r) 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Received ^-^''i^^ i88^ 
 
 Accessions N'o . ^^ ^^ / Shelf No. _ y^:^ 
 OS- 
 
 mr^A 
 
 CCr- 
 
 %o 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/companionsofmysoOOhelprich 
 
COMPANIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 By ARTHUR HELPS, 
 
 ADTHOR OF " FRIENDS IN COUNCIL," '* REALMAH,'' 
 "CASIMIR MAREMMA." 
 
 From the Seventh London Edition. 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 1878. 
 
^rcajs of 
 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 
 Cambridge. 
 
COMPANIONS 
 
 OF MY 
 
 DE. 
 
 ■\T THEN in the country, I live much alone ; and, 
 ' ' as I wander over downs and commons and 
 through lanes with lofty hedges, many thoughts 
 come into my mind. I find, too, that the same ones 
 come again and again, and are spiritual companions. 
 At times they insist upon being with me, and are 
 resolutely intrusive. I think I will describe them, 
 that so I may have more mastery over them. 
 Instead of suffering them to haunt me as vague faces 
 and half-fashioned resemblances, I will make them 
 into distinct pictures, which I can give away, or 
 hang up in my room, turning them, if I please, 
 with their faces to the wall ; and in short be free to 
 do what I like with them. 
 
6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Ellesmere will then be able to deride them at his 
 pleasure ; and so they will go through the alembic of 
 sarcasm ; Dunsford will have something more to 
 approve, or rebuke ; Lucy something more to love, or 
 to hate. Even my dogs and my trees will be the 
 better for this work, as, when it is done, they will, 
 perhaps, have a more disengaged attention from me. 
 Faithful, steadfast creatures, both dogs and trees ; how 
 easy and charming is your converse with me com- 
 pared with the eager, exclusive, anxious way in 
 which the creations of my own brain, who at least 
 should have some filial love and respect for me, insist 
 upon my attention ! 
 
 It was a thoroughly English day to-day, sombre 
 and quiet, the sky coming close to the earth, and 
 every thing seeming to be of one color. I wandered 
 over the downs, not heeding much which way I 
 went, and driven by one set of thoughts which of 
 late have had great hold upon me. 
 
 I think often of the hopes of the race here, of 
 what is to become of our western civilization, and 
 what can be made of it. Others may pursue science 
 or art, and I long to do so too ; but I cannot help 
 thinking of the state and fortunes of large masses of 
 mankind, and hoping that thought may do some- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. *J 
 
 thing for them. After all riiy cogitations, my mind 
 generally returns to one thing, the education of the 
 people. For want of general cultivation how greatly 
 individual excellence is crippled. Of what avail, 
 for example, is it for any one of us to have sur- 
 mounted any social terror, or any superstition, while 
 his neighbors lie sunk in it.? His conduct in refer- 
 ence to them becomes a constant care and burden. 
 
 Meditating upon general improvement, I often 
 think a great deal about the climate in these parts 
 of the world ; and I see that without much husbandry 
 of our means and resources, it is difficult for us to 
 be any thing but low barbarians. The difficulty of 
 living at all in a cold, damp, desti-uctive climate is 
 great. Socrates went about with very scanty cloth- 
 ing, and men praise his wisdom in caring so little 
 for the goods of this life. He ate sparingly, and of 
 mean food. That is not the way, I suspect, that we 
 can make a philosopher here. There are people 
 who would deride one for saying this, and would 
 contend that it gives too much weiglit to worldly 
 things. But I suspect they are misled by notions 
 borrowed from Eastern climates. Here we must 
 make prudence one of the substantial virtues. 
 
 One thing, though, I see, and that is, that there is 
 a quantity of misplaced labor, of labor which is not 
 
8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 consumed in stern contest with the rugged world 
 around us, in the endeavor to compel Nature to give 
 us our birthright, but in fighting with " strong delu- 
 sions " of all kinds ; or rather in putting up obstacles 
 which we laboriously knock down again, in making 
 Chinese mazes between us and objects we have 
 daily need of, and where we should have only the 
 shortest possible line to go. As I have said else- 
 where, half the labor of the world is pure loss, — the 
 work of Sisyphus rolling up stones to come down 
 again inevitably. 
 
 Law, for example, what a loss is there ; of time, 
 of heart, of love, of leisure ? There are good men 
 whose minds are set upon improving the law ; but 
 I doubt whether any of them are prepared to go far 
 enough. Here, again, we must hope most from gen- 
 eral improvement of the people. Perhaps, though, 
 some one great genius will do something for us. I 
 have often fancied that a man might play the part of 
 Brutus in the law. He might simulate madness in 
 order to ensure freedom. He might make himself 
 a great lawyer, rise to eminence in the profession, 
 and then turn round and say, " I am not going to 
 enjoy this high seat and dignity ; but intend hence- 
 forward to be an advocate for the people of this 
 country against the myriad oppressions and vexa- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 9 
 
 tions of the law. No Chancellorships or Chief-Jus- 
 ticeships for me. I have only pretended to be this 
 slave in order that you should not say that I am an 
 untried and unpractical man, — that I do not under- 
 stand your mysteries." 
 
 This, of course, is not the dramatic way in which 
 such a thing would be done. But there is greatness 
 enough in the world for it to be done. If no lawyer 
 rises up to fill the place which my imagination has 
 assigned for him, we must hope that statesmen will 
 do something for us in this matter, that they will 
 eventually protect us (though, hitherto, they never 
 have done so) from lawyers. 
 
 There are many things done now in the law at 
 great expense by private individuals which ought 
 to be done for all by officers of the State. It is as 
 if each individual had to make a road for himself 
 whenever he went out, instead of using the king's 
 highway. 
 
 Many of the worst things in the profession take 
 place low down in it. I am not sure that I would 
 not try the plan of having public notaries with very 
 extensive functions, subjecting them to official con- 
 trol. What exclamations about freedom we should 
 hear, I dare say, if any large measure of this kind 
 were proposed ; which exclamations and their con- 
 
10 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 sequences have long been, in my mind, a chief ob- 
 stacle to our possessing the reality of freedom. 
 What difference is it whether I am a slave to my 
 lawyer, or subject indirectly to more official control 
 in the changing of my property? I do not know a 
 meaner and sadder portion of a man's existence, or 
 one more likely to be full of impatient sorrow, than 
 that which he spends in waiting at the offices of 
 lawyers. 
 
 It is to be obsei-ved that all satire falls short when 
 aimed against the practices in the Law. No man 
 can imagine, not Swift himself, things more shame- 
 ful, absurd, and grotesque than the things which 
 do take place daily in the Law. Satire becomes 
 merely narrative. A modern novelist depicts a man 
 ruined by a legacy of a thousand pounds, and sleep- 
 ing under a four-legged table because it reminded 
 him of the days when he used to sleep in a four-post 
 bed. This last touch about the bed is humorous, 
 but the substance of the story is dry narrative 
 only. 
 
 These evils are not of yesterday, or of this country 
 only ; I observe that the first Spanish colonists in 
 America write home to the Government begging 
 them not to allow lawyers to come to the colony. 
 
 At the same time, we must not forget how many 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. II 
 
 of the evils attributed solely to the proceedings of 
 lawyers result from the want of knowledge of busi- 
 ness in the world in general, and its inaptness for 
 business, the anxiety to arrange more and for longer 
 time than is wise or possible, and the occasional 
 trusting of affairs to women, who in our country are 
 brought up to be utterly incompetent to the manage- 
 ment of affairs. Still, with all these allowances, and 
 taking care to admit, as we must, if we have any 
 fairness, that notwithstanding the element of chican- 
 ery and perverse small-mindedness in which they 
 are involved, there are many admirable and very 
 high-minded men to be found in all grades of the 
 law (perhaps a more curious instance of the power 
 of the human being to maintain its structure unim- 
 paired in the midst of a hostile element, than that a 
 man should be able to abide in a heated oven) — 
 admitting all these extenuating circumstances, we 
 must nevertheless declare, as I set out by saying, that 
 Law affords a notable example of loss of time, of 
 heart, of love, of leisure.* 
 
 ♦ Many of the adjuncts and circumstances of the Law are 
 calculated to maintain it as a mystery : I allude to the un- 
 couth form and size of deeds, the antiquated words, the 
 unusual kind of handwriting. Physicians' prescriptions 
 may have a better effect for being expressed mysteriously, 
 but legal matters cannot surely be made too clear, even in 
 the merest minutiee. 
 
12 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 \ 
 Well, then, as another instance of misplaced labor, 
 
 I suppose we must take a good deal of what goes on 
 
 in schools and colleges, and, indeed, in parliaments 
 
 and other assemblages of men, not to speak of the 
 
 wider waste of means and labor which prevails in 
 
 all physical works, — such as buildings, furniture, 
 
 decorations ; and not merely waste but obstruction, 
 
 so that if there were a good angel attendant on the 
 
 human race, with power to act on earth, it would 
 
 destroy as fast as made a considerable portion of 
 
 men's productions, as the kindest thing which could 
 
 be done for man and the best instruction for him. 
 
 The truth is, we must considerably address our- 
 selves to cope with Nature. Here again, too, we 
 come to the want of more extended and general cul- 
 tivation, for otherwise we cannot fully enjoy or profit 
 by scientific discovery. At present a man in a civil- 
 ized country is surrounded by things which are 
 greater than he is ; he does not understand them, 
 cannot regulate them, cannot mend them. 
 
 This ignorance proceeds in some respects from 
 division of labor. A man knows how to make a 
 pin's head admirably, but is afraid to handle or give 
 an opinion upon things which he has not daily knowl- 
 edge of. This applies not only to physical things, 
 but to law, church, state, and the arts and sciences 
 generally. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 13 
 
 After all, the advancement of the world .depends 
 upon the use of small balances of advantage over 
 disadvantage ; for there is compensation everywhere 
 and in every thing. No one discovery resuscitates 
 the world ; certainly no physical one. Each new 
 good thought, or word, or deed, brings its shadow 
 with it ; and, as I have just said, it is upon the small 
 balances of gain that we get on at all. Often, too, 
 this occurs indirectly, as when moral gains give 
 physical gains, and these ag'ain give room for further 
 moral and intellectual culture. 
 
 Frequently it 'seems as if the faculties of man 
 were not quite adequate as yet to his situation. 
 This is perhaps more to be seen in contemplating 
 individuals, than in looking at mankind in general. 
 The individual seems the sport of circumstance. 
 When Napoleon invaded Russia (the proximate 
 cause of his downfall), though doubtless there were 
 very adverse and unfortunate circumstances attend- 
 ant upon that invasion, yet, upon the. whole, it gave 
 a good opportunity for working out the errors of 
 the man's mind and system. The circumstances 
 were not unfair, as we may say, against him. Most 
 prosperous men, perhaps I should say most men, 
 have in the course of their lives their campaign in 
 Russia, — when they strain their fortune to the utter- 
 
14 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 most, and often it breaks under them. I did not 
 mean any thing like this when I said that the indi- 
 vidual seems the sport of circumstance. Neither 
 did I mean that small continuous faults and mis- 
 doings have considerable effect upon a man, such as 
 the errors and vices of youth, which are silently put 
 down to a man from day to day, like his reckoning 
 at an inn. But I alluded to those very unfortunate 
 concurrences of circumstances, which most men's 
 lives will tell them of, where a man, from some 
 small error or omission, from some light carelessness, 
 or over-trust, in thoughtless innocence or inexperi- 
 ence, gets entangled in a 'web of adverse circum- 
 stances, which will be company for him on sleepless 
 nights and anxious days throughout a large part of 
 his life. Were success in life (morally or physically) 
 the main object here, it certainly would seem as if 
 a little more faculty in man were sadly needed. A 
 similar thing occurs often to the body, when a man, 
 from some small mischance or oversight, lays the 
 beginning of a disease which shall depress and 
 enfeeble him while he sojourns upon earth. And it 
 seems, when he looks back, as if such a little thing 
 would have saved him ; if he had not crossed over 
 the road, if he had not gone to see his friend on 
 that particular day, if the dust had not been so 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 1 5 
 
 unpleasant on that occasion, the whole course of his 
 life would have been different. Living, as we do, 
 in the midst of stern gigantic laws, which crush 
 every thing down that comes in their way, which 
 know no excuses, admit of no small errors, never 
 send a man back to learn his lesson and try him 
 again, but are as inexorable as Fate, — living, I say, 
 with such powers above us (unseen, too, for the 
 most part), it does seem as if the faculties of man 
 were hardly .as yet adequate to his situation here. 
 
 Such considerations as the above tend to charity 
 and humility; and they point also to the existence 
 of a future state. 
 
 As regards charity, for example, a man might 
 extend to others the ineffable tenderness which he 
 has for some of his own sins and errors, because he 
 knows the whole history of them ; and though, 
 taken at a particular point, they appear very large 
 and very black, he knew them In their early days 
 when they were play-fellows instead of tyrant 
 demons. There are others which he cannot so well 
 smooth over, because he knows that in their case 
 inward proclivity coincided with outwaid tempta- 
 tion ; and, if he is a just man, he is well aware that 
 if he had not erred here he would have erred there ; 
 
6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 that experience, even at famine price, was necessary 
 for him in those matters. But, in considering the 
 misdoings and misfortunes of others, he may as well 
 begin, at least, by thinking that they are of the class 
 which he has found from his own experience to 
 contain a larger amount of what we call ill-fortune 
 than of any thing like evil disposition. For time 
 and chance, says the Preacher, happen to all men. 
 
 Thus I thought in my walk this dull and dreary 
 afternoon, till the rising of the moon and the return 
 from school of the children with their satchels com- 
 ing over the down warned me, too, that it was time 
 to return home ; and so, trying not to think any 
 more of these things, I looked at the bare beech- 
 trees, still beautiful, and the dull sheep-ponds scat- 
 tered here and there, and thought that the country 
 even in winter and in these northern regions, like a 
 great man in adversity and just disgrace, was still 
 to be looked at with hopeful tenderness, even if, in 
 the man's case, there must also be somewhat of 
 respectful condemnation. As I neared home I com- 
 forted myself, too, by thinking that the inhabitants 
 of sunnier climes do not know how winning and 
 joyful is the look of the chimney-tops of our homes 
 in the midst of what to them would seem most des- 
 olate and dreary. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 T SUPPOSE it has happened to most men who 
 observe their thoughts at all, to notice how some 
 expression returns again and again in the course of 
 their meditations, or, indeed, of their business, form- 
 ing as it were a refrain to all they think, or do, for 
 any given day. Sometimes, too, this refrain has no 
 particular concern with the thought or business of 
 the day ; but seems as if it belonged to some under- 
 current of thought and feeling. This, at least, is 
 what I experienced to-day myself, being haunted by 
 a bit of old Spanish poetry, which obtruded itself, 
 sometimes inopportunely, sometimes not so, in the 
 midst of all my work or play. The words were 
 these : — 
 
 " Quan presto se va el placer. 
 
 Como despues de acordado 
 Da dolor; 
 
 Como, al nuestro parecer, 
 
 Qualquiera tiempo pasado 
 Fu^ mejor." 
 
 2 
 
l8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITtlDE. 
 
 How quickly passes pleasure away. 
 How after being granted 
 
 It gives pain ; 
 How in our opinion 
 Any past time 
 
 Was better (than that we passed in pleasure). 
 
 It was not that I agreed with the sentiment, ex- 
 cept as applied to vicious pleasure, being rather of 
 Sydney Smith's mind, that the remembrance of past 
 pleasure is present pleasure ; but I suppose the 
 words chimed in with reflections on the past which 
 formed the under-current of my thoughts, as I went 
 through the wood of beeches which bounded my 
 walk to-day. 
 
 A critique had just been sent me of some literary 
 production, in which the reviewer was very gracious 
 in noticing the calmness and moderation of the 
 author. "Ah, my friend," thought I to myself, 
 " how differently you would write if you did but 
 know the man as I do, and were aware what a 
 nerce fellow he is with all his outward smoothness, 
 lardly ruling at times thoughts which are any thing 
 but calm and moderate, yet struggling to be just, 
 and knowing that violence is always lost ! " 
 
 From that I went on to consider how intense is 
 the loneliness for the most part of any man who 
 endeavors to think, — like the Nile wandering on 
 
COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 19 
 
 through a desert country, with no tributary streams 
 
 to cheer and aid it, and to be lost in sympathy with 
 
 its main current. In politics, for example, such a 
 
 man will have too affectionate a regard for the 
 
 people to be a democrat ; he would as soon leave 
 
 his own ' children without guidance ; and, on the 
 
 other hand, he will have too great a regard for 
 
 merit and fitness to be an aristocrat. He will find 
 
 no one plank to walk up and down consistently ; 
 
 and will be always looking beyond measures which 
 
 satisfy other men ; and seeing, perhaps, that as 
 
 regards politics themselves, greater things are to be 
 
 done out of them than in them. 
 
 I was silent in thought for a moment, and then 
 
 my refrain (^ame back again — 
 
 "Qualquiera tiempo pasado 
 Fu^ mejor." 
 
 And in a moment I went back, not to the pleasures, 
 but to the ambitious hopes and projects of youth. 
 And when a man does reflect upon the ambitions 
 which are as characteristic of that period of life as 
 reckless courage or elastic step, and finds that at 
 each stage of his journey since, some hope has 
 dropped off as too burdensome, or too romantic, till 
 at last it is enough for him only to carry himself 
 at all upright in this troublesome world, — what 
 
20 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 thoughts come back upon him ! How he meditates 
 upon his own errors and shortcomings, and sees 
 that he has had not only the hardness, oiliness, 
 and imperturbability of the world to contend with, 
 but that he himself has generally been his worst 
 antagonist. 
 
 In this mood, I might have thrown myself upon 
 the mound under a green beech-tree that was near, 
 the king of the woods, and uttered many lamenta- 
 tions ; but instead of doing any thing of the kind, I 
 walked sedately by it ; for, as we go on in life, we 
 find we cannot afford excitement, and we learn to 
 be parsimonious in our emotions. Again I mut- 
 tered, 
 
 " Qualquiera tiempo pasado 
 ¥ni mejor." 
 
 And I threw forward these words into the future, 
 as if I were already blaming any tendency to un- 
 necessary emotion. 
 
 I entered now into another vein of thought, con- 
 sidering that kind Nature would not allow a man 
 to be so very wise, nor for the sak6 of any good he 
 might do to others, permit him to forfeit the benefit 
 he must derive from his own errors, failures, and 
 shortcomings. You may mean well, she says, and 
 you might expect that I should give you any ex- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 21 
 
 traordinary furtherance, and not suffer you to be 
 plagued with drawbacks and errors of your own, 
 that so you might do your work undisturbed : but 
 I love you too well for that. I sacrifice no one child 
 for the benefit of the rest. You all must learn 
 humility. 
 
 I felt the truth of these words, and thereupon 
 gave myself up to more cheerful thoughts. How 
 much cheerfulness there is, by the way, in humility ! 
 I listened to the cuckoo in the woods, hearing his 
 tiresome but welcome noise for the first time in the 
 year, and I looked out for the wild flowers that were 
 just beginning to show themselves, and thought 
 that, from the names of flowers, it is evident that, 
 in former days, poets and scholars must have lived 
 in the country and looked well at Nature. Else 
 how came all these picturesque and poetical names, 
 "Love in' idleness," "Venus's looking-glass," and 
 such like ? 
 
 But as the shades of evening came on in the 
 wood, my thoughts went away from these simple 
 topics ; the refrain, too, 
 
 " Quan presto se va el placer,'* 
 
 sounded in my ears again ; and I passed on to 
 meditations of like color to those in the former part 
 
22 COMPAIVJONS OF M7 SOLITUDE. 
 
 of my walk. In addition to the other hindrances I 
 alluded to before, this also must come home to the 
 mind of many a man of the present generation : 
 how he is to discern, much more to teach, even in 
 small things, without having clear views, or distinct 
 convictions, upon some of the greatest matters, — 
 upon religious questions for instance? And yet I 
 suppose it must be tried. Even a man of Goethe's 
 immense industry and great intellectual resources, 
 feared to throw himself upon the sea of biblical 
 criticism. But, at the same time, how poor, timid, 
 and tentative must be all discourse built upon in- 
 ferior motives ! Ah, if we could but discern what 
 is the right way and the highest way ! 
 
 These doubts which beset men upon many of the 
 greatest matters, are the direct result of the lies and 
 falsification of our predecessors. Sometimes when 
 we look at the frightful errors which metaphorical 
 expressions may have introduced, I do not wonder 
 that Plato spoke in the hardest manner of Poets. 
 But man cannot narrate without metaphors, so 
 much more does he see in every transaction than 
 the. bare circumstances. 
 
 When I was at Milan and saw the glory of that 
 town, the Last Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci, I 
 could not help thinking, as my way is, many things 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 23 
 
 not, perhaps, very closely connected with that grand 
 work, but which it suggested to my mind. At 
 first you may be disappointed in finding the figures 
 so much faded, but soon, with patient looking, 
 much comes into view ; and after marvelling at the 
 inexpressible beauty which still remains, you find 
 to your astonishment that no picture, no print, per- 
 haps no description, has adequately represented 
 what you can still trace in this work. Not only 
 has it not been represented, but it has been utterly 
 misrepresented. The copyist thought he could tell 
 the story better than the painter, and where the 
 outlines are dim, was not content to leave them so, 
 but must insert something of his own which is 
 clearly wrong. This, I thought, is the way of most 
 translation, and I might add, of most portrait paint- 
 ing and nearly all criticism. And it occurred to 
 me that the written history of the world was very 
 like the prints of this fresco ; namely, a clear ac- 
 count, a good deal of it utterly wrong, of what at 
 first hand is considerably obliterated, and which, 
 except in minds of the highest powers of imagina- 
 tion, to be a clear conception can hardly be a just 
 one. 
 
 And then, carrying my application still further to 
 tlie most important of all histories, I thought hov>' 
 
24 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 the simple majesty of the original transaction had 
 probably suffered a like misconception, from the 
 fading of the material narrative, and still more from, 
 the weak inventions of those who could not repre- 
 sent accurately, and were impatient of any dimness 
 (to their eyes) in the divine original. 
 
 I often fancy how I should like to direct the in- 
 tellectual efforts of men ; and if I had the power, 
 how frequently I should direct them to those great 
 subjects in metaphysics and theology which now 
 men shun. 
 
 What patient labor and what intellectual power 
 are often bestowed in coming to a decision on any 
 cause which involves much worldly property. 
 Might there not be some great hearing of any of 
 the intellectual and spiritual difficulties which beset 
 the paths of all thoughtful men in the present age ? 
 
 Church questions, for example, seem to require 
 a vast investigation. As it is, a book or pamphlet 
 is put forward on one side, then another on the 
 other side, and somehow the opposing facts and 
 arguments seldom come into each other's presence. 
 And thus truth sustains great loss. 
 
 My own opinion is, if I can venture to say that I 
 have an opinion, that what we ought to seek for is 
 a church of the utmost width of doctrine, and with 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 25 
 
 the most beautiful expression that can be devised 
 for that doctrine, — the most beautiful expression, I 
 mean, in words, in deeds, in sculpture, and in 
 sacred song ; which should have a simple, easy 
 grandeur in its proceedings that should please the 
 elevated and poetical mind, charm the poor, and 
 yet not lie open to just cavilling on the part of those 
 somewhat hard, intellectual worshippers who must 
 have a reason for every thing ; which should have 
 vitality and growth in it ; and which should attract 
 and not repel those who love truth better than any 
 creature. 
 
 Pondering tliese things in the silence of the downs, 
 I at last neared home ; and found that the result of 
 all my thoughts was that any would-be teacher must 
 be contented and humble, or try to be so, in his ef- 
 forts of any kind ; and that if the great questions can 
 hardly be determined by man (divided too as he is 
 from his brother in all ways) he must still try and 
 do what he can on lower levels, hoping ever for more 
 insight, and looking forward to the knowledge which 
 may be gained by death. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 'nr^O-DAY, as the weather was cold and boister- 
 ous, I could only walk under shelter of the yew 
 hedge in my garden, which some gracious predeces- 
 sor (all honor to him !) planted to keep off the dire 
 north-west winds, and which, I fear, unless he was 
 a very hardy plant himself, he did not live long 
 enough to profit much by. Being so near home, my 
 thoughts naturally took a domestic turn ; and I vexed 
 myself by thinking that I had received no letter from 
 my little boy. This was owing to the new post-office 
 regulations, which did not allow letters to go out from 
 country places, or be delivered at such places, on 
 a Sunday. Oh those Borgias, said I to myself, how 
 much we have to blame them for ! To be sure, I 
 know pretty well what the letter would be. 
 
 " I hope you are well papa and I send you my love 
 and I have got a kite and Uncle George's dog is very 
 fierce. His name is Nero which was a Roman em- 
 peror nearly quite white only he has got two black 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 2*J 
 
 spots just over his nose And I send my love to mam- 
 ma and the children and I am your own little boy 
 and, affectionate son, 
 
 "Leonard Milverton." 
 
 Not a very important, certainly not a very artistic, 
 production this letter, but still it has its interest for 
 the foolish paternal mind, and I should like to have 
 received it to-day. It is greatly ow^ing to those 
 Borgias that I have not received this letter. Most 
 of my neighbors imagine that their little petitions 
 were the cause of these post-office regulations ; but 
 I beg to go somewhat further back, and I come to 
 Pope Alexander the Sixth, and lay a great deal of 
 blame on him. The pendulous folly of mankind 
 oscillates as far in this direction as it has come from 
 that ; and an absurd Puritan is only a correlative to 
 a wicked Pope. 
 
 From such reflections, I fell to considering Puri- 
 tanism generally, and I am afraid I came to a differ- 
 ent conclusion from that which would have been 
 popular at any of the late public meetings ; but then 
 I console myself by an aphorism of Ellesmere's, who 
 is wont to remark, " How exactly proportioned to a 
 man's ignorance of the subject is the noise he makes 
 about it at a public meeting." Knowledge brings 
 
28 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 doubts and exceptions and limitations which, though 
 occasionally some aids to truth, are all hindrances 
 to vigorous statement. 
 
 But to go back to what I thought about Puritan- 
 ism ; for I endeavored to methodize my thoughts, 
 and the following is the course they took. 
 
 What are the objects of life, as far as regards this 
 world } Its first wants, I answer, namely, food and 
 raiment. What besides ? Marrying and the rearing 
 of children ; and, in general, the cultivation of the 
 affections. So far Puritans would agree with us. 
 
 But suppose all these things to be tempered with 
 gayety and festivity : what element of wickedness has 
 necessarily entered ? None that I can perceive. Self- 
 indulgence takes many forms ; and we should bear 
 in mind that there may be a sullen sensuality as well 
 as a gay one. 
 
 But the truth is, there is a secret belief amongst 
 some men that God is displeased with man's happi- 
 ness ; and in consequence they slink about creation, 
 ashamed and afraid to enjoy, any thing. 
 
 They answer, we do not object to rational pleas- 
 ures. 
 
 But who, my good people, shall exactly define 
 rational pleasures ? You are pleased with a flower ; 
 to cultivate flowers is what you call a rational pleas- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 29 
 
 ure : there are people, however, to whom a flower is 
 somewhat insipid, but they perhaps dote upon music, 
 which, however, is unfortunately not one of your 
 rational pleasures, — chiefly, as I believe, because it 
 is mainly a social one. Why is there any thing nec- 
 essarily wrong in social pleasures ? Certainly some 
 of the most dangerous vices, such as pride, are found 
 to flourish in solitude with more vigor than in society ; 
 and a man may be deadly avaricious who has never 
 even gone out to a tea-party. 
 
 Once I happened to overhear a dialogue some- 
 what similar to that which Charles Lamb, perhaps, 
 only feigned to hear. I was travelling in a railway- 
 carriage with a most precise looking, formal person, 
 the Arch-Quaker, if there be such a person. His 
 countenance was very noble, or had been so, before 
 it was frozen up. He said nothing ; I felt a great 
 respect for him. At last his mouth opened. I lis- 
 tened with attention ; I had hitherto lived with 
 foolish, gad-about, dinner-eating, dancing people ; 
 now I was going to hear the words of retired wisdom ; 
 when he thus addressed his young daughter sitting 
 opposite, " Hast thee heard how Southamptons went 
 lately ? " (in those days South-western Railway 
 shares were called Southamptons) ; and she replied 
 with like gravity, giving him some information that 
 
3© COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 she had picked up about Southamptons yesterday 
 evening. 
 
 I leant back rather sickened as I thought what 
 was probably the daily talk and the daily thoughts 
 in that family, from which I conjectured all amuse- 
 ment was banished save that connected with intense 
 money getting. 
 
 Well, but, exclaims the advocate of Puritanism, 
 I do not admit that my clients, on abjuring the 
 pleasures of this world, fall into pride, or sullen 
 sensuality, or intense money getting. They only 
 secure to themselves more time for works of charity 
 and for the love of God. 
 
 You are an adroit advocate, and are careful, by 
 not pushing your case too far, to give me the least 
 possible room for reply. They secure to themselves 
 more time for these good works you say. Do they 
 do them ? But the truth is, in order to meet your 
 remark and to extract the good there is in it, I must 
 begin by saying that Puritanism, as far as it is an 
 abnegation of self, is good, or may be so. But this 
 is most surely the case, when it turns its sufferings 
 and privations to utility. It has always appeared 
 to me that there is so much to be done in this world, 
 that all self-inflicted suffering which cannot be 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDB^> 3I ''^ CV^ 
 
 turned to good account for others, is a loss, — ^^'^^^JVl A' 
 if you may so express it, to the spiritual world. ^"^ ' '^'' 
 
 The Puritanism which I object to is that which 
 avoids some pleasure, and exhausts in injurious 
 comment and attack upon other people any leisure 
 and force of mind which it may have gained by its 
 abstinence from the pleasure. 
 
 I can understand and "sympathize with the man 
 vvrho says, " I enjoy festivity, but I cannot go to the 
 feast I am bidden to, to-night, for there are sick 
 people who must be first attended to." But I do 
 not love the man who stays away from the feast and 
 employs his leisure in delivering a sour discourse on 
 the wickedness of the others who are invited to the 
 feast, and who go to it. 
 
 Moreover, this censoriousness is not only a sin, 
 but the inventor of many sins. Indeed the manu- 
 facture of. sins is so easy a manufacture, that I am 
 convinced man could readily be persuaded that it 
 was wicked to use the left leg as much as the right ; 
 whole congregations would only permit themselves 
 to hop ; and, what is more to our present point, 
 would consider that when they walked in the ordi- 
 nary fashion they were committing a deadly sin. 
 Now, I should not think that the man who were to 
 invent this sin would be a benefactor to the human 
 race. 
 
32 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 You often hear in a town, or village, a bit of do- 
 mestic history, which seems at first to militate 
 against what I have been saying, but is in reality 
 very consistent with it. The story is of some poor 
 man, and is apt to run thus : He began to frequent 
 the ale-house ; he sought out amusements ; there 
 was a neighboring fair where he first showed his 
 quarrelsome dispositiqn ; then came worse things ; 
 and now here he is in prison. Yes, I should reply, 
 he frequented, with a stealthy shame, those places 
 which you, who would ignore all amusement, have 
 suffered to be most coarse and demoralizing. All 
 along he had an exaggerated notion of the blame 
 that he was justly liable to from his first steps in the 
 downward path ; the truthunfortunately is, that you 
 go a long way to make a small error into a sin, when 
 you miscall it so. I would not, therefore, have a 
 clergyman talk of the ale-house as if it were the pit 
 of Acheron. On the contrary, I would have him 
 acknowledge that, considering the warmth and 
 cheerfulness to be found in the sanded parlor of the 
 village inn, it is very natural that men should be apt 
 to frequent it. I would have him, however, go on to 
 show what frequenting the ale-house mostly leads 
 to, and how the laborer's home might be made to 
 rival the ale-house ; and I would have him help to 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 33 
 
 make it so, or, in some way, to provide some sub- 
 stitute for the ale-house. 
 
 The evils of competition are very considerable, 
 and many people in these times hold up competition 
 as the great monster evil of the age. I do not know 
 how that may be ; but I am sure that the competition 
 there is in the way of puritanical demonstration is 
 very injurious to sincerity. This competition is the 
 child of fear. A. is afraid that his neighbor B. will 
 not think well of him, because he (A.) does or per- 
 mits something which C, another neighbor, will not 
 allow in his house. Surely this is little else than 
 mere man-worship. It puts one in mind of the 
 story of that congregation of the Church of England, 
 who begged their clergyman to give them longer 
 sermons, — not that they were fond of long dis- 
 courses, — but that they might not always be out of 
 church before some neighboring congregation of 
 Wesleyans or Independents. 
 
 Returning to the imaginary advocate for Puritan- 
 ism who said that it secured more time for works of 
 charity and for the love of God. 
 
 I do not know whether other people's observation 
 will tally with mine ; but, as far as I have observed, 
 it appears to me that charity requires the sternest 
 labor and the most anxious thought ; that, in short, 
 
34 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 it is one of the most difficult things in the world, and 
 is not altogether a matter for leisure hours. This re- 
 mark applies to the more serious functions of charity. 
 But, we must remember, that the whole of charity is 
 not comprised in carrying about gifts to one another, 
 or, to speak more generally, in remedying the mate- 
 rial evils suffered by those around us, else life would 
 indeed be a dreary affair ; but there are exquisite 
 little charities to be performed in reference to social 
 pleasures. 
 
 Then, as to the love of God, I do not venture to 
 say much upon so solemn a theme ; but it does oc- 
 cur to me that we should talk and think very humbly 
 about our capacity in matters so much above us. At 
 any rate, I do not see why the love of God should 
 withdraw us largely from our fellow-man. That love 
 we believe was greatest in Him who graced with 
 His presence the marriage feast at Cana in Galilee ; 
 who was never known to shun or ignore the exist- 
 ence of the vicious ; and to whom, more than to all 
 other teachers, the hypocrite seems to have been 
 particularly odious. 
 
 But there is another very important consideration 
 to be weighed by those who are fearful of encourag- 
 ing amusements, especially amongst their poorer 
 brethren. What are the generality of people to do, or 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 35 
 
 to think of, for a considerable portion of each day, if 
 they are not allowed to busy themselves with some 
 form of recreation ? Here is this infinite creature, 
 man, who looks before and after, whose swiftness of 
 thought is such, even among the dullest of the species, 
 as would perhaps astonish the brightest, who are apt 
 to imagine that none think but themselves ; and you 
 fancy that he can be quite contented with providing 
 warmth and food for himself and those he has to Jove 
 and cherish. Food and warmth ! Content with that I 
 Not he : and we should greatly despise him if he 
 could be. Why is it that in all ages small towns and 
 remote villages have fostered little malignities of all 
 kinds ? The true answer is, that people will back- 
 bite one another to any extent rather than not be 
 amused. Nay, so strong is this desire for something 
 to go on that may break the monotony of life, that 
 people, not otherwise ill-natured, are pleased with 
 the misfortune of their neighbors, solely because it 
 gives something to think of, something to talk about. 
 They imagine how the principal actors and sufferers 
 concerned in the misfortune will bear it ; what they 
 will do ; how they will look ; and so the dull by- 
 stander forms a sort of drama for himself. He would, 
 perhaps, be told that it is wicked for him to go to 
 such an entertainment : he makes one out for him- 
 self, not always innocently. 
 
ofi COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 You hear clergymen in country parishes denounc- 
 ing the ill-nature of their parishioners : it is in vain : 
 the better sort of men try to act up to what they are 
 told, but really it is so dull in the parish that a bit of 
 scandal is welcome to the heart. These poor people 
 have nothing to think about; nature shows them 
 comparatively little, for art and science have not 
 taught them to look behind the scenes, or even at the 
 scenes; literature they know nothing of ; they can- 
 not have gossip about the men of the past (which is 
 the most innocent kind of gossip), in other words, 
 read and discuss history ; they have no delicate handi- 
 work to amuse them ; in short, talk they must, and 
 talk they will, about their neighbors, whose goings 
 on are a perpetual puppet-show to them. 
 
 But, to speak more gravely, man, even the most 
 sluggish-minded man, craves amusement of some 
 kind ; and his wiser and more powerful brethren 
 will show their wisdom, or theii want ol it, in Itie 
 amusements they contrive for him. 
 
 We need not be atraid that in England any art or 
 innocent amusement will be cultivated too much. 
 The genius of the people, though kindly, is severe. 
 And that is why there is so much less danger of their 
 being injured, if any one is, by recreation. Cyrus 
 kept the Lydians tame, we are told, by allowing them 
 to cultivate music ; the Greeks were perhaps pre- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 37 
 
 vented from becoming dominant by a cultivation of 
 many arts ; but the Anglo-Saxons, like the Romans, 
 can afford to cultivate art and recreations of all kinds. 
 Such pursuits w^ill not tame them too much. To 
 contend, occasionally, against the bent of the genius, 
 or the circumstances of a people. Is one of the great 
 arts of statesmanship. The same thing which is to be 
 dreaded in one place is to be cultivated in another ; 
 here a poison, there an antidote. 
 
 The above is w^hat I thought in reference to Puri- 
 tanism during my walk this evening : then, by a 
 not uneasy diversion of mind, I turned to another 
 branch of small persecutions, — small do I call them } 
 perhaps they are the greatest that are endured, cer- 
 tainly the most vexatious. I mean all that is per- 
 petuated by the tyranny of the weak. 
 
 This is a most fertile subject, and has been nearly 
 neglected. Weak Is a relative term : whenever two 
 people meet, one is comparatively weak and the 
 other strong ; the relation between them Is often 
 supposed to imply this. Taking society In general, 
 there is a certain weakness of the kind I mean, 
 attributable to the sick, the spoilt, the ill-tempered, 
 the unfortunate, the aged, women, and the clergy. 
 Now I venture to say, there is no obser\'^ant inan of 
 the world who has lived to the age of thirty who 
 has not seen numerous Instances of severe tyranny 
 
38 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 exercised by persons belonging to one or other of 
 these classes; and which tyranny has been estab- 
 lished, continued, and endured, solely by reason of 
 the weakness, real or supposed, of the persons ex- 
 ercising it. Talking once with a thoughtful man 
 on this subject, he remarked to me, that, of course, 
 the generous suffered much from the tyranny I was 
 speaking of, as the strength of it was drawn from 
 their strength. It might be compared to an evil 
 government of a rich people, in which their riches 
 furnished forth abundant armies wherewith to op- 
 press the subject. 
 
 In quiet times this tyranny is very great. I have 
 often thought whether it was not one very consider- 
 able compensation for rude hard times, or times of 
 dire alarm, that domestic tyranny was then probably 
 less severe : and among the various forms of domes- 
 tic tyranny, none occupies a more distinguished 
 place than this of the tyranny of the weak over the 
 strong. 
 
 If you come to analyze it, it is a tyranny exercised, 
 by playing upon the good-nature, the fear of respon- 
 sibility, the dread of acting selfishly, the horror of 
 giving pain, prevalent among good and kind people. 
 They often know that it is a tremendous tyranny 
 they are suffering under, and they do not feel it the 
 less because they are consenting parties. 
 
. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 39 
 
 Meditating sometimes upon the results of this 
 tyranny, I have thought to myself, what is to stop 
 it? In a state of further developed Christianity, 
 unless, indeed, it were equally developed in all 
 minds, there may be only more room for this tyr- 
 anny. And then this strange, but perhaps just 
 idea came into my mind, that this tyranny would 
 fall away in a state of clearer knowledge such as 
 might accompany another state of being ; for then, 
 the secrets of men's hearts not being profoundly 
 concealed by silence, or by speech, it would be 
 seen what the sufferers thought of these tyrannous 
 proceedings ; and the tyrants would shrink back, 
 abashed at the enormity of their requisitions, made 
 visible in the clear mirror of another's mind. 
 
 A common form of this tyranny is where the ty- 
 rant uses a name of great potency, such as that of 
 some relationship, and having performed few or 
 none of the duties, exacts from the other side a most 
 oppressive tribute, — oppressive, even if the duties 
 had been performed. 
 
 There is one reason for putting a limit to the sub- 
 serviency of the strong to the weak, which reason, 
 if fully developed, might do more at times to pro- 
 tect the strong from the weak than any thing I 
 know. Surely the most foolish strong person must 
 
4-0 COMPANIONS OF. MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 occasionally have glimpses that he or she cannot 
 sacrifice himself or herself alone : that, in dealing 
 with another person, you are in some measure rep- 
 resenting the outer world ; and ought (to use an 
 official phrase) to govern yourself accordingly. We 
 see this in managing children : and the most weakly 
 indulgent people find that they must make a stop 
 somewhere ; with some perception, it is to be hoped, 
 that the world will not go on dealing with the chil- 
 dren as they (the indulgent persons) are doing; 
 and, therefore, that tliey are preparing mischief and 
 discomfort on one side or the other for parties who 
 are necessarily to be brought in contact. 
 
 The soft mud carried away by the encroaching 
 sea cannot say, — "I, the soft mud, am to be the 
 only victim to this element ; and after I am gone it 
 will no more encroach." No, it means to devour 
 the whole land if it can. 
 
 Ah, thought I to myself, how important are such 
 considerations as those I have had to-day, if we 
 could but rightly direct them ; how much of the 
 health and wealth of the world depend upon them ! 
 Even in those periods when " laws or kings" could 
 do predominant good or predominant ill, the mis- 
 eries of private life perhaps outweighed the rest , 
 
COMPANIONS OS MY SOLITUDE. 41 
 
 but now, as civilization advances, the tendency is 
 to some little amelioration of great political dan- 
 gers ; while, at the same time, from more refine- 
 ment, more intricacy of affairs, more nervous devel- 
 opment, more pretence of goodness, more resolve 
 to have every thing quite neat and smooth and 
 safe, the miseries which the generality of men make 
 for themselves do not tend to decrease, vmless kept 
 down by a continual growth of wise and good 
 thoughts and just habits of mind. 
 
 When we talk of 
 
 *' The ills that laws or kings can cause or cure,'* 
 our thoughts refer only to the functions of direct and 
 open government ; but the laws which regulate the 
 intercourse of society, public opinion, and, in short, 
 that almost impalpable code of thought and action 
 which grows up in a very easy fashion between man 
 and man, and is clothed with none of the ordinary 
 dress of power, may yet be the subtlest and often 
 the sternest despotism. 
 
 It is a strange fancy of mine, but I cannot help 
 wishing we could " moVe for returns," as their phrase 
 is in Parliament, of the suffering caused in any one 
 day, or other period of time, throughout the world, 
 to be arranged under certain heads ; and we should 
 then see what the world has occasion to fear most. 
 
42 COMPANIONS Of: MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 What a large amount would come under the heads 
 of unreasonable fear of others, of miserable quarrels 
 amongst relations upon infinitesimally small sub- 
 jects, of imaginary slights, of undue cares, of false 
 shames, of absolute misunderstandings, of unneces- 
 sary pains to maintain credit or reputation, of vex- 
 ation that we cannot make others of the same mind 
 witli ourselves ! What a wonderful thing it would 
 be to see set down in figures, as it were, how ingen- 
 ious we are in plaguing one another ! My own pri- 
 vate opinion is, that the discomfort caused by 
 injudicious dress, worn entirely in deference, as it 
 has before been remarked, to the most foolish of 
 mankind, in fact to the tyrannous majority, would 
 outweigh many an evil that sounds very big. 
 
 Tested by these perfect returns, which I imagine 
 might be made by the angelic world, if they regard 
 human affairs, perhaps our every-day shaving, severe 
 shirt collars, and other ridiculous garments, are 
 equivalent to a great European war once in seven 
 years ; and we should find that women's stays did 
 about as much harm, i. e., caused as much suffering, 
 as an occasional pestilence, — say, for instance, the 
 cholera. We should find perhaps that the vexations 
 arising from the income-tax were nearly equal to 
 those caused amongst the same class of sufferers by 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 43 
 
 the ill-natured things men fancy have been said be- 
 hind their backs ; and perhaps the whole burden 
 and vexation resulting from the aggregate of the 
 respective national debts of that unthrifty family, 
 the European race, — the w^hole burden and vexa- 
 tion, I say, do not come up to the aggregate of 
 annoyances inflicted in each locality by the one ill- 
 natured person w^ho generally infests each little 
 village, parish, house, or community. 
 
 There is no know^ing what strange comparisons 
 and discoveries I should in my fancy have been led 
 to, — perhaps that the love, said to be inherent in 
 the softer sex, of having the last word, causes as 
 much mischief as all the tornadoes of the Tropics ; 
 or that the vexation inflicted by servants on their 
 masters by assuring them that such and such duties 
 do not belong to their place, is equivalent to all the 
 sufferings that have been caused by mad dogs since 
 the world began. But my meditations were sud- 
 denly interrupted and put to flight by a noise, which, 
 in describing afterwards in somewhat high-flown 
 terms, I said caused a dismay like that which would 
 have been felt if, neglectful of the proper periods in 
 history, the Huns, the Vandals, and the Visigoths, 
 in fact the unruly population of the world, had 
 combined together and rushed down upon some 
 quiet, orderly cathedral town. 
 
44 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 In short, the children of my neighbors returning 
 from school had dashed into my field, their main 
 desire being to behold an arranged heap of stones 
 and brick-bats, which, after being diligently informed 
 of the fact several times by my son Leonard, I had 
 learnt was a house he had lately built. 
 
 There is a sort of freemasonry among children ; 
 for these knew at once that this heap of stones was 
 a house, and danced round it with delight as a great 
 work of art. Now, do you suppose, to come back to 
 the original subject of my meditations to-day, that 
 the grown-up child does not want amusement, when 
 you see how greedy children are of it? Do not 
 imagine we grow out of that ; we disguise ourselves 
 by various solemnities ; but we have none of us lost 
 the child-nature yet. 
 
 I was glad to see how merry the children could 
 be, 'though looking so blue and cold, and still more 
 pleased to find that my presence did not scare them 
 away, and that they have no grown-up feeling as 
 yet about ti'espassing : I fled, however, from the 
 noise into more quiet quarters, and broke up the 
 train of reflections of which I now give these out- 
 lines, hoping they may be of use to some one. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 iy yrUCH retrospect is not a very safe or a very 
 wise thing : still there are times when a man 
 may do well to look back upon his past life, and 
 endeavor to take a comprehensive view of it. And 
 whether such retrospect is wise or not, it cannot be 
 avoided, as our reveries must sometimes turn upon 
 that one life, our own, respecting which we have a 
 great number of facts very interesting to us, and 
 thoroughly within our ken. The process is curiously 
 different from that pursued by Alnaschar in the 
 Arabian Nights^ who with an imaginary spurn, 
 alas, too well interpreted by a real gesture, disposed 
 at once of all his splendid fortunes gained in reverie. 
 In this progress of retrospection many find that the 
 spurn is real as well as the fatal gesture which real- 
 ized it, only both have been administered by the rude 
 world instead of by themselves ; the fragments of 
 their broken pottery lie around them ; and, going 
 back to fond memories of the past, they have to 
 reconstruct the original reverie, — the dream of their 
 youth — the proud purpose of their manhood — how 
 fulfilled ! 
 
46 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Walking up and down amidst the young fir-trees 
 in the little plantation to the north-east of the garden, 
 and, occasionally, with all the interest of a young 
 planter, stopping in front of a particular tree, and 
 inspecting this year's growth, I got into such a train 
 of retrospect as I have just spoken of; and from 
 that, by a process which will be visible to the 
 reader, was soon led into thoughts about the future. 
 
 I pictured to myself a descendant of mine, a man 
 of dilapidated fortune, but still owning this house 
 and garden. The few adjoining fields he will long 
 ago have parted with. But he loves the place, hav- 
 ing been brought up here by his sad, gentle mother, 
 and having lived here with his young sister, then a 
 rapturous imaginative girl, his companion and 
 delight. Through the small ness of their fortune, 
 and consequently the narrow circle of their acquaint- 
 ances, she will have married a man totally unfit for 
 her ; the romance of her nature has turned some- 
 what sour ; and, though occasionally high-minded, 
 she is very peevish now, and is no longer the com- 
 panion that she was to her brother. He just remem- 
 bers his father pacing with disturbed step under 
 these trees which I am now walking about. He 
 recollects before his father's death, how eagerly the 
 fond wife used to waylay and open large packets, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 47 
 
 which she would not always bring to the dying 
 man's bed. He now knows them to have been law 
 papers ; and when he thinks of these things, he 
 utters harsh words about the iniquity of the law in 
 England ; and says something about law growing 
 in upon a fallen estate like fungus upon old and 
 failing wood. 
 
 These things are now long past : they occurred in 
 his childhood. His mother is dead, and lies in that 
 quiet churchyard in the wood, where, if I mistake 
 not, one of his ancestors will also have found a 
 peaceful resting-placfe. The house has fully par- 
 taken of the falling fortunes of its successive owners. 
 The furniture is too old and worn for any new 
 comer to be tempted to occupy the house ; and the 
 little garden is let to a market-gardener. Strawber- 
 ries will grow then on the turf where I am now 
 walking, and which John, after mowing it twice in 
 the week, and having spent all his time in its vicin- 
 ity, from working-day morning till working-day 
 night, comes to look at on a Sunday, and, with his 
 hands in his pockets and himself arrayed in a waist- 
 coat too bright almost to behold, surveys intently, 
 as if it were one of the greatest products of human 
 invention. And John need not be ashamed of this 
 single-minded delight in his work, for, though it is 
 
48 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 nothing remarkable in England, the whole conti- 
 nent of Europe does not probably afford such a 
 well-shaven bit of grass ; and, as for our love of 
 gardens, it is the last refuge of art in the minds and 
 souls of many Englishmen ; if we did not care for 
 gardens, I hardly know what in the way of beauty 
 we should care for. Well,- this has all ceased by 
 that time to be pleasure-garden, and I fear to think 
 of 'the profane cabbages which will then occupy 
 this trim velvety little spot. I hope that poor John, 
 from some distant place, will not behold the pro- 
 fanation. 
 
 I have lingered on these details ; but I must now 
 bring my distant descendant nearer to us. He will 
 live in some large town, getting his bread in a 
 humble way, and will sometimes steal down here, 
 pretending to want to know whether anybody has 
 applied to take the tumble-down place. This is 
 what he says to his wife (for, of course, being so 
 poor, this foolish Milverton has married), but she 
 understands him better than to be deceived by that. 
 
 He has just made one of these excursions, having, 
 for economy's sake and a wish to avoid the neigh- 
 bors, got out at a station ten miles off (our cathedral 
 town), and walked over to his house. It is evening, 
 and he has just arrived. Tired as he is, he takes a 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 49 
 
 turn round the garden, and after a long-drawn sigh, 
 which I know well the words for, he enters the 
 house. The market-gardener lives in it, and his 
 wife takes care of the master's rooms. She has 
 lighted a fire : the smoke hardly ascends, but still 
 there is warmth enough to call out rnuch of the 
 latent dampness of the apartment. The things about 
 him are somewhat cheerless certainly, but he would 
 not wish them to be otherwise. They would be 
 very inharmonious if they were. During his meagre 
 supper he is entertained with an account of the 
 repairs that must be looked to. The water comes 
 in here, and part of the wall has fallen down there ; 
 and farmer Smith says (the coarse woman need not 
 have repeated the very words) that if Mr. Milverton 
 is too poor to mend his own fence, he, farmer 
 Smith, must do it himself. Patiently the poor man 
 appears to attend to all this, but is thinking all the 
 while of his pale mother, and of his wondering, as 
 a child, why she never used to look up when horse 
 or man went by, as she sat working at that bay 
 window, and getting his clothes ready for school. 
 
 At last the market-gardener's wife, little attended 
 to, bounces out of the room ; and her abrupt departure 
 rouses my distant descendant to think of ways and 
 means. And here I cannot help, as if I were present 
 
50 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 at the reverie, breaking in and saying, "Do not cut 
 down that yew-tree in the back garden, the stately 
 well-grown one which was an ancient tree in my 
 time." But no, upon second thoughts, I will say 
 nothing of the kind. *' Cut it down, cut them all 
 down, dear distant descendant, rather than let little 
 tradesmen want their money, or do the least dis- 
 honorable thing." 
 
 Apparently the present question of ways and means 
 is settled somehow, for he rises and paces about the 
 room. In a corner there lies an aged Parliamentary 
 report, a remnant from my old library, the bulk of 
 which has long been sold. It is the report of a Select 
 Committee upon the effect on prices of the influx of 
 Californian gold. There are some side-notes which 
 he takes to have been mine ; and this makes him 
 think of me — not very kindly. These are his 
 thoughts : This ancestor of mine, I see he busied 
 himself about many worldly things ; it is not likely 
 that, taking an interest in such affairs, he would not 
 have cared to have some hand in managing them ; 
 I conjecture that indeed, if only from one saying of 
 his, that the bustle of life, if good for little else, at 
 least keeps some sadness down at the bottom of the 
 heart ; and yet I do not find that our estate prospered 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 51 
 
 much under him. He might now, if he had been a 
 prosperous gentleman, have bought some part of 
 Woodcot chase (which was sold in his time and is 
 now all building-ground), and I should not have 
 been in this cursed plight. 
 
 " Distant descendant, do not let misfortune make 
 you, as it so often does make men, ungenerous." 
 
 He feels this and resumes. I wonder why he did 
 not become rich and great. I suspect he was very 
 laborious. (" You do me full justice there.") I sup- 
 pose he was very versatile, and did not keep to one 
 thing at a time. ('*• You do me injustice there ; for I 
 was always aware how much men must limit their 
 efforts to effect any thing.") In his books he some- 
 times makes shrewd worldly remarks which show he 
 understood something of the world, and he ought to 
 have mastered it. 
 
 " Now, my dear young relative, allow me to say 
 that last remark of yours upon character is -a very 
 weak one. Admitting, for the sake of argument, 
 that what you urge in my favor be true, you must 
 know that the people who write shrewdly are often 
 the most easy to impose upon, or have been so. I 
 almost suspect, without, however, having looked 
 into the matter, that Rochefoucauld was a tender 
 lover, a warm friend, and, in general, a dupe (hap- 
 
52 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 py for him) to all the impulses and affections which 
 he would have us imagine he saw through and had 
 mastered. The simple write shrewdly : but do not 
 describe what they do. And the hard and worldly 
 would be too wise in their generation to write about 
 what they practise, even if they perceived it, which 
 they seldom do, lacking delicacy of imagination." 
 
 Perhaps (he continues) this ancestor of mine had 
 no ambition, and did not care about any thing but 
 that unwholesome scribbling (" ungracious again, 
 distant descendant ! ") which has brought us in but 
 little produce of any kind. 
 
 Dear distant kinsman, now it is my turn to speak : 
 now listen to me ; and I will show you the family 
 failing, not a very uncommon one, which has re- 
 duced us by degrees to this sad state ; for we, your 
 ancestors, look on and suffer with you. 
 
 I am afraid we must own that we were of that 
 foolish class of men who never can say a hearty 
 good word for themselves. You might put a Mil- 
 verton in the most favorable position in the world, 
 you might have made him a bishop in George the 
 Second's time, or a minister to a Spanish king in 
 the seventeenth century, and still he would have 
 contrived to shuffle awkwardly out of wealth and 
 dignities, when the right time came for self-assertion, 
 
CO.\f PAN IONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 53 
 
 and for saying a stout word for his own cause, or 
 for that of his kith and kin. 
 
 *' Vox faucibus h^sit ; " the poor, simple fellow 
 was almost inaudible ; and, muttering something, 
 was supposed to say just that which he did not. I 
 foresaw, therefore, that unless some Milverton were 
 by good fortune to marry into a sturdy, pushing 
 flimily (which would be better for him than any 
 amount of present fortune) it was all over with the 
 race, as far as worldly prosperity is concerned. And 
 so it seems to be. If you feel that you are free from 
 this defect, I will insure you a fortune. Talk of 
 cutting down the yew-tree ; not a stick of the plan- 
 tation need be touched, and I already see deep 
 belts of new wood rise round newly-gained acres. 
 Only be sure that you really can stand up stoutly 
 for yourself. 
 
 I see what you are thinking of — that passage in 
 Bacon (and it pleases me to find that you are so far 
 well-read, though you have sold the books) where 
 he says that there are occasions when a man needs 
 a friend to do or say for him what he never can do 
 or say so well, or even at all for himself. True : but, 
 my simple-minded relative, have you lived to the 
 age of twenty-seven, and not discovered that Phoe- 
 nixes and Friends are creatures of the least prolific 
 
54 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 nature? Not that, adopting your misanthropic 
 mood, I would say that there are no such creatures 
 as friends, and that they are not potent for good. A 
 man's friend, however, is ill, or travelling, or pow- 
 erless ; but good self-assurance is always within call. 
 
 You are mute : you feel then that you are guilty 
 too. Be comforted ; perhaps there is some island 
 of the blest where there will be no occasion for 
 pushing. Once this happened to me, that a great 
 fierce obdurate crowd were pushing up in long line 
 <^owards a door which was to lead them to some 
 good thing ; and I, not liking the crowd, stole out 
 of it, having made up my mind to be last, and was 
 leaning indolently against a closed-up side door: 
 when, all of a sudden, this door opened, and I was 
 the first to walk in, and saw arrive long after me 
 the men who had been thrusting and struggling 
 round me. This does not often happen in the world, 
 but I think there was a meaning in it. 
 
 But now no more about me. We have to ihhk. 
 what is to be done in your case. 
 
 You labor under a retiring disposition, you are 
 married, and you wish to retrieve the family for- 
 tunes. This is a full and frank statement of your 
 case, and there is no doubt that it is a very bad one, 
 requiring wise and energetic remedies. First, you 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 55 
 
 must at once abandon all those pursuits which de- 
 pend for success upon refined appreciation. You 
 must seek to do something which many people de- 
 mand. I cannot illustrate what T mean better than 
 by telling you what I often tell my publisher, when- 
 ever he speaks of the slackness of trade. There is 
 a confectioner's shop next door, which is thronged 
 with people : I beg him (the publisher) to draw a 
 moral from this, and to set up, himself, an eating- 
 house. That would be appealing to the million in 
 the right way. I tell him he could hire me and 
 others of his ''eminent hands" to cook instead of 
 to write, and then, instead of living on our wits 
 (slender diet indeed !), we ourselves should be able 
 to buy books, and should become great patrons of 
 literature. I did not tell him, because it is not wise 
 to run down authors in the presence of publishers, 
 what I may mention to you, that many of us would 
 be much more wisely and wholesomely employed in 
 cooking than in writing. But this is nothing to you. 
 What I want you, dear distant kinsman, to perceive, 
 is, that you must at once cultivate something which 
 is in general demand. Emigrate, if you like, and 
 cultivate the ground. Cattle are always in some 
 demand, if only for tallow. It is better to provide 
 the fuel for the lamp than those productions which 
 
56 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 are said to smell most of it. I cannot enter into 
 details with you ; because I do not foresee what 
 will be the flourishing trades in your time. I can 
 only give you general advice. 
 
 One of the great aids, or hindrances, to success in 
 any thing lies in the temperament of a man. I do 
 not know yours ; but I venture to point out to you 
 what is the best temperament, namely, a combination 
 of the desponding and the resolute, or, as I had bet- 
 ter express it, of the apprehensive and the resolute. 
 Such is the temperament of great commanders. 
 Secretly, they rely upon nothing and upon nobody. 
 There is such a powerful element of failure in all 
 human affairs, that a shrewd man is always saying 
 to himself, what shall I do, if that which I count 
 upon does not come out as I expect. This foresight 
 dwarfs and crushes all but men of great resolution. 
 
 Then be not over-choice in looking out for what 
 may exactly suit you ; but rather be ready to adopt 
 any opportunities that occur. Fortune does not 
 stoop often to take any one up. Favorable oppor- 
 tunities will not happen precisely in the way that 
 you have imagined. Notliing does. Do not be dis- 
 couraged, therefore, by a present detriment in any 
 course which may lead to something good. Time 
 is so precious here. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE ^^ 
 
 Get, if you can, into one or other of the main 
 grooves of human affairs. It is all the difference of 
 going by railway, and walking over a ploughed 
 field, whether you adopt common courses, or set up 
 one for yourself. You will see, if your times are 
 any thing like ours, very inferior persons highly 
 placed in the army, in the church, in office, at the 
 bar. They have somehow got upon the line, and 
 have moved on well with very little original motive 
 power of their own. Do not let this make you talk 
 as if merit were utterly neglected in these or any 
 professions : only that getting well into the groove 
 will frequently do instead of any great excellence. 
 
 My sarcastic friend, Ellesmere, whom you will 
 probably know by repute as a great Chief Justice, or 
 Lord Chancellor, says, with the utmost gravity, that 
 no man with less than a thousand pounds a year (I 
 wonder whether in your times you will think that a 
 large or a small income) can afford to have private 
 opinions upon certain important subjects. He ad- 
 mits that he has known it done upon eight hundred 
 a year ; but only by very prudent people with small 
 families. 
 
 But the night is coming on, and I feel, my dear 
 descendant, as if I should like to say something 
 more solemn to you than these worldly maxims. 
 
^S COMPANIONS OF Ml' SOLITUDE. 
 
 Whatever happens, do not be dissatisfied with 
 your worldly fortunes, lest the speech be justly 
 made to you which was once made to a repining 
 person much given to talk of how great she and 
 hers had been. " Yes, madam," was the crushing 
 reply, " we all find our level at last." 
 
 Eternally that fable is true, of a choice being 
 given to men on their entrance into life. Two ma- 
 jestic women stand before you : one in rich vesture, 
 superb, with what seems like a mural crown on her 
 head and plenty in her hand, and something of tri- 
 umph, I will not say of boldness, in her eye ; and 
 she, the queen of this world, can give you many 
 things. The other is beautiful, but not alluring, 
 nor rich, nor powerful ; and there are traces of care 
 and shame and sorrow in her face ; and (marvel- 
 lous to say) her look is downcast and yet noble. 
 She can give you nothing, but she can make you 
 somebody. If you cannot bear to part from her 
 sweet, sublime countenance, which hardly veils 
 with sorrow its infinity, follow her : follow her, I 
 say, if you are really minded so to do ; but do not, 
 while you are on this track, look back with ill-con- 
 cealed envy on the glittering things which fall in 
 the path of those who prefer to follow the rich 
 dame, and to pick up the riches and honors which 
 fall from her cornucopia. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 59 
 
 This is in substance what a true artist said to me 
 only the other day, impatient, as he told me, of the 
 complaints of those who would pursue art, and yet 
 would have fortune. 
 
 But, indeed, all moral writings teem with this 
 remark in one form or other. You cannot have 
 inconsistent advantages. Do not shun this maxim 
 because it is common-place. On the contrary, take 
 the closest heed of what observant men, who would 
 probably like to show originality, are yet constrained 
 to repeat. Therein lies the marrow of the wisdom 
 of the world. Such things are wiser than jDroverbs, 
 which are seldom true except for the occasion on 
 which they are used, and are generally good to 
 strengthen a resolve ratlier than to enlighten it. 
 
 These latter words of mine fall upon an inatten- 
 tive ear ; for my distant descendant, who has been 
 gradually becoming more composed during the pro- 
 gress of this moral essay, at last falls quite asleep. 
 Perhaps the great triumph of all moral writings, 
 including sermons, is that at least they have pro- 
 duced some sweet and innocent sleep. 
 
 Poor fellow ! I now see how careworn he seems, 
 though not without some good looks, which he owes 
 to his great-great-great-grandmother, of whom, as 
 he lies there, he. puts me much in mind. He ought 
 
6o COMPAKIOKS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 to thank me for those good looks, and to admit that 
 winning some beauty for the family is at least as 
 valuable as that Woodcot chase which he thinks I 
 ought to have laid hold of. But our unfair de- 
 scendants never think of any thing in our favor: 
 this gout and that asthma and those mortgages are 
 all remembered against us ; we hear but little on 
 the other side. 
 
 Sleep on, dear distant progeny of mine, and I will 
 keep the night watches of your anxious thought. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 'nr^HESE companions of my solitude, my reveries, 
 take many forms. Sometimes, the nebulous 
 stuff out of which they are formed, comes together 
 with some method and set purpose, and may be 
 compared to a heavy cloud, — then they will do for 
 an essay or moral discourse ; at other times, they 
 are merely like those sportive disconnected forms of 
 vapor which are streaked across the heavens, now 
 like a feather, now like the outline of a camel, 
 doubtless obeying some law and with some design, 
 but such as mocks our observation ; at other times 
 again, they arrange themselves like those fleckered 
 clouds, where all the heavens are regularly broken 
 up in small divisions, lying evenly over each other 
 with light between each. The result of this last- 
 mentioned state of reverie is well brought out in 
 conversation : and so I am going to give the reader 
 an account of some talk which I had lately with mv 
 friend Ellesmere. 
 
 Once or twice before I have used this name Elles- 
 mere as if it were familiar to others as to myself. 
 It is to be found in a book edited, as it appears, by 
 
62 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 a neighboring clergyman, named Dunsford, who was 
 obliging and laborious enough to set down some 
 conversations in which he, Ellesmere, and mysell 
 took part ; and which he called Friends in Council. 
 There is no occasion to refer to this book to undjr- 
 s*and Ellesmere: a man soon shows himself by his 
 talk, if he does by any thing. Moreover the average 
 reader will find the book a somewhat sober, not to 
 say dull affair, embracing such questions as slavery, 
 government, management of the poor, and such like. 
 The reader, however, who is not the average reader, 
 may perhaps find something worth agreeing with, or 
 differing from, in the book. 
 
 I flatter myself that last sentence is very skilful. 
 The poor publisher, or rather his head man, com- 
 plains sadly that not even the usual amount of ad- 
 vertisement, not to speak of puffing, is allowed to 
 him ; the good clergyman having a peculiar aversion 
 to such modes of dealing, and believing that good 
 books, if there were such things, should be sought 
 after, and not poked in the faces of purchasers like 
 Jews' penknives at coach doors. By this delicate 
 piece of flattery, for each reader will secretly conclude 
 that he is above the average and hasten to buy the 
 book, I shall have done more than n. ny puffs direct. 
 Therefore beat ease, man of business, the avenues to 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 63 
 
 thy shop will be thronged. I can utter this prophecy 
 with the more confidence as the shop in question is 
 in the high road to the Great Exhibition. 
 
 Well, my friend Ellesmere was with me for a day ; 
 we were lounging about the garden ; the great black 
 dog which I always let loose when Ellesmere is here, 
 to please him, was slowly following us to and fro, 
 hanging out his large tongue, and wishing we would 
 sit down, but still not being able to resist following 
 us about ; when Ellesmere suddenly interrupted 
 something I was saying with these words, " The 
 question between us almost comes to this : you want 
 a sheep-dog. I am satisfied with a watch-dog: 
 Rollo will do for me ; and, as you see, he is content 
 with my approbation." 
 
 This abrupt speech requires some explanation. I 
 had been talking about some matters connected with 
 statesmanship, and stricturing, perhaps too severely, 
 some recent acts of government, in which, as I said, 
 I detected some of the worst habits of modern policy 
 — a mixture of rashness and indecision — meddling 
 and doing nothing — spending, as I added, most of 
 the powder for the flash in the pan. Then I went 
 on to deplore, that always statesmanship appeared to 
 come upon the stage too late. Is nothing ever to be 
 done in time ? * 
 
 * Written in 1850. 
 
64 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 A good deal of what I said is true, I think, but 
 ought to be taken " cum grano," as they say ; for men 
 who have lived a good deal in active life, and are 
 withdrawn from it, are apt to comment too severely 
 on the conduct of those who are left behind. They 
 forget the difficulty of getting any thing done in this 
 perplexed world, and their own former difficulties 
 in that way are softened by distance. It was well 
 that Ellesmere interrupted me. The conversation 
 thus proceeded. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, that is the point. I confess I 
 should like something of the sheep-dog in a ruler. 
 I think we, of all nations, can bear judicious inter- 
 ference and regulation ; we should not be cramped 
 by it. 
 
 Ellesmere, In a representative government is the 
 folly of the governed to find no place ? 
 
 Milverton, Yes, but, my good friend, you need 
 not be anxious to provide for that. Folly will find 
 a place even at the side of princes. That was the 
 thing symbolized by great men's jesters. But, putting 
 sarcasm aside, Ellesmere, I don't mean to blame 
 present men so much as present doctrines and 
 systems. Some of the men in power, or likely to 
 be, in this country, are very honest, capable, brave 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 6^ 
 
 men, full of desire to do good. But they have too 
 little power, or rather, they meet with too much 
 obstruction. Now, it is not wise to swathe a creat- 
 ure up like a foreign baby, and then say, Exert 
 yourself, govern us, let there be no delay. 
 
 Ellesmere. The amount of obstruction is over- 
 estimated. If a ruling man wanted to do any thing 
 good, I think he could do it, though I do admit 
 that there are large powers of obstruction to be 
 encountered. 
 
 Milverton* I do believe you are right. A states- 
 man might venture to be greater and bolder than 
 his position or apparent power quite warrants. And 
 if he were to fall, he would fall — and there an end. 
 
 Ellesmere. And no such great damage either. 
 
 Milverto7t. But to return to your watch-dog and 
 sheep-dog. There are two things very different 
 demanded from statesmen : one, carrying on the 
 routine of office ; the other, originating measures, 
 setting the limits within which private exertion 
 should act. You do not mean to contend, Ellesmere, 
 that it would not have been wise for a government 
 to have interfered with railway legislation earlier 
 and more efficiently than it did. 
 
 Ellesmere. No, — few people know better than 
 I do the immense loss of time, money, labor, tem- 
 
 5 
 
66 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 per, and happiness which might have been saved in 
 that matter. 
 
 Milverton. Now^ look again on Sanitary meas- 
 ures. Consider the years it has taken, and, for 
 aught I know, may yet take, to get a Smoke Prohi- 
 bition Bill passed. If such a thing is wise and 
 possible, let us have it ; if not, tell us it cannot be 
 done. I have taken instances in physical things 
 just as they occurred to me : 1 might have alluded 
 to higher matters which are left in the same way, 
 to see what will happen, to wait for the breezes, 
 perhaps the storms, of popular agitation. 
 
 Ellesmere. People in authority are as fearful of 
 attacking any social evil as men are of cutting down 
 old trees about their houses. There is always some- 
 thing, however, to be said for the old trees. 
 
 Milverto7t. It would mostly be better, though, 
 to cut them down at once, and begin to plant some- 
 thing at the proper distance from their houses. 
 
 Ellesmei'e. Well, Milverton, there is one thing 
 you must remember, and that is, that intelligent 
 men writing or talking about government are apt 
 to fancy themselves, or such men as themselves, in 
 power ; and so are inclined to be very liberal in 
 assigning the limits of that power. Let them fancy 
 some of the foolish people they know in this imagl- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 6^ 
 
 nary position of great power ; and then see how the 
 intelligent men begin to shudder at the thought of 
 this power, and to desire very secure limits for it, 
 and very narrow space for its exercise. 
 
 Milverton. Intelligent public opinion will in 
 these days prevent vigorous action in a minister from 
 hardening into despotism. 
 
 Ellesmere. Please repeat that again, my friend. 
 *' Intelligent public opinion ? " Were those the 
 words ? did I catch them rightly } 
 
 Milverton, You did. There is such a thing, 
 Ellesmere. It is not the first opinion heard in the 
 country ; it is not always loud on the hustings ; but 
 surely there are a great number of persons in a 
 country like this, who try to think, and eventually 
 form intelligent public opinion. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am afraid they are not a very 
 active body. 
 
 Milverton. Not the most active ; but they come 
 in at some time. 
 
 Ellesmere. I do not wish to be impertinent, but 
 do any of these people who ultimately (ultimately, 
 I like that word), form intelligent public opinion, 
 live in the country ? I can imagine a retired wisdom 
 in some Court in London, say Pump Court for 
 instance, but I cannot fancy the blowsy wisdom of 
 the country. 
 
68 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Milverton. Now, Ellesmere, do not be pro- 
 voking. 
 
 Ellesmere, I am all gravity again ; but just 
 allow me to propound one little theory, namely, 
 that it is when the retired wisdom of town is reviv- 
 ified by country air (on a visit) that it is apt to 
 develop itself into — what is it? — oh — " intelligent 
 public opinion." 
 
 Milverton, Now, as you have had your joke, I 
 will proceed. I have a theory that the tempera- 
 ment and habits of mind of individual statesmen 
 have a good deal to do with government. I do not 
 yet believe that we are all compounded into some 
 great machine of which you can exactly calculate 
 the results. 
 
 Ellesmere, What is your pet temperament for 
 a statesman? 
 
 Milverton. That is a large question : one thing 
 I should be inclined to say, with respect to his habit 
 of mind, — he should doubt till the last, and then 
 act like a man who has never doubted. 
 
 Ellesmere. Cleverly put, but untrue, after the 
 fashion of you maxim-mongers. He should not act 
 like a man who has never doubted, but like a man 
 who was in the habit of doubting till he had 
 received sufficient information. He should not con- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 69 
 
 vey to you the idea of a man who was given to 
 doubt, or not to doubt ; but of one who could wait 
 till he had inquired. 
 
 Milverton, Your criticism is just. Well, then, 
 another thing which occurs to me respecting his 
 habits of mind is, that he should be one of those 
 people who are not given to any system, and yet 
 who have an exceeding love of improvement and 
 disposition to regulate. 
 
 Ellesmere. That is good. I distrust systems. I 
 find that men talk of principles ; and mean, when you 
 come to inquire, rules connected with certain systems. 
 
 Milverton. This enables me to bring my notions 
 of government interference to a point. It should be 
 a principle in a statesman's mind that he should not 
 interfere so as to deaden private action : at the same 
 time he should be profoundly anxious that right and 
 good should be done, and consequently not fear to 
 undertake responsibility. He should not be en- 
 trapped, mentally, into any system of policy which 
 held him to interfere here, or not to interfere there; 
 but he should be inclined to look at each case on its 
 own merits. This is very hard work. Systems save 
 trouble, — the trouble of thinking. 
 
 Ellesmere. There is some sense in what you %?iy. 
 If we talk no more about statesmanship (and to tell 
 
70 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 the truth I am rather tired of the subject), our dia- 
 logue will end like the dialogues in a book, where, 
 after much sham stage-fighting, the author's opinion is 
 always made to prevail. By the way, T dare say you 
 think that the nurser}^ for Statesmen is Literature ; 
 and that in these days of railwa3's, a short line from 
 Grub Street to Downing Street (a single set of rails, 
 as no one will want to return) is imperatively needed. 
 
 Milverton. No, I do not. I think that good Lit- 
 erature, like any other good work, gives notice of 
 material out of which a statesman might choose. To 
 make a good book, my dear friend, is a very hard 
 thing, I suspect. I do not mean a work of genius. 
 Of course such are very rare. But to give an account 
 of any transaction ; to put forward any connected 
 views ; in short to do any mere literary work well ; 
 it requires many of the things which tend to make a 
 good man of business, — industry, for instance, 
 method, clearness, resolve, power of adaptation. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, no doubt : foreign nations seem 
 to have profited so much from calling literary men 
 to their aid, that — 
 
 Milverton. That is an unjust sneer, Ellesmere. 
 Some of the writings of the men to whom I know 
 you allude, do not fulfil the condition of being good 
 books ; are full of false antitheses, illogical conclu- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. >ji 
 
 sions, vapid assertions, and words arranged accord- 
 ing to prettiness, not to meaning. Such books are 
 beacons ; they tell all men, the people who wrote us 
 are sprightly fellows, but cannot be trusted, they love 
 sound more than sense, pray do not trust them with 
 any function requiring sense rather than sound. 
 
 But you are not to conclude because some men 
 make use of Literature, perhaps the only way open 
 to them of carrying their views into action, that they 
 could not act themselves. Napoleon was always 
 writing early in life ; Caesar indited books, even a 
 grammar ; a whole host of captains and statesmen in 
 the sixteenth century were writers. Follow Cer- 
 vantes, Mendoza, Sidney, Camoens, Descartes, Paul 
 Louis Courier, to the field, and come back with them 
 — if you ever do come back alive, you individual 
 clothed with horsehair and audacity ; and then follow 
 them to their studies and see whether they cannot give 
 a good account of themselves in both departments. 
 
 Ellesmere. Pistol is come back again on earth, 
 or Bombastes Furioso, neither of whose characters 
 sits well upon you. But, my friend, we are wont in 
 law to look to the point at issue ; we were talking 
 of statesmen, not of soldiers. 
 
 Milverton, Machiavelli — 
 
 Ellesmere. That worthy man ! 
 
72 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 Milverton, Caesar again ! Lorenzo de' Medici, 
 James the First of Scotland, Milton, Bacon, Grotius, 
 Shaftesbury, Somers, St. John, Temple, Burke. And 
 were I to rack my brains, or my books, I could no 
 doubt make an ample list. 
 
 Ellesmere. Good, bad, and indifferent : here they 
 come, altogether. 
 
 Milverton, And have there been no bad states- 
 men amongst tnose who had no tincture of letters.'* 
 
 Ellesmere. One or two, certainly. 
 
 Milverton. You know, Ellesmere, I have never 
 talked loudly of the claims of literary men, and have 
 always maintained that for them, especially when 
 they are of real merit, to complain of neglect, is for 
 the most part absurd. A great writer, as I think Mr. 
 Carlyle has well said, creates a want for himself — 
 a most artificial one. Nobody wanted him before he 
 appeared. He has to show them what they want him 
 for. You might as well talk of Leverrier's planet 
 having been neglected in George the Second's time. 
 It had not been discovered : that is all. 
 
 There may be misunderstandings as to the nature 
 of literary merit, as indeed of all merit, which may 
 prevent worldly men from making due use of it in 
 worldly affairs. For instance, I should say that diplo- 
 matic services are services peculiarly fit to be per- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 73 
 
 formed by literary men. They are likely to be more 
 of cosmopolites than other men are Their various 
 accomplishments serve them as means of attaching 
 others in strange countries. Their observations are 
 likely to be good. One can easily see that a great 
 deal of their habitual work w^ould come into play in 
 such employments. And there is an appearance of 
 hardship in not giving, at least occasionally, to men 
 w^ho are particularly shut out from most vsrorldly ad- 
 vantages, those offices which tliey promise to be most 
 fitted for. 
 
 Ellesmere, It would improve many a literary man 
 greatly to have, or to have had, some real business. 
 
 Milverton, No doubt. Indeed, I have always 
 thought it is a melancholy thing to see how shut up, 
 or rather I should say, how twisted and deformed a 
 man becomes by surrendering himself to any one 
 art, sdence, calling, or culture. * You see a person 
 become a lawyer, a physician, a clergyman, an 
 author, or an artist ; and cease to be a man, a whole- 
 some man, fairly developed in all ways. Each 
 man's art or function, however serviceable, should 
 be attached to him no more than to a soldier his 
 sword, which the accomplished military man can 
 lay aside, and not even remind you that he has ever 
 worn such a thing. 
 
74 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Ellesmere. An idea strikes me ; I see how literary 
 men may be rewarded, literature soundly encour- 
 aged, and yet the author be injured the least possible 
 by his craft. Hitherto we have given pensions for 
 what a man has written. I would do this : I would 
 ascertain when a man has acquired that lamentable 
 facility for doing second-rate things which Is not 
 uncommon in literature as In other branches of life, 
 and then I would say to him, I see you can write, 
 here is a hundred a year for you as long as you are 
 quite quiet. Indeed, I think pensions and honors 
 should generally be given to the persons who could 
 have done the things for which such rewards are 
 given, but who have not done them. I would say 
 to this man, You have great parliamentary influence, 
 you did not use it for mere party purposes ; there is 
 a peerage for you. You, turning to another man, 
 might have become a great lawyer, or rather a law- 
 yer in great place : you had too much — 
 
 Milverton. Modesty — 
 
 JEllesmere. Pooh, nonsense ! modesty never did 
 anybody any harm. No, let me go on with my 
 speech. You had too much honesty, or scrupulous- 
 ness, to escape being thrown out for the borough of 
 
 which (as a lawyer to get on in the highest 
 
 offices must please a constituency as well as under- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 75 
 
 stand his business) was fatal to you. Here, how- 
 ever, is a baronetcy for you. 
 
 Here, you, Mr. Milverton, you might have written 
 two books a year (dreadful thought !), you have not 
 always inflicted one upon us. Be Guelphed, and 
 consider yourself well off. Keep yourself quiet for 
 several years, and we may advance you further. 
 
 Oh ! what a patron of arts and letters is lost in 
 me ! Now this dog can bark and make a horrible 
 noise to distinguish himself; he does not do it — 
 that is why I like you so much, my dear Rollo (at 
 that instant, unluckily, Rollo, taking heed of Elles- 
 mere's comical gestures, and seeing that something 
 was addressed to him, began to frisk about and 
 bark). Oh, dear me! I see one can't praise or 
 encourage any creature without doing mischief. 
 
 Milverton, You have not to reproach yourself 
 for having done much in this way. 
 
 Ellesmere, Too much, — sadly too much. But 
 here comes John with a solicitous face, to get your 
 orders about planting the trees which came last 
 night, and which ought to have been put in early 
 this morning. Attend to them : they are your great 
 works ; some of them may live to a remote pos- 
 terity : and while you are about it, my good fellow, 
 do put in something which will produce eatables. 
 
76 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Those fir-cones are very pretty things, but hard to 
 eat. Remember that a certain learned gentleman, 
 who hopes to live to a good old age, is very fond of 
 mulberries ; and if some trees were put in now, he 
 might have something good to eat when he comes 
 into the country, and be able to refresh himself 
 after delivering judicious opinions on all subjects. 
 
 So we separated, I to my trees, and Ellesmere to 
 take the dog out for a walk. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T RESOLVED to-day to go out into the neighbor- 
 ing pine-wood alone, to con over some notes 
 which I am anxious to read by myself, with only an 
 occasional remark from a wood-pigeon, or what may 
 be gained from the gliding, rustling squirrel. There 
 is scarcely any thing in nature to be compared with 
 a pine-wood, I think. I remember once when, after 
 a long journey, I was approaching a city ennobled 
 by great works of art, and of great renown, that I 
 had to pass through what I was told by the guide- 
 books was most insipid country, only to be hurried 
 over as fast as might be, and nothing to be thought 
 or said about it. But the guide-books, thougK very 
 clever and useful things in their way, do not know 
 each of us personally, nor what we secretly like and 
 care for. Well, I was speeding through this " un- 
 interesting" country, and now there remained but 
 one long dull stage, as I read, to be gone through 
 before I should reach the much-wished-for city. It 
 was necessary to stay some time (for we travelled 
 vetturino fashion) at the little post-house, and I 
 walked on, promising to be in the way whenever 
 
78 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 the vehicle should overtake me. The road led 
 through a w^ood, chiefly of pines, varied, however, 
 occasionally by other trees. 
 
 Into this wood I strayed. There was that almost 
 indescribably soothing noise (the Romans would 
 have used the word " susurrus"), the aggregate of 
 many gentle movements of gentle creatures. The 
 birds hopped but a few paces off', as I approached 
 them ; the brilliant butterflies waved hither and 
 thither before me ; there was a soft breeze that day, 
 and the tops of the tall trees swayed to and fro po- 
 litely to each other. I found many delightful rest- 
 ing-places. It was not all dense wood ; but here 
 and there were glades (such open spots, I mean, as 
 would be cut through by the sword for an army to 
 pass) ; and here and there stood a clump of trees 
 of different heights and foliage, as beautifully ar- 
 ranged as if some triumph of the art of landscape 
 had been intended, though it was only Nature's way 
 of healing up the gaps in the forest. For her heal- 
 ing is a new beauty. 
 
 It was very warm, without which nothing is beau- 
 tiful to me ; and I fell into the pleasantest train of 
 thought. The easiness of that present moment 
 seemed to show the possibility of all care being 
 driven away from the world some day. For thus 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 79 
 
 peace brings a sensation of power with it. I shall 
 not say what I thought of, for it is not good always 
 to be communicative ; but altogether that hour in 
 the pine-wood was the happiest hour of the whole 
 journey, though I saw many grand pictures and 
 noble statues, a mighty river and buildings which 
 were built when people had their own clear thoughts 
 of what they meant to do, and how they would do 
 it. But in seeing these things there is, so to speak, 
 something that is official, that must be done in a 
 set way ; and, after all, it is the chance felicities in 
 minor things which are so pleasant in a journey. 
 You had intended, for instance, to go and hear some 
 great service, and there was something to be done, 
 and a crowd to be encountered ; and you open your 
 window and find, as the warm air streams in, that 
 beautiful sounds come with it ; in truth your win- 
 dow is not far off from an opening in one of the ca- 
 thedral windows, and there you stay drinking in all 
 the music, being alone. You feel that a bit of good 
 fortune has happened to you ; and you are happier 
 all the day for it. 
 
 It is the same thing in the journey of life : pleasure 
 falls into no plan. 
 
 I think I have justified my liking for a pine-wood ; 
 
8o COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 and though the particular wood I can get at here is 
 but a poor thing as compared with the great forests 
 I have been thinking of, yet, looked at with all the 
 reminiscence of their beauties, its few and mean par- 
 ticulars are so wrought upon by memory and fancy, 
 that it brings before me a sufficient picture, half 
 seen, half recollected, of all that is most beautiful 
 in sylvan scenery. 
 
 To my wood then I wandered ; and, after pacing 
 up and down a little, and enjoying the rich color of 
 the trunks of the trees, I sat down upon a tree that 
 had been lately felled, and read out my notes to my- 
 self. Here they are. They begin, I see, with a 
 little narration ; which, however, is not a bad be- 
 ginning. 
 
 It was a bright winter's day ; and I sat upon a 
 garden-seat in a sheltered nook towards the south, 
 having come out of my study to enjoy the warmth, 
 like a fly that has left some snug crevice to stretch 
 his legs upon the unwontedly sunny pane in Decem- 
 ber. My little daughter (she is a very little thing 
 about four years old) came running up to me, and 
 when she had arrived at my knees, held up a strag- 
 gling but pretty weed. Then, with great earnest- 
 ness, and as if fresh from some controversy on the 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 8l 
 
 subject, she exclaimed, " Is this a weed, Papa ; is 
 tliis a weed ? " 
 
 " Yes, a weed," I replied. 
 
 With a look of disappointment she moved off to 
 the one she loved best amongst us ; and, asking the 
 same question, received the same answer. 
 
 " But it has flowers,'* the child replied. 
 
 " That does not signify ; it is a weed," was the 
 inexorable answer. 
 
 Presently, after a moment's consideration, the 
 child ran off again, and meeting the gardener just 
 near my nook, though out of sight from where I 
 sat, she coaxingly addressed him. 
 
 " Nicholas dear, is this a weed ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss, they call it ' Shepherd's purse.* " 
 
 A pause ensued : I thought the child was now 
 fairly silenced by ^futhority, when all at once the 
 little voice began again, '* Will you plant it in my 
 garden, Nicholas dear ? do plant it in my garden." 
 
 There was no resisting the anxious entreaty of 
 tlie child ; and man and child moved off together to 
 plant the weed in one of those plots of ground 
 which the children walk about upon a good deal, 
 and put branches of trees in and grown-up flowers, 
 and then examine the roots (a system as encourag- 
 ing as other systems of education I could name), 
 
 and which they call their gardens. 
 6 
 
82 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 But the child's words " Will you plant it in my 
 garden ? " remained upon my mind. That is what 
 I have always been thinking, I exclaimed : and it is 
 what I will begin by saying. 
 
 And, indeed, dear reader, if I were to tell you 
 how long I have been thinking of the subject which 
 I mean to preface by the child's fond words ; and. 
 how hopeless it has at times appeared to me to say 
 any thing worth hearing about it ; and how I have 
 still clung to my resolve, and worked on at other 
 things with a view of coming eventually to this, 
 you would sympathize with me already, as we do 
 with any man who keeps a task long in mind and 
 heart, though he execute it at last but poorly, and 
 though it be but a poor task, such as a fortune for 
 himself, or a tomb for his remains. For we like to 
 see a man persevere in any thin"^. 
 
 Without more preface, then, I will say at once 
 that this subject is one which I have been wont to 
 call " the great sin of great cities " — not that in 
 so calling it, I have perhaps been strictly just, but 
 the description will do well enough. For what is 
 the thing which must so often diminish the pride of 
 man when contemplating the splendid monuments 
 of a great city, its shops, its public buildings, parks, 
 equipages, and above all, the wonderful way in 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. St^ 
 
 which vast crowds of people go about their affairs 
 witli so little outward contest and confusion ? I im- 
 agine the beholder in the best parts of the town, 
 not diving into narrow streets, wandering sickened 
 and exhausted near uncovered ditches in squalid sub- 
 urbs, or studiously looking behind the brilliant sur- 
 face of things. But what is it which on that very 
 surface, helping to form a part of the brilliancy 
 (like the prismatic colors seen on stagnant film), 
 conveys at times to any thoughtful mind an impres- 
 sion of the deepest mournfulness, a perception of 
 the dark blots upon human civilization, in a word, 
 some appreciation of the great sin of great cities ? The 
 vile sewer, the offensive factory chimney, the squal- 
 id suburb tell their own tale very clearly. The girl 
 with hardened look, and false imprinted smile, tells 
 one no less ominous- of evil. 
 
 In fact I do not know any one thing which con- 
 centrates and reflects more accurately the evils of 
 any society than this sin. It is a measure of the want 
 of employment, the uncertainty of employment, the 
 moral corruption amongst the higher classes, the 
 want of education amongst the lower, the relaxation 
 of bonds between master and servant, employer 
 and employed ; and, indeed, it expresses the want 
 
84 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 of prudence, truth, light, and love in that commu- 
 nity. 
 
 In considering any evil, our thoughts may be classed 
 under three heads, — the nature of it, the causes of it, 
 the remedies for it. Often the discussion of any one 
 of these great branches of the subject involves the 
 other two ; and it becomes difficult to divide them 
 without pedantry. But in general, we^ may, for 
 convenience, attend to such a division of the subject. 
 
 I. The Nature. 
 
 The nature of the evil in this case is one which 
 does not require to be largely dwelt upon ; and yet 
 several things must be said about it. One which 
 occurs to me is the degradation of race. Thousands 
 upon thousands of beautiful women are by it con- 
 demned to sterility. As a nation, we should look 
 with exceeding jealousy and alarm at any occupation 
 which claimed our tallest men and left them without 
 offspring. And, surely, it is no light matter, in a 
 national point of view, that any sin should claim the 
 right of consuming, sometimes as rapidly as if they 
 were a slave population, a considerable number of. 
 the best-looking persons in the community. 
 
 How slight, however, is the physical degradation 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 85 
 
 compared with the mental degradation caused by 
 this sin : and here I do not mean only the dishonor 
 of the individuals, but the large social injury which 
 the mere existence of such a thing causes. For it 
 accustoms men to the contemplation of the greatest 
 social failures, and introduces habitually a low view 
 of the highest things. We are apt to look at each 
 individual case too harshly ; but the whole thing is 
 not looked at gravely enough. This often happens 
 in considering any great social abuse ; and so we 
 frequently commence the remedy by some great 
 injustice in a particular case. 
 
 In appreciating the nature of this evil, the feelings 
 of the people concerned with it are a large part of 
 the subject. On the one side are shame, pride, 
 dejection, restlessness, hopelessness, and a sense of 
 ill-usage resulting in a bitter effrontery, a mean 
 heartlessness, and a godless remorse. As a mere 
 matter of statesmanship such a class requires to be 
 looked to as pre-eminently dangerous. On the other 
 side is often the meanness without the shame ; and 
 a permanent coarseness and unholiness of mind is 
 inflicted upon the sex that most requires refinement 
 and spirituality in the affections. 
 
 To return, however, to a consideration of the feel- 
 ings of the poor women ; it may be noticed that they 
 
86 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 have an excessive fear of being left alone with their 
 own recollections, which is, no doubt, a great obstacle 
 to their being reclaimed. Withal there is something 
 very grand though sad, that one of the main obstacles 
 to outward improvement lies in the intensity of shame 
 for the wrong-doing, in a dumb but profound remorse. 
 You may see similar feelings operating very variously 
 among the greatest men whose spiritual state is at 
 all known to us. Poor Luther exclaims, " When I 
 am assailed with heavy tribulations, I rush out among 
 my pigs, rather than remain alone by myself. The 
 human heart is like a millstone in a mill ; when you 
 put wheat under it, it turns and grinds and bruises 
 the wheat to flour ; if you put no wheat, it still grinds 
 on, but then it is Itself it grinds and wears away." 
 
 Certainly the Gospel seems especially given to 
 meet these cases of remorse, and to prevent despair 
 (not the tempter but the slave driver to so many 
 crimes) from having an unjust and irreligious hold, 
 not so much on men's fears as on their fancies — 
 especially their notions of perfection as regards 
 themselves. For I doubt not but that men and 
 women much lower down In the scale of cultivation 
 and sensibility than we imagine, are haunted by a 
 sense of their own fall from what they feel and think 
 they ought to have been. 
 
n. The CausesS " " °^ 
 
 The main cause of this sin on the wom^rr*s pllTl 
 is want, — absolute want. This, though one of the 
 most grievous things to contemplate, has at the same 
 time a large admixture of hope in it. For, surely, 
 if civilization is to make any sufficient answer for 
 itself, and for the many serious evils it promotes, it 
 ought to be, that it renders the vicissitudes of life 
 less extreme, that it provides a resource for all of 
 us against excessive want. Hitherto we have not 
 succeeded in making it do so, but it is contended, 
 and with apparent justice, that it acts better in this 
 respect than savage life. At any rate, to return to 
 the main course of my argument, it is more satis- 
 factory to hear that this evil is a result, on one side 
 at least, of want rather than of depravity. 
 
 The next great cause is in the over-rigid views 
 and opinions, especially as against women, ex- 
 pressed in reference to unchastity. Christianity has 
 been in some measure to blame for this ; though, if 
 rightly applied, it would have been the surest cure. 
 " Publicans and sinners ! " Such did He prefer 
 before the company of Pharisees and hypocrites. 
 These latter, however, have been in great credit 
 
88 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 ever since ; and, for my part, I see no end to their 
 being pronounced for ever the choice society of the 
 world. 
 
 The virtuous, carefully tended and carefully 
 brought up, ought to bethink themselves how little 
 they may owe to their own merit that the}^ are vir- 
 tuous, for it is in the evil concurrence of bad dispo- 
 sition and masterless opportunity that crime comes. 
 Of course, to an evil-disposed mind, opportunity 
 will never be wanting ; but, when one person or 
 class of persons is from circumstances peculiarly 
 exposed to temptation, and goes wrong, it is no 
 great stretch of charity for others to conclude that 
 that person, or class, did not begin v/ith worse dis- 
 positions than they themselves who are still without 
 a stain. This is very obvious ; but it is to be 
 observed that the reasoning powers which are very 
 prompt in mastering any simple scientific proposi- 
 tion, experience a wonderful halting in their logic 
 when applied to the furtherance of charity. 
 
 There is a very homely proverb, about the fate of 
 the pitcher that goes often to the water, which might 
 be an aid to charity, and which bears closely on 
 the present case. The Spaniards, from whom I 
 dare say we have the proverb, express it prettily 
 and pithily. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 89 
 
 " Cantarillo que muchas vezes va a la fuente, 
 O dexa la asa, o la frente." 
 
 "The little pitcher that goes often to the fountain, either 
 leaves the handle or the spout behind some day." 
 
 The dainty vase, which is kept under a glass case 
 in a drawing-room, should not be too proud of re- 
 maining without a flaw, considering its great advan- 
 tages. 
 
 In the New Testament we have such matters 
 treated in a truly divine manner. There is no pal- 
 liation of crime. Sometimes our charity is so 
 mixed up with a mash of sentiment and sickly feel- 
 ing that we do not know where we are, and what is 
 vice, and what is virtue. But here are the brief 
 stern words, " Go, and sin no more ; " but, at the 
 same time, there is an infinite consideration for the 
 criminal, not however as criminal, but as human 
 being : I mean, not in respect of her criminality, 
 but of her humanity. 
 
 Now, an instance of our want of obedience to 
 these Christian precepts has often struck me in the 
 not visiting married women whose previous lives 
 will not bear inspection. Whose will ? Not merely 
 all Christian people, but all civilized people, ought 
 to set their faces against this excessive retrospection. 
 
 But if ever there were an occasion on which men 
 
90 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 (I say men, but I mean more especially women) 
 should be careful of scattering abroad unjust and 
 severe sayings, it is in speaking of the frailties and 
 delinquencies of women. For it is one- of those 
 things where an unjust judgment, or the fear of one, 
 breaks down the bridge behind the repentant ; and 
 has often made an error into a crime, and a single 
 crime into a life of crime. 
 
 A daughter has left her home, madly, ever so 
 wickedly, if you like ; but what are too often the 
 demons tempting her onwards and preventing her 
 return? The uncharitable speeches she has heard 
 at home ; and the feeling she shares with most of 
 us, that those we have lived with are the sharpest 
 judges of our conduct. 
 
 " Would you, then," exclaims some reader or 
 hearer, " take back and receive with tenderness a 
 daughter who had erred.'*" "Yes," I reply, "if 
 she had been the most abandoned woman upon 
 earth." 
 
 A foolish family pride often adds to this uncharit- 
 able way of feeling and speaking which I venture 
 to reprehend. Our care is not that an evil and an 
 unfortunate thing has happened, but that our family 
 has been disgraced, as we call it. Family vanity 
 mixes up with and exasperates rigid virtue. Good 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 91 
 
 heavens ! if we could but see where disgrace really 
 lies, how often men would be ashamed of their 
 riches and their honors ; and would discern that a 
 bad temper, or an irritable disposition, was the 
 greatest family disgrace that attached to them. 
 
 A fear of the uncharitable speeches of others is 
 the incentive in many courses of evil ; but it has a 
 peculiar effect in the one we are considering, as it 
 occurs with most force just at the most critical period, 
 — when the victim of seduction is upon the point 
 of falling into worse ways. Then it is that the un- 
 charitable speeches she has heard on this subject in 
 former days are so many goads to her, urging her 
 along the downward path of evil. What a strange 
 desperate notion it is of men, when they have 
 erred, that things are at the worst, that nothing can 
 be done to rescue them ; whereas Judas might have 
 done something better than hang himself. 
 
 But if we were all so kind, exclaims some rigid 
 man, we should only encourage the evil we wish to 
 subdue. He does not see that the first step in evil, 
 and the abandonment to it as a course of life, pro- 
 ceed mostly from totally different motives, and are 
 totally different things. One who dwelt on a secure 
 height of peace and virtue, has fallen sadly and 
 come down upon a table-land plagued with storms 
 
92 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 and liable to attacks of all kinds, and from which 
 there is no ascent to the height again, but which is 
 still at an immense distance above a certain abyss; 
 and we should be very cautious of doing any thing 
 that might make the foolish, dejected, pride-led 
 person plunge hopelessly down into the abyss, in all 
 probability, to be lost forever. 
 
 Before quitting the subject of the family, I must 
 observe that, independently of any harshness of 
 remark which a young person may have been accus- 
 tomed to hear on matters connected with our present 
 subject, the ill-management of parents must be 
 taken into account as one of the most common 
 causes of this sin. It is very sad to be obliged to 
 say this, but the thing is true, and must be said. 
 We must not, however, be too much discouraged at 
 this, for the truth is, that to perform well any one 
 of the great relations of life is an immense difficulty ; 
 and when we see on a tombstone (those underneath 
 can now say nothing to the contrary) that the de- 
 funct was a good husband, father, and son, we may 
 conclude, if the words were truthful, that we are 
 passing by the mortal remains of an Admirable 
 Crichton in morality. And these relations are the 
 more difficult, as they are not to be completely ful- 
 filled by an abnegation of self, in other words, by a 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE 93 
 
 weak giving way upon all points ; which is the ruin 
 of many a person. I am not, however, going, in 
 this particular case, to speak of the spoiling of 
 children in the ordinary sense, but rather of the 
 contrary defect; which, strange to say, is quite as 
 common, if not more so. Of necessity the ages of 
 parents and children are separated by a considerable 
 interval ; the particular relation is one full of awe 
 and authority ; and the effect of that disparity of 
 years, and of that natural awe and authority, may 
 easily, by harsh or ungenial parents, be strained too 
 far ; other pei'sons, and the world in general (not 
 caring for the welfare of those who are no children 
 of theirs, and besides using the just courtesy 
 towards strangers) , are often tolerant when parents 
 are not so, which puts them to a great disadvantage ; 
 small matters are often needlessly made subjects of 
 daily comment and blame ; and, in the end, it comes 
 that home is sometimes any thing but the happy 
 place we choose to make it out, in songs and fictions 
 of various kinds. This, when it occurs, is a great 
 pity. I am for making home very happy to chil- 
 dren if it can be managed ; which, of course, is not 
 to be done by weak compliances, and having no 
 fixed rules. For no creature is happy, or even free, 
 as Goethe has pointed out, except in the circuit of 
 
94 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 law. But laws and regulations having once been 
 laid down, all within those bounds should be very 
 kind at home. Now listen to the captious queru- 
 lous scoldings that you may hear, even as you go 
 along the streets, addressed by parents to children ; 
 is it not manifest that in after life there will be too 
 much fear in the children's minds, and a belief that 
 their father and mother never will sympathize with 
 them as others even might — never will forgive 
 them .? People of all classes, high and low, err in 
 the same way ; and, in looking about the world, I 
 have sometimes thought that a thoroughly judicious 
 father is one of the rarest creatures to be met with. 
 
 Another cause of the frailty of women, in the 
 lower classes, is in the comparative inelegance and 
 uncleanliness of the men in their own class. It also 
 arises from the fondness which all women have for 
 merit, or what they suppose to be such, so that their 
 love is apt to follow what is in any way distin- 
 guished ; and this throws the women of any class 
 cruelly open to the seductions of the men in the 
 class above. For women are the real aristocrats ; 
 and it is one of their greatest merits. Men's intel- 
 lects, even some of the brightest, may occasionally 
 be deceived by theories about equality and the like, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 95 
 
 but women, who look at reality more, are rarely led 
 
 away by nonsense of this kind. 
 
 A cause of this sin of a very different kind, and 
 
 applying to men, is a dreadful notion which has 
 
 occasionally been adopted in these latter ages, 
 
 namely, that it is a fine thing for a man to have 
 
 gone through a great deal of vice — to have had 
 
 much personal experience of wickedness ; in short, 
 
 that knowledge of vice is knowledge of the world, 
 
 and that such knowledge of the world is eminently 
 
 useful. That is not the way in which the greatest 
 
 thinkers read the world ; they tell us that 
 
 " The Gods approve the depth and not the tumult of the 
 soul." 
 
 Self-restraint is the grand thing, is the great tutor. 
 
 But let us not talk insincerely even for a good end, 
 as we may suppose ; and therefore do not let us deny 
 that every evil carries with it its teachings. An in- 
 dulgence in dissipation teaches that dissipation is a 
 fatal thing ; and the man who learns that, very often 
 does not learn any thing more. But the excellence 
 of particular men must greatly consist in their appre- 
 ciating truths without having to pay .the full experi- 
 ence for them ; so that in those respects they have 
 a great start of other men. However, whether these 
 theories of mine be true or not, there can be no 
 
96 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 doubt, I think, that indulgence of any kind is a thing 
 which requires no theory to support it ; and I do not 
 think it will be found that the men of consummate 
 knowledge of the world have gained that knowledge 
 by vice ; but rather, as all other knowledge is gained, 
 by toil and truth and love and self-restraint. And 
 these four things do not abide with vice. 
 
 Probably, too, a low view of humanity which vice 
 gives, is in itself the greatest barrier to the highest 
 knowledge. 
 
 One great source of the sin we are considering is 
 the want of other thoughts. Here puritanism comes 
 in, as it has any time these two hundred years, to 
 darken and deepen every mischief. The lower or- 
 ders here are left with so little to think of but labor 
 and vice. Now, any grand thought, great poetry, 
 or noble song, is adverse to any abuse of the pas- 
 sions — even that which seems most concerned with 
 the passions. For all that is great in idea, that in- 
 sists upon men's attention, does so by an appeal, 
 expressed or implied, to the infinite within him and 
 around him. A man coming from a great repre- 
 sentation of Macbeth is not in the humor for a low 
 intrigue : and, in general, vice, especially of the 
 kind we are considering, seizes hold not of the pas- 
 sionate, so much as of the cold and vacant mind. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 97 
 
 On this account education and cultivation are to 
 be looked to as potent remedies. The pleasures of 
 the poor will be found to be moral safeguards rather 
 than dangers. I smile sometimes when I think of 
 the preacher in some remote country place implor- 
 ing his hearers not to give way to backbiting, not 
 to indulge in low sensuality, and not to busy them- 
 selves with other people's affairs. Meanwhile what 
 are they to do if they do not concern themselves 
 with such things.'* The heavy ploughboy, who 
 lounges along in that listless manner, has a mind 
 which moves with a rapidity that bears no relation 
 to that outward heaviness of his. That mind will 
 be fed ; will consume all about it, like oxygen, if 
 new thoughts and aspirations are not given it. The 
 true strategy in attacking any vice, is by putting in 
 a virtue to counteract it ; in attacking any evil 
 thought, by putting in a good thought to meet it. 
 Thus a man is lifted into a higher state of being, 
 and his old slough falls off him. 
 
 With women, too, there is this especial danger, 
 that fiction has hitherto been apt to tell them that 
 they are nothing if they are not loved, and to fill 
 their heads with the most untrue views of human 
 life. Fiction must try and learn that she is only 
 Truth with a mask on, so that she may speak truer 
 7 
 
98 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 things sometimes with less offence than Truth herself. 
 Fiction must not represent love as always such a 
 very fine thing, or as tending invariably to felicity, 
 thus ignoring the trials of wedded life, and of affection 
 generally, — as if life were cut into two parts, one 
 all shade, the other all light. We cannot school 
 Love much ; but sometimes he might be induced to 
 listen to reason. And at any rate, all would agree 
 that much mischief may be done by unsound repre- 
 sentations of human life in this very important 
 respect. 
 
 But, our antagonist may say, these very fictions 
 are amusement, and so far of use as furnishing some 
 food for the mind. Yes : and I am not prepared to 
 say that bad fictions, or almost any thing, may not 
 be better than nothing for the mind. But when 
 continuous cultivation is joined to education (which 
 should be the object for statesmen and governing 
 people of all kinds), people will not be supposed to 
 be educated at the time of their non-age, and then 
 left sight of and hold of for evermore, as far as re- 
 gards their betters. But it will be seen that we are 
 all so far children, or at least like children in some 
 respects, throughout our lives, that the means of 
 cultivation should be successively offered to us. 
 
 It is difficult to see the drift of the foregoing words 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 99 
 
 without an example. But what I mean is this, — 
 do not let us merely teach our poor young people 
 to read and write and hear about all manner of arts, 
 sciences, and productions, and then dropping these 
 young people at the most dangerous age, provide 
 no amusements, enable them to carry on no pur- 
 suits, throw open no refinements of life to them, 
 show them no parks, no gardens, and leave them 
 to the pothouse and their sordid homes. 
 Of course they will go wrong if we do. 
 
 III. The Remedies. 
 
 As poverty came first among the causes, so to re- 
 move it must come first among the remedies. For 
 this purpose let it be carefully observed what class 
 of persons furnishes most victims to this sin. Try 
 and mend the evils of that class. 
 
 There will be two kinds of poverty, the one arising 
 from general inadequacy of pay for employment 
 tliat is pretty constant ; the other from uncertainty of 
 employment at particular periods. Each requires to 
 be dealt with differently. Frequently, though, they 
 are found combined. 
 
 To meet the first of these evils, more work must 
 be found in the country, or some hands must be re- 
 moved out of it. 
 
lOO COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 If emigration is to be adopted, it should be done 
 in a different manner from any that has yet been 
 attempted. 
 
 But it seems as if something better than, or be- 
 sides, emigration might be attempted. 
 
 It may seem romantic, but I cannot help hoping 
 that considerable investigation into prices may lead 
 people to ascertain better what are fair wages, and 
 that purchases will not run madly after cheapness. 
 
 There are everywhere just men who endeavor to 
 prevent the price of laborers' wages from falling be- 
 low what they (the just men) think right. I have 
 no doubt that this has an effect upon the whole la- 
 bor-market, Christianity coming in to correct politi- 
 cal economy. And so, in other matters, I can conceive 
 tliat private persons may generally become more 
 anxious to put aside the evils of competition, and to 
 give, as well as get, what is fair. 
 
 But many things might be done to enable the wages 
 of the poor to go further : and surely the glory of a 
 state, and of the principal people in it, should be that 
 men make the most of their labor in that state. 
 
 Improvement of dwellings is one means.* 
 
 * Many a workwoman earns but 75. a week. She has to 
 pay 3*. or 35. 6d. for one miserable apartment Take hef 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. lOI 
 
 Improvements in the representation and transfer 
 of property are other great means to this end. 
 
 It may seem that I have wandered far from the 
 subject (the great sin of great cities) to questions of 
 currency and transfer of property. But I am per- 
 suaded that there is the closest connection between 
 subjects of this kind. The investment of savings is 
 surely a question of the highest importance. But it 
 is not that only which I mean. All manner of facil- 
 ities should be given to the poor to become owners 
 of property ; and wherever it could be managed, al- 
 most in spite of themselves, they should be made 
 so : that is, by putting by portions of their wages 
 when it is manifestly possible for this to be done, 
 as in the case of domestic servants, or where the em- 
 ployed are living with, or in some measure under 
 the guidance of, their employers. 
 
 Much is being attempted by various benevolent 
 persons in ways of this kind ; and the greatest atten- 
 tion should be paid to these experiments. 
 
 food at 35. or 25. 6d., and there will remain is. a week to 
 provide for clothing, sickness, charity, pleasurej and mis- 
 cellaneous expenditure of all kinds. It is easy to see that 
 any sudden mishap, such as sickness, must wi'eck such a 
 person's means; and also that where lies the chief room 
 for making these means go further, is in the expenditure 
 for lodgings, which now consumes about half her earnings. 
 
T02 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 There are various things which the state could do 
 in these matters ; but it would require a very wise 
 and great government : and how is such a thing to be 
 got? In the act of rising to power, men fail to obtain 
 the knowledge and thought, and especially the pur- 
 pose, to use power. There is some Eastern proverb, 
 I think, about the meanest reptiles being found at the 
 top of the highest towers. That, as applied to gov- 
 ernment, is ill-natured and utterly untrue. But people 
 who are swarming up a difficult ascent, or maintain- 
 ing themselves with difficulty on a narrow ledge at a 
 great height, are not employed exactly in the way to 
 become great philosophers and reformers of mankind. 
 Constitutional governments may be great blessings, 
 but nobody can doubt that they have their price. 
 There are, however, excellent men in high places 
 amongst us at the present moment ; but timidity in 
 attempting good is their portion, especially by any 
 , way that has not become thoroughly invincible in ar- 
 gument. I suppose that any man who should try some 
 very generous thing as a statesman, and should fail, 
 would be irretrievably lost as a statesman. 
 
 Meanwhile socialism is put forward to ffil the void 
 of government: and if government does not make 
 exertion, we may yet have dire things to encounter. 
 By government in the foregoing sentence I mean not 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 103 
 
 only what we are in the habit of calling such, but all 
 the governing and directing persons in a nation. 
 Some of them are certainly making great efforts even 
 now, and there lies our hope. 
 
 But, supposing that the supply of workmen and 
 workwomen could be better adapted to the demand ; 
 and that means could be found to provide in some 
 measure for neutralizing the ill effects of the un- 
 certainty of employment (which two things, though 
 very difficult, are still not beyond the range of hu- 
 man endeavor and accomplishment), there would 
 yet remain many, very many, individual cases of 
 utter and sudden distress and destitution amongst 
 young women, which form the chief causes of their 
 fall. Now, how are these to be averted .f* 
 
 There should be some better means of intercom- 
 munication between rich and poor than there is at 
 present. It seems as if the priests of all religions 
 might perform that function, and that it should be 
 considered one of their most important functions. It 
 bhould be done, if possible, by some persons who 
 come amongst the poor for other purposes than to 
 relieve their poverty. At the same time, there might 
 be an administrative officer of high place and power 
 in the government, who should be on the alert to 
 
I04 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 suggest and promote good offices of the kind I have 
 just alluded to. In reality the Minister of educa- 
 tion (if we had one) would be the real minister for 
 destitution, as doing most to prevent it ; and various 
 minor duties of a humane kind might devolve upon 
 him. 
 
 Any one acquainted with the annals of the poor 
 will tell how familiar such words are to him as the 
 following, and how true on inquiry he has found 
 them. " Father fell ill of the fever " {the fever the 
 poor girl may well say, for it is the fever which want 
 of air and water, and working in stifling rooms, have 
 brought upon many thousands of our workmen) ; 
 " mother and I did pretty well in the straw-bonnet 
 line while she lived ; but she died come April two 
 years : and I've been 'most starved since then, and 
 took to those ways." 
 
 " You were fifteen when your mother died, you 
 say, and you have no relations in this town ? " 
 
 " There is my little brother, and he is in the work- 
 house, and they let me go and see him on Mondays ; 
 and there is my aunt, but she is a very poor woman 
 and lives a long, long way off, and has a many 
 children of her own." 
 
 " You can read and write } " 
 
 " I can read a little." 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 105 
 
 Now, of course, there are thousands of cases of 
 this kind, in which one feels that the poor child has 
 slipped out of the notice and care of people who 
 would have been but too glad to aid her. I dare 
 say neither mother nor child ever went to any church 
 or chapel. And, in truth, let us be honest and 
 confess that going to church in England is somewhat 
 of an operation, especially to a poor, ill-clad person. 
 This system of pews and places, the want of open- 
 ness of churches, the length of the service resulting 
 from the admixture of services, the air of over- 
 cleanliness and respectability which besets the place, 
 and the difficulty of getting out when you like, are 
 sad hindrances to the poor, the ill-dressed, the sick, 
 the timid, the fastidious, the wicked, and the culti- 
 vated. 
 
 And then, there is nobody into whose ear the poor 
 girl can pour her troubles, except she comes as a 
 beggar. This will be said to be a leaning on my 
 part to the confessional. I cannot help that; I 
 must speak the truth that is in me. And I wish that 
 many amongst us Protestants, who would, I doubt 
 not, welcome the duty, could, without pledging our- 
 selves to all manner of doctrines, but merely by a 
 genial use of those common relations of life which 
 bring us in daily contact with the poor, fulfil much of 
 
lOb COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 what is genuinely good in the functions of a confes- 
 sor, and thus become brothers of mercy and brothers 
 of charity to the poor. 
 
 Meanwhile it is past melancholy, and verges on 
 despair, to reflect upon what is going on amongst 
 ministers of religion, who are often but too intent 
 upon the fopperies of religion to have heart and 
 time for the substantial work entrusted to them — 
 immersed in heart-breaking trash from which no sect 
 is free ; for here are fopperies of discipline, there 
 fopperies of doctrine (still more dangerous as it 
 seems to me). And yet there are these words re- 
 sounding in their ears, " Pure religion and undefiled 
 is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their 
 affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the 
 world." And the word " world," as Coleridge has 
 well explained, is this order of things, the order of 
 things you are in. Clerical niceness and over-sanc- 
 tity, for instance, and making more and longer ser- 
 mons than there is any occasion for, and insisting 
 upon needless points of doctrine, and making Chris- 
 tianity a stumbling-block to many, — that, excellent 
 clergyman (for there are numbers who deserve the 
 name), that is your world, there lies your tempta- 
 tion to err. 
 
 It has occurred to me that schoolmasters and 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 107 
 
 schoolmistresses would form good means of com- 
 munication with the poor : and so much the better 
 from their agency being indirect as regards worldly 
 affairs ; * I mean that their first business is not to 
 care for the physical well-being of their pupils. In 
 after life, they would be likely to know something 
 of the ways and modes of life of their former pupils, 
 and would be most valuable auxiliaries to landlords, 
 master-manufacturers, to masters in general, and to 
 all who are anxious to improve the condition of 
 those under them. 
 
 While talking of the schoolmaster, we must not 
 omit to consider the immense importance, in its 
 bearing on our subject, of a better education for wo- 
 men — especially for women of what are called the 
 middling classes — an education which should de- 
 velop in them the qualities and powers which they 
 are most deficient in, such as stern reasoning ; which 
 is at the foundation of justice, and which should free 
 them from that absurd timidity of mind more than 
 
 * In this respect the opportunities of medical men are 
 very great; and surely the medical profession best eman- 
 cipates itself from any tendency to materialism, and dig- 
 nifies itself by entering upon the duties and the privileges 
 of a teacher and consoler, when it performs, as it very of- 
 ten does, some of those offices of charity which ever lie just 
 under its hands. 
 
Io8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 of body, which prevents their seeing things as they 
 are, and makes them, and consequently men, the 
 victims of conventionality. 
 
 This tiling, conventionality, is a great enemy to 
 those who would war against the sin we are con- 
 sidering. Hypocrisy is said to be the homage which 
 vice pays to virtue ; conventionality is the adoration 
 which both vice and virtue offer up to worldliness. 
 See its ill effects in this particular case. The dis- 
 cussion of our subject is almost beyond the pale of 
 conventionality. Years ago, an old college friend 
 defined this present writer as a man who could say 
 the most audacious things with the least offence. I 
 hope my friend was right, for, indeed, in discussing 
 this subject I need all that power now. Conven- 
 tionality stiffens up the whole figure and sets the 
 eyes in the fixed direction it pleases, so that men 
 and women can pass through the streets ignoring 
 the greatest horrors which surround them. And 
 consider what a dangerous thing it is, when it is 
 once presumed that there is any class with whom 
 we can have no sj^npathy ; that there are any beings 
 of a different kind from the rest of us. It is not for 
 us, collections of dust, to feel contempt. In a future 
 life we may have such a sui^vey as may justify con- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 109 
 
 tempt, but then we should have too much love to 
 feel it. But, indeed, in most cases, it is not con- 
 tempt, but conventionality, that induces us to pass by 
 and ignore what it is not consistent with good taste 
 to know any thing about. 
 
 But there is another fertile mode in which conven- 
 tionality works in increasing the great sin of great 
 cities. And that is by rendering all manner of im- 
 aginary wants real wants, and thus helping to en- 
 slave men and women. False shame has often, I 
 doubt not, led to the worst consequences, — the 
 shame, for instance, arising from not having the 
 clothes of a kind imagined to be fit for a particular 
 station ; and so, people submit to a vice to satisfy a 
 foible. 
 
 A class of persons who are found to furnish great 
 numbers of the victims to the sin we are considering, 
 is that of domestic servants. This leads to a suspi- 
 cion that there are peculiar temptations, weaknesses, 
 errors, and mismanagement incident to that class. 
 Their education, to begin with, is wretchedly defec- 
 tive. But besides that, they are particularly liable 
 to the slavery of conventionality : indeed, there are 
 few people more subdued by weak notions of what 
 it is correct for them to have, and to be, and to do : 
 
no COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 which often ends in any thing but a correspondence 
 of the reality of their condition with their ideal. It 
 must be remembered, too, that they undergo, in an 
 especial degree, the temptation of being brought 
 near to a class superior to theirs in breeding and 
 niceness ; and, consequently, that they are very liable 
 to be discontented with their own. 
 
 But great improvement might be made in the man- 
 agement of servants. Their efforts to save money 
 should be directed and aided. New means might 
 be invented for that purpose. It might be much 
 more generally arranged than it is, both in house- 
 holds and in other establishments, that a fund should 
 be formed out of which those female servants who 
 remained a certain time should have a sum of mon- 
 ey, in fact what in official life is called " retired al- 
 lowances." 
 
 Then, of course, masters and mistresses should 
 recognize the fact, instead of needlessly discourag- 
 ing it, that men and women love one another in all 
 ranks, — that Mary, if a pleasant or comely girl, is 
 pretty nearly sure at some time or other to have a 
 lover. Let the master and mistress be aware of that 
 fact, and treat it as an open question which may be 
 discussed sometimes, with advantage to all parties. 
 
 Instead of such conduct, one hears sometimes that 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. ill 
 
 such maxims are laid down as that *' no followers 
 are allowed." What does a lady mean who lays 
 down such a law fn her household? Perhaps she 
 subscribes to some abolition society ; which is a good 
 thing in as far as it cultivates her kindly feelings 
 towards an injured race. But does she know that, 
 by this law of hers, as applied to her own house- 
 hold, she is imitating, in a humble way, one of the 
 worst things connected with slavery ? 
 
 As this prohibition extends to near relations as 
 well as to lovers, if obeyed it renders the position 
 of a servant-girl still more perilous as more isolat- 
 ed ; and, if disobeyed, it is a fertile source of the 
 habit of concealment, one of the worst to which all 
 persons in a subordinate situation are prone. 
 
 For my own part, I could not bear to live with 
 servants who were to see none of their friends and 
 relations : I should feel I was keeping a prison, and 
 not ruling a household. 
 
 Amongst the principal remedies must be reckoned, 
 or at least hoped for, an improvement in men as 
 regards this sin. To hope for such an improve- 
 ment will be looked upon as chimerical by some 
 persons, and the notion of introducing great moral 
 remedies for the evil in question as wholly romantic. 
 
113 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 It seems Impossible: every new and great thing 
 
 does, till it is done ; and then the only wonder is 
 
 that it was not done long ago. 
 
 Oh that there were more love in the world, and 
 
 then these things that we deplore could not be. One 
 
 would think that the man who had once loved any 
 
 woman, would have some tenderness for all. And 
 
 love implies an infinite respect. All that was said 
 
 or done by Chivalry of old, or sung by Troubadours, 
 
 but shadows forth the feeling which is in the heart 
 
 of any one who loves. Love, like the opening of 
 
 the heavens to the Saints, shows for a moment, even 
 
 to the dullest man, the possibilities of the human 
 
 race. He has faith, hope, and charity for another 
 
 being, perhaps but a creation of his imagination : 
 
 still it is a great advance for a man to be profoundly 
 
 loving even in his imaginations. What Shelley 
 
 makes Apollo exclaim. Love might well say too : — 
 
 *' I am the eje with which the Universe 
 Beholds itself and knows itself divine; 
 All harmony of instrument or verse, 
 
 All prophecy, all medicine are mine, 
 All light of art or nature ; — to my song 
 Victory and praise in their own right belong.** 
 
 Indeed, love is a thing so deep and so beautiful, 
 that each man feels that nothing but conceits and 
 pretty words have been said about it by other men. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 113 
 
 And tlien to come down from this and to dishonor 
 the image of the thing so loved. No man could do 
 so while the memory of love was in his mind. And, 
 indeed, even without these recollections, we might 
 hope that, on the contemplation of so much ruin, 
 and the consideration of the exquisite beauty of the 
 thing spoiled, there would sometimes come upon 
 the heart of a man a pity so deep as to protect him 
 from this sin as much as aversion itself could do. 
 And we may imagine that even men of outrageous 
 dissipation, but who have still left some greatness 
 and fineness of mind (like Mirabeau for example), 
 will have a horror of the sin we are condemning, 
 though very sinful in other respects. And certainly 
 the disgrace to humanity that there is in indiscrim- 
 inate prostitution is appalling : and, like constrained 
 marriage for money, it has something more repul- 
 sive about it than is to be met with in things that 
 may be essentially more wicked. 
 
 I hope I am not uncharitable in saying this ; but 
 anybody who thinks so must remember that what 
 is alluded to by me is the worst form of the sin in 
 question ; as in fact it disgraces the streets of our 
 principal cities — in utter lovelessness and mercenar}' 
 recklessness. 
 
 8 
 
114 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 I said above, *' the exquisite beauty of the thing 
 spoiled." And, in truth, how beautiful a thing is 
 youth — beautiful in an animal. In contemplating 
 it, the world seems young again for us. Each young 
 thing seems born to new hopes. Parents feel this 
 for their children, hoping that something will happen 
 to them quite different from what happened to them- 
 selves. They would hardly take all the pains they 
 do with these young creatures, if they could believe 
 that the young people were only to grow up into 
 middle-aged men and women with the usual cares 
 and troubles descending upon them like a securely 
 entailed inheritance. There is something fanciful in 
 all this, and in reality a grown-up person is a much 
 more valuable and worthy creature than most young 
 ones ; but still any thing that blights the young 
 must ever be most repugnant to hurnanity. 
 
 I had now read over all that I had put down in 
 writing ; and, as I laid aside the manuscript, I felt 
 how sadly it fell short of what I had thought to say 
 on this subject. I suppose, however, that even when 
 they are good, a man's words seem poor to himself, 
 for the workman is too familiar with the wrong side 
 of all his workmanship. Moreover, much must 
 always lie in the ear of the hearer. We say enough 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 115 
 
 to set alight the hidden trains of thought which abide 
 in the recesses of men's hearts, unknown to them ; 
 and they are startled into thinking for themselves. 
 After all, it is not often so requisite for a writer to 
 make things logically clear to men, as to put them 
 into the mood he wishes to have them in. I sup- 
 pose the snake-charmer and the horse-whisperer 
 have some such scheme. 
 
 But, said I, as I threw some stones into a pool 
 which was near me in a partial clearing of the wood, 
 I would go on with this work if I knew that all my 
 efforts would make no more stir than these pebbles 
 in that pool. And then I proceeded to think of the 
 topics which are yet before me, full of doubt and 
 difficulty. I should like to have some talk with 
 Ellesmere, I exclaimed ; I fear he will have no 
 sympathy with me, and an utter disbelief in anybody 
 doing any good in this matter. But he is a shrewd 
 man of the world, and he speaks out fearlessly. It 
 would be well to hear his remarks beforehand, 
 while they may yet be of use to me. I certainly 
 will consult him. 
 
 I stept out of the wood into the beaten road, a 
 change which I always feel to be like that which 
 occurs in the mind of a man who, having been 
 wrapt in some romance of his own, suddenly disen- 
 
Il6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 gages himself from it and talks with his fellows 
 upon the ordinary topics of the day, affecting a 
 shrewd care about the price of corn and the state 
 of our foreign relations. 
 
 By the time I reached Worth- Ashton I had left 
 all forest thoughts well behind me, and was quite 
 at home on the broad beaten road of common-place 
 affairs. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ^UNIVERSIT 
 
 T HAVE read the foregoing notes to Ellesmere, 
 whom I asked to come here the first lawyer's 
 hoHday that he could make. During the reading, 
 which was in my study, he said nothing, but seemed, 
 as I thought, unusually grave and attentive. When 
 it was finished, he proposed that we should walk 
 out u2Don the downs. Still he made no remark, 
 but strolled on moodily, until I said to him, " I am 
 afraid, Ellesmere, you have some heavy brief which 
 sits upon your mind just now ; or, perhaps, I have 
 somewhat wearied you in reading so much to you 
 upon a subject about which you probably do not 
 care much." " I care more than you do," he re- 
 plied — "forgive my abruptness, Milverton, but 
 what I say is true. To show you why I do care 
 would be to tell you a long story, and to betray to 
 you that which I had never intended to tell mortal 
 man. 
 
 " But, if you care to hear it, I will tell you ; it 
 bears closely upon some of your views, and may 
 modify them in some way. I can talk to you on 
 such a theme better than to almost any man, for it 
 
Il8 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 is like talking to a philosophic system ; and yet 
 there is still some humanity left in you, so that one 
 may hope for a little sympathy now and then with- 
 out having too much, or being afflicted with pity 
 and wonder and foolish exclamations of any kind." 
 I did not interrupt him to defend myself, being too 
 anxious to hear what he had to say. Besides I saw 
 this attack upon me was partly an excuse to himself 
 for telling me something which he hardly meant to 
 tell. He threw himself down upon the turf, and, 
 after a few minutes' silence, thus began : — 
 
 Well, I was once upon my travels staying for a 
 few days in a German town, not a very obscure or 
 a very renowned one ; but indeed the whereabouts 
 is a very unimportant matter, and I do not particu- 
 larize any of the minute circumstances of my story, 
 because I do not wish hereafter to be reminded of 
 them. I remember it was on a Sunday, and the 
 day was fine. I remember, too, I went to church, 
 to a Protestant church, where I did not understand 
 much of what I heard, but liked what I did. They 
 sang psalms, such as I fancy Luther would have 
 approved of; and I thought it would be a serious 
 thing for a hostile army to meet a body of men who 
 had been thus singing. Grand music, such as you, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 119 
 
 for instance, would like better, is a good thing too. 
 Our cathedrals might have combined both. I do 
 not know why I tell you all this, for it does not im- 
 mediately concern my story, but I suppose it is 
 because I do not like to approach it too quickly, and 
 I must linger on the details of a day which is so 
 deeply imprinted upon my memory. I remember 
 well the sermon, or rather the bits of it which I 
 understood, and out of which I made my sermon 
 for myself. That pathetic word verloren (lost) 
 occurred many times. Then there was a great deal 
 about the cares of this life occupying so much time, 
 and then about the pleasures, or the thoughts of 
 misspent youth being impressed upon manhood, to 
 the perennial detriment of the character. I made 
 out, or fancied I did, that it was a sermon showing 
 how short a time was given to spiritual life. I dare 
 say it was a very common-place sermon that I made 
 of it ; but somehow, the sermons we preach to our- 
 selves, in which, by the way, we can be sure of 
 taking the most apt illustrations from the store of 
 our own follies, are always interesting. And when 
 the good preacher, a most benign and apostolic- 
 looking man, pronounced the benediction, I felt as 
 if I had been hearing some friendly searching words 
 which might well be laid to heart. After the ser- 
 
I20 COMPANIONS OF M7 SOLITUDE. 
 
 mon was over, I strolled about. The day moved 
 on, and towards evening time, I went with the 
 stream of the towns-people, gentle and simple, to 
 some public gardens which lay outside the town and 
 were joined to it by beautiful walks. People speak 
 of the .sadness of being in a crowd and knowing no 
 one. There is something pleasurable in it too. I 
 wandered amongst the various groups of quiet, 
 decorous, beer-imbibing Germans, who, in family- 
 parties, had come out to these gardens to drink 
 their beer, smoke their pipes, and hear some music. 
 In those unfortunate regions they have not made a 
 ghastly idol of the Sunday. 
 
 At last I sat down at a table where a young girl 
 and a middle-aged woman, who carried a baby, were 
 refreshing themselves with some very thin potation. 
 They looked poor decent people. I soon entered 
 into conversation with them, and therefore did not 
 leave it long a matter of doubt that I was an Eng- 
 lishman. I perceived that something was wrong 
 with my friends, although I could not comprehend 
 what it was. I could see that the girl could hardly 
 restrain herself from bursting into tears ; and there 
 was something quite comical in the delight she ex- 
 pressed at some feats on the tight-rope, which she 
 would insist upon my looking at, and her then, in a 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. I2I 
 
 minute afterwards, returning to her quiet distress 
 and anxious deplorable countenance. A proud 
 English girl would have kept all her misery under 
 due control, especially in a public place ; but these 
 Germans are a more simple natural people. 
 
 Having by degrees established some relations be- 
 tween the party and myself by ordering some coflee 
 and handing it round, and then letting the baby play 
 with my watch, I asked what it was that ailed the 
 girl. The girl turned round and poured out a tor- 
 rent of eloquence, which, however, considerably ex- 
 ceeding the pace at which any foreign language 
 enters into my apprehension, was totally lost upon 
 me ; except that I perceived she had some com- 
 plaint against somebody, and that she had a noble 
 open "countenance which, from long experience of 
 the witness-box, I felt was telling me an unusual 
 proportion of truth. One part of the discourse I 
 perceived very clearly to be about money, and as 
 she touched her gown (which was very neat and 
 nice), it had something to do with the price of the 
 said gown. 
 
 We then talked of England, whereupon she asked 
 me to take her with me as a servant. This abrupt 
 speech might astonish some persons : but not those 
 who have travelled much. I dare say the same re- 
 quest has often been made to you, Milverton. 
 
122 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUJ)E. 
 
 Milverton. Oh, yes. They fancy this is an earth- 
 ly paradise for getting money, bounded by a contin- 
 ual fog. 
 
 ♦ Ellesmere. She then questioned me much as to 
 the distance of England from where we were. And 
 as I saw she was in a desperate mood, and might 
 attempt some desperate adventure, I took care to 
 explain to her the distance and the difficulties of 
 the journey. Besides which, I contrived, putting 
 the severest pressure on my stock of German, to 
 convey to her that London was rather an extensive 
 town, containing two millions of people, and that it 
 was not exactly the place for an unfriended young 
 girl to be wandering about. 
 
 " The same thing everywhere, everywhere," she 
 exclaimed, in a tone of mournful reproach, which I 
 felt was levelled at our unchivalrous sex in general. 
 
 I felt interested to understand her story, and be- 
 ginning to question her in detail again, ascertained 
 so far, that she was or had been a servant, that «he 
 had been accustomed to take charge of child: en, 
 having had eleven under her charge, that the wages 
 were most wretched, which they certainly were ; 
 but still, it was not that or any of the ordinary kind 
 of grievances which was now distressing her. When- 
 ever we came to the gist of the discourse, she be- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 123 
 
 came more emphatic and I more stupid. At last I 
 bethought me that if she were to write out what 
 she had to say, I could then understand it well 
 enough. This was a bright idea, and one which I 
 was able to convey to her. She was to bring me 
 the writing on the ensuing morning in the great 
 square. And having come to this agreement we 
 parted ; I taking care, with lawyer-like caution, to 
 tell her that I did not know whether I could be of 
 *iny use to her, with other discouraging expressions. 
 
 The next morning, duly fortified with my pocket 
 dictionary, I sat myself down to read her statement. 
 Ah, how clearly the whole scene is before me. It 
 was on a broad bench, close to a hackney-coach 
 stand, within sight of the palace. She looked over 
 me^ and read aloud; and when I could not make 
 out a word, we paused, and the dictionary was put 
 in requisition. The nearest hackney-coachman ly- 
 ing back on his box threw now and then an amused 
 glance at the proceeding. Hers was a simple 
 touching story, touchingly told. I now know every 
 word, every letter of it ; but then it was very hard 
 for me to comprehend. 
 
 It began by giving her birth, parentage, and edu- 
 cation. She was born of poor parents in the coun- 
 try, a few miles out of the town. She was now an 
 
124 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 orphan. She had come into service in the town. 
 Her master had endeavored to seduce her ; but she 
 had succeeded in giving some notion of her misera- 
 ble position to a middle-aged man, and friend of her 
 family, v^ho had taken an interest in her, and prom- 
 ised to receive her into his service. Then she gave 
 w^arning to her mistress, who could not imagine 
 the cause, and was displeased at her leaving. She 
 could not tell her mistress for fear of vexing her. 
 
 The character given by the mistress (which I saw) 
 went well with this statement, as it was the praise 
 of a person displeased. 
 
 The new master that was to be, had told her 
 where to go to (the lodgings where she was now 
 staying), and ordered her to get decent clothes be- 
 fore coming into his service. He did not live in 
 that town. She left her place accordingly, provided 
 herself with the necessary things, and awaited his 
 orders. Meanwhile his plans were changed. He 
 had just married, was probably about to travel, and 
 wrote that he could not take her in. I am not sure 
 that there was any deliberate wrong-doing or treach- 
 ery on his part — merely a wicked carelessness ; 
 forgetting what a thing it is for a poor girl to be out 
 of place, and not knowing that she had taken the 
 step, perhaps, at the time he wrote. She had writ- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 125 
 
 ten again, and had received no answer. She was 
 left in debt and in the utmost distress. 
 
 This is the substance of what I eventually got out 
 by cross-examination. She had been out into the 
 suburbs in search of a place when I met her yester- 
 day. The woman with the child, who was no rela- 
 tion, had reiterated to me there that she was a good 
 girl and in great distress* 
 
 The usual wicked easy way of getting out of her 
 difficulties had been pressed upon her — Ich mag' 
 das Geld nicht auf eine schlechte Art bekommen^ 
 sonst wilrde ich es in kurzer Zeit haben ; but she 
 trusted that "the dear God would never permit this, 
 so she put her trust in him." Ich hoffe aber, der 
 Hebe Gott wird das nicht zugeben^ denn ich ver^ 
 lasse mich auf Ihn. 
 
 I remember that, occasionally, while we were 
 spelling over what she had written, her large beau- 
 tiful hand (do not smile, Milverton, a hand may be 
 most beautiful and yet large) rested on the page. 
 There was a deep scar upon it, the mark of a burr , 
 that told of some household mishap. I have seen 
 many beautiful hands before and after, but none so 
 beautiful to me. 
 
 At last we got through the writing and paused. 
 " This is a bad business," I exclaimed ; and 
 
126 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 then I fell into a reverie, not upon her particular 
 case so much, as upon the misery that there is in 
 the world. At last I looked up and felt quite re- 
 morseful at the wistful agonized expression of the 
 girl, whom I had been keeping in suspense all this 
 trnie while indulging my own thoughts. She evi- 
 dently thought (you know the extremely careless ill- 
 dressed figure I generally am) that to assist her was 
 quite out of my power. And so it was at the mo- 
 ment, for I had not the requisite silver about me. 
 Indeed why should the rich carry any money about 
 with them, when they have always the poor to bor- 
 row it from ? However, I had some silver in my 
 pocket and gave her that, promising to bring the 
 rest. Her ecstasy was unbounded : of course she 
 began to cry (no woman is above that) ; though 
 seeing my excessive dislike to that proceeding, she 
 did the best to suppress it, only indulging in an oc- 
 casional sob. Her first idea was what she could do 
 for the money. She would work for any time. We 
 had found out that writing was better than talking ; 
 and here are her very words (I always carry them 
 about with me), " Was soil ich Ihnen fur einen 
 Dienst dafiir thun? " " What shall I do for you 
 in the way of any service for this?" "Nothing," 
 I replied, " but only to be a good girl." 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLJTUDE. 12*J 
 
 One thing I have omitted to tell you : but I may 
 as well tell it. It is no matter now. While we 
 were reading over the letter, I happened to ask her 
 whether she had a lover. I had hardly asked the 
 question before I would have given any thing to 
 have been able to recall it, as we sometimes do in 
 Court when a question is objected to. Her simple 
 answer came crushing into my ears, "Yes, but a 
 poor man and far away." She thought my object 
 in asking was to ascertain whether there was any 
 help to be got from any other quarter : this she an- 
 swered, so like her sensible self, without any bri- 
 dling-up or nonsense of any kind — a simple answer 
 to a simple question. But the words went down 
 like a weight into my heart, which has never been 
 quite lifted off again. In short, Milverton, I loved. 
 
 What should possess me to-day to tell you this 
 wild story, I know not. I know you really care for 
 nothing but great interests and great causes, as you 
 call them. With intense mad love for any one hu- 
 man being you cannot sympathize. I always noted 
 the same in you from your boyhood upwards. Talk 
 to you of a body of men — of a class — of a mil- 
 lion, for instance, of people suffering any thing, and 
 you are immediately interested. But for anyone of 
 us you care nothing. I see through you, and always 
 
128 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 have. But I like you. Do not answer me, you 
 know it is true. 
 
 I did not answer him ; though knowing what he 
 said to be most untrue, and yet to have just that dash 
 of plausibility in it which makes injustice so hard to 
 unravel. He proceeded. I saw Gretchen (that was 
 her name) more than once again, and had a great 
 deal of talk with her, finding my first impressions 
 amply verified ; and I still think her one of the best 
 intellects, and most beautiful natures, I have ever 
 seen. I had in my pocket a very learned letter from 
 one of the German Professors of law to whom I had 
 delivered a letter of introduction on passing through 
 his town, on some points of jurisprudence, referring 
 to Savigny's work. The parts of this which had been 
 unintelligible I made her construe to me ; some of it 
 was quite independent of technicalities, but merely 
 required hard thinking and clear explanation. The 
 girl with my help made it all out. But of course it 
 was not of such themes that she liked to talk ; for 
 women love personal talk, and their care is to know, 
 not what men think about, but what they feel. One 
 speech of hers dwells in my mind. " You must be 
 very happy at home," she said. I thought of my 
 mouldy chambers and the kind of life I lead, and 
 replied with an irony I could not check, " Very : " 
 and so satisfied her gentle questionings. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 129 
 
 I did not delay my departure longer than I had at 
 first intended ; for in these cases when you have done 
 any good, it is well to be sure you do not spoil it in 
 any way. She would not have any more money than 
 a trifling sum that was a little more than sufficient to 
 pay off the debts already due, and they amounted 
 to the very same sum she had originally mentioned 
 to me in the gardens. We parted. Before parting 
 she begged me to tell her my name : then timidly she 
 kissed my hand ; and, bursting into tears, threw her 
 hood over her face and hurried away a little distance. 
 Afterwards I saw her turn to watch the departure of 
 the huge diligence in which I had ensconced myself. 
 
 Milverton. And you never saw her any more .? 
 
 Ellesmere. Once more. Not being a philosopher 
 or a philanthropist, I do not easily forget those I once 
 care for. I studied how to protect her in every way. 
 I mastered the politics of that German town ; and 
 learnt all the intricacies of the little Court there. I 
 ascertained every thing respecting our relations with 
 it, and who amongst our diplomatists was desirous of 
 the residence there, when there should be a change. 
 I busied myself more in politics than I had done ; 
 
 and I believe I must own that my speech on the 
 
 intei-vention, which had its merits and cost me great 
 labor, was spoken for Gretchen. Of course, I need 
 
 9 
 
130 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 hardly say that I spoke only what I most sincerely 
 thought; but I should probably have let politics 
 alone but for her sake. At last there was an oppor- 
 tunity of a new appointment being made of a Minister 
 to that German Court ; and the man who wished for 
 it, and whose just claims I had aided as I best could, 
 obtained it. His wife, Lady R., one of those brilliant 
 women of the world who are often more amiable 
 than we give them credit for being, had long noticed 
 the care with which I had cultivated her society. She 
 imagined it was for one of her beautiful daughters, 
 and did not look unkindly upon me. Before she 
 
 went to reside at I undeceived her, telling her 
 
 the whole truth (the best thing in such a case) and 
 binding her to secrecy. She promised to look out 
 for Gretchen, and to take her into her household. I 
 told Lady R. that Gretchen had a lover, and said, 
 that if any thing could be done for him, without lift- 
 ing him out of his rank, it should be. Neither would 
 I have Gretchen made any thing different from what 
 she was. I could have given her money by hand- 
 fuls ; but that is not the way to serve people. At 
 the same time I implored Lady R. to let me know 
 immediately in case any thing should ever occur to 
 break off the marriage. 
 
 Milverton. And you would have put in your suit 
 and married this girl ? 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 131 
 
 Ellestnere. There was but little chance, I fear ; 
 but you may be sure no opportunity would have 
 escaped me. As for the world, I am one of the 
 few persons who really care but little for it. The 
 hissing of collected Europe, provided I knew the 
 hissers could not touch me, would be a grateful 
 sound rather than the reverse — that is, if heard at a 
 reasonao.e distance. 
 
 Well, but I told you I saw Gretchen once more. 
 Yes, once more. You may remember that some "time 
 ago I had a very severe illness, and was not able to 
 attend the Courts on an occasion when I was much 
 wanted. This appeared in the newspapers of the 
 day, and so, I conjecture, came to the knowledge of 
 Gretchen ; who, in her quiet indefatigable way, had 
 learnt English, and was a great student, as I after- 
 wards heard, of English newspapers. She had also 
 contrived to learn more about my life than I chose 
 to tell her when I answered her question about 
 my being happy ; and the poor girl had formed 
 juster notions of the joyousness and comfort of a 
 lawyer's chambers in London. She begged for 
 leave of absence to visit a sick friend : Lady R. 
 conjectured, I believe, where she was going, and 
 consented. 
 
 A few days afterwards there was a knock at my 
 
132 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE 
 
 door (I was still very ill and unable to leave my 
 sitting-room, but solacing life as best I could by the 
 study of a great pedigree-case), when my clerk, with 
 an anxious and ashamed countenance, put his head 
 in, made one of these queer faces which he does 
 when he thinks a great bore is wishing to see me and 
 that I had better say " no," and exclaimed, " A 
 young woman from Germany, sir, wants to see you." 
 I knew, instinctively, who it was, but had the pres- 
 ence of mind to make a gesture signifying I would not 
 see her (for I could not have spoken), and I was 
 afraid in my present state of weakness I should be- 
 tray myself in some way, if I were to see her unpre- 
 pared. While the parleying was going on in the 
 passage, I collected myself sufficiently to ring for my 
 clerk and tell him, he might appoint the young wo- 
 man to come in the afternoon. By that time I had 
 reflected upon my part and was somewhat of myself 
 again. She came : I scolded and protested ; she did 
 nothing in reply, but look at me and say how thin I 
 was ; and there was no resisting the quiet, affection- 
 ate, discreet way in which she installed herself every 
 day. for some hours as head nurse. Even my old 
 laundress relaxed so far as to say that Gradgin (for 
 that was what she called her) was a good girl an^ not 
 hoity-toity : and my clerk, Peter, a very cantankerous 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUlS&^j, t^^Sf 
 
 fellow, was heard to remark, that for his partw^^awiv I i 
 not like young women much, but Miss Gradgin was 
 better than most, and certainly his master did 
 somehow eat more of any thing made by her than by 
 anybody else, and never threatened now to throw the 
 cnicken-broth he brought in at his head. 
 
 I jest at these things, Milverton : and in truth 
 what remains for us often in this world but to jest? 
 Which of the Qiieens was it, by the way, who on 
 the scaffold played with the sharpness of the axe, and 
 said something droll about her little neck ? Well, I 
 jest ; but this visit of Gretchen's was a very severe 
 trial to me. It is a common trial though, I dare say. 
 No doubt many a person dotes upon or adores some 
 one else, who is, happily, as unconscious of the 
 doting or adoration as Ram Dass, or any other 
 heathen deity, of the fanatic love of his worshippers. 
 To the loving person, however, it is like walking 
 over hot iron with no priest-anointed feet, and yet 
 with unmoved countenance, not even allowed to look 
 stoical. I could not resist listening sometimes to 
 Gretchen's wise, innocent, pleasant talk about all 
 the new things she was seeing ; and perhaps if I had 
 not kept carefully before me the claims of the absent 
 peasant lover, some day when she was moving about 
 me likf» sunlight in the room, I might in some 
 
134 COMPANIONS OF 31 Y SOLITUDE. 
 
 moment of frenzy, which I should never have for- 
 given myself, have thrown myself at her feet and 
 asked her to take these dingy chambers and my faded 
 self and all my belongings under her permanent con- 
 trol. But wiser, sterner, juster thoughts prevailed. 
 I got better, and it was time for Gretchen to be 
 thinking of going. Of course no foreigner can leave 
 London without seeing the Thames Tunnel ; and I 
 observed that the morose Peter, though in general 
 very contemptuous of sight-seeing and sight-seers, 
 was wonderfully ready to escort Gretchen to see the 
 Tunnel, which I thought a great triumph on her part. 
 I spared myself the anguish of parting with her : a 
 case came on rather unexpectedly in a distant part of 
 the country, and I was sent for " special," as we say. 
 Kings and tetrarchs might have quarrelled for what I 
 cared ; I would not have meddled in their feuds to 
 lose one hour of Gretchen's sweet companionship, 
 if I might have had it heartily and fairly ; but, as 
 things were, I thought this a famous opportunity for 
 making my escape without a parting. And so I 
 started suddenly for the North, bidding Gretchen 
 adieu by letter, expressing all my gratitude for her 
 attention, and being able to rule and correct my ex- 
 pressions as it seemed good to me. Before I returned 
 she had left, taking leave of me in a fond kind letter, 
 
COMPANIONS OF M7 SOLITUDE. 135 
 
 in which she blamed me much for being so regard- 
 less of my health, and added a few words about my 
 evident anxiety to get rid of her, which sounded to 
 me like some wild strain of irony. Ever since, my 
 chambers have seemed to me very different from what 
 they were befDre : I would not quit them for a palace. 
 One or two new articles of furniture were bought by 
 Gretchen, who effected a kind of quiet revolution in 
 my dusky abode. These are my household gods. 
 
 One of her alterations I must tell you. You know 
 my love for light and warmth ; like that of an Asiatic 
 long exiled in a Northern country, whose calenture 
 is not of green fields, but of sufficient heat and light 
 once more to bathe in. Well, Gretchen soon found 
 out my likings ; and this was one of her plans to 
 gratify me and make me well. My principal room 
 has a window to the south-west, a bay-window, or 
 rather a window in a bayed recess. After ascertain- 
 ing, as well as she could, from Peter what were the 
 limits throughout the year of the sun's appearance 
 on the walls of this recess, on a sudden one morning 
 Gretchen came in with a workman and two antique 
 looking-glasses of the proper size, which (a present 
 of her own, and taxing her resources highly) she 
 fixed one on each side of the recess, from whence 
 Ihey have ever since thrown a reflected light into tho 
 
136 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 room, which makes it feel at times uncomfortable, 
 like an ill-dressed person in a great company. It 
 is a trifling thing to mention to you, but very char- 
 acteristic of her. 
 
 I have said nothing to you, Milverton, w^hich can 
 describe herself; and, indeed, I always look upon 
 all descriptions of women, in books and elsewhere, 
 as having something mean, poor, and sensuous 
 about them. I may tell you that she always, from 
 the first time I saw her, reminded me a little of the 
 bust of Cicero. She had the same delicate critical 
 look, though she was what you would call a great 
 large girl. She might have been a daughter of his 
 if he had married, what he would have called, a 
 barbarian German woman. In nature, she has often 
 recalled to me Jeanie Deans, only that she has 
 more tenderness. She would have spoken falsely 
 (I am sorry to say) for Effie ; and would have died 
 of it. 
 
 Lady R., when she was over here some little time 
 ago, said to me, to comfort me, I suppose, that 
 though Gretchen was a sweet girl, she did not quite 
 see what there was in her to make her so attractive 
 to a man like me. But these women do not always 
 exactly understand one another, or appreciate what 
 makes them dear to particular men. She added, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 137 
 
 *' But still I do not know how it was Gretchen 
 became the great authority in our household : they 
 all referred to her about every thing, and she did a 
 good deal of their work." In fact, she was the 
 personification of common sense ; only that what 
 we mean by common sense is apt to be hard, over- 
 wise, and disagreeable : hers was the common sense 
 of a romantic person, and of one who had great 
 perception of the humorous. I think I hear her 
 low, long-continued, dimpling laugh as I used to put 
 forth some of my odd theories about men and things, 
 to hear what she would say. And she generally 
 did say something fully to the purpose. But action 
 was her forte. There was a noiseless, soft activity 
 about her like that of light. 
 
 Milverton, You speak of her as if she were 
 dead. Is it so? 
 
 JSllesmere. No : much the same thing, — mar- 
 ried. There was an opportunity for advancing her 
 lover. It was done, not without my knowledge. 
 She had by this time saved some money. They 
 were married six months ago. I sent the wedding 
 gown. Do not let us talk any more about it. I tell 
 it yon to show you how deeply I care about your 
 subject ; for sometimes I think with terror, as I go 
 along the streets, that but for my providential inter- 
 
138 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 ference, Gretchen might have been like one of those 
 tawdry girls who pass by me. Yes, she might. I 
 observed that she had a pure horror of debt : and 
 I do not know that circumstances might not have 
 been too strong for her virtue. For by nature vir- 
 tuous, if ever woman was, she was. 
 
 EUesmere was silent for a few minutes. Then he 
 said, " Let us have no more of this talk to-day, or, 
 indeed, at any time, unless I should begin the sub- 
 ject. One of the greatest drawbacks upon making 
 any confidence is that, as regards that topic, you 
 have then lost the royal privilege of beginning the 
 discourse about yourself, and another can begin to 
 «peak to you, or to think (and you know that he is 
 thinking), about the matter, when you do not wish 
 *-o be so much as thought of by any one." 
 
 He then began to speak about some chemical 
 experiments which he wanted me to try ; and from 
 that went on to talk about infusoria, wishing me to 
 undertake some microscopical investigations to con- 
 firm, or disprove, a certain theory of his ; adding, 
 by way of inducement, *' These lower forms ar.c' 
 orders of life ought, you know, to be very interest- 
 ing to people in the country, who themselves, in 
 comparison with us, the inhabitants of towns, can 
 only, by courtesy, and for want of more precise and 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 139 
 
 .accurate language, be said to live. In fact, their 
 existence is entirely molluscous." Thus, in his 
 usual jeering way, he concluded a walk which left 
 me with matter for meditation for many a solitary 
 ramble over the downs, which we then traversed 
 on our way homewards. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TT is not often in the course of our lives, especially 
 •^ after we have passed our nonage, that we can 
 reckon upon being thoroughly undisturbed and free 
 to think of what we like for a given time. It is one 
 of the advantages of travelling in a carriage alone, 
 that it affords an admirable opportunity for thinking. 
 The trees, the houses, the farm-yards, the woods flit 
 by, and form a sort of silent chorus from the out- 
 ward world. There is a sense of power in over- 
 coming distance at no expense of muscular exertion 
 of one's own, which is not without an elevating and 
 inspiriting influence upon the thoughts. The first 
 thing, however, is, that we are pretty nearly sure of 
 being undisturbed. The noise around us is a meas- 
 ured one, and is accounted for ; it does not, there- 
 fore, fret the most nervous person. Dr. Johnson 
 thought that travelling in a post-chaise with a pretty 
 woman was one of the highest delights in life. 
 Very ungallantly I venture to suggest that the pretty 
 woman had better be omitted. She will talk some- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 141 
 
 times, and break the whole charm, thus preventmg 
 you even from thinking about her. 
 
 Having such notions of the high merits apper- 
 taining to the inside of a post-chaise in motion ; in 
 fact, considering it a place which, for the research 
 of truth, may be put in competition with the groves 
 of Academus, it was with some pleasure that I 
 found myself alone in the carriage which had con- 
 veyed Ellesmere to the neighboring railway station 
 on his return to town. It was the first time since 
 our walk to the downs that I had had to myself, 
 and been able to think over all that he had then 
 told me. He was right in saying that his story bore 
 close reference to the subject I have been consid- 
 ering. That such a man should find so much to 
 attach himself to in this poor German girl, who 
 might so easily have been found in a very ^different 
 situation, makes one think with dismay how some 
 of the sweetest and highest natures amongst women 
 may be in the ranks of those who are abandoned to 
 (he rude address of the coarsest and vilest of men. 
 I sa) *' some of the sweetest and highest natures," 
 for there is a cultivation in women quite independ- 
 ent of literary culture, rank, and other advantages. 
 They are more on a level with each other than men, 
 I do not reckon this as a proof of their excellence r 
 
142 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 nor do I at all indulge in the fancy that there is 
 something so peculiarly charming in uncultivated 
 people. On the contrary, they are seldom just, sel- 
 dom tolerant ; and, as regards innocence and child- 
 like nature, these merits abound in persons the 
 most cultivated, and even the most conversant with 
 the w^orld. I have no doubt we all appear simple 
 and unsophisticated enough to superior beings. It 
 is not, therefore, that I mean to laud the innocence 
 and naivete of ignorance : but only to point out 
 that there is a certain platform, as it v/ere, of grace 
 and unselfishness, — of tact, delicacy, and teacha- 
 bleness — - on which I have no doubt an immense 
 number of women are placed, which makes any 
 corruption of such high capabilities the more to be 
 regretted. 
 
 Dunsford, in his Friends in Council,, has failed 
 in representing Ellesmere, if he has not shown him 
 to be a most accomplished man and a thorough 
 gentleman ; not exactly the conventional gentleman, 
 but a man whom savages would certainly take to be 
 a chief in his own country, showing high courtesy 
 to others with a sort of coolness as regards himself: 
 the result of being free from many of the usual small 
 shames, petty ends, trivial vanities, and masked 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 143 
 
 social operations which dwarf men in their inter- 
 course with others, or make them like clowns daubed 
 over in ugly patches. His pursuits, as may have 
 been seen, are on a larger sphere than those of most 
 lawyers. Very observant, too, of the world, I have 
 scarcely a doubt he was right in his high apprecia- 
 tion of that girFs character. 
 
 We sometimes think we have no romance left ; 
 but with all our borrowed ways of thinking, our 
 foolish imitative habits, our estimations grosser than 
 those of Portia's disappointed suitors, some of us 
 occasionally do still look at things and people as 
 they are. And that alone produces romance enough. 
 
 I wonder whether Gretchen had any love for him ! 
 Alas, I suspect, from a fond wistful way in which I 
 once saw Lucy look at him, that there is an English 
 girl who would mightily like to occupy Gretchen's 
 place in his heart. But he casts not a thought at 
 her : such is the perversity of things. 
 
 But I must turn from thinking about Ellesmere to 
 the consideration of my subject, which is favored by 
 this quiet moment and this retired spot. It seems 
 to me that the best thing I can do will be, not so 
 much to seek for new arguments and new views, as 
 to strengthen and enlighten those already put for- 
 ward in a preceding chapter. 
 
144 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 I spoke, for instance, there of the cause that 
 poverty was of this sin. Now women do not 
 equally partake with men in the general poverty in 
 a land, but they have to endure an undue propor- 
 tion of it, by reason of many employments being 
 closed to them ; so that the sex which is least able 
 and least fitted to seek for employment by going 
 from home, finds the means of employment at home 
 most circumscribed. 
 
 I cannot but think that this is a mismanagement 
 which has proceeded, like many others, from a wrong 
 appreciation of women's powers. If they were told 
 that they could do many more things than they do, 
 they would do them. As at present educated, they 
 are, for the most part, thoroughly deficient in method. 
 But this surely might be remedied by training. To 
 take a very humble and simple instance. Why is it 
 that a man-cook is always better than a woman-cook ? 
 Simply because a man is more methodical in his 
 arrangements, and relies more upon his weights and 
 measures. An eminent physician told me, that he 
 thought that women were absolutely deficient in the 
 appreciation of time. But this I hold to be merely 
 one instance of their general want of accuracy ; for 
 which there are easy remedies : that is, easy if begim 
 early enough. Now it does seem perfectly ludicrous 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 145 
 
 that in the dispensing of women's gear they should 
 need the intervention of men. I dare say there is 
 some good reason for the present practice, some 
 advantage gained ; but I should think it likely that 
 this advantage would be far more than counter- 
 balanced by the advantage of employing women 
 altogether in these transactions. 
 
 Again, in the processes of the arts, and in many 
 ways which I have not time or space to enter upon, 
 women might be provided with new sources of em- 
 ployment, if they were properly trained. 
 
 But the truth is, there is a great want of ingenuity 
 and arrangement throughout the world in not pro- 
 viding employment for its unemployed, both men 
 and women. Things that imperatively want to be 
 done stare you in the face at every comer. 
 
 If we consider the nature of the intellect of women, 
 we really can see no reason for the restrictions laid 
 upon them in the choice of employments. They 
 possess talents of all kinds. Government, to be sure, 
 is a thing not fit for them, their fond prejudices 
 coming often in the way of justice. Direction also 
 they would want, not having the same power, I think, 
 of imagination that men have, nor the same method, 
 as I observed before. But how well women might 
 work under direction. In how many ways where 
 10 
 
146 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 tact and order alone are required they might be em- 
 ployed, and also, in how many higher ways, where 
 talent is required. 
 
 I suppose I shall have to say something about un- 
 happy marriages as a cause of the evil I have named 
 as the great sin of great cities. Of course there are 
 a great many unhappy marriages. A weighty moral 
 writer of tlie present day intimates that there is no 
 medium in the felicity, or infelicity, of marriage ; 
 that it is either the summit of joy, or the depth of 
 torment. I venture to differ from him in this re- 
 spect. On the contrary, it seems to me probable 
 that in marriage the whole diapason of joy and sor- 
 row is sounded, from perfect congeniality, if there 
 be such a thing (which I doubt), to the utmost ex- 
 tent of irritable uncongeniality. 
 
 How this may be I know not, but though unhap- 
 piness in marriage may form some justification of, 
 or at least some explanation for, other connections 
 more or less permanent, yet I contend no want of 
 domestic love or peace can justify the particular sin 
 which is the subject of our present theme. 
 
 At the same time I am far from pronouncing that 
 the law of divorce may not require considerable 
 modification ; but really there are so many large 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 147 
 
 questions to deal with in reference to this piesent 
 subject, that I feel I cannot presume to enter upon 
 this one of divorce, to discuss which properly would 
 require any one man's life. I cannot, however, omit 
 all allusion to it, as it has undoubted reference to the 
 subject in hand ; and I may remark that it is a great 
 deal easier to pass by Milton, or to sneer at him, for 
 his great work on The Doctrine and Discipline of 
 Divorce^ than to answer the arguments therein con- 
 tained. The truth is, that there is scarcely anywhere 
 a mind sufficiently free from the overruling influence 
 of authority on these and similar subjects to be 
 able clearly and boldly to apprehend the question 
 for itself. 
 
 However, it does not become us to pronounce, if 
 we are to judge from the results only, that our pres- 
 ent notions of marriage are the best possible. I 
 can imagine a native of some country where polyg- 
 amy is practised, contending that the state of things 
 in his own country in this respect is preferable to 
 that in ours ; not, perhaps, as producing less misery, 
 but at any rate less dishonor both to men and wo- 
 men. We should find it difficult to gainsay him 
 in tliis, as of course he would make much of the 
 immense and obvious evils of the sin we have been 
 considering. 
 
148 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 The greatest and most dangerous objection — I 
 should rather say assertion — which will be made 
 against any thing that has been sai^ in this chap- 
 ter and the two preceding ones, is one that will be 
 uttered with a derisive smile by men of the world, 
 as they are called ; that is, of a very small section 
 of it. Thinking they are deeply cognizant of the 
 human heart, because they are very much afraid of 
 its aberrations, and that they are fully aware of the 
 powers of the imagination, from having little them- 
 selves and discouraging the little they ever had — 
 lapped, perhaps, in a kind of prosperity which sin- 
 gularly blinds those who have the misfortune to en- 
 joy an uninterrupted career of it — bounded by a 
 small circle of equally well-conditioned, self-satisfied 
 individuals — men of this kind pronounce not only 
 upon the influx and efflux of tea, coflTee, sugar and 
 gold (in which, by the way, their dicta are generally 
 wrong) , but they are also able specifically to declare 
 about the ebb and flow of the passions or the affec- 
 tions ; about the tenderest and the most delicate of 
 the relations in human life. Talk to any man of 
 this worldly class about moral causes, or religious 
 influences, he is equally at home with them, as if 
 you were to ask him about the subjects most " im- 
 mersed in matter." I can see the self-sufficient way 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 149 
 
 in which if he had lived some seven hundred years 
 ago, after the first crusade, he would have pronounced 
 with a wave of his hand after dinner, that there 
 never could be such another adventure again, as the 
 first had by no means been found to pay. But soon 
 all Europe is listening to the clink of hammers upon 
 harness, and thousands, hundreds of thousands, are 
 repeating an adventure not good in a commercial 
 sense, but still which gave a dignity to them such as 
 the stayers at home never attained. 
 
 Having damaged, as much as I can, the imagina- 
 ry opponents — who, I know however, will prove 
 real ones — before I bring their saying into pres- 
 ence, I will now tell what that saying will assur- 
 edly be. 
 
 In answer to all that has been urged in the way 
 of remedy for this evil, they will simply reply, 
 "But these things always must be ; the laws of sup- 
 ply and demand hold good in this case as in others : 
 to think otherwise is the mere dream of writers and 
 other ideologists : no wonder Napoleon disliked such 
 people : we do too." 
 
 To this, taking them on their own ground, I 
 would reply that at any rate the force of circumstan- 
 ces (a phrase they delight in) may be so adapted 
 and modified as only to meet the exact necessities 
 
150 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 of the case. I mean, for instance, that those by na- 
 ture most inclined to innocence should have the 
 fairest opportunities of remaining innocent ; that, in 
 short, it should be the worst people that fell into the 
 worst ways. This, of course, is only an ideal scheme 
 too ; but there might be a practical tendency in that 
 direction. 
 
 In reality, however, it is the greatest mistake to 
 suppose that such laws of supply and demand are 
 not overruled by much higher influences. All things 
 depend for their ultimate aim and end on the spirit 
 in which they are undertaken ; which spirit cannot 
 well be concealed. The measured generosity of 
 mean people, whose gifts are all strictly related to 
 duty, does not deceive others ; the bystander knows 
 that these people are not generous, though he can- 
 not exactly confute them from their words or their 
 deeds. Again, people may pretend to be religious ; 
 but if the real spirit is not in them, its absence is 
 soon felt. I am merely giving these as instances of 
 the deficiency of the right spirit being felt, or per- 
 ceived, even when the outward deeds or words are 
 there. But the spirit which results from convic- 
 tion, and which gradually modifies public opinion, 
 is one of the most powerful things known : who 
 shall put limits to it.? It will meet and occasionally 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 151 
 
 master all the passions. Take the question of 
 duelling, for instance ; if you could have told a 
 man of former times, when duelling was rife, 
 that it would soon be almost done away with, 
 " What ! " he would have exclaimed, " will there 
 be no lovers, no jealous husbands, no walls to take 
 the inner side of, no rudeness, no drunkenness, no 
 calumny, no slander? And, if there are, how will 
 the quarrels that must arise from these things be ad- 
 justed? Do not talk such Utopian nonsense to me, 
 but come and let us practise in the shooting-gal- 
 lery." And, yet, see how stealthily, how unassum 
 ingly, how completely public opinion, the result of 
 a wise and good spirit gradually infused into men, 
 has' disarmed duellism ; as quietly, in fact, as the 
 king's guard in former days would have taken away 
 the weapons of any two presumptuous gentlemen 
 who brought their quarrelling too near his Majesty's 
 vicinity in his parks. 
 
 One of the kind of reproaches that will ever be 
 made, with much or little justice (generally with lit- 
 tle justice), against any men who endeavor to reform 
 or improve any thing, is that they are not ready with 
 definite propositions ; that they are like the Chorus 
 in a Greek play, making general remarks about 
 
152 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 nature and human affairs, without suggesting any 
 clear and decided course to be taken. Sometimes 
 this reproach is just ; but very often,- on the other 
 hand, it is utterly unreasonable. Frequently the 
 course to be taken in each individual instance is 
 one that it would be almost impossible to decide, 
 still more to lay down with minuteness, without 
 a knowledge of the facts in the particular instance : 
 whereas what is wanted is not to suggest a course of 
 action, but a habit of thought which will modify not 
 one or two actions only, but all actions that come 
 within the scope of that thought. 
 
 Again, there are people who are not so unreason- 
 able as to expect suggestions that will exactly meet 
 their own individual cases, but still they wish for 
 general rules or general propositions to be laid down. 
 There must be instant legislation to please them ; 
 something visibly done. And often it is needful that 
 something should be done, which however falls, 
 perhaps, under the functions of other men than the 
 original social reformers. There is always such a 
 belief in what is mechanical, that men of ordinary 
 minds cannot assure themselves that any thing is 
 done, unless something palpable is before them ; 
 unless they can refer to a legislative act, or unless 
 there is a building, an institution, a newspaper, or 
 
COMPAxYlONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 153 
 
 some visible thing, which iUustrates the principle 
 But in reality the first thing is to get people to be o^ 
 the same mind as regards social evils. When once 
 they are of this mind, the evils will soon disappear. 
 A wise conviction is like light ; it gradually dawns 
 upon a few minds, but a slight mist rises also with 
 this rise of light ; as the day goes on and the light 
 rises higher, spreads further, and is more intense, 
 growth of all kinds takes place silently and without 
 great demonstration of any kind. This light per- 
 meates, colors, and enlarges all it shines upon. 
 
 Now, to apply some of these thoughts to our 
 present subject. I do not believe that there will 
 always be a certain set amount of wrong-doing in 
 this or in any other case. On the other hand, I do 
 not expect that people will suddenly rush into virtue. 
 To take a very humble instance, the suppression of 
 smoke, one of the most visible evils in the world, 
 how long a time it takes to subdue that. From Count 
 Rumford's time to the present day, how many persons 
 have written, preached, talked, experimented, on the 
 ' subject. And if this long process has to take place 
 in so obvious a matter, how much more must it be 
 so in the subtler regions of men's minds, in their 
 habits of justice, or of forethought. But, insensibly, 
 even in these dim and remote regions, good coun- 
 
154 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 sels, or evil counsels, will eventually prevail, — as 
 quietly, perhaps, but as surely, as the submerged 
 'coral rock grows and increases from the accumula- 
 tions of minute, gelatinous, molluscous creatures. 
 
 The train of thought which I have described above, 
 did not of course occur to me in the methodical way 
 in which I have now put it down, but with frequent 
 breaks and interruptions both from internal thoughts 
 and the aspect of external objects. Now it was the 
 noise of the mill, now the beauty of some homestead, 
 now the neatness of some well-cultivated field, or the 
 richness of some full farmyard that claimed my 
 attention. But when I had finished thinking of the 
 answer that must be given to that worldly objection 
 " that there is a demand for wickedness, and that 
 there must be a supply of it," I leaned back in the 
 carriage and turned my mind to other branches of 
 the subject. Just at that time, whether it was that a 
 troop of little children came out of a school-house 
 close to the road, or that I noticed the early budding 
 in the hedgerows, as I passed along, I began to think 
 of what had been alluded to in a former chapter ; 
 namely, what a beautiful thing youth is, and how 
 sad that it should be Spoilt at its outset. And I went 
 on to think not only of the negative, that is, of the 
 loss of so much beautiful life and promise, but of 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE 155 
 
 the positive misery inflicted, which surely is well 
 worth taking into consideration. 
 
 Tragedy is very grand, with grand accessories, 
 
 " Presenting Thebes', or Pelops' line, 
 Or the Tale of Troy divine," 
 
 when a purple-clad man, free from all the pettinesses 
 of life, pours out a strain of sorrow which melts all 
 hearts, and goes some way to dignify the sufferings 
 of all humanity. But, after all, in some squalid den, 
 as great if not a greater tragedy is often transacted, 
 only without the scenery and decorations of the other, 
 when some poor victim of seduction — now steeped 
 in misery and sunk in the abysses of self-degrada- 
 tion, amidst blasphemy, subject to reviling that she 
 scarcely hears or easily endures from habit — lies 
 on the bed of sickness thinking of her mother's gentle 
 assiduities in some of the ailments of her childhood, 
 and covers her face with her hands at the thought 
 that that mother, dead, perhaps heart-broken, may 
 now, a spirit, be looking down upon her. Well 
 might Camoens wonder " That in so small a theatre 
 as that of one poor bed, it should please Fortune to 
 represent such great calamities. And I too," he 
 says, " as if these calamities did not suffice, must 
 needs put myself on their side ; for to attempt to 
 resist such evils would be something shameless." 
 
156 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 I had meditated but a few minutes on this cry of 
 anguish, which I seemed to hear as it came from the 
 dying-bed of one of the most unfortunate of men of 
 genius, and which I fancied, too, I heard from many 
 other death-beds, when we turned out of the main 
 road into the lanes which lead to Worth-Ashton. 
 With all our pretences at governing or directing 
 our thoughts, how they lie at the mercy of the 
 merest accident! Once in these lanes I quitted my 
 subject, and began to think how the way to my house 
 might be shortened, and I was already deep in the 
 engineering difficulties of the proceeding, when 
 somewhat satirically I said to myself. What a mania 
 you have for improving every thing about you : 
 could you not, my dear Leonard, spare a little of 
 this reforming energy for yourself? One would 
 think that you did not need it at all, to see the way 
 you go on writing moral essays. Myself replied to 
 me. This is a very spiteful remark of yours, and very 
 like what Ellesmere would have said. Have I not 
 always protested in the strongest manner against 
 the assumption, that a writer of moral essays must 
 be a moral man himself.-^ Your friend Ellesmere, 
 in reference to this very point, remarks that if all 
 clergymen had been Christians, there would by this 
 time have been no science of theology. But, jesting 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 157 
 
 apart, it would be a sad thing indeed if one's ideal 
 was never to go beyond one's own infirmities. How- 
 ever, myself agrees with you, my dear I, so far, that 
 it is much safer to be thought worse than better than 
 one really is : and so blacken me as much as you 
 like, and detract from me as much as you can, so 
 that you do not injure my arguments or my per- 
 suasions. These I believe in, and will endeavor to 
 carry out, just as if they had been uttered by the 
 most irreproachable and perfect man in the world. 
 
 Maintaining this strange dialogue as stoutly as if 
 there had been two persons instead of one in the 
 carriage, I, or rather we, (I wonder whether the 
 editorial " we " is thus really dual, consisting of a 
 man and his conscience) — we, I say, reached the 
 gate of Worth- Ashton, pretty good friends with each 
 other, and pleased with what we had thought over 
 during our ride homewards. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OINCE giving an account of my last reverie, I 
 have been abroad for a short time, which has 
 a httle interrupted my work, but I now resume it 
 with less feeling of weariness. I seldom think 
 much during a tour. Indeed I come out to avoid 
 thinking. I do not come to see what can be said or 
 thought about any place, but to see it. Neverthe- 
 less, occasionally, I make a few notes consisting of 
 some disjointed words, sufficient to recall to me, and 
 to me only, what were the things which made an 
 injpression upon me. 
 
 One scene of this last journey I find commemo- 
 rated in this short way ; and, as it is connected with 
 some thoughts which carry on the subjects we (my 
 readers and I) have lately been considering, I v/ill 
 recall it. 
 
 I shall not tell with any preciseness where I was : 
 for if I did so, and did it well, my countrymen 
 would flock to see the place. Not that I grudge 
 them seeing any thing. I suppose it happens to 
 many of us, when abroad, to feel a little ashamed 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 159 
 
 now and then of these same countrymen ; but yet 
 1 often think with pleasure that even the most 
 coarse and obtuse traveller brings back something 
 besides self-conceit. One regrets that such oppor- 
 tunities are not always bestowed on minds fully able 
 to profit by them ; but still one hopes that the most 
 uncultivated people cannot escape getting some little 
 advantage from their travels ; and if they were to 
 stay at home, they would Jiot the less remain uncul- 
 tivated people. 
 
 Such travellers, however, would not thank me at 
 all for describing a place which might thus get into 
 the guide-books, and then, alas ! form one more 
 spot which they must stop to look at, while they 
 would far rather scamper over more ground and see 
 more well-known places with great names. And 
 as for the people who see things for themselves, 
 they will not pass by tlie spot in question without 
 giving it a due regard. 
 
 And what a scene it is ! Across a wide extent of 
 water lies a bridge of immense length formed of 
 uneven planks supported upon piles. There is no 
 railing to the bridge, so that you seem almost upon 
 the water, and you have the sensation of being at 
 sea, with the grandeur and without the misery (as 
 it is to me) of such a situation. Here and there is 
 
l6o COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 an oratory out-jutting from the line of planks, with 
 a narrow edging of stone round it. 
 
 It was evening when I came upon the bridge, but 
 not so late as to prevent me from seeing well the 
 country about me, which at intervals went down 
 mto the water in narrow tongues of land, with 
 buildings upon them. Immediately on the heights 
 above me were an old tower and a monastery. 
 Near the land some giant reeds rose up from the 
 water, but did not sway to and fro the least, for 
 there was not a breath of wind. The only noise 
 was a plash of the water against a jetty, or the occa- 
 sional jumping of a fish. On one of the strange- 
 looking rocks there, which come abruptly out of the 
 water as if asking you a question from the deep, 
 reposed a meditative crane standing upon one 
 leg. 
 
 On one side of the bridge the hills rise up around 
 you evenly, and the mountains are well balanced in 
 form : on the other side, they descend abruptly and 
 ascend again, leaving a most picturesque gorge. 
 Two poplars were to be seen on the lowland near 
 this gorge. 
 
 As evening deepened, and no more peasants 
 returning homeward from the other side saluted me 
 with their Good-night, the houses on the surrounding 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. i6l 
 
 hills showed like glow-worms, and all was still, save 
 the plash of the water on the jetty. 
 
 I find that new places do not always bring new 
 thoughts : sometimes they only intensify those which 
 one has thought before. My mind went back to 
 what is held by many persons to be a most prosaic 
 subject, — namely, education. And I thought how 
 education, to be of any assured worth, must continue 
 throughout life. " Now, Sir, that your education 
 is ended," exclaims the parent or the guardian to 
 many a young man whose education, in the highest 
 sense of the word, is now about to begin. This is 
 the mistake that we make, too, about the poor. 
 Reading and writing will not do alone. You might 
 as well prepare for a liberal hospitality by a good 
 apparatus for roasting and boiling, but never putting 
 on any viands, so that the kitchen machinery went 
 on' grinding unceasingly, with no contentment to 
 the appetites of the hungry. No : before we shall 
 be able to make much of education, the highest 
 amongst us must take larger views of it, and not 
 suppose that it is a mere definite quantity of culti- 
 vation, — defined according to the narrow limits of 
 the fashions of the day. 
 
 If we saw this cjearly, we should not be so anx- 
 ious to succeed at college, at the bar, in parliament, 
 II 
 
1 62 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 in literature, or in any one art and science. We 
 should perceive that there was a certain greatfiess 
 of nature and acquirement to be aimed at, which 
 we would not sacrifice to any one pursuit, worldly 
 or artistic. 
 
 I stayed no longer on the bridge, but, ascending 
 from it, made my way to a church which stood on 
 the height close to the old tower. I marked in the 
 light of the moon the slight, graceful, fantastic 
 crosses in iron-work, telling that a peaceful popula- 
 tion slept beside me ; and I sat down upon a low, 
 broad stone wall. Thence you might see the wide 
 waters, and some houses whose shadows lay upon 
 tlie meads which skirted the waters. 
 
 " And that is what all their ambition has come 
 to," I muttered to myself, turning to the crosses. 
 
 "Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens " 
 
 (what an epithet!) 
 
 "Uxor: neque harum quas coHs, arborum, 
 Te, praeter invisas cupressus, 
 
 Ulla brevem dominum sequetur." 
 
 These inevitable common-place remarks mostly 
 contain the profoundest and the sincerest thought. 
 Yes, life may be but a poor business at the best ; 
 nevertheless, said I to myself, I will try to do some- 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 163 
 
 thing yet, if life is spared to me. And so, resuming 
 the subject which I had been working at before I 
 left home (namely, the great sin of great cities), I 
 began to consider what I should conclude by saying, 
 just as if I had been in my study at Worth-Ashton. 
 My eye wandered over the dark hills, catching 
 every now and then the glow-worm light which 
 came from some house or cottage perched up there. 
 I pictured to myself the daughter of one of thes*e 
 homes carried off to some great town, soon to be 
 lost there in its squalid suburbs, like beautiful, 
 spoilt fruit swept away with garbage into the com- 
 mon kennel. The girl, perhaps, is much to blame 
 herself; for we must admit that the fault is not always 
 on one side, and we must not suffer any sickly senti- 
 ment to darken truth and justice. Yes — she may be 
 much to blame ; but, surely, the wiser creature, 
 man, is more so. Seduction is such a poor transac- 
 tion. There was a time, it was one of the basest 
 times the world has ever seen, when seduction was 
 thought a fine and clever thing ; but now who does 
 not see that to delude a woman, a creature easily to 
 be deluded, especially through its affections, is a 
 slight, unworthy transaction, and but for its dire 
 consequences, would be ludicrous ; like cheating a 
 child at cards } But when you add to this that in 
 
164 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 many a case, desertion follows so rapidly upon se- 
 duction as almost to appear as if they had been 
 planned together, then the smallness of the transac- 
 tion is absolutely lost in the consideration of its b^ise- 
 ness. 
 
 However, say what we will, there will often be 
 seductions ; and it would be a great point gained, 
 if desertion should be looked upon with greater se- 
 verity. This brings me at once to the subject of 
 what are called illegitimate children. 
 
 Now, duties are very often very difficult things to 
 apprehend rightly. As every thing is ultimately re- 
 ferred to duty, and as a great many things in this 
 world are very dubious, it is manifest that duties are 
 often very dubious likewise. There are not only 
 clear, but dim and shadowy duties, if I may so 
 express them, which are very perplexing, and occu- 
 py much of a man's time and thought. Often we 
 find that what we supposed to be a duty was any 
 thing but a duty. The great persecutors for opinion 
 have probably found that out now ; and, indeed, on 
 earth, we often discover that what we supposed to 
 be a duty and performed with earnest diligence, was 
 a great delusion. Under these circumstances, it 
 does seem to me that when we have before us an 
 undoubted duty, one of those things which come 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 165 
 
 under the axioms of morality, we can hardly lay too 
 much stress on the performance of that. It is like 
 what we ought to do in our charities, I think. 
 Charity is so difficult and perplexed a thing, that 
 when a man has got hold of a clearly good charity 
 which he can carry out, he had better do that thor- 
 oughly than dissipate his resources, mental and 
 physical, in any efforts of a dubious tendency. 
 
 Now, I suppose, there are few things clearer to 
 the human mind, 
 
 " To saint, to savage, and to sage,** 
 
 than that a father owes duties to his child. The 
 dullest savages have seen that. Even Lacedaemon- 
 ians, if they put off individual fatherhood, only did 
 so by throwing it upon the community. How can 
 a man, for a moment, imagine that any difference of 
 rank (a mere earthly arrangement) between the 
 mother of his child and himself can absolve him 
 from paternal duties ? I am lost in astonishment at 
 the notion. And then imagine a man, performing 
 all manner of minor duties, neglecting this first one 
 the while. I always fancy that we may be sur- 
 rounded by spiritual powers. Now, think what a 
 horrible mockery it must seem to them, when they 
 behold, a man going to charity dinners, busying 
 
1 66 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 himself about flannel for the poor, jabbering about 
 education at public meetings, immersed in different 
 forms and ceremonies of religion, or raging against 
 such things, because it is his duty, as he tells you ; 
 aijd at the door holding a link, or perhaps at that 
 moment bringing home the produce of small thefts 
 in a neighboring, narrow alley, is his own child, a 
 pinched-up, haggard, outcast, cunning-looking little 
 thing. Throw down, man, the flannel and the soap 
 and the education and the Popery and Protestant- 
 ism, and go up that narrow alley and tend your 
 child : do not heap that palpably unjust burden on 
 the back of a world which has enough at all times 
 of its own to bear. If you cannot find your own 
 child, adopt two others in its place, and let your 
 care for them be a sort of sin-offering. These are 
 indignant words, but not more so than is right, I 
 do believe, and I will not suppress one of them. 
 
 I am not ignorant of the difficulty of doing as I 
 would have a man do in such a case. I do not 
 write as a hermit or a clergyman, but as a man who 
 thinks he knows something of the world. To own 
 to immorality, to have that fair respectability spotted 
 which we all value so much, and which is valuable, 
 is no slight effort. A man who would beard a lion 
 in his den, will shrink from doing what he ought to 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 1 67 
 
 do, lest in so doing his neighbors should say un- 
 pleasant words about him behind his back. And 
 yet there have been respectable men who have worn 
 beards and strange hats which their neighbors did 
 not wear ; a more daring thing, perhaps, than own- 
 ing to any immorality and endeavoring to repair it. 
 
 There are men who have secretly supported the 
 burden of an illegitimate family : these at least are 
 far better men than those who have joined the ^Y0^1d 
 in ignoring the existence of those they were bound 
 to know of and to succor. Great kings, who can 
 afford to set aside conventionality, before whom 
 " nice custom curtseys," have boldly taken charge 
 of their illegitimate children, and the world has not 
 thought the worse of them for that, whatever it may 
 justly have thought of the rest of their proceedings. 
 
 Some may reply, all this acknowledgment is 
 encouragement. I say not. I say it holds before a 
 person those duties, the general forgetfulness of 
 which encourages to immorality. But, really, fine 
 questions of general morality ought to be of second- 
 rate importance to a man who is neglecting his first 
 duties. 
 
 Is it not so ? I said, looking round upon the thin 
 shadows cast by the crosses over the graves. Silent 
 population (any one of whom, the meanest, could 
 
1 68 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 now tell us more, mayhap, than all the wise men 
 and doctors of this earth), silent population, is it 
 not so ? But none answered, unless a sigh of the 
 breeze which now stole over the churchyard was 
 the expression of tine of those subtle chords of sym- 
 pathy, rarely heard, still more rarely appreciated, 
 which, perhaps, bring animate, and what we call 
 inanimate, nature into secret, strange communion. 
 
 I went down again upon the bridge, looked up at 
 the solemn sky, for the moon was clouded now, and 
 beneath me at the dim waters, being able to discern 
 naught else : and still with some regard to what I 
 had been thinking of in the churchyard, hoped that, 
 in a future state at least, we might have some oppor- 
 tunity of loving and making our peace with those 
 whom we have wronged here, and of seeing that 
 our wrong, overruled by infinite goodness, has not 
 wrought all the injury which there was in it to do. 
 
 So I walked on, having those dim apprehensions 
 and undefined feelings which are yet, perhaps, the 
 unfashioned substance of our sincerest and most 
 exact afterthought, until darkness and the cold and 
 the thought of to-morrow's journey drove me home- 
 ward, — the home so emblematical for man in his 
 pilgrimage, — the home of an inn. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 OO varied, extensive, and pervading are human 
 ^^^^ distresses, sorrows, shortcomings, miseries, 
 and misadventures, that a chapter of aid or consola- 
 tion never comes amiss, I think. There is a pitiless, 
 pelting rain this morning ; heavily against my study 
 windows drives the south-western gale ; and alto- 
 gether it is a very fit day for working at such a chap- 
 ter. The in-door comforts which enable one to 
 resist with composure, nay even to welcome, this 
 outward conflict and hubbub, are like the plans and 
 resources provided by philosophy and religion, to 
 meet the various calamities driven against the soul 
 in its passage through this stormy world. The 
 books which surround me have been found an equal 
 resource in both respects, both against the weather 
 from without and from within, against physical and 
 mental storms : and, if it might be so, I would pass 
 on to others the comfort which a seasonable word 
 has often brought to me. 
 
 If I were to look round these shelves, what a host 
 of well-loved names would rise up, as those who 
 
170 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 have said brave or wise words to comfort and aid 
 their brethren in adversity. It seems as if h'ttle 
 remained to be said ; but in truth there is always 
 waste land in the human heart to be tilled. 
 
 The first thing which occurs to me is, that in 
 bearing misfortune and vexation, as in overcoming 
 temptation, there is a certain confidence which had 
 better be put aside. This confidence sometimes 
 results from a faith in reason, or rather a faith in our 
 being exactly amenable to reason. For instance, it 
 is some time before a man ceases to have a full 
 belief in his own powers of accomplishing by direct 
 means the absolute rule in his mind. If he is con- 
 vinced of a thing, he says to himself, of course he 
 will act accordingly. It astonishes him to hear of 
 men — great men — who could not overcome, or 
 found the greatest difficulty in overcoming, some 
 small habit. Indeed, according to his brave imagin- 
 ings, he intends always to overcome terrors and 
 temptations, not merely to avoid them. Such is a 
 very juvenile though a very natural mode of think- 
 ing. It requires a good many fallings in the mire, 
 before a man finds that his own mind, temperament, 
 and faculties, are things which will give him as 
 much or more trouble to manage, than his affairs, 
 or his family, or than the whole world besides. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. l*Jl 
 
 But as a man learns certain rules of health, so that 
 it is said that at forty he is either a fool or a physician, 
 so again, in dealing with the affections of the mind, 
 there comes a skill which is not to be despised : and 
 a man finds that the evil he cannot master he can 
 ignore, the care he cannot efface he can elude, the 
 felicity he cannot accomplish he can weigh and 
 understand, and so reduce it from the size it would 
 occupy in his imagination to its proper and reason- 
 able limits. At last even sensitive people learn to 
 suffer less from sensitiveness ; not that it grows dull 
 by age, but that they learn to manage it better. 
 
 As a sound preparation for consolation of various 
 kinds, I would begin, not by wilfully magnifying 
 evils, but by showing their true proportions, which 
 no doubt makes them seem larger than the imagi- 
 nation of the young, mistaught by many unsound 
 fictions, pictures them to be. But nothing can be 
 better than the truth. In its hand are all earthly 
 and all heavenly consolations. As an instance of 
 what I mean, there is a common fancy that an 
 untoward event generally comes and goes with con- 
 siderable rapidity, — and there an end ; whereas it 
 is very often a long-continued process. You do not 
 fall sheer down a precipice, but go tumbling by 
 degrees, drinking in the full measure of danger and 
 
172 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 horror, catching at bushes here and there, now 
 imagining for a moment that you have found secur- 
 ity on some projecting ledge, and then finding the 
 ground crumbling under you ; and so you fall on- 
 wards till you reach the lowest level. The above is 
 rather a strong image, but it may convey what I in- 
 tend. 
 
 To illusti*ate it in practice — most men who have 
 lived any time in the world, unless they have been 
 the very minions of fortune (in which case, by the 
 way, they are not much to be envied), have vexations 
 of considerable standing — long lawsuits, disastrous 
 adventures, an ill-conducted child, or some other 
 terrible relative, a deplorable shame, often such a 
 mingled tissue of fault and misfortune, that they 
 cannot pity themselves sufficiently for blame at their 
 folly ; and they return from thinking over the folly 
 to grieving over the ill-luck (as they call it) which 
 brought out the folly so remarkably on that particular 
 occasion. 
 
 Such a course of things requiring time for its 
 development, can hardly fail to exercise in vexation 
 all the moods and faculties of a man. A statesman 
 does not perhaps work, intellectually speaking, 
 harder than a lawyer in great practice ; but the 
 cares of the latter are cares which begin and end 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 173 
 
 with the day ; not long lines of policy which require 
 time and protracted care on one subject to work out, 
 and where failure often comes by slow degrees. 
 
 Now, then, for the attempt at aid or consolation 
 in such a case. Suppose the course of events I have 
 spoken of to be one of failure and vexation — real- 
 ized, or about to be so, to use an American phrase, 
 and a very good one. A wise man (but that word 
 " wise " is hardly a fit adjective to put before " man," 
 it would be better to say, a man well-read in the 
 heart) sees when he has suffered enough from these 
 lengthened trains of evils, when he has exhausted 
 the instruction from them ; and though from time 
 to time he may revert to them, as new views or new 
 circumstances occur, enabling him to look down 
 from a fresh height, as it were, on these long, dreary, 
 disastrous passages of his life, yet he resolves sub- 
 stantially to have done with them ; and when he 
 finds them invading his mind and memory, adroitly 
 he contrives at once to occupy it with something 
 else. 
 
 With his wisdom of this world. Napoleon, no 
 doubt, took care not to let his Russian campaign 
 press fatally upon his recollections. 
 
 Another way for a man in such a case is to quote 
 these disasters fearlessly to himself, and sometimes 
 
174 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 to others, as dear-bought bits of experience, now 
 possessions ; bought, it is true, at a most extravagant 
 price, but still a little property, far better than 
 nothing. 
 
 There is great humility in such plans as the above : 
 the man who adopts them has found out, or at least 
 he thoroughly suspects, his own weakness, and is 
 willing to avail himself of any fair advantage to fight 
 with the numerous enemies that surround him. 
 Like a wise commander, he looks about for the 
 slightest rising ground. 
 
 The same adroitness and practical wisdom may 
 be manifested, not only in thought but in action. A 
 friend of mine who had to attend a series of inter- 
 views, in which business was discussed of much 
 vexation to him, and where he had to undergo, 
 justly, much contumely, discovered that the occasions 
 when he gave way to temper and behaved unwisely, 
 were those in which he rode on a tiresome horse to 
 the place of business. This is very natural : his 
 nerves were a little ruffled in managing the unruly 
 quadruped ; his powers a little impaired ; his com- 
 posure slightly broken through to begin with : and, 
 where things are nicely balanced, this slight dis- 
 turbance of equanimity might turn the scale. After- 
 wards he took care to go to tlie place of tliese 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 175 
 
 interviews always in the easiest manner, and noted 
 the good effect of tliis change. How trivial such an 
 anecdote will seem, except to those who know the 
 world well, and have seen how important small 
 things may be when they happen to be brought into 
 tlie same narrow compass of affairs with great ones. 
 
 But now, to pass to other subjects of human dis- 
 tress, and first among them, to all that is suffered 
 from obloquy. 
 
 In bearing obloquy it may be noted, byway of conso- 
 lation, that the world is always correcting its opinions ; 
 that — except amongst your particular friends and re- 
 lations, who have, perhaps, taken up a most erroneous 
 view of your character, and, in the pride of a little 
 knowledge, will never let it go — the general body of 
 opinion is very fluent, and, at last, every thing has a 
 hearing. I have a private suspicion of my own, that 
 some of those Roman emperors we read of have been 
 maligned a little. Somebody else perhaps has the 
 same notion ; if it is a just one it will yet be inves- 
 tigated, and what there is true in it be sifted out. 
 
 It is certainly a long time to wait, for ages, to 
 have an unjust opinion of you corrected ; but if fame 
 is worth any thing at all, then there is a consolation 
 in thinking that eventually you have a chance of 
 being fairly dealt with. 
 
176 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 By way of comfort in bearing calumny, it maybe 
 observed that calumny does not originate in the way 
 ordinarily supposed ; that there is rarely any such 
 thing as a system of active, well-regulated, well-aimed 
 calumny, arising out of malice prepense ; but that far 
 more often it has its source in honest ignorance, 
 mean-mindedness, or absolute mistake. It is to be 
 viewed, therefore, in the light of a misfortune, rather 
 than in that of a persecution. 
 
 Any man of many transactions can hardly expect 
 to go through life without being subject to one or two 
 very severe calumnies. Amongst these many trans- 
 actions, some few will be with very ill-conditioned 
 people, with very ignorant people, or perhaps with 
 monomaniacs (and much less account is taken of them 
 than ought to be), and he cannot expect, therefore, 
 but that some narrative of a calumnious kind will 
 have its origin in one of these transactions. It may 
 then be fanned by any accidental breeze of malice 
 or ill-fortune, and become a very serious element of 
 mischief to him. Such a thing is to be looked upon 
 as pure misfortune coming in the ordinary course of 
 events ; and the way of treating it is to deal with it 
 as calmly and philosophically as with any other mis- 
 fortune. As some one has said, the mud will rub off 
 when it is dry, and not before. The drying will not 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 1 77 
 
 always come in the calumniated man's time, unless 
 in favorable seasons, which he cannot command. It 
 is not wise, however, to be very impatient to justify 
 one's self; and, altogether, too much stress should 
 not be laid upon calumny by the calumniated, else 
 their serious work will be for ever interrupted ; and 
 they should remember that it is not so much their 
 business to explain to others all they do, as to be 
 sure that it will bear explanation and satisfy them- 
 selves. 
 
 When I was in the habit of seeing something of 
 official life, I used to wonder that a great department 
 suffered itself to be calumniated, and made no sign ; 
 but older and wiser heads than mine soon convinced 
 me that their business did not admit of their con- 
 futing every idle and erroneous statement that was 
 made about them, and that they were mainly to 
 answer to those persons who had authority to ques- 
 tion them. The same judicious maxim applies also 
 to private life. 
 
 Not far removed from calumny, and often leading 
 up to it, is injurious comment on people's conduct ; 
 which when addressed or repeated to them, or im- 
 agined by them, is apt to vex them sorely. But 
 really if it were considered how utterly incompetent 
 
178 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 men are to talk of the conduct of others, as they do, 
 the talkers would often be silenced at once, and the 
 sufferers as readily consoled. In the -first place how 
 imperfect is our knowledge of our neighbor's circum- 
 stances. You suppose a man rich, and he is poor ; 
 or rich, but with perils, claims, and responsibilities 
 of which you know nothing ; you suppose him 
 healthy, and he is tortured by some internal disease ; 
 you suppose him unhappy in his domestic relations, 
 and he is most felicitous ; or, on the other hand, you 
 suppose him lapped in the loving regards of his 
 family, and all the while he has a wretched, con- 
 tentious home ; you suppose him a man of leisure, 
 and he is cumbered with cares, duties, labors, and 
 endeavors, of which you have not the slightest con- 
 ception — what is your comment on this man's con- 
 duct worth ? Then if we observe the difference of 
 men's natures, and consider the want of imagination 
 in most men which confines them to the just appre- 
 ciation of those natures only which are like their 
 own, how much this complicates the question. Prob- 
 ably the difference of temperament amongst men is 
 as great as that amongst the different species of ani- 
 mals — as between that, for instance, of the lively 
 squirrel and the solemn crane. Now, if only from 
 this difference between them, the squirrel would be 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 179 
 
 a bad judge of the felicity, or generosity, or the do- 
 mestic conduct, of the crane. 
 
 Probably when we are thinking or talking of a 
 person, we recall some visual image of that person. 
 I have thought what an instructive thing it would 
 be, if under some magic influence, like that, for ex- 
 ample, which would construct a " palace of truth," 
 it were arranged that as we gave out our comments 
 on the character or conduct of any person, this image 
 on the retina of memory should change according to 
 the truth, or rather the want of it, in our remarks. 
 Gradually, feature after feature would steal away till 
 we gazed at nonentity ; or we should find another 
 image glide into the field of view, somebody we had 
 never seen perhaps, but to whom the comments we 
 were uttering really did apply. 
 
 Now, the sufferers from injurious and unjust com- 
 ment might treat the whole thing as one which lacked 
 reality. The blame itself is often good enough, well- 
 compacted, forcible, having an appearance of justice 
 — but withal no foundation in real circumstances, so 
 that it is only good, if you may say so, in a literary 
 sense, as good fiction, but having no ground-work in 
 real life. How little ought a thoughtful man to be 
 long vexed at such stuff', immaterial in every sense. 
 
 Besides, none of the great teachers have taught us, 
 
I So COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 that to be reviled is any signal misfortune ; and there 
 has been one, the greatest, who has pronounced it to 
 be fraught with blessing. 
 
 In bearing neglect, the next evil to calumny, and a 
 sort of disengaged shadow of it, many aids may be 
 given to those who will be content to take them. 
 No doubt neglect is hard to bear for one who feels 
 that he ought not to be neglected. But where this is 
 justly felt, the neglect may generally be traced up to 
 some source which is not, necessarily, a painful one. 
 A man will not condescend to use certain means, and 
 yet would have what those means alone, or best, can 
 give him ; or he insists, in his mental cogitations, 
 upon possessing that which could hardly be got ex- 
 cept with the aid of certain advantages joined to 
 merit, which advantages, whether wisely or not, 
 Nature or Fortune has denied him. Having one 
 stout friend (as Bacon, before quoted, has noticed), 
 what will it not do for a man ? There are certain 
 things he cannot say for .himself. If he says them, 
 they turn into shame, vain-glory, and mischief, in- 
 stead of aid and honor to him. Well, he has no friend 
 to back him at the right time, how can he get those 
 advantages which such a friend could gracefully ob- 
 tain for him ? Frequently, perhaps most frequently, 
 the friend in question comes forward in the shape of 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. i8l 
 
 a relation who has a direct interest in the fortunes of 
 the man he puts forward. This is called having good 
 connections. Any neglected man of merit ought not 
 to suffer himself to be quite disheartened because he 
 was not born with such relations. Neither were the 
 poor men who dig in the fields. 
 
 But neglect is only one phase of what man hates 
 more, and suffers more from, than almost any thing 
 else — namely, injustice. His sensitiveness in this 
 respect is very remarkable. A little wrong out- 
 weighs a great injury. Indeed, the things are not to 
 be weighed in the same scales, are practically in- 
 commensurable. The sea invades a man's estate, and 
 retires carrying away land and crops, leaving »and 
 where there was alluvial soil : it is a misfortune ; 
 and he has a dull sense of sorrow and vexation if the 
 loss is one of magnitude. But the poor blind ele- 
 ments meant no harm, or if he thinks they were 
 guided, he knows it was by One whose chastisements 
 must be blessings. 
 
 Again, suppose him to have spent much money in 
 riotous living. Well, he thinks of this with shame, 
 especially when some good comes in his way to do, 
 and he sees what he might have done with the 
 squandered resources. Still there was something for 
 his monev. He was not cheated ; he was mistaken. 
 
l82 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 But observe the same man on looking oyer a bill 
 of costs : where often, for many items together, it is 
 only wrong-doing requiring to be paid, and he feels 
 that when he pays it, he is helping to support a 
 vicious system of things. It is not well to be of his 
 family circle on the day when he settles those ac- 
 counts, unless he is one of those rare and generous 
 creatures who do not mitigate their own misfortunes 
 by unkindness to those with whom they live. No 
 liberality of nature will suffice to soothe his mind. 
 It is not a question of liberality. The same man 
 who, with Luther, would say to his wife, " Why 
 did we not give the silver cup to that poor man as 
 we had no money } " will haggle over an unjust or 
 unsatisfactory payment from morning till night. 
 But it is a question of wisdom and experience : for 
 a wise and well-informed man will see what must 
 almost inevitably be the evil results of the particular 
 form of laws he lives under (for codes are the doings 
 of very imperfect creatures with a limited range of 
 circumstances before them), and he does not expect 
 to go into the most vexed and troublous part of 
 human affairs, and come out with smooth coun- 
 tenance and unruffled garments. Neither will such 
 a man be disposed to imagine that he is worse otf 
 than others, or has worse people to deal with. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 1S3 
 
 And tbe same thing is to be said Of injustice 
 generally. You often hear a man making the some- 
 what simple complaint, that he only wants justice. 
 Only justice ! why justice requires time, insight, and 
 goodness : and you demand this in each case of the 
 many hundreds that occur to you in the course of a 
 year in which your fellow-beings have some dealings 
 with you. No — justice ! look not for it till you are 
 in a state of being for which you will hardly say 
 that you are yet quite fit. In truth, the considera- 
 tion of what a world of misunderstanding, haste, 
 blindness, passion, indolence, and private interest 
 we are in the thick of (perhaps the beauty of it as a 
 world of trial) would go some little way to cure a 
 man from vexing the depths of his soul, because he 
 suffers from extortion, misrepresentation, neglect, or 
 injustice of any kind. He is on earth : and men 
 are unjust to him. How ludicrous the complaint ! 
 
 Perhaps the wrongs- we endure from unjust treat- 
 ment would be easier to bear, if our notions of jus- 
 tice were modified a little. For my part, instead of 
 picturing her, sword in hand, apparently engaged in 
 blindly weighing out small groceries — a figure that 
 would better denote the goddess Fortune as it seems 
 to me — I imagine Justice travelling swiftly round 
 
184 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 about the earth, diffusing a mild effluence of light 
 like that of a polar night, but followed not by her 
 own attendants, but by the ungainly shadows of all 
 evil tilings, envy and prejudice, indolence and self- 
 ishness, her enemies ; and these shadows lay them- 
 selves down before her in their malice, and love to 
 intercept her light. The aspect of a good man 
 scares them partially away, and then her light lies 
 in great broad spaces on the mead : with most of 
 us, it is chequered like the sunshine under trees ; and 
 there are poor creatures in whose presence all the 
 evil shadows descend, leaving but a streak of light 
 here and a spot there, where the hideous shadows 
 do not quite fit in together. Happily, however, all 
 these shadows are mortal, and as they die away, dark 
 miserable places come into light and life again, and 
 truth returns to them as her abodes for ever. 
 
 Descending from these flights about justice to the 
 more prosaic parts of the subject, I may notice, that 
 mean misfortunes are often the most difficult to bear. 
 There is no instrument of philosophy small enough 
 to take them up and deal with them. A long career 
 of small anxieties is also very hard to bear. 
 
 One thing which often maintains these vexations 
 in full force, is the shame of owning to our want of 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 185 
 
 wisdom in the first instance. A man, playing in 
 imagination his part in life, always, like the story- 
 books, makes his hero successful in the end ; and, 
 therefore, in real life, he is immensely disturbed and 
 humiliated at finding that such is the devilry of cir- 
 cumstances, that if he only gives a little inlet to 
 mischance by folly or incautiousness of any kind, he 
 is sometimes invaded by a flood of evil. 
 
 He bears this in secret, struggling with all his might 
 and eating his own heart, as it were, rather than own 
 to the folly he committed at first. Nothing less will 
 satisfy him than to retrieve the whole misfortune, and 
 cancel by success his first error. Thus we come to 
 one more instance of the truth that Pride applies the 
 scourge more frequently and with far heavier hand 
 than Penitence ; with the hand, in fact, of another. 
 
 As regards the " career of small anxieties," which I 
 spoke of above, one great art of managing with them, 
 is to cease thinking about them just at that point 
 where thought becomes morbid. It will not do to say 
 that such anxieties may not demand some thought, 
 and, occasionally, much thought. But there comes 
 a time when thought is wasted upon these anxieties ; 
 when you find yourself in your thoughts going over 
 the same ground again and again to no purpose, 
 deepening annoyance instead of enlarging insight 
 
l86 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 and providing remedy. Then the thing would be 
 to be able to epeak to these fretting little cares, 
 like Lord Burleigh to his gown of state, when 
 he took it off for the night, " Lie there, Lord Treas- 
 urer." 
 
 It must be remembered though that his cares, 
 assured as he was of his mistress's favor, were for 
 the most part mere business cares, and did not 
 exactly correspond with the small anxieties which I 
 was speaking of. These are very hard, I suspect, 
 to dismiss. Perhaps the best way of getting rid of 
 them is not to attempt too much at once, but at 
 least to change the cares, so as not to let one set 
 prey upon the mind and make it become morbid — 
 just as Newton, unable to go abruptly from his 
 high, absorbing tlioughts to what most men would 
 consider recreation, merely adopted a change of 
 study, and found his relief therein. 
 
 There is often a very keen annoyance suffered by 
 sensitive and high-minded people, arising from dis- 
 satisfaction with their own work. • I should be very 
 sorry to say any thing that would seem like encour- 
 agement to slight or unconscientious working, but 
 to the anxious, truth-seeking, high-minded, fastidi- 
 ous man, I would sometimes venture to say, " My 
 good friend, if we could work out our ideal, we 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. iby 
 
 should be angels. There is eternity to do it in. 
 But now come down from your pedestal, and do not 
 overfret yourself, because your hand, or your mind, 
 or your soul, will not fulfil all that you would have 
 it. There have been men before you, and probably 
 will come others after you, whose deeds, however 
 much approved of by the general voice, seemed, or 
 will seem, to the men themselves little better than a 
 caricature of their aspirations." 
 
 How much, by the way, accomplishments of 
 various kinds would come in to help men to get rid 
 of over-riding small cares and petty anxieties. 
 These accomplishments mostly appeal to another 
 world of thought and feeling than that in which the 
 little troubles were bred. The studious, the busy, 
 and the sorrowful might find in art a change of 
 thought which nothing else, at least of worldly 
 things, could give them. And the accomplishments 
 I mean would be of use on occasions when there is 
 no need, and where it is scarcely fitting, to summon 
 forth the solemn afd of religion or philosophy. Not 
 that I would have such aid far distant from any 
 mind, or on any occasion : for there is a comfort 
 and a sobriety of mind to be gained from the great 
 topics of consolation which nothing else can surely 
 give. 
 
1 88 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 In considering various forms of unhappiness, 
 which has been the business of this chapter, for the 
 purpose of providing some small aids and consola- 
 tions, one form has occurred to me which is not 
 uncommon, I imagine. 
 
 It is where an almost infinite regret enters tlvj 
 mind at some happiness having been missed which 
 in imagination seems the one, possible, present good 
 to the person indulging the imagination ; and the 
 men or women in this sad case go on all their days 
 mourning or fretting for want of that imagined 
 felicity. This must often occur in the midst of great 
 seeming prosperity, which deepens the vexation, 
 and gives an air of especial mockery to it. 
 
 To find consolation for this state of mind may not 
 be easy; still there are medicaments even for it. 
 Imagine the happiness in question gained, fond 
 dreamer ; do you not already see some diminution 
 of the happiness itself, — it will only be from lack 
 of imagination if you do not, — but at any rate do 
 you not at least perceive how many fears such 
 happiness would throw you open to ? " Ali, Da- 
 vy," said Johnson to Garrick, after going over his 
 new house and looking at the fine things there, 
 " these are the things that make a death-bed ter- 
 rible." 
 
COMPANIONS OF M7 SOLITUDE. 189 
 
 Every felicity, indeed, as well as wife and chil- 
 dren, is a hostage to Fortune. 
 
 Lastly, there is to be said of all suffering that it is 
 experience. I have forgotten in whose life it is to 
 be found, but there is some man who went out of 
 his way to provide himself with every form of 
 human misery which he' could get at. I do not, 
 myself, see any occasion for any man's going out of 
 the way to provide misfortune for himself. Like an 
 eminent physician he might stay at home, and find 
 almost every form of human misery knocking at his 
 door. But still I understand what this chivalrous 
 inquirer meant, who sought to taste all suffering for 
 the sake of the experience it would give him. 
 
 There is this admirable common-place, too, 
 which, from long habit of being introduced in such 
 discourses, wishes to come in before I conclude ; 
 namely, that infelicities of various kinds belong to 
 the state here below. Who are we that we should 
 not take our share ? See the slight amount of per- 
 sonal happiness requisite to go on with. In noisome 
 dungeons, subject to studied tortures, in abject and 
 shifty poverty, after consummate shame, upon tre- 
 mendous change of fortune, in the profoundest des- 
 olation of mind and soul, in forced companionship 
 with all that is unlovely and uncongenial, men, 
 
190 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 persevering nobly, live on and live through it all. 
 
 The mind, like water, as described in that beautiful 
 
 passage in Metastasio which I will transcribe below, 
 
 passes through all states, till it shall be united to 
 
 what it is ever seeking. The very loneliness of 
 
 man here is the greatest proof, to my mind, of a God. 
 
 "L'onda dal mar divisa 
 Bagna la valle e'l monte; 
 Va passeggiera 
 In fiume, 
 Va prigioniera 
 In fonte, 
 
 Mormora sempre e geme, 
 Fin che non torna al mar; 
 Al mar dov' ella nacque, 
 Dove acquistb gli umori, 
 Dove da' lunghi errori 
 Spera di riposar." 
 
 Such were my thoughts this wet day, which I 
 
 had made up my mind was to be a dreary day 
 
 throughout ; but I had hardly come to the end of 
 
 what I had to say, when (may it be a good omen 
 
 that the chapter itself may bring some cheer to 
 
 some one in distress), the sun peeped out, the drops 
 
 of rain upon the leaves glistened in the sunshine 
 
 like afflictions beautified by heavenly thoughts, and 
 
 all nature invited me out to enjoy the gladness of 
 
 her aspect, more glad by contrast with her forme) 
 
 friendly gloom. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 nr^HE sun came out brilliantly tliis morning. To 
 be sure, there was a chilliness in the air ; but 
 if you walked about with vigor, and said it was a 
 charming morning, it gradually became so. An 
 eccentric friend of mine, of the Johnsonian school, 
 maintains that all kinds of weather may be treated 
 in a similar manner, and says, that if a man will go 
 out in the rain without any defence and pretend to 
 know nothing about the showers, the rain will cease 
 for him, each drop exclaiming, " It is no use rain- 
 ing upon that man, he does not mind it." Whether 
 my friend has a moral meaning to this fable of his, 
 I do not know ; and, indeed, it is difficult to sound 
 the depths of some men's humor, the deepest part 
 of their nature. 
 
 • As I walked up and down under the shelter of a 
 wall, so that I might have the full benefit of the sun's 
 rays, I could not help thinking that the sun had 
 been very little worshipped by idolaters. In fact, 
 he is too manifest a benefactor to be much idolized. 
 
192 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Moreover, what the natural man likes to worship, 
 is some ugly little idol, an incarnation of one or 
 other of. his own bad passions. I suppose the real 
 explanation is, that the form of the sun being a sim- 
 ple one, essentially belonging to the inanimate world, 
 provoked no desire to worship, and left no room for 
 sufficient mystery. So, after all, it is perhaps a 
 proof of the craving imagination of mankind that 
 the sun has had, comparatively speaking, but few 
 worshippers, while an ungainly stone, or a thing 
 with many hands and legs, has enjoyed the tenderest 
 adoration. 
 
 Then I thought if our senses were finer, what an 
 exquisite sight it would be, to behold all the inani- 
 mate world turning gently to the sun each day ; a 
 fact which we only perceive in the results of such 
 fond looks for many years, as exhibited in the growth 
 of trees : whereas, if our senses were more delicately 
 apprehensive, we might see every leaf, bud, and twig 
 making its little way towards the light, and all na- 
 ture, like one sunflower, bending slightly forwards 
 in a supplicating attitude" to the sun. 
 
 Warming with the subject I exclaimed, this is quite 
 an Italian sky — rather home-made, was the disparag- 
 ing second thought. In such a mood it was very nat- 
 ural to think of foreign travel. I looked at the fig-trees 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 197 
 
 against the wall, and felt that they must be rather 
 disgusted at the climate which needed such a posi- 
 tion for them. However, said I, it is only what the 
 greatest men have had to endure, to live in an un- 
 congenial clime and to bring forth fruit with painful 
 culture and under most adverse circumstances ; so 
 you must not complain, though you are nailed up 
 against the wall. On went my mind to a particular 
 fig-tree near Cordova, from thence down the Guadal- 
 quiver ; when I saw again the beautiful birds come 
 out of the sandy banks of the river ; and, in truth, 
 I was in a full career of travel, when it occurred to 
 me that I had often thought many things about trav- 
 elling, and that it might be useful to put them to- 
 gether. So, walking up and down, like a peripatetic 
 philosopher, only with no disciples (which, by the 
 way, is a safer thing for the discovery of truth), I 
 put into some order the following remarks on travel. 
 
 A journey has often been compared to a life. I 
 suppose that in any comparison so frequently used 
 there must be some aptitude ; but it does not strike 
 me. Any one day is like a life, is indeed an epitome 
 of it : morning, noon, evening, awaking and going to 
 sleep, have all the closest analogy with the progress 
 of a life. But a journey is often very dissimilar to a 
 »3 
 
194 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 life. In travelling, for instance, for pleasure, you go 
 out with much hope of delight : the delight is partly 
 realized ; but there is much that is untoward, and 
 which, at the time, prevents a thorough enjoyment 
 and appreciation of what you do see. You return 
 with joy, and the journey is afterwards stored up in 
 the memory as a complete pleasure ; all the mishaps 
 being put into, what the Dutch call "the forget 
 book," or only remembered as interesting incidents. 
 Clearly, one of the main delights is in the recollec- 
 tion. Now, we cannot venture to say whether that 
 will be the case with the journey of life. There 
 does not appear much promise of that. 
 
 I took a turn up and down the garden, and 
 thought over that last suggestion, which is a very 
 serious one. Soon, however, I returned to the sub- 
 ject of travelling. 
 
 Yes, I said to myself, certainly there is great 
 pleasure in coming back after a tour (which, by the 
 way, may be another great difference between these 
 journeys and the journey of life), at least I know I 
 am always glad to come back to that great, silent, 
 unexpectorating people to whom I belong; upon 
 whose dominions the sun never sets, who are very 
 powerful and somewhat dull, free as far as consti- 
 tutions and forms of government go, but as slavish 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 195 
 
 as any other nation to the great tyrants, custom and 
 public opinion : a people, indeed, who do not enjoy 
 any exuberant felicity, but who have humor enough 
 to see their faults and shortcomings, which is some 
 alleviation. 
 
 But to descend more to particulars about travel- 
 ling. The first thing is in the preparation for it ; 
 the mental preparation, I mean. In this preparation 
 lies some of the greatest utility and of tlie greatest 
 pleasure connected with travelling. And without 
 this preparation what a small thing travel would be. 
 What is it to see some tomb, when the name of the 
 inmate is merely a pompous sound, — the name of 
 an unknown king, duke, or emperor, — compared 
 with what it is to see the tomb of one whose for- 
 tunes you have studied, who is a favorite with you, 
 who represents yourself or what you would be, 
 whose very name makes your blood stir.? The 
 same thing, of course, applies in travel, to knowl- 
 edge of the arts, sciences, and manufactures. 
 Knowledge is the best excitement and the truest 
 reward for travel — at once the means and the end. 
 A dignified and intelligent curiosity, how much it 
 differs f*-om mere inane lion-hunting; where the 
 ignorant traveller gapes at wonders which the glides 
 know far more about than he does. 
 
196 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 With regard to the mode of travelling, it is curi- 
 ous to compare the ancient with the modern ; the 
 free yet stately way of the former, the methodized 
 yet undignified way of the latter. Imagine a travel- 
 ler in former days setting off from the ancestral 
 mansion leisurely, on horseback. Within ten miles 
 there might be an adventure ; and throughout the 
 journey, which had not been much cleared up by 
 the accounts of former travellers, there must have 
 been a constant feeling of doubt as to what was to 
 happen next, and a consequent excitement a little 
 like the feeling of a great discoverer in unknown 
 lands seeking after the kingdom of Prester John, 
 the El Dorado, or the fountain of perpetual youth ; 
 and not being certain any day that he might not 
 come upon one of these wonders. 
 
 I think it is possible to combine, occasionally, the 
 advantages of modern and ancient travelling, espe- 
 cially for the vigorous and healthy. 
 
 In the plans and modes of travelling, the question 
 of companionship comes first. And, by the way, 
 what a hint it might give many a young man of the 
 difficulties to be conquered in domestic companion- 
 ship, when he finds how hard it is to agree with his 
 fellows in travel for a few short weeks. All the 
 difficulties attendant upon companionship occur in 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 197 
 
 •* 
 
 this case of travelling. Indeed, the first question 
 is, whether you should journey alone, solitary and 
 unmolested ; or with one other, when the want of 
 profound sympathy and the wish to quarrel will be 
 very painful ; or with two or three, when the quar- 
 relling can better break out and the companions 
 separate into factions. The advantages and disad- 
 vantages are so nearly equivalent that the traveller 
 will probably condemn and regret whichever course 
 he takes, and, therefore, may take any one without 
 much concern. To the very serious reader I may 
 mention that the above description is not given 
 quite in earnest, but it points to what are some of 
 the prominent dangers of companionship. Really 
 it is disgraceful that men are so ill-taught and unpre- 
 pared for social life as they are, often turning their 
 best energies, their acquisitions, and their special 
 advantages into means of annoyance to those with 
 whom they live. Some day it will be found out 
 that to bring up a man with a genial nature, a good 
 temper, and a happy form of mind, is a greater 
 effort than to perfect him in much knowledge and 
 many accomplishments. Then we might have that 
 tolerance of other people's pursuits, that absence of 
 disputatiousness, and that freedom from small fussi- 
 ness, which would render a companion a certain 
 
iq8 companions of my solitude, 
 
 •gain. It will not be desirable, however, to wait till 
 tliat period before we begin our travels. 
 
 The advantages of travel are very various and 
 very numerous. I have already put the knowledge 
 to be gained as one of them. But this is for the 
 young and the unworn. A far greater advantage is 
 in the repose of mind which travelling often gives,* 
 where nothing else could. It seems rather hard 
 though, that all our boasted philosophy cannot do 
 what a little change of place so easily effects. It is 
 by no magical property, however, that travelling 
 does this. It is merely that by this change things 
 assume their right proportions. The nightmares 
 of care and trouble cease to weigh as if they were 
 the only things of weight in the world. 
 
 I know one who finds somewhat of the same ad- 
 vantage in looking at the stars. He says it suggests 
 a welcome change of country. Indeed, he main- 
 tains that the aspect of these glorious worlds might 
 somewhat comfort a man even under remorse. 
 
 Again a man's own land is a serious place to him, 
 or at least has a possible seriousness about it, which 
 is like a cloud that may at any moment come over 
 the spot he is occupying. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 199 
 
 There he has known the sweetness and the bit- 
 terness of early loves, early friendships. There, 
 mayhap, he has suffered one of those vast bereave- 
 ments which was like a tearing away of a part of 
 his own soul ; when he thought each noise in the 
 house, hearing noises that he never heard before, 
 must be something they were doing in the room — 
 the room — where lay all that was mortal of some 
 one inexpressibly dear to him ; when he awoke 
 morning after morning to struggle with a grief which 
 seemed as new, as appalling, and as large as on the 
 first day ; which, indeed, being part of himself and 
 thus partaking of his renovated powers, rose equipped 
 with what rest, or alacrity, sleep had given him ; 
 and sank, unconquered, only when he was too 
 wearied in body and mind to attend to it, or to any 
 thing. 
 
 The places where he has felt such sorrows may 
 be the dearest in the world to him, may be sure to 
 win him back to them ; but they cannot always be 
 regarded in that easy, disengaged way which is ne- 
 cessary for perfect recreation. 
 
 This, then, is one of the advantages of travel, 
 that we come upon new ground, which we tread 
 lightly, which is free from 'associations that claim 
 too deep and constant an interest from us ; and, not 
 
200 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 resting long in any one place, but travelling on- 
 wards, we maintain that desirable lightness of 
 mind : we are spectators, having for the time no 
 duties, no ties, no associations, no responsibilities ; 
 nothing to do but to look on, and look fairly. 
 
 Another of the great advantages of travel lies in 
 what you learn from your companions : not merely 
 from those you set out with, or so much from them, 
 as from those whom you are thrown together with 
 on the journey. I reckon this advantage to be so 
 great, that I should be inclined to say, that you often 
 get more from your companions in travel than from 
 all you come to see. 
 
 People imagine they are not known, and that they 
 shall never meet again with the same company 
 (which is very likely so) ; they are free for the time 
 from the trammels of their business, profession, or 
 calling ; the marks of the harness begin to wear 
 out ; and altogether they talk more like men than 
 slaves with their several functions hanging like col- 
 lars round their necks. An ordinary man on travel 
 will sometimes talk like a great imaginative man at 
 home, for such are never utterly enslaved by their 
 functions. 
 
 Then the diversities of character you meet with 
 instruct and delight you. The variety in language, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 20I 
 
 dress, behavior, religious ceremonies, mode of life, 
 amusement, arts, climate, government, lays hold of 
 your attention and takes you out of the vs^heel-tracks 
 of your every-day cares. He must, indeed, be either 
 an angel of constancy and perseverance, or a won- 
 derfully obtuse Caliban of a man, who, amidst all 
 this change, can maintain his private griefs or vex- 
 ations exactly in the same place they held in his 
 heart while he was packing for his journey. 
 
 The change of language is alone a great delight. 
 You pass along, living only with gentlemen and 
 scholars, for you rarely detect what is vulgar, or 
 inept, in the talk around you. Children's talk in 
 another language is not childish to you ; and, indeed, 
 every thing is literature, from the announcement at 
 a railway station to the advertisements in a news- 
 paper. Read the Bible in another tongue ; and you 
 will perhaps find a beauty in it you have not thor- 
 oughly appreciated for years before. 
 
 As regards the enjoyments of travel, I should be 
 sorry to say any thing pedantic about them. They 
 must vary so much according to the nature of the 
 individual. In my view, they are to be found in the 
 chance delights rather than in the official part of 
 travelling I go through a picture-gallery, enjoying 
 
202 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 with instructed and well-regulated satisfaction all 
 the things I ought to enjoy. Down in the recesses 
 of my mind, not communicated perhaps to any of 
 my companions, is a secret hope that the room I see 
 in the distance is really the last in the building, and 
 that I shall have to go through no more. *It is a 
 warm day, and, stepping out upon a balcony for a 
 moment, I see a young girl carefully helping her in- 
 firm mother out of church, and playfully insisting on 
 carrying the market burdens pf both, far too heavy 
 for her little self. I watch the pair to the corner of 
 the street, and then turn back to see the pictures 
 which must be seen. But' the pictures will fade 
 from my memory sooner than this little scene which 
 I saw from the balcony. I have put that by for my 
 private gallery. Doubtless, we need not leave our 
 own country to see much that is most beautiful in 
 nature and in conduct; but we are often far too 
 much engaged, and too unobservant, to see it. 
 
 Then there is the new climate. How exquisite 
 the mere sensation of warmth is to many persons ! 
 Then there is the stroll in the market-place, or the 
 sight of the harbor, or the procession, or the guard- 
 house — in short, the aspect of all those ordinary, 
 but, in a strange country, unfamiliar things which, 
 happily, no hand-book need dilate upon, or even 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 203 
 
 point out, but which men are perverse enough to 
 like all the better for that. 
 
 The benefits which arise from making the inhab- 
 itants of different nations acquainted with one an- 
 other may be considerable. How many things there 
 are to be learnt on both sides ; and how slow men 
 are in copying the good from each other. An evil 
 custom or a dubious one, or a disease, mental, moral, 
 or physical, how rapidly it spreads over the earth ! 
 Evil is winged. How slowly any contrivance for 
 cleanliness, or decorum, or good order, makes its 
 way. If it were not that good by its nature is en- 
 during, and evil by its nature transitory, there would 
 be but little chance for the welfare of the world. 
 
 In contemplating different nations, the traveller 
 learns that their differences are very great, and yet 
 how small when compared with their resemblances. 
 That intensity of dislike wliich arises at these small 
 differences, and which even the most philosophical 
 minds are apt at times to feel, is a great proof of the 
 tyrannous nature of the human heart, which would 
 have every other creature cut out exactly after its 
 own pattern. 
 
 One of the things to be most noted by an English- 
 man in travelling, is the remarkable difference, as 
 
204 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 it seems to me, between our own and other nations 
 in the amusements of the people. We are the peo- 
 ple who have sent out our efforts to the uttermost 
 parts of the earth, and yet a great deal of our own 
 life at home is very barren and uncultivated. When 
 I have been watching the gamesomeness of other 
 peeple, it has often saddened me to think of the pov- 
 erty of resources in my own country in that way. 
 Shows alone will not do. Pictures are good in their 
 way, but what is wanted is something in which peo- 
 ple themselves are engaged. Indeed, more persons 
 are amused, and rightly so, in playing at bowls than 
 in looking at Raphaels, Murillos, or Titians. Those 
 who are most amused, if one may use such a word, 
 in contemplating these great works, are those in 
 whom the works produce a secret feeling of power 
 to create the like — I do not say, like pictures or even 
 like works of art, but something great, if only great 
 destruction — in fact, where the works elicit the sym- 
 pathy of kindred genius. But for the amusements 
 of the people, something on a very broad and gen- 
 eral basis must be sought for. 
 
 Returning, however, to the special subject of trav- 
 elling, which I am now considering, it is worth no- 
 tice that there is no occasion for being excessively 
 emulous, or haste-bitten, in travelling any more than 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 205 
 
 in other occupations of life. Let no truly observant 
 man feel the least envious, or disconcerted, when he 
 hears others talk familiarly of cities w^hich are dream- 
 land to him, the names of which are poetry in his 
 mind. Many of these men never have seen, and 
 never can see any thing, as he can see it. The wise 
 do not hurry without good reason. A judicious trav- 
 eller tells me that he once went to see one of the 
 greatest wonders of the world. He gazed and gazed, 
 each minute saw more, and might have gone on see- 
 ing into the thing for weeks, he said. Two regular 
 tourists walked in, glanced about them, and almost 
 before he could look round, they were gone. They 
 will say, they saw what there was to be seen. Poor 
 fellows! Other men might have instructed them: 
 now they will have their own misconceptions, arising 
 from hasty impressions, to contend with. 
 
 I must say, though, that any thing is better than 
 insincerity in the way of admiration. If we do not 
 care about what we see, let us not pretend to do so. 
 We do not come out to tell lies, but rather to get 
 away from falsehood of all kinds. 
 
 There is also an obsen^ation to be made with re- 
 spect to the enjoyment of the beauties of natural 
 scenery, which applies not only to travelling, but is 
 
2o6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 of very general application ; namely, that we should 
 enjoy and make much of that which comes in our 
 way on every-day occasions. While it may be well 
 worth the while of the lover of nature to be curious 
 in looking after rocks, rivers, mountains, and water- 
 falls, yet the obvious, every-day beauties of nature are 
 not to be disregarded. Perhaps the short hasty gazes 
 cast up any day in the midst of business in a dense 
 city at the heavens, or at a bit of a tree seen amid 
 buildings, — gazes which partake almost more of a 
 sigh than a look, have in them more of intense ap- 
 preciation of the beauties of nature than all that has 
 been felt by an equal number of sight-seers, enjoy- 
 ing large opportunity of seeing, and all their time 
 to themselves. Like a prayer offered up in the 
 midst of every-day life, these short, fond gazes at 
 nature have something inconceivably soothing and 
 beautiful in them. There is a remark by an exquisite 
 observer and very subtle, often very profound, think- 
 er, which indeed suggested the above thoughts, though 
 we have each turned the thing a different way, he 
 looking at a certain unreality in nature, and I con- 
 sidering the combination of the upturned look to 
 nature with the ordinary, earthly life of man. "But 
 this beauty of nature," he says, " which is seen and 
 felt as beauty, is the least part. The shows of the 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 207 
 
 day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains, 
 orchards in blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in 
 still water, and the like, if too eagerly hunted, be- 
 come shows merely, and mock us with their unreal- 
 ity. Go out of the house to see the moon, and 'tis 
 mere tinsel, it will not please as when its light shines 
 upon your necessary journey." * 
 
 There is this, too, to be said, that this habitual 
 appreciation of nature on every-day occasions -may 
 prevent your missing the very highest beauties ; for 
 what you go to see as a sight, may never be shown 
 to you under most favorable circumstances ; where- 
 as a much inferior scene may be combined with such 
 accidental circumstances of beauty as in reality to be 
 the finest thing you will ever have an opportunity of 
 beholding. We must riot be altogether captivated 
 by great names : the sincere, clear-sighted man is 
 not ; and has his reward for his independence of 
 mind, in seeing many beauties in man and nature, 
 which escape the perception of those who see by 
 book alone. 
 
 Before quitting the subject of travelling, I cannot 
 help making a remark which has often occurred to 
 me, but which, however, has regard, not so much to 
 
 * Emerson. Nature— Chapter on Beauty of. 
 
2o8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 the travellers, as to those they travel amongst. It 
 concerns all those who preside over coach-offices, 
 diligence-offices, post-offices, and custom-houses. 
 What a fine opportunity such people have, it seems 
 to me, to manifest a Christian temper. It is tire- 
 some to you, O postmaster, to be asked all manner 
 of questions, of which you cannot see the drift, or 
 which you think you have answered in your first re- 
 ply ; but the poor inquirer is far from home ; he has 
 but a dim understanding of your language, still dim- 
 mer of your customs \ his little daughter is ill at 
 home, perhaps ; he wants to be assured by hearing 
 again what you said, even if he thought he under- 
 stood the meaning at first : and you should be good- 
 natured and voluminous in your replies. Besides, 
 you must bethink yourself, that what is so simple to 
 you as your daily transactions, may nevertheless be 
 somewhat complicated, and hard to understand, es- 
 pecially to a foreign mind. You nlight, I think, 
 carry in your mind an imaginary affiche, which you 
 should see before you on the wall which fronts you 
 as you address your applicants. 
 
 ADVICE TO MEN IN SMALL AUTHORITY. 
 
 " It is a great privilege to have an opportunity 
 many times in a day, in the course of your business. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 209 
 
 to do a real kindness which is not to be paid for. 
 Graciousness of demeanor is a large part of the duty 
 of any official person who comes in contact with the 
 world. Where a man's business is, there is the 
 ground for his religion to manifest itself." 
 
 And we travellers, on our parts, if only from an 
 anxiety to give other nations a good opinion of ours, 
 should beware of showing insolence, or imperti- 
 nence, to those who give us welcome. The relation 
 of host and guest should never be quite effaced from 
 the mind of either party. 
 
 [UNrVEESITr; 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 T WANDERED about amongst the young trees 
 this morning, looking at their different shades 
 of green, and I thought if they, drinking from the 
 same soil and the same air, and standing still in the 
 same spot, showed such infinite varieties, what might 
 be expected from men. Then I thought of the an- 
 ecdote of Charles V. in retirement, endeavoring in 
 vain to make his watches keep time together, and 
 the inference he drew therefrom of the difficulty of 
 making men think alike upon religious matters. Ah, 
 when it once comes to thinking, good-by to any thing 
 like strict agreement amongst. men. 
 
 But always amongst my thoughts to-day came that 
 of the death of Sir Robert Peel, which I heard of 
 last night.* Sad ! sad ! &uch a sorry death for so 
 great a man — and, as we men should say, so inop- 
 portune. I had hoped, as I have no doubt many 
 others who take an interest in public aftairs had done, 
 that he would have remained as a great power aloof 
 from party, a weight of private opinion, if we may 
 ♦ July, 1850. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 311 
 
 say so, which should come in at the most important 
 times, to declare what is thought by the impartial 
 bystander ; who, I should say (varying the common 
 proverb), does not see most of the game, but sees 
 things which the players do not see. Then I thought 
 of his ways, which had often amused me, and which 
 I had learned to like ; of his exquisite adroitness ; of 
 tlie dignity of the man ; of the humanity, and of what 
 always struck me so forcibly — of his amenability to 
 good reasoning from whatever quarter it came. 
 
 Then I thought of what I am often meditating 
 upon — how the government of this country might 
 be improved. 
 
 There is no doubt that our constitution is a great 
 thing, the result of long struggle and labor of all 
 kinds ; but still how much its working might be 
 amended ; and it is to that amendment that the at- 
 tention of thoughtful men ought to be directed. Let 
 us look at the matter frankly on all sides. 
 
 It is a great advantage that affairs are long con- 
 sidered in this country. 
 
 It is a great advantage that scarcely any shade of 
 opinion is without a hearing in the great assemblies 
 of this country. 
 
 It is a great advantage that a number of persons 
 are exercised in public business ; and that our pros- 
 
212 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 perlty and advancement do not depend on one man, 
 or even a few men. 
 
 It is a great advantage that grievances are sure to 
 be discussed. 
 
 On the other hand, let us honestly allow that it is 
 a great evil, that the choice of men to fill the most 
 important offices should be chiefly limited to parlia- 
 mentary men. 
 
 It is a great evil that honors and places should be 
 confined to them and theirs : why should a man be 
 made a peer because he has failed in an election, or 
 a baronet because his vote is much wanted? Such 
 things are too bad, and must be put a stop to. 
 
 It is a great evil that no good measures can be 
 carried swiftly, — so that remedies often come too 
 late. 
 
 What an improvement it would be if peerages for 
 life were permitted. It would, in my opinion, sup- 
 ply the House of Lords with just that element of 
 popular influence which is wanted. 
 
 And so, again, of official seats in the House of 
 Commons : what a benefit it would be if just men 
 could be put there occasronally, whom the world 
 would be glad to listen to, but whom a constituency 
 will not listen to, or who are not in a position to ask 
 it to listen. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 213 
 
 We must have many improvements in govern- 
 ment. Questions are looming in the distance w^hich 
 will require the ablest minds in the country. If wq 
 ever become more sincere as individuals, we shall 
 need to express that sincerity in political action. 
 
 It seems to me there is vast room for improve- 
 ment in many branches of government, — in finance, 
 in colonization, in dealing with the poor, in the 
 proceedings of the state as regards religion. For, 
 whatever some of us may think or wish, religious 
 questions of high import will not long be in the 
 background. 
 
 At present, the relations between people in power 
 and the general intelligence of the country are not 
 such as they might be. 
 
 I know the difficulty of any sound reforms in 
 •government ; but if we never attempt any, they are 
 sure at some time to be attempted by the clumsiest 
 and coarsest mechanism. 
 
 The loss of Sir Robert Peel is great indeed, I 
 again exclaimed to myself, as I thought what an 
 official reformer he might have been ; not reckless 
 to change or blame, inclined to give due considera- 
 tion to official persons, — a class of men who amply 
 deserve it, — and carrying out reforms, not in a 
 spirit of condemnation, but of desire for increased 
 
214 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 effectiveness and force. What a loss in that man ! 
 I will go and talk to Dunsford, I said, from whom 
 one is always sure of sympathy and kindness. 
 
 Without delay I began to turn my steps towards 
 his parsonage, making my way along the lanes with 
 lofty hedges, enjoying the scent of the sweet haw- 
 thorn, and escaping, as far as might be, an east 
 wind, which with a warm sun made a most unplea- 
 sant combination of weather ; the east wind, like 
 some small private vexation, rendering the rest of 
 one's prosperity, not merely unpalatable, but ill- 
 timed. 
 
 As I went along, I thought of the Church of 
 England, and of what might be its future fortunes. 
 I have just been reading the works of two brothers ; 
 last night I had finished an elaborate attack from 
 the Roman Catholic side upon the Anglican Church 
 by one brother ; and this morning I had read a very 
 skilful attack upon all present religious systems by 
 another bfother. And I thought to myself, the 
 Church of England suffers from both attacks. 
 
 One's acquaintances who meet one in the streets 
 shrug their shoulders, and exclaim, " What a state 
 the Church is in ! Oh that these questions that 
 divide it had never been raised." I do not agree 
 with them, and sometimes I tell them so. If tliere 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 215 
 
 are these great differences amongst thoughtful men 
 about great subjects, why should they (the differ- 
 ences) be stifled ? Are we always to be walking 
 about as masked figures? 
 
 No doubt it is a sad thing that works of charity 
 and mercy should be ever interrupted by indefinite 
 disputes upon points which, when once taken up, 
 are with extreme difficulty settled well, or laid aside. 
 But then, on the other hand, how much good is pre- 
 vented by the continuance of insincerity, by an 
 insincere adherence on the part of men to that which 
 they believe not. Besides, it is not as if all went 
 on smoothly now : how much, for instance, the 
 cause of education suffers from the existence of 
 religious differences. 
 
 Moreover, who can tell the general mischief pro- 
 duced in all human affairs by degrading views of 
 religion, which more thought might enlarge or dis- 
 pel. Men's laws and customs are nierely their 
 religion applied to life. And, again, what a pity it 
 would be if controversy were abandoned to the 
 weak or the controversial only : so that, even for 
 the sake of peace, it may be good for a man not to 
 suppress his thoughts upon religious subjects, if he 
 has any. 
 
 For my own part, it has long appeared to me 
 
2l6 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE, 
 
 that our Church stands upon foundations which 
 need more breadth and solidity, both as regards the 
 hold it ought to have on the reason, and on the 
 affection of its members. 
 
 As to the hold upon the reason : suppose we 
 were taught to study scientifically, up to a certain 
 point, something that admitted of all the lights of 
 study ; and were then called upon to take the rest 
 for granted, not being allowed to use to the utter- 
 most the lights of history and criticism which have 
 been admitted at first: how very inconclusive the 
 so-called conclusions would appear to us. It would 
 be like placing a young forest tree in a hothouse 
 and saying, " Grow so far, if you like, expand to 
 the uttermost in this space allowed to you, but there 
 is no more room after you have attained these lim- 
 its ; thenceforward grow inwards, or downwards, 
 or wither away." Our Church is too impersonal, 
 if I may use that expression : it belongs too much 
 to books, set creeds and articles, and not enough to 
 living men ; it does not admit easily of those modi- 
 fications which life requires, and which guard life 
 by adapting it to what it has to bear. 
 
 Again, as regards affection, how can any but 
 those who are naturally devout and affectionate, 
 which is not the largest class, have an affectionate 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 21 7 
 
 regard for any thing which presents so cold and 
 formal an appearance as the Church of England. 
 The sei*vices are too long ; and, for the most part, 
 are surrounded by the most prosaic circumstances. 
 Too many sermons are preached ; and yet, after all, 
 too little is made of preaching. The preachers are 
 apt to confine themselves to certain topics, which, 
 however really great and solemn, are exhaustible : 
 at least as far as men can tell us aught about them. 
 Order, decency, cleanliness, propriety, and very 
 often good sense, are to be seen in full force in An- 
 glican Churches once a week ; but there is a defi- 
 ciency of heartiness. 
 
 The perfection to be aimed at, as it seems to me, 
 as I have said before, would be a Church with a 
 very simple creed, a very grand ritual, and a useful 
 and devoted priesthood. But these combinations 
 are only in Utopias, Blessed Islands, and other fab- 
 ulous places ; no vessel enters their ports, for they 
 are as yet only in the minds of thoughtful men. 
 
 In forming such an imaginary Church, there cer- 
 tainly are some things that might be adopted from 
 the Roman Catholics. The other day I was at 
 Rouen ; I went to see the grand old Cathedral ; tlie 
 great western doors were thrown wide open right 
 
2l8 COMPANIONS OF 31 Y SOLITUDE. 
 
 upon the market-place filled with flowers, and, in 
 the centre aisle, not before any image, a poor wo- 
 man and her child were praying. I was only there 
 a few minutes, and these two figures remain im- 
 pressed upon my mind. It is surely very good that 
 the poor should have some place free from the re- 
 straints, the interruptions, the familiarity, and the 
 squall dness of home, where they may think a great 
 thought, utter a lonely sigh, a fervent prayer, an 
 inward wail. And the rich need the same thing too. 
 
 Protestantism, when it shuts up its churches, or 
 allows discreditable twopences to be paid at the 
 door, cannot be said to show well in these matters. 
 In becoming so nice and neat, it seems to have 
 brushed away a great deal of meaning and useful- 
 ness with the dirt and irregularity. 
 
 The great difficulty in reforming any Church lies, 
 of course, in the ignorance of its members. More- 
 over, there may be great indifference to any Church, 
 or dissatisfaction with it, amongst its members ; but 
 then people say to themselves, if we touch this or 
 that thing which we disapprove of, we do not know 
 what harm we may not be doing to people of less 
 insight or less caution than ourselves ; and so they 
 go on, content with a very rude attempt indeed at 
 communion in spiritual matters, provided they do 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 219 
 
 not, as they would say, unsettle their neighbors. 
 There is something good and humble in this ; there 
 is something also of indifference : if our ancestors 
 had always been content with silent protests against 
 the things they disapproved of, we might have been 
 in a worse position than we are now. 
 
 To lay down any guidance for action in this mat- 
 ter is very difficult indeed. According to the usual 
 course of human affairs, some crisis will probably 
 occur, which nobody foresees, and then men will be 
 obliged to speak and act boldly. It behooves them 
 to bethink themselves, from time to time, of whither 
 they are tending in these all-important matters. 
 
 The intellectual energies of cultivated men want 
 directing to the great questions. If there is doubt 
 in any matter, shall we not examine.? Instead of 
 that, men shut their thoughts up, and pretend to be 
 orthodox — play at being orthodox. Meanwhile, 
 what an evil it must be to the Church, if through 
 unnecessary articles of faith, some of the best men 
 are prevented from becoming clergymen, and many 
 of the laity rendered less hearty members than they 
 otherwise would be, of the Church. 
 
 Dwelling upon such thoughts, which are full of 
 pain and anxiety — the thoughts of one who is al- 
 ways desirous to make the best of any thing that is 
 
220 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE, 
 
 before him, and who is well aware how hard it is to 
 reform anything from without — I reached Duns- 
 ford^s quiet little parsonage. 
 
 I found my old friend sitting in his garden in the 
 very spot where I expected to find him, and for 
 which I made my way without going through the 
 house. In the middle of his kitchen-garden he has 
 placed his beehives, and has surrounded them by a 
 semicircle of juniper-trees about five feet high. In 
 front of the beehives is a garden-seat upon which I 
 found him sitting and reciting Latin poetry to him- 
 self, which I had no difficulty in discerning, though 
 I could not hear the words, to be from his favorite 
 author, Virgil. EUesmere, who views every thing 
 in a droll sarcastic way, says that our friend has 
 chosen this particular seat in his garden from its 
 being likely to be the place least disturbed by his 
 sister and his curate. Though very good people 
 they are somewhat fussy, and given to needless 
 gesticulation, which the bees dislike, and occasion- 
 ally express their dislike in a very tangible manner. 
 This spot, therefore, which is guarded by thousands 
 of little soldiers, well-armed and well-equipped, 
 distinguished from their human prototypes by gain- 
 ing supplies and not by wasting them, afibrds a very 
 secure retreat for our friend, where he can talk 
 
■ COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 221 
 
 Virgil to himself for half-an-hour on a sunny 
 morning. 
 
 It was not altogether without trepidation that I 
 took my seat by his side amidst innumerable buzz- 
 ings and whizzings ; but he assured me with a 
 smile that the bees would not hurt me, and in a 
 minute or two their presence was only like a mur- 
 mur of the distant wind through the trees. 
 
 I began at once to narrate to Dunsford the melan- 
 choly circumstances of Sir Robert Peel's death, 
 which he had not heard of before, and which 
 affected him deeply. Naturally his emotion in- 
 creased my own. After I had told him the sad 
 story, and answered his various questions about it, 
 we remained silent for a time. I looked at the bees, 
 and tliought of Manchester and other of the great 
 hives and marts of industry: Dunsford went on 
 with his Virgil : at last we thus resumed our dia- 
 logue. 
 
 Dunsford, I do not wonder, my dear Leonard, 
 that you were much affected by Sir Robert's death. 
 I always felt how much you ought to sympathize 
 with him. Indeed there are two or three minor 
 points in which you often put me a little in mind 
 of him. 
 
 Milverton. It is strange I never heard you say so. 
 
222 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Dunsford, I did not think you much admired 
 him, or would feel pleased at being likened to him 
 in any thing. But this is what I mean, — it always 
 appeared to me, that he had the most peculiar ap- 
 preciation of the irrationality, and difficult to man- 
 age, of mankind. This was one of the things 
 which made him so cautious. He never threw out 
 his views or opinions till the moment when they 
 were to be expressed in action. He did not want 
 to provoke needless opposition. In short it was 
 clear that he had the keenest apprehension of the 
 folly of the world : he was very obstinate withal, 
 or, as I had better say, resolved ; and very sensitive. 
 He did nothing under the hope that it would pass 
 easily, and cost him nothing to do ; and yet, at the 
 same time, though he foresaw distinctly opposition 
 and unreason and calumny, he felt them more per- 
 haps than quite beseemed so wise and resolute a 
 man when they did come. You best know whether 
 I am right in attributing some of the same strength 
 and some of the same weakness to the man who 
 sits beside me. 
 
 Milverton, I neither admit nor deny : but sure- 
 ly, Dunsford, it is not unwise nor imprudent to 
 expect to have every degree of irrationality to battle 
 with in any thing one may undertake ; and time is 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 223 
 
 seldom lost in preparing to meet that irrationality ; 
 or strength, in keeping one's projects long before 
 one. This is not merely worldly wisdom : such 
 conduct results from a deep care for the success of 
 the project itself. 
 
 Dunsford. Much of it is the result of tempera- 
 ment; and temperament is a part of our nature 
 sooner developed than almost any other. How soon 
 you see it in children, and how decisively marked. 
 
 Milverion. I cannot help thinking what a 
 shrewd man you are, Dunsford, when you choose 
 to be so. It is you who ought to conduct great law- 
 cases, and write essays, instead of leaving such 
 things to Ellesmere and myself, and pretending that 
 you are the simple, unworldly, retired man, content 
 to receive your impressions of men and things from 
 your pupils. I suppose that watching these bees, 
 gives you a great insight into the management of 
 states and the conduct of individuals. You recite 
 Virgil to them, and they buzz into your ears bee- 
 wisdom of the most refined kind. 
 
 Dunsford. Talking of essays, may I ask, Mr. 
 Milverton, what you are about ? You have not been 
 near me for some time, and I always construe your 
 absence into some new work. 
 
 Milverton. You are right in this case ; but I 
 
224 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 mostly avoid talking about what I am doing, at 
 least, till it is in some state of forwardness. Talking 
 prevents doing. Silence is the great fellow- workman. 
 
 Dunsford. The bees ? 
 
 Milverton. They buzz when they come home : 
 they are silent enough at their work. Moreover, I 
 am beginning to care less and less about criticism 
 during the progress of work, fearing less, you see, 
 Dunsford, the irrationality of the world ; for what 
 you mainly aim to get at by listening to criticism is 
 not so much what will be understood, as what will 
 be misunderstood, — and that misunderstanding 
 arises sometimes from your own error in thought, 
 sometimes from bungling workmanship, sometimes 
 from the irrationality of mankind ; or from some 
 unfortunate combination of these various sources of 
 error. My growing indifference to criticism, in fact 
 the reason why my steps have not been bent so 
 often lately in the direction of the Rectory, I would 
 have you to believe, results, not from any increasing 
 confidence in my own workmanship, but from my 
 growing faith in the general rationality and kindli- 
 ness of mankind. 
 
 Dunsford. Humph ! 
 
 Milverton. Besides, my endeavors and aspira- 
 tions are so humble — 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 225 
 
 Dunsford. Humph ! 
 
 Milverton. You will agree with me when you 
 see what I mean. They are so humble that they do 
 not require all that adverse criticism and consequent 
 moulding which more elaborate schemes might do. 
 For instance, I believe in the indefinite improva- 
 bility of ourselves and of every thing around us. Do 
 not be frightened, and lookup so strangely, Dunsford : 
 I do not mean perfectibility. Now, if by way of carry- 
 ing out this belief of mine, I had any scheme of social 
 regeneration, in which every thing and everybody was 
 to be put in his or its right place, of course it would 
 have been necessary for me to have come very often 
 over to the Rectory, to drink in sound wisdom in the 
 way of all kinds of comment, objection, and elabora- 
 tion, from you and Lucy, and these wise bees. 
 
 Dunsford. I declare, Milverton, when Ellesmere 
 is not with us, you play both his part and your own : 
 but^o on. 
 
 Milverton. No — but, seriously, my dear Duns- 
 ford, to go on with my schemes of improvability, I 
 assure you they are on a very humble basis. Look- 
 ing around I see what slight things are often the real 
 hindrances to the best endeavors of men. I would 
 aim to take these hindrances out of a man's path. 
 Mark you, I do not expect that he will therefore 
 15 
 
226 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 become a greater man, but he will certainly be able 
 to act more like one. To descend to particulars, 
 why I delight so much in sanatory reform is not 
 so much in the thing itself, if I may say so, as in 
 the additional power and freedom it gives to man- 
 kind. I do not know what social arrangements 
 will be good for the coming generation, what 
 churches will be best for them, what forms of legis- 
 lation ; but I am sure that in whatever they do, 
 they will be entangled with fewer difficulties, and 
 will act more healthfully and wisely, if they are 
 healthy men themselves. 
 
 Dunsford, Good doctrine, I think. 
 
 Milverton. In the same way I would seek to 
 remove all manner of social disabilities ; always 
 again with a view to the future, that the removal of 
 these disabilities may give room for more freedom 
 of thought and action. 
 
 Dunsford, I do not quite understand this, but 
 do not wait to explain : go on. 
 
 Milverton, It is for the same reasons that I de- 
 light in education (and you know that I do not mean 
 a small thing by education) because of its enabling 
 powers, to use a legislative phrase. Here again I 
 do not pretend to see what will become of people 
 when educated, or to suggest the forms that such 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 227 
 
 discipline will ultimately fit them for ; but I cannot 
 but believe that it will make any people into mate- 
 rial more malleable in the hands of the wise and 
 good — of those who should be, and who, to a cer- 
 tain extent are, the leaders of each generation. In- 
 deed, I believe, that always as men become greater, 
 they are more easy to deal with. 
 
 Dunsford, I begin to see what you would be at. 
 
 Milverton. I conceive that as civilization ad- 
 vances, a thousand little complexities arise with it. 
 To untie them in any way may be a humble effort, 
 but seems to me a most needful one. What we are 
 ever wanting is to give freedom without license : to 
 free a man from mean conformity — 
 
 Dunsford. By making him conform to some- 
 thing higher. I think, Milverton, I have assisted in 
 pointing this out to you when I was afraid that you 
 were making too much war upon conformity. 
 
 Milverton, It is only one of many things, my 
 dear friend, which I have learned from you. 
 
 Dunsford. Thank you, my dear Leonard. I 
 must say you have always been most willing to give 
 more than due heed to any thing your old tutor has 
 said, with the exception of the advice he used to 
 tender to you at College about getting up certain 
 problems in the Differential and Integral Calculus. 
 
228 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 Milverton. And I wish I had listened to that 
 advice also. 
 
 Dunsford, But are you not a little afraid, my 
 friend (not that I would say one word against any 
 good purpose you may have), that with all your 
 imaginary cultivation and enabling men to act more 
 freely and wisely by the removal of small disabilities, 
 which yet I admit may be great hindrances : are you 
 not afraid, that after all we shall advance into some- 
 thing very tiresome, somewhat of a dead level, which 
 observers even now say is very visible in the world — 
 no great man, but a number of decent, ordinary, 
 cultivated, common-place persons? I believe I am 
 now talking Ellesmere to you ; for, in reality, I pre- 
 fer the advancement of the great mass of mankind 
 to any pre-eminence of a few : but still I should like 
 to hear what you have to say to this objection. 
 
 Milverton. I am delighted that you have raised it. 
 I suspect there is a great delusion in this matter. 
 The notion that there is a dead level in modern times 
 is a mistake : // is only that there are 7nore emi- 
 nences. Formerly, one class or kind of men made a 
 noise in the world, or at least made the chief noise ; 
 and, looking across the hazy distances of time, we 
 are deluded by great names. An Alexander, a Ti- 
 mour the Tartar, an Attila, a Charlemagne, loom 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 229 
 
 large in the distance. There were not so manyways 
 to pre-eminence then — added to which, I should be 
 very slow to connect greatness of thought, or great- 
 ness of nature, with resounding deeds. 
 
 Dunsford. Surely, at the latter end of the fif- 
 teenth, and in the sixteenth century, there were un- 
 rivalled great men — a galaxy of them. 
 
 Milverton, Yes, I admit ; and no man looks up 
 to some of the personages of that era with more 
 reverence and regard than I do : and, moreover, 
 I would not contend that there may not be an oc- 
 casional galaxy, as you have termed it, of such 
 men. But all I have to contend against is, that the 
 tendency of modern cultivation is not necessary to 
 bring men to a dead level, and to subdue all real 
 greatness. 
 
 Du7tsford, But you must admit that there is a 
 certain smallness in the men of our time, and a fool- 
 ish hurry in their proceedings. 
 
 Milverton, No : that is not exactly what we have 
 reason to complain of, but rather a certain coldness, 
 an undue care for respectability, and too much desire 
 to be safe. One of our most observant men, who has 
 seen a great deal of the world, and always desired to 
 understand the generation under him as well as that 
 which came before him, says, that the young men of 
 
230 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 the present day are better than the young men of his 
 time ; but there is one thing that he complains of in 
 them, and that is, their fear of ridicule. To a certain 
 extent he is rigl-U;, I think ; only I should modify his 
 remark a little, and say, that it is not exactly that 
 they fear ridicule, as they dislike to put themselves 
 in such a position that they may justly be made ri- 
 diculous. It is partly caution, partly fastidiousness, 
 partly a fear of ridicule. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, then, I think that each man is 
 more isolated than he used to be. There is less of 
 clanship, less of the rallying round men of force or 
 genius. How very rare a thing it is for one man to 
 devote himself to the purposes framed by another's 
 mind, or to give evidence of something like devotion 
 to his person. Yet this would often be the wisest 
 and the noblest form of exertion. 
 
 Milverton. But then there would be no original- 
 ity, as they think, and there is now a diseased desire 
 for originality, which is never to be got by the men 
 who seek it. All the while the most original thing 
 would be to be humble and subservient to great pur- 
 poses, from whomsoever adopted. 
 
 At the same time, I must say that, as far as I have 
 observed, the young would be very devoted to for- 
 ward the purposes of their elders and superiors, 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 23 1 
 
 whether in parliament, in offices, or in any other 
 functions of civil life : and I think that in our times, 
 great fault has often been on the side of the elders in 
 not making just use of the young talent lying every- 
 where about them. 
 
 Dunsford. That may be. 
 
 Milverton. Indeed, Dunsfordj it is not every one 
 who, like yourself, is anxious to elicit the powers, 
 and to carry forward the purposes, of younger men. 
 It requires a great deal of kind-hearted imagination 
 to do that. 
 
 Dunsford. You make too much of this, Milver- 
 ton. It is natural that I should care about my own 
 pupils more than any thing else. I live in their 
 doings. 
 
 Milverton. And in your new edition, that is to 
 be, of the Second part of Algebra, as Ellesmere 
 would say, if he were here : but to return to our sub- 
 ject, I will tell you, at least I will try and tell you, 
 in a somewhat fanciful way, what I think of the 
 whole matter. 
 
 Have you ever known well a beautiful bit of nat- 
 ural scenery, before man has come to settle in it — a 
 cliff near the sea, a mead near a lake, or the outskirts 
 of a noble forest ? If so, you recollect the delicately 
 rounded, gracefully indented, or grotesquely out-jut- 
 
233 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 ting forms, which the rock, or the hill, or the 
 margin of the waters, or the outskirts of the wood 
 had taken — forms dear to the painter and the poet. 
 (Here Lucy entered the enclosure where we were 
 sitting.) 
 
 Lucy. The painter and the poet — I am sure thi§ 
 is something which I may listen to, Mr. Milverton ; 
 may I not ? 
 
 Milverton. There are few persons, Lucy, who 
 have more feeling for the works of painters and 
 poets ; and so you have a right to hear any thing 
 that is to be said about them. (I then repeated to 
 her the former part of the sentence.) You then, per- 
 haps, after an interval of many years, pass by the 
 same place. A number of square white houses, poor 
 in form and questionable in design, deface the beau- 
 tiful spot. The delicate impressions of nature are 
 gone, and, in their stead, are the angular marks of 
 men's handiwork. The painter hurries by the place ; 
 the poet, too, unless he is a very philosophic one, 
 passes shuddering by. But, in reality, what forms 
 of beauty, in conduct, in suffering, in endeavor ; what 
 tragedies, what romances ; what footprints, as it 
 were, angelic and demoniac — now belong to that 
 spot. It is true, we have lost wonderful lichens and 
 those exquisitely colored mosses on the rocks which 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 233 
 
 were the delight of the artist. Perhaps there are now 
 ungainly initials in their place, illustrative, however, 
 of a deeper poetry than ever was there before. But 
 I grow too fanciful, and must descend to prosaic ex- 
 planations. I mean, in short, that though there is 
 more cultivation (which, it must be confessed, effaces 
 somewhat of the natural rugged beauty of the scene), 
 there is also more of a higher beauty which sits be- 
 side the other (plain prosaic cultivation) always, 
 though oft unkenned by mortal eyes. So, in the ad- 
 vancement of mankind, the great barbaric outlines 
 are broken into, and defaced ; but a thousand new 
 beauties, new delicacies, even new greatnesses, take 
 their place. Nature is ever affluent in such things ; 
 and this effect of cultivation is to be seen, not only 
 in mankind, but in individual men. For instance, 
 Dunsford, the very shyness and coldness of modern 
 youth arises in some measure from the growth of 
 tact and delicacy. But I need not explain further ; 
 you see what I mean. 
 
 Dunsford. I think I do ; and as it is a charit- 
 able view, I wish to think it a true one. But I could 
 object to your metaphor, if I chose to do so. 
 
 Lucy. And is it equally true, Mr. Milverton, 
 with the young ladies as with the young gentlemen } 
 
 Milverton. Why, my dear Lucy, the young la- 
 
234 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 dies are always of course more in harmony with 
 nature. Though women are more slavish to small 
 conventionalities than men, the real advance of civ- 
 ilization tells much less upon women than upon 
 men. One, who knew them well, says that " The 
 ideas of justice, of virtue, of vice, of goodness, of 
 wickedness, float only on the surface of their souls 
 (consequently the prevailing ideas amongst men on 
 these subjects make comparatively little impression 
 upon women), in the depths of which (their souls) 
 they have ' I'amour propre et I'interet personnel ' (I 
 quote his very words) with all the energy of na- 
 ture ; and, more civilized than ourselves from with- 
 out, they have remained true savages within ; (plus 
 civilis^es que nous en dehors, elles sont restees de 
 vraies sauvages en dedans)." 
 
 Lucy. The man is a savage himself: he must be 
 a French Mr. EUesmere. 
 
 Milverton, They are daring words, certainly ; 
 but perhaps they have a scintilla of truth in them. 
 However, I will come again some day, and endea- 
 vor to elucidate these things a little further. Now 
 I see the bees are flocking homewards with well- 
 laden thighs, and I, too, must go back to my hive, 
 well laden with the wisdom to be gained from the 
 thoughtful trees and beautiful flowers of the Rectory. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 235 
 
 ■Dunsford. 
 
 **Et fessse mult& referunt se nocte minores, 
 Crura thjmo plense : pascuntur et arbuta passim, 
 Et glaucas salices, casiamque crocumque rubentem, 
 Et pinguem tiliam, et ferrugineos hjacinthos. 
 Omnibus una quies operum, labor omnibus unus." 
 
 Milverton. Now, Miss Lucy, you must trans- 
 late. I know you do that with all your uncle's fa- 
 vorite bits : and to tell the truth, I have forgotten 
 some of the words. What is tilia ? 
 
 Lucy, You must not be very critical then, if I 
 do translate, and ask for every word to be rendered. 
 
 Now homewards come, borne on the evening breeze, 
 
 With heavy-laden thighs, the younger bees : 
 
 Each in the arbutus has hid his head, 
 
 In yellow willow-bloom, in crocus red. 
 
 And the rich foliage which the lindens spread: 
 
 One common labor each companion knows, 
 
 And for the weary swarm is one repose. 
 
 Milverton. A little liberal, Lucy, but it gives 
 some of the sense of the passage, I think ; and you 
 are a good girl for not making more fuss about let- 
 ting me hear it. I really must go now ; so good-by. 
 
 And so I walked homewards, thinking "much of 
 Dunsford's mild wisdom, and how beautiful it is 
 to see old age gracefully filling its high vocation of 
 a continually enlarging sympathy with the young, 
 and tolerance for them. As Goethe says, " A man 
 
236 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 has only to become old to be tolerant; I see no 
 fault committed," he adds, " which I also might 
 not have committed." But then it is a Goethe who 
 is speaking. Dunsford has reached to the same 
 level of toleration by sheer goodness of nature. 
 

 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A LONG, solitary ride enabled me to-day to 
 bring to a conclusion a chapter which I had 
 been thinking of for some time. It is difficult for 
 a man, unless he is a perfect horseman, to think 
 connectedly during a ride, which is the very .reason 
 why horse-exercise is so good for the studious and 
 the busy ; but the inspiriting nature of the exercise 
 may enable the rider to overcome special points of 
 difficulty in any subject he is thinking over. In 
 truth, a subject of any magnitude requires to be 
 thought over in all moods of mind ; and that alone 
 is one great reason for maintaining thoughts long 
 in mind, before expressing them in speech or writ- 
 ing, that they come to be considered and recon- 
 sidered under all aspects, and to be modified by the 
 various fortunes and states of temperament of the 
 thinker. 
 
 There is all the difference between the thoughts 
 of a man who is plodding homewards on his own 
 legs, under an umbrella, and those of the same man 
 
238 - COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 who, on horseback, Is springing over the elastic turf, 
 careless whether wind or rain drives against him 
 or not, that there was between the after-dinner 
 and the next morning councils of the ancient 
 Germans. 
 
 And, indeed, the subject I was thinking of, needs 
 to be considered in all weathers of the soul, for it 
 is very large ; and if I could present to other minds 
 what comes under this subject in mine, I should 
 have said a good deal of all that I may have to say 
 on most subjects. 
 
 Without more introductory words, for a long 
 introduction would be especially out of place in 
 this case, the subject in question is the art of coming 
 to an end. 
 
 Almost all human affairs are tedious. Every thing 
 is too long. Visits, dinners, concerts, plays, speeches, 
 pleadings, essays, sermons, are too long. Pleasure 
 and business labor equally under this defect, or, as 
 I should rather say, this fatal superabundance. 
 
 It must not be supposed that tiresomeness belongs 
 to virtue alone. Few people are more pedantic and 
 tiresome than the vicious ; and I doubt whether if 
 one were thrown on a desert island, and had only 
 the means of rescuing Blair's works and many fic- 
 tions of decidedly bad tendency, but thought to be 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. . 239 
 
 amusing, one would not exclaim, " Blair for ever ! '* 
 and hurl the fictions into their element, the water. 
 
 But let us trace this lengthiness, not only in 
 the results of men's works, but in their modes of 
 operation. 
 
 Which, of all defects, has been the one most fatal 
 to a good style ? The not knowing when to come to 
 an end. Take some inferior writer's works. Dis- 
 miss nearly all the adjectives ; when he uses many 
 substantives, either in juxtaposition, or in some de- 
 pendence on each other, reduce him to one ; do the 
 same thing with the verbs ; finally, omit all the 
 adverbs ; and you will, perhaps, find out that this 
 writer had something to say, which you might never 
 have discovered, if you had not removed the super- 
 fluous words. Indeed, in thinking of the kind of 
 writing that is needed, I am reminded of a stanza 
 in a wild Arab song, which runs thus : — 
 
 "Terrible he rode along, 
 
 With his Yemen sword for aid ; 
 Ornament it carried none, 
 
 But the notches on the blade." * 
 
 So, in the best writing, only that is ornament which 
 
 * See Taifs Magazine^ Ji^ljj 1850, for what seems to be 
 an admirable translation of a most remarkable poem '* of 
 an age earlier than that of Mahomet." 
 
240 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 
 
 shows some service done, which has some dint of 
 thought about it. 
 
 Then there is a whole class of things which, though 
 good in themselves, are often entirely spoilt by being 
 carried out too far and inopportunely. Such are 
 punctiliousness, neatness, order, labor of finish, and 
 even accuracy. The man who does not know how 
 to leave off, will make accuracy frivolous and vexa- 
 tious. And so with all the rest of these good things, 
 people often persevere with them so inaptly and so 
 inopportunely as to contravene all their real merits. 
 Such people put me in mind of plants which, be- 
 longing to one country and having been brought to 
 another, persist in flowering in those months in 
 which they, or their ancestors, were used to flower 
 in the old country. There is one in a garden near 
 me which in February delights to show the same 
 gay colors for a day or two here, in these northern 
 climes, with which it was wont to indulge the far-ofl* 
 inhabitants of countries near the Black Sea. It is 
 in vain that I have remonstrated with this precocious 
 shrub about its showing its good qualities at so in- 
 appropriate a period ; and in fact it can make so 
 good an answer to any man who thus addresses it, 
 that, perhaps, it is better to say nothing and pass 
 by, thinking only of our own faults in this respect — 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 241 
 
 and then, indeed, the shrub will not have flowered 
 quite in vain, if it has been only for a single day. 
 
 A similar error in not knowing when to leave off 
 occurs in the exercise of the critical faculty, which 
 some men use till they have deadened the creative : 
 and, in like manner, men cavil and dissect and dis-- 
 pute till that which was merely meant as a means of 
 discovering error and baffling false statement, becomes 
 the only end they care about, — the truth for them. 
 
 But a far more important field for this error of 
 superabundance, is in the vices of mankind. If 
 men had but known when to leave off, what would 
 have become of ambition, avarice, gluttony, quar- 
 relling, cruelty? Men go on conquering for con- 
 quering's sake, as they do hoarding for hoarding's 
 sake. If it be true that Marlborough went on gain- 
 ing needless victories, wasting uncalled-for blood 
 and treasure, what a contemptible thing it is ! I 
 say, " if" he did so, for but a little investigation 
 into history shows one how grievously men have 
 been misrepresented ; and, not having looked into 
 the matter, I will not take the responsibility of the 
 accusation on myself. But the instance, if just, is 
 an apt one ; and, certainly, there are many similar 
 instances in great commanders to bear it out. But 
 16 
 
242 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 what a contemptible application of talent it is, that 
 a man should go on doing something very well 
 which is not wanted, and should make work for 
 himself that he may shine, or at least be occupied. 
 It is absolutely childish. Such children have great 
 conquerors been. 
 
 It is a grand thing for a man to know when he 
 has done his work. How majestic, for instance, is 
 the retirement of Sylla, Diocletian, and Charles the 
 Fifth. These men may not afford particularly spot- 
 less instances, but we must make the most of those 
 we have. There are very few men who know how 
 to quit any great office, or to divest themselves of 
 any robe of power. 
 
 How much, again, this error of not knowing 
 when to leave off, pervades the various pursuits of 
 men ! How it is to be seen in art and literature ; 
 how much too in various professions and various 
 crafts ! The end is lost sight of in a foolish exercise 
 of some facility in dealing with the means ; as when 
 a man goes on writing for writing's sake, having 
 nothing more to tell us ; or when a man who exer- 
 cises some craft moderately well for the sake of 
 gain, confines himself to that craft and is a crafts- 
 man nowhere else, when the gain is no longer 
 needful for him. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 243 
 
 But it may be said, why speak of the art of leav- 
 ing off ? the instances you have given might some- 
 times be put under the head of not knowing how to 
 begin ; or, at any rate, they might more legiti- 
 mately come under the heads of the various evil 
 passions and habits to which they seem to belong. 
 I do not altogether deny this, but at the same time 
 I wish to show that there is an art of leaving off 
 which may be exercised independently, if I may so 
 express it, of the various affections of the mind. 
 
 This art will depend greatly upon a just appreci- 
 ation of form and proportion. Where this propor- 
 tion is wanting in men's thoughts or lives, they 
 become one-sided. The mind enters into a peculiar 
 slavery, and hardens into a creature of mere habits 
 and customs. The comparative youthfulness of 
 men of genius, which has often been noticed, results 
 from their having a finer sense of proportion than 
 other men, which prevents their being enslaved by 
 the things which gradually close up the avenues of 
 the soul. They, on the contrary, hold to Nature till 
 the last, and would partake, in some measure, if it 
 may be so, of her universality. 
 
 I hardly know any thing that serves to give us a 
 greater notion of the importance of proportion than 
 the fact made known to us by chemistry, that but a 
 
244 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 few elements mingled together in different propor- 
 tions give things of the most different nature (as we 
 suppose) and different efficiency. This fact, after a 
 consideration of the infinitely great as appreciated 
 by the telescope, and the infinitely small as divulged 
 by the microscope, is to my mind the most signifi- 
 cant in physics. 
 
 I fear, without more explanation, I shall hardly 
 make myself understood here. I mean that this 
 fact in chemistry affords a high idea of the impor- 
 tance of proportion ; and the error we have been 
 considering is one that mainly arises from dispro- 
 portion. 
 
 For instance, this want of power to leave off 
 often shows an inadequate perception of the propor- 
 tion which all proceedings here ought to bear to 
 time. Every thing is a function of time, as the 
 mathematicians would well express it. Then only 
 consider what needful demands there are on that 
 time : what forms, compliments, civilities, offices 
 of friendship, relationship, and duty, have to be 
 transacted. Consider the interruptions of life. I 
 have often thought how hardly these bear upon the 
 best and most capable of men. Perhaps there are 
 not many more than a thousand persons in the long 
 roll of men who have done any thing very great for 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 245 
 
 mankind. Nations should have kept guard at their 
 doors, as we fancy, that they might work undis- 
 turbed ; but, instead of that, domestic misery, pov- 
 erty, error, and affliction of all kinds no doubt 
 disturbed and distracted them, — not without its 
 enlightenment, and not perhaps to be wholly regi*et- 
 ted for their sakes. But has any one thing so 
 misled them and counteracted their abilities so much 
 as this want of proportion I am speaking of, aris- 
 ing from their ignorance or inability to leave off ? 
 which has limited their efforts to one thing, — has 
 made the warrior a warrior only, incapable of deal- 
 ing with his conquests; the statesman a man of 
 business and devices only, so that he gains power 
 but cannot govern ; the man of letters a master of 
 phrases only ; the man of so-called science a man, 
 like the Greek philosophers, who could only talk 
 about science, — skilful in that, but never having 
 left off that talking to make a single experiment. 
 
 But surely there might be a breadth of purpose and 
 extent of pursuit without inane versatility. As 
 things are, it is not often that you find any one who 
 holds his art, accomplishment, function, or busi- 
 ness, in an easy disengaged way, like a true gentle- 
 man, so that he can bear criticism upon his doings 
 in it nobly or indifferently, who is other than a kind 
 
246 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 of pedagogue. Much more difficult is it to find a 
 man who sees the work before him in its just pro- 
 portions and does it, yet does not make out of his 
 work an obstacle to his perception of what besides 
 is good and needful ; and who keeps the avenues 
 of his mind open to influences other than those 
 which immediately surround him. 
 
 I am ashamed when I think of the want of cul- 
 tivation even in those v/ho are reckoned most culti- 
 vated people ; and not so much of their want of 
 cultivation, as their want of the power of continu- 
 ous cultivation. Few, therefore, can endure leisure, 
 or in fact can carry other burdens than those which 
 they have been used to — like mules accustomed to 
 carry panniers or pack-saddles in mountainous 
 countries, which steer their way when free from 
 their burdens just as if they still bore them, allow- 
 ing always the distance between the rocks and 
 themselves which was necessary to clear their load- 
 ed panniers ; a mode of proceeding which exceed- 
 ingly alarms and astonishes the traveller mounted 
 on these mules, till he understands the reason of it. 
 Both men and mules are puzzled at having some- 
 thing new» to undertake : and indeed the art of 
 leaving off* judiciously is but the art of beginning 
 something else which needs to be done. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 247 
 
 But if there is any thing in which the beauty and 
 the wisdom of knowing when to leave off is partic- 
 ularly manifested, it is in behavior. And how rare 
 is beautiful behavior ; greatly by reason of the want 
 of due proportion in the characters and objects of 
 most persons, and from their want of some percep- 
 tion of the ' whole of things. Let any man run 
 over in his mind the circle of his friends and ac- 
 quaintances ; also, if he is a well-read man, of 
 those whom he has become acquainted with in his- 
 tory or biography ; and he will own how few are, 
 or have been, persons of beautiful behavior, of real 
 greatness of mind. 
 
 This greatness of mind which shows itself daily 
 in behavior, and also in conduct when you take the 
 whole of a life, may co-exist with foibles, with 
 stains, with perversities, with ignorance, with short- 
 comings of any and of every kind. But there is 
 one thing which is characteristic of it, and that is, 
 its freedom from limitation. No one pursuit, end, 
 aim, or occupation permanently sullies its percep- 
 tions. It may be wicked for a time as David, cruel 
 for a time as Caesar, even false ; but these are only 
 passing forms of mind ; and there is still room for 
 virtue, piety, self-restraint, and clemency. Its in- 
 telligence is not a mirror obedient to private im- 
 
248 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 pulses that reflects only that which its will com- 
 mands for the time ; but gives candidly some 
 reflection of all that passes by. Hence, by God's 
 blessing, it will know how to leave off*; whereas, 
 on the contrary, the mind which is hedged in by 
 the circumstances and ideas of one passion, or pur- 
 suit, is painfully limited, be that passion or pursuit 
 what it may. 
 
 Observe the calmness of great men, noting by 
 the way, that real greatness belongs to no station 
 and no set of circumstances. This calmness is the 
 cause of their beautiful behavior. Vanity, injus- 
 tice, intemperance, are all smallnesses arising from 
 a blindness to proportion in the vain, the unjust, 
 and the intemperate. Whereas, no one thing, un- 
 less it be the love of God, has such a continuous 
 hold on a great mind as to seem all in all to it. The 
 great know, unconsciously, more of the real bene- 
 ficent secret of the world : there is occasional re- 
 pose of soul for them. How can such men be 
 subdued by money, be enclosed by the ideas of a 
 party, or a faction, be so shut up in a profession, an 
 art, or a calling, as to see naught else, or to believe 
 only in one form of expression for what is beauti- 
 ful and good? 
 
 Passing by a mountain stream, I once beheld an 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 249 
 
 unfortunate trunk of a tree, which, having been shot 
 down the side of a hill and thus sent on, as the 
 custom is in those countries, down the stream to 
 find its way to the haven, had unfortunately come 
 too near a strong eddy, which caught it up and 
 ever whirled it back again. How like the general 
 course of man ! I thought. Down came the log 
 with apparent vigor and intent each time, and it 
 seemed certain that it would drive onwards in the 
 course designed for it; but each time it swirled 
 round and was sent back again. Ever and anon it 
 came with greater force, described a wider arc, and 
 surely now, I thought, it will shoot down on its 
 way : but no, it paused for a moment, felt the influ- 
 ence of its fatal eddy, and then returned with the 
 like force it had come down with. I waited and 
 waited, groups of holiday-making people passed by 
 me wondering, I dare say, what I stayed there to 
 see ; but unmindful of any of us, it went on per- 
 forming its circles. I returned in the evening ; the 
 poor log was still there, bus}^ as ever in not going 
 onwards ; and I went upon my journey, feeling very 
 melancholy for this tree, and thinking there was 
 little hope for it. It may even now be at its vain 
 gyrations, knowing no rest, and yet making no ad- 
 vance to the seas for which it was destined. 
 
250 COMPANIONS OF Mi" SOLITUDE. 
 
 So let it not be with us : caught up by no mean 
 eddies which draw us to the side of the stream and 
 compel us to revolve in the same narrow circlet of 
 passion, of prejudice, of party, of ambition, of de- 
 sire ; finding in constancy no limitation, in devoted- 
 ness of pursuit no narrowness of heart, or thought, 
 or creed ; choosing as the highway of our career 
 one which widens and deepens ever as we move 
 along it ; let us float on to that unmeasured ocean of 
 thought and endeavor where the truly great in soul 
 (often great because humble, for it is the pride of 
 man which keeps him to small purposes and pre- 
 vents his knowing when to leave off with earthly 
 things), where the truly and the simply great shall 
 find themselves in kindred waters of far other depth 
 than those which they were first launched out 
 upon. 
 
 After writing down the foregoing thoughts upon 
 the art of coming to an end, which had been the 
 subject of my morning's ride, I went out upon the 
 lawn to refresh myself with the evening air. It 
 was very clear ; the stars and the moon were in all 
 their splendor ; and the shadows of the trees lay 
 quietly upon the grass, as if the leaves, for the most 
 part so restless, were now sleeping on their stems, 
 like the birds upon the branches. 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 25 1 
 
 I had resolved that this reverie, a fitting one to 
 conclude with, should be the last of which I would 
 give an account. There is something sad about 
 the end of any thing, whether it be the building of 
 a palace, the construction of a great history, like 
 that of Gibbon, the finishing of a child's baby-house, 
 or the conclusion of some small, unpretending work 
 in literature. The first feelings of an author soon 
 pass by. Those hopes and those fears which quite 
 agitate the young pretender to fame are equally 
 dulled by failure or success. Meanwhile, the re- 
 sponsibility of writing does not grow less, at least 
 in any thoughtful mind. With the little knowledge 
 we have on any subject, how we muster audacity to 
 write upon it, I hardly know. 
 
 These signs, too, that we use for communicating 
 our thoughts, which we call language, what a 
 strange debris it is of the old languages, — a result of 
 the manifold corruptions of childish prattle, of the 
 uncouth talk of soldiers sent into conquered prov- 
 inces, of the vain eftbrts of rude husbandmen to catch 
 an unfamiliar tongue. And, if we went back to the 
 old languages, with equal knowledge of their ante- 
 cedents, we should probably find that they also were 
 lamentable gatherings from forgotten tongues, huts 
 out of the ruins of palaces. 
 
252 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 So much for the vehicle in which we convey our 
 thoughts, imperfect enough in themselves. 
 
 Then, if we turn to the people, the manners, the 
 customs, and the laws we have to act upon with 
 these thoughts, there, too, what a mass of confusion 
 is presented to us, collected from all parts of the 
 earth and from all periods of history. 
 
 As I thought of this, I seemed to see the various 
 races who had occupied this very spot flit by — 
 Briton, Roman, Saxon, Norman, each with his laws, 
 manners, and customs imprinted on his bearing, the 
 wrecks of mighty empires shown in the very accou- 
 trements of each shadowy form as it went by. And 
 this mass of strangely mingled materials is the sub- 
 stance that these imperfect thoughts expressed iti 
 imperfect language have to act upon. 
 
 And, then, what say these stars with their all-elo- 
 quent silence, seeming to reduce all our schemes 
 into nothings, to make our short-lived perplexities 
 ludicrous, ourselves and our ways like a song that is 
 not sung? What a cold reply they seem to give to 
 all human works and questionings. 
 
 But, said I to myself, such trains of thought may 
 easily be pursued too far ; we must not bring in the 
 
COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 253 
 
 Immensities about us and within us to crush our en- 
 deavors. Here we are ; let stars, or bygone times, 
 or the wrecks of nations, or the coiTuptions of lan- 
 guage, say or show what they will. There is some- 
 thing also to be done by us : we have our little 
 portions of the reef of coral yet to build up. If we 
 have not time to become wise, we have time enough 
 to become resigned. If we have rude and confused 
 material to work upon, and uncouth implements to 
 work with, less must be required from us ; and,, as 
 for these stars, the true meaning to be got from them 
 is in reality an encouraging one. 
 
 Some men have thought that one star or planet 
 befriended them ; some, another. This man grew 
 joyful when the ascendant star of his nativity came 
 into conjunction with Jupiter, favorable to his des- 
 tinies ; and that man grew pale when his planet 
 came into opposition with Saturn, noxious to his 
 horoscope, threatening the " House of Life." Nor 
 is astrology extinct; science only lends it more 
 meaning, but not a private one for kings or poten- 
 tates. These stars say something very significant to 
 all of us: and each man has the whole hemisphere 
 of them, if he will but look up, to counsel and be- 
 friend him. In the morning time, they come not 
 within ken, when they would too much absorb our 
 
254 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 
 
 attention, and hinder our necessary business, but in 
 the evening, they appear to us, to chasten over-per- 
 sonal thoughts, to put down what is exorbitant in 
 earth-bred fancies, and to encourage those endeav- 
 ors and aspirations which meet with no full response 
 from any single planet, certainly not from the one 
 we are on, but which derive their meaning and their 
 end from the vastness and the harmony of the whole 
 of God-directed nature and of life. 
 
 So thinking, I was enabled for a moment to see, 
 or rather to feel, that the threads of our poor human 
 affairs, tangled as they seem to be, might yet be in- 
 terwoven harmoniously with the great chords of love 
 and duty that bind the universe together. And so I 
 returned to the house, and said " Good night " cheer- 
 fully to the friendly stars, which did not now seem 
 to oppress me by their magnitude, or their multi- 
 tude, or their distance. 
 
INDEX, 
 
 AcADEMus, groves of, have a competitor, 141. 
 
 Accomplishments aid in getting rid of small anxieties, 187. 
 
 Accuracy spoilt by being carried too far, 240. 
 
 Administrative officer suggested, 103. 
 
 Admiration, insincerity in, to be avoided, 205. 
 
 Advice to a descendant who would retrieve the fortunes of 
 the Author's family, 53 ; to men in small authority, 208. 
 
 Affection not generally inspired by the Church of England, 
 216. 
 
 Affections of the mind, skill in dealing with, to be ac- 
 quired, 171. 
 
 Agreement amongst men, in thought, impossible, 210. 
 
 Amusement necessary for man, 34-36 ; should be contrived 
 for him, 36 ; poverty of England's resources, with re- 
 spect to, 204. 
 
 Anglo-Saxons can afford to cultivate art, 36. 
 
 Annals of the poor, familiar words in, 104. 
 
 Arab song, verse of, applied to writing, 239. 
 
 Art, the pursuit of, often incompatible with fortune, 59. 
 
 Art of coming to an end, largeness of the subject, 238 ; 
 may be exercised independently of the affections of the 
 mind, 243 ; ignorance of, has limited men's efforts, 245 , 
 is but the art of beginning something new, 246. 
 
 Astrology not extinct, 253. 
 
 Author's thoughts on the future fortunes of his family, 46. 
 
 Author, the first feelings of one soon pass away, 251. 
 
256 INDEX. 
 
 Authority on great subjects, scarcely any mind so free 
 from its influence that it can boldly apprehend the ques- 
 tion for itself, 147. 
 
 B. 
 
 Bacon, remark from him on the need of a friend, 53 ; an 
 
 instance of the compatibility of literature with action, 
 
 72. ^ 
 Behavior, the beauty and wisdom of knowing when to 
 
 leave off particularly manifested in, 247 ; beauty of, very 
 
 rare, 247. 
 Bereavements, 199. 
 
 Blair, his works preferred to fictions, 238. 
 Blame often good, but only as good fiction, 179. 
 Books a resource against physical and mental storms, 169. 
 Borgias, the cause of new Post-office regulations, 26. 
 Breadth of purpose might exist without inane versatility, 
 
 245. 
 Brutus, how his part might be played in the law, 8. 
 Burke, an instance of the compatibility of literature with 
 
 action, 72. 
 Burleigh, Lord, speech of his to his gown of state, 186. 
 
 Caesar, an instance that literature is compatible with great 
 
 actions, 71 ; his cruelty consistent with greatness of 
 
 mind, 247. 
 Calumny, ordinary source of, 176; most men of many 
 
 transactions subject to, 176; to be looked upon as pure 
 
 misfortune, 176; way of treating it, 176; too much stress 
 
 should not be laid on it, 177. 
 Camoens, an instance that literature is compatible with 
 
 action, 71 ; quotation from, 155. 
 Carlyle, Mr., says that a great writer creates a want for 
 
 himself, 72. 
 
INDEX. 257 
 
 Censoriousness the inventor of many sins, 31. 
 
 Cervantes, an instance that literature is compatible with 
 action, 71. 
 
 Chance delights in travelling, 199. 
 
 Character, diversities of, met with in travel, a delight, 200. 
 
 Charity, taught by error, 15 ; requires the sternest labor, 
 2,2,'i one of the most difficult things, 34; not comprised 
 in remedying material evils, 34; often mixed up with a 
 mash of sentiment and sickly feeling, 89; a difficult and 
 perplexed thing, 165. 
 
 Charles V., anecdote of, 210; his retirement majestic, 242. 
 
 Christianity partly to blame for the over-rigid views with 
 reference to unchastity, 87 ; to correct political econo- 
 my, 100; made a stumbling-block to many, 106. 
 
 Christian temper, opportunities for its manifestation af- 
 forded to all functionaries connected with travelling, 
 208. 
 
 Church, qualities to be sought for in, 24; perfection to be 
 aimed at in, 217. 
 
 Churches, advantages of their being open, 218. 
 
 Church, the, obstacles to the reform of, 218; evil of un- 
 necessary articles of faith in, 219. 
 
 Church-going, hindrances to, amongst the poor in Eng- 
 land, 105. 
 
 Church of England, the, suffers from opposite attacks, 
 214; its foundations need more breadth and solidity, 
 216; too impersonal, 216; deficiency of heartiness in, 
 217. 
 
 Church questions, opposing facts and arguments in, sel- 
 dom come into each other's presence, 24. 
 
 Chemistry affords a high idea of the importance of pro- 
 portion, 243. 
 
 Civilization ought to render the vicissitudes of life less 
 extreme, 87; its advance tells less upon women than 
 upon men, 234. 
 
 Climate of England, difficult to live in, 7. 
 17 
 
258 INDEX, 
 
 Colleges an instance of misplaced labor, 12. 
 
 Colonization, room for improvement in, 213. 
 
 Coleridge, his explanation of the word " world," 106. 
 
 Competition, evils of, considerable, 33 ; in length of ser- 
 mons, 33. 
 
 Competition in puritanical demonstration, injurious to 
 sincerity, 33 ; the child of fear, 33. 
 
 Companionship in travelling, dangers of, 196. 
 
 Companions, qualities which would render them a gain 
 198; much to be learned from, in travel, 198. 
 
 Confessor, good functions of, might be fulfilled bj many 
 Protestants, 106. 
 
 Confidence, in making any, you lose the royal privilege 
 of beginning the discourse on that topic, 138; should 
 be put aside in bearing misfortune, 170; origin of, 170; 
 difficult to lay aside, 170. 
 
 Conquerors, great, have committed the error of super- 
 abundance, 241. 
 
 Constitutional governments have their price, 102. 
 
 Constitution of England, advantages of, 211; disadvan- 
 tages of, 212. 
 
 Contempt not justifiable in mortals, 108. 
 
 Conventionality, an enemy to the opposers of the "great 
 sin of great cities," 108; the adoration offered up to 
 worldliness, 108; increases the great sin of great cities, 
 109'. 
 
 Conventionalities, small, women more slavish to them 
 than men, 234. 
 
 Conviction, unlimited power of a spirit resulting from, 
 148; its expansive power, 153. 
 
 Counteraction the true strategy in attacking vice, 97. 
 
 Country in winter like a great man in adversity, i6. 
 
 Courier, Paul Louis, an instance that literature is compat- 
 ible with action, 71. 
 
 Critical faculty, error in exercising it too much, 241. 
 
 Criticism, compared to the copies of Leonardo da Vinci's 
 
INDEX. 259 
 
 fresco of the Last Supper, 23 ; object in listening to it, 
 224. 
 
 Cultivation, a potent remedy for the *' great sin of great 
 cities," 97 ; metaphor on, 232. 
 
 Cultivation, general, the want of, cripples individual ex- 
 cellence, 7 ; the want of, prevents the enjoyment of sci- 
 entific discovery, 12. 
 
 Cultivation, continuous, should be the object for states- 
 men and all governing people, 98; the power of, defi- 
 cient in most men, 246. 
 
 Customs, evil, spread rapidly, 203 ; good, make way slow- 
 ly* 203. 
 
 Cyrus, his mode of keeping the Lydians tame, 36. 
 
 D. 
 
 David, his wickedness consistent with greatness of mind, 
 
 247- 
 Day, a, an epitome of a life, 193. 
 
 Dead level in men's character, notion of, a mistake, 228. 
 
 Descartes, an instance that literature is compatible with 
 action, 71. 
 
 Description of a foreign scene from a bridge, 159. 
 
 Despair the slave-driver to many crimes, 86. 
 
 Despotism, the sternest, often found in social life, 41. 
 
 Differences, great, amongst thoughtful men about great 
 subjects should not be stifled, 214. 
 
 Difficulties, intellectual and spiritual, great hearing of, 
 suggested, 24. 
 
 Diocletian, his retirement majestic, 242. 
 
 Diplomatic services peculiarly fit to be performed bj liter- 
 ary men, 73. 
 
 Disasters become possessions, 172. 
 
 Disciples do not aid the discovery of truth, 193. 
 
 Disproportion a main cause of the error of superabun- 
 dance, 245. 
 
26o INDEX. 
 
 Dissatisfaction with their own work, advice to those who 
 suffer from, iS6. 
 
 Division of labor partly a cause of ignorance, 12. 
 
 Divorce, law of, may require modification, 146. 
 
 Domestic annoyances, mischief and vexations caused by, 
 42. 
 
 Domestic servants particularly liable to the slavery of con- 
 ventionality, 109; temptations of, no; improvements in 
 the management of, suggested, no. 
 
 Doubts on the greatest matters the result of the falsifica- 
 tions of our predecessors, 22. 
 
 Duelling disarmed by public opinion, 151. 
 
 Dutch, the, their " forget book," used for the mishaps of a 
 journey, 194. 
 
 Duties often very dubious, 164. 
 
 Dwellings, improvement of, one means of enabling the 
 wages of the poor to go further, 100. 
 
 Education, a potent remedy for the "great sin of great 
 cities," 97; must continue through life, 161; larger views 
 of, required, 161 ; suffers from religious differences, 214; 
 enabling powers of, 226. 
 
 Ellesmere's story, 118. 
 
 Emerson, quotation from his chapter on Beauty of Nature, 
 207. 
 
 Emigration not the only remedy for poverty, 100. 
 
 End of any thing, the, sadness of, 245. 
 
 England, foreign notions of, 122; Constitution of, its ad- 
 vantages, 210; its disadvantages, 211. 
 
 English people, their genius severe, 36; would not be 
 cramped by judicious regulations, 64; description of, 
 194. 
 
 Errors made into sins by miscalling them, 32. 
 
 Evil carries with it its teachings, 95. 
 
INDEX. 261 
 
 Evils, their true proportions often not understood, 171. 
 Experience gained by suffering, 189; of life, an aid in 
 bearing injustice, 183. 
 
 F. 
 
 Fable of a choice being given to men on their entrance 
 into life, 58. 
 
 Family vanity exasperates rigid virtue, 90. 
 
 Father, a thoroughly judicious, one of the rarest creatures, 
 94. 
 
 Felicity a hostage to Fortune, 189. 
 
 Fiction has filled women's heads with untrue views of hu- 
 man life, 97 ; may be better than nothing for the mind, 
 98. 
 
 Finance, room for improvement in, 213. 
 
 Flowers, their names show that poets lived in the country, 
 21. 
 
 Folly will find a place even at the side of princes, 64. 
 
 Foresight crushes all but men of great resolution, 56. 
 
 Freedom, clamor for, a chief obstacle to its possession, loj 
 from restraint in travelling, 199. 
 
 Freemasonry among children, 44. 
 
 Friend, the advantage of one, 179. 
 
 Friends not of a prolific nature, 53. 
 
 G. 
 
 Gayety not necessarily an element of wickedness, 28. 
 Gardens, the love of, the last refuge of art in the minds 
 
 of Englishmen, a.8. 
 Garrick, speech of Johnson's to him, 188. 
 Generosity of mean people does not deceive the bystander, 
 
 150. 
 Germans, simplicity of, 121. 
 Goethe feared to enter upon biblical criticism, 22; says 
 
262 INDEX. 
 
 that no creature is happy, or even free, except in the 
 circuit of law, 93; remark by him on toleration, 236. 
 
 Gospel, the, prevents the triumph of despair, 86. 
 
 Government unfit for women, 145; many improvementb 
 in, required, 213; souq^ reform in, difficult, 213. 
 
 Grand thoughts adverse to any abuse of the passions, 96. 
 
 Great men, their abilities counteracted by a want of pro- 
 portion, 245; cause of their calmness, 248; and repose 
 of soul, 248; their freedom from limitation, 247. 
 
 Great mind, no one thing, unless it be the love of God, 
 seems all in all to it, 248. 
 
 Great sin of great cities, the, pointed out, 83; mournful- 
 ness of, 83 ; an accurate concentration of the evils of 
 society, 83; nature of, 84; degrades the race, 85; feel- 
 ings of the people concerned in it, 85; main cause of, 
 86; over-rigid views in reference to unchastity a cause 
 of, 87; charity in the virtuous recommended towards, 
 88; want of obedience to Christian precepts in reference 
 to, 89; want of charity towards, makes error into crime, 
 90; family pride prevents charity in, 90; ill-management 
 of parents a cause of, 92 ; uncleanliness of men a cause 
 of, in the lower classes, 94; cause of, applying to men, 
 95; the want of other thoughts one source of, 96; edu- 
 cation and cultivation potent remedies for, 97 ; remedies 
 for, 99; conventionality aids to increase it, 108; domes- 
 tic servants frequent victims to, 109; improvement in 
 men to be hoped for as a remedy, iii ; love a preventa- 
 tive of, 112. 
 
 Greatness of mind may co-exist with shortcomings of 
 every kind, 247 ; its characteristic, 247 ; belongs to no 
 station, 247. 
 
 Greatness of thought or nature not always connected with 
 resounding deeds, 229. 
 
 Greeks, perhaps prevented from becoming dominant by a 
 cultivation of many arts, 37. 
 
 Grotius, an instance of the compatibility of literature with 
 action, 72. 
 
INDEX. 263 
 
 H. 
 
 Happiness, personal, small amount of, needed, 189. 
 
 Heart, the human, tyranny of, how proved, 203. 
 
 Hindrances to n^en's best endeavors often slight, 225. 
 
 History of the world, the, compared to the prints of Leo- 
 nardo da Vinci's fresco of the Last Supper, 23. 
 
 Home should be made very happy to children, 93. 
 
 Horse exercise advantages of, 237. 
 
 House of Commons, improvement in, suggested, 212. 
 
 House of Lords, how to supply to it an element of popu- 
 lar influence, 212. 
 
 Human affairs almost all tedious, 238; threads of, might 
 be interwoven with the cords that bind the universe to- 
 gether, 254. 
 
 Human beings, their power to maintain their structure 
 unimpaired in a hostile element shown in the law, 11. 
 
 Human life, mischief of unsound representations of, 98. 
 
 Humanity, a low view of, probably the greatest barrier to 
 the highest knowledge, 96. 
 
 Humility, taught by error, 15, 21 ; promotes cheerfulness, 
 21 ; in dealing with misfortunes, 174. 
 
 Humor the deepest part of some men'« nature, 191. 
 
 Hurry, wise men do not, without good reason, 204. 
 
 Hypocrisy the homage which vice pays to virtue, 108. 
 
 Hypocrites pronounced the choice society of the world, 88. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ignorance partly proceeds from division of labor, 12 ; a 
 
 hindrance to Church reform, 218. 
 Imagination, want of, in most men confines them to the 
 
 just appreciation of those natures which are like their 
 
 own, 178. 
 Indulgence requires no theory to support it, 95. 
 Infelicities belong to the state below, 189. 
 
264 INDEX. 
 
 Injudicious dress, great suffering caused by, 42. 
 
 Injurious comment on people's conduct, considerations 
 which should prevent it, or console the sufferers, 177. 
 
 Injustice a very different thing from misfortune, and in- 
 commensurable with it, 179; arises from blindness to 
 proportion, 246. 
 
 Insincerity about religion, its continuance prevents much 
 good, 214. 
 
 Intemperance arises from blindness to proportion, 246. 
 
 Intellectual energies of cultivated men want directing to 
 the great questions, 219. 
 
 Intelligent men liberal in assigning the limits of power, 67. 
 
 Intelligent public opinion will prevent despotism in a min- 
 ister, 67. 
 
 Intercommunication between rich and poor should be 
 facilitated, 103. 
 
 Investigation into prices will prevent people from running 
 madly after cheapness, 100. 
 
 Irrationality of mankind to be prepared for in all under- 
 takings, 222. 
 
 J. 
 
 James the First of Scotland, an instance of the compati- 
 bility of literature with action, 72. 
 
 Johnson, Dr., one of his highest delights, 140; speech of 
 his to Garrick, 1S8. 
 
 Journey, a, how dissimilar to a life, 193. 
 
 Judas Iscariot might have done better than to hang him- 
 self, 91. 
 
 Justice not to be expected in this world, 183 ; idea of its 
 personification, 183. 
 
 K. 
 
 Kindness not an encourager of the " great sin of great 
 cities," 91. 
 
INDEX. 265 
 
 Knowledge, its doubts a hindrance to vigorous statement, 
 28; of vice not knowledge of the world, 95; of the 
 world, how gained, 96 ; the means and the end in trav- 
 elling, 194. 
 
 L. 
 
 Labor of finish spoilt by being carried too far, 240. 
 
 Lacedaemonians acknowledged the duties of a father, 165. 
 
 Language, change of, in travelling, a delight, 201 ; imper- 
 fections of, 251. 
 
 Law, loss in, 8; improvement in, to be hoped for from 
 general improvement of the people, 8 ; satire falls shoH 
 when aimed at its practices, 10; maintained as a mystery 
 by its adjuncts, 11 ; many admirable men to be found in 
 all grades of, 11 ; compared to a fungus, 47. 
 
 Laws of supply and demand overruled by higher influ- 
 ences, 150. 
 
 Lawyers, time spent at their offices the saddest portion of 
 man's existence, 10; not answerable for all the evils at- 
 tributed to their proceedings, 10; work of, compared with 
 that of statesmen, 172. 
 
 Lengthiness fatal to a good style, 239. 
 
 Leonardo da Vinci, thoughts suggested by his fresco of 
 the Last Supper, 23. 
 
 Life, objects of, as regards this world, 28; the bustle of, 
 keeps sadness at the bottom of the heart, 50. 
 
 Limitation, freedom from, a characteristic of greatness of 
 mind, 247. 
 
 Literary men more of cosmopolites than other men, 73 ; 
 would be improved by real business, 73; plan for re- 
 warding them proposed, 74. 
 
 Literary work requires many of the qualifications of a man 
 of business, 70. 
 
 Literature affords a choice of men to a statesman, 70. 
 
 Log caught by an eddy, man's course compared to one, 
 249. 
 
266 INDEX. 
 
 Logic halts sometimes when applied to charity, 88. 
 
 Loneliness of a thoughtful man, i8. 
 
 Lorenzo de' Medici, an instance of the compatibility of 
 literature with action, 72. 
 
 Love cannot be schooled much, 98; implies infinite re- 
 spect, 112; power of, 112; the memory of, must prevent 
 "the great sin of great cities," 112; of God need not 
 withdraw us from our fellow-men, 34. 
 
 Luther, quotation from, on tribulation, ^6\ saying of his 
 to his wife, 182. 
 
 M. 
 
 Machiavelli, an instance of the compatibility of literature 
 with action, 71. 
 
 Malignities, why fostered in small towns and. villages, 36. 
 
 Man, his faculties frequently appear inadequate to his sit- 
 uation, 13; generally his own worst antagonist, 20; be- 
 comes deformed by surrendering himself to any one 
 pursuit, 73; an isolated being, 230; one rarely found 
 who holds his art, accomplishment, function, or busi- 
 ness in an easy disengaged way, 245 ; one whose mind 
 is open to other influences than those which surround 
 him, difficult to find, 246; his course like a log caught 
 by an eddy, 249. 
 
 Marlborough, his victories, if needless, contemptible, 341. 
 
 Marriage, unhappiness in, does not justify "the great sin 
 of great cities," 146; our present notions of, probably 
 imperfect, 147. 
 
 Medical men, opportunities of, for communication with 
 the poor, 107. 
 
 Men require amusement as much as children, 44; occa- 
 sionally deceived by theories about equality, 94; ill pre- 
 pared for social life, 196; how to fit them for social life, 
 197 ; will be more easy to deal with as they become 
 greater, 227 ; their pursuits pervaded by the error of not 
 knowing when to leave off, 240 ; small number of, who 
 
INDEX. 267 
 
 have done anything great for mankind, 244; compared 
 
 to mules carrying burdens in mountainous countries, 
 
 246. 
 Men, the greatest, compared to fig-trees in England, 192. 
 Men, great, imaginative, never utterly enslaved by their 
 
 functions, 200. 
 Men of genius, their comparative youthfulness results 
 
 from their fine sense of proportion, 243. 
 Men of the world, self-sufficiency of, 148; their probable 
 
 objection to the proposed remedies for " the great sin of 
 
 great cities," 149; reply to their objection, 149. 
 Mendoza, an instance that literature is compatible with 
 
 action, 71. 
 Mental preparation for travelling essential, 195. 
 Metaphor, probably the introducer of frightful errors, 22; 
 
 essential in narration, 22. 
 Metastasio, passage from, 190. 
 Milton, an instance of the compatibility of literature with 
 
 action, 72; his "Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce,'* 
 
 arguments contained therein not easily answered, 147. 
 Mind, repose of, gained by travel, 198. 
 Minister of education, duties which might devolve on one, 
 
 104. 
 Ministers of religion, their temptations to err, 106. 
 Mirabeau, men like him will have an aversion to the 
 
 "great sin of great cities," 113. 
 Miseries of private life require to be kept down by wise 
 
 and good thoughts, 41. 
 Misfortune often makes men ungenerous, 51. 
 Misfortunes exercise all the moods and faculties of a man, 
 
 172; wise way of dealing with them, 174; mean, often 
 
 most difficult to bear, 184. 
 Misplaced labor, quantity of, 7; observable in schools, col- 
 leges, and parliaments, 12. 
 Modern cultivation does not necessarily tend to subdue 
 
 greatness, 229. 
 
268 INDEX. 
 
 Motiomaniacs, too little account taken of them, 176. 
 Moral writings, the great triumph of, 59. 
 Murillo, pictures of, truly admired only by a kindred gen- 
 ius, 204. 
 
 N. 
 
 Napoleon, his invasion of Russia a good opportunity for 
 working out his errors, 13; an instance that literature is 
 compatible with great actions, 71 ; probable effect of his 
 worldly wisdom in not remembering too much his Rus- 
 sian campaign, 173. 
 
 Nations, benefits arising from intercommunication of, 203 ; 
 differences between, small when compared with their 
 resemblances, 203. 
 
 Native land, a serious place to every man, 198. 
 
 Nature, considerable address required to cope with her, 12 ; 
 goodness of, in permitting error, 20; habitual apprecia- 
 tion of, to be cultivated, 207. 
 
 Neatness spoilt by being carried too far, 240. 
 
 Neglect, aids in bearing it, 180. 
 
 Newton, change of study his recreation, 186. 
 
 o. 
 
 Obloquy, consolation in bearing it, 175. 
 
 Obstruction to be encountered by men in power, 6$' 
 
 Obtrusiveness of thoughts, 17. 
 
 Officers of State ought to prevent much private expense in 
 
 law, 9. 
 Opinion, the general body of, very fluent, 175. 
 Originality, diseased desire for, 230. 
 
 Parents, ill management of, a common cause of " the 
 
 great sin of great cities," 92. 
 Parliaments an instance of misplaced labor, 12. 
 
INDEX. 269 
 
 Paternal duties, imperative, 165; difficult to fulfil, 166; 
 
 forgetfulness of, encourages immorality, 167. 
 Peace brings with it a sensation of power, 79. 
 Pedagogues, most men become such, 245. 
 Peel, Sir Robert, his death inopportune, 210; his good 
 
 qualities, 211; great loss in him, 213; sketch of his 
 
 character, 222. 
 Peerages for life desirable, 213. 
 Pensions should generally be given to the persons who 
 
 could have done the things for which such rewards are 
 
 given, but who have not done them, 74. 
 People, modern, a mass of confusion, 352. 
 Pine wood, description of one, 78. 
 
 Pharisees pronounced the choice society of the world, 88. 
 Philosophy, sobriety of mind from, 187. 
 Physical works, waste and obstruction in, 12. 
 Plato, his harsh opinion of poets accounted for, 22. 
 Plausibility makes injustice hard to unravel, 124. 
 Pleasure, Spanish verses on, 17; past, Sydney Smith's 
 
 opinion of, 18; falls into no plan, 79. 
 Politics, greater things may be done out of them than in 
 
 them, 19. 
 Poor, the limited education of, a mistake, 161 ; room for 
 
 improvement in dealings with, 216. 
 •Pope Alexander the Sixth, to blame for the post-office 
 
 regulations, 27. 
 Portrait painting compared to the copies of Leonardo da 
 
 Vinci's fresco of the Last Supper, 23. 
 Poverty, the removal of, a remedy for *' the great sin of 
 
 great cities,' 99; two kinds of, 99; women endure an 
 
 undue proportion of it, 144. 
 Power, in rising to it, men fail to learn how to use it, 102. 
 Practical wisdom in dealing with vexations, 174. 
 Preachers, topics of, too limited, 217. 
 Pride chastises with heavier hand than Penitence, 185; of 
 
 man prevents his knowing when to leave off, 250. 
 
270 INDEX. 
 
 Priests should facilitate the intercommunication between 
 rich and poor, 103. 
 
 Private opinions on important subjects, by whom to be 
 indulged in, 57. 
 
 Property, facilities should be afforded for the poor to be- 
 come owners of, loi. 
 
 Proportion, want of, makes men one-sided, 243 ; compara- 
 tive youthfulness of men of genius results from their 
 fine sense of, 243 ; its importaiice shown in chemistry, 
 243 ; want of, accounts for the rarity of beautiful be- 
 havior, 247. 
 
 Protestantism, disadvantage of its closed churches, 218. 
 
 Proverbs seldom true except for the occasion on which 
 they are used, 59. 
 
 Prudence a substantial virtue here, 7. 
 
 Public meeting, noise made by a man there proportioned 
 to his ignorance of the subject, 27. 
 
 Public notaries suggested, 9. 
 
 Public opinion, triumph of, over duelling, 151. 
 
 Punctiliousness spoilt by being carried too far, 240. 
 
 Puritan, absurd, the correlative of a wicked Pope, 27. 
 
 Puritanism, thoughts on, 30; good as an abnegation of 
 self, 30; when an evil, 31. 
 
 Q: 
 
 Qiiaker, conversation of one, 29. 
 
 R. 
 
 Railway legislation required earlier Government inter- 
 ference, 6<,. 
 
 Raphael, pictures of, truly admired only by a kindred 
 genius, 204. 
 
 Rational pleasures difficult to define, 28. 
 
 Reason, the hold of the Church on, considered, 216. 
 
 Reasoning powers require development in women, 107. 
 
INDEX. 271 
 
 Recollection one of the main delights of a journey, 
 194. 
 
 Reflection on past ambitions, sadness of, 19. 
 
 Reform, slow progress of, 153. 
 
 Reformers, reproach made against, 152; objects of, 151. 
 
 Regret, almost infinite, at having missed the one desired 
 happiness, 188. 
 
 Remedies, political, often come too late, 212. 
 
 Remorse a main obstacle to outward improvement, 85. 
 
 Relations of life, the great, difficult of performance, 92. 
 
 Religion, comfort of mind, from, 187; room for improve- 
 ment in the proceedings of the state with respect to, 213 ; 
 probable mischief produced bj degrading views of, 215; 
 thoughts on, should not be suppressed, 216. 
 
 Religious spirit, deficiency of, not concealed by outward 
 deeds, 150. 
 
 Repining person, speech made to one, 58. 
 
 Representation and transfer of property, improvement in, 
 a means of enabling the wages, of the poor to go fur- 
 ther, 100. 
 
 Respectability, undue care for, amongst men, 229. 
 
 Responsibility of writing does not grow less, 251. 
 
 Retired allowances for servants suggested, no. 
 
 Retrospect not a very safe or wise thing, 45 ; cannot be 
 avoided, 45 ; how the process of, differs from that pur- 
 sued by Alnaschar, in the Arabian Nights, 45. 
 
 Retrospection, excessive, to be avoided, 89. 
 
 Reveries, various forms of, 61. 
 
 Ridicule, fear of, amongst young men, 230. 
 
 Rochefoucauld probably a dupe to impulses and affection 
 
 51- 
 Roman Catholics, some things might be adopted from 
 
 them in forming a Church, 217. 
 Roman Emperors, the probably maligned, 175. 
 Rouen, scene in the Cathedral there, 217. 
 Russian Campaign, a, experienced by most men, 13. 
 
272 • INDEX. 
 
 S. 
 
 Sanitary measures, delay in, 66. 
 
 Sanatory reform gives additional power and freedom to 
 mankind, 226. 
 
 Satire becomes narrative when aimed at the Law, 10. 
 
 Savings, the investment of, a question of the highest im- 
 portance, lOI. 
 
 Scandal a resource against dulness, 36. 
 
 Schools an instance of misplaced labor, 12. 
 
 Schoolmasters would form a good means of communica- 
 tion with the poor, 106. 
 
 Schoolmistresses would form a good means of communi- 
 cation with the poor, 106. 
 
 Scriptures, the, probable misrepresentations of, 23. 
 
 Seduction a poor transaction, 163. 
 
 Self-denial, when to be admired, 31. 
 
 Self-inflicted suflfering which cannot be turned to account 
 for others, a loss, 30. 
 
 Self-restraint the great tutor, 95. 
 
 Sermons, competition in length of, 33 ; those we preach 
 for ourselves always interesting, 1 19 ; too many preached 
 217. 
 
 Shaftesbury, an instance of the compatibility of literature 
 with action, 72. 
 
 Shelley, lines of his applied to love, 112. 
 
 Shrewd writers often the most easy to impose upon, 51, 
 
 Sidney, an instance that literature is compatible with ac- 
 tion, 71. 
 
 Silence, the great fellow-workman, 224. 
 
 Sins, easy to manufacture, 31. 
 
 Small anxieties hard to bear, 184; art in managing them, 
 185; hard to dismiss, 186. 
 
 Small errors often alter the course of a man's life, 14. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, his opinion of past pleasure, 18. 
 
 Smoke, suppression of, 153. 
 
 Social abuses, erroneous views of, 85. 
 
INDEX. 373 
 
 Social disabilities, the removal of, would give room for 
 freedom of thought and action, 328. 
 
 Social evils compared to old trees, 66; importance of una- 
 nimity with respect to, 151. 
 
 Social life, returns for causes of suffering in, suggested, 
 41 ; men ill prepared for, 197 ; how to fit man for, 197. 
 
 Social pleasures not necessarily wrong, 29; afford scope 
 for charity, 34. 
 
 Social troubles equal to national ones, 42. 
 
 Socialism put forward to fill the void of government, 102. 
 
 Socrates, his philosophy cannot be imitated here in Eng- 
 land, 7. 
 
 Somers, an instance of the compatibility of literature with 
 action, 72. 
 
 Spanish colonists in America, the first, beg that lawyers 
 may not go out to their colony, 10. 
 
 Spanish poetry, quotation from, on pleasure, I7' 
 
 Spanish proverbs, 88. 
 
 Stars, the, thoughts suggested by their aspect, 198; speak 
 significantly to. all, 253. 
 
 Statesmanship, one of its great arts, 37 ; always appears 
 to come too late, 63. 
 
 Statesmen, to be looked up to as protectors from lawyers, 
 9; two different things demanded from, 65; their indi- 
 vidual temperament affects government, 68; tempera- 
 ment desirable for, 68 ; principles to be inculcated in, 69 ; 
 work of, compared with that of a lawyer, 172. 
 
 St. John, an instance of the compatibility of literature 
 with action, 72. 
 
 Success depends upon the temperament of a man, 56; in 
 life, man's faculties inadequate to, 15. 
 
 Sudden distress and destitution amongst young women, 
 how to be averted, 103. 
 
 Sun, the, worshipped by few idolaters, 191 ; his simple 
 form provoked no desire to worship, 192 ; all nature 
 bending slightly forwards in a supplicating attitude to 
 him, might be visible to finer senses, 192. 
 18 
 
274 INDEX. 
 
 Superabundance, error of, in the vices of mankind a field 
 
 for it, 241. 
 Swift, his imaginings not more absurd than transactions 
 
 in the law, 10. 
 Sylla, his retirement majestic, 242. 
 Systems save the trouble of thinking,.69. 
 
 Teaching difficult from want of distinct convictions, 22. 
 
 Temperament, the best for success described, 56. 
 
 Temple, Sir William, an instance of the compatibility of 
 literature with action, 72. 
 
 Theology, science of, would not have existed if all clergy- 
 men had been Christians, 156. 
 
 Thoughts at the mercy of accident, 156 ; reason for main- 
 taining them long on the mind, 237. 
 
 Time, every thing a function of, 244; needful demands on, 
 244. 
 
 Timidity of mind renders women the victims of conven- 
 tionality, IC7. 
 
 Tiresomeness belongs not to virtue alone, 238. 
 
 Titian, pictures of, truly admired only by a kindred gen- 
 ius, 204. 
 
 Tragedy, different phases of, 155. 
 
 Translation compared to the copies of Leonardo da Vinci's 
 fresco of The Last' Supper, 23. 
 
 Traveller, anecdote of one, 205. 
 
 Travellers, hints to, on their behavior, 209. 
 
 Travelling in a carriage, delights of, 140; must improve 
 all men, 159; ancient mode of, compared with modern, 
 
 , 196; advantages of, 198-201; enjoyments of, 201. 
 
 Truth sustains great loss in Church questions, 24; carries 
 in its hand all earthly and all heavenly consolations, 171. 
 
 Tyranny of the weak, a fertile subject, 37 ; by whom exer- 
 cised, 38; why endured, 38; the generous great sufferers 
 from, 38; compared to an evil government, 38; great in 
 
INDEX. 275 
 
 quiet times, 38; analysis of, 38; its cessation suggested, 
 39; a common form of it, 39: reason for putting a limit 
 to it, 39. 
 
 u. 
 
 Uncharitable speeches, a fear of, the incentive to many 
 
 courses of evil, 91. 
 Uncultivated people seldom just or tolerant, 142. 
 Unhappiness, regret at having missed the one desired 
 
 happiness a common form of, 188; medicaments for this 
 
 form of, 188. 
 
 V. 
 
 Vanity arises from blindness to proportion, 153. 
 
 Variety found in travelling diverts the mind, 198. 
 
 Vice, its usual victims, 97. 
 
 Vices, some of the most dangerous flourish most in soli- 
 tude, 29; of mankind, a field for the error of supera- 
 bundance, 241. 
 
 Violence always loss, 18. 
 
 Virgil, quotation from, 235. 
 
 Virtuous, the charity recommended to them, 88. 
 
 Visual image, which should change according to the want 
 of truth in the comments upon the person seen, im- 
 agined, 179. 
 
 w. 
 
 Wages of poor, improvement in dwellings a means of 
 making them go further, 100; improvement in the rep- 
 resentation and transfer of property a means of enabling 
 them to go further, loi. 
 
 Wisdom an aid in bearing injustice, 183. 
 
 Women brought up here to be incompetent to the man- 
 agement of affairs, 11 ; their fondness for merit a cause 
 of their frailty, 94; rarely deceived by theories about 
 equality, 94; immense importance of a better education 
 to them, 107; love personal talk, 128; do not always 
 
276 INDEX. 
 
 understand each other, 136; some of the highest natures 
 amongst them may be found in the lowest ranks, 141 ; 
 have to endure an undue proportion of poverty, 143 ; a 
 wrong appreciation of their powers circumscribe their 
 means of employment, 144; generally deficient in meth- 
 od, 144; want accuracy, 144^ new sources of employ- 
 ment might be opened to them, 145 ; government not fit 
 for them, 145 ; more slavish to small conventionalities 
 than men, 234. 
 
 World, the, its advancement depends upon the use of 
 small balances of advantage over disadvantage, 13; no 
 one discovery resuscitates it, 13 ; its want of ingenuity 
 and arrangement in not providing employment for its 
 unemployed, 145; always correcting its opinions, 175. 
 
 World, we are in the thick of one of misunderstanding, 
 haste, blindness, passion, indolence, and private inter- 
 est, 183. 
 
 Workwomen, small wages of, 100. 
 
 Would-be teachers, suggestions to, 25. 
 
 Writer, a, often requires less to make things logically clear 
 to men, than to put them into the mood he wishes to 
 have them in, 115. 
 
 Y. 
 
 Youth, beauty of, 114; modern, cause of their shyness and 
 
 coldness, 233. 
 Young talent not made just use of, 231. 
 
 Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by John Wilson & Son. 
 
ARTHUE HELPS'S WETTINGS. 
 
 Realmah. i6mo. ^2.00. 
 
 Casimir Maremma. i6mo. 
 ^2.00. 
 
 Companions of my Solitude. 
 i6mo. ^1.50. 
 
 Essays written in the Inter- 
 vals of Business. i6mo. 
 ^1.50. 
 
 Brevia : Short Essays and Aphor- 
 isms. i6mo. ^1.50. 
 
 Conversations on War and 
 
 General Culture. lamo. 
 
 $1.50. 
 Thoughts upon Government. 
 
 8vo. ^2.25. 
 Ivan De Biron. i2mo; j?2.25. 
 Brassey's Life and Labors. 
 
 8vo. ^2.50. 
 Social Pressure. i2mo. ^2.25. 
 
 From the London Review. 
 "The tale [Realmah] is a comparatively brief one, intersected by the 
 conversations of a variety of able personages, with most of whose names and 
 characters we are already familiar through 'Friends in Comicil.' Looking at it 
 in connection with the social and political lessons that are wrapt up in it, we may 
 fairly attribute to it a higher value than could possibly attach to a common piece 
 of fiction." 
 
 Front a notice by Miss E. M. Converse. 
 
 "There are many reasons why we like this irregular book [Realmah], in 
 which we should find the dialogue tedious without the story ; the story dull 
 without the dialogue; and the whole unmeaning, unless we discerned the 
 purpose of the author underlying the lines, and interweaving, now here, now 
 there, a criticism, a suggestion, an aphorism, a quaint illustration, an exhorta- 
 tion, a metaphysical deduction, or a moral inference. 
 
 " We like a book in which we are not bound to read consecutively, whose 
 leaves we can turn at pleasure and find on every page something to amuse, inter- 
 est, and instruct. It is like a charming walk in the woods in early summer, where 
 we are attracted now to a lowly flower half hidden under soft moss ; now to a 
 shrub brilliant with showy blossoms ; now to the grandeur of a spreading tree; 
 now to a bit of fleecy cioud ; and now to the blue of the overarching sky. 
 
 " We gladly place 'Realmah' on the ' book-lined wall,' by the side of other 
 chosen friends, — the sharp, terse sayings of the ' Doctor ; ' the suggestive utter- 
 ances of the ' Noctes ; ' the sparkling and brilliant thoughts of ' Montaigne ; ' 
 and the gentle teachings of the charming ' Elia.' " 
 
 From a notice by Miss H. ,JV. Preston. 
 
 " It must be because the reading world is unregenerate that Arthur Helps 
 is not a general favorite. Somebody once said (was it Ruskin, at whose imperious 
 order so many of us read ' Friends in Council,' a dozen years ago ?) that apprecia- 
 tion of _ Helps is a sure test of culture. Not so much that, one may Suggest, as of 
 a certain native fineness and excellence of mind. The impression prevails among 
 some of those who do not read him that Helps is a hard writer. Nothing could 
 b^more erroneous. His manner is simplicity itself ; his speech always winning, 
 and of a silvery distinctness. There are hosts of ravenous readers, lively and 
 capable, wlio, if their vague prejudice were removed, would exceedingly enjoy 
 the gentle wit, the unassuming wisdom, and the refreshing originality of the author 
 in question. There are men and women, mostly young, with souls that some- 
 times weary of the serials, who need nothing so much as a persuasive guide to the 
 study of worthier and more enduring literature. For most of those who read 
 novels with avidity are capable of reading something else with avidity, if they 
 only knew it. And such a guide, and pleasantest of all such guides, is Arthur 
 Helps. . . . Yet 'Casimir Maremma' is a charming book, and, better still, 
 invigorating. Try it. You are going into the country for th^e summer months 
 that remain. Have 'Casimir' with you, and have 'Realmah,' too. The for- 
 mer is the pleasanter book, the latter the more powerful. But, if you like one, you 
 will like the other. At the least, you will rise from their perusal with a grateful 
 sense 01 having been received for a time into a select and happy circle, where 
 intellectual breeding is perfect, and the struggle for brilliancy unknown." 
 
 Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, on receipt of advertised price, by tht 
 Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publicatiojis. 
 
 QUIET HOURS. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF POEMS, MEDITATIVE 
 AND RELIGIOUS. 
 
 " Under this modest title we have here about a hundred and fiftj of the best 
 short poems in the language. The compiler, whoever she is, has a rare taste, and 
 also, what is equally valuable, good judgment. The poems are on all subjects. 
 This dainty little volume is just the book for a Christmas or New Year's gift." 
 — Petersonls Magazine. 
 
 " Such a book as this seems to us much better adapted than any formal book 
 of devotion to beget a calm and prayerful spirit in the reader. It will no doubt 
 become a dear companion to many earnestly religious people." — Christian 
 Register. 
 
 " * Quiet Hours' is the appropriate title which some unnamed compiler has given 
 to a collection of musings of many writers — a nosegay made up of some slighter, 
 choicer, and more delicate flowers from the garden of the poets. Emerson, 
 Chadwick, Higginson, Arnold, Whittier, and Clough, are represented, as well as 
 Coleridge, Browning, Wordsworth, and Tennyson ; and the selections widely 
 vary in character, ranging from such as relate to the moods and aspects of na- 
 ture, to voices of the soul when most deeply stirred.' * — Congregationalist. 
 
 i8mo, cloth, red edges. Price $i.oo. Sold by all Book- 
 sellers. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, 
 
 Boston, 
 
RETURN 
 
 CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 
 
 202 Main Library 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 HOME USE 
 
 2 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 1 -month loans may be renewed by colling 642-3405 
 
 6-month loans may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation Desk 
 
 Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due dote 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 fee 20 1982 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 FORM NO. DD6, 60m, 12/80 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
Yr^^iaai 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY