the metals were in great measure separated from the solvents, and deposited in the east and west veins, and near the rocks to which they were determined by the electric currents." in a letter to the author upon this subject (june , ,) mr. fox farther remarks: vol. ii.- explanation of plate . plate . v. i. p. . fig. . theoretical section, illustrating the hydraulic conditions of strata disposed in the form of basins. see vol. i. p. , note. (original.) fig. . theoretical section, showing the effect of faults, and dikes on water percolating inclined and permea- ble strata. see vol. i. p. , note. (original.) fig. . double artesian fountain at st. ouen, near paris, raising water to supply a canal basin, from two stra- ta at different depths. the water from the lowest stratum rises to the greatest height. see v. i. p. . note. (hericart de thury.) "it should be observed that in proportion as the deposition of the metals proceeded, the voltaic action must necessarily have been considerably aug. mented, so as to render it highly probable that the metals were chiefly de- posited at rather an early period in the history of the containing veins; and their intersection by other veins seems to strengthen this probability.” mr. fox has found by experiment that when a solution of muriate of tin is placed in the voltaic current, a portion of the metal is determined towards the negative pole, whilst another portion in the state of an oxide passes to the positive pole. this fact appears to him to afford a striking illustration of the manner in which tin and copper have been separated from each other in the same vein, or in contiguous veins, whilst these metals also very commonly occur together in the same vein. inde x. acrodos, a genus of fossil sharks, i. use of their foliated edges, i. - . -compound internal arches, i. actinocrinites, .dactyles, miller's -siphuncle, organ of hydrau. restoration of, i. . lic adjustment, i. -siphuncle, adapis, character and place of, i. occasional state of preservation, . i. -siphuncle, placed differ- agassiz, his recognition of the scales ently from that of nautili, i. - of fishes in coprolites, i. -on siphuncle, dr. prout's analysis of, causes of the death of fishes, i. i. -air chambers, more com- -on origin of colulites, i. plex in ammonites than in nautili, -on glaris turtle, i. his i. -ammonites, how different classification of fishes, i. -do. from nautili, _von buch's cuments consigned to him by theory of, i. —uses of lobes and cuvier, i. —his new orders of saddles in, i. —concluding ob. fishes, i. , -geological re- servations upon, i. , -pro- sults established by, i. –his bable place of heart in, ii. . new arrangement of monte bolca anarrhicas, palatal teeth of, i. . fishes, i. —his discovery of be. animals, final cause of their crea. lemnites with ink.bags, i. —on tion, i. _lower classes of, pre. the bilateral structure of radiated dominate in earlier strata, i. - animals, i. . extinct races, how connected with agnostus, a genus of trilobites, i. existing species, i. —causes of . their sudden destruction, i. - aichstadt, pterodactyles found at, i. small number adapted for domes. . tication, i. -terrestrial, how aix, fossil fishes of, i. . buried in strata of fresh-water,and allan, mr., his paper on antrim be. marine formation, i. . lemnites, i. . animal enjoyment, one great object amber, fossil resin from lignite, i. of creation, i. , . . animal kingdom, four great divi. amblypterus, fossil genus of fishes, i. sions of, coeval, i. -early rela. . tions of, i. . ammonites, formed by cephalopo. animal life, extent of upon our dous mollusks, i. —character. globe, i. -progressive stages of, istic of different formations, i. i. -remains of in secondary -geological distribution of, i. strata, i. . -geographical ditto, i. — animal remains, most instructive extent and number of species, i. evidences in geology, i. –pre. _size of, i. –sub-genera served chiefly by agency of water, of, i. -shell composed of three i. . parts, i. -external shells, i. annelidans, fossil remains of, i. . , -outer chamber con. anning, miss, her discovery of ink tained the animal, i. -double bag within horny sheath of be- functions of shell, i. -contri. lemnite, i. -her discoveries vances to strengthen shells, i. at lyme regis, passim; her ob- - -ribs, architectural disposi. servations on connexion of lignite tion of, i. -transverse plates, with pentacrinites near lyme, i. index. . beette, converted to calcedony from bothrodendron, character of, i. . japan, ij. . boyle, mr., on distinct provinces of beetle stones, from coal shale, near natural and revealed religion, i. edinburgh, i. . . beginning, meaning of the word in bradford, apiocrinites found at i. gen, i. . i. , -proofs of in . phenomena of primary stratified branchipus, how allied to trilobites, rocks, i. —-conclusions respect. i. , . ing necessity of, i. -existing braun, professor of carlsruhe, his and extinct species shown to have list of the plants of eningen, i. , had, i. , , -geological evi. et seq. dences of, i. , . brentford, artesian wells at, i. . belcher, captain, his observations on broderip, mr., his observations on iguanas, i. . living iguanas, i, , —on belcher, captain, ammonites found new species of brachiopodo, i, – by, in chili, .. on crustaceans from the lias at belemnites, geological extent of, i. lyme, i. . —writers on the subject of, i. brongniart, m. alexandre, his ac- —structure and uses of, i. - count of the basin of paris, i. - a compound internal shell, i. – his history of trilobites, i. – chambered portion of, allied to on erect position of trees, in the nautilus and orthoceratite, i. coal formation of st. etienne, i. ink bags connected with, i. – , . causes of partial preservation of, i. brongniart, m. adolphe, his divi. _its analogy to shell of nauti. sions of submarine vegetation, i. lus and to internal shell of sepia, . _divisions of the fossil equi- —large number of species of, i. setacæ, i. -classification of fos- sil ferns, i. -observations on belemno-sepia, proposed new family fossil coniferæ, i. —on plants of cephalopods, i. . of the grès bigarré, i. –on bentley, his contradiction of the cpi. plants of the secondary forrnations, curean theory of atoms, i. . i. . bermudas, strata formed by the ac- brora coal in oolite formation at, i. tion of the wind in, . , . berkeley, bishop, on sensible demon. brougham, lord, on religious end of stration of the existence of an invi: study of natural philosophy, i. sible god, i. . . bible, reveals nothing of physical brown coal, character and extent of, science, i. . i. . birds, extent of fossil remains of, i. brown, mr. robert, on distribution of _fossil footsteps of, in connee living ferns, i. –discovery of ticut, ii. . gymnospermous structure of coni. blainville, m., his memoir on be feræ and cycadeæ, i, _his sed- lemnites, i. -his reasoning tion of a stem of cycas revoluta, i. respecting belemnites confirmed, i. _his discovery of fossil spiral . vessels, i. _name of podocarya blomfield, bishop, on connexion of suggested by i: -his discovery religion and science, i. . of fossil spiral vessels and traces of bohemia, plants preserved in coal extravasated gum in fossil cyca- mines of, , . dites, . . bonn, brown coal formation near, i. bruckmann, m. von, his description . and application of artesian wells, i. bolany, its importance to geology, i. , . . · brunel, mr. jun., his experiment in boué, m., his map of europe in ter a diving bell, i. . tiary period, i. . brussels, fossil emys at, i. . * index. bückeberg, coal in oolite formation at, cestracion philippi, i. _bony i. , . spine of, i. . buckingham, duke of, plesiosaurus cetacea, remains of, in pliocene strata, in his collection, i. . i. . buddle, mr., his observations on uti- chalmers, dr., his views respecting lity of faults, i. -his deposite of the mosaic cosmogony, i. -con- plans and sections of coal mines siderations of the geological argu- in the museum at newcastle, ii. ment in behalf of a deity, i, , . . bude, strata of drifted sand at, i. . chaos, word borrowed from the . greeks, its meaning vague and buds petrified on trunks of cycadites, indefinite, i. . i. , chambered shells, proofs of design buenos ayres, megatherium found in, i, , -why particular. near, i, , . ly selected, i. -delicate hy. bufonites, teeth of pycnodonts, i. draulic instruments, i. -ex • . amples of retrocession in animal burchell, mr., his observations on the structure, i. -genera of al- scales of serpents, i. . lied to nautilus and ammonite, i.. burdie house, fossil fishes and plants . at, i. . chantrey, sir francis, drawing made burnet, his opinion on the mosaic by, with fossil sepia, i. . cosmogony, i. , , cheropotamus, character and place of, i. . caithness, fishes in slate of, i, . chimera, fossil species discovered by calamite, gigantic size and character the author, ii. . of, i, . chirotherium, footsteps of in saxony, calymene, i. . i. -described by dr. hohn. cansiadt, artesian wells at, i, , baum and prof. kaup, i. - cardomom, fossil in i. sheppey, i. probably allied to marsupialia, i. , -accompanied by other tracks, cardona, salt in cretaceous formation i. , near, i. . chlamyphorus, habit and distribu- carnivora, numerous in ploicene tion of, —fore.foot adapted for strata, i, . digging, i, -armour of, like carnivorous races, benefit of to her. that of the megatherium, i. , bivorous, i. , . , causes, five, chiefly instrumental in cicero, bis argument against the producing the actual condition of epicurean theory of atoms, i. the globe, i. . . caves, remains of animals found in, cinnamomum, in brown coal near i, . bonn, i, , cephalopods, carnivorous, their use in cleremont, limestone of, loaded with submarine economy, i. _their indusiæ, i, . extent in different formations, i. cleveland, imperfect coal in onlite fora . mation of, i. , . central heat, theory of, consistent climate, heat of, indicated by fossil with the phenomena of the surface plants and animals, i. -gra. of the globe, i. . dually decreasing temperature of, i.. centrina vulgaris horny dorsal . spines, i. . clio borealis, swarms of in northern cestracionts, sub-family of sharks, i. ocean, i. , , -extent of, i. -only living closeburn, gigantie orthoceratite representative of, i. . found at, i. . index coal formation, forster's section of, of the vertebræ in ichthyosaurus, i. -iron ore and lime in, i. — i. -his remarks on the pad. its origin and importance to man, dles of ichthyosaurus, i. -his i. . restoration of plesiosaurus, i. coal, proofs of its vegetable origin, -his inferences concerning plesio. i. , -complex history of, saurus, i. , _his observa- i, -stages in the production tions on faults, , . and application of, i, —tertiary coniferæ, date of their commence. brown coal or lignite, i. , et ment, i. -microscopic struc. seq-proofs of design in the dispo. ture of, i. -peculiarities in sitions of, i, -grand supply structure of, i. —geological from strata of the carboniferous extent of, i. , —fossil re- order, i. -physical forces em. ferable to existing genera, i. - ployed to render it accessible to fossil stems in erect position, i. man, i, , -advantage of its -wood of, perforated by tere. disposition in basins, -thick dines, i. , ness of beds of, i, -remarkable consolidation of strata, partly by accumulation of, i. -associated aqueous partly by igneous action, with iron ore, i. , -adapta. i. . tion to purposes of human indus. try, i. , —inestimable im coprolites, description of, i. – extensive occurrence of, i. portance of, i. -mechanical found in skeletons of ichthyosau- power derived from, i. , - improvident and gratuitous de. ri, i. -marks of mucous mem- brane on, i. —formation ex- struction of near newcastle, i, plained, note, -indicate the -early adaptation of to the uses of food of ichthyosauri, and charac. man, i. . ter of their intestinal canal, i. collini, pterodactyle figured by, i. -derived from fishes in vari. . ous formations, i. —polished cololites, fossil intestines of fishes dis. for ornamental purposes, i. - covered by professor agassiz, i, conclusions from discovery of, i. found by lord greenock in -in coal formation near edin. coal, near edinburgh, i. , burgh, i. --preserved in body comatula, habits of, and resemblance of macropoma, i. . to pentacrinile, i. , . coral, secreted by polypes, i. — combe, definition of the term, ii. reefs, i. —their influence in . the formation of strata, i. – conchifers, inferior to mollusks fossil, inference from their state, i. that construct turbinated shells, -rag, extent of, in counties of . i. . oxon, bucks, wilts, and york- conchology, important to geology, i, shire, i. . - . corn-cockle muir, tracks of tortoises connecticut, fossil footsteps of birds birds at, i. . in, ii. , cony beare, rev. w, d., his sections cornwall, amount of steam power across england, i. —his report employed in, i. —invasions on geology to british association, of by drifted sand, i. -dis. i. -his memoir 'and map of position of metallic veins in, i. . europe, i. —prospective provi. ' sions for the benefit of man, i. corydalis, wing of, found in iron -selections from his plates of ich. stone, of the coal formation, i. thyosauri, i. , -his observa –ii, . tions on the lower jaw of ichthyo. cosmogony, mosaic, the author's in- saurus, i. --on the articulation terpretation of, i. . index. cotta on fossil arborescent ferns, i. cuvier, his, conclusion that organie . life has not existed from eternity, crag, in norfolk, geological place of, i. —his account of the basin of i. . paris, i. —his account of disco- craters, various phenomena of, ii. . veries at mont martre, i. — creation, mosaic account of, accords consigns his materials for a work with natural phenomena, i. — on fossil fishes to m.. agassiz, i. origin of material elements by, i. , —his conjecture concern. . ing plesiosaurus, i. —had ob. creator, necessity of, shown by geo served nearly , species of logy, i. ., living fishes, i.. —perfection of crinoideans, geological importance his reasoning on contrivances and of, i. , -nature and charac compensations in the structure of ter of, i. -most remarkable animals, i. . genera of, i. -living species cycadeæ, abundant in strata of the rare, i. -abundance and im secondary series, i. , — portance of fossil species, i. , number and extent of recent and -anatomical structure of, i. fossil species, i. -leaves fossil —reproductive powers of, i. in oulite of yorkshire and, at -early extinction of many stonesfield, i. —in coal forma- species and genera, i. . tion of bohemia, i. -habit and crocodileans, fossil forms of, i. structure of, i. —intermediate slender character of snout, i. — character of, i. —fossil on the habit probably pisciverous, i. . coast of dorset, i. -peculiari- crocodiles, modern, habits of, i. ties in structure of trunk of, i. , -gavial, gangetic, piscivorous, i. -mode of increase by buds, i. -functions of fossil species, i. -link supplied by the disco. _cuvier's observations on, i. very of, i. . -number of living and fossil cycadites, once natives of england, species of, i. --dentition, pro. 'i. -microphyllus, microscopic visions in mode of, i. fossil structure of, , —megolo. forms of, at variance with all the phyllus, buds in axillæ of scales, ories of gradual transmutation or i. —resemblance of fossil and development, i. . living species, i. . crustaceans, extent of fossil remains cycas revoluta, buds on trunk of, i. of, i, . -circinalis, height of, i. . crystalline rocks, influenced by. che. cycloidean order of fishes, i. . mical and electro-magnetic forces, cypris, microscopic shells of, in i. -eight distinct varieties of, i. wcalden formation, i. -in coal —their position beneath stra. formation near edinburgh, i. . tified rocks, i. –probable igne. ous origin of, i. -gradations in dapedium, scales of, . . character of, i. -proofs of inten- d’alton, his figures of megatherium, tion in phenomena of, i. - i. .. proofs of design afforded by, i. darmstadt, remains of mammalia in . museum at, i. . crystals, definite forms and composi. darwin, mr. c., megatherium found tion of, i. , -component by, ii, -his observations on the molecules of, i. , . cordilleras of chili, i. , , ctenoidean order of fishes, i. . daubeny, dr., on cause of thermal curculionidæ in iron stone of coal. springs, i. -on indivisibility brook dale, i. . of ultimate particles of matter, i... cuttle fish, structure and habits of, . i. --internal ink bag of, i. days, supposed to imply long. pe- . riods, i. . all alumiputatud h index. dax, shells found at, i. . of, ii. —proboscis and claws of, death, sudden, desirable for irra. ii. . tional animals, i. . dirt bed, soil of subterraneous forest dekay, dr., discovered coprolites in in portland, i, . new jersey, i. . disturbing forces, beneficial results de la beche, his belief in successive of, i. , , . creations of new species, i. - d’orbigny, m. his classification of his figures of ichthyosauri, i. , cephalopodous mollusks, i. — -on different specific gravity trilobites and shells found in the of shells, i. -observations on andes by, i. . i living polypes of caryophyllia, , draco volans, has no true wings, i. -observations on genera of , . corals in transition rocks, i. . dufrénoy, on iron mines in the pyre- deluge, mosaic stratified rocks not nees, i. . produced by, i. . dujardin, new class of rhizopodes depression, proofs of in i. portland, discovered by, ii. . i. . dumfries, fossil footsteps near, i. deshays, his division of tertiary . strata, i. . duncan, dr., his discovery of fossil desnoyers, m., on faluns of tour footsteps near dumfries, i. . raine, i. . durdham down, remains of reptiles desmarets, memoir on fossil crusta. at, i. . ceans, i. . durham, salt springs in coal forma. detritus, origin of strata' from, i. , tion near, i. . development, theory of disproved by dynamics, geological, extent of, i. geological phenomena, i. – . theory of opposed by cuvier, i. -definition of, i. , . earth, distribution of the materials dikes, intersect strata of every age, of, i. —theory of, much ad. i. -gradations of from lava to vanced, but not yet perfect, i. — granite, i. -various crystalline two distinct branches of its his- rocks composing, ii. -changes tory, i. -originally fluid from produced by, on adjacent rocks, heat, i. -advantageous dispo- ii. . sitions of its materials, i. . dillwyn, mr., his paper on tracheli. earthquakes, beneficial agency of pods, , . in the economy of the globe, i. diluvium, animals immediately pre- . ceding the formation of, i. . echidna, has furcula and clavicles dinotherium, largest of terrestrial like ornithorhynchus, i. . mammalia, i. , —found at echinidans, geological extent of, i. epplesheim, in miocene strata, i. , . -description of by kaup, i. egerton, sir philip, his discoveries -occurs in france, bavaria near newcastle-under-line, i, and austria, i. -molar teeth -on mechanism of atlas and cer. of like tapirs, i. -giganteum, vical vertebræ of ichthyosaurus, ii. eighteen feet long, i, -shoul. - . der blade of, like that of a mole, eggs, fossil, of aquatic birds, i. . i. -uses of tusks in the lower elements, identity and functions of, jaw of, i. , -molar teeth i, —proofs of design in, i. – of resemble those of tapirs, i. ever regulated by same laws, i. -an aquatic herbivorous ani. _primordial adaptations of, i. mal, i. , -adapted to a -adaptation of to vegetables lacustrine condition of the earth, and animals, i, . i, -localities and description elevation, general history of, ii. - index. . dry lands formed by, i. -proofs faluns, of tourraine, mammalia of in i. portland, i. , . found in, i. . elevations, number observed by elie faraday, mr., notice on preparing de beaumont, ii. -various peri- the human lungs for diving, i. ods of, ii. . ellis, mr., his conclusions from the faujas, m., observations on fossil , study of corallines, i. . trees in lignite near cologne, i. emys, fossil, localities of, i. . . encrinites, moniliformis, lily encri. faults, on geometrical laws of, i. nite, i. , -mechanical adap -utility of, in draining coal mines, tations in, i. -number of com. i. – -definition of, by mr. ponent ossicula, i. —vertebral cony beare, i. , -utility of, column, mechanical contrivances in guarding coal mines, i. - in, i. - —body and upper utility of, in producing springs, i. extremities, i. —physiological , , -utility of, in pri. history of, i. , . mary rocks and metallic veins, i. endogenites echinatus, fossil trunk , . allied to palms, i, , . favularia, character of, i. . engi in glaris, fishes of, i. . ferns, distribution and number of england, effects of geological struc. existing species, i. , -pro- ture on inhabitants of, ii. . portion of, to living phanerogamiæ, enjoyment, aggregate of increased i. —temperature indicated by by existence of carnivora, i. , fossil species, i. —proportions . of in the coal formation, i. – enstone, cetacea in nolite at, i. . living and fossil arborescent spe. entomolithus paradoxus, i. . cics of, i. , —proportions entomostracans, fossil, i, . of, in secondary and tertiary strata, entrochi, or wheel stones, columnar i. . joints of encrinite, i. . final causes, consideration of admis. eocene, division of tertiary strata, i. sible in philosophical investiga. . tions, i. . equisetaceæ, extent of the family of, fire, its rank in geological dyna. i. -fossil genera of, i. — mics, i. . increased enlargement in size of, fisher, mr., figures prepared by, i. —fossil species in coal for ii. . mation, i. . fishes, fossil, causes of sudden death, equivocal generation, disproved in of, i. , -sudden destruc- case of infusoria, i, , . tion of in lias formation, – ernouf, general, his account of hu. fossil intestinal structure of, i. man skeletons at gaudaloupe, i. , -coprolites derived from, . i. , -petrified intestines estuaries, admixture of fresh-water of, or cololites, i. -living and marine exuviæ in, i. . species observed by cuvier, i. eternal succession, theory of, dis. —fossil species, history of by proved by geology, i. , . agassiz, i, , -numbers of eternity of the world, disproved by fossil genera and species, i. – geology, i. . classification founded on scales, eyes, fossil, resembling those of ex. i. , -orders of established isting animals, i. —fossil re by agassiz, i. , -geologi. mains of, i. , , , ; cal results derived from fossil structure of, in recent crustaceans fishes, i. -changes in fossil allied to trilobites, i. –physio. genera and families abrupt, i. logical and physicalinferences from fossil most important to geology, structure of, i. , . i. , -sauroid, character index. . of, i. , -sauroid, higher in castle to cross fell, i. –on the scale of organization than ordi. quantity of iron annually made in nary bony fishes, i. -number england and wales, i. . of genera in sauroid family, – fox, mr. r. w., on the utility of sauroid character of living species, faults that intersect metallic veins, i. _sauroid geological extent i. -on electro-magnetic pro- of, i. , -in strata of the perties of mineral veins, i. , carboniferous order, i. —pecu. and ii. –on electro-magnetic liar form of tail in early strata, i. action in mineral veins, ii. – —in magnesia limestone, i. . ' —in muschelkalk, lias and fresh-water, deposites from, in ter- oolite, i. –in the chalk forma. tiary strata, i. , . tion, i. –in the tertiary forma. pries, on propagation of fungi, i. tions, i. --family of sharks, i. . _results from observations on, fucoids, remains of in transition i, -functions of, in the econo strata, i. , . my of nature, i. —form of their fulham, artesian wells at, i. . crystalline lens, i. , . fusion, earliest state of the mate. fissures, site of mineral veins in, i. rials of the globe, i. . , . fitton, dr., on alterations in level of gallibis, skeletons of, at guada. sea and land, i. —his observa. loupe, i. . tions on cypris faba, in wealden ganoidian, order of fishes, i, . formation, i. , —his descrip- genesis, ungrounded fear of incon. tion of fossil cones, i. . sistence with, i. —interpretation fitzwilliam, earl, cycas revoluta in of chap. i. consistent with geologi- conservatory of i. _trunks of cal discoveries, i. -text of, re- sigillaria in coal mines of, at el concilable with geology, i. . secar, i. . geology, extent of province of, i. fleming, dr., on structure of inter: -why but lately established on nal shell of sepia, ii. —his obser. induction, i. , sciences auxiliary vations on fishes in old red sand. to it, i. -its discoveries consist. stone, i. . ent with revelation, i. —reli- flints, origin of, i. . gious application of, i. -subser. flucan, beneficial effects of in viency of to natural theology, mining, i. . ---proofs from, of the existence and fluidity, original theory of, i. . attributes of a deity, , . . georgensgemünd, fossil mammalia footsteps, fossil, near dumfries, i. discovered at, i, . —-preservation of explained, i. gerard, dr., his discovery of am. —on red sand-stone at hess. monites, &c. in the himmalaya, berg, i. —value of their evi. i. . dence, i. _.reflections on, i. glaris, turtle in slate of i. —fossil -on oolite, near bath, probably of fishes at, i. , . crustaceans, i. —recent, of tes. gleig, bishop, his interpretation of tudo græca, i. . mossaic cosmogony, i. , . foraminifers, species of found by globe, successive changes in surface count munster, and mr. lons of, i. —influence of animal re. dale, ii. . mains upon, i. —succession of forest, subterranean, remains of in physical forces which have modi. portland, i. . fied its surface, i. . formations, geological, number and golden cap hill, belemnites at base thickness of, i. . of, i. . forster, mr., his section from new. goldfuss, professor, pterodactyles index. described by, i. , , - henderson, on plants in surturbrand selections of the structure of en. of iceland, i. . crinites from works of, -his henslow, professor, on buds of cycas illustrations of echinidans and stel revoluta, i. . leridans, i. . héricart de thury, illustration of graham island, rise, and destruction artesian wells by, i. , . of, ii. . herschel, sir i. f. w., ranks geology grampus, size and character of, i. next to astronomy, i. , -on . connexion between science and re. granite, recent elevation of, in py. ligion, i. . renees and chili, i. , -pro. hessberg, footsteps in sandstone at, bable igneous origin of, ii. — i. . intersecting and overlying creta. hibbert, dr., his discoveries near ceous formations, ii. -older in edinburgh, i. . tersected by newer, ii. -eleva- hippopotamus, structure of tusks of, tion of during tertiary period, ii. i. . -fragments of, enclosed in lava, hitchcock, professor, his discovery ii. . of footsteps of birds in connecti. gravatt, mr., his experiments in cut, i. -ditto, ii. , _on diving, i. . geological evidences of a creator, graveneire, stream of lava issuing i. —on consistency of geologi. from granite at, ii. . cal phenomena with mosaic ac- greenock, lord, his discovery of count of creation, i. . fishes near leith, i. _his dis. hoer in scania, coal in secondary covery of petrified intestines of a strata of, i. . fish in coal, near edinburgh, i. hoffman, professor, on source of . mineral waters at pyrmont, i. greenstone, veins and overlying . masses of, ii. . home, sir everard, on spinal canal grenville, lord, cycas in conserva- of ichthyosaurus, i. . tory of, i. . hook, dr., his theory respecting the gaudaloupe, human skeletons in motions of nautilus, i. . sandbank at, i. . hopkins, mr., on laws that have re- gyrodus, palatal teeth of, i. . gulated the disturbances of the glube, i. -on production of hall, sir james, his experiments springs by faults, i. . on crystallization under pressure, human bones, found in no geologi. i. . cal formations preceding the ac. halstadt, orthoceratite, found in oolite tual era, i. , -often interred at, i. . in caves containing remains of hamite, character and locality of, i. more ancient animals, i. , – . found in consolidated sand at harlan, dr., on fossil fucoids in guadaloupe, i. -how mixed north america, i. . with bones of ancient and modern harwich, fossil emys at, i. . quadrupeds, i. —in caverns near hauy, his theological interference liege, . from the construction of simple hutton, dr. his theory of the forma. minerals, i. . tion of stratified rocks, i. -of hawkins, mr., his memoirs of ich. veins, i. , . thyosauri and plesiosauri, i. - hutton, mr., his discoveries of ve. plesiosaurus discovered by, i. getable structure in coal, i. , . heat, influence of, in causing eleva. hybodonts, extent of, i, , , tions of land, i. , -not the hybodus, i, . sole cause of the consolidation of hybodus reticulatus, i. . stratified rocks, i. . hydraulic action, of siphuncle in . index. nautilus, i. -ditto in ammo those of the modern iguana, i. nites, i. -ditto in belemnites, —the largest of known fossil rep. i. . tiles, i. , -climate indicated hyenas, bones collected by, in ca. by remains of, i. —teeth, peculiar verns, i. . character of, i. - -bony hylæosaurus discovered by mr. man horn on the nose of, i. —food tell, i. — peculiar character of, of, probably tough vegetables, i. . i. . . hythe, large hamite found at, i. . indusiæ, fossil in fresh-water for. ichthyodorulites, or fossil spines, i. mation of auvergne, i. . _uses and variety of, i. , infusoria, ehrenberg's observations . on, i. , -number of species described, i. —their powers of ichthyosaurus, geological extent and reproduction, i. —their man. chief localities of, i. -curious ners of increase, i. -universal structure of, i. , _number diffusion of, i. –found fossil, i. of species, i. -head, partaking . of the character of crocodiles and injection of igneous rocks at various lizards, i. —-jaw, length of, i. periods, ii. . -teeth, character and number ink bags, recent and fossil of loligo, of, i. , -how differing from i. . crocodiles, i. —contrivances for insects, fossil in carboniferous strata, replacing, i. -eyes, magnitude —wing covers of, at stones- of, i. -eyes, microscopic and field, i. _count munster's col. telescopic properties of, i. lection of from solenhofen, i. eyes, bony sclerotic of, i. , -many fossil genera in tertiary -jaws, composed of many thin strata, i. . plates, i. -jaw, lower, contri. iron, ore abundant in coal forma. vances in i. _vertebræ, num. tion, i. –quantity of, annually ber of, i. -vertebræ constructed made in england and wales, i. like those of fishes, i. -ribs, . structure of, and to what purpose isle of wight, iguanodon found in, i. subservient, i. -sternum like . that of ornithorhynchus, i. - paddles, anterior, like those of jæger, professor, has found copro- whales; posterior, like those of lites in wertemberg, i. —his ornithorhynchus, i. , -con- work on fossil plants, i. . cluding remarks upon, i. , jardine, sir w., fossil foolmarks -intestinal structure of, i. found by, i. . skeleton of, containing coprolite, juli, supposed fir cones, are copro. i. -small intestinal spiral, like lites, i. . that of sharks and rays, i. – final cause of spiral intestinal kaup, professor, notice on the foot. structure, i. –skin of preserved, steps of chirotherium, i, —his ii. -mechanism of atlas and description of fossil mammalia at cervical vertebræ of, ii. – . . epplesheim, i. his description igneous rocks, various phenomena of, of dinotherium, i. , . ii. . kepler, his prayer, i. . iguana, modern, habits of, i. — killery, cemetery in a sand bank at, dentition of, i. . j. iguanodon, discovered by mr. man. king, captain, animal of spirula tell, i. -remains of, where found by, i. –serolis found by, found, i. , —a gigantic her- i. . bivorous reptile, i. -teeth like könig, mr., his account of human vol. ii.- - index. in the tertiary period, i. —his marsupialia, extent and character of, division of the tertiary series, i. i. , . -on fossil indusiæ, i. , . massey's patent log, improvement lyon, captain, on the action of the suggested in, i. . wind in forming sand hills round matter, creation of, announced in extraneous bodies in africa, i. . gen. i. , i. -molecular con- lyme regis, ichthyosauri found at, stitution and adaptations of, de- i. -specimens from described, cidedly artificial, i. -abori. i. -coprolites abundant on the ginal constitution of, exalts our shore of, —plesiosaurus dis ideas of creative intelligence, i. covered at, i. -pterodactyle . found at, , , ---bones of medusæ, numbers of in greenland large sauroid fishes found at, - seas, i. . fossil pens and ink bags found at, megalichthys, new genus of sauroid i. -fossil ink bags found at, i. fishes, i. -localities where . found, i. -farther discoveries of, ii. -structure of teeth of, ii. macropoma, only sauroid fish in . chalk, i. , . megalosaurus, genus established by madrid, skeleton of megatherium at, the author, i. , -where i. . occurring, i. , -size and maestricht, locality of most recent character of, i. -lived upon belemnites, i. . land, i. -medullary cavities mallotus villosus, i. . in bones of, i. _habit carni. mammalia, earliest remains of, i. vorous, i. ~character of jaw -of eocene period, i. -of i. —structure of teeth, i. - miocene period, i. --of pliocene . periods, i. . mega phyton, character of, i. . man, relation of the earth to the megatherium, allied to the sloth, i. uses of, i. -all things not -allied to sloth, armadillo, created exclusively for his use, i. and chlamyphorus, i. -found -prospective provisions for use chiefly in s. america, i. _by of, i. . whom described, i. -larger mansfeld, fossil fishes at, i. . than rhinoceros, i. _head of, mantell, mr., on double convex, like sloth, i. -structure of vertebra of gavial, ii. -fossil teeth, i. , -lower jaw of, birds found by him in tilgate i. _bones of trunk, i. - forest, i, —his history of the peculiarities of vertebræ, i. - wealden formation, i. -refers magnitude and use of tail, i. - juli to coprolites derived from fos ribs apparently fitted to support sil sharks, i. , —mosa. a cuirass, i. -scapula, re. saurus, found by, in sussex, i. – sembling sloth, i. -uses of megalosaurus, found by, in til. clavicle, i. -peculiarities of gate forest, i. -his discovery arm and fore arm, i. -fore. of iguanodon and hylæosaurus, i. foot, a yard in length, i. – -his discovery of petrified sto. fore-foot," used for digging, i. mach and coprolites within fossil _large horny claws, adapted fishes, i, . for digging, i. —peculiarities mantellia, genus of cycadites, named of pelvis, i. –magnitude of by ad. brongniart, i, , foramina for nerves, i. –pe. mansfeldt, fossil fishes of, i. . culiarities of thigh and leg bones, marble, entrochal, composed of cri. i. _hind foot, peculiarities noidea, i. . of, i. -bony armour, like margate, gigantic ammonites near, i. that of armadillo and chlamy. , phorus, i. -probable use of, index. . i. _size, character, and habits, moses, his cosmogony reconcileable i. _farther discoveries of, ii. with geology, i. -object of his account of creation, i. . meisner, lignite of, near cassel, i. mosaic history in accordance with . geology, i. . metale, advantageous dispositions of, mosaic cosmogony, attempts to re- i. , — —important proper. concile with geology, i. . ties of, i. , . mosasaurus, great animal of maes- meyer, herman von, notice of ink tricht, i. —allied to monitors, bags with fossil internal shells of i. , - described by cam- sepia, ii. —on ink bag in con per and cuvier, i. –coeval tact with belemnite, ii. —his with the cretaceous formation, i. description of fussil mammalia _remains of where found, i. of georgensgemünd, i. _his -length and character of, i. notices of fossil crustaceans, i. -teeth, peculiar character of, . i. —vertebræ, number of, i. mineral bodies, proofs of design in, -extremities, character of, i. i. . —character, predicted by cu- milan, bones in museum at, i. . vier, i. —a link between the miller his natural history of cri monitors and iguanas, i. —ha. noidea, i, , , , , , bit, aquatic, i. . . moscow bulletin soc. imp. de, ob- milliola, vast numbers in strata near servations on coprolites in, i. paris, i. . . minerals, proofs of design in compo. moschus pygmæus, tendons in back sition and adaptations of, i. . of, i. . miocene division of tetiary strata, müller, on eyes of insects, &c. i. i. --period, mammalia of, i, . . multilocular shells, extinct genera of, mississippi, drifted trees in delta of, i. . i. . münster, count, foraminiferes dis- mitscherlich, his production of ar. covered by, in maestricht stone, tificial crystals by fire, i. . ii. -bis discovery of mammalia molasse, localities of lignite in, i. at georgensgemünd, i. —ptero- . dactyle described by, i. —his molusca, many genera of, in transition figures of horny sheaths of belem. strata, i. . nites, i. -his collection of mollusks, fossil remains of, i. crustaceans from solenhofen i. naked, fossil remains of, i. . . monitors, character of recent species, murchison, mr., his discovery of i. -type of, enlarged in fossil fishes in old red sand-stone, i. saurians, i. . -silurian system established monpezat, granite enclosed in lava at, by, i. —fishes, &c. found in ij. . wolverhampton coal field by, ii. molecules, successive condition of, . in crystalline bodies, i. , , myliobates, fossil palates of, i. . , monte bolca, vast accumulation of nacre, causes of preservation of, i. fossil fishes at, i. -fishes pe. . rished suddenly, i. -fossil natural religion, addition to its evi. fishes of, i. , -fishes of, rear. dences by geology, i. _links in ranged by agassiz, i. . evidences of supplied by geology, mont martre, list of vertebrata found i. . at, i. _fishes of, i. . nautilus, fossil species peculiar - to morton, dr., mosasaurus found by, in certain formations, i. –de. america, i. . scription of, i. -mechanical index. contrivances in, . —mr. owen's or elytrine in wings of insects, i. memoir on, i. -chambers, act . as floats, i. _siphuncle, its oeland, orthoceratites in limestone functions and mode of action, i. of, i. -lituite found in the same, , , -siphuncle, calcare. i. . ous sheath of, i., —siphuncle, oeningen, plants of, , et seq.- substance of, i. -use of air fossil fishes of, i. , -de. chambers, i., -contrivances to scription of fossil plants, at, by strengthen the shell, i. professor braun, i. - - -number of transverse plates, i.. plants in brown coal formation —action of pericardial fluid, i. at, i. -fossil salamander of, i. - -like that of water in . the water balloon, i. -its man. ogyges, i, . ner of floating, rising, sinking and onchus, i. . moving at the bottom, i. , opossum, remains of in secondary -opinions of hook and. parkinson and tertiary strata, i. -bones of concerning, i, .the author's in oolite at stonesfield, i. . theory, i. . organic remains, best summaries of, nautilus sypho, intermediate charac. . —argument from absence of, ter of i. – .. i. -general history of, i. - nautilus zic zac, intermediate cha. afford evidence of design, i. - racter of, i. – .. important inferences from, i. - nebular hypothesis, consistent with study of, indispensable to geology, geological phenomenon, i. . i. —-successive stages of deposi. nelson, lieut., on strata formed tion, i. -best ground-work of by the wind in the bermudas, i. gcological divisions, i. -supply , deficient links in the existing ani. newcastle, plants preserved in coal mal kingdom, i. . mines at, i. .. orodus, i. . newhaven, nodules of iron-stone ornithichnites, in new red sand-stone containing fishes and coprolites at, of connecticut, ii. . i. . ornithorhynchus, sternal apparatus newton, his religious views resulting like that of ichthyosaurus, i. , from philosophy, i. , . -mr. r. owen’s papers on, i. nichol, "mr., observations on fossil . pinus and araucaria, i. , , orthoceratite, character and extent . of i. , nöggerath, professor, chronometer osseous breccia, in fissures of lime. in fossil wood, observed by, i. stone, i. . . osler, mr., on proboscis of buccinum, norfolk, remains in crag formation i. . of, i. -fishes in crag of, i, . owen, mr., on peculiarities of mar- norland house, aretsian well at, i. supialia, i. –on, comparative . organization of ornithorhynchus north cliff, bones in. fresh-water and reptiles, i. -on bones of formation at, i. . land tortoises, i. -on nautilus nummulites, their extent, and num. pompilius, i. , , , , ber, i. , —functions and ). structure, i. —influence on stratification, i, . pachydermata, existing genera of, in pliocene strata, i. . oberau, granite overlying cretaceous pain, aggregate of diminished by the rocks, at ii. . agency of carnivora, i. . odier, m., his discovery, of chitine, palæotherium, remains of in cal. * index. sil scaphite, character and extent of, i. many strata, i. -turbinated, . formed by animals of higher or- schlotheim, his early arrangement der than' bivalves,, is —fossil of fossil plants, i. . univalve and bivalve, i. , — sciences, geology cssential to ad bored by carnivorous trachelipods, vancement of, i. . i. -specific gravity of, i. – scorpions, fossil in coal formation, bivalve, constructed by conchifers, i. -indicate a warm climate, i. -proofs of design in fossil i. —fossil description of, i. chambered, j.. —conclusions -eyes and skin, preserved, from chambered species, i. – i. , -hairs preserved, i.. foraminated polythalamous, i. . -microscopic, quantity of, in cer. scrope, mr. poulett, his panoramic tain strata, i. -minute multilo. views of auvergne, ii. —on ripple cular, i., . marks and tracks, of animals in sheppey, fossil emys at, i. —fos- oolitic strata, i. –ii., . sil crocodile at, i. —fishes in sea, early history of illustrated by london clay at, i. —-fossil fruits fossil eyes, i: -crowded with found at, i. , .. animal life, i. . sickler, dr., letter on footsteps at secondary strata, history of,.,i. — hessberg, i. . adaptation of to human uses, i. siebold, dr., salamander brought from -materials of, whence derived, japan, by, i. -silicified bupres. i. -nature of materials, i. - tis in collection of, ii. . advantageous disposition of, i. sienite, veins and overlying masses . of, ii. . secondary formations, leading cha. racter of their fossil vegetables, i. · sigillaria, among the largest and . tallest plants of the coal forma- tion, i. —stems occasionally sedgwick, professor, on the kind of information to be looked for in the found erect, i. , –stem oc- bible, i. , -his discovery of casionally divided at the summit, fossil fishes, i. . i. -character and relations of, segregation, theory of veins filled i. , -scars on bark in ver. by, i. . tical rows, i. -number of spe. sellow, m., his use of chinese me. cies, i. . thod of boring wells, i. . silistria, sturgeons in the danube spiostaire, its analogies to belem. near, i. . nite, i. . silliman, professor, his interpretation serolis, its analogies to trilobites, i. of the word beginning, and of the , . days of the mosaic creation, i. . serpentine veins and overlying silurus, spine of, i. . masses of, ii. . serpulæ, attached to belemnites, i. silurian system, its geological place, . and history of its establishment, sharks. antiquity of family of. i. . --recognition of, on the con. -extinct species, numerous, tinent, i. -divisions of, ii. . i. _fossil ieeth of, i. – simple minerals, definition of, i. . fossil spines, or icthyodorulites siphuncle, structure and functions i. -three sub-families, of, i. of in nautilus, i. -arguments -teeth in early families ob- from fossil portions of, i. , tuse, i. —peculiar form of tail, . i. . skiddaway island, bones of megathe. sheerness, artesian well at, i. . rium found in, i. . shells, number of in tertiary strata, sloth, peculiarities in the structure i. -vast accumulation of, in of living species, no imperfec- Índex. tions, i. -adapted to live on -internal structure of, i, trees, i, . probable aquatic habit of, i. . smyth, capt., experiments on mas. st. hilaire, geoffroy de, his new sey's log and bottles sunk in a genera of fossil crocodileans, i. deep sea, i. . . soemmering, professor, pterodactyle st. ouen, artesian well at i. . described by, i. . stones, none have existed in their soldani, his collection of fossil shells present state for ever, i. . in tuscany, i. . stonesfield, mixture of marine and solenhofen, pterodactyle found at, i. terrestrial animals in oolite at, i. , -libellulæ and other in. —pterodactyle found at, i. - sects found at, i. -fossil fishes, megalosaurus found at, i, — of, i. —fossil crustaceans from, scales of testudinata found at, i. i. . —castings of marine worms species, changes of, indicate changes at, i. —remains of marsupialia of climate, i. . found at, i. -rhyncholites speeton, hamites found at, i. . found at, i. . spiders, fossil in jurassic and tertiary stratified rocks, aggregate thickness strata, i. . of, i. . spinax acanthius, horny dorsal spine straus, on eyes of insects, &c. i. of, i. . . spirula, derived from a sepia, i. , sturgeons, functions of living spe- -ii. . cies, i. . springs, how supplied by stratified sublimation, theory of veins filled rocks, i. —origin and impor. by, i. . tance of, i. , _ordinary succession, eternal, of species dis. supply of rivers by, i. --causes proved by phenomena of primary of their production, i. -sup rocks, i. . ply from rain water, i. , – sumner, bishop, his records of crea. systems of, near baths, i. - tor, i. . produced in derbyshire, by faults, superposition, regular order of, in i. -two systems of, originating strata, i. . in faults, i. —local causes of surturbrand, brown coal of iceland, irregularities in, . i. , . squaloids, extent of, . syringodendron, name applied to stark, dr., on changes of colours in many species of sigillaria, i. . fishes, i. . star fish, number of ossicula in i. tankerville, lady, zamia in conser. . vatory of, i, , steam power, prodigious effect of, i. taylor, mr. r. c., on fossil fuci in _amount of, employed in corn. pennsylvania, i. . wall and in england, i. , taylor, mr. i. c., on duty of steam stelleridans, geological commence. engines, i. et seq.-on benefi. ment of, i. –structure of fossil, cial disposition of metals, i, . similar to that of existing species, teleosaurus, genus of, established i. . by st. hilaire, i. –skeleton of steneosaurus genus established by from whitby, i. , st. hilaire, i. . temperature, changes indicated by sternberg, count, his flore du monde fossil vegetables, -proofs of primitif, i. –on cycadeæ and gradual diminution of, i. . zamites in the coal formation, i. tertiary strata, character of, i. % -his discovery of fossil scor character of their fossil vegeta- pions, i. . bles, i. . stigmaria, form and character of, i. testudo græca, recent footsteps of, , -dome-shaped trunk, i. i. . index. . tetragonolepis, fossil species of, i. animals allied to them, i. – . associated with development by theories, huttonian and wernerian, lamarck, . , . trevelyan, mr. w. c., his disco- thompson, mr., pentacrinus euro. very of coprolites near leith, i. pæus discovered by, i. . thomas, mr. r., map and sections trilobites, geographical and geolo- of mining district near redruth, gical distribution of, i. -ge- i. . nera and species of, i. -his- tiedemann, on bones in star-fish, i. tory and structure of, i. — living animals allied to, i. et tilgate forest, reptiles discovered by seq.-eyes. of, i. —physiolo- mr. mantell in, i. . gical inferences from fossil eyes, i. time, lapse of long periods univer. et seq. sally admitted, i. -proof of long lapse of, -proof of lapse of, trygon, fossil in tertiary strata, i. during deposition of strata, i. . torpedo, fossil in tertiary strata, i. tucker, his speculation as to pos. . sible existences in the interior of torre d'orlando, fishes perished sud. the earth, i, —his views of the denly at, i. . relations of the world to man, i. . tortoises, number of existing fami. lies, i. -divisions of fossil ditto, tufa, calcareous, local deposites of, ii. . i. —extent of fossil species, i. — marine species from glaris, turin, bones, in museum at, i, . i. —fossil land species, rare, i. turrilite, character and extent of, i. -footsteps of in scotland, i. . tin ---fresh-water species, locality turtles, fossil, i. , . of, i. . tour, supposed of a foreigner through och ulodendron, character of, i. . england, i. . • unity, geological argument for the tours, artesian wells in chalk of, i. unity of the deity, i. , , . . townsend, mr., on origin of springs, i. . val d'arno, bones in fresh-water trachelipods, two sections of, car. formation of, i. . nivorous and herbivorous, i. vapour, influence of, in causing ele. carnivorous, perforate living shells, vations of land, i. . i. -carnivorous rare before the vegetables, study of fossil impor. tertiary strata, i., -herbivo. tant, i. —recent sub-marine, rous, extend through all strata to divisions of, i. -fossil sub- the present time, i. -carnivo. marine, divisions of, i. -ter. rous succeeded to functions of ex restrial, geological distributions of, tinct carnivorous cephalopods, i. i. -remains of, preserved in , . coal formation, i. -remains of trachyte, character and phenomena in transition strata, i. , – of, ii. . genera, most abundant in coal, i. trap, various phenomena of, ii. . -proportions of families in transition series, history and extent coal formation, i. -remains of, of, i. —strata, character of their in secondary strata, i. —re- fossil vegetables, i. . mains of, in tertiary strata, i. — transmutation of species, disproved numbers of fossil and recent spe. in the case of fishes, i, —the. cies, i. ~characters of, during ory of, opposed by trilobites and the three great geological epochs, index. - -connexion of with weinbohla, sienite, intersecting and physico-theology, i. . overlying chalk at, ii. . veins, mineral, origin and disposi- weis, professor, his account of bones tion of, i. , -most frequent of megatherium, i. -his belief on early rocks, i. -theories re- that the megatherium had armour, specting origin of, i. -appara- i. . tus for production of, i. .gra. wells, causes of rise of water in, i. nitic, intersecting older granite, ii. . -of sicnite, porphyry, serpen. werner, his theory of the formation tine and greenstone, intersecting of stratified rocks, i. —of veins, other rocks, ii. -mineral influ- i. . ence of electro-magnetic action in, wheatstone, professor, on crystals ii. - . produced by electro-chemical ac- vertebrata, represented by 'fishes in tion, i. . the transition formation, i. . whewell, mr., his view of the nebu. volcanoes, present effect of, i. . lar hypothesis, i. . volcanic forces, their effects on the whitby, ammonites from, i. . condition of the globe, i. . wielieska, salt in tertiary formation, volcanic rocks, frequent in tertiary i. . strata, i. —of modern formation, winds, effect in causing undulations ii. . during the formation of stone in voltz, m., on mentellia from lune. portland, i. -effect in forming ville, i. . strata in bermudas and in corn- voltzia, genius of coniferæ in new wall, i. . red sand-stone, i. . witham, mr., his publications on fos. sil conifere, i. , , . watchet, nacre of ammonites pre. worm holes, fossil, i. . served in lias at, i. . waters, not created on the third day of mosaic cosmogony, i. yarrell, mr., on the vision of birds, sources of mineral and thermal in i. . faults, i. . water, its rank in geological dyna. zamia pungens, mode of inflores. mics, i. _supplied to springs by cence, . stratified rocks, i. —its agency zemia spiralis, buds on trunk of, i. in preserving organic remains, i. . -circulation of in metallic zamia horrida, section of trunk of, veins, i. —perpetual circula- i. . tion and functions of, i. . zeiten, m., his description of fossil watt, his experiments on crystalliza pens and ink bags in wirtemberg, tion of bodies cooled slowly, i. . i. . webster, mr., section prepared by, zoology, study of, indispensable to ii. . geology, i. . the end. : trans pl. : vm i w w engr by a haber . restoration of dinotherium, see p. . head of dinotherium giganteum found at epplesheim in . see sup. edote, p. . pps. duval lith phil anoplotherium commune. anoplotherium commune . anopiotherium grauile . palarotherium magnum . palæotheriun minus. au restoration of extinct fossu pachydermata from mont martre near paris . py. anoplotherium commune . anoplotherium gracile : mga manns el ఇందిదికను enoga palæotherium magnum . berwesen palæotherium minus , un co skeletons of fossil pachydermata from the gypsum of mont martre . fig . megatherium. scale of peet. lul fore foot of dasypus peba half nat. sie fore foot of chlamyphorus nat. sixe. menu pi. . iches p armour of megatherium armour of megatherium shoulders of dasypus peba head of chlamyphorus m ii muld bbc huttula chlamyphorus body of chlamyphorus pue tail piece of chlamyphorus miutti utiut dasypus grandis scale of nos , & . feet scale for the teeth. & figs ?& . l foot : pred! v jatiyor. p. . sections of the teeth of megatherium. #nat stie. lab c lola a b c oa la c ol a a c a caudal vertebra of megatherium . ---- --incher - inches. lego ce اللاتکلدانند در promwimmi rosowwwwwwwwwwmwmn uus communis. inches. juccedonix command ichthyosaurus intermedius. pl. . foot.. w oooooo unic cllllclaimer ichthyosaurus tenuirostris. pl. . pl. . vinavian t ravelverum ul foot. u mini mohd roostcw viii ctura tattore trica otvo d vodo toated nature sie k consuliuzind iss zieldi sa