EARLY PAPERS 
 
 SOME MEMORIES 
 
 HENRY MORLEY, LL.D., 
 
 EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE AT 
 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON 
 
 LONDON 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited 
 
 Broadway, Ludgate Hill 
 GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK 
 
 189I 
 
CO'NTENTS, 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Some Memories . . . . .9 
 
 How TO MAKE Home Unhealthy (1850) . . 35 
 
 No. I. — Hints to Hang up in the Nursery . 37 
 
 No. II.— The Londoner's Garden . . 40 
 No. III. — Spending a very Pleasant Evening 44 
 
 No. IV.— The Light Nuisance . . 49 
 
 No. V. — Passing the Bottle . . -53 
 
 No. VL— Art against Appetite . . 58 
 
 No. VII. — The Water Party . . '63 
 
 No. VIII. — Filling the Grave . . 68 
 
 No. IX.— The Fire and the Dressing-room . 72 
 
 No. X.— Fresh Air . . . .78 
 
 No. XL— Exercise . . . .84 
 
 No. XII.— A Bedroom Paper . . .88 
 
 A Defence of Ignorance (185 i) . . -97 
 
 The Opening Address . . -98 
 
 Ignorance of the Middle Classes . . 104 
 
 Ignorance of the Poor . . .127 
 
 Ignorance at the Universities . . 147 
 
 The Ladies' Drawing-room . . .163 
 
 Papers from "Household Words" (1850-1857) : 
 
 Ten Years Old . . . .183 
 
 Brother Mieth and his Brothers . . 193 
 Black Monday .... 207 
 
 Something that Shakespeare Lost . -215 
 
 L 
 
Contents. 
 
 
 Lanna Tixel 
 
 . 224 
 
 Apothecaries 
 
 . 240 
 
 The Club Surgeon : 
 
 . 260 
 
 Buying a Practice* . 
 
 . 271 
 
 Pulling Through"^ 
 
 . 280 
 
 School-Keeping 
 
 . 296 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1841— 1848. 
 
 The Dream of the Lily-Bell . . -315 
 
 Our Lady's Miracle .... 324 
 Sunrise in Italy .... 330 
 
 Nemophil . . . . -345 
 
 A Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation 360 
 
 A Tract upon Interrupted Health and Sick- 
 room Duties .... 376 
 
 Added from All the Year Round, 1859, 
 
Laudamus veteres, nostris tamen utimur annis." 
 
 (GOWER, Vox Clamantis.) 
 
SOME MEMORIES. 
 
 In great and small there is a like instinct of self-preservation. 
 Let me have leave, then, to be such a gosling as to obey 
 instinct, when I seek to reunite the past and present of a 
 life of work that has, by accident and course of time, been 
 cut in two. 
 
 Those earlier books and papers which it is proposed 
 now to reissue in volumes uniform with English Writers 
 were first published while I was putting off the work to 
 which I then hoped, if time lasted, to give the riper part of 
 life. It seemed right to defer formal use of a small measure 
 of knowledge that could only be approached through years 
 of study and experience, at least until the age at which man 
 knows himself a fool. "At thirty man suspects himself a fool," 
 or did so in the days of Dr. Edward Young ; — " knows it at 
 forty, and reforms his plan." The writer of these Memories 
 did, in fact, soon after the age of forty, form anew his plan 
 of work. Since then, during the thirty years that men count 
 as a generation, he has tried to spend his life on the one 
 service for which, if for anything, it might be made a little 
 fit. While so doing he has suffered lapse of time to 
 separate his present from his past, for want of care over the 
 work done when he lived among the grandfathers and 
 fathers of the present generation, and found them kind. 
 
 The " Memories" that go with this attempt to join again 
 the severed parts of a life's work are only intended to recall 
 such old relations of work to outward circumstances as lie 
 in the life of every labourer ; haps and mishaps, however, 
 
 I B 
 
to' ' ' ' ' ' '' ' ■ Sovie' Memories. 
 
 that when told may even sometimes interpret action, and 
 make the past of one touch helpfully the future of another. 
 
 In the year 1848 I had been engaged during four years 
 in the general practice of medicine in a mining district on 
 the banks of the Severn. It was a year of revolution in 
 Europe, full of interest for me ; and a year of revolution in 
 my own life, big with fate. From earliest childhood it had 
 been determined that I was to follow in my father's steps, 
 and I never harboured in my own mind any thought what- 
 ever of a change of calling until thought of change was 
 forced upon me in that year of Revolution, 1848. 
 
 The most loving pains were taken to bend the twig as it- 
 was meant to grow. When I was taught, as a boy, drawing 
 and painting, it was stipulated that skulls and bones painted 
 by me from nature should have their turn among the 
 charcoal heads and sunset cottages. At fourteen and 
 fifteen I translated the whole of a stout German work upon 
 Anatomy, Krause's. My father re- wrote the crude stuff I 
 produced into good medical English ; Dr. John Forbes, who 
 had suggested in the Medico- Chirurgical Review a trans- 
 lation of the book, which then was new, with kind encourage- 
 ment looked over the MS. prepared for press ; and a rash 
 publisher had agreed to produce it as a speculation of his 
 own. But the wheel of Fortune did not wait to let him add 
 that to the other causes of his bankruptcy. When I went to a 
 country town for schoolboy holidays, I was made free of the 
 infirmary, and was allowed, as a young dog of the regiment, 
 to look on at the practice of the surgeons and physicians. I 
 sat by them regularly on out-patients' days, and still look 
 back with interest to lessons learnt from them when nearly 
 every experience was new. 
 
 Nothing in this continuous endeavour to put the purposes 
 of life into my training was in any way distasteful. I honoured 
 the profession of medicine in itself, and loved it in the pure 
 and true life of my father. IJut something that would grow 
 
Some Memories. 1 1 
 
 into a love of literature was, from the first, immeasurably 
 stronger than all other intellectual desires. Not long passed 
 out of pot-hooks and hangers into shaped letters, I wrote 
 something I called a play; and even remember now the gleeful 
 spouting to my father of a truly simple incantation in it, which 
 shows that in the short course of that very little piece, which 
 may or may not have been generally terrifying. Envy rose 
 U}) from her home in hell. There was full supply of the old 
 Fairy Tales, with the Arabian Nights, the Sevefi Champions 
 of Christendom, and Tales of the Genii. Beyond these sources 
 of constant delight, there was free pasturage among my 
 father's books. Tonson's 1688 folio of Paradise Lost, the 
 first illustrated edition, caught me very early by its pictures, 
 and these caused me to lie on the floor spelling out their 
 story from the text. As a child of eight at school I was 
 appointed to tell stories to the dormitory. I scribbled con- 
 stantly tales, rhymes, rhymes, rhymes ; and wrote in blank 
 verse, at fifteen, two five-act plays, one on the Messenian 
 hero, Aristonie?ies, the other, called The Feasant, an invented 
 tale of feudal tyranny. Such memories are of nothing, and 
 of less than nothing, except the existence from the first of 
 a delight in literature that was the master-passion. It was 
 never checked, because it never seemed to be opposed to 
 the appointed way of life. I dreamed dreams also in those 
 days, and saw waking visions, mere illusions of the sight, but 
 I never dreamed, not even in 1848, that there was bread to 
 be earned some day simply by doing that which I liked best 
 to do. 
 
 There was encouragement, and not complaint, at home. 
 I worked my way by rote at mathematics, and climbed up 
 into the regions of the Differential Calculus without any real 
 knowledge of the ground, or any pleasure at all in the 
 climbing. But languages were worked at with a very real 
 enjoyment — for love, chiefly, of the poets who wrote in 
 them. There may have been some faint foreshadowing of 
 
 B 2 
 
12 Sonte Memories. 
 
 seventeen years spent afterwards in newspaper work when, in 
 the fifth form of a Grammar School, I issued on Thursdays a 
 miniature weekly paper, ruled in columns, and arranged as a 
 burlesque of more important news sheets. School news was 
 dished up in boyish caricature of the newspaper style, and 
 there was a "Weather Table" which gave figurative detail of 
 the daily course of change in the Head Master's temper. 
 When a new number of this paper came out, it went the 
 round of the fifth and sixth forms during school time. One 
 week the Head Master pounced upon it. He was a gentle- 
 man and a scholar, whom we all respected, notwithstanding 
 variations of his temper under constant trial by us all. 
 Finding that I was editor of this unlicensed sheet, he called 
 me up and boxed my ears, but did not trouble himself to for- 
 bid future issues. Few would have been so lenient ; but he 
 was wise, for he put new strength into the loyalty with which 
 I always had regarded him. Schoolboys, like other folk, can 
 sometimes laugh at those they love. And I think I was not 
 idle in schoolwork, though I found much time for work of 
 my own choosing, and was then passing into the nominal 
 sixth form, which contained only the four head-boys of the 
 school, sharing in many things the studies of the fifth. 
 
 About this time I wrote an article in the Foreig?i Quarterly 
 Review^ at the request of its editor. Dr. Worthington, who had 
 been in very early years one of my teachers. Thence his 
 goodwill. The article was a mere digest of a new German 
 book upon Greece, with some translated extracts. It was the 
 first work of tlie pen for which I received payment. The 
 payment was an order upon David Nutt, in the Strand, for 
 ten pounds' worth of foreign books of my own choosing. 
 That collection was the beginning of a little library that grew 
 slowly and surely, and filled a room in 1848, when it was 
 scattered in what seemed to be the wreck of all my 
 fortunes. 
 
 There was a novel written also in those days, and read as it 
 
Some Memories. 13 
 
 was written, chapter by chapter, to a home circle of the moit 
 lenient critics in the world. All this is memory of nothing, 
 and of less than nothing, except, as before said, of the 
 existence of an unchecked bent of Nature that gained strength 
 until it formed a barrier on the appointed pathway to success 
 in hfe. 
 
 The charter of the University of London was signed in 
 November 1836. On leaving school, I passed, in 1838, one 
 of the earliest of the matriculation examinations of that 
 University, and became a student in King's College, London. 
 The College was then only seven years old, for it had been 
 first opened to students in October 1831. At King's College 
 I worked for the next five years — from sixteen to twenty-one — 
 in the two faculties of Arts and Medicine, continuing school 
 studies for two years or more in the Faculty of Arts, while 
 studying at first in a few and then in more and more classes 
 of the Faculty of INIedicine. 
 
 The foundation of the degree-giving University of London 
 had suggested to my father that I should graduate in it as 
 M.D., and take licence for general practice from the Society 
 of Apothecaries, then already distinguishing itself as a pioneer 
 in the reform of medical education. Ill-satisfied with the 
 slower movements of the College of Surgeons, of which he 
 was himself a member, my father wished that I should study 
 surgery for its own sake, medicine as a profession. I was 
 not to fill up in the usual way from year to year the schedule 
 of attendances required from those who meant to pTss " the 
 College". 
 
 Frequent days of severe headache had caused my father 
 to sell his practice on the Middlesex side of the Thames, 
 and, retaining only those of his patients who lived on the 
 Surrey side, he had removed from 100, Hatton Garden (a 
 house since pulled down), to 2, Harleyford Place, Kenning- 
 ton. From Kennington I walked every morning to King's 
 College, and from King's College to Kennington every 
 
14 Some Memories. 
 
 evening, until hospital work made it necessary to be lodged 
 in town. Reduced means brought no reduction in the liber- 
 ality of a good father's help to make me what I never have 
 become. I was supplied with perpetual tickets to many a 
 course that was not set down in the required curriculum. I 
 attended courses of John Phillips on Geology, of Rymer J ones 
 on Comparative Anatomy, joined also all the herbarising 
 expeditions that David Don took with those students of his 
 Botany class who were willing to give alternate Saturdays to 
 work in woods and fields. I walked regularly to the Botanic 
 Gardens at Chelsea on the summer mornings when John 
 Lindley gave his nine o'clock lecture there, and then walked 
 on from Chelsea to the Strand. There was unstinted access 
 to " parts" for dissection, and when a Chemical Laboratory 
 was opened for the practical instruction of students, I joined 
 it, and worked in it for two sessions. There was no distaste 
 for any of this work, nor a moment's thought of any other 
 calling in life than that for which I seemed to have been 
 set apart from the beginning. But there went with this a 
 good deal of hard work at what was, for a medical student, 
 idleness ; all hours that could be given, and very many that 
 could not honestly be given, were spent on that pursuit 
 of Literature which seemed only to be a fruitless self- 
 indulgence. 
 
 There was a fellow-student, long since dead, Christopher 
 Wharton Mann, whose translation of Schiller's Robbers I 
 have used in my edition of Schiller's poems and plays as 
 they have all been translated by different hands into English. 
 AVe were alike devoted to the poets, and both scribbled 
 verse. We came upon a student at St. Bartholomew's, 
 Charles H. Hitchings, who shared our tastes. He, too, died 
 early in life, after publishing a small volume of musical verse 
 from which he would have advanced to work of higher aims 
 if life h;id lasted. VV^e three medical students formed a small 
 confederation of rh)mers for common enjoyment of the 
 
Some Memories. 15 
 
 poets, and for freest criticism of one another. We called 
 ourselves the Owl Club ; one was Ulula, one was Aziola, and 
 I was Screech. We were ready to admit more birds into the 
 nest if we had found them. We met daily as friends, once a 
 week as the club, when each read what he supposed to be 
 the best piece of work done by him since the last meeting. 
 Upon each Owl's work there was the frankest criticism from 
 the other two. When any paper came up to the Owls' 
 standard of excellence, it was stamped with the great seal of 
 the club, that represented an owl flying, with the Athenian 
 proverb for success, V\av^ I'TrraTui. In all this there is 
 nothing but a feather flying with the wind. 
 
 The first piece in a little volume of verse published by me 
 in 1845, and named after it "The Dream of the Lilybell", was 
 written in 1841 for the Owls, and it obtained their seal, 
 though they said afterwards that my way of reading it had 
 lulled them out of a right sense of its faults. Those faults 
 are manifest enough, and may be found by any reader of the 
 piece in the Appendix to this volume. 
 
 Then we persuaded the good-natured William Houlston, 
 whose bookseller's shop— Houlston and Hughes, 154, Strand 
 — was a few doors from the College, and a place of resort for 
 bookish students, that he should oblige us by taking on 
 himself the risk and honour of publishing, in monthly num- 
 bers, a Kiiigs College Magazine. So he did, and a number 
 appeared monthly, from July 1841 until December 1842, 
 when regard for final examinations due before the end of 
 1843 compelled me to give up that way of wasting time. 
 The magazine, when completed, formed two volumes, to 
 which I had contributed, as a continuous tale, my schoolboy 
 novel, Ellerton Castle, with many verses under several sig- 
 natures; also translations of Lessing's Emilia Galotti, and of 
 the Hynuis to Night of Novalis. Mann wrote for it a verse 
 translation of the Prometheus Bound, besides his version of 
 The Robbers, and many verses of his own. Among the con- 
 
1^ Some Memories. 
 
 tributors we most valued was Edward Hayes Plumptre, the 
 late Dean of Wells, who had then not long left King's Col- 
 lege for Oxford. We had from him two good papers on 
 Church Monuments. Another clever contributor was one 
 of the most brilliant students in the medical department, who 
 became known as a writer upon matters of curious learning 
 when settled afterwards at Liverpool as a physician, Dr. 
 Thomas Inman. But he and all the young contributors of 
 those days are now dead, except myself and one other. 
 
 While the King's College Magazine was appearing, I was 
 also, alas, writing from month to month what purported to 
 be a comic novel — The Life and Adventures of Fitzroy Pike — 
 in successive numbers of the old Monthly Magazine. I had 
 sent the first chapters of it to the magazine, not knowing who 
 was editor. It proved to be John Anthony Heraud, a poet 
 whose imperfect sense of fun qualified him admirably for the 
 acceptance of my venture. The novel was not finished when 
 Heraud gave up his interest in the old Monthly to Captain 
 Basil Hall, and there was a good excuse for ending the life 
 of Fitzroy Pike by asking payment for the months yet left of 
 it. On the other side it was wisely decided, to my great 
 satisfaction, that the story could be continued, but could not 
 be paid for. And so that feather on the wind flew by. 
 
 A thwarting bias thus caused thought and labour to run 
 out of their appointed course. University examinations 
 were deferred until changes at home had put them out of 
 question. Dr. W. A. Guy, good friend of after years, spoke 
 of me one day, in talking to students who came about him 
 after a medical jurisprudence lecture, as one who might have 
 done some good in medicine, but whose going after strange 
 books would at last bring him to ruin. In the days when 
 I lodged near the hospital, like many another student, I 
 brought down frequently the cost of dinner to a penny loaf 
 and glass of milk, that there might be money for books, 
 and for the occasional hearing of good music or good plays. 
 
Some Mcniories. 17 
 
 It may be that the youth doomed to ruin gave as much time 
 as an average student to professional studies ; but as he hked 
 work, and was strong for it, he could have given more than 
 twice as much, if the love towards strange books had not 
 diverted him from duty. I may have worked fairly, for I came 
 to be chosen as physician's assistant to Dr. George Budd, 
 keeping his casebooks in the hospital and making \^q post 
 inortevis^ and I was elected secretary by the Students' Medical 
 Society, unworthy successor in that office to such men as 
 William Allen Miller and William Bowman. I remember 
 also that, although one paper read by me to the Society was 
 of mere curiosity, on Spontaneous Combustion, another was 
 strictly professional, and written with some care, upon Minute 
 Diagnosis in Diseases of the Brain. Let it be said also that 
 I had not lost the old regard for my profession, although it 
 was overclouded by a stronger passion, the deepest interest 
 being in science studies that brought home a sense of the 
 great harmonies of nature, .and made one feel God as the 
 Master Poet. There were times when the marvellous apti- 
 tudes revealed within the little world of a man's body pro- 
 duced as deep a reverence for God in the dissecting-room as 
 in the church. What little was taught in the class of Com- 
 parative Anatomy, which few attended because medical 
 students were not required to take the subject, came to the 
 young heart as a great poem of Creation. I was deeply im- 
 pressed with the gradation that linked every form of life to 
 those before and after it, and made of all our living uni- 
 verse one "strain of music. The phenomenon of a student 
 in this class — there were but four in it — who never missed 
 a lecture, and was putting his whole heart into its work, 
 caused a revival of the class prize, which had been abolished. 
 I never went into any examination from which we were 
 free to stay away, but felt bound on that occasion to take 
 what was so kindly offered, by passing an examination 
 in which there were no competitors. One other class ex- 
 
1 8 Some Memories. 
 
 am illation was made unavoidable in somewhat the same way. 
 Visible interest in the class of Botany and unfailing attend- 
 ance at the herbarising expeditions deluded Professor Don, 
 one year, into the supposition that I was his best man. It 
 was not possible without rudeness to stay away from the 
 examination, but there was one unobtrusive student in the 
 class who had worked harder and knew more than any of us. 
 When we were in the examination-room, and were left now 
 and then to ourselves with freedom for talk, that student re- 
 ferred frankly to two questions on mosses and seaweeds for 
 which he was not prepared, and said he could not answer 
 them, I could, but did not; so the right man had the prize, 
 and the favourite came in second. There w^as, of course, no 
 sacrifice to duty when I was denying myself nothing, and 
 was too indifferent to the ambitions of an honest student 
 who has put, as he should put, his whole mind into the work 
 laid out for him. 
 
 As soon as the age of twenty-one was touched, examina- 
 tion at " the Hall" was passed, and I became, by virtue also 
 of seven years' apprenticeship to my father, a Member of 
 the Society of Apothecaries, licensed to practise medicine. 
 There had been changes at home. My father's headaches 
 were only a little less frequent at Kennington than they 
 had been in Hatton Garden. Inheritance of a little pro- 
 perty had made it possible for him to retire into the 
 country, and he was anxious to do so. His practice, he 
 said, was not large enough to be worth transferring to me 
 at the cost of another three years' work in London. Once 
 qualified, I could go out in the usual way to get experience 
 as an assistant, and in due time have a better practice of 
 my own. My father removed at once, therefore, from 
 London upon my passing the Hall. Settled in the home 
 he had been preparing for himself at Midhurst, in Sussex, he 
 lost his headaches, and lived a vigorous and happy life until 
 the age of eighty-five. My mother had died on the 29th 
 
Some Memories. 19 
 
 of December, 1824, when I was little more than two years 
 old. My father, left with two young boys, had married 
 again, and owed mainly to his second wife the happiness of 
 twenty-four years of retirement, until her death in 1867. 
 In due time also the two boys had become rich in a sister. 
 From 1843 to 1848, the year of Revolution, there were 
 five years of medical practice. They began most happily. 
 A year was to be spent in continuance of study, and seeing 
 work as assistant to a medical practitioner. I was one of 
 forty or fifty who answered an advertisement from Dunster, 
 in Somersetshire. The advertiser — odd name now for a 
 kind friend who brought much happiness into my life ! — 
 replied, asking me to meet him halfway at a hotel in Bristol. 
 We met, and the result was that I began work under easy 
 conditions. "Can you ride?" had been one question. 
 *' I rode once on a donkey and came off; once on a horse" 
 (it was my father's gig horse) "and stuck on. I can try to 
 stick on." There were some miles of a poor-law district to 
 look after, up and down stony lanes upon hill-sides, as well 
 as along good high-roads. My employer was a married 
 man of independent means, who had the happiest of 
 tempers. He paid me liberally ; I lodged next door. He and 
 his wife had no children, and I was treated as if I had been 
 their son. There was no picnic or dinner-party from which 
 I was left out. The wicked old bent towards books of the 
 poets seemed here to strengthen friendships and make life the 
 happier. I did stick on the horses, oftener than not. My 
 employer had seven in his stable, and had a theory that 
 every gentleman ought to be able to break in his own 
 horses. At first a groom was sent with me to show the 
 way from place to place, and give some lessons in the art 
 of riding. I went over a horse's head only four times in 
 the ten months at Dunster. After the first three months of 
 those ten, the parish work was given up. Then there was 
 much leisure for a busy idleness. So came the temptation 
 
20 Some Memories. 
 
 to make a little volume, of which the first pages were 
 printed in 1844, with a coloured illustration on its paper 
 cover, as number one of The New Fhajitasus. Tieck's 
 Pha?itasus was the old one then in mind. In 1845 
 those pages became part of the little volume opened with 
 " The Dream of the Lilybell". The piece in the Appendix 
 to this volume, called " Our Lady's Miracle", was written 
 at Dunster. It w^as planned as the introduction to a series 
 of incidents showing the force of gentleness ; but the frame- 
 work was too fanciful, the first incident (not here reprinted) 
 was a failure, and no more was wTitten. 
 
 A very young man, especially when he is engaged — and 
 in that respect I was happily bound by a love that makes 
 my happiness at sixty-nine — such a very young man is 
 usually in a very great hurry of unwisdom, to build up a 
 home of his own. Often, through inexperience, he makes 
 a false start, and loses ground that it costs much time to 
 recover. 1 had money from a small legacy that, with the 
 addition of some borrowed, would buy a partnership in 
 country practice. Eager to begin, I made my own choice, 
 and became partner with a grey-headed Archimago. 
 
 Two papers in All the Year Rouiid^ for August and 
 October 1859, called "Buying a Partnership " and "Pulling 
 Through", contain some memories of that bygone ex- 
 perience. In " Buying a Partnership" mishaps of some 
 old fellow- students were joined to my own. I was Anceps, 
 whom I brought, however, to the end he had escaped. The 
 two papers from All the Year Roimd^ omitting from the 
 second of them all but a few paragraphs of the fictitious 
 setting, arc added in this volume to some papers that had 
 been written in Jfousehold IVords from recollections of 
 country practice. They are all true memories, in settings 
 that disguised the personality. It was part of the plan of 
 Jfousehold JFords to show experience of life in many forms. 
 
 The i)apcrs just named indicate the kind of trouble that 
 
Some Memories. 21 
 
 was to be faced during the next four years. I thought 
 sometimes then, and am sure now, that my partner was 
 insane. A few years after the battle was over, when I was 
 prospering as journahst in London, I saw my old tormentor 
 in the dock of the Mansion House Police Court, charged 
 with fraud as a trustee. The last I heard of him was that 
 he had been convicted and sentenced. But a man cannot 
 be sane who wastes abilities that, as in this case, would 
 have made life easily and largely prosperous, in seeking 
 feverish excitement from the failures or successes of in- 
 genious strokes of fraud, and gambles constantly in litiga- 
 tion. I was the second person within a year to whom that 
 partnership had been sold. My predecessor had departed 
 in despair. Nobody warned me. When the truth was 
 learnt, — and there was overwhelming evidence of fraud, 
 — though dissolution of the partnership could not be had, 
 I separated from my partner, remained in the place, and 
 practised on my own account. That suited Archimago 
 also, for, as he wanted to get rid of the bones he had picked 
 dry, what could now be easier than to drive me out of the 
 place and sell the partnership again ? But as here also I 
 was trying to stick on, before I left the place another rash 
 one, a ship's surgeon, who came to me after he had paid the 
 purchase-money for that partnership, found out his error 
 and went back to sea. The difficulty to be faced was not a 
 source only of trouble, for the spirit of a young man rises 
 when he breasts a storm. 
 
 Of patients there came plenty, who had pockets as empty 
 as my own. There was a dispensary which gave "notes" 
 to the sick poor for attendance by any medical man in the 
 district to whom they chose to take them. We all received 
 them, and were paid by the dispensary at the rate of five 
 shillings a note, which covered the whole treatment of a 
 case, unless it extended beyond six weeks, when a new 
 note was required. My dispensary notes brought sixty 
 
22 Some Memories. 
 
 pounds a year, for a great deal of work that sat heavily 
 upon the drug bill. There were sick-clubs, in which every 
 member paid four shillings a year for free treatment of 
 those who might fall ill. I assisted at the births of four 
 hundred children, of whose parents only a dozen or two 
 could pay more than the usual fee of half-a-guinea. There 
 was a large surgery in the garden at the back of the house 
 where thirty or forty poor people usually sat round the 
 walls to be attended to before I had my breakfast. Work 
 of this kind was so plentiful that at one time there was a 
 current foible in the parish that I had not been to bed for a 
 fortnight. 
 
 Presently there were two apprentices to be taught, one of 
 them, Frederick William Sayer, born to excel, the first of 
 many pupils, and most dearly loved. He caught from me 
 my love of literature, but it became only an intense delight 
 to him in hours of recreation ; he was not diverted by 
 it from fidelity to his profession. We studied medicine to- 
 gether, and after he had affectionately held by me through 
 several years of deep distress, he went, by my advice, into 
 the medical school at University College, and there earned 
 more gold medals and other class honours than any student, 
 I believe, before or since. He had the divine gift of genius, 
 and none but noble aims. Had he lived he would now have 
 been among honoured chiefs of his profession, but towards 
 the close of his training-time he went to serve under 
 Professor Goodsir as Demonstrator of Anatomy in the Uni- 
 versity of Edinburgh. There he nursed back into health 
 a fellow-student who had been struck down by typhoid, 
 caught the disease of him, and died. I think of him when 
 I read Lycidas. He is as near to me now as in those first 
 days when we worked together, near to me as his sister, who 
 is my wife. He did not toil for human i)raise alone : he has 
 his meed in heaven. 
 
 In those four years of country practice few or no books 
 
Some Memories. 
 
 23 
 
 were bought but those needed for study of disease, and 
 they were often worked at far into the night; for until 
 1848 there was no thought whatever of any change of 
 profession. But there were the strange books side by side 
 with Budd on the Liver and Solly on the Brain. They 
 claimed their turn. The margins of a five-volume edition 
 of Spenser were much blackened with notes; and of two or 
 three little papers sent in the latter part of that time to the 
 Atheiiceuin, and signed "H. M.", one gave a new and simple 
 interpretation of Bk. 11, canto ix, st. 22, of the Faerie 
 Queene, which is surely right. 
 
 In actual practice nothing then pressed itself more 
 strongly on attention than the unhealthy conditions of life, 
 and the trouble that would be saved in many a poor home by 
 a little knowledge of the laws of health. This caused me to 
 write a "Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation", fol- 
 lowed by another upon " Interrupted Health and Sick- 
 room Duties", and to recommend that other medical 
 practitioners should produce tracts with a like aim, to be dis- 
 tributed among the poor as freely as religious tracts. That 
 was in 1847, '^^id he would have been a seer indeed who 
 then could have divined how much of the whole after-course 
 of life was determined by the printing of that pair of two- 
 penny tracts. In 1847 questions of hygiene were beginning 
 to obtain attention. In November of that year, Dr. 
 Sutherland and Dr. Hector Gavin began editing a Joiirtial 
 of Public Health and Monthly Record of Sanitary Im- 
 provement, published under the sanction of the Metropolitan 
 Health of Towns Association. The "Tracts upon Health" 
 had been kindly received, and the writer of them was invited 
 to contribute to the new Journal of Public Health. He 
 did so, and, about a couple of years later, in 1849, ^vrote in 
 that journal a paper or two, entitled " How to make Home 
 Unhealthy", meant as the beginning of a series. But the 
 series was begun just at the time when the Journal of 
 
24 Some Llcmories. 
 
 Public Health came to an end, and that little mishap went 
 a long way towards the shaping of my future. But before 
 cause and effect can be followed in that direction, there is 
 the year 1848 to take account of. 
 
 In that year 1848 there was new life astir. I was deeply 
 interested in the course of current history, and perhaps was 
 quickened by the movement of the time into bold thought 
 about my own position. I earned enough to live upon, 
 but not enough to meet the cost of heavy debt. More 
 could be earned in time, but there would be many years 
 before debts could be cleared. The work done was far out 
 of proportion to the money earned. As much hard work, 
 done under different conditions, should enable me to pay 
 my debts much sooner, and start clear again. As I was 
 still technically in the power of a partner who might demand 
 his share of my earnings, family councils had decreed that 
 it was not safe to give me any help. If I would consent 
 to give up the battle and be made bankrupt, a well-pro- 
 tected partnership was ready for me, in which I might 
 expect to earn a modest income for the rest of life. But I 
 would not be bankrupt. Youth has its own strength, and 
 is not easily beaten. 
 
 A bold change of front seemed to be necessary. Then 
 for the first time came the thought that, if a change was to 
 be made, it might be well to strike at once into a new path 
 and cease from the practice of medicine. Its right practice 
 lequires the sole and whole devotion of a life, nnd con- 
 science told me this had not been given. Was there an 
 alternative ? 
 
 Up to that time and at that time, there was no thought of 
 Literature as a profession. It was a source of intense private 
 enjoyment, of pure recreation, though it set me working, as 
 most people usually do work hard at pleasures. But there 
 were two subjects. Public Health and Education, in which I 
 took deep interest, and at which I could work zealously. 
 
Some Memories. 25 
 
 Sanitary science was beginning then to win some public 
 recognition. There was a large new duty to be done by a 
 new army of workers. Could they live by doing it ? If so, 
 there would be transfer of services in the same army from 
 one active regiment into another ; there would still be direct 
 use for the past course of special training, and the change 
 of work would be only from curative to preventive medicine. 
 I took counsel with friendly pioneers who were then spending 
 energies in London for the advance of sanitary reform. 
 They agreed in telling me that movements needing Govern- 
 ment support were being strangled with red-tape, and that 
 there was little chance of any living to be earned by the 
 most energetic work in that direction. There remained, 
 though it meant quitting the profession for which I had been 
 trained from a child, one other way of life into which I could 
 put zealously all powers that I had, while in aid of it no kind 
 of study could be useless. Why not endeavour to work out 
 in real life my ideal of a teacher's calling, put entire trust in 
 the truth of my convictions, and resolve to act on them as 
 faithfully as faulty human nature would allow ? 
 
 Those convictions had deep roots in the experiences of a 
 child. First there had been child-life in preparatory school 
 under the care of a gentle widow and her daughter, who re- 
 mained through many after years among my nearest friends" 
 until they died. Then I was sent, at seven years old, to a 
 large boarding-school in the country, where the chief was a 
 kindly old gentleman with silver hair, never seen angry, and 
 he had a kindly wife. But he was weak, no doubt, in his 
 kindliness, and must have been without administrative power, 
 for the school he governed was a little hell. My brother 
 was there with me, six years older than myself, a brother 
 between whom and me, until his death, there never was so 
 much as a child's quarrel, and no word or accent of unkindness 
 ever passed. Boys managed boys upon the flogging system, 
 and in this school the big boys used malignant ingenuity in 
 I c 
 
 \l 
 
26 Some Memories. 
 
 toituring the small. I was my brother's fag, and shielded 
 ])y him from all hurt, suffering only from the sight of woe. 
 One common way of tyranny was called '' bumping". Two 
 boys would take another by his arms and legs and swing him 
 to and fro, bumping his body heavily against the angle of a 
 house-wall. Such a practice must sometimes have inflicted 
 lasting injury. Recollections of that school are in this 
 volume in the paper called " Black Monday". In that school 
 I saw one of its masters, when idling by the stove in the 
 school-room with a circle of boys round about, call a boy 
 into the circle, and there flog him with a horse-whip, only for 
 the sport he would make when he danced with pain. Foun- 
 dations were laid early in such schools for cruel lives, or else 
 for passionate resentment of all tyranny. From unfortunate 
 experiences of another school I was brought home in three 
 months to be laid up with typhoid fever. Then there was a 
 school with many good features, in which I learnt much 
 Latin. There was a boy in it who, for some reason, was 
 hated as a sneak. His original offence I never heard, and 
 probably few knew, but he suffered so much fOr it, that, out 
 of school hours, he was put, for his protection, into a pad- 
 dock by himself, a little paled garden between the house 
 and play-ground, that all other boys were forbidden to enter, 
 and he sle^^jt alone, poor fellow, in a garret. At nights, 
 whenever the master and his wife went out for the evening, 
 information was given to the boys in the dormitory, who 
 swarmed up to their victim's room, and thrashed him with 
 their braces. And he dared not tell. 
 
 Then, after living a little while at home, my brother going 
 to the Charterhouse, in Thackeray's time there, and I to be 
 taught by I3r. ^^^orthington, I went to Neuwied, and felt the 
 blessing of school life with the Moravians. Recollections of 
 this will be found in two of the early papers here reprinted, 
 " Ten Years Old" and " Brother Mieth and his Brothers". 
 From all these experiences there sprang one of the deep 
 
Some Memories. 27 
 
 roots of that opinion as to the right way of teaching, which I 
 now resolved to carry into practice, and to hve or die by. 
 
 This was my own small Revolution of 1848. The move- 
 ments of that year in Europe had also set me rhyming. 
 Pius IX had begun his papacy with indications of a policy 
 of liberal reform that raised hope in the hopeful, a hope 
 soon to be destroyed. He had taken some bold steps 
 towards the education of his people. For a year or two it 
 seemed to many that a new sun rose for the Italians, bring- 
 ing a new day. I wrote a vague outpouring of hopes, 
 doctrines, aspirations, strung upon a very slender thread, 
 called the screed " Sunrise in Italy", adding companion 
 verse on the events in Paris, and the death of the arch- 
 bishop at the barricades. It had the double fault of being 
 written in a ballad measure, quite unfit for a didactic pur- 
 pose, and that it also spoilt the ballad measure by experi- 
 ment in using it after the manner of blank verse, with " the 
 sense variously drawn out from one verse into another". 
 Adding to this a few pieces of verse which had been writ- 
 ten even in those days of country practice, the little book 
 was published in 1848 as Sunrise in Italy, etc., Reveries. 
 In the Appendix that volume is represented only by as 
 much of "Sunrise in Italy" as shows the thread on which 
 its reveries were strung, and also by one of the other pieces, 
 "Nemophil'", that will serve to represent the spending of 
 some hours in self-indulgence after long days of hard work. 
 
 Of course^, when it was known that I was going, and a 
 successor was being brought into the practice, I could go 
 only by leaving behind me all I had except my clothes, and 
 about twenty books from the lost roomful. My resolution 
 was to go into a large town — not London, where one would 
 be lost — but any other town with room in it for growth of 
 success, and where there was a chance of getting the first 
 necessary foothold. I had faith enough in my ideal to be 
 sure of success if I could once show it, however imperfectly, 
 
 c 2 
 
28 Some Memories. 
 
 in practice. Having made a choice upon that principle, I 
 went to Manchester, although I knew nobody there. 
 
 Two more debts, and two only, had to be incurred. I 
 took a house, and found trust for the furnishing of one room 
 in it, as the place to teach in. All other rooms were empty. 
 There was no bed; I slept on the floor with a dictionary for 
 a pillow. There were no regular successions of meals, but 
 the occasional sale of one of the score of books, or of a 
 personal trinket, found all food that was necessary. A 
 paletot was my only coat, and there were reasons why I 
 should be sorry to take it off in company. My faithful 
 apprentice ran away from home to share my spacious bed 
 and board — a most welcome companion ; his sister remained 
 firm as a rock against all natural attempts to put an end to 
 our engagement. Life with a storm to weather is enjoyable 
 at six-and-twenty, if the health be strong. Wherever I 
 went I was in high spirits. 
 
 What I wished to do was made known, friends were soon 
 found, none more cordial and helpful than Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gaskell. Mrs. Gaskell had then just published Alory 
 Barton. George Henry Lewes was then in Manchester, 
 brought thither by the production of his play, The Noble 
 Hearty and my acquaintance with him then began. The 
 little book of verses. Sunrise in Italy, served in its way 
 to win friends, and it put forth some of my notions about 
 teaching. When idle, I lay on my back and scribbled five 
 cantos of a mock-heroic in Spenserian stanzas on St. George 
 of Cappadocia. 
 
 In a month or two this trial was over. I was asked 
 whether it mattered to me if my experiment were tried in 
 Liverpool instead of Manchester. Then the clouds broke, 
 the sun shone, and the tide that was at the lowest began 
 flowing in. For want of money to spend upon railway fares, 
 I walked from Manchester to Liverpool, fell among friends, 
 and walked back from Liverpool to Manchester with my 
 
Sovie Memoi'ies. 29 
 
 best hope fulfilled. Walking was easier at six-and-twenty 
 than it is at sixty-nine. 
 
 Soon I was housed happily by the shore in Marine 
 Terrace, Liscard, carrying out my plans with the children 
 of a little band of parents who united to enable me to 
 found my school, and among whom lifelong friendships 
 were estabhshed. Here a new stream of love and kindness 
 poured into my life that has not ceased to flow, but there 
 are graves now by the side of it. The paper on "School- 
 keeping" in this volume was founded upon recollections of 
 that Liscard school, and a few notes from it will be found 
 in the " Defence of Ignorance." 
 
 Thus we reach 1849, the year in which a paper or two, 
 designed as the beginning of a series called "How to make 
 Home Unhealthy", had been sent to the Journal of Public 
 Health just before that journal was discontinued. They 
 had been much quoted by the newspapers. After some 
 time it occurred to me to regret actively the stopping of 
 those papers. Of The Examiner newspaper I knew only 
 that I liked it and took it in. It also had copied the piece 
 or two already written of " How to make Home Unhealthy". 
 Why not write and ask whether the Editor would like to 
 have the rest? I wrote, and had an answer from John 
 Forster, the fortunate beginning of another friendship that 
 was to be close and strong. John Forster said that he 
 would gladly accept the series for The Examifter, if I would 
 begin it afresh. No time was lost, a new No. i was written 
 and sent by the same night's post, and the next Saturday's 
 paper began to set foith "How to make Home Unhealthy" 
 as here reprinted. The other papers followed week by week. 
 
 Charles Dickens w^as then beginning Household Words, 
 and looking out for writers. "How to make Home Un- 
 healthy", in the newness of the sanitary movement, drew 
 much attention. As each paper appeared it was reproduced 
 so widely by the press, that, when I went into the Liverpool 
 
30 Some Memories. 
 
 news-room, some paper of the series was to be found in 
 one journal and another upon all the tables. When only 
 two or three of those papers had appeared, there came a 
 letter, asking me to write for Household Words. Much oc- 
 cupied with the school, I paid little heed to this invitation, 
 but sent presently the "Adventures in Skitzland" (placed 
 now among my Fairy Tales)^ which I had by me, for that paper 
 had been written in the old days of student life at King's 
 College. It was liked, and other pieces followed now 
 and then. Meanwhile the series in the Examiner w^as 
 finished, and I was invited still to go on from week to w^ek 
 as a wTiter of leaders. After a few more weeks, William 
 Henry Wills, another kind friend of the coming days, wrote, 
 on the part of Charles Dickens, asking whether it would suit 
 me to give up my school and come to London, for a salary 
 then named, to assist, not always necessarily in the writing, 
 but generally also in the bringing out of Household Words, 
 I was bound by many strong ties of affection to the school, 
 and was even then planning extension of its work. Two or 
 three weeks were taken for reflection, but the result was that 
 1 came to London with fixed salary from Household Words for 
 acting as a sort of deputy-lieutenant, writing papers of my 
 own, revising or rewriting any paper found in the letter-box 
 that contained matter useful to the public, but was ill-written 
 or ill-arranged, and making myself generally useful. That 
 connection with Household Words was continued with All 
 the Year Round, and remained unbroken for some fifteen 
 years. It came to an end not long after I had been appointed 
 in 1865 to the Professorship of English Literature atUniversity 
 College; but the old friendship remained, and when the last 
 illness was disabling my dear friend W. H. Wills, I returned 
 for a time to the Ail the Year Round office to act as his 
 substitute, until, with heartiest goodwill, the duties passed 
 into the able hands of Charles Dickens the younger. 
 
 Side by side with Household JVords there was the growing 
 
Soine^^Meuiories. 3 ^ 
 
 work of the Examiner. The Books and Papers were then 
 being written, which it is proposed now to collect into a little 
 set of volumes. 
 
 One of my Liscard schoolboys came and lived with me in 
 London. There are wide seas now between us, but we are 
 as near as ever to each other. What is there more to say, 
 except to end the story with a marriage? In 1852 we 
 married, and the loyal wife, in lodgings first, then in a little 
 house, helped steadily to fight the battle on until enough 
 was saved to clear all to the last of the long list of debts. 
 Since then I am afraid] to think how full of happiness our 
 life has been. And wath my whole heart now I thank God 
 for the storm that tossed me to so safe a shore. 
 
 Carisbrooke, 
 August 1 89 1. 
 
HOW TO MAKE HOME UNHEALTHY. 
 
 (1850-) 
 
HOW TO MAKE HOME 
 UNHEALTHY. 
 
 Emperor Yao (very many years B.C.) established a certain 
 custom which was followed, we are told, by his successors 
 on the throne of China. The custom was this. Outside 
 the hall-door of his palace he suspended a tablet and a 
 gong; and if one among his subjects felt himself able 
 to suggest a good idea to his ruler, or wished to admonish 
 him of any error in his ways, the critic paid a visit to the 
 palace, wrote what he had to say upon the tablet, battered 
 at the gong, and ran away. The Emperor came out ; and 
 then, unless it happened that some scapegrace of a school- 
 boy had annoyed him by superadding a fly-away knock to 
 a contemptuous hieroglyphic, he gravely profited by any 
 hints the tablets might convey. Not unlike honest, patri- 
 archal Yao is our British Public. It is summoned out to 
 read inscriptions at its door, left there by all who have 
 advice to give or faults to deprecate. The successors of 
 Yao, finding upon their score so many conflicting tales, 
 soon substituted for the gong five instruments of music. 
 It was required then that the monitor should distinguish, 
 by the instrument upon which he performed his summons, 
 what particular department of imperial duties it might be to 
 which he desired to call attention. Now not five but fifty 
 voices summon our royal public. One man courts atten- 
 tion with a dulcet strain, one brays, one harps upon a string, 
 another drums. And anions those who hvive of late been 
 
 I 
 
^6 How to make Home UjiJiealtJiy. 
 
 busiest in pointing errors out, and drumming at the public's 
 door to have them rectified, are those who profess concern 
 about the PubHc Health. 
 
 For the writer who now proposes to address to you, O 
 excellent public, a Series of Practical Hints as to How 
 to make Home Unhealthy, we would not have you think 
 that he means to be in any respect so troublesome as 
 those Sanitary Instructors. The lion on your knocker 
 gives him confidence ; he will leave no disconcerting 
 messages ; he will seek to come into your parlour as a 
 friend. A friend he is ; for, with a polite sincerity, he 
 will maintain in all his arguments that what you do is what 
 ought always to be done. He knows well that you are not 
 foolish, and perceives, therefore, what end you have in 
 view. He sees that you are impressed deeply with a con- 
 viction of the vanity of life ; that you desire accordingly 
 to prove your wisdom, by exhibiting contempt for that 
 which philosopher after philosophei* forbids a thoughtful 
 man to cherish. You would be proud to have Unhealthy 
 Homes. Lusty carcases, they are for coarse folk and for 
 the heathen; civilisation forbids us to promote animal 
 development. How can a man look spiritual if he be not 
 sickly ? How can a woman — Is not Paris the mode ? Go, 
 weigh an elegant Parisienne against a peasant girl from 
 Normandy. It is here proposed, therefore, to honour 
 your discretion by demonstrating publicly how right you 
 are. Some of the many methods by which one may 
 succeed in making Home Unhealthy will be here detailed 
 to you, in order that, as we go on, you may congratulate your- 
 self on feeling how extremely clever you already are in 
 your arrangements. Here is a plain purpose. If any 
 citizen, listening to such lessons, think himself wise, and 
 yet is one who, like good M. Jourdain in the comedy, 
 n' applaudit qii'a contre-sefis-^io such a citizen it is enough 
 to say, May much good come of his perversity. 
 
Hints to Hang up in the Nursery. 37 
 
 No. I. — Hints to Hang up in the Nursery. 
 
 In laying a foundation of ill-health it is a great point to 
 be able to begin at the beginning. You have the future 
 man at excellent advantage when he is between your fingers 
 as a baby. One of Hoffman's heroines, a clever house- 
 wife, discarded and abhorred her lover from the moment 
 of his cutting a yeast dumpling. There are some little 
 enormities of that kind which really cannot be forgiven, 
 and one such is, to miss the opportunity of physicking a 
 baby. Now I will tell you how to treat the future pale-face 
 at its first entrance into life. 
 
 A little while before the birth of any child, have a little 
 something ready in a spoon ; and, after birth, be ready at 
 the first opportunity to thrust this down his throat. Let 
 his first gift from his fellow-creatures be a dose of physic — 
 honey and calomel, or something of that kind; but you 
 had better ask the nurse for a prescription. Have ready 
 also, before birth, an abundant stock of pins ; for it is a 
 great point, in putting the first dress upon the little naked 
 body, to contrive that it shall contain as many pins as 
 possible. The prick of a sly pin is excellent for making 
 children cry ; and since it may lead nurses, mothers, now 
 and then even doctors, to administer physic for the cure of 
 imaginary gripings in the bowels, it may be twice blessed. 
 Sanitary enthusiasts are apt to say, that strings, not pins, 
 are the right fastening for infants' clothes. Be not misled. 
 Is not the pin-cushion an ancient institution ? What is to 
 say, "Welcome, little stranger," if pins cease to do so? 
 Resist this innovation. It is the small end of the wedge. 
 The next thing that a child would do, if let alone, would be 
 to sleep. I would not suffer that. The poor thing must 
 want feeding ; therefore waken it and make it eat a sop, 
 for that will be a pleasant joke at the expense of nature. 
 
 I 
 
38 How to make Home U^tJiealtJiy. 
 
 It would be like wakening a gentleman after midnight to 
 put into his mouth some pickled herring ; only the baby 
 cannot thank you for your kindness as the gentleman 
 might do. 
 
 This is a golden rule concerning babies : to procure 
 sickly growth, let the child always suckle. Attempt no 
 regularity in nursing. It is true that if an infant be fed at 
 the breast every four hours, it will fall into the habit of 
 desiring food only so often, and will sleep very tranquilly 
 during the interval. This may save trouble, but it is a 
 device for rearing healthy children ; we discard it. Our 
 infants shall be nursed in no new-fangled way. As for the 
 child's crying, quiet costs eighteen-pence a bottle ; so that 
 argument is very soon disposed of. 
 
 Never be without a flask of Godfrey's Cordial, or Daffy, 
 in the nursery ; but the fact is, that you ought to keep a 
 medicine chest. A good deal of curious information may 
 be obtained by watching the effects of various medicines 
 upon your children. 
 
 Never be guided by the child's teeth in weaning it. 
 Wean before the first teeth cut, or after they have learned 
 to bite. Wean all at once, with bitter aloes or some 
 similar devices ; and change the diet suddenly. It is a 
 foolish thing to ask a medical attendant how to regulate 
 the food of children ; he is sure to be overrun with bookish 
 prejudices ; but nurses are practical women, who under- 
 stand thoroughly matters of this kind. 
 
 Do not use a cot for infants, or presume beyond the time- 
 honoured institution of the cradle. Active rocking sends a 
 child to sleep by causing giddiness. Giddiness is a dis- 
 turbance of the blood's usual way of circulation ; obviously 
 therefore, it is a thing to aim at in our nurseries. For elder 
 children swinging is an excellent amusement, if they become 
 giddy on the swing. 
 
 In your nursery, a maid and two or three children may 
 
pints to Hang iip in the Nursery. 39 
 
 conveniently be quartered for the night, by all means care- 
 fully secured from draughts. Never omit to use at night a 
 chimney board. The nursery window ought not to be much 
 opened ; and the door should be kept always shut, in order 
 that the clamour of the children may not annoy others in 
 your house. 
 
 When the children walk out for an airing, of course they 
 are to be little ladies and gentlemen. They are not to 
 scamper to and fro ; a little gentle amble with a hoop ought 
 to be their severest exercise. In sending them to walk 
 abroad it is a good thing to let their legs be bare. The 
 gentleman papa, probably, would find bare legs rather cold 
 walking in the streets of London ; but the gentleman son, 
 of course, has quite another constitution. Besides, how can 
 a boy, not pre-disposed that way, hope to grow up con- 
 sumptive, if some pains are not taken with him in his child- 
 hood ? 
 
 It is said that of old time children in the Balearic Islands 
 were not allowed to eat their dinner, until, by adroitness in 
 the shooting of stones out of a sling, they had dislodged it 
 from a rafter in the house. Children in the British Islands 
 should be better treated. Let them not only have their 
 meals unfailingly, but let them be at all other times tempted 
 and bribed to eat. Cakes and sweetmeats of alluring shape 
 and colour, fruits, and palatable messes, should without any 
 regularity be added to the diet of a child. The stomach 
 we know, requires three or four hours to digest a meal, 
 expects a moderate routine of tasks, and between each task 
 looks for a little period of rest. Now, as we hope to create 
 a weak digestion, what is more obvious than that we must 
 use artifice to circumvent the stomach ? In one hour we 
 must come upon it unexpectedly with a dose of fruit and 
 sugar ; then, if the regular dinner have been taken, astonish 
 the digestion while at work upon it with the appearance of 
 an extra lump of cake, and presently some gooseberries. 
 
40 How to make Hoine Unhealthy: ^ 
 
 In this way we soon triumph over Nature, who, to speak 
 truth, does not permit to us an easy victory, and does try to 
 accommodate her working to our whims. We triumph, and 
 obtain our reward in children pale and polite, children with 
 appetites already formed that will become our good allies 
 against their health in after life. 
 
 Prijicipiis obsta. Let us subdue mere nature at her first 
 start, and make her civilised in her beginnings. Let us 
 wipe the rose-tint out of the child's cheek, in good hope that 
 the man will not be able to recover it. White, yellow, 
 and purple, let us make them to be his future tricolour. 
 
 March z^tli^ 1850. 
 
 I 
 
 No. IL — The Londoner's Garden. 
 
 Brick walls do not secrete air. It comes in through your 
 doors and windows, from the streets and alleys in your 
 neighbourhood ; it comes in without scraping its feet, and 
 goes down your throat, unwashed, with small respect for 
 your gentihty. You must look abroad, therefore, for some 
 elements of an unwholesome home ; and when, sitting at 
 home, you do so, it is a good thing if you can see a burial- 
 ground— one of " God's gardens," which our city cherishes. 
 
 Now, do not look up with a dolorous face, saying, " Alas ! 
 these gardens are to be taken from us !" Let agitators write 
 and let Commissioners report, let Government nod its good- 
 will, and although all the world may think that our London 
 burial-grounds are about to be incontinently jacketed in 
 asphalte, and that we ourselves, when dead, are to be steamed 
 off to Erith, w^e are content : at present this is only gossip. 
 On one of the lowest terraces of hell, says Dante, he found 
 a Cordelier who had been dragged thither by a logical 
 demon in defiance of the expostulations of St. Francis. The 
 
TJie Londoner's Ga7'dcn. 41 
 
 sin of that monk was a sentence of advice, for which 
 absolution had been received before he gave it : " Promise 
 much, and perform httle." In the hair of any Minister's 
 head, and of every Commissioner's head, we know not what 
 "black cherubim" may have entwined their claws. There is 
 hope, while there is life, for the old cause. But if those 
 Nrho have authority to do so really have determined to 
 .abolish intramural burial, let us call upon them solemnly to 
 reconsider their verdict. Let them ponder what follows. 
 
 Two or three years ago, a book, promulging notions upon 
 spiritual life, was published in London by the Chancellor of 
 a certain place across the Channel. It was a clever book, 
 and, among other matter, broached a theory. Our souls, 
 the Rev. Chancellor informed us, consist of the essence, 
 extract, or gas contained in the hunia?i body ; and, that he 
 might not be vague, he had made special application to a 
 chemist, who "added some important observations of his 
 own respecting the corpse after death". But we must 
 decorate a great speculation with the ornamental words of 
 its propounder. 
 
 "The gases into which the animal body is resolved by 
 putrefaction are ammonia, carbonic acid, carbonic oxide, 
 cyanogen, and sulphuretted, phosphuretted, and carburetted 
 hydrogen. The first and the two last-named gases are most 
 abundant." We omit here some details as to the time a 
 body takes in rotting. " From which it appears, that these 
 noble elements and rich essences of humanity are too subtle 
 and volatile to continue long with the corpse ; but soon 
 disengage themselves and escape from it. After which 
 nothing remains but the foul refuse in the vat ; the mere 
 caput mortuuni in the crucible ; the vile dust and ashes of 
 the tomb. Nor does inhumation, however deep in the 
 ground, nor drowning in the lowest depths and dasrket 
 caverns of the fathomless abyss, prevent those subtle 
 
 I D 
 
42 How to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 essences, rare attenuate spirits, or gases, from escaping ; or 
 chain down to dust those better, nobler elements of the 
 human body. No bars can imprison them, no vessels 
 detain them from their kindred element, confine them 
 from their native home." 
 
 We are all of us familiar with the more noticeable of these 
 " essences" by smell, if not by name. Metaphysicians tell 
 us that perceptions and ideas zvill follow in a train ; perhaps 
 that may account for the sudden recollection of an old- 
 fashioned story — may the moderns pardon it. A young 
 Cambridge student, airing his wisdom at a dinner-party, 
 w^as ingenious upon the Theory of Winds. He was mos 
 eloquent concerning heat and cold ; radiation, rarefaction 
 polar and equatorial currents ; he had brought his peroration 
 to a close, when he turned round upon a grave Professor of 
 his College, saying : " And what, sir, do you believe to be 
 the cause of wind ?" The learned man replied, " Pea-soup, 
 pea-soup !"' In the group of friends around a social soup- 
 tureen, must we in future recognise 
 
 " The feast of reason and — the flow of soul" ? 
 
 How gladly shall we fight the fight of life, hoping that, after 
 death, we shall all meet in a world of sulphuretted hydrogen 
 and other gases ! And where do the Sanitary Reformers 
 suppose that, after death, their gases will go — they who, in 
 life, with asphalte and paving-stones, would have restrained 
 the souls of their own fatheis tVcm ascending into upper 
 air? 
 
 Against us let there be no such reproach. Freely let us 
 breathe into our bosoms some portion of the spirit of the 
 dead. If we live near no churchyard, let us visit one — 
 mesmerically, if you please. Now we are on the way. A\'e 
 see narrow streets and many people ; most of the faces that 
 we meet arc pale. Here is a walking funeral ; we follow 
 
TJie Londoners Garden. 43 
 
 with it to the churchyard. A corner is turned, and there is 
 another funeral to be perceived at no great distance in 
 advance. Our walkers trot. The other party, finding itself 
 almost overtaken, sets off with a decent run. Our party 
 runs. There is a race for prior attention when they reach 
 the ground. We become interested. We perceive that one 
 undertaker wears gaiters, and the other straps. We trot 
 behind them, betting with each other, you on Gaiters, I on 
 Straps. I win ; a £>cus ex inachina saves me, or I should 
 have lost. An over-goaded ox rushes bewildered round a 
 corner, charges and overthrows the foremost coffin ; it is 
 broken, and the body is exposed — its white shroud flaps 
 upon the mud. This has occurred once, I know ; and how 
 much oftener I know not. So Gaiters pioneers his party to 
 the nearest undertaker for repairs, and we follow the tri- 
 umphant procession to the churchyard. The niinister there 
 meets it, holding his white handkerchief most closely to his 
 nose ; the mourners imitate him, sick and sorrowful. Your 
 toe sticks in a bit of carrion as we pass near the grave, and 
 seek the sexton. He is a pimpled man, who moralises 
 much ; but his morality is maudlin. He is drunk. He is 
 accustomed to antagonise the " spirits" of the dead with 
 spirits from the Pig and Whistle. Here let the seance end. 
 
 At home again, let us remark upon a striking fact. Those 
 poor creatures whom we saw in sorrow by the grave, be- 
 lieved that they were sowing flesh to immortality — and so 
 they were. They did not know that they were also sowing 
 coffee. By a trustworthy informant I am taught that of the 
 old coffin-wood dug up out of the crowded churchyards, a 
 large quantity that is not burned, is dried and ground ; and 
 that ground coffee is therewith adulterated in a wholesale 
 manner. It communicates to cheap coffee a good colour ; 
 and puts Body into it, there can be no doubt of that. It 
 will be a severe blow to the trade in British coffees if intra- 
 
 D 2 
 
44 How to viake Home UnJiealtJiy. 
 
 mural interment be forbidden. We shall be driven to 
 depend upon the distant planters for what now can be pro- 
 duced in any quantity at home. 
 
 Remember the largeness of the interests involved. Within 
 the last thirty years, a million-and-a-half of corpses have 
 been hidden under ground, in patches, here and there, 
 among the streets of London. This pasturage we have 
 enjoyed from our youth up, and it is threatened now to put 
 us off our feed. 
 
 I say no more, for better arguments than these cannot be 
 urged on behalf of the maintenance of city graveyards. 
 Possibly these may not prevail. Yet, never droop. Never- 
 theless, without despairing, take a house in the vicinity of 
 such a garden of the dead. If our lawgivers should fear 
 the becoming neighbourly with Dante's Cordelier, and 
 therefore absolutely interdict more burials in London, 
 still you are safe. They shall not trample on the graves 
 that are. We can agitate, and we will agitate, successfully 
 against their asphalte. Let the city be mindful of its old 
 renown, let vestries rally round Sir Peter Laurie, and there 
 may be yet secured to you, for seven years to come, an 
 atmosphere which shall assist in making home unhealthy. 
 
 April Gfh, 1850. 
 
 No. in. — Spending a very Pleasant Evening. 
 
 By the consent of antiquity it is determined that Pain 
 shall be doorkeeper to the house of Pleasure. In Europe 
 Purgatory led to Paradise ; and had St. Symeon lived 
 among us now, he would have earned heaven, if the police 
 permitted, by praying for it, during thirty years, upon the 
 summit of a lamp-post. In India the Fakir was beatified 
 by standing on his head, under a hot sun, beset with roast- 
 ing bonfires. In Greenland the soul expected to reach 
 
spending a very Pleasant Evening. 45 
 
 bliss by sliding for five days down a rugged rock, wound- 
 ing itself, and shivering with cold. The American Indians 
 sought happiness through castigation, and considered vomits 
 the most expeditious mode of enforcing self-denial on the 
 stomach. Some tribes of Africans believe that on the way 
 to heaven every man's head is knocked against a wall. By 
 consent of mankind, therefore, it is granted that we must 
 pass pain on the way to pleasure. 
 
 What pleasure is, when reached, none but the dogmatical 
 can venture to determine. To Greenlanders, a spacious 
 fish-kettle, for ever simmering, in which boiled seals for 
 ever swim, is the delight of heaven. And remember that, 
 in the opinion of M. Bailly, Adam and Eve gardened in 
 Nova Zembla. 
 
 You will not be surprised, therefore, if I call upon you 
 to prepare for your domestic pleasures with a little suffering ; 
 nor, when I tell you what such pleasures are, must you 
 exclaim against them as absurd. Having the sanction of 
 our forefathers they are what is fashionable noAv, and con- 
 sequently they are \vhat is fit. 
 
 I propose, then, that you should give, for the entertain- 
 ment of your friends, an evening party ; and as this is 
 a scene in which young ladies prominently figure, I will, if 
 you please, on this occasion, pay particular attention to 
 your daughter. 
 
 O mystery of preparation ! — Pardon, sir. You err if you 
 suppose me to insinuate that ladies are more careful over 
 personal adornment than the gentlemen. When men made 
 a display of manhood, wearing beards, it is recorded that 
 they packed them, when they went to bed, in pasteboard 
 cases, lest they might be tumbled in the night. Man at 
 his grimmest is as vain as woman, even when he stalks 
 about bearded and battle-axed. — This is the mystery of 
 preparation m your daughter's case : How does she breathe ? 
 You have prepared iier from childhood for the part she is 
 
46 How to make Home UrihealtJiy. 
 
 to play to-night, by training her form into the only shape 
 which can be looked at with complacency in any ball-room. 
 A machine called stays, introduced long since into England 
 by the Normans, has had her in its grip from early girl- 
 hood. She has become pale, and — only the least bit — 
 liable to be blue about the nose and fingers. Stays are an 
 excellent contrivance ; they give a material support to the 
 old cause, Unhealthiness at Home. This is the secret of 
 their excellence. A woman's ribs are narrow at the top, 
 and as they approach the waist they widen, to allow room 
 for the lungs to play within them. If you can prevent the 
 ribs from widening, you can prevent the lungs from play- 
 ing, which they have no right to do, and make them work. 
 This you accomplish by the agency of stays. It fortunately 
 happens that these lungs have work to do — the putting of 
 the breath of life into the blood — which they are unable to 
 do properly when cramped for space ; it becomes about as 
 difficult to them as it would be to you to play the trom- 
 bone in a china closet. By this compression of the chest 
 ladies are made nervous, and become unfit for much 
 exertion ; they do not, however, allow us to suppose that 
 they have lost flesh. There is a fiction of attire which 
 would induce in a speculative critic the belief that some 
 internal flame had caused their waists to gutter, and that 
 the ribs had all run down into a lump which protrudes 
 behind under the waistband. This appearance is, I think, 
 a fiction, and for my opinion I have newspaper authority. 
 In the papers it was written one day last year that the 
 hump alluded to was tested with a pin upon the person of 
 a lady coming from the Isle of Man, and it was found not 
 to be sensitive. Brandy exuded from the wound, for in 
 that case the projection was a bladder in which the prudent 
 housewife was smuggling comfort in a quiet way. The 
 touch of a pin changed all into discomfort, when she found 
 
spending a very Pleasant Evefiing. 47 
 
 that she was converted into a peripatetic watering-can— 
 brandying-can, I should have said. 
 
 Your daughter comes down stairs dressed, with a bou- 
 quet, at a time when the dull seeker of Health and Strength 
 would have her to go upstairs with a bed-candlestick. 
 Your guests arrive. Young ladies thinly clad and packed 
 in carriages emerge half stifled, put a cold foot, protected 
 by a filmy shoe, upon the pavement, and run, shivering, 
 into your house. Well, sir, w^e'U warm them presently. 
 But suffer me to leave you now while you receive your 
 guests. 
 
 I know a Phyllis, fresh from the country, who gets up at 
 six and goes to bed at ten; who knows no perfume but 
 a flower-garden, and has worn no bandage to her waist 
 except a sash. She is now in London, and desires to do 
 as others do. She is invited to your party, but is not yet 
 come ; it may be wtII for me to call upon her. Why, in 
 the name of New^gate, what is going on ? She is shrieking 
 " Murder I" on the second floor. Up to the rescue ! A 
 judicious maid directs me to the drawing-room : " It's 
 only Miss a-trying on her stays." 
 
 Here we are, sir; Phyllis and I. — You find the room 
 oppressive — 'tis with perfume, Phyllis. With foul air ? ah, 
 your nice country nose detects it ; yes, there is foul air — 
 not nasty, of course, my dear, mixed as it here is with eau- 
 de-Cologne and patchouli. Pills are not nasty, sugared. 
 A grain or two of arsenic in each might be not quite 
 exactly neutralised by sugar ; but there is nothing like 
 faith in a good digestion.— Why do the gentlemen cuddle 
 the ladies, and spin about the room with them like tee- 
 totums. Oh, Phyllis ! Phyllis ! let me waltz with you. 
 There, do you not see how it is ? Faint, are you— giddy 
 — will you fall ? An ice will refresh you. Spasms next ! 
 Phyllis, let me take you home. 
 
48 Hoiv to make Home Ufihcalthy. 
 
 Now, then, sir, Phyllis has been put to bed ; allow me to 
 dance a polka with your daughter. Frail, elegant creature 
 that she is ! A glass of wine — a macaroon ; l'^c c d. Sontag, 
 yes ; and that dear novel. That was a delightful dance ; 
 now let us promenade. The room is close ; a glass of 
 wine, an ice, and let us get to the delicious draught in the 
 conservatory, or by that door. Is it not beautiful ? The 
 next quadrille — I look slily at my watch, and Auber's grim 
 chorus rumbles within me, " Void ininuit ! Void ininuitr 
 Another dance. How fond she seems to be of macaroons I 
 Supper. My dear sir, I will take good care of your 
 daughter. One sandwich. Champagne. Blancmange. 
 Bonbon. Champagne. Sherry. Champagne. Tipsy- 
 cake. Brandy cherries. Glass of wine. A macaroon. 
 Trifle. Jelly. Champagne. Custard. Macaroon. The 
 ladies are being taken care of — Yes, now in their absence 
 we will drink their health, and wink at each other : their 
 and our Bad Healths. This is the happiest moment of 
 our lives ; at two in the morning, with a dose of indiges- 
 tion in the stomachs, and three hours more to come before 
 we get to bed. You, my dear sir, hope that on many 
 occasions like the present you may see your friends around 
 you, looking as glassy-eyed as you have made them to look 
 now. We will rejoin the ladies. 
 
 Nothing but champagne could have enabled us to keep 
 up the evening so well. We were getting weary before 
 supper — but we have had some wine, have dug the spur 
 into our sides, and on we go again. At length even the 
 bottle stimulates our worn-out company no more, and then 
 we. separate. Good-night, dear sir; we have spent a Yery 
 Pleasant Evening under your roof. 
 
 To-morrow, when you depart from a late breakfast, having 
 seen your daughter's face and her boiled-mackerel eye, 
 knowing that your wife is bilious and that your son has 
 just gone out for soda-water, you will feel yourself to be 
 
TJic Light Nuisance. 49 
 
 a Briton who has done his duty, a man who has paid some- 
 thing on account of his great debt to civiHsed society. 
 
 April 1 3//^, 1850. 
 
 No. IV. — The Light Nuisance. 
 
 Tieck tells us, in his History of the Schi/dluirger^ that the 
 town council of that spirited community was very wise. It 
 had been noticed that many worthy aldermen and common- 
 councillors were in the habit of looking out of window when 
 they ought to be attending to their duties. A vote was there- 
 fore, on one occasion, passed by a large majority to this 
 effect, namely — Whereas the windows of the Town-hall are 
 a great impediment to the despatch of public business, it is 
 ordered that before the next day of meeting they be all 
 bricked up. When the next day of meeting came, the worthy 
 representatives of Schildburg were surprised to find them- 
 selves assembling in the dark. Presently, accepting the 
 unlooked-for fact, they settled down into an edifying discus- 
 sion of the question whether darkness was not more con- 
 venient for their purposes than daylight. — Had you and I 
 been there, my friend, our votes in the division would have 
 been, like the vote in our own House of Commons a few 
 days ago, for keeping out the Light Nuisance as much as 
 possible. Darkness is better than daylight, certainly. 
 
 Now, this admits of proof. For, let me ask, where do you 
 find the best part of a lettuce? — not in the outside leaves. 
 Which are the choice parts of celery ? — of course, the white 
 shoots in the middle. Why, sir ? Because light has never 
 come to them. They become white and luxurious by tying 
 up, by earthing up, by any contrivance which has kept the 
 sun at bay. It is the same with man : while we obstruct 
 the light by putting brick and board where glass suggests 
 itself, and mock the light by picturing impracticable windows 
 
50 
 
 Hoiu to make Home U7ihealt}iy 
 
 on our outside walls, —so that our houses stare about like 
 blind men with glass eyes, — while this is done, we sit at 
 home and blanch, we become in our dim apartments pale 
 and delicate, we grow to look refined, as gentlemen and 
 ladies ought to look. Let the sanitary doctor, at whose 
 head we have thrown lettuces, go to the botanist and ask 
 him. How is this ? Let him come back and tell us. Oh, 
 gentlemen, in these vegetables the natural juices are not 
 formed when you exclude the light. The natural juices in 
 the lettuce or in celery are flavoured much more strongly 
 than our tastes would relish, and therefore we induce in 
 these plants an imperfect development in order to make 
 them eatable. Very well. The natural juices in a man 
 are stronger than good taste can tolerate. IMan requires 
 horticulture to be fit to come to table. To rear the finer 
 sorts of human kind one great operation necessary is to 
 banish light as much as possible. 
 
 Ladies know that. To keep their faces pale, they pull 
 the blinds down in their drawing-rooms, they put a veil 
 between their countenances and the sun when they go out, 
 and carry, like good soldiers, a great shield on high, by 
 name a Parasol, to ward his darts off. They know better 
 than to let the old god kiss them into colour, as he does the 
 peaches. They choose to remain green fruit : and we all 
 know that to be a delicacy. 
 
 Yet there are men among us daring to propose that there 
 shall no longer be protection against light ; men who would 
 tax a house by its capaciousness, and let the sun shine into 
 it unhindered. The so-called sanitary people really seem to 
 look upon their fellow-creatures as so many cucumbers. 
 But we have not yet fallen so far back in our development. 
 Disease is a privilege. Those only who know the tender 
 touch of a wife's hand, the quiet kiss, the soothing whisper, 
 can appreciate its worth. All who are not dead to the 
 tende'rest emotions will lament the day when light is turned 
 
TJic Light Nuisance. 5^ 
 
 on without limit in our houses. We have no wish to be 
 blazed upon. Frequently pestilence itself avoids the sunny 
 side of any street, and prefers walking in the shade. Nay, 
 even in one building, as in the case of a great barrack at St. 
 Petersburg, there will be three calls made by disease upon 
 the shady side of the establishment for every one visit that it 
 pays to the side brightened by the sun ; and this is known to 
 happen, uniformly, for a series of years. Let us be w^arned, 
 then. There must be no increase of windows in our houses; 
 let us curtain those we have, and keep our blinds well down. 
 Let morning sun or afternoon sun fire no volleys in upon us. 
 Faded curtains, faded carpets, all ye blinds forbid! But 
 faded faces are desirable. It is a cheering spectacle on 
 summer afternoons to see the bright rays beating on a row 
 of windows, all the way down a street, and failing to find 
 entrance anywhere. Who wants more windows ? Is it not 
 obvious that, when daylight really comes, every window we 
 possess is counted one too many ? If we could send up a 
 large balloon into the sky, with Mr. Braidwood and a fire- 
 engine, to get the flames of the sun under, just a little bit, 
 that would be something rational. More light, indeed ! 
 More water next, no doubt ! As if it were not perfectly 
 notorious that in the articles of light, water and air. Nature 
 outran the constable. We have to keep out light with blinds 
 and veils, and various machinery, as we would keep out 
 cockroaches with wafers; we keep out air with pads and 
 curtains ; and still there are impertinent reformers clamour- 
 ing to increase our difficulty, by giving us more windows to 
 protect against the inroads of those household nuisances. 
 
 I call upon consistent Englishmen to make a stand against 
 these innovators. There is need of all our vigour. In 1848 
 the repeal of the window-tax was scouted from the Commons 
 by a sensible majority of ninety-four. Last week the good 
 cause triumphed only by a precarious majority of three. 
 The exertions of ridit-thinkins; men will not be w^anting, 
 
52 Hoiv to make Home UnJicaltJiy. 
 
 when the value and importance of a little energetic labour is 
 once clearly perceived. 
 
 What is it that the sanitary agitators want ? To tan and 
 freckle all their countrywomen, and to make Britons apple 
 faced ? The Persian hero, Rustum, when a baby, exhausted 
 seven nurses, and was weaned upon seven sheep a day 
 when he was of age for spoon-meat. Are English babies 
 to be Rustums ? When Rustum's mother, Roubadah, from 
 a high tower first saw and admired her future husband 
 Zal, she let her ringlets fall, and they were long and reached 
 unto the ground, and Zal climbed up by them, and knelt 
 down at her feet and asked to marry her. Are British ladies 
 to be strengthened into Roubadahs, with hair like a ship's 
 cable up which husbands may clamber? In the present 
 state of the mania for Public Health, it is quite time that 
 every patriotic man should put these questions seriously to 
 his conscience. 
 
 One topic more. Let it be clearly understood that against 
 artificial light we can make no objection. Between sun and 
 candle there are more contrasts than the mere difference in 
 brilliancy. The light which comes down from the sky not 
 only eats no air out of our mouths, but it comes charged 
 with mysterious and subtle principles which have a purifying, 
 vivifying power. It is a powerful ally of health, and we 
 make war against it. But artificial light contains no sanitary 
 marvels. When the gas streams through half-a-dozen jets 
 into your room, and burns there and gives light ; when 
 candles become shorter and shorter until they are " burnt 
 out" and seen no more ; you know what happens. Nothing 
 in nature ceases to exist. Your camphinehas left the lamp, 
 but it has not vanished out of being. Nor has it been con- 
 verted into light. . Light is a visible action ; and candles are 
 no more converted into light when they are burning, than 
 breath is converted into speech when you are talking. The 
 breath, having produced speech, mixes with the atmo- 
 
Passing the Bottle. 53 
 
 sphere ; gas, camphine, candles, having produced h'ght, 
 do the same. If you saw fifty wax-h'ghts shrink to their 
 sockets last week in an unventilated ball-room, yet, though 
 invisible, they had not left you ; for their elements were in 
 the room, and you were breathing them. Their light had 
 been a sign that they were combining chemically with the 
 air ; in so combining they were changed, but they became a 
 poison. Every artificial light is of necessity a little work- 
 shop for the conversion of gas, oil, spirit, or candle into 
 respirable poison. Let no sanitary tongue persuade you that 
 the more we have of such a process, the more need we have 
 of ventilation. Ventilation is a catchword for the use of 
 agitators, in which it does not become any person of refine- 
 ment to exhibit interest. 
 
 The following hint will be received thankfully by gentle- 
 men who would be glad to merit spectacles. To make 
 your eyes weak, use a fluctuating'jlight ; nothing can be 
 better adapted for your purpose than what are called "mould'' 
 candles. The joke of them consists in this : they begin with 
 giving you sufficient light, but, as the wick grows, the 
 radiance lessens, and your eye gradually accommodates 
 itself to the decrease : suddenly they are snuffed, and your 
 eye leaps back to its original adjustment, there begins 
 another slide, and then leaps back again. Much practice of 
 this kind serves very well as a familiar introduction to the 
 use of glasses. 
 
 April 20th, 1850. 
 
 No. V. — Passing the Bottle. 
 
 A brass button from the coat of St. Peter was at one 
 time shown to visitors among the treasures of a certain church 
 in Nassau ; possibly some traveller of more experience may 
 have met with a false collar from the wardrobe of St. Paul. 
 
54 tJow to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 The intellect displayed of old by holy saints and martyrs we 
 may reasonably believe to have surpassed the measure of a 
 bishop's understanding in the present day, for we have the 
 authority of eyesight and tradition in asserting that the 
 meanest of those ancient worthies possessed not fewer than 
 three skulls, and that a great saint must have had so very 
 many heads that it would have built the fortune of a man to 
 be his hatter. Perhaps some of these relics are fictitious ; 
 nevertheless they are the boast of their possessors, they are 
 exhibited as genuine, and thoroughly believed to be so. Sir, 
 did your stomach never suggest to you that doctored elder 
 berry of a recent brew had been uncorked with veneration at 
 some dinner-table as a bottle of old port ? Have you expe- 
 rience of any festive friend who can commit himself to doubt 
 about the age and genuineness of his wine ? The cellar is 
 the social relic-chamber; every bin rejoices in a most 
 veracious legend ; and whether it be over wine or over 
 relics that we wonder, equal difficulties start up to obstruct 
 our faith. 
 
 Our prejudices, for example, run so much in favour of 
 one-headed men, that we can scarcely entertain the notion 
 of a saint who had six nightcaps to put on when he went to 
 bed. and when he got up in the morning had six beards to 
 shave. Knowing that the Russians by themselves drink 
 more champagne than France exports, and that it must rain 
 grapes at Hochheim before that place can yield all the wine 
 we English label Hock, and haunted as we are by the same 
 difficulty when we look to other kinds of foreign wine, we 
 feel a justified suspicion that the same glass of "genuine 
 old port" cannot be indulged in simultaneously by ten 
 people. If only one man of the number drinks it, what is 
 that eidolon which delights the other nine ? 
 
 When George the Fourth was Regent he possessed a small 
 store of the choicest wine, and never called for it. There 
 were some gentlemen in his establishment acquainted with 
 
Passing the Bottle. 55 
 
 its merits; these took upon themselves to rescue it from 
 undeserved neglect. Then the Prince talked about his 
 treasure — when little remained thereof except the bottles ; 
 and it was to be produced at a forthcoming dinner-party. 
 The gentlemen who knew its flavour visited the vaults of an 
 extensive wine-merchant, and there they vainly sought to 
 look upon its like again. " In those dim solitudes and 
 awful cells " they, groaning in spirit, made a confessor of 
 the merchant, who, for a fee, engaged to save them from 
 the wrath to come. As an artist in wine, having obtained 
 a sample of the stuff required, this dealer undertook to 
 furnish a successful imitation. So he did ; for, having filled 
 those bottles with a wondrous compound, he sent them 
 to the palace just before the fateful dinner-hour, exhorting 
 the conspirators to take heed how they suffered any to be 
 left. The compound would become a tell-tale after twelve 
 hours' keeping. The Prince that evening enjoyed his 
 wine. 
 
 The ordinary manufacture of choice wine for people who 
 are not princes requires the following ingredients : — For 
 the original fluid, cider, or common cape, raisin, grape, 
 parsnip, or elder wine ; a wine made of rhubarb (for cham- 
 pagne) ; to these may be added water. A fit stock having 
 been chosen, strength, colour, and flavour may be grafted 
 on it. Use is made of these materials : — For colour, 
 burnt sugar, logwood, cochineal, red sanders wood, or elder- 
 berries. Plain spirit or brandy for strength. For nutty 
 flavour, bitter almonds. For fruitiness, Dantzic spruce. For 
 fulness or smoothness, honey. For port-wine flavour, 
 tincture of the seeds of raisins. For bouquet, orris-root or 
 ambergris. For roughness or dryness, alum, oak sawdust, 
 rhatany, or kino. It is not necessary that an imitation 
 should contain one drop of the wine whose name it bears ; 
 but a skilful combination of the true and false is desirable, 
 if price permit. Every pint of the pure wine thus added 
 
56 How to make Home UiiJiealtJiy. 
 
 to a mixture is, of course, so much abstracted from the stock 
 of unadulterated juice. 
 
 You will perceive, therefore, that a free use of wine, not 
 highl)^ priced, is likely to assist us very much in our endea- 
 vours to establish an unhealthy home. Fill your cellar with 
 bargains ; be a genuine John Bull ; invite your friends, and 
 pass the bottle. 
 
 There is hope for us also in the recollection that if chance 
 force upon us a small stock of wine that has not been, in 
 England, under the doctor's hands, we know not what may 
 have been done to it abroad. The botanist, Robert Fortune, 
 was in China when the Americans deluged the Chinese 
 market with their orders for Young Hyson tea. The Chinese 
 very promptly met the whole demand ; and Fortune in his 
 " Wanderings" has told us how. He found his way to a 
 Young Hyson manufactory, where coarse old Congou leaves 
 were being chopped and carefully manipulated by those 
 ingenious merchants the Chinese. But it is in human 
 nature for other folks than the Chinese to be ingenious in 
 such matters. We may therefore make up our minds that, 
 since the demand for wine from certain celebrated vineyards 
 largely exceeds all possibility of genuine supply, since also 
 every man who asks is satisfied, it is inevitable that the 
 great majority of wine-drinkers are satisfied with a factitious 
 article. The chances are against our very often meeting 
 with a glass of port that has not taken physic. So, let us 
 never drink dear wine, nor ask a chemist what is in our 
 bottles. Enough that they contain for us delightful poison. 
 
 That name for wine, " delightful poison," is not new. It 
 is as old as the foundation of Persepolis. Jemsheed was 
 fond of grapes, Ferdusi tells, and once, when grapes went 
 out of season, stored up for himself some jars of grape-juice. 
 After a while he went to seek for a refreshing draught ; then 
 fermentation was in progress, and he found his juice abomi- 
 nably nasty. A severe stomach-ache induced him to believe 
 
 I 
 
Passing the Bottle. 57 
 
 that the liquor had acquired, in some way, dangerous 
 quahties, and therefore, to avoid accidents, he labelled each 
 jar, "Poison." More time elapsed, and then one of his 
 wives, in trouble of soul, weary of life, resolved to put an 
 end to her existence. Poison was handy ; but a draught 
 transformed her trouble into joy ; more of it stupefied, but 
 did not kill her. That woman kept a secret : she alone 
 exhausted all the jars. Jemsheed then found them to be 
 empty. Explanations followed. The experiment was tried 
 once more, and wine, being so discovered, was thereafter 
 entitled the delightful Poison. What Jemsheed would 
 have said to a bottle of port out of our friend Hoggins's 
 cellar But I tread on sacred ground. 
 
 Of good wine Health requires none, though it will tolerate 
 a little. Our prospect, therefore, when the bottle passes 
 briskly, is encouraging. Is the wine good, we may expect 
 some indigestion ; is it bad, who can tell what disorders we 
 may not expect? Hoggins, I know, drinks more than a 
 quart without disordering his stomach. He has long been a 
 supporter of the cause we are now advocating, and therein 
 finds one of his rewards. It is not safe to pinch a tiger's 
 tail, — yet, when the animal is sick, perhaps he will not bite 
 although you tread upon it heavily. Healthy men and 
 healthy stomachs tolerate no oppression. 
 
 London is full now ; elsewhere country folks come out of 
 doors, invited by fine weather. Walk where you will, in 
 country or in town, and look at all the faces that you meet. 
 Traverse the Strand, and Regent Street, and Holborn, and 
 Cheapside ; get into a boat at London Bridge, steam to 
 Gravesend, and look at your fellow-passengers : examine 
 where you will, the stamp of our civilisation, sickliness, is 
 upon nine people in any ten. There are good reasons why 
 this should be so, and so let it continue. We have excluded 
 sanitary calculations from our social life ; wc have had 
 hitherto unhealthy homes; and we will keep them. Bede 
 
 I E 
 
58 Hozu to make Ho Die UnJiealtJiy. 
 
 tells of a Mercian noble on his deathbed, to whom a ghost 
 exhibited a scrap of paper upon which were written his good 
 deeds ; then the door opened, and an interminable file of 
 ghosts brought in a mile or two of scroll whereon his mis- 
 deeds were all registered, and made him read them. Our 
 wars against brute health are glorious, and we rejoice to feel 
 that of such sins we have no scanty catalogue ; we are 
 content with our few items of mere sanitary virtue. As for 
 sanitary reformers, they are a company of Danaids ; they 
 may get some of us into their sieve, but we shall soon slip 
 out again. When a traveller proposed, at Ghadames in the 
 Sahara, to put up a lantern here and there of nights among 
 the pitch-dark streets, the people said his notion might be 
 good, but that, as such things never had been tried before, 
 it would be presumptuous to make the trial of them now. 
 The traveller, a Briton, must have felt quite at home when 
 he heard that objection. Amen, then ; with the Ghadamese, 
 we say. Let us have no New Lights. 
 
 April 2']f/i, 1850. 
 
 No. VL — Art against Appetite. 
 
 The object of food is, so to support the body in its 
 natural development that it may reach a reasonable age 
 without becoming too robust. Civilisation can instruct us 
 so to manage that a gentle dissolution tread upon the 
 heels of growth, that — as ^Metastasio hath it — 
 
 " dalle fasce, 
 
 Si comincia a morir quando si nasce." ^ 
 
 An infant's appetite is all for milk ; but art suggests a 
 few additions to that lamentably simple diet. A lady not 
 
 1 " from swaddling-clothes, 
 
 Dying begins at birth." 
 
Art against Appetite. 59 
 
 long since complacently informed her medical attendant 
 -that, for the use of a baby then about eight months old, 
 she had spent nine pounds in " infant's preservative". Of 
 this, or of some like preparation, the advertisements tell us 
 that it compels nature to be orderly, and that all infants 
 take it with greediness. So we have even justice to the 
 child. Pet drinks preservative ; papa drinks port. 
 
 Then there is " farinaceous food". Here — for a purpose 
 — we must interpolate a bit of science. There is a division 
 of food into two great classes : nourishment and fuel. 
 Nourishment is said to exist chiefly in animal flesh and 
 blood, and in vegetable compounds which exactly cor- 
 respond thereto, called vegetable fibrine, albumen, and 
 caseine. Fuel exists in whatever contains much carbon : 
 fat and starchy vegetables, potatoes, gum, sugar, alcoholic 
 liquors. If a person take more nourishment than he wants, 
 it is said to be wasted; if he take more fuel than he 
 wants, part of it is wasted, and part of it the body stacks 
 away as fat. These men of science furthermore assert that 
 the correct diet of a healthy man must contain eight parts 
 of fuel-food to one of nourishment. This preserves equi- 
 librium, they say, — suits, therefore, an adult ; the child, 
 which has to become bigger as it lives, has use for an 
 excess of nourishment. And so one of the doctors. Dr. 
 R. D. Thomson, gives this table ; it has been often copied. 
 The proportion of nourishment to fuel is in 
 
 Milk (food for a growing animal) . 
 
 I to 2 
 
 Beans 
 
 I » ^i 
 
 Oatmeal 
 
 ^ n 5 
 
 Barley 
 
 I n 7 
 
 Wheat flour (food for an animal at rest) . 
 
 I „ 8 
 
 Potatoes 
 
 I » 9 
 
 Rice 
 
 I „ 10 
 
 Turnips 
 
 I „ ir 
 
 Arrow-root, tapioca, sago 
 
 I „ 26 
 
 Starch 
 
 I „ 40 
 
 
 E 2 
 
6o Hozv to make Home U7thealtJiy. 
 
 Very well, gentlemen, we take your facts. As segritudr- 
 nary men, we know what use to make of them. We will 
 give infants farinaceous food — arrow-root, tapioca, and the 
 like ; quite ready to be taught by you that so we give one 
 particle of nourishment in twenty-six. Tell us. This diet 
 is like putting leeches on a child. We are content. Leeches 
 give a delicate whiteness that we are thankful to be able to 
 obtain without the biting or the bloodshed. 
 
 Sanitary people will allow a child, up to its seventh year, 
 nothing beyond bread, milk, water, sugar, light meat broth, 
 without fat, and fresh meat for its dinner — when it is old 
 enough to bite it — with a little well-cooked vegetable. 
 They confine a child, poor creature, to this miserable fare ; 
 permitting, in due season, only a pittance of the ripest 
 fruit. 
 
 They would give children, while they are growing, oat- 
 meal and milk for breakfast, made into a porridge. They 
 would deny them beer. You know how strengthening that 
 IS, and yet these people say there is not an ounce of meat 
 in a whole bucketful. They would deny them comfits, 
 cakes, wine, pastry, and grudge them nuts ; but our boys 
 shall rebel against all this. We will teach them to regard 
 cake as bliss, and wine as glory ; we will educate them to a 
 love of tarts. Once let our art secure over the stomach its 
 ascendency, and the civilised organ acquires new desires. 
 Vitiated cravings, let the sanitary doctors call them ; let 
 them say that children will eat garbage, as young women 
 will eat chalk and coals, not because it is their nature so to 
 do, but because it is a symptom of disordered function. 
 We know nothing about function. Art against Appetite 
 has won the day, and the pale face of civilisation is 
 established. 
 
 Plain sugar it is a good thing to forbid our children ; 
 there is something healthy in their love of it. Suppose we 
 tell them that it spoils the teeth. They know no better ; 
 
Art agaiyist Appetite. 6 1 
 
 we do. We know that the negroes, who in a great measure 
 live upon sugar, are quite famous for their sound, white 
 teeth; and Mr. Richardson tells us of tribes among the 
 Arabs of Sahara, whose beautiful teeth he lauds, that they 
 are in the habit of keeping about them a stick of sugar in a 
 leathern case, which they bring out from time to time for a 
 suck, as we bring out the snuff-box for a pinch. But we 
 will tell our children that plain sugar spoils the teeth; sugar 
 mixed with chalk or verdigris, or any other mess— that is to 
 say, civilised sugar — they are welcome to. 
 
 And for ourselves, we will eat anything. The more our 
 cooks, with spice, with druggery and pastry, raise our 
 wonder up, the more we will approve their handicraft. We 
 will excite the stomach with a peppered soup ; we will 
 make fish indigestible with melted butter, and correct the 
 butter with cayenne. We will take sauces, we will drink 
 wine, we will drink beer, we will eat pie-crust, we will eat 
 indescribable productions, — we will take celery and cheese 
 and ale,- -we will take liqueur, — we will take wine and 
 olives and more wine, and oranges, and almonds, and any- 
 thing else that may present itself; and we will call all that 
 our dinner, and for such the stomach shall accept it. We 
 will eat more than we need, but will compel an appetite 
 Art against Appetite for ever. 
 
 Sanitary people bear ill-will to pie-crust ; they teach that 
 butter, after being baked therein, becomes a compound 
 hateful to the stomach. We will eat pies, we will eat 
 pastry, we will eat — we would eat M. Soyer himself in a 
 tart, if it were possible. 
 
 We will uphold London milk. Mr. Rugg says that it is 
 apt to contain chalk, the brains of sheep, oxen, and cows, 
 flour, starch, treacle, whiting, sugar of lead, arnotto, size, 
 etc. Who cares for Mr. Rugg? London milk is better 
 than country milk, for London cows are town cows. They 
 live in a city, in close sheds, in our own dear alleys, — are 
 
62 Hoiv to make Home UnJicaltJiy. 
 
 consumptive, — they are delightful cows ; only their milk is 
 too strong, it requires watering and doctoring, and then it 
 is delicious milk. 
 
 Tea we are not quite sure about. Some people say that 
 because tea took so sudden a hold upon the human appe- 
 tite, because it spread so widely in so short a time, that 
 therefore it supplies a want : its use is natural. Liebig 
 suggests that it supplies a constituent of bile. I think 
 rather that its use has become general because it causes 
 innocent intoxication. Few men are not glad to be made 
 cheerful harmlessly. For this reason I think it is that the 
 use of tea and coffee has become popular ; and since what- 
 ever sustains cheerfulness advances health, — the body 
 working with good will under a pleasant master, — tea does 
 our service little good. In excess, no doubt, it can be 
 rendered hurtful (so can bread and butter) ; but the best 
 way of pressing it into employment, as an oegritudinary aid, 
 is by the practice of taking it extremely hot. A few obser- 
 vations upon the temperature at which food is refused by 
 all the lower animals will soon convince you that in man — 
 not as regards tea only, but in a great many respects — Art 
 has established her own rule, and that the Appetite of 
 Nature has been conquered. 
 
 We have a great respect for alcoholic liquors. It has 
 been seen that the excess of these makes fat : they, there- 
 fore, v/ho have least need of fat, according to our rules, are 
 those who have most need of wine and beer. 
 
 Of ordinary meats there is not much to say. We have 
 read of Dr. Beaumont's servant, who had an open musket- 
 hole, leading into his stomach, through which the doctor 
 made experiments. Many experiments were made ; and 
 tables drawn, of no great value, on the digestibility of divers 
 kinds of meat. Climate and habit are, on such points, 
 paramount. Pig is pollution to the children of the sun, 
 the Jew and Mussulman ; but children of winter, the Scan- 
 
TJie Water Party. 6'}^ 
 
 dinavians, could not imagine Paradise complete without it. 
 Schrimner, the sacred hog, cut up daily and eaten by the 
 tenants of Walhalla, collected his fragments in the night ; 
 and was in his sty again, ready for slaughter, the next 
 morning. These things concern us little, for it is not with 
 plain meat that we have here to do, but with the noble art 
 of cookery. That art, which once obeyed and now com- 
 mands our appetite, which is become the teacher where it 
 was the taught, we duly reverence. When segritudinary 
 science shall obtain its college, and when each unhealthy 
 course shall have its eminent professor to teach theory 
 and practice, — then we shall have a Court of Aldermen for 
 patrons, a gravedigger for Principal, and a cook shall be 
 Dean of the Faculty. 
 
 May ^th, 1850. 
 
 No. VII. — The Water Party. 
 
 Water rains from heaven, and leaps up out of the earth : 
 it rolls about the land in rivers, it accumulates in lakes ; 
 three-fourths of the whole surface of the globe is water ; yet 
 there are men unable to be clean. " God loveth the clean," 
 said Mahomet. He was a sanitary reformer; he was a 
 notorious impostor; and it is our duty to resist any insidious 
 attempt to introduce his doctrines. 
 
 There are in London districts of filth which speak to us 
 — through the nose — in an emphatic manner. Their foul 
 air is an atmosphere of charity; for we pass through it, 
 pitying the poor. Burke said of a certain miser to whom 
 an estate was left, "that now, it was to be hoped, he would 
 set up a pocket-handkerchief." We hope, of the miserable, 
 that when they come into their property they may be able 
 to afford themselves a little lavender and musk. We might 
 be willing to subscribe for the correction now and then, 
 
64 Hoiv to make Home UjiJiealtJiy, 
 
 with aromatic cachou, of the town's bad breath ; but water 
 is a vulgar sort of thing, and of vulgarity the less we have 
 the better. 
 
 In truth, we have not much of it. We are told that in a 
 great city water is maid-of-all-work ; has to assist our 
 manufactures, to supply daily our saucepans and our tea- 
 kettles ; has to cleanse our clothes, our persons, and our 
 houses ; to provide baths, to wash our streets, and to flood 
 away the daily refuse of the people, with their slaughter- 
 houses, markets, hospitals, etc. Our dozen reservoirs in 
 London yield a supply daily averaging thirty gallons to each 
 head, — a quantity too small for sanitary folk, though it 
 contents us thoroughly. Rome in her pride used once to 
 supply water at the rate of more than three hundred gallons 
 daily to each citizen. That was excess. In London half a 
 million of people get no water at all into their houses ; but 
 as those people live in the back settlements, and keep out 
 of our sight, their dirt is no great matter of concern. We, 
 for our own parts, have enough to cook with, have whereof 
 to drink, wherewith to wash our feet sometimes, to wet our 
 fingers and the corner of a towel, — we desire no mo:e. 
 Drainage and all such topics involve details positively 
 nasty, and we blush for any of our fellow-citizens who take 
 delight in chattering about them. 
 
 ^^'e are told to regard the habits of an infant world. 
 London, the brain of a vast empire, is advised now to forget 
 her civilisation, and to go back some thousand years. We 
 are to look at Persian aqueducts, attributed to Noah's great- 
 grandson — at Carthaginians, Etruscans, Mexicans, — at what 
 Rome did. It frets us when we are thus driven to an 
 obvious reply. Man in an unripe and half-civilised con- 
 dition has not found out the vulgarity of water ; for his 
 brutish instinct is not overcome. All savages believe that 
 water is essential to their life, and desire it in unlimited 
 abundance. Cultivation teaches us another life, in which 
 
The Water Party. 65 
 
 our animal existence neither gets nor merits much atten- 
 tion. As for the Romans, so perpetually (luoted, it was a 
 freak of theirs to do things massively. While they were yet 
 almost barbarians, they built that Cloaca through which 
 afterwards Agrippa sailed down to the Tiber in a boat. 
 Who wishes to see his worship the Lord Mayor of London 
 emerging in his state barge from a London sewer ? 
 
 Now here is inconsistency. Thirty million gallons of 
 corruption are added daily by our London sewers to the 
 Thames ; that is one object of complaint, good in itself, 
 because we drink Tliames water. But in the next breath it 
 is complained that a good many million gallons more should 
 be poured out ; that there are three hundred thousand 
 cesspools more to be washed up ; that as much filth as 
 would make a lake, six feet in depth, a mile long, and a 
 thousand feet across, lies under London stagnant ; and they 
 would wish this also to be swept into the river. I heard 
 lately of a gentleman who is tormented with the constant 
 fancy that he has a scorpion down his back. He asks every 
 neighbour to put in his hand and fetch it out, but no 
 amount of fetching out ever relieves him. That is a 
 national delusion. Our enlightened public is much troubled 
 with such scorpions. Sanitary writers are infested with 
 them. 
 
 They also say. That in one half of London people drink 
 Thames water ; and in the other half, get water from the 
 Chadwell spring and river Lea. That the river Lea, for 
 twenty miles, flows through a densely-peopled district, and 
 is, in its passage, drenched with refuse matter from the 
 population on its banks. That there is added to Thames 
 water the waste of two hundred and twenty cities, towns, 
 and villages ; and that between Richmond and AWiterloo 
 bridge more than two hundred sewers discharge into it their 
 fetid matter. That the washing to and fro of tide secures 
 the arrival of a large portion of filth from below Westminster, 
 
66 Hozu to make Hovie UnJicalthy. 
 
 at Hammersmith ; effects a perfect mixture, which is still 
 further faciUtated by the splashing of the steamboats. Mr. 
 Hassal has published engravings of the microscopic aspect 
 of water taken from companies which suck the river up at 
 Avidely-separated stages of its course through town ; — so 
 tested, one drop differs little from another in the degree 
 of its impurity. They tell us that two companies — the 
 Lambeth and West Middlesex — supply Thames Mixture 
 to subscribers as it comes to them ; but that others filter 
 more or less. They say that filtering can expurge nothing 
 but mechanical impurities, while the dissolved pollution 
 which no filter can extract is that part which communicates 
 disease. We know this ; well, and what then ? There are 
 absurdities so lifted above ridicule, that Momus himself 
 would spoil part of the fun if he attempted to transgress 
 beyond a naked statement of them. What do the members 
 of this Water Party w^ant ? I'll tell you what I verily believe 
 they are insane enough to look for. 
 
 Thames water they must have, but they would travel up 
 the stream until they find out a place where it can be had 
 comparatively wholesome. Below Reading, just after it 
 has received the w^ater of the Kennet and the Loddon, at 
 Henley, they would start ; from thence they would desire 
 to bring an aqueduct to London. Li London they v\-ould 
 totally abolish cisterns, and all intermittence of supply. 
 "Water in London they would have to be, as at Nottingham, 
 accessible in all rooms at all times. They would have 
 water, at high pressure, climbing about every house in 
 every court and alley. They would place water, so to 
 speak, at every finger's end, limiting no household as to 
 quantity. They would enable every man to bathe. They 
 would flush every sewer ; and wash, every day, the day's 
 impurity from underneath the town. They hint that all 
 this might not even be expensive ; that the cost of disease 
 and degradation is so much greater than the cost of health 
 
The Water Party. 67 
 
 and self-respect, as to pay back, possibly, our outlay, and 
 then yield a profit to the nation. They say that, even if it 
 were a money loss, it would be moral gain ; and they ask 
 whether we have not spent millions, ere now, upon less 
 harmless commodities than water? 
 
 An ingenious fellow had a fiddle — all, he said, made out 
 of his own head ; and wood enough was left to make 
 another. He must have been a sanitary man ; his fiddle 
 was a crotchet. Still further to illustrate their own capacity 
 of fiddle-making, these good but misguided people have 
 been rooting up some horrible statistics of the filth and 
 wretchedness which our back-windows overlook, with strange 
 facts anent fever, pestilence, and the communication of 
 disease. All this I purposely suppress; it is peculiarly 
 disagreeable. Delicate health we like, and will learn gladly 
 how to obtain it ; but results we are content with, and can 
 spare the details, when those details bring us into contact, 
 even upon paper, with the squalid classes. 
 
 If these outcries of the Water Party move the public to a 
 thirst for change, it would be prudent for us cegritudinary 
 men not rashly to swim against the current. Let us adopt 
 a middle course, a patronising tone. It is in our favour 
 that a large number of the facts which these our foes have 
 to produce, are, by a great deal, too startling to get easy 
 credit. A single "Pooh" ! has in it more semblance of reason 
 than a page of facts, when revelations of neglected hygiene 
 are on the carpet. If the case of the Sanitary Reformers 
 had been only half as well made out, it would be twice as 
 well supported. 
 
 May wth^ 1850. 
 
6S How to Diake Home UnhcaltJiy. 
 
 No. VIII. — Filling the Grave. 
 
 M. Boutigny has published an account of some experi- 
 ments which go to prove that we may dip our fingers into 
 liquid metal with impunity. Professor Pliicker of Bonn has 
 amply confirmed Boutigny's results, and in his report hints 
 a conclusion that henceforth " certain minor operations in 
 surgery may be performed with least pain by placing the foot 
 in a bath of red-hot iron." Would you not like to see Pro- 
 fessor Pliicker, with his trousers duly tucked up, washing 
 his feet in a pailful of this very soothing fluid? And would 
 it not be a fit martyrdom for sanitary doctors if we could 
 compel them also to sacrifice their legs in a cause, kin to 
 their own, of theory and innovation. As Alderman Lawrence 
 shrewdly remarked last week, from his place in the Guild- 
 hall, the sanitary reform cry is "got up". That is the 
 reason why, in his case, it does not go down. He, for his 
 own part, did not disapprove the flavour of a churchyard, 
 and appeared to see no reason why it should be cheated of 
 its due. The sanitary partisans, he said, were paid for 
 making certain statements. It would be well if we could 
 cut off their supply of halfpence, and so silence them. 
 Liwang, an ancient Emperor of China, fearing insurrection, 
 forbade all conversation, even whispering, in his dominions. 
 It would be well for us if Liwang lived now, as our Secretary 
 for the Home Department. There is too much talking, is 
 there not, Mr. Carlyle ? We want Liwang among us. 
 However, as matters stand, it is bad enough for the sanitary 
 reformers. They are beneath the contempt even of an ass. 
 They are despised by Alderman Lawrence.* 
 
 * The honest and uncompromising spirit in which these 
 papers oppose the sanitary movement, has led some people to 
 imagine that there is satire meant in them. The best way to 
 answer this suspicion, is to print here so much as we can find 
 
Filling the Grave. 6g 
 
 Let us uphold our city graveyards ; on that point we 
 have aheady spoken out. Let us not cheat them of their 
 pasturage ; if any man fall sick, when, so to speak, his grave 
 is dug, let us not lift him out of it by misdirected care. 
 That topic now engages our attention. 
 
 There is a report among the hearsay stories of Herodotus, 
 touching some tribe of Scythians, that when one of them 
 gets out of health, or passes forty years of age, his friends 
 proceed to slaughter him, lest he become diseased, tough, 
 or unfit for table. Those people took their ancestors into 
 their stomachs, we lake ours into our lungs, — and herein we 
 adopt the better plan, because it is the more unwholesome. 
 We are content, also, now and then to let our friends grow 
 old, although we may repress the tendency to age as much 
 
 space for of the speech of Alderman Lawrence, as reported in 
 the Times last Saturday. It will be seen that the tone of his 
 eloquence and that of ours differ but little ; and that the present 
 writer resembles the learned Alderman (who has succeeded 
 however, on a far larger scale) in his attempt iniscere stultitiajn 
 consiliis brevein. The noble city lord remarked : " The fact 
 was, that the sanitary schemes were got up ; talk Avas made 
 about cholera, and people became alarmed. Now, it was said 
 that burial-grounds were highly injurious to health, and a great 
 cry had been raised against them. He did not know such to be 
 the fact, that they were injurious to health. He did not believe 
 one word about it. There were many persons who lived by 
 raising up bugbears of this description in the present day, and 
 those persons were always raising up some new crotchet or 
 another." After giving his view of the new Interments Bill, he 
 asked, " Was it likely that the public would put up with the 
 idea even of thus having the remains of their friends carried 
 about the country ? Was it likely that the Government would 
 be permitted thus to spread perhaps pestilence and fever?" 
 There ! If you want satire, could you have a finer touch than 
 that last sentence ? There is a bone to pick, and marrow in it 
 too. 
 
/O How to make Ho7)ie Unhealthy. 
 
 as possible. We do not absolutely kill our neighbours 
 when they sicken ; yet by judicious nursing we may fre- 
 quently keep down a too great buoyancy of health, and 
 check recovery. How to produce this last effect I will now 
 tell you. Gentle mourners, do not chide me as irreverent, — 
 
 " Auch ich war In Arkadien geboren/" — 
 
 bear with me then, and let me give my hints concerning 
 cegritudinary sick-room discipline. 
 
 Of the professional nurse I will say nothing. You, of 
 course, have put down Mrs. Gamp's address. 
 
 A sick-room should, in the first place, be made dark. 
 Light, I have said before, is in most cases curative. It is 
 a direct swindling of the doctor when we allow blinds to be 
 pulled up, and so admit into the patient's room medicine 
 for which nobody (except the tax-gatherer) is paid. 
 
 A sick-room should, in the next place, be made sad, 
 obtrusively sad. A smile upon the landing must become a 
 sigh when it has passed the patient's door. Our hope is to 
 depress, to dispirit invalids. Cheerful words and gentle 
 laughter, more especially when there is admitted sunshine 
 also, are a moral food much too nutritious for the sick. 
 
 The sick-room, in its furniture as well, must have an 
 ominous appearance. The drawers or a table should be 
 decked with physic bottles. Some have a way of thrusting 
 all the medicines into a cupboard, out of sight, leaving a 
 glass of gaily-coloured flowers for the wearied eyes to rest 
 upon : this has arisen obviously from a sanitary crotchet, 
 and is on no account to be adopted. 
 
 Then we must have the sick-room to be hot, and keep it 
 close. A scentless air, at summer temperature, sanitary 
 people want ; a hot, close atmosphere is better suited to our 
 view. Slops and all messes are to be left standing in the 
 room — only put out of sight — and cleared away occa- 
 sionally : they are not to be removed at once. The chamber 
 
Filling the Grave. 71 
 
 also is to be made tidy once a day, and once a week well 
 cleaned ; it is not to be kept in order by incessant care, by 
 hourly tidiness, permitting no dirt to collect. 
 
 There is an absurd sanitary dictum which I will but name. 
 It is, that a patient ought to have, if possible, two beds, one 
 for the day, and one for night use ; or else two sets of 
 sheets, that, each set being used one day and aired the 
 next, the bed may be kept fresh and wholesome. Suppose 
 our friend were to catch cold in consequence of all this 
 freshness I 
 
 No, we do better to avoid fresh air ; nor should we vex 
 our patient with much washing. We will not learn to feed 
 the sick, but send their food away when they are unable to 
 understand our clumsiness. 
 
 Yet, v.-hile we follow our own humour in this code of 
 chamber practice, we will pay tithes of mint and cummin 
 to the men of science. We will ask Monsieur Purgon how 
 many grains of salt go to an egg; and if our patient 
 require twelve turns up and down the room, we will inquire, 
 with Argan, whether they are to be measured by its length, 
 or breadth. 
 
 When we have added to our course some doses of religious 
 horror, we shall have done as much as conscience can 
 demand of us towards Filling the Grave. 
 
 I may append here the remark, that if ever we do resolve 
 to eat our ancestors, there is the plan of a distinguished 
 horticulturist apt for our purpose. Mr. Loudon I believe 
 it was who proposed, some years ago, the conversion of the 
 dead into rotation crops, — that our grandfathers and grand- 
 mothers should be converted into corn and mangel-wurzel. 
 His suggestion was, to combine burial with farming 
 operations. A field was to be, during forty years, a place 
 of interment ; then the field adjacent was to be taken for 
 that purpose ; and so on with others in rotation. A due 
 time bavins; been allowed for the manure in each field to 
 
72 Holu to make Home UnJiealtJiy. 
 
 rot, the dead were to be well worked up and gradually dis- 
 interred in the form of wheat, or carrots, or potatoes. 
 
 Nothing appears odd to which we are accustomed. We 
 look abroad and wonder, but we look at home and are con- 
 tent. The Esquimaux believe that men dying in windy 
 weather are unfortunate, because their souls, as they escape, 
 risk being blown away. Some Negroes do not bury in the 
 rainy season, for they believe that then the gods, being all 
 busy up above, cannot attend to any ceremonies. Dr. 
 Hooker writes home from the Himalaya mountains, that 
 about Lake Yaron the Lamas' bodies are exposed, and kites 
 are summoned to devour them by the sound of gong and 
 of a trumpet made out of a human thigh-bone. Such 
 notions from abroad arrest our notice, but we see nothing 
 when we look at home. We might see how we fill our sick- 
 rooms with a fatal gloom, and keep our dead five or six 
 days within our houses, to bury them, side by side and one 
 over another, thousands together, in the middle of our 
 cities. However, when we do succeed in getting at a view 
 of our own life ab extra, it is a pleasant thing to find that 
 sanitary heresies at any rate have not struck deep root in 
 British soil. In an old Book of Emblems there is a picture 
 of Cupid whipping a tortoise, to the motto that "Love 
 hates Delay". If lovers of reform in sanitary matters hate 
 delay, it is a pity ; for our good old tortoise has a famous 
 shell, and is not stimulated easily. 
 
 May i8//^, 1850. 
 
 No. IX. — The Fire and the Dressing-Room. 
 
 Against the weather all men are Protectionists, all men 
 account it matter of offence. What say the people of the 
 north ? A Highland preacher, one December Sunday, in 
 the fourth hour of his sermon 
 
The Fire afid tJie Di'cssing-Room. 73 
 
 For be it known to Englishmen who nod at church, that 
 in the Highlands, after four good hours of prayer and 
 psalm, there follow four good hours of sermon. And, nota 
 dene, may it not be that the shade of our King Henry I 
 does penance among Highland chapels now, for having, in 
 his lifetime, made one Roger a bishop because he was 
 
 expert in scrambling through the services ? 
 
 A Highland pastor saw his congregation shivering. " Ah !" 
 he shouted, " maybe ye think this a cauld place ; but, let 
 me tell ye, Hell's far caulder !" An English hearer after- 
 wards reproached this minister for his perversion of the 
 current faith. " Hout, man," said he, "ye dinna ken the 
 Hielanders. If I were to tell them Hell was a hot place, 
 they'd all be labouring to go there." And that was true 
 philosophy. Mythologies invented in the north imagined 
 their own climate into future torture. Above, in the north- 
 ern lights, they saw a chase of miserable souls, half starved, 
 and hunted to and fro by ravens; below", they imagined 
 Nastrond with its frosts and serpents. Warmth is delight- 
 ful, certainly. No doubt ; but sunburnt nations picture 
 future punishment as fire. Yes, naturally, for it is in the 
 middle region only that we are not wearied with extremes. 
 What region shall we take? Our own? When is it not 
 too hot, too cold, too dry, too wet, or too uncertain? 
 Italy ? There the sun breeds idle maggots. As for the 
 poet's paradise, Cashmere, botanists tell us that although, 
 no doubt, fruits grow luxuriantly there, they are extremely 
 flavourless. Then it is obvious that to abuse, antagonise, 
 defy the weather, is one of the established rights of man. 
 Upon our method of defying it, our health, in some 
 measure, depends. How is our right to be maintained un- 
 healthily ? 
 
 Not by a blind obedience to Nature. We are correcting 
 her, and must not let her guide us. Nature considers all 
 men savages — and savages they would be, if they followed 
 
 I F 
 
74 How to inafce Home UnJiealthy. 
 
 her. What is barbarism? Man in a state of nature. 
 Nature, I say, treats us almost as if we were unable to 
 light fires, or stitch for ourselves breeches. Nature places 
 near the hand of man in each climate a certain food, and 
 tyrannises over his stomach with a certain craving. Whales 
 and seals delight the Esquimaux ; he eats his blubber, and 
 defies the frost. So fed, the Esquimaux woman can stand 
 out of doors, suckling her infant at an open breast, with the 
 thermometer 40° below zero. As we go south, we pass the 
 lands of bread and beef, to reach the sultry region wherein 
 Nature provides dates, and so forth. Even in our own 
 range of the seasons. Nature seeks to bind us to her own 
 routine ; in winter gives an appetite for flesh and fat, in 
 summer takes a part of it away. We are not puppets, and 
 we will not be dictated to ; so we stimulate the stomach, 
 and allow no brute instinct to tamper with our social diet- 
 ary. We do here, on a small scale, what is done, on 
 a large scale, by our friends in India, who pepper them- 
 selves into appetite, that they may eat, and drink, and die. 
 We drink exciting beverage in summer, because we are hot ; 
 we drink it in winter, because we are cold. The fact is, 
 we are driven to such practices ; for if we did not interfere 
 to take the guidance of our diet out of Nature's hands, she 
 would make food do a large portion of the service which 
 civilisation asks of fire and clothing. We should walk 
 about warm in the winter, cool in the summer, having the 
 warmth and coolness in ourselves. Now, it is obvious that 
 this would never do. We must be civilised, or we must 
 not. Is Mr. Sangster to sell tomahawks instead of canes? 
 Clearly, he is not. We must so manage our homes as to 
 create unhealthy bodies. If we do not, society is ruined ; 
 if we do — and in proportion as we do so — we become more 
 and more unfit to meet vicissitudes of weather. Then we 
 acquire a social craving after fires, and coats, and cloaks, 
 and wrappers, and umbrellas, and cork soles, and muffetees. 
 
The Fire mid tJie Dressing-Roovi. 75 
 
 and patent hareskins, and all the blessings of this life, upon 
 which our preservation must depend. These prove that 
 we have stepped beyond the brute. You never saw a lion 
 with cork soles and muffctees. The tiger never comes out, 
 of nights, in a great-coat. The eagle never soars up from 
 his nest with an umbrella. Man alone comprehends these 
 luxuries ; and it is when he is least healthy that he loves 
 them best. 
 
 In winter, then, it is not diet and it is not exercise that 
 shall excite in us a vital warmth. We will depend on arti- 
 ficial means ; we will be warmed, not from within, but from 
 without. We will set ourselves about a fire, like pies, and 
 bake, heating the outside first. Where the Fire fails, we 
 will depend upon the Dressing-room. 
 
 If we have healthy chests, we will encase ourselves in 
 flannel; but if we happen to have chest complaint, we will 
 use nothing of the sort. When we go out, we will em- 
 panoply our persons, so that we may warm ourselves by 
 shutting in all exhalation from our bodies, and by husband- 
 ing what little heat we permit Nature to provide for us. 
 
 In summer we will eat rich dinners ar-d drink wine, will 
 cast off three-fourths of the thickness of our winter clothing, 
 and still be oppressed by heat. Seed-drinks shall take the 
 place of fire. 
 
 Civilised people cannot endure being much wetted. Con- 
 tact of water, during exercise, will do no harm to healthy 
 bodies, but will spoil good clothes. We will get damp only 
 when we walk out in bad weather ; then, when we come 
 home, we need no change. Evaporation from damp clothes 
 — the act of drying — while the body cools down, resting, 
 and perhaps fatigued, that is what damages the health ; 
 against that we have no objection. 
 
 Hem ! No doubt it is taking a great liberty with a Briton 
 to look over his wardrobe. I will not trespass so far, but, 
 my dear sir, your hat ! If we are to have a column on our 
 
 F 2 
 
76 Hozv to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 heads, let it be one in which we can feel pride — a miniature 
 monument — and we might put a statue on the top. Hats 
 as they are now worn would not fitly support more than 
 a bust. Is not this mean ? On aegritudinary grounds we 
 will uphold a hat. To keep the edifice from taking flight 
 before a puff of wind, it must be fitted pretty tightly round 
 the head, must press over the forehead and the occiput. 
 How much it presses, a red ring upon our flesh will often 
 testify. Heads are not made of putty; pressure implies 
 impediment to certain processes within ; one of these pro- 
 cesses is called the circulation of the blood. The brain 
 lies underneath our hats. Well, that is as it should be. 
 Ladies do not wear hats, and never will ; the bonnet is so 
 artful a contrivance for encompassing the face with orna- 
 ment — roses and lilies and daflidown-dillies, which would 
 have sent Flora into fits and killed her long ago, had such 
 a goddess ever been. 
 
 I said that there was brain under the hat ; this is not 
 always obvious, but there is generally hair. Once upon a 
 time, not very long ago, hair was constructed with great 
 labour into a huge tower upon every lady's head, pomatum 
 being used by way of mortar, and this tower was repaired 
 every three weeks. The British matron then looked like a 
 " mop-headed Papuan". The two were much alike, except 
 in this, that while our countrywoman triumphed in her art, 
 the Papuan was discontented with his nature. The ladies 
 here, whose hair was naturally made to fall around the 
 shoulders, reared it up on end ; but in New Guinea, fashion- 
 ables born with hair that grew of its own will into an upright 
 bush preferred to cut it off, and re-arrange it in a wig 
 directed downwards. Sometimes they do no more than 
 crop it close ; and then, since it is characteristic of the hair 
 in this race to grow, not in an expanse, but in tufts, the 
 head is said by sailors to remind them of a worn-out shoe- 
 brush. So, at the Antipodes as well as here. Art is an 
 
The Fire and the Dressing- Room. yy 
 
 enemy to Nature. Hair upon the head was meant originally 
 to preserve in all seasons an equable temperature above the 
 brain. Emptying grease-pots into it, and matting it together, 
 we convert it into an unwholesome skull-cap. 
 
 The neck ? Here sanitary people say, How satisfactory it 
 is that Englishmen keep their necks covered with a close 
 cravat, and do not Byronise in opposition to the climate. 
 That is very good ; but English women, who account them- 
 selves more delicate, don't cover their necks — indeed, they 
 do not at all times cover their shoulders. So, travelling 
 from top to toe, if English men wear thick shoes to protect 
 the feet, our English women scorn the weakness, and go, 
 except a little fancy covering, barefooted. 
 
 From this point I digress, to note of other garments that 
 the English dress, as now established, does on the whole 
 fair credit to society. To the good gentlemen who poetise 
 concerning grace and the antique, who sigh for togas, stolas, , 
 and paludaments, I say. Go to. The drapery you sigh for 
 was the baby-linen of the human race. Now we are out of 
 long-clothes. The present European dress is that which 
 offers least impediment to action. It shows what a man is 
 like, and that is more than any stranger from another world 
 could have detected under the upholstery to which our 
 sculptors cling. The merest hint of a man— shaped as God 
 shaped him — is better than ten miles of folded blanket. 
 Artists cry down our costume ; forgetting that if they have 
 not folds of drapery to paint, that is because they have in 
 each man every limb to which they may assign its posture. 
 If they can put no mind into a statue by the mastery of 
 attitude, all the sheets in Guy's Hospital will not twist into 
 a fold that shall be worth their chiselling. 
 
 With women it is different. They have both moral and 
 esthetic right to drapery; and for the fashion of it, we 
 must leave that to themselves. They are all licensed to 
 deal in stuffs, colours, frippery, and flounce ; and to wear 
 
78 How to make Home Unheal t J ly. 
 
 rings in their ears. If ladies have good taste, they cannot 
 vex us ; and that any of them can have bad taste, who shall 
 hint ? Their stays they will abide by, as they love hysterics ; 
 them I have mentioned. I have before also gone out of 
 my way to speak of certain humps carried by women on 
 their backs, which are not healthy or unhealthy — who shall 
 say what they are? Are these humps allegorical? Our 
 wives and daughters perhaps wish to hint that they resemble 
 camels in their patience ; camels who bear their burden 
 through a desert world, which we, poor folk, should find it 
 quite impossible to travel through without them. 
 
 May 25//^, 1850. 
 
 No. X. — Fresh Air. 
 
 Philosophers tell us that the breath of man is poisonous; 
 that when collected in a jar it will kill mice, but when 
 accumulated in a room it will kill men. Of this there are 
 a thousand and one tales. I decline alluding to the Black 
 Hole of Calcutta, but will take a specimen dug up by some 
 sanitary gardener from Horace Walpole's letters. In 1742 
 a set of jolly Dogberries, virtuous in their cups, resolved 
 that every woman out after dark ought to be locked up in 
 the round-house. They captured twenty-six unfortunates, 
 and shut them in with doors and windows fastened. The 
 prisoners exhausted breath in screaming. One poor girl 
 said she was worth eighteenpence, and cried that she would 
 give it gladly for a cup of water. Dogberry was deaf. In 
 the morning four were brought out dead, two dying, and 
 twelve in a dangerous condition. This is an argument in 
 favour of the new police. I don't believe in ventilation ; 
 and will undertake here, in a few paragraphs, to prove it 
 nonsense. 
 
F res J I Air. 79 
 
 At the very outset, let us take the ventilation-mongers on 
 their own ground. People of this class are always referring 
 us to Nature. Very well, we will be natural. Do you be- 
 lieve, sir, that the words of that dear lady, when she said 
 she loved you everlastingly, were poisonous air rendered 
 sonorous by the action of a larynx, tongue, teeth, palate, 
 and lips? No indeed; ladies at any rate, although they 
 claim a double share of what the cherubs want — and pos- 
 sibly these humps, now three times spoken of, are the 
 concealed and missing portions of the cherubim torn from 
 
 them by the fair sex in some ancient struggle There 
 
 now, I am again shipwrecked on the wondrous mountains. 
 I was about to say, that ladies, who in some things surpass 
 the cherubs, equal them in others ; like them, are vocal with 
 ethereal tones; their breath is "the sweet south that breathes 
 upon a bank of violets", and that's not poisonous, I fancy. 
 Well, I believe the chemists have as yet not detected any 
 difference between a man's breath and a woman's; there- 
 fore neither of them can be hurtful. But let us grant the 
 whole position. Breath is poisonous, but Nature made it 
 so. Nature intended it to be so. Nature made man a social 
 animal, and therefore designed that many breaths should 
 be commingled. Why do you, lovers of the natural, object 
 to that arrangement ? 
 
 Now let us glance at the means adopted to get rid of this 
 our breath, this breath of which our words are made, 
 libelled as poisonous. Ventilation is of two kinds, mechani- 
 cal and physical. I will say something about each. 
 
 Mechanical ventilation is that which machinery produces. 
 One of the first recorded ventilators of this kind was not 
 much more extravagant in its charges upon house-room than 
 some of which we hear in 1850. In 1663, H. Schmitz 
 published the scheme of a great fanner, which, descending 
 through the ceiling, moved to and fro pendulum-wise, within 
 a mighty slit. The movement of the fanner was esta- 
 
So Hoiv to make Home UnJiealthy. 
 
 blished by a piece of clockwork more simple than compact ; 
 it occupied a complete chamber overhead, and was set in 
 noisy motion by a heavy weight. The weight ran slowly 
 down, pulling its rope until it reached the parlour floor ; so 
 that a gentleman incautiously falling asleep under it after 
 his dinner, might awake to find himself a pancake. Since 
 that time we have had no lack of ingenuity at work on 
 forcing-pumps, and sucking-pumps, and screws. The screws 
 are admirable on account of the unusually startling nature, 
 now and then, of their results. Not long ago, a couple of fine 
 screws were adapted to a public building ; one was to take 
 air out, the other was to turn air in. The first screw, 
 unexpectedly perverse, wheeled its air inwards ; so did the 
 second, but instead of directing its draught upwards, it blew 
 down with a great gust of contempt upon the horrified 
 experimentalist. There is something of a screw principle in 
 those queer little wheels fastened occasionally in our windows 
 and on footmen's hats — query, are those the ventilating hats ? 
 — the rooms are as much ventilated by these little tins as 
 they would be by an air from Don Giovanni. I will say 
 nothing about pumps ; nor indeed need we devote more 
 space to mechanical contrivances, since it is from other 
 modes of ventilation that our cause has most to fear. Only 
 one quaint speculation may be mentioned. It is quite 
 certain that in the heats of India, air is not cooled by 
 fanning, nor is it cooled judiciously by damping it. Professov 
 Piazzi Smyth last year suggested this idea : Compress air by 
 a forcing-pump into a close vessel, by so doing you increase 
 its heat : then suddenly allow it to escape into a room, it will 
 expand so much as to be cold, and, mixing with the other 
 air in the compartment, cool the whole mass. This is the 
 last new theory, which has not yet, I think, been tried in 
 practice. 
 
 Now, physical ventilation — that which affects to imitate 
 the processes of Nature — is a more dangerously specious 
 
Fresh Air. 8i 
 
 business. Its chief agent is heat. In Nature, it is said, the 
 Sun is Lord High Ventilator. He rarefies the air in one 
 place by his heat, elsewhere permits cold and lets the air be 
 dense ; the thin air rises, and the dense air rushes to supply 
 its place, so we have endless winds and currents, Nature's 
 ventilating works. It is incredible that sane men should have 
 thought this system fit for imitation. It is a failure. Look at 
 the hot department, where a traveller sometimes has to record 
 that he lay gasping for two hours upon his back until some one 
 could find some water for him somewhere. Let us call that 
 Africa, and who can say that he enjoys the squalls of wind 
 rushing towards the desert ? Let us think of the Persian 
 and the Punic wars, when fleets which had not learned to 
 play bo-peep with ventilating processes, strewed Mediter- 
 ranean sands with wTCcks and corpses. Some day we shall 
 have these mimics of Dame Nature content with nothing 
 smaller than a drawing-room typhoon to carry off the foul 
 air of an evening party ; dowagers' caps, young ladies' 
 scarfs, cards, pocket-handkerchiefs, will whirl upon their 
 blast, and then they will be happy. Now their demands 
 are modest, but they mean hurricanes, rely upon it ; we 
 must not let ourselves be lulled into a false security. 
 
 A fire, they say, is in English houses necessary during a 
 large partof the year, is constant during that season when 
 we are most closely shut up in our rooms. The fire, they 
 say, is our most handy and most efficacious ventilator. O 
 yes, we know something about that : we know too well that 
 the fire makes an ascending current, and that the cold air 
 rushes from our doors and windows to the chimney, as 
 from surrounding countries to the burning desert. We 
 know that very well, because every such current is a 
 draught ; one cuts into our legs, one gnaws about our 
 necks, and all our backs are cold. We are in the con- 
 dition of the pious man in Foxe's Martyrs, about whom I 
 used to read with childish reverence, that after a great deal 
 
82 Hoiv to make Home UnhealtJiy. 
 
 of frying, during which he had not been turned by the 
 Inquisilion-Soyer, he lifted up his voice in verse — 
 
 " This side enough is toasted ; 
 
 Then turn me, tyrant, and eat, 
 And see whether raw or roasted 
 I make thee better meat." 
 
 We all of us, over our Christmas fires, present this choice 
 of raw or roast, and we don't thank your principles of 
 ventilation for it. Then say these pertinacious people that 
 they also disapprove of draughts ; but they don't seem to 
 mind boring holes in a gentleman's floor, or knocking 
 through the sacred walls of home. This is their plan. 
 They say that you should have, if possible, a pipe con- 
 nected with the air without, passing behind the cheeks of 
 your stove, and opening under your fire, about, on, or close 
 before your hearth. They say that from this source the 
 fire will be supplied so well, that it will no longer suck in 
 draughts over your shoulders and between your legs from 
 remote corners of the room. They say, moreover, that if 
 this aperture be large enough, it will supply all the fresh air 
 needed in your room, to replace that which has ascended 
 and passed out, through a hole which you are to make in 
 your chimney near the ceiling. They say that an up- 
 draught will clear this air away so quietly, that you will 
 not need even a valve; though you may have one fitted 
 and made ornamental at a trifling cost. They would 
 recommend you to make another hole in the wall opposite 
 your chimney, near the ceiling also, to establish a more 
 effectual current in the upper air. Then, they say, you will 
 have fresh air, and no draughts. Fresh air, yes, at the 
 expense of a hole in the floor and two holes in the wall. 
 AVe might get fresh air, gentlemen, on a much larger scale 
 by pulling the house down. They say, you should not 
 mind the holes. Windows are not architectural beauties, 
 
Fresh Air. 83 
 
 yet we like them for admitting light ; and some day it may 
 strike us that the want of ventilators is a neighbour folly to 
 the want of windows. 
 
 This they suggest as the best method of adapting our old 
 houses to their new ideas. New houses they would have so 
 built as to include this system of ventilation in their first 
 construction, and so include it as to make it more effectual. 
 But really, if people want to know how to build what are 
 called well-ventilated houses, they must not expect me to 
 tell them ; let them buy Mr. Hoskin's book on The Proper 
 Regulation of Buildings in Toiv?is. 
 
 Up to this date, as I am glad to know, few architects 
 have heard of ventilation. Under church galleries we doze 
 through the most lively sermons, in public meetings we 
 pant after air, but we have architecture ; perhaps an airy 
 style sometimes attempts to comfort us. These circum- 
 stances are possibly unpleasant at the time, but they assist 
 the cause of general unhealthiness. Long may our architects 
 believe that human lungs are instruments of brass ; and let 
 us hope that, when they get a ventilating fit, they will prefer 
 strange machines, pumping, screwing, steaming apparatus. 
 May they dispense, then, doctored air, in draughts and 
 mixtures. 
 
 Fresh air in certain favoured places — as in Smithfield, for 
 example — is undoubtedly an object of desire. It is exceed- 
 ingly to be regretted, if the rumours be correct, that the 
 result of a Commission of Inquiry threatens, by removing 
 Smithfield Market, to destroy the only sound lung this 
 metropolis possesses. The wholesome nature of the smell 
 of cows is notorious. Humboldt tells of a sailor who was 
 dying of fever in the close hold of a ship. His end being 
 in sight, some comrades brought him out to die. What 
 Humboldt calls the " fresh air" fell upon him, and, instead 
 of dying, he revived, eventually getting well. I have no 
 doubt that there was a cow on board, and the man smelt 
 
84 Hozv to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 her. Now, if so great an effect was produced by the 
 proximity of one cow, how great must be the advantage to 
 the sick in London of a central, crowded Cattle-market. 
 
 June isf, 1850. 
 
 No. XL — Exercise. 
 
 There is a little tell-tale muscle in the inner corner of the 
 eye, which, if you question it, will deliver a report in to 
 your looking-glass touching the state of the whole muscular 
 system which lies elsewhere hidden in your body. When 
 it is pale it praises you. Muscular development is, by all 
 means, to be kept down. Some means of holding it in 
 check we have already dwelt upon. Muscular power, hke 
 all other power, will increase with exercise. We desire to 
 hold the flesh in strict subjection to the spirit. Bodily 
 exercise, therefore, must be added to the number of those 
 forces which, by strengthening the animal, do damage to 
 the spiritual man. 
 
 We must take great pains to choke the energy of children. 
 Their active little limbs must be tied down by a well-woven 
 system of politeness. They run, they jump, turn heels over 
 head, they climb up trees, if they attempt stillness they are 
 ever on the move, because Nature demands that while the 
 body grows it shall be freely worked in all its parts, in order 
 that it may develop into a frame-work vigorous and well 
 proportioned. Nature really is more obstinate than usual 
 on this point. So restless a delight in bodily exertion is 
 implanted in the child, that our patience is considerably 
 tried when we attempt to keep it still. Children, however, 
 can be tamed and civilised. By sending theni unhealthy 
 from the nursery, we can deliver many of them spiritless at 
 school, there to be properly subdued. The most unwhole- 
 some plan is to send boys to ouc school, girls to another ; 
 
Exercise. 85 
 
 both physically and morally, this method gives good hope 
 of sickliness. Nature, who never is on our side, will allow 
 children of each sex to be born into one family, to play 
 together and be educated at one mother's knee. There 
 ought to be — if Nature had the slightest sense of decency — 
 girls only born in one house, boys only in another. How- 
 ever, we can sort the children at an early age and send them 
 off to school, girls east, boys west. 
 
 A girl shall be allowed on no account to climb a tree, or 
 be unladylike. She shall regard a boy as a strange, curious 
 monster; be forced into flirtation ; and prefer the solace of 
 a darling friend to anything that verges on a scamper. She 
 shall learn English Grammar; that is to mean, Lindley 
 Murray's notion of it; Geography, or the names of capital 
 towns, rivers, and mountain ranges; French enough for a 
 lady; Music, Ornamental Needlew^ork, and the Use of the 
 Globes. By-the-bye, what a marvel it is that every lady has 
 learned in her girlhood the Use of the Globes, and yet you 
 never see a lady using them. K\\ these subjects she shall 
 study from a female point of view. Her greatest bodily 
 fatigue shall be the learning of a polka, or the Indian 
 sceptre exercise. Now and then, she shall have an iron 
 down her back, and put her feet in stocks. The young 
 lady shall return from school, able to cover ottomans with 
 worsted birds ; and to stitch a purse for the expected lover 
 about whom she has been thinking for the last five years. 
 She is quite aware that St. Petersburg is the capital of 
 Ireland, and that a noun is a verb-substantive, which signi- 
 fies to be, to do, to suffer. 
 
 The boy children shall be sent to school, where they may 
 sit during three hours consecutively, and during eight or 
 nine hours in the day, forcing their bodies to be tranquil. 
 They shall entertain their minds by stuttering the eloquence 
 of Cicero, which would be dull work to them in English, 
 and is not enlivened by the Latin. They shall get much 
 
86 How to make Home UnJiealtJiy. 
 
 into their mouths, of what they cannot comprehend; and 
 httle or nothing into their hearts, out of the wide stores 
 of information for which children really thirst. They shall 
 be taught little or nothing of the world they live in, and 
 shall know its Maker only as an answer to some question in 
 a catechism. They shall talk of girls as beings of another 
 nature ; and shall come home from their school-life pale, 
 subdued, having unwholesome thoughts ; awkward in using 
 limbs, which they have not been suffered freely to develop ; 
 and shamefaced in the society from which, during their 
 schoolboy life, they have been banished. 
 
 The older girl shall ape the lady, and the older boy shall 
 ape the gentleman ; so we may speak next of adults. 
 
 No lady ought to walk when she can ride. The carriages 
 of many kinds which throng our streets all prove us civilised ; 
 prove us, and make us, weak. The lady should be tired 
 after a four-mile walk ; her walk ought to be, in the utmost 
 possible degree, weeded of energy. It should be slow ; and 
 when her legs are moved, her arms must be restrained from 
 that synchronous movement which perverse Nature calls 
 upon them to perform. Ladies do well to walk out with 
 their arms quite still, and with their hands folded before 
 them. Thus they prevent their delicacy from being preyed 
 upon by a too wholesome exercise, and, what is to us more 
 pleasant, they betray their great humility. They dare only 
 to walk among us lords of the creation with their arm? 
 folded before them, that by such humble guise they may 
 acknowledge the inferiority of their position. An Australian 
 native, visiting London, might almost be tempted, in sheer 
 pride of heart, to knock some of our ladies two or three 
 times about the head with that small instrument which he 
 employs for such correction of his women, that so he might 
 derive the more enjoyment from their manifest submis- 
 siveness. 
 
 The well-bred gentleman ought to be weary after six miles 
 
Exercise. 87 
 
 of walking, and haughtily stare down the man who talks 
 about sixteen. The saddle, the gig, the carriage, or the cab 
 and omnibus, must protect at once his delicacy and his 
 shoes. The student should confine himself to study, 
 grudging time; believing nobody who tells him that the 
 time he gives to wholesome exercise, he may receive back 
 in the shape of increased value for his hours of thought — 
 that even his life of study may be lengthened bj it. Let 
 the tradesman be well rooted in his shop if he desire to 
 flourish. Let the mechanic sit at labour on the week-days, 
 and on Sundays let him sit at church, or else stop decently 
 at home. Let us have no Sunday recreations. It is quite 
 shocking to hear sanitary people lecture on this topic. Pro- 
 fanely they profess to wonder why the weary, toiling family 
 of Christians should not be carried from the town, and from 
 that hum of society which is not to them very refreshing, on 
 the day of rest. Why they should not go out and wander 
 in the woods, and ask their hearts who taught the dragon- 
 fly his dancing ; who made the blue-bells cluster lovingly 
 together, looking so modest ; and ask from whose Opera 
 the birds are singing their delicious music ? Why should 
 not the rugged man's face soften, and the care-worn woman's 
 face be melted into tenderness, and man and wife and 
 children cluster as closely as the blue-bells in the peaceful 
 wood ? What if they there become so very conscious of 
 their mutual love, and of the love of God, as to feel glad 
 that they are not in any other "place of worship", where 
 they may hear Roman Catholics denounced, or Churchmen 
 scorned, or the Dissenters pounded ? What if they then 
 come home refreshed in mind and body, and begin the 
 week with larger, gentler thoughts of God and man ? By 
 such means may they not easily be led, if they were at any 
 time unwilling, to give praise to God, and learn to join — 
 not as a superstitious rite, but as a humble duty — in this 
 public worship? So talk the sanitary men— here, as in all 
 
S8 How to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 their doctrines, showing themselves httle better than mate- 
 riahsts. The negro notion of the Sabbath is, that nobody 
 may fish ; our notion is, that nobody may stay away from 
 church. 
 
 In these remarks on Exercise among adults, I have con- 
 fined myself .to the plain exercise of walking. It may be 
 taken for granted that no grown-up person will be so childish 
 as to leap, to row, to swim. A few Young Englanders may 
 put on, now^ and then, their white kid gloves to patronise a 
 cricket match ; but we can laugh at them. In a gentleman 
 it is undignified to run ; and even walking, at the best, is 
 vulgar. 
 
 Indeed, there is an obvious vulgarity in the whole doctrine 
 Avhich would call upon us to assist our brute development by 
 the mere exercising of ourselves as animals. Such counsel 
 offers to degrade us to the low position of the race-horse 
 who is trotted to and fro, the poodle who is sent out for an 
 airing. . As spiritual people we look down with much con- 
 tempt upon the man who would in anything compare us 
 Avith the lower animals. His mind is mean, and must be 
 quite beneath our indignation. I will say no more. Why 
 thrash a pickpocket with thunder ? 
 
 June Sth, 1850. 
 
 No. XII. — A BedroOiM Paper. 
 
 If you wish to have a thoroughly unhealthy bedroom, 
 these are the precautions you should take. 
 
 Fasten a chimney-board against the fireplace, so as to 
 prevent foul air from escaping in the night. You will, of 
 course, have no hole through the wall into the chimney ; 
 and no sane man, in the night season, would have a door 
 or window open. Use no perforated zinc in panelling ; 
 especially avoid it in small bedrooms. So you will get a 
 room full of air. But in the same room there is bad, 
 
A Bedroom Paper. 89 
 
 worse, and worst : your object is to have the worst air 
 possible. Suffocating machines are made by every uphol- 
 sterer ; attach one to your bed ; it is an apparatus of poles, 
 rings, and curtains. By drawing your curtains around you 
 before you sleep, you ensure to yourself a condensed body 
 of foul air over your person. This poison vapour-bath you 
 will find to be most efficient when it is made of any thick 
 material. 
 
 There being transpiration through the skin, it would not 
 be a bad idea to see whether this cannot be in some way 
 hindered. The popular method will do very well : smother 
 the flesh as much as possible in feathers. A wandering 
 princess, in some fairy tale, came to a king's house. The 
 king's wife, with the curiosity and acuteness proper to her 
 sex, desired to know whether their guest was truly born a 
 princess, and discovered how to solve the question. She 
 put three peas on the young lady's palliasse, and over them 
 a large feather bed, and then another, then another — in 
 fact, fifteen feather beds. Next morning the princess 
 looked pale, and, in answer to inquiries how she had 
 passed the night, said that she had been unable to sleep at 
 all, because the bed had lumps in it. The king's wife knew 
 then that their guest showed her good breeding. Take this 
 high-born lady for a model. The feathers retain all heat 
 about your body, and stifle the skin so far effectually that 
 you awake in the morning pervaded by a sense of languor, 
 which must be very agreeable to a person who has it in his 
 mind to be unhealthy. In order to keep a check upon 
 exhalation about your head (which otherwise might have 
 too much the way of Nature), put on a stout, closely-woven 
 night-cap. People who are at the height of cleverness in 
 this respect, sleep with their heads under the bedclothes. 
 Take no rest on a hair mattress ; it is elastic and pleasant, 
 certainly, but it does not encase the body ; and therefore 
 you run a risk of not awaking languid. 
 
 I G 
 
90 Hoiv to make Home Unhealthy. 
 
 Never wash when you go to bed ; you are not going to 
 see anybody, and therefore there can be no use in washing. 
 In the morning, wet no more skin than you absolutely 
 must — that is to say, no more than your neighbours will 
 see during the day, — the face and hands. So much you 
 may do with a tolerably good will, since it is the other part 
 of the surface of the body, more covered and more impeded 
 in the full discharge of its functions, which has rather the 
 more need of ablution ; it is therefore fortunate that you 
 can leave that other part unwashed. Five minutes of 
 sponging and rubbing over the whole body in the morning 
 would tend to invigorate the system, and would send you 
 with a cheerful glow to the day's business or pleasure. 
 Avoid it by all means, if you desire to be unhealthy. Let 
 me note here, that in speaking of the poor we should 
 abstain from ceding to them an exclusive title, as " the 
 great unwashed". Will you, Mr. N. or M., retire into your 
 room and strip? Examine your body; is it clean, was it 
 sponged this morning, is there no dirt upon it anywhere ? 
 If it be not clean, if it was not sponged, if water would look 
 rather black after you htid enjoyed a thorough scrub in it, 
 then is it not obvious that you yourself take rank among 
 the great unwashed? By way of preserving a distinction 
 between them and us, I even think it would be no bad 
 thing were we to advocate the washing of the poor. 
 
 Do not forget that, although you must unfortunately 
 apply water to your face, you can find warrant in custom to 
 excuse you from annoying it with soap ; and for the water 
 again, you are at liberty to take vengeance by obtaining 
 compensation damages out of that part of your head which 
 the hair covers. Never wash it ; soil it ; clog it with oil or 
 lard — either of which will answer your purpose, as either 
 will keep out air as well as water, and promote the growth 
 of a thick morion of scurf. Lard in the bedroom is called 
 bear's grease. In connection with its virtues in promoting 
 
A Bedroom Paper. 91 
 
 growth of hair, there is a tale which I beheve to i)e no 
 fiction ; — not the old and profane jest of the man who 
 rubbed a deal box with it overnight, and found a hair-trunk 
 in the morning. It is said that the first adventurer who 
 advertised bear's grease for sale, appended to the laudation 
 of its efficacy a Nota Bene, that gentlemen, after applying 
 it, should wash the palms of their hands, otherwise the hair 
 would sprout thence also. I admire that speculator, grimly 
 satiric at the expense both of himself and of his customers. 
 He jested at his own pretensions ; and declared, by an 
 oblique hint, that he did not look for friends among the 
 scrupulously clean.* 
 
 Tooth-powder is necessary in the bedroom. Healthy 
 stomachs will make healthy teeth, and then a tooth-brush 
 and a little water may suffice to keep them clean. But 
 healthy stomachs also make coarse constitutions. It is 
 vexatious that our teeth rot when we vitiate the fluid that 
 surrounds them. As gentlemen and ladies, we desire good 
 teeth ; they must be scoured and hearth-stoned. 
 
 Of course, as you do not cleanse your body daily, so you 
 will not show favour to your feet. Keep up a due dis- 
 tinction between the upper and lower members. When a 
 German prince was told confidently that he had dirty hands, 
 he replied, with the liveliness of conscious triumph, " Ach, 
 do you call dat dirty ? You should see my toes !" Some 
 people wash them once in every month ; that will do very 
 well ; or once a year, it matters little which. In what 
 washing you find yourself unable to omit, use only the 
 finest towels, those which inflict least friction on the 
 skin. 
 
 Having made these arrangements for yourself, take care 
 
 * Daily use of the bath was very rare in 1850. This paper 
 set many people tubbing, and the gain got from the practice 
 caused its spread. (1891.) 
 
 G 2 
 
92 How to make Home Unhealthy, 
 
 that they are adhered to, as far as may be convenient, 
 throughout your household. 
 
 Here and there put numerous sleepers into a single 
 room ; this is a good thing for children, if you require to 
 blanch them. By a little perseverance also in this way, 
 when you have too large a family, you can reduce it easily. 
 By all means let a baby have foul air, not only by the use 
 of suffocative apparatus, but by causing it to sleep where 
 there are four or five others in a well-closed room. So 
 much is due to the maintenance of our orthodox rate of 
 infant mortality. 
 
 Let us admire, lastly, the economy of time in great men 
 who have allowed themselves only four, five, or six hours 
 for sleep. It may be true that they would have lived longer 
 had they always paid themselves a fair night's quiet for a 
 fair day's work ; they would have lived longer, but they 
 would not have lived so fast. It is essential to hve fast in 
 this busy world. Moreover, there is a superstitious rever- 
 ence for early rising, as a virtue by itself, which we shall do 
 well to acquire. Let sanitary men say, " Roost with the 
 lark, if you propose to rise with her." Nonsense. No 
 civilised man can go to bed much earlier than midnight ; 
 but every man of business must be up betimes. Idle, 
 happy people, on the other hand, they to whom life is 
 useless, prudently remain for nine, ten, or a dozen hours in 
 bed. Snug in their corner, they are in the way of nobody, 
 except the housemaid. 
 
 " Now wotte we nat, ne can nat sec, 
 What manir ende that there shall be." 
 
 Birth, sickness, burial. Eating, drinking, clothing, sleep- 
 ing. Exercise and social pleasure. Air, water, and light. 
 These are the topics upon which we have already touched. 
 A finished painting of good aegritudinary discipline was not 
 designed upon the present canvas : no man who knows the 
 great extent and varied surface of the scene which such a 
 
A Bedroom Paper. 93 
 
 picture should embrace, will think that there is here even 
 an outline finished. We might have recommended early 
 marriages ; and marriages with first cousins. We might 
 have urged all men with heritable maladies to shun 
 celibacy. We might have praised tobacco, which, by 
 acting on the mucous membrane of the mouth, acts on 
 the same membrane in the stomach also (precisely as dis- 
 order of the stomach will communicate disorder to the 
 mouth), and so helps in establishing a civilised digestion 
 and a pallid face. 
 
 " But we w^oll stint of this matere 
 For it is wondir long to here." 
 
 It is inherent in man to be perverse. A drawing-room 
 critic, in one of Gait's novels, takes up a picture of a cow, 
 holds it inverted, and enjoys it as a castellated mansion 
 with four corner tow^ers. And so, since " all that moveth 
 doth mutation love", after a like fashion many people, it 
 appears, have looked upon these papers. There is a story 
 to the point in Lucian. Passus received commission from 
 a connoisseur to draw a horse with his legs upwards. He 
 drew it in the usual way. His customer came unannounced, 
 saw what had been done, and grumbled fearfully. Passus, 
 how^ever, turned his picture upside down, and then the 
 connoisseur was satisfied. These papers have been treated 
 like the horse of Passus. 
 
 " Stimatissimo Signer Boswell" says, in his book on 
 Corsica, that he rode out one day upon Paoli's charger, 
 gay with gold and scarlet, and surrounded by the chief- 
 tain's officers. For a while, he says, he thought he was a 
 hero. Thus, like a goose on horseback, has our present 
 writer visited some few of the chief segritudinary outposts. 
 Why not so? They say there is no way impossible. 
 Wherefore an old emblem-book has represented Cupid 
 crossing a stream which parts him from an altar, seated at 
 ease upon his quiver for a boat, and rowing with a pair of 
 arrows. So has the writer floated over on a barrel of his 
 
94 How to make Home U^ihealthy. 
 
 folly, and possibly may touch, O reader, at the altar of your 
 household gods. 
 
 Here comment ends, and I quote Davenant, on my own 
 account, to the most friendly reader : 
 
 " Forgive me if I am not what I seem. 
 But falsely have dissembled an excess 
 Of all such virtues as you most esteem;" — 
 
 assuming you, of course, to be a thorough Briton. The 
 abundance of satire current in the world on superficial 
 matters, bubble-follies, has begotten a belief in some 
 judicious minds, that higher matters should meet only 
 earnest treatment. For the strengthening of weak faith, 
 which w^ould willingly have good authority wherewith to 
 batter down this bit of error, I point to a whole armoury 
 of tomahawks provided by our forefathers. All the best 
 satires in the world treat of the highest matters ; some, the 
 gayest, were enlisted in the direct service of religion. Our 
 gravest poet is an eloquent defender of this method of 
 writing against any heretic, and he accumulates authorities 
 in its behalf: — "Thus Flaccus in his first satire and his 
 
 tenth 
 
 ' Jesting decides great things 
 
 Stronglier and better oft than earnest can !' 
 
 I could urge the same out of Cicero and Seneca, but he 
 may content him with this." Again hear Milton: "A 
 satire as it was born out of a Tragedy so ought to resemble 
 his parentage, to strike high, and adventure dangerously at 
 the most eminent vices." Suffer, therefore, good reader,, 
 the writer of these pages to assert that though his blows be 
 weak, they are not aimed improperly. He has not per- 
 versely put on motley when he ought to have appeared in 
 decent wig and gown. Satire may laugh while she is 
 labouring, but she is neither child nor servant to the 
 Comic Muse. 
 June i^th^ 1850. 
 
 I 
 
A DEFENCE OF IGNORANCE 
 
 " Many who will not stand a direct Reproof, and cannot abide to be plainly- 
 admonished of their Fault, will yet endure to be pleasantly rubb'd, and will 
 patiently bear a jocund Wipe."— Barrow's Sermons against Evil Speaking. 
 
A DEFExNCE OF IGNORANCE. 
 
 The Select Committee, which appointed itself to inquire 
 into the State of Education in this country, and into any 
 measures which may be required for the Defence of Ignor- 
 ance, have talked over the matters to them referred, and 
 have agreed to the following resolution : — 
 
 Resolved. That it is the opinion of this Committee, 
 
 That the Report of their proceedings may be now- 
 read and approved. 
 
 The Report follows. 
 
 The Committee dined. The ladies having withdrawn, the 
 Chairman said : — This meeting, gentlemen, is of a social 
 nature, and to be considered strictly private. Before we 
 commence, therefore, let us instruct our secretary con- 
 cerning fictitious names to be affixed to any speeches that 
 he may report. — A Member begged leave to suggest that 
 the secretary might be empowered to disguise, in his ow^n 
 way, the names of speakers ; at the same time, he thought 
 that the Owl, a bird of Night and Wisdom, could be made 
 godfather to all the company. The honourable secretary 
 himself, who, as this committee's voice, would presently 
 intrude upon the public ear, he begged permission to call 
 Screech. Agreed.— The chairman, Ulula, then pouring out 
 a glass of wine, requested silence, and began — 
 
98 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 The Opening Address. 
 
 Gentlemen., — Bre meant a " mountain" in old Cornish. 
 The Phoenicians, who got some of their tin from Cornwall, 
 distinguished it as " Bre tin", from the same metal obtained 
 elsewhere. Tin is a word that runs through many languages 
 with trifling change; here tin, there zinn, and somewhere 
 else etain. And so this country became known to the 
 Phoenicians, and also through them to others, as the land 
 of Bre tin — Britain. This interpretation is a wholesome 
 one, which nourishes and very much plumps out a modern 
 use of the word Tin. An affectionate and thoughtful people 
 finds in its first article of commerce a familiar name for 
 money. The Japanese do something of this kind. Their 
 savage forefathers subsisted on a shell-fish called Awabi, so 
 in their wealth they now serve up Awabi in their feasts, 
 and add Awabi to their gifts. It is their salt-water forget- 
 me-not. We get our sentiment from flowers, they get 
 theirs from fish. You, if you please, may say molluscs ; I 
 won't. I broke a tooth yesterday in talking botany, and 
 must avoid zoology to-day. Our gold and silver, we rich 
 folk might symbolise by rose and lily, but we don't. We 
 think of our poor ancestors, and call the money Tin. 
 
 Bretin or Britain, then, is a Tin Mountain, or Mass of 
 Tin or Heap of Money. We have collared Etymology and 
 got a fact. This country is prosperous down to the very 
 roots. 
 
 The chairman pausing, it was understood that he desired 
 applause. The members of the committee helped them- 
 selves to figs and filberts, and, w^hen silence was restored, 
 our host resumed with animation : 
 
 We have wealth. What does a man mean by wealth ? 
 He means weal with a //', I fancy, or if he does not mean 
 it, he says it ; and why does he say it : I must take for 
 
A Defence of Ignorance. 99 
 
 granted it is what he means. Weal signifies that which is 
 well. And th after such a word ? In Dr. Latham's gram- 
 mar, those who read such trumpery are told that it "supplies 
 the force of an abstract idea". Wealth then is the abstract 
 idea of that which is well. You cannot now stand up and 
 tell me that it means a gross material or muck. You may 
 do so, for you are capable of anything. But your con- 
 science takes inevitably down its throat, as out of a physic- 
 spoon, the conclusion that, in this country, all is well — all 
 in ideal perfection — although some of us are not contented 
 to let well alone. 
 
 Biiho. Sir, you are merely firing peppercorns into the 
 hostile body. 
 
 Ulula. They may cause it, sir, to scratch. I am now 
 loading with a piece of china. 
 
 We have an intimate knowledge of the Chinese, from 
 often meeting with them on our cups and saucers. They 
 have no idea of us. At the beginning of our late glorious 
 and high-minded war with China, the Centre of the Uni- 
 verse informed his soldiers that their great object should 
 be to make the English tumble down. If it were only by 
 beating gongs, or by frightening them, so that they caused 
 them to fall down, that would suffice ; for if the English 
 fell they could be taken. The clothes of English soldiers, 
 said the Brother of the Sun, are made so tight that those 
 who are in them when they tumble down are quite unable, 
 by any struggling, to get up again. And so the Chinese 
 thought to ship off Englishmen at leisure, like the turtles, 
 after they had once been thrown upon their backs. 
 
 And yet these Chinese are an educated people. 
 
 Civetta. What a warning to us ! Since that war we have 
 learned something about them. They make soup of slugs ; 
 eat lizards, toads; and if they had such things, I daresay 
 they would stew a five-barred gate ; the catalogue is small, 
 of things that are not eaten by a Chinaman. 
 
TOO A Defence of Ignorajue. 
 
 Uiu/a. Now these ridiculous Chinese are Educationists. 
 Ridiculous, I call them ; insignificant. Tell me that with- 
 out China, Europe would not have been; that if the 
 Chinese had not flung aside the Huns, the Huns would 
 not have knocked against the Goths, the Goths would not 
 have knocked down Rome, and so on ; I say, Pooh ! My 
 wife's silk dress she would have bought at an alarming failure 
 without Chinese intervention. As for tea, we were much 
 better men when we had beer for breakfast. I laugh the 
 Chinese to scorn, and I will not believe that they invented 
 Punch. Pun-tse, the Son of an Inch, may beat his Chinese 
 Judy. I believe that some Chinaman must have been in 
 England about the time of the Saxon heptarchy, and have 
 seen Punch performed. Or how do we know that the 
 Phoenicians when importing tin from our shores did not 
 import from the same place into Asia Punch's shows ? Nay 
 more, are we certain that a fossil Punch will not be dis- 
 covered in the Stonesfield slate, or in the London clay? 
 At any rate the Chinese are ridiculous, and I will let you 
 see down to the bed of their transparent folly. 
 
 They are mighty educators. To every joss house they 
 attach a school. So far, it is well that their schools are 
 connected with their churches. But the absurdity of the 
 Chinese takes all pleasure and excitement out of this 
 arrangement, because they have not sense enough to make 
 their joss houses like Christian churches, tents of warriors 
 at bitter odds with one another. These Chinese day- 
 schools are supported by the Government, and by parents, 
 according to their ability. There is one master to twenty 
 or thirty boys, and there he sits, with spectacles not much 
 smaller than saucers on his nose, a pipe in his mouth, a 
 teapot at his fingers' ends, and a great noise in his ears. 
 For nearly all the boys are learning their lessons aloud, 
 each at his own little table ; a mischievous young rascal is 
 fingering his master's tail, to the infinite disturbance of a 
 
A Defence of Ignorance. loi 
 
 dunce who is endeavouring to shriek his lesson down the 
 master's ear. Boards are for slates, and brushes dipped in 
 Indian ink serve for slate-pencil. Writing is practised by 
 aid of transparent paper, and a big cane lashes the master's 
 table now and then, making the saucers jump and little 
 Chinese hearts jump with them. 
 
 But the Chinese do worse than this. They have in each 
 province a chancellor of learning, class all people in their 
 educational degrees, and reserve posts of trust and honour 
 and emolument, for whom ? The well-born man ? No, 
 for the raw student ! In a great hall of education, sur- 
 rounded by groves and gardens, sit dominies at certain 
 periods in each large town, to inquire into the proficiency 
 of candidates for the first degree of Sew Tsae or "flowering 
 talent". Not to have entered this class is to want respec- 
 tability in Chinese eyes. They who have been admitted 
 are exempt from being whipped, except by order of the 
 emperor or of his representatives. They who have thus 
 redeemed their skins may at a future time present them- 
 selves for a severer scrutiny, at a solemn triennial examina- 
 tion. They who in this have satisfied the strict examiners, 
 become Kern Jin, " promoted men", and are entitled — to 
 wear boots ! A higher degree is offered every three years 
 to those booted men who seek to win spurs at Pekin. 
 Poverty excludes none from coming to present themselves. 
 The emperor pays the expenses of poor victims. They who 
 pass this third examination become " introduced scholars", 
 Tsin Se ; and the three best at each examination are 
 rewarded by the Brother of the Sun in his own person. 
 For these there is finally reserved a short rope, if they seek 
 a higher elevation. They who pass the examination of 
 Han Lin, "ascended to the top of the tree", are all the 
 servants of the emperor, and are in due time chosen to the 
 highest offices of state. Education is the road to fame, 
 and these are its four stages. 
 
102 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Screech. The only thing that saves the Chinese from 
 extravagance of ridicule is the fact that they do tie up 
 education within Hmits, making it depend upon a more or 
 less accurate knowledge of certain time-honoured books. 
 Just as in Oxford we read Aristotle, so they read also their 
 classics. 
 
 Ulula. If the Chinese defined education in accordance 
 with the crotchets of our English innovators, as a trained 
 spirit of inquiry, the Flowery Land would long ere this 
 have run to seed. However, as it is, the Chinese certainly 
 have gone quite far enough to make themselves fit objects 
 for our ridicule. When we wish to become laughing-stocks 
 we may begin to build from their designs. 
 
 Civetta. This cry for education is the neighing of a hobby- 
 horse. What is there that a perverted enthusiasm will not 
 hope to build ? I could name a clever builder, now dead, 
 who believed the Millennium to be at hand ; he looked for- 
 ward to the erection of the New Jerusalem, and studied 
 Ezekiel professionally, made calculations, and completed all 
 the plans, which he intended to send in at once, when 
 tenders were demanded for the rebuilding of the Temple. 
 So certain Education-mongers have drawn up some schemes, 
 but they will not be called for. We may look over your 
 projections, gentlemen, your elevations and ground plans, 
 but your phantom schoolmasters we banish from this realm 
 of fact : on snowy plains of paper let them wander up and 
 down, the masters of their own Siberia. 
 
 Screech. As for awakening a spirit of inquiry, that I am 
 quite sure is what no sensible man would desire : it is a 
 thing always absurd. A spirit of inquiry means a pertin- 
 acity in putting foolish questions. There is none more 
 foolish than the Education question. Our Royal Society 
 wrote, once upon a time, to Sir Philiberto Vernatti, then 
 residing in Batavia, to ask whether it was true, that in Java 
 there were oysters " of that vast bigness as to weigh 3 cwt." 
 
A Defence of Ignorance. 103 
 
 These were your learned men. People Avhose mouths are 
 agape for oysters of that size must be prepared to swallow 
 anything. Knowledge is hungry and greedy ; Ignorance 
 fasts and is content. 
 
 Civetta. The tiresome greediness of Knowledge is por- 
 trayed awfully in men who are attacked by the schoolmaster 
 while in a state of nature. This was the case with the 
 natives of the Navigator Islands, where the missionaries 
 rang their bell and summoned all the natives into school. 
 The consequence was, Mr. Walpole tells us — in his book, 
 Four Years in the Pacific — that Europeans walking in the 
 woods were pounced upon at any unexpected time by 
 savages, who brandished not clubs but slates about their 
 heads, and shouted, " Do my sum !" Frederic Walpole had 
 his "walks made weariful with sums". "One fellow, with 
 a noble head, used to bring him regular puzzlers." The 
 victim, in revenge, set his tormenter some algebra to do, in 
 the hope that this would keep him quiet ; but after a few 
 days he came again, together with ten others, making a 
 fierce hullabaloo ; they all brought slates, and came to get 
 the problem solved; — "-You do it." 
 
 Ulula. Can flesh and blood live to be told of absurdities 
 and miseries like these bred out of foreign Education and 
 not stir in the Defence of Ignorance at home ! With how 
 deep contempt must we regard those baby savages in the 
 wild forests of the tropics, when we contemplate the men of 
 our own towns and fields? Half of us, thank Heaven, 
 cannot make figures ; yet see how Great Britain has pros- 
 pered. I wonder whether the savages feel our superiority; 
 whether they know, that in the country out of which their 
 teachers come, Eight Millions of the people cannot read 
 and write. 
 
 This is a triumphant fact : here I may say stop, you tell 
 me. 
 
104 ^ Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 " Basth cosi ; t' intendo : 
 Gia ti spiegasti a pieno ; 
 E mi diresti meno, 
 Se mi dicessi piu." 
 
 Buho. Shame, sir ! Order, sir ! What jargon 's that ?" 
 
 Ulula. 'Tis perfectly in order, Buho. You are fidgetty. 
 The tongue they speak in Naples has a claim upon us. 
 {Hear, hear ! with murmurs of Translate.) 
 
 " Good ; you have said enough, you've explained yourself 
 perfectly well now : 
 
 And you would tell me less, were you to say any more." — 
 That's the translation, gentlemen. Buho, a glass of wine 
 with you ? Gentlemen, I have introduced the subject, and 
 suggest that we discuss it now somewhat in detail. Let us 
 take first, if you please, 
 
 Egnarance of tlje -^mxz Ctosies. 
 
 How does our account stand as regards that ? Gentle- 
 men, you are perhaps aware that our friend on my right, 
 whom I wall be so bold as to call Aziola — 
 
 Screech. Our friend has views to state, I believe, of which 
 he will suffer us to doubt the soundness. 
 
 Aziola. Mr. Chairman, you refer to me sarcastically. 
 You hint, I suspect, at Shelley's line about the Aziola : — 
 
 "Fear not, 'tis nothing but a little downy owl." 
 
 " Fear not," indeed ! I ridicule myself. I have no hope 
 of ever seeing what I wish, and, being desperate, I join 
 your party. So I take the name you give in all good 
 humour. 
 
 Screech. Spoken manfully ! But much I wish you had 
 more cause for your despair. Ignorance does not seem to 
 me to have a firm grasp of the Middle Class. As for Know- 
 ledge, there can be no doubt that men do learn more' or 
 
Ignorance of tJic JMiddle Classes. 105 
 
 less during the course of life, according to their leisure. It 
 pains me to know that a degraded press, degraded but pro- 
 lific, allures too many of my neighbours with her wanton 
 smile. They who have leisure enough amass, in this way, 
 a great deal of desultory knowledge; and regret that no 
 shelves have been put up in their heads whereon they might 
 arrange their stock. By picking daily at the fruit of the 
 forbidden tree, many folks come to possess a store of apples 
 in their garret. I am shocked at this : but if they will err, 
 on their own mature heads be the sin. 
 
 Aziola. Few of them can say that, in their childhood, 
 great pains ^vere not taken to deter them from such robbery. 
 
 Screech. The children of the Middle Classes go to school. 
 
 Aziola. Their school is, generally speaking, part of our 
 Defence. In the Middle Ages, when above Europe it was 
 night, these men stood high, and used the utmost light pro- 
 curable. As civilisation dawned, they sank \ they are like 
 Pteropods, that have a wide sea for their home, and sport at 
 midnight on the surface, but sink lower in the water 
 gradually, as the day advances, so that they preserve around 
 themselves one exact shade of gloom. 
 
 The teacher who would cure me of despair, must love the 
 sun and sunny faces. He must droop before a mournful 
 child. Like Jean Paul Richter, when he sees a child with 
 gloomy features, he must think of it as of a butterfly with 
 its wings plucked and obliged to crawl. He must not copy 
 any plan of teaching out of books, although he may digest 
 the thoughts of others ; for, can he not eat mutton without 
 crying " Baa"? 
 
 Biiho. Out with your heart, man. Picture anything that's 
 hopeless, for between ourselves, dear sir, it will be a quaint 
 joke to paint in detail grapes, for the annoyance of some 
 hungry bird. 
 
 Aziola. Of course, you teacher, you must understand the 
 nature of a child. A fellow with a stick in his hands shouts 
 
io6 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 out, " "\M"iy, so I do !" Look away, master, from the knuckles 
 of that cringing, wincing boy ; look back into the past some 
 centuries, and see the Master of us all with children in His 
 arms, and at His feet, declaring that their angels see His 
 Fathers face in heaven. With that wail in your ears, and 
 that cane in your hand, dare you look back so far, and say 
 you reverence a child? The teacher who is not allied to 
 Ignorance, must love all children, heartily and unaffectedly ; 
 must be a child, as well as man, himself. You see him in 
 his school-room, where he treads on carpets or on matting, 
 where the walls around him wear a cheerful paper, and 
 neat tables and chairs await the childish students. The 
 best room in his house — the room that lets in the most 
 light and pleasure through the windows — is the room 
 devoted to the occupation of his children. 
 
 They are young, and they know little ; but the teacher's 
 mmd is very full indeed if he has not felt the necessity of 
 studying from day to day, to meet their daily various re- 
 quirements. Here they come ; not a vast crowd of them, 
 for though John Smith might undertake the care of fifty 
 sheep, he cannot undertake in one day to supply the wants 
 of fifty children all unlike each other. At the utmost, he 
 can teach a score with a congenial assistant. They who 
 confide in him know that, and, of course, will take care that 
 his services are paid for properly, without a grudge. 
 
 But here they come ; with chatter, laughter, and good- 
 will, with not a particle of fear. The youngest is imme- 
 diately crawling up the legs of his instructor; Smith is 
 converted into a Laocoon, struggling good-humouredly with 
 serpent children. Pretty discipline ! Do you not scowl 
 with me ? You will find worse behind, for school had not 
 begun. Now it begins. No cane, no desk, no high stool ! 
 
 Uliila. "Without these, is instruction possible ? Here is 
 the flesh of school, without the skeleton. It cannot stand. 
 
 Aziola. The teacher sits where children sit, or walks 
 
Ignorance of the HJidd/e Classes. 107 
 
 among them. Study begins ; perhaps the morning and the 
 fresh attention are devoted to those studies which, though 
 not least needful, are the least inviting, and more pleasant 
 subjects come as the day flags. Conversation, open utter- 
 ance, is not forbidden. How can a preacher pretend to 
 form a child's mind when he forbids it to be spoken ? In a 
 silence broken only by words learned out of a book, how is 
 it possible that the chief object of education can be obtained 
 at all ? So says John Smith, and the work goes on. The 
 children fidget, shift their places, and are suffered freely so 
 to do : it is the instinct of their childhood. They openly 
 make boats and chip at wood, and play with paper, when 
 their hands are not employed. Allegiance to childhood is 
 not insubordination. So they work cheerfully, and know 
 themselves at school to be free agents, doing a duty. At 
 the end of every hour's work, they scamper out to scream 
 and play at leapfrog. Recalled, they scamper back as 
 rapidly as if there were a cane for the last comer. 
 
 Morning has been spent in languages, arithmetic, or 
 algebra, and exercises wiiich demand labour of which the 
 pleasant fruit is not immediately to be gathered. It has 
 imposed upon the children mental toil. The afternoon is 
 full of mental pleasure. The history of man's deeds and 
 w^orks and the wonders of nature engage childish hearts 
 more powerfully. Not as detailed in skeleton books.- A 
 dinner of dry bones makes no man fat. The teacher pre- 
 determines that he will occupy perhaps three years in a 
 narration of the story of the world. He begins at the first 
 dawn of history, studies for himself Nvith patient diligence 
 upon each topic the most correct and elaborate records (for 
 which purpose he requires aid of a town library), and pours 
 all out in one continued stream from day to day, enlivened 
 by a child-like style. The children comment as the story 
 runs ; the teacher finds a hint sufficient at a time by way of 
 moral, he is rather willing to be taught by the experience of 
 
 H 2 
 
.io<S A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 what fresh hearts applaud or censure on the old worn stage 
 of life. Natural history and science, all the -ologies, and 
 -tics, and -nomies, succeed each other, also, as a three 
 years' story of the wisdom which begot the world. Foreign 
 countries, not dismissed in a few dozen of the driest existing 
 sentences, are visited in company with pleasant travellers. 
 Clever, good-humoured books of travel, carry the imagina- 
 tions of the children round the world. In all these latter 
 studies they take lively interest, remembering, to a remark- 
 able extent, what they hear. On every point they have 
 spoken freely in the presence of a teacher not desirous to 
 create dull copies of himself, but to permit each budding 
 mind to throw out shoots and spread its roots according to 
 its own inherent vigour. He manures and waters, watches 
 to remove all parasitic growths, but the true, healthy mind 
 expands unchecked under his care. 
 
 Screech. But will the children satisfy the patience of John 
 Smith ? 
 
 Aziola. Will the rose bear colours which he did not 
 paint — the petal of the pink have notches that he did not 
 cut ? If he be nervous, fidgetty, exacting, he will grumble at 
 the children frequently. He will sometimes be fretted ; but 
 when he is most himself he will perceive that he has nothing 
 whereat he may justly fret. The children will regard him 
 with affection and implicit trust. Their hearts have not 
 been made ungentle ; therefore, if they ever feel that they 
 have vexed him, they themselves are penitent and vexed. 
 
 Less as a prize than as a good-will offering, each child has 
 a half-yearly gift, not won by an unwholesome rivalry, i)ut 
 containing a record in the first leaf of his half-year's 
 career. A childish offence during school hours it is John 
 Smith's plan to call "an interruption", and to say that three 
 such interruptions are a half day lost, and six the losing of a 
 whole day. In the first leaf of the half-yearly prize Smith 
 writes the number of days lost by inattention. Discipline 
 
Ignorance of iJic ]\Iiddle Classes. 109 
 
 needs no more machinery than this. If Smith were perfect, 
 even this would not be necessary. 
 
 You are aware that I am not sketching the one model 
 after which I would have enemies of ignorance to shape 
 their schools. The proper spirit being established, each 
 teacher will put it in the form most suited to his character. 
 But I set up an imaginary case, in order that I may, by con- 
 necting together some peculiarities consistent with each 
 other, give you a notion of the grapes you talked about. 
 Nobody but John Smith is capable of managing John 
 Smith's school; but fifty other ways of management may 
 be conceived, equally efficacious; all alike in feeling, in 
 expression different. 
 
 I have not done with Smith's contrivances. Another is 
 this. He parts his children evenly into two sides, calling 
 them, we will say, the Greens and Blues, after the two 
 factions of the Roman Circus. For these sides also conduct 
 races. Smith does not catechise his children, they examine 
 one another. This mutual examination* takes place not 
 less than twice a week. Each side has in turn to ask a 
 question of its antagonist, on anything that has been at any 
 time a subject of the teaching common to them all. Gain 
 and loss is calculated upon some fixed scale, and in the 
 game the children take an active interest. Those who can 
 finger a pen readily, take notes during the oral teaching ; 
 all ears are alive to what is uttered, and at home books of 
 reference are ransacked with a dih'gence that would be toil 
 were it not self-imposed. To avoid personality of opposi- 
 tion, the two sides are occasionally shuffled. 
 
 Screech. Can children collect their thoughts sufficiently 
 to ask questions that are not frivolous ? 
 
 Aziola. The experiment has been tried by a gentleman 
 
 * Southey tells us of a schoolmaster who in this way taught 
 spelling. His is the idea. 
 
no A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 whose plan is not unlike John Smith's, and who was per- 
 suaded to adopt Smith's crotchet of the Blues and Greens. 
 He was so much surprised by the result that he deter- 
 mined to preserve a list of questions, writing down each of 
 them in a book as it was asked. That book I borrowed 
 and intend to keep. It contains questions asked by child- 
 ren between nine and fourteen years of age. Many refer, 
 I understand, to information given them a year before they 
 asked their neighbours for its reproduction. The book 
 clears children of a misunderstanding under which it is 
 to your interest that they should labour. 
 
 Bulla. Lock it up, as an immoral production. 
 
 Aziola. I will tell you, at random, six or seven of the 
 questions as a sample ;— only think of this : 
 
 " Why is it colder as you rise into the air, though you 
 get nearer to the sun ?'^ 
 
 "Give the course of the chief ocean currents over the 
 world, with your finger, on the map." 
 
 " When you cut off a caterpillar' head, why can it go on 
 eating?" 
 
 " What caused the sound made by the statue of Memnon ?" 
 
 "Name the seven household officers at the Court of 
 Constantine the Great." 
 
 "Explain the derivation of the words 'clergy' and 'laity'." 
 
 " Describe and account for the circulation of the sap." 
 
 Ulitla. I trust, for the honour of Old England, that 
 there are many schoolmasters who would decline to answer 
 questions like these. When I say schoolmasters, I mean 
 Preceptors, for there is a College of Preceptors now. 
 
 Sc7-€ech. Commended to all men by its polite name. 
 Vulgar is the vocation of a Teacher, but " your son's Pre- 
 ceptor" is a gentleman. The Doctors, by-the-bye, clamour 
 for a new corporate body ; I trust that ihey also will be 
 genteel, and get their charter for a new " College of Medical 
 Advisers". 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 1 1 1 
 
 Buho. It is high time that we talked a Httle sense. 
 Enough of Smith. 
 
 Aziola. My grapes are but half painted. 
 Civetta. You need many tools to conjure with. 
 Ulula. And, like all conjurers, talk 
 
 " Nonsense, false, or mystic, 
 Or not intelligible, or sophistic." 
 
 It is agreeable enough to feel that the chance of education 
 such as we have just now been discussing is extremely 
 small in England. 
 
 Civetta. But after all, as we grow stronger in the feeling 
 that these things can never be, it seems absurd to talk 
 about them. What is a greater bore than hearing dreams 
 told ? When gnoos, sassaybies, and hartebeests are to be 
 found in Smithfield Market, then we shall see those edu- 
 cators in our schools. Why do I specify gnoos, sassaybies, 
 and hartebeests ? Because there is a fact established con- 
 cerning these creatures, which I think would turn out true 
 of the educators also, that on opening the head, their brain 
 is almost invariably found filled with large white maggots. 
 Certainly the maggots of eccentric teachers have no colour 
 in them. 
 
 Aziola. John Smith may be heard occasionally telling 
 fairy stories to his children. 
 
 Screech. Well he may ; for he is but an imp of Titania 
 dropped by his mother in her hasty rush out of our premises ; 
 or he is codicil to Oberon's last will and testament, by 
 accident shut up inside our ledger. 
 
 Civetta. Your fancies, John, are dead at present; you 
 may like to say that they are torpid, but we call them dead 
 and buried under a heavy deposit of hard compact preju- 
 dice. Excavations may at some remote period take place, 
 and your ideas may revive ; after the story of the cockles 
 in America, there shall be hope even for you. This is the 
 
112 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 story of the cockles. Professor Eaton, of New York, related 
 it in Silliman's Jonr7iaI, and Mr. Sharon Turner augmented 
 its respectability by'quoting it in \\\% Sacred History of the 
 World. In digging the Erie Canal at Rome Village, six- 
 teen miles from^Utica, the workmen found, forty-two feet 
 below the surface, under a diluvial deposit of hard compact 
 gravel, hundreds of cockles, all alive. The workmen fried 
 and ate these creatures, jvhich must have existed in the 
 days of Noah.% In the days of Noah, you perceive. John, 
 when your fancies have been buried for as long a time, 
 they also may be dug up, and, by men who are to live four 
 thousand years hereafter, it is possible that they may all be 
 swallowed. 
 
 Aziola. Another of John's fancies — we might say his 
 fundamental fancy — is to impress his children with an un- 
 limited regard for truth. He says that without truth and 
 sincerity among each other and towards their teacher his 
 system cannot be fairly w^orked. Accordingly, each of his 
 pupils, upon entering his school, has, by some visible form, 
 the fact impressed upon him that he will always be trusted, 
 and that, however all his other faults may be dealt gently 
 with, falsehood will be regarded as a crime. John says he 
 will refuse to teach a pupil who shall be found to offend 
 more than once or twice in this particular. If it were 
 possible that children should forget the candour which is 
 natural to them for the sake of treading upon ground which 
 they see to be regarded with so much dread and abhor- 
 rence, John Smith would keep his word. But the occasion 
 never wnll be given. 
 
 Buho. Very well ; now I begin to be a little in a rage at 
 hearing so much nonsense. 
 
 Aziola. You may have no need to storm, for I will 
 throw John overboard : he is your Jonah. 
 
 The spell, however, I must finish telling you. I tell you 
 that to burst the bolts of ignorance and give free movement 
 
Ignorance of iJic Middle Classes. 
 
 II 
 
 to the education of the middle-classes, teachers must Le 
 found not scattered but in s^varms, quite different from 
 those which swarm at present. They must not look upon 
 the child's mind as a thing to be impregnated with Latin 
 verbs, and trained into a deep disgust at Cicero, and sick- 
 ening horror at Herodotus. It is a spirit to be trained to 
 thoughtfulness, and to be furnished with materials of thought 
 (herein the use of history consists) : it should receive such 
 views of the great world of knowledge as may make the 
 young mind long to become an active traveller therein; 
 and to be ready for the day of travel it should acquire 
 activity and strength, with a fair notion of the routes that 
 lie around us. . The teacher who shall send a child into the 
 world thoughtful, observant, seeking knowledge, and not 
 shrinking from a little difficulty in obtaining it ; a youth 
 with a free mind, taught to reason, and determined only 
 upon truth; by whatever process he has come to that 
 result, he is the enemy of ignorance. The pupil who has 
 learned to teach himself will be the man to put your cause 
 in danger, though he may have left school very backward 
 in his Greek and Latin. 
 
 Civetia. Dr. Thomas Williams, a member of the Uni- 
 versity of Cambridge, and Ph.D. of Pisa, does by no 
 means neglect the Greek and Latin of "his young gentle- 
 men" at Euclid Hall Academy. When Captain Harris 
 exhibited his drawings of wild beasts to the Zulus, they 
 were amazed, and said that "he undoubtedly took very 
 strong medicine" before he could become so clever. Doubt- 
 less they knew how Englishmen are taught ? Very strong 
 medicine and very nauseous is daily administered by Dr. 
 Williams to his young gentlemen, whom by that means he 
 hopes to make extremely wise. Li an uncarpeted room, 
 with dirty walls, the windows made opaque with paste, sit 
 the recipients, fifty in number. They sit on forms that are 
 immovable, and they are expected to remain immovable, 
 
114 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 upon their forms. Their books are supported before them 
 upon dull rows of unpainted, wooden desks, with inkstands 
 fixed therein, about as far apart from one another as the 
 raisins in the Sunday pudding. Dr. Williams struggles with 
 nature to put bigness into his own five feet seven. He sits 
 on a lofty throne, before a desk or altar, and to him the rows 
 of worshippers look up. He might be Serapis, as the god 
 appeared before his demolition. The gigantic idol, with his 
 arms upon the temple roof, was no less a real god in the 
 Serapion than here in his Williamsion, Williams is sublime. 
 When the hollow metal of the idol broke under the profane 
 hatchet of the iconoclast, the crack was thought to be the 
 crack of doom. The worshippers shrank to the ground, 
 cowering with fear : these worshippers of Williams even in 
 their dreams would shudder at the thought of a bold hand 
 or voice uplifted against him. 
 
 Btiho. I met Williams, by-the-bye, one day at a dinner- 
 party, and the five feet seven of his height seemed then to be 
 by five feet six too much for him ; if he could have had but an 
 inch of himself left, wherewith to run into a mouse-hole, I 
 believe that such a temple would have then sufficed. 
 
 Civetta. A nod expresses the sublime will, quickly under- 
 stood among an abject crowd. The first Greek class goes 
 up. Twelve boys stand side by side, each holding a book 
 which slightly trembles ; they stand before the desk ; if the 
 cane were a sacrificial knife, a picture might be drawn of 
 Williams as a savage priest about to offer twelve youths to 
 the God of Ignorance. I grant that this is not agreeable, 
 and I could wish that a most useful cause, like ours, could 
 be maintained in the ascendant by means less repulsive. 
 But children seek for knowledge, and their eagerness must 
 be repressed. The book which these youths hold is in each 
 case the same, and open at the same page. It contains 
 the plays of Sophocles. These boys have been dragged 
 through grammar as through a cactus-bush. They know 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 1 1 5 
 
 all about Tviniv. Williams had not the consistency to say 
 for them the active part: I strike, I have struck, I will 
 strike j he illustrated it, however, as they went along, with 
 clever cuts, and gave them a proper feeling of the passive 
 form : I am struck, I have been struck, and so on. Delec- 
 tus they were taught to find a choice of evils, and the 
 Anabasis a going down into some lower deep. They had 
 learned to wish that Homer's works were in a single copy, 
 and so fell into their claws ; they knew what they would do, 
 though they got flogged for it. They are now translating 
 Philoctetes, wondering when Ulysses will be done with, for 
 they are reading about him also with the French usher in 
 Telemaque. As for the son of Poias the Melian, all they 
 can make out is a connection between his sore foot and 
 their sore hands. To this extent perhaps they recognise 
 his claim to sympathy on their part, and also they can 
 understand his hatred of Ulysses. Philoctetes agrees with 
 the boys thoroughly about that, for Ulysses is the man 
 
 "Whom of all other Greeks he would desire 
 To lay his fist upon." 
 
 The Greeks fight a hard battle, and retire to suck their 
 wounds. Theirs is a daily Marathon, in as far as Williams, 
 their enemy, is concerned ; for he has as much right as 
 Isfundear ever had to be called Xerxes, and to be repre- 
 sented by his consonants as doubly cross, with a dog's 
 growl and a goose's hiss. 
 
 Buho. Fiddle-de-dee, sir! But I call this wholesome 
 discipline. 
 
 Civetta. Wholesome ! Invigorating, bracing, the true 
 tonic, my dear sir. I send four of my sons to Euclid Hall. 
 The Greeks go down to suck their wounds, while they 
 translate a passage of Shakspeare, " The quality of mercy," 
 etc., into catalectic tetrameters. Before the awful desk 
 their place is taken by a small herd of wild boys, who have 
 
Ii6 A Defence of Ignorafice. 
 
 been hunted out of the fields of arithmetic, and over the 
 hills of algebra, into the jungle of trigonometry. Here they 
 are confused with sines and cosines, and abused with com- 
 plements, tripped over tangents, nevertheless they must on, 
 on, through a ditch of logarithms, breaking fences of para- 
 bolas, until they are lodged safely in the pitfalls of the 
 differential calculus. 
 
 Binns Minimus now suflers torment. In a bald book of 
 geography, which is little more than a bad index to" the 
 contents of the world political, Binns INlinimus has sinned 
 with many an imperfect^lesson. He called a well-known 
 isthmus^ yesterday, to the dismay of the English master, 
 Suet. As a mild punishment he was ordered to learn his 
 duty to man by nine o'clock on the succeeding morning. 
 What is my duty to man, where is it ? asked little Binns, 
 but Mr. Thunderbomb was silent. This morning the young 
 gentleman is ignorant of his duty to his fellow-creatures — 
 not having remembered that it was to be found in the cate- 
 chism — the Doctor knows his duty to a boy, and so Binns 
 jMinimus now suffers torment. The days are past wherein 
 John Jacob Hauberle could flourish. That worthy's diary 
 of punishment, as quoted by Jean Paul, yielded through 
 half a century of teaching 911,527 strokes with the cane; 
 124,000 of the rod : 20,989 blows with the ruler; 10,235 
 boxes on the ear, with 7,905 tugs; 1,115,800 raps with 
 knuckles on the head, to say nothing of the wooden horse, 
 and kneeling on hard peas. Those good old times are past, 
 and flogging now is very much on the decline. Dr. Williams 
 frequently tells his boys that caning is as painful to him as 
 it is to the pupil suffering. Since fifty boys still yield him a 
 good share of work, the amount of his self-flagellation is 
 extremely serious. The Dominie might be St. Dominic. 
 But as a Zulu warrior, who had crossed the Cape frontier, 
 declared his delight in sticking Dutchmen ; the spear slipped 
 into their soft, unctuous skin so much more luxuriously than 
 
Ignorance of the Uliddle Classes. 1 1 7 
 
 into the thick hide of a native, that he would much rather, 
 he said, stick Dutchmen than eat beef ; even so the hand of 
 wrath may find a soothing outlet on the flesh of childhood. 
 I never enjoyed sucking-pig so much as Dr. Williams seems 
 to be enjoying now that operation on Binns Minimus, which 
 sends him away to where he may not even, like Arvalan, 
 
 " In impotence of anger, howl, 
 Writhing with anguish, and his wounds deplore." 
 
 Buho. That impotence of anger is, in my mind, the great 
 object of the flogging. Mere physical pain now and then 
 does a child good, and is soon forgotten ; it will propagate 
 no ignorance. What I like is to see a storm of anger raised 
 in a child's heart against his teacher, all its winds tied up in 
 a bag within him, without any hope of getting vent, except 
 among his companions in spiteful nicknames and carica- 
 tures. Ignorance suffers when a child is taught through its 
 affections. Therefore, I say, let us have none of that puling 
 nonsense ; let us instil some pluck into our boys. 
 
 Aziola. We do that when we pay a man to bully them, 
 and teach them to tyrannise over each other. 
 
 Uhda. Boys who have grown with greater freedom, who 
 have been molly-coddled in your sentimental schools, will 
 tumble about, shout, and play, like mere children — will, in 
 their short anger, resent blow with blow^ ; and wrestle with 
 each other out of mere animal joyaunce : as sanitary num 
 skulls say, out of the activity of their muscular system in 
 that period of life. A school so constituted never can be- 
 come a model of the world, and preparation for it. Where 
 are the rankling enmities, the party feuds, and the hot 
 rivalries ? where is the gentlemanly tone of feeling raised 
 by this free delivery of a parcel of boys into the keeping of 
 their own natural affectionateness ? These bursts of passion, 
 over so soon and unresented ; this simplicity of purpose, 
 which prompts everyone to speak truth, and believe his 
 
1 1 8 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 neighbour ; — is this any preparation for the tricks and 
 triumphs of the grown-up world ? 
 
 Screech. Certainly not. And as for the ground gone over 
 by way of instruction, the more barren it is the better. Let 
 the youngster learn the fallacy of hope, when, thirsty for 
 instructionjon all things surrounding him, he is mocked by 
 a mirage of Greek. Let him find in school the dryness of 
 a desert, and, frowning on the desert — monument of times 
 that are no more — let the great Sphinx be his teacher. 
 
 Civetta^ will not say more about Williams ; as he is a 
 sphinx, you will excuse me for exhibiting his image only 
 half uncovered. Of him I say, as our friend said of Smith, 
 that he is not a counterpart of all his brethren. The friends 
 of Ignorance assume shapes even more manifold than par- 
 tisans of ^Knowledge. I do also regret to see, and am 
 obliged to state with pain, that many schools which we 
 could have pronounced to be unexceptionable twenty years 
 ago have suffered themselves to become corrupted. 
 
 Aziola. Something, for example, is now studied of the 
 w^orks of God, where once there were no works looked into 
 save those of Lindley^Murray, Julius Ctesar, and one or two 
 more of their kidney. 
 
 Ulula. Ajmean yielding to pressure I call it, when I see 
 men advertising that they keep scientific apparatus, and 
 deliver lectures, at stated periods, on astronomy and 
 chemistry. True, they|know little of such subjects, and, if 
 they knew^much, could not impart it by their manner of 
 lecturing. Yet they show experiments; they make children, 
 in that w^ay, attentive and inquisitive ; I am afraid they in- 
 terest them. True though it be that they reply to the 
 asking of the knowledge-mongers, not with a fish, but with 
 a stone : yet, if the stone be shaped and painted like a fish, 
 it still becomes an interesting object; and I regret to think 
 that it may lead to a more imperious desire for the real 
 animal. 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 119 
 
 Buho. We have not yet gone too far to recede ; the cane 
 is not dropped, though in some hands the grasp of it 
 relaxes ; the child's head is still rapped by the teacher a 
 hundred and fifty times for every once that it is sported 
 over with a light caress. But I shout to you that I have 
 felt the small end of the wedge. 
 
 Civetta. That everlasting small end of the wedge gets 
 introduced anywhere and everywhere. Harden yourselves 
 against it and be happy. All is well with England, and 
 with us, at present. When, like the Thessalian who sang 
 against the nightingale, or like the nightingale who sang 
 against St. Francis, the poet of Moses tightens up his braces 
 for a contest against Dante, let him not despair. Before he 
 sings the Paradise of Ignorance, copious materials exist for 
 depicting such a Purgatory of Schoolmasters, as an intro- 
 duction to the sphere where ignorance is bliss, that our 
 English poet who makes use of them may count upon the 
 wonder of posterity. 
 
 An allusion to the Sunday pudding may have led you to 
 regard the fifty boys of Dr. Williams as boarders, and the 
 dexterous phrase, " Here they come," suggested to me at 
 least that the twenty children whom Smith teaches do not 
 board with him. Mrs. Williams is a mother to her husband's 
 fifty boys, over whose linen she hangs daily with affectionate 
 solicitude ; the boys themselves she sees at dinner-time, and 
 they look with longing eyes towards their mother, as she 
 cuts the pudding. 
 
 Aziola. Sm 
 
 Buho. Smith is a fool. 
 
 Aziola. He says that there is no minute which suggests a 
 thought to a child's mind by which it is not educated or 
 drawn farther out of the blank state of babyhood. He 
 says that it is well for a child to have daily intercourse, 
 daily community and insensible comparison of thought, 
 with other children ; that children find in each other their 
 
120 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 best playfellows. He prefers, therefore, greatly prefers, 
 that a child should exercise his body and his mind abroad 
 with schoolfellows, than that it should risk becoming sickly 
 by home-nursing, like a garden plant kept in a room too 
 tenderly. But he believes in home. It pains him that 
 parents, who are not ashamed to show their actions to their 
 children, when they have it in their power to send them to 
 a well-conducted school during the day, and, in the evening, 
 can let father and mother be their companions, yet do not 
 do so. That such children should be sent miles away, to 
 live where the tenderest teacher could not possibly supply 
 the place of home. Smith calls a great mistake. It is at 
 home, says Smith, and not in a class at school reading the 
 Testament, or catching flies in a school-pew, or learning 
 collects by a school-room fire, that children can be made 
 truly devotional. The child can kiss true prayer, word by 
 word, from its mother's lips ; when older, it can appreciate 
 a father's rectitude, a mother's acts of self-denial, or take 
 part, with a warm heart, in the household devotion of its 
 parents. So Smith objects to boarding-schools ; but as all 
 parents do not live near a teacher who is capable of answer- 
 ing their children's wants, he cannot quite exclude the 
 system. Individually, he declines to be responsible for 
 more than three or four; that is to say, for so many as 
 may, without disproportion, enter into the composition of a 
 family, and form a copy of home not too ridiculously out 
 of drawing. Even of these three or four, it would delight 
 him if some or all had homes not so remote as to prevent 
 them from being, on Saturday and Sunday nights, in bed, 
 under the care of those who watched [their cradles. Home 
 
 has its lessons — 
 
 " Beauty and virtue, 
 
 Fatherly cares and filial veneration, 
 Hearts which are proved and strengthened by affliction, 
 Manly resentment, fortitude, and action, 
 Womanly goodness ; 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 1 2 1 
 
 All with which Nature hallowctli her daughters, 
 Tenderness, truth, and purity and meekness, 
 Piety, patience, faith and resignation. 
 
 Love and devotement." — 
 
 Must the child be, month after month, excluded from his 
 part in these domestic studies? That is how Smith 
 preaches. 
 
 Bulla. Who should be a poet or a parson. Evidently he 
 is not a married man. 
 
 Civeita. You have observed, also, that I spoke always of 
 Williams and his Boys ; Smith had his Children. 
 
 Aziola. Aha ! you say, observing the inclusive nature of 
 the term, that rascal Smith is educating boys and girls 
 together. You are right again. I blush to say that so he 
 is. I am surprised that Nature should produce us boys 
 and girls to grow together in one family. For adults of 
 opposite sex to meet promiscuously at church, at theatres, 
 and balls ; for adult gentlemen to put their arms round 
 adult ladies, and twirl about with them, is what only a 
 puritan could grumble at ; for we adults are never naughty : 
 but that little girls should play and learn wdth little boys — 
 perhaps run after them — my modesty is overcome by the 
 idea. Fancy a little girl running after a little boy : do we 
 do things like that, I wonder, in the grown-up world? No; 
 in the teaching of children, the two sexes must be marked 
 by the strongest lines of separation, and I am myself too 
 thoroughly delicate even to talk about them both, without 
 a blush, in the same sentence. 
 
 An Owlet (from the bottom of the table). Mr. Chairman, it 
 occurs to me that we ought not to profess open defence of 
 ignorance. Can't we be advocates of moderate enlighten- 
 ment ? 
 
 Ulula. That would be idle, sir. Tslarch-of-intellect boys 
 have to be antagonised. We have been terribly warned of 
 late. The Continent of Europe has, within the present 
 
122 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 century, been overspread with schools, and we have lately 
 seen the consequences — frightful revolutions. Sir, the time 
 is come when every strong mind must take its place, either 
 on the right hand or on the left. The time is gone by for a 
 timid policy. We would not live to see the good old insti- 
 tutions of our country swept away. To resist the spirit of 
 change, we must resist the spirit of knowledge. Perhaps, 
 under other circumstances, wo. might have been ready to 
 make various concessions to the educator ; now, our safest 
 refuge is a bold antagonism. We must invade, or be in- 
 vaded. We throw off a mask, and strike the blow. 
 
 Aziola. Why do you make a fuss ? We are in no more 
 danger of an educated England than we are of healthy 
 homes, 
 
 Ulula. Why do we make a fuss, then? Why does an}-- 
 body make a fuss ? If there be humbugs abroad trading on 
 the sanitary cause, and fidgets ever on the move are getting 
 up an education movement, threatening to break our rest, 
 must we not show how strong we are, to frighten these poor 
 gentlemen ? It is all very line, you say, to spar and strike 
 out when there is nobody to fight. What do they make 
 such a noise for, then ? We ought to show them that we 
 are not to be bullied ; proper dignity requires, as Lord John 
 Russell says of Popery, which is as near to us as education 
 is, that we leap forward, backward, or to one side, I forget 
 which, and put ourselves in a defensive attitude. There 's 
 chapter and verse for you. That is just what we are doing 
 here in the Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Screech. That the ignorance of the middle-classes is in a 
 sound and safe state for the present, we can see by the 
 bitterness of party, and the durability of all manner of mis- 
 understanding. Misunderstandings are the stones which 
 macadamise the road of life; our way without them would 
 be tedious from the excess of softness. Now I have seen 
 reason to suspect that knowledge impresses on its victims 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 123 
 
 a belief that nobody is all wrong or all right ; that opposite 
 lines of belief or conduct may run over the land of truth, 
 and that it is honest for a man to travel upon cither; that 
 so a man going to Birmingham need not necessarily spit at 
 a man going to Bath. The victims of knowledge may at 
 last be brought into a state of such great wickedness, that 
 they doubt the entire depravity of man. They almost doubt 
 whether any human being would fail to get the sympathy of 
 another who should be cognisant of all his thoughts and all 
 his springs of action. They say that nine-tenths of the 
 quarrels they have witnessed would have dropped imme- 
 diately if each party had seen nakedly the other's mind, and 
 either have resulted in absolute unanimity, or friendly oppo- 
 sition of opinion. They say that if there were no ignorance 
 there would be no party heat, and if there were no party 
 heat there would be no ignorance. This is a pretty argu- 
 ment, you cannot catch it by the tail ; like the snake of 
 eternity, its tail is in its mouth, it is a perfect circle. 
 
 Uhila. So may ignorance exist for ever. 
 
 Aziola. If knowledge is to put an end to all misunder- 
 standing, and cause us to see that every man and woman is 
 a good sort of fellow after all, who will there be left to 
 impute bad motives to good designs, to carry and credit 
 scandal, to accuse Catholics of a desire to burn the Pro- 
 testants, and Tories of a wish to trample on the poor, and 
 Radicals of a desire to rush at anything that merits venera- 
 tion? If nobody is to have enemies, where will be our 
 patience and forgiveness ? When we were all so good to one 
 another as a better knowledge promises to make us, we shall 
 be as dull as pigeons in a pie. It could be no duller " down 
 among the dead men". 
 
 Civet ta. Chiron found it a bore to live for ever, Lucian 
 says, and so he quashed his immortality, but found, poor 
 fellow, death also monotonous. What should we do if we 
 were all so good and wise that we could not even take wit- 
 
 I 2 
 
1 24 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 sauce to our wisdom. " Qui vit sans folie, n'est pas si sage 
 qu'il le croitr Let me be ignorant. 
 
 But let us seek a wise man after our own heart, who sees 
 a great deal farther than your ordinary knowledge-monger. 
 Let us go to Zadkiel, and buy at five-and-twenty guineas 
 each a pair of his delightful crystals ; or no — that will be 
 too expensive — let us hire a clairvoyante, to show to us the 
 inside of Brown's head. Our friend Brown is a gentleman 
 who has received in his youth a good classical and com- 
 mercial education. I believe that he has forgotten every- 
 thing, of which the knowledge has not been ensured by 
 practice ; everything but reading, writing, and so much 
 arithmetic as enters into his daily life. I know that he has 
 of late picked up a good deal of information from daily and 
 w^eekly journals, which unhappily are pandering to a base 
 desire for information. Much that he reads I doubt 
 whether he understands, however, and that is lucky. I am 
 sure that he was never taught to think correctly, or to take 
 what they call, in the jargon of the day, " comprehensive 
 views." He is a studious man, however, and extremely 
 deep in heraldry ; that is his hobby. Well, Miss Fathomall 
 will you be good enough — O yes ; here is your fee — will you 
 be good enough to place your lily w^hite hand on our friend 
 Brown's bald pate. He has a noble head, you see. Now, 
 Brown, go to sleep. He will not, IMiss ; he is a very wide- 
 awake fellow; but it does not matter. Think away. Brown, 
 while I take the lady's other hand ; think over all you 
 know ; if any gentleman or lady will take my other hand, and 
 somebody take his or her other hand, and so on, we can 
 make a chain, and tlie current of Brown's thoughts will pass 
 through us all. O dear, no ; Brown is a decent man, you 
 will experience no shock. He is taking stock of all his 
 information : Greek, there's a dual number, and a tense 
 called aorist, and one verb in the grammar is iv-nc, there 's 
 ^schylus, and there 's Herodotus, and there 's a war called 
 
Ignorance of the Middle Classes. 125 
 
 Peloponnesian, and Xerxes. Latin, I know some — let me 
 see—" bis dat qui cito dat", " ingenuas didicisse", etc., and 
 there 's "post hoc non propter hoc", and there 's "sic vos non 
 vobis", which goes on "melhki"— something, but it is not 
 usual to quote the rest, so it doesn't matter my not knowing 
 it. I know a whole line, by-the-bye, " O fortunati minimum 
 sua si bona norint". Come, that would fetch something in 
 the House of Commons. I think it 's from Ovid. There 's 
 the Augustan age, and Coriolanus. Brutus goes with 
 liberty and Tarquin's ravishing strides — a verb agrees with 
 its nominative case. English history, there 's Arthur— round 
 table— Alfred burnt oatcakes— HenryJVIII had a number 
 of wives, was the son of Queen Elizabeth, who wore a stiff 
 frill and didn't marry. George III had two prime minis- 
 ters, Horace Walpole and Mr. Pitt, the Duke of Wellington 
 and Napoleon, and Waterloo, also Trafalgar and Rule 
 Britannia— O, and there 's Aristotle, shone in a number of 
 things, generally safe to mention. Plato and friendly at- 
 tachment—mem.: avoid mentioning Plato, there 's something 
 about a republic, on which I don't feel safe when it 's occa- 
 sionally mentioned. Botany : sap, the blood of trees — the 
 leaves of flowers are called petals— also parts called pistils, 
 which I could make a pun upon if I knew what they were — 
 cosines in algebra, the same, which would make play with 
 cousins — plus and minus, more and less — there 's a word, 
 rationale, don't know whether French or Latin, but ex- 
 tremely good to use — foreign politics I don't make much of, 
 not understanding history of foreign countries. Germans, I 
 know, dreamy— Klopstock — know his name, and think he 
 was a drummer. Gerter was great. And I think there 's 
 an Emperor Barbarossa, but, mem. : be cautious, for I'm not 
 sure wliether that 's not the name of an animal. Understand 
 animals, having been twice to the Zoological Gardens. 
 Have read Shakespeare— not Milton, but it 's safe to praise 
 him. Fine, a good epithet to apply to him. Know a 
 
126 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 good glass of claret. Lots of anecdotes — I'll tell you one. 
 Once, at a bar dinner, there was an Irish barrister who 
 
 chanced never to have tasted olives jNIiss Fathomall 
 
 removes her hand ; bar dinner stories hurt her. 
 
 Well, Brown, you need not look crossly at me. I know 
 that it is as you say ; you have got on very well in the world 
 upon your stock of knowledge. You are a man with no 
 humbug about you. You have done your duty, stuck to 
 business, and are exceedingly well off, you can tell me. I 
 know it, shake hands, Brown. I like to shake hands with a 
 man who is well off. How are you. Brown? Beautiful 
 weather ? 
 
 Ulula. Thank you Civetta ; you are quite a iMatthews. 
 Not a Mathew : fill your glass, and let us have the bottle. 
 Well, we may wind up this topic. The tendency to relax 
 discipline, and introduce what march-of-intellect men style 
 useful knowledge, threatens in time seriously to corrupt our 
 schools. The direction taken by journalism in the present 
 day also, and the prevailing spirit of our newspapers, are 
 extremely alarming ; most of them are marching in hostility 
 to Ignorance, and in a straight line towards her fortress. 
 Indirect Education has diffused much information and 
 awakened much intelligence among the middle-classes. 
 W^e must face the danger. The great gate of the Castle of 
 Ignorance, if I may speak figuratively, is that which opposes 
 education of the poor. We should, perhaps, have opened 
 with this part of our question, but at any rate we will discuss 
 it now. Civetta, you are prepared, I think, to introduce 
 the subject. While you are warm, go on, and make another 
 speech. 
 
 Civetta. Warm, sir ! — Castle of Ignorance ! gates ! Mr. 
 Chairman, permit me too to be figurative, and compare our 
 structure to that castle in the Faerie Qncene, with a huge 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. i 27 
 
 fire in the entrance, which the knight Scudamour was 
 unable to cross. There, you see, are our gates of thick 
 iron glowing in a white-heat. They need no bolt, fcr the 
 thief must be made of asbestos who would dare to touch 
 them. They are heated by a furnace of religious zeal, 
 which has been built just under their threshold, and it is mar- 
 vellous to see upon them letters black as coffm-lids in spite 
 of the surrounding glow, as if they had been written there 
 with a huge fmger dipped in Night : 
 
 Ignorance of tlje lPooi\ 
 
 These gates, you see, are not easily to be flung open. 
 Touch them but ever so little, and I warrant you will burn 
 your fingers. What if I do burn mine ; my fancy is already 
 fired. It must blaze out. I long to lay a hand upon these 
 gates, and to caress them for five minutes. I should not 
 be happy if you hindered me. There are some things that 
 no man willingly would die and leave undone, and if he 
 did die, he would desire to get up from his grave to do 
 them. So it was with Saint Bonaventura, whom death 
 called away before he had finished the last chapter of his 
 Life of St. Francis. He could not sleep in his cofiin for 
 thinking of his interrupted work, so at last he rose, and his 
 corpse came home to his old study, took a pen and ink, 
 and wrote for three days till the book was finished, then 
 returned into the grave, able to tuck itself up comfortably. 
 
 Let me alone ; I will not blister myself much. How I 
 enjoy this heat ! O that I could wriggle myself like a 
 Salamander through the glowing coals and nestle in the 
 hottest corner of the furnace ! It is so beautiful to think 
 that Christians should have settled from the beginning, 
 that love to God and man, faith, hope, and charity, are the 
 mere superfluity and fat of their religion — that which gives 
 roundness and beauty to the outline, while the flesh and 
 
1 28 A Defence of Ignorajice. 
 
 bone consist in a scientific knowledge of the nature and 
 the attributes of God. How very bony, too, some of us 
 are ! all bone and fibre ; with but little fat to hamper us, 
 and be a clog on our extreme activity. 
 
 Since the first days, when, as an early father writes, all 
 the post-horses of the Roman empire were engaged by 
 bishops, scampering about in search of the true religion, 
 since those first days until the last, how many theories have 
 been pronounced by some party the only ropes whereby men 
 could be pulled up into heaven? And there were always 
 other parties to declare these ropes mere halters — instru- 
 ments of ignominious and certain death. Delicious is the 
 fire of theologic zeal which wants the latitude and longitude 
 of Heaven, takes the measurement of Satan's tail, sets brothers 
 quarrelling about a pinch of mint, and, not unmindful of the 
 Sermon on the Mount, endeavours to make all men blessed, 
 by taking care that they shall all be reviled and persecuted, 
 and have all manner of evil said against them falsely for 
 the sake of the religion which their hearts adopt. O 
 Methodist ! revile the Church ; O Church ! revile the 
 INIethodist ; O Catholic ! revile them both : O both of ye ! 
 revile the Catholic. So keep this furnace hot, and let no 
 mortal hand push at this gate. Ignorance of the poor ! be 
 thou a barrier for ever. 
 
 Excuse a trifle of enthusiasm, sir, for how can I regard 
 this glorious Defence of Ignorance without a sentiment of 
 generous emotion ? And I know, too, that upon the fur 
 nace down there fresli coals have been thrown by the Pope 
 only this minute. As they fell, did I not hear the furnace 
 leap and crackle ? Presently the gates will glow with double 
 fierceness. 
 
 It may be said that the Pope had no business to throw 
 fresh coals upon our fire — that it was hot enough without 
 his interference. This oven is so hot, that it invariably 
 scorches those who venture near enouiih to feed it. As for the 
 
Ignora7ice of iJie Poor. 129 
 
 Pope's coals, our enemies — the Educationists — would like 
 to have a pair of long tongs wherewith quietly to take them 
 off again before they throw out heat; but it is the custom 
 in this country, I rejoice to say, in all such cases, to use 
 the poker. We have stirred the coals in, and got up a 
 rousing blaze. Sweet Mistress Ignorance, sleep on in 
 peace ! your gates are excellently guarded. Friend, you 
 see that trap ; I have a coal or two to throw into the fire. 
 
 The Pope is a cuckoo, and his Grace of Canterbury a 
 hedge-sparrow, in whose nest there has been cucular in- 
 trusion. By no means hatch, O England, these outlandish 
 eggs. The machinations of the Pope are ship-worms eat- 
 ing into your heart of oak. These screw their way into the 
 vessel of the Church wherever it is submerged in the stormy 
 waters of debate. The lower timbers of that vessel are not, 
 and must never on any account be, sheathed with the base 
 copper of a human education. 
 
 O all ye good Christians, disagree and split among your- 
 selves. O Churchman, let me not ask what else besides a 
 right opinion on the surplice question. Christian views 
 of the wax candle difficulty, a holy reverence for wood as 
 the material for altars — what else but a right understand- 
 ing of discussions upon wood and stone, and wax and 
 calico, can be intended by the narrow way to heaven ? Ask 
 of your intellect. Can there be anything more narrow ? 
 
 Excuse me, my dear fellows ; don't be frightened : Eve 
 some more coals to throw down. 
 
 There 's Baptismal Regeneration ; a coal full of gas, with 
 plenty of blaze in it. How can a man possibly be saved 
 with wrong views about that ? We'll say, I go with Gorham ; 
 anything, so long as I can keep the furnace going. Gorham, 
 I say : as for Exeter, he is a mangrove tree, that only 
 flourishes where there is mud to fix upon, in bitter, shallow 
 water, and the atmosphere is of the hottest. 
 
 More coal ! The Mussulmans are clever hands at keep- 
 
130 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 ing Ramadan, at any rate in the Sahara. Mr. Richardson, 
 the traveller, writes, that in their forty days of fast from sun- 
 rise until sunset, they do the right thing with scrupulous 
 exactitude. One of them, suffering from severe ophthalmia, 
 would have no caustic dropped into his eye, lest, by some 
 chance, the substance, sucked into the blood, should reach 
 the stomach and so nourish him. That is fasting ! In the 
 morning these earnest men, unable to eat, go to bed, and 
 get up in the evening. A little before sunset they mount 
 to their housetops with a pocket full of dates, and, date in 
 hand, watch the declining sun, and in the same instant that 
 the sun vanishes the date also disappears ; from that time 
 festival begins. The fasting heroes eat and drink all night, 
 and pop, at sunrise, into bed again. Whoever taught them 
 that trick must have been the C. J. London of the desert. 
 There is a logical judiciousness about the whole affair, 
 which leaves the Ramadan observed and the flesh satisfied. 
 Don't go with the Bishop of London. 
 
 Toleration ! It is one of our cant words : it means 
 letting the tares grow with our corn and watering the 
 thistles. 
 
 More coal : I care not where it may alight, so that it 
 blazes. I stand here for the defence of Ignorance, and I 
 am bound to feed the furnace of sectarian zeal. The Church 
 affects to be indignant only at the insolence of Rome. 
 Christians, for the matter of that, have temper enough to 
 pity and forgive mere insolence. No: when I see waves 
 running mountains high, wind fighting with the tattered 
 sail, all hands on deck frantically pumping, shouting, scold- 
 ing — in all the shriek and thunder of a tempest — it won't 
 do to tell me that the sailors are beside themselves because 
 the spoondrift gets into their whiskers. 
 
 No: it is related of a certain trumpeter at Cape Town, 
 that he went to sleep one day by the road-side. There 
 came a lion who took him up and trotted off with him. 
 
Igjiorajice of the Poor. 131 
 
 The trumpeter awoke while in the hon's paws, perceived his 
 danger, put his trumpet to his mouth and blew a terrible 
 alarm upon the trumpet ; the lion dropped him instantly 
 and scoured away. Rome, as a lion roaring for her prey, 
 believed our Church asleep. But we can sound a trumpet. 
 
 Shades of opinion are various ; and among men who 
 think, agreement upon all points is impossible. Did not 
 the Greek satirist mean mischief, when he said of Cerberus 
 that "he could not only bark like a god but talk like a human 
 being"? In order that our utterance may be divine, we 
 must instinctively repeat some cry, not talk like men our 
 own opinions. 
 
 What arel you saying ? That the Church, our school- 
 mistress, must]^not attempt to make her children walk in 
 single file, but suffer them to play about her freely within 
 reasonable limits. Pretty discipline mdeed ! Do you say 
 that Christians must learn to tolerate among each other 
 freedom of inquiry, and admit wide differences of opinion 
 upon names and theories connected with that groundwork 
 of religion, upon which we take our common stand ? Sir, 
 this is the veriest cant of Toleration. It would put our 
 furnace out. The very next thing would be an establish- 
 ment of schools for the imparting of our common knowledge 
 —which, being truth, is part of God— to all the children of 
 the poor, and leaving each child to receive lessons in 
 religion from its own religious teacher. Let the Church 
 perish if it must, but let it die as a Church Militant. There 
 was a glorious pastor in the olden time, who was tormented 
 by the weekly slumbers of one heavy-eyed parishioner. One 
 day the provocation went beyond all endurance, and " I'll 
 tell you what, my man," the pastor said, "if you won't hear 
 the word of God, I'll make you feel it!" so he threw the 
 Bible at his head and woke him up. In some sense this is 
 what we all are bound to do ; if men will not attend to our 
 expoundings of the sacred volume, we must use it as a 
 
132 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 military weapon ; up guards and at them. Rome opens her 
 house-door widely — bold theologian — to receive the vaga- 
 bonds who fly before your tomahawk. I join you ; shake 
 my fist and yell at Rome. But drop my tomahawk! Who 
 dares to suggest that ? Would you not wish me also to cut 
 out my tongue? Infamous Manichee, would it not please 
 you to extract my teeth and feed me upon milk and honey ? 
 Will Ignorance accept me for her knight if I prove such a 
 dastard ? 
 
 Dear friend, excuse me if I dance and pull my hair, spout 
 verse, and am a little frantic as I contemplate these gates. 
 Their glow diffuses itself through my heart. Here we have 
 true security. As for "the good time coming", of our 
 enemies, we can retort their " wait a little longer". 
 
 " Credula vitam 
 Spes alit, et melius eras fore semper ait." {Hear^ hear) 
 
 Tis the old weakness ; we could find it commented upon in 
 Phrygian, if any Phrygian remained for us to read beyond 
 what is now spoken by the billy-goats. 
 
 Sir, if you wish to hear the roaring of the blaze made by 
 the Papal coals, just turn your ear in this direction. The 
 crackle to which you are now attending is a mere sputter in 
 the House of Commons. Listen here, ay, peep too ; see 
 how the fire catches among the poor, when a hot parson 
 comes among them like a fire-ship in the middle of a help 
 less fleet. From the Report published this year of a 
 Missionary to the Poor in Liverpool, Mr. Bishop — a poor 
 man's Bishop, who has no snug mitre for his nightcap — you 
 will thank me for quoting a few golden words of joy. The 
 writer himself is obviously blind to the beauty of his pictures, 
 but to us, as we stand here in the courts of Ignorance, they 
 wink auspiciously: for pictures do wink now and then. 
 Good, sir ; I touch upon another controversy, and a roar 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 133 
 
 from the furnace shouts " they never can". No, I reply, 
 they never can. I back all combatants. 
 
 " Negat quis, ncgo ; ait, aio : 
 Postremo imperavi egomet mihi 
 Omnia assentari." (//mr hear) 
 
 If I could lay among you all an egg of mischief, I'd be — 
 not a butterfly, but— an Aepyornis. I'd be an Aepyornis, 
 born in Madagascar, laying and hatching eggs every hour. 
 The fossil eggs of that bird now in Paris ate sublime. One 
 of them equals in bulk an entire gross of hen's eggs, or fifty 
 thousand eggs of humming-birds. How we must deplore 
 that Milton is not writing in our days ! When Satan left 
 hell on his first great journey to the earth, how much could 
 the sublime effect of the description have been heightened 
 by the casual mention, that he to ok a few of these eggs in 
 his pocket, hard-boiled, for refreshment on the way ! O for 
 such eggs of mischief! Yes, sir, I thank you, you suggest a 
 fact : there is a nest in which such eggs are sometimes laid. 
 Says Mr. Bishop : ",In the course of my visits one Monday 
 morning I found a worthy woman, the mother of a large 
 family, bowed down with heaviness and grief ; * * her 
 husband * * had been ' at her again', as she phrased it, 
 'because I am not Protestant enough for him, though I never 
 go to my own chapel, and when I go anywhere I go to 
 church with him. Oh ! I dread the Sunday ; it is the 
 worst day of the week to us.' She then went on to tell how 
 her husband had induced her to accompany him one even- 
 ing to hear a favourite preacher, and that the latter, in the 
 course of his sermon, cautioned parents against employing 
 Catholic servants, for it was neither safe for them nor for 
 their children to have persons about them who might any 
 night set the honse on fire over their heads. ' I was a servant 
 myself, for years, Mr. Bishop,' the poor woman continued, 
 
1 34 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 * and I have relations who are servants, and it made my blood 
 boil to hear such wickedness charged upon us ; and me and 
 my husband quarrelled more than a bit about it when we 
 came out.' " 
 
 Azw/a.—Vte:^^ Mistress Ignorance, smile in your sleep. 
 Permit me in your honourable name to thank the preacher 
 who can 
 
 "Turn the instruments of good to ill. 
 Moulding a credulous people to his will." — 
 
 Reverend Aepyornis, suffer me to scratch your poll. 
 
 Civetta. The Home Missionary says, that " in proportion 
 to the imperfect state of men's religious characters will 
 their passions be aroused in attacking the opinions of 
 others, or in hearing their own attacked; and amongst 
 many of the poor and ignorant the recent movement has 
 evoked a bitterness of feeling and a strength of antipathy 
 which it will take a long time to subdue. The public papers 
 have told of two drunken men who, in the course of a 
 quarrel on the subject, whilst confined in one of our bride- 
 wells, tore each other with the ferocity of wild beasts ; they 
 have also recorded '■' * ; and I have myself heard women 
 as well as men, on both sides, venting their excited feelings 
 in cursing and swearing, and have known of the matter 
 being a cause of contention, even in the resorts of the most 
 degraded and abandoned of the female sex. One morning 
 I entered a house in a court in Jamaica Street, and saw a 
 drunken man sitting over the fire, belching out curses 
 against the Pope, and boasting of what he had heard a 
 popular clergyman say, whom he described familiarly by his 
 Christian name, at a meeting on the previous evening ; and 
 on another occasion I saw a wild-looking fellow throwing 
 up his cap in defiance of the Pope's opponents, and vowing 
 that he was ready to die for his religion." 
 
 Dear Mistress, you may well smile in your sleep. The 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 135 
 
 furnace at our gate burns well. The Scudamours of Edu- 
 cation more than once have been repelled when 
 
 " In the porch, that did them sore amate, 
 Our flaming- fire, ymixt with smouldry smoke 
 And stinking sulphur, that with griesly hate 
 And dreadful horror did all entrance choke. 
 Enforced them their forward footing to revoke." 
 
 Let them come on again. Dear sir, I am beside myself 
 with joy. Look here ! Look at the glorious condition that 
 our zeal perpetuates. 
 
 Pardon the repetition ; but a good fact merits an encore ; 
 as I before said, there are in England and Wales Eight 
 Millions of us unable to read and write. Of all the blush- 
 ing British Brides who come to sign the marriage register 
 one half find it impossible to write down their own names. 
 That pretty woman, Anne Jones, is no more able than a cat 
 to put her Tom's name upon paper. Tom Jones is to her 
 a signature as difficult as any, as difficult as that of the 
 Cingalese gentleman named in a recent work upon Ceylon, 
 Don David Jazetileke Abeyesiriwardine Illangakoon Maha 
 Moodliar. {Great applause.) 
 
 Ulula. Pauperism costs us ;,r7,ooo,ooo a year. The 
 national grant for education is about one and three-quarters 
 per cent, of that amount. If any debt be due to knowledge, 
 England allows it to stand over, while she pays mere drib- 
 lets of her interest. Twenty years ago, in proportion to the 
 population, there were fewer blind children than there are 
 now. Blind in their minds, I mean, through total absence 
 of instruction. 
 
 Glaux. Twenty years ago ! Ah ! dear ; it makes us 
 scratch our grey heads when we hear our own time dealt 
 with so in masses. Twenty years rolled into a pill, and 
 dropped so carelessly, reminds us in an aggravating manner 
 of the speed with which the libation of a lifetime rushes out 
 of us, and leaves our bodies empty cups, thrown each into 
 
136 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 its dust-hole. For pity's sake, let us unravel this ball of 
 time. Go back, too, somewhat farther — be historical, and 
 touch years tenderly, as if we loved them. I bring facts. 
 
 The first impulse to public education was given abroad 
 by Pestalozzi ; but we will not touch him ; he is poisonous, 
 as foreigners all are, except the men of Turkey, Russia, 
 Spain, Portugal, and Southern Italy, who agree with 
 England in acknowledging the rule of Ignorance. In other 
 countries, only two men in a hundred have escaped the 
 Education-pox. If we go too much among them we shall 
 catch it. The very air in Germany smells like a school- 
 room. In Germany they say a school-room does not smell ; 
 but we know better. Of one of our school-rooms, Mr. 
 Lingen says, " I never shall forget the hot, sickening smell, 
 which struck me on opening the door of that low, dark 
 room, in which thirty girls and twenty boys were huddled 
 together. It more nearly resembled the smell of the engine 
 on board a steamer, such as is felt by a sea-sick voyager on 
 passing near the funnel." 
 
 Buho. I dare say. What right had so many parents to 
 send children to be taught ? — were there no gutters in the 
 district ? 
 
 Screech. The faces of foreign children have been igno- 
 miniously washed, and the streets swarm with them at five 
 minutes to nine as they are all pattering to school, where 
 they suffer vile imprisonment day after day, while our free 
 British boys are early trained to independence. ]\Iany of 
 them even earn their living at a time when foreign boys are 
 at their A, B, C. 
 
 Glaux. In 1798 there rose up Joseph Lancaster, a 
 Quaker, whom the spirit moved to meddle with the children 
 of this country. He advocated, by precept and example, a 
 new system of education for the poor, by monitors and by a 
 master apt to teach, with quaint ways of correcting error. 
 
 Bulla. What was this man's religion? 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 137 
 
 Glatcx. He was a mere Quaker. He said I cannot teach 
 your creed, or any creed ; but I will take boys to whom you 
 yourselves have never taught it — I will educate them ; they 
 shall read and write, and cipher ; they shall be made teach- 
 able and good ; they shall know all their Christian duty ; 
 and then the churches are all yours, your ministers shall 
 teach their doctrines. At this good men felt naturally 
 angry, for the poor were taken from their hands, and taught, 
 as if the world contained no catechism — as if there were no 
 Act of Uniformity — no Book of Common Prayer to be read. 
 What right had anyone to teach the people reading, writing, 
 and arithmetic ? 
 
 Aziola. There are not wanting malignant men who will 
 endeavour to remove all sting from your reproaches by de- 
 claring, that you mean the contrary to what you say. 
 
 Glaux. A sweeping method of reply to an antagonist ; 
 but I will leave no room even for this mean subterfuge. 
 The man, Lancaster, shall be put down by other lips than 
 mine. Not my cry, but the cry of his own time, in the words 
 of an earnest contemporary, shall be lifted up against him. 
 I trust there is no need to allude to the respectabihty of Mrs. 
 Trimmer (in Lancaster's time), authoress of profitable child- 
 ren's books. She was the mouthpiece of a large religious 
 party. She wrote against Lancaster, so let her speak. I 
 glory to confess, that I quote her words from the pages of a 
 scoffer (Sydney Smith), who did not hesitate to stain his 
 intellect with satire. He has maltreated Mrs. Trimmer; 
 but as he has quoted some of her most pregnant passages, 
 and as I have not Trimmer's works at home, I am obliged 
 to filch these isolated gems out of a tawdry setting. Mrs. 
 Trimmer, in her book, demolished Lancaster in detail, 
 slaughtering an inch of him, it seems, in every paragraph. 
 "When I meet", says Mr. Lancaster, "with a slovenly boy, 
 I put a label on his breast — I walk him round the school 
 \ with a tin or a paper crown upon his head." " Surely," says 
 
 I K 
 
138 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Mrs. Trimmer, as she digs her poker down into the fire of 
 zeal, " surely it should be remembered that the Saviour of 
 the World was crowned with thorns in derision, and that 
 this is a reason why crowning is an improper punishment for 
 a slovenly boy." When a boy has been continuously well- 
 behaved, he gets from Mr. Lancaster a badge of merit. 
 Mrs. Trimmer, who believes the State to be as much in 
 danger as the Church — and therein I agree with her — re- 
 marks, that, " Boys, accustomed to consider themselves the 
 nobles of the school, may, in their future lives, from a con- 
 ceit of their own merits (unless they have very sound 
 principles), aspire to be nobles of the land, and to take place 
 of the hereditary nobility." 
 
 The danger to the country wore a more alarming aspect 
 when, in 1805, the educational plans of Lancaster became 
 matured into an organised conspiracy. The British and 
 Foreign School Society was formed for educating all parties 
 alike ; for teaching the Churchman and the Methodist to 
 read, on the same principles. The only merit of this society 
 was, that it excluded the Roman Catholics, the Unitarians, 
 and Jews, who, it \vas thought, would be more likely to 
 emerge from error by being consigned to Ignorance. 
 
 Friends of the constitution found it necessary then to 
 sound a louder tocsin, and sent over to Lidia for their bell. 
 From Madras came Dr. Bell, who was immediately set up 
 as the educational reformer. The National School Society 
 was established, in 181 1, as an opposition to the latitudi- 
 narian establishment. The children who attended these 
 schools Avere to learn the catechism, attend the parish 
 church, and use only such books as were approved 
 of by the Society for the Promotion of Christian Know 
 ledge. 
 
 Aziola. Now, here, the Church was mean. She said : I 
 do not like your principle ; my doctrines are essential, and 
 I do not like to see a school in which they are left out, but 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 139 
 
 go on ; I cannot hinder you, except by seeking to excel 
 your plan and winning children to myself. I also, therefore, 
 will establish schools, and teach not only reading and 
 writing, but that which I hold to be religion also. Quite 
 right, says the Knowledge-monger, so we get two schools 
 instead of one. You have omitted to state, Glaux, that 
 Bell discovered and advocated in a pamphlet the system 
 of instruction by means of monitors, the Madras system it 
 was then called. Lancaster read the pamphlet and mis- 
 applied the idea to the education of a people. 
 
 Glaux. Oberlin, another nasty foreigner, in 1780, had 
 estabhshed the germ of infant-schools in the Ban de la 
 Roche. In 181 5 the busybodies who set up to mend the 
 world began to introduce them into England. Here, again, 
 the schools were imported in a crude state, just as they 
 were found, no religious doctrine was provided for the in- 
 fants. Not long afterwards were founded the Church 
 Infant Schools. When the Church entered thus into the 
 race, it is no wonder that Lord Brougham was tempted. 
 His opportunity, he thought, was come, and in the year 
 1820 he introduced a National Education Bill. 
 
 Civetta. Our lady. Ignorance, who had been twitching 
 for some time, then started from her sleep. Look to the 
 fire at the front gate ! she cried. 
 
 Glaux. We look to it. The dissenters abused Lord 
 Brougham's Bill for being respectful to the Church ; the 
 Church exclaimed against respect for the dissenters. The 
 fire burned cheerily, and my Lord Brougham burnt his 
 fingers when he thought to get the gate open. 
 
 Civetta. Lord Brougham went off, and soon afterwards 
 climbed up my lady's wall, where he sat perched with a 
 Poetry Boy, throwing stones at her front door, Ignorance 
 of the Middle Classes. University College is the name of a 
 big stone that lies now upon her door-step. Those fellows, 
 in 1827, threw it. I deplore to add that a parcel of bishops 
 
 K 2 
 
140 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 climbed the wall when he got down, and threw another 
 stone, King's College, a regular boulder. 
 
 I don't trust the Church. The very poker with which 
 she occasionally stirs that fire may strike us on the head 
 some of these days. As for her poker, she is a large 
 person, and her thrusts are in proportion vigorous ; but I 
 should fail of a duty if I omitted to return thanks to our 
 sectarian friends of all denominations; because each denomi- 
 nation seems to me to keep a poker of a size proportioned 
 to its strength, and some aspire beyond that limitation, as 
 some ants will labour with too large a straw. 
 
 Glaux. In 183 1, Lord Stanley, as Secretary for Ireland, 
 established in London a National Board of Education for 
 Catholics and Protestants. The Irish Education Act might 
 have done damage to our cause by this time, but I never 
 feared. It has been almost a dead-letter for want of funds. 
 As the Fiend says in the play, " Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 In 1835 some evil-disposed persons, who were often 
 glancing at our windows, organised a gang. They called 
 themselves "the Central Society of Education", and con- 
 ducted a plot against your mistress. Pamphlets and hand- 
 bills passed about, outside her walls, speeches were made, 
 the press — a horrid catapult — fired all manner of articles 
 against her, and the Government of England said at last 
 that something should be done. But what ? The Fiend, 
 who reappears from behind a bush, shouts unexpectedly 
 again, " Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 Screech. In 1839, it was said that something should be 
 done. In 185 1, however, nothing has been done. It was 
 determined in 1839 ^o appoint an Educational Board, but 
 what manner of Board to get no mortal could tell. Rector 
 Sleek could not be asked to work with the Hon. Mr. Prim, 
 or with the Rev. Zachariah Howler. It was not possible to 
 represent all parties on the Board, unless the Tamer of the 
 Happy Family were asked to act as president, and it was 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 141 
 
 not desirable or fit that any party should be left unrepre- 
 sented. 
 
 Glanx. So it was resolved to turn out from the Cabinet 
 itself a real five-in-hand committee, the tits being chosen 
 from the Privy Council. The Committee of Privy Council 
 for Education being thus established — 
 
 Civetta. And its members having other matters besides 
 Education to attend to — 
 
 Glaiix. A trustworthy secretary was immediately looked 
 for, and the reins committed to the hands of Dr. Kay, now 
 Sir Kay Shuttleworth. Dr. Kay had caught an education 
 fever from the Continent. He said that to schools teachers 
 were necessary, and that these teachers to be fit for duty 
 required training. 
 
 Screech. Quite, you perceive, a coachman's notion. 
 
 Glaux. Teachers abroad are treated like our horses, and 
 sent off to training establishments, where they undergo a 
 three years' preparation, before they are warranted as safe 
 in harness. In Saxo^iy, with a population nearly as large 
 as that of London, there are nine such training schools, or 
 normal schools, as they are called ; in Prussia forty or fifty. 
 So at the suggestion of Dr. Kay the English Government 
 proposed a Bill for the estabhshment of one. It proposed 
 to found a college for perfecting the education of young 
 teachers, and for their instruction in the science and the 
 practice of imparting knowledge, without reference to their 
 religious opinions. 
 
 Civetta. That is to say, without reference to any of the 
 upraised pokers which immediately demolished that un- 
 happy Bill. 
 
 Glaux. The two educational societies, the British and 
 Foreign and the National, having made away with the 
 foundling, divided between themselves ten thousand pounds 
 which had been exposed with it in its little pocket. 
 
 Dr. Kay and Mr. Tuffnell, with the desperation of two 
 
142 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 hardened burglars, who were bent upon their purpose against 
 your dear lady's establishment, these two men, Kay and 
 Tuffnell, established a training college at their own expense. 
 The Battersea Normal School that was, and Bible training, 
 without Bible interpretation, formed part of its system. 
 Good men shook their heads at it, and passed by on the 
 other side. So Kay and Tuffnell, to avoid suspicion, 
 made over their college to the National School Society, 
 by whom it was put out to nurse upon the bosom of the 
 Church. 
 
 The Committee of Council for Education seeing how the 
 wind blew, set its sail accordingly. It has a little money 
 to dispose of annually. Up pops the Fiend: "Ha! ha!" 
 AVell, we are thankful that it is so little. This money 
 it gives "to him who hath" in aid of what he hath; if 
 people ask they shall receive. The blackamoor spots it 
 is of no use to attack with whitewash. Places too poor to 
 raise an education fund, too ignorant to know how much 
 they want a school, lie so much under the feet of privy 
 councillors that they are of course concealed from view. 
 The school that asks for aid must teach the Bible and 
 expound it, any how, only it must be expounded. Inspection 
 shall take place, says Government; but, never mind, you 
 shall not be looked after very sharply. You shall look after 
 yourselves. The cash bestowed by this committee does 
 not fret us very much, go where it may. 
 
 Uliila. It is not quite twice the income of Christ's Hos- 
 pital. 
 
 Glaux. Our gates had proved themselves impregnable. 
 The Lancashire Public School Association was established 
 in 1847 by Manchester cracksmen, to establish on their own 
 account the un-English principle of local school manage- 
 ment and non-interference with religious feeling. In April 
 1850, Fox's Bill threatens us with the German dodge of 
 educating all and leaving ratepayers to settle in each district 
 
Ignorance of tJic Poor. I43 
 
 their own religious differences, and adjust their schools 
 accordingly. 
 
 Buho. Education may do for your foreigners ; your frog- 
 eaters who get ^2,000,000 a year granted (and need it) to 
 make them rational. Britons are born rational. I scarcely 
 deigned a glance at Fox's Bill. 
 
 Glaux. Well, sir, the defeat and discomfiture of this Fox, 
 that I confess I thought not worth the following, caused a 
 meeting of sly foxes at Manchester in the October of last 
 year. The " Lancashire" was turned into the "National" 
 Public School Association. The vermin swore upon their 
 tails that they would force these gates for us, and open 
 them for ever to the people. 
 
 Screech. Meanwhile our gates remain impregnable. 
 Glaux. As for the children who are really taught, large 
 numbers of them have a dame, licensed by us, for teacher. 
 Go where they may, nearly all children taught, go to their 
 school for a short time only, from the age of six until the 
 age of nine or ten. Says the inspector of the Midland 
 district, the Rev. H. Moseley, " the general impression 
 amongst those persons who are likely to be best informed 
 on the subject, is, that the average age of the children who 
 attend our elementary schools is steadily sinking. We may 
 be educating more, but they are, I believe, younger children, 
 and stay with us a less time." 
 
 Ulula. Good. We are a practical people, and just as 
 the members of our middle-class remove their children from 
 a state of pupilage as soon as they are tall enough to climb 
 an office-stool or show their heads and shoulders over a 
 counter ; so the children of the people are reclaimed from 
 school so soon as they have strength and lungs enough to 
 scare away a crow. 
 
 Civetta. We have now, I think, four normal schools (not 
 forty) ill supplied with funds; these polish off a pupil in 
 about six months, and do not take three years about it like 
 
144 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 those dummy Germans. Brisk is the word in Britain. Say 
 that a teacher cannot get his wheels greased properly within 
 so short a time. The fact is that we know that they ought 
 not to be greased at all. As the people of Valparaiso say of 
 their great bullock waggons, only fools would hinder them 
 from creaking. The cattle are all so accustomed to it, that 
 they will not pull unless the waggon makes a noise ; and 
 then, too, if you stop the creaking, what is there to arouse 
 the toll-keeper and squeak, " Wake up, my man, a vehicle 
 is coming"? 
 
 Are numbers of our countrymen left in such deep debase- 
 ment as to be mere hogs ? What do you mean by a mere 
 hog, I say ? There are parts of the world, as Minorca for 
 example, or as Murray, between Spey and Elgin, where hogs 
 have been found to speed the plough, as well as nobler 
 animals. If so, why may not Great Britain, in her agricul- 
 tural counties, act upon that experience, as she indeed now 
 is doing ? 
 
 Ulula. Education can breed only discontent by taking a 
 man out of himself A man's house — I would interpret 
 that, his flesh — should be his castle. Happy the man who 
 has no need to scamper up and down the world in spirit, and 
 to fetch his pleasure from abroad, 
 
 " Follow (for he is easy-paced) the snail ; 
 Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail.' 
 
 Aziola. It had been raining yesterday when I walked out, 
 and, in a very filthy lane, I saw a Briton who had locked him- 
 self fast up in his palace. He was a haggard man, with grey 
 hair, who lay at length upon the muddy footpath, stretching 
 his arms about the soil as if designing an affectionate caress 
 for mother earth whose clod he was. His face was so much 
 buried in a filthy puddle, that I wondered how he could 
 get out of his mouth the accents not of human speech but 
 
Ignorance of the Poor. 145 
 
 of an occasional " Broo — ha ! — ha !" His mate stood over 
 him cursing, as she prepared to pick him up. 
 
 O fire of pious zeal ! flame on ; and, for the love of God, 
 Christians, let it be well stirred ! These gates, my dear sir, 
 are impregnable. Let us look to the next topic. Your 
 Manchester cracksmen are 
 
 Biiho. Of course they are. But did they not commit a 
 burglary, and murder too, upon Ignorance's niece, down in 
 the country — rob poor dear Protection of her property, and 
 beat her on the head? 
 
 Uliila. Nonsense ; that was quite another thing ; and 
 they could not have done that without aid from the London 
 gang. But as for any harm with which they are now 
 threatening us, you ought to be ashamed of yourself if you 
 let that concern you. Grant all the tools they ask for, and 
 they cannot burst those gates. Put out the fire, and the 
 gates hold. What do these people ask ? To take educa- 
 tion from the hands of a sectarian, or of a religious man, and 
 stick it like a bouquet in the bosom of a parish beadle. 
 Grant them this — what do I care ? While the poor, hedged 
 in by the divinity of Ignorance, seek not strange gods, and 
 do not heed the school; while richer men refuse to tax 
 themselves, what harm can come to us ? When Britannia 
 shall begin to poke us up with her long spear, and play the 
 despot, telling us that every child up to a certain point must 
 and shall be taught, as well as fed ; when it is left to the 
 option of ratepayers not whether they will teach at all, 
 but whether they will teach more than the lawful mini- 
 mum 
 
 Btiho. Compulsion, sir. I have a pamphlet in my pocket 
 — with ten lines of it I'll knock you down. An article re- 
 printed from a Review, which all parties acknowledge to be 
 most respectable. 
 
 Ulula. Sir, for my own part, I hope never to see the 
 day 
 
146 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Biiho. No, sir ; I hope not, sir. Here, sir — here I have 
 it. I have pencilled a few passages. There 's Fox's Bill, 
 sir ; that contained " Invasions enough to make the Hair 
 of any true Friend of Freedom stand On End". Mine has 
 been cut lately, or you'd see it standing. Secular Educa- 
 tion, sir ! hear this : " Will they allow the living system of 
 God's truth to be cut asunder, as with the Executioner's 
 Sword, and one Bleeding Half given to the Schoolmaster, 
 and the other to the Minister ?" Fine, I believe you, sir ! 
 
 Aziola. I, too, have read the pamphlet, Buho ; much of 
 it is devoted to Mr. Richson's Manchester Tslunicipal 
 Scheme, already defunct. That emanated from a clergyman 
 who wished to combine tolerant religious education with the 
 Lancashire idea; — "Authorised Version of the Scriptures," 
 stood in his prospectus. The Catholics, excluded, scouted 
 it. The Sectarians, included, scorned it. Salmon without 
 sauce ! Salmon, says A, must be eaten with cayenne and 
 vinegar ; says B, no, I want plain butter ; says C, I will not 
 have it without orthodox fish-sauce ; there is one kind of 
 fish-sauce only, and you know what that is ; D has an eccen- 
 tric appetite for salmon and garlic, while E cries for flam- 
 ing brimstone on his fish. Then a wretch comes insulting 
 A, B, C, D, E, monstrously violating civil and religious 
 liberty, with plates of the mere insipid salmon, saying, All 
 sauces are upon the table, gentlemen, and let each help 
 himself. What if I like my sauce without the fish, why is fish 
 thrust upon me ? 
 
 Ulula. y\^\\ said, Aziola. You are quite one of us. 
 
 Buho {still studying the pamphlet). I say, what 's an 
 " Establishmentarian" ? I've heard of Hungarians and 
 Unitarians ; — who are the Establishmentarians ? 
 
 Aziola. I don't know, Buho. Perhaps the word is an ab- 
 breviation, and if wc had the rest of it, I could tell what it 
 meant. 
 
 Ulnla. \\'ell, gentlemen, we may dismiss this theme with 
 
Iniorance at the Universities. 147 
 
 'c> 
 
 satisfaction. Ignorance of the Poor is safe for many years. 
 The next topic 
 
 Screech. Is Mrs. Ulula receiving company ? 
 
 Ulida. Five double-knocks in twenty minutes make one 
 think so, and I certainly have heard silks rustling by the 
 door. I told my wife that we might probably sit late, and 
 that we would have coffee in the dining-room ; possibly she 
 has asked some neighbours to take tea with herself and the 
 other womankind. Gentlemen, our next topic, I suppose, 
 will be 
 
 Sgnorauce at tlje anitjersities. 
 
 Of these, one will especially present itself as an agreeable 
 subject of conversation. 
 
 Civetta, Yes. It shall stand upon a pedestal in our 
 imaginations. First, the works of Saint Surdus, then the 
 folios of Father Ingannato, then the holy Bishop Tiburon 
 of Gatada, with the Life of Saint Larronius, we pile them 
 one upon the other, and then plant the genius of Oxford 
 on the top. 
 
 The name of University is given to the Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge educational establishments on account of their 
 deficiency in Universal Knowledge. Of the whole sphere 
 of study they turn one side only, and always, to the gaze of 
 man, just as the moon does with her sphere — or as La 
 Merluche was ordered to do with his breeches, when he 
 pleaded to the miser inability to wait at table : — 
 
 " La Merluche. — Monsieur, vous savez bien, que j'ai mon 
 haut-de-chausse tout troue par derriere, et qu'on me voit, 
 reverence parler 
 
 " Harpagoii.—Y?a^ 1 Rangez cela adroitement du cote 
 de la muraille, et presentez toujours le devant au monde." 
 
 So our Universities display a sound part when they can, 
 and hold their raggedness du cote de hi muraille. Walls 
 
148 A Defence of Igno ranee. 
 
 unluckily have eyes as well as ears ; for, being of course 
 wall-eyed, they are not stone-blind. It has become known, 
 therefore, that the Universities not only do not show, but do 
 not wear, an entire suit of education. Cambridge has been 
 lately to the tailors, and exults in the notion of appearing 
 more respectable by virtue of a patch ; but the truth is 
 that, if education be their object, as I hope it is not, new 
 clothes are required for each establishment. 
 
 The Universities are set upas opponents to our Mistress; 
 they are called the Seats of Learning ; ragged seats, I say. 
 They are Nurseries of Arts. Well, sir, when I have married 
 Mistress Ignorance, they are the nurseries in which I hope 
 to keep my children. Oxford shall be the matron for us. 
 All nurses are ignorant as well as prejudiced, and she is 
 Head Nurse to the British Nation. 
 
 Screech. I wonder what would really be the character of 
 any great establishment which had no other object than to 
 foster learning ? 
 
 Ulula. What do you say, Aziola ? 
 
 Aziola. It would strive to represent, by numerous and 
 active teachers, every branch upon the tree of knowledge ; 
 and, no doubt, the labour annuo lly spent on each depart- 
 ment of its teaching would be carefully apportioned, and 
 made more or less, according to its relative importance. 
 There would be formed a grand picture, true in its perspec- 
 tive and harmoniously coloured, of the intelligence to which 
 man has attained ; and this would realise the knowledge- 
 monger's notion of a University. 
 
 But since it is impossible that any single intellect should 
 grasp so wide a range of information, we may fancy children 
 trained at school to contemplate the fields of human know- 
 ledge in their due relative proportions, and as youth,.obliged 
 to recognise all outlying boundaries, while they devote 
 especial care to the elaboration of whatever study may best 
 suit their prospects or their tastes. Thus each might culti- 
 
Inwrancc at the Universities. 149 
 
 '<b 
 
 vate his pet plant like a labourer who knows the garden, 
 not like a caterpillar, learned in his leaf and ignorant of all 
 beside. His special object also will be best attained when 
 he is most awake to all surrounding circumstances. If you 
 reach after that pear, without considering what stands against 
 your elbows, you may empty a decanter over me. He who 
 desires thoroughly to know one subject should be possessed 
 of so much intellectual geography as will enable him to see 
 its true position in the Universe of thought. 
 
 Civetta. When you spoke of my upsetting a decanter, I 
 was reminded of a story, which I mean to tell you now. A 
 gentleman who carved a goose was inexpert ; and thinking 
 only of the stubborn joints that would not be unhinged, he 
 totally forgot the gravy. Presently the goose slipped off 
 the dish and escaped into his neighbour's lap. Now to 
 have thrown a hot goose on a lady's lap would disconcert 
 most people, but the gentleman in question was not dis- 
 concerted ; turning round with a bland smile, he said : " I'll 
 trouble you for that goose." Here we have a sublime 
 example of the man with one idea. This gentleman's idea 
 was the goose, and in the absorbing interest attached to his 
 undertaking, that he was to carve that goose, not altogether 
 know^ing how, he had shut out extraneous objects. Sud 
 denly the goose was gone, but his eyes followed it, his mind 
 was wrapt up in his struggle with it ; what did he know of 
 that lady ? — I'll trouble you for That Goose, expressed the 
 perfect abstraction of a mind bent on developing its one 
 idea. No doubt he had gone through a course of Oxford 
 training. 
 
 Aziola. Hearne had, at any rate— Hearne, the antiquary. 
 His one idea was antiquities ; and there is one of his prayers 
 preserved in the Bodleian Library which runs as follows ; 
 only mark, you are bold men if you laugh at it ; I dare not. 
 It is lovable and true-hearted enough, though it does 
 bluntly what we all do more or less ; especially you Oxford 
 
1 50 A Defence of Igjiorance. 
 
 men. " O most gracious and merciful Lord God, wonder- 
 ful in Thy providence, I return all possible thanks to Thee 
 for the care Thou hast always taken of me. I contirmally 
 meet with most signal instances of this Thy providence ; 
 and one act yesterday, when I unexpectedly met with three 
 old MSS., for which, in a particular manner, I return my 
 thanks, beseeching Thee to continue the same protection 
 to me, a poor helpless sinner, and that for Jesus Christ, His 
 sake." 
 
 At the University of Oxford, as is well known, nothing is 
 taught but theology and antiquities. Of theology only a 
 part, and of antiquities only the languages of Greece and 
 Rome, with so much Greek and Roman history as illus- 
 trates the authors studied. Whatever knowledge is required 
 of mathematics is less than every school-boy carries home 
 with him, who has been reasonably taught. Whatever lec- 
 tures are delivered upon sciences are few in number, and 
 are the rags confided almost literally to dead walls. The 
 disciple of Oxford, who has taken the highest honours of 
 the University, unless he should get himself corrupted with 
 knowledge from some other source, might be the warden 
 of your House of Ignorance, and keep you all in safety. 
 He is useless upon earth, would be mere ballast in a 
 balloon, and one too many in a diving-bell. He become?, 
 according to his opportunities, perhaps, a legislator, and his 
 training has unfitted him for grappling with great public 
 questions. He applauds his brother who quotes Virgil in 
 a speech, and he can say, " Hear, hear," like a gentleman. 
 Or he becomes a scholar, reads much Greek and Latin, and 
 abstains from operating on his fellow-creatures, as a surgeon 
 conscious of his inability to use the knife. Or he becomes 
 a — ; well, I don't know anything else that he is fit to be. 
 He becomes a clergyman, for which office his training has 
 not been the best. Or he becomes a schoolmaster, and 
 teaches others to nurse one idea. Or, having wealth suf- 
 
Ignorance at the Universities. 151 
 
 ficient, he subsides into a country gentleman, for which he 
 is extremely fit. Thanks to free, vigorous association of 
 young men with one another, the mass of youthful generosity 
 and frolic there fermenting in one common heap makes of 
 a great University an educating place quite independent of 
 its tutors. 
 
 Civetta. Good wine, though not without some lees, comes 
 of that fermentation. So, when the Alma Mater sets herself 
 up as a wise instructress, or a leader in the cause of educa- 
 tion, I snap my fingers at her impudence. Ignorance at the 
 Universities is quite as dense as it is here. But when I see 
 a man who has been educated at one of our great Univer- 
 sities, perhaps has a fellowship, and who knows nothing more 
 than he has learned at college, I, an ignoramus, hold my 
 hand to him, and say, " Hail, fellow ! well met." He is a 
 man whom it is pleasant to take wine with. I like to meet 
 him at a dinner-table, when he does not feel it necessary to 
 look wise— that is to say, after the departure of the ladies; for, 
 within the sphere of their radiance, I often find that an in- 
 tolerable odour from his neckcloth makes him disagreeable. 
 He emits this only to propitiate the female sex. 
 
 Uhu. The reformers go to a great University, point out 
 her rags, and say. Why don't you mend? 
 
 Aziola. The University replies : This is an old dress 
 which has descended to me ; it was very handsome when 
 new, and it would be cruel to my grandmother to mend it, 
 or to wear another. 
 
 Uhu. Those fellows go to the colleges and say, Why don't 
 you revise your statutes ? 
 
 Aziola. The colleges fold their hands, turn up their eyes, 
 and reply, We owe a pious duty to our founders. Why do 
 you take so much pains with a mere parsley-bed ? they ask 
 some college; and it answers meekly. Gentlemen, my founder 
 left it me in charge. Why, then, did you not take care also 
 of your founder's cow ? Who has cut down his orchard ? 
 
152 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Gentlemen, the cow was obviously sick; the apple-trees 
 were old. Then, why not root up also this rank parsley ? 
 
 What do I mean by the cow ? You shall see presently. 
 Uhu pulls out his notes, and means to be historical. 
 
 Uhu. Why flinch ? I will be brief as Tacitus, yet gossip 
 like Herodotus — like Thucydides, I will 
 
 Civetta. Yes, yes, like a good fellow— go on. 
 
 IJhu. Rouse, the antiquary, says that Oxford University 
 was founded in the year of the world 2855, by a Brute; 
 but Brute, or Brutus, not having existed, this story con- 
 cerning him is to be received with caution. In the reign of 
 King Alfred, " whose memory to every judicious taste shall 
 be always sweeter than honey", Oxford was a place of study 
 and of theological dissension. " St. Grymbald, an-'eloquent 
 and most excellent interpreter of the Holy Scriptures", ap- 
 pears to have been the Dr. Pusey of his day; and, after 
 three years of " sharp contention". King Alfred was invited 
 to decide the knotty points. " Pooh ! pooh !" said Alfred ; 
 "kiss and be friends." Thereat Grymbald was exceeding 
 wroth, and went away to Winchester. 
 
 Before any colleges were founded, there was the University, 
 and there were halls and houses— wooden buildings, thatched 
 with straw. There were students lodged about the town ; 
 there was the town with narrow streets intolerably filthy, and 
 a" frequent pestilence ; there was political commotion out of 
 doors, and often a besieging army round the walls. The 
 learning was of that narrow kind which characterised what 
 are called the Middle Ages. Colleges began to be founded 
 in the thirteenth century, when, in addition to town-and- 
 gown disputes, there was a violent feud within the University 
 between those students who were born north of the river 
 Trent and those born to the south of it. In the reign of 
 Edward II, the University waged war against the preaching 
 friars, besides other quarrelling ; in the reign of Edward III, 
 the University was full of bitter controversies upon religious 
 
Ignorance at the Universities. 153 
 
 doctrine. For many years violent dissensions continued 
 between the northern and southern men. In 1354, on St. 
 Scholastica's day 
 
 Screech. Who is Scholastica — the saint of school- 
 masters } 
 
 Civetta. No ; she's a lady whom it is impossible to pass 
 without telling a story. You know Saint Benedict, of 
 course? how, being a very good boy, he ran away from 
 school, because he wanted to be a hermit ; how he gave his 
 nurse the slip, and did indeed become a very holy man, and 
 head of an important monkery. Scholastica was sister to 
 St. Benedict, who followed his good ways, and came to live 
 in the desert near him, head of a nunnery. One afternoon 
 St. Benedict called on his sister, St. Scholastica, and after 
 chatting, when he arose to go, "was pressed to stop and take 
 tea. " No, indeed, I cannot, sister ; I promised to be home 
 at six, and I've an appointment." " Do, dear Ben., stop ; 
 give me the pleasure of your company only for an hour or 
 two." But Benedict was in a hurry to be off. His sister, 
 therefore, folding her hands, looked up to Heaven, and 
 prayed that her brother might be compelled to stop to tea. 
 Immediately there arose a great storm, and sheets of rain 
 descended. How could the saint go home without an 
 umbrella ? So Benedict submitted to his fate, and pocketed 
 his gloves, poor fellow. 
 
 Uhu. On St. Scholastica's day, in 1354, there began to 
 descend blows like rain upon the heads of town and gown, 
 in a great battle which lasted three days. To this date, I 
 believe the Mayor of Oxford and some score or two of 
 citizens hear the Litany at St. Mary's Church, and pay a 
 penny each upon the fatal anniversary. In the reign of 
 Richard II, there were ferocious conflicts between north 
 and south men. 
 
 Ultda. My dear sir, you are giving us a history like 
 Alison's — all fight — for which we did not bargain. 
 
 I L 
 
154 ^ Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Civetfa. So you may try to extricate another thread. By- 
 the-bye, perhaps you know the old couplet ? 
 
 " Chronica si pcnses, cum pugnant Oxonicnses, 
 Post paucos menses, volat ira per Angligenenses." 
 
 Do you observe how thoroughly that is verified now in our 
 own day, anent the Prayer-book controversy and the Pope ? 
 
 Uhu. Well, sir, our knot must be unravelled ; what thread 
 next shall tempt our fingers to a pick ? Let us take up the 
 college plea of duty to the founders. There is reason in it. 
 The Fellows of a college swear to keep the statutes of the 
 founder inviolate, in their plain grammatical meaning. So 
 of course they do. There is All Souls', for example, telling 
 in its very name why it was founded. In this Collegium 
 Omnium Animarum Fidelium Defunctorum, the Fellows 
 oblige themselves by oath to offer up prayers for the souls 
 of King Henry VI and Archbishop Chichele, for the souls 
 of all subjects who had fallen in our famous war with France, 
 and for the souls of all the faithful. It is well known that 
 our noblemen-fellows of All Souls' are perpetually assisting 
 at masses for this purpose, in dutiful performance of their 
 vow. Richard Fox, founder of Corpus Christi, only fell so 
 far short of founding a monastic institution as to save his 
 college from becoming involved in the monastic ruins. 
 Some of the colleges were founded for the express purpose 
 ofpromoting Popery, and had their statutes framed accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 Uliila. Perhaps it is in obedience to these statutes that 
 many of our Oxford men have conscientiously embraced 
 the faith of Rome. 
 
 Uhu. All Souls' was founded for poor scholars. 
 
 Civetta. Which of course the noblemen who hold its 
 fellowships all arc, although not in the sense intended by 
 the founder. 
 
 Uliu. They have all passed an examination in psalmody 
 
Ignorance at the Ujiiversities. 155 
 
 before they were elected. Magdalene, founded for the poor, 
 has a revenue of ;,^3o,ooo a year ; of course that is all 
 spent in the encouragement of low-born genius. Fellowship 
 never goes by favour to the rich, not even being earned by 
 them; it is the heritage of poor men who devote themselves 
 to intellectual toil. It is well known, also, that the Fellows 
 keep up their knowledge by daily scholastic exercises, to 
 which they have pledged themselves, and pass examinations 
 to attest their increase of proficiency. It would be ridiculous 
 to suppose that after becoming Bachelor of Arts through a 
 weak schoolboy's pass examination, the high titles of Master 
 of Arts, Bachelor of Divinity, or Doctor, are not the reward 
 of higher toil, obtained by the endurance of severer tests. 
 It would be an insult to the University to think that she can 
 say to her young Fellows, Wait a little while and pay me 
 certain moneys; for my letters M.A., B.D., D.D., D.C.L., 
 etc., can be all produced out of your L. S. D. 
 
 Aziola. Well, sir, just then we were upon the traces of 
 the cow ; we shall soon get into the orchard without fruit- 
 trees. 
 
 Uhu. The founders took a lad and made him scholar or 
 fellow of a college, by giving him a subsistence in return for 
 an obligation on his part diligently to spend his life in a 
 prescribed course of studies, prayers, and masses, showing 
 his proficiency by gradual ascent in his examinations ; 
 by graduating, as they call it now. The allowance for a 
 scholar at Merton College in 1274 was 50J. per annum ; in 
 1535 it averaged ^^4 6^. 8^. The fellowship then was a 
 subsistence earned by monastic devotion to a life of study. 
 
 Civetta. What is it now — at Oxford? It is more than a 
 subsistence in the present day, and the more able, therefore, 
 to minister to a student's wants. Is it a mighty incentive to 
 literary toil, a prize of knowledge ? . . . . Pardon, I meant 
 to slap you on the back triumphantly ; I did not mean to 
 knock you ofi" your seat. It is an inducement to be 
 
 L 2 
 
156 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 ignorant. It Is one of a large family of institutions which 
 are Britannia's own gingerbread ; she keeps abundance in 
 her cupboard, and I half suspect her shield is made of it ; 
 it is one, sir, of the British sinecures. 
 
 Uhu, In more than half the colleges it is obtained by a 
 young man before he is nineteen ; or he obtains, if not a 
 fellowship, a scholarship, which leads immediately into it, as 
 Portman Street leads into Portman Square. Before he 
 becom.es able to work like a man, all stimulus to work is 
 over. Or in some colleges he must be chosen from the 
 natives of a certain district, or the descendants of a certain 
 family. At All Souls' the fellowships are open, but because 
 the founder meant them for poor scholars, it is thought 
 more fit, as Civetta has suggested, to confine them to the 
 aristocracy. Oriel and Balliol are the only colleges with 
 really open fellowships ; and the fellows of Oriel accordingly 
 stand higher than the fellows of all Souls' in intellectual, if 
 not in verbal rank. 
 
 Aziola. Here is a loss of fruit-trees ; all the more apparent 
 w^hen you remember that the teaching by professors is but 
 nominal ; and that the education, as it is called, of youth at 
 Oxford is in the hand of tutors who must be selected from 
 so many of these Fellows in each college as may think 
 it worth wliile to reside — some eight or ten, upon an 
 average. 
 
 I say nothing, my dear sir, of the expense of what 
 Oxonians call an education, as a contrast to the large funds 
 held by colleges that they may educate gratuitously. There 
 I have nobody to quarrel with. 
 
 Civetta. Well, I believe that nobody desires to change 
 the social class of students ; we may safely, therefore, speak 
 as our hearts dictate, and suggest that so much supervision 
 and economy might be allowed as would protect from ruin 
 any humble clergyman who trusted Alma Mater with the 
 training of his son. Bankrupt boys and crippled fathers 
 
iQ-novance at the Universities. 157 
 
 'c> 
 
 we may pity without putting Ignorance in danger. " 'Tis 
 folly to be wise," but it is worse than folly to be cruel. 
 
 Uhila. About Cambridge I feel more uneasy. That 
 University has yielded too readily. I do not like its ex- 
 tended examinations. King's College, Cambridge, only 
 last May-day, abandoned of its own accord a right to con- 
 stitute its men B.A. without examination. Then, too, its 
 fellowships have been more fairly the rewards of merit; and 
 its great idea, mathematics, does unfortunately train men to 
 advance the pride of knowledge in the present day. The 
 expert mathematician goes into the world prepared to 
 follow any rash adventurer into the unknown lands of 
 science. He has the key to unlock many things which 
 man is only too desirous to be fingering. Adams was not 
 an Oxford man. I don't like this. I am piqued at Cam- 
 bridge, and I will not suffer her to suckle one of mine. 
 
 Civetta. Oxford 's the nurse for me. I scold her for pre- 
 tending to be wise ; I am ashamed of her because she is not 
 candid; I rebuke her, but she is my dear old nurse. Bless 
 her soul, she didn't fail to send a petition to the Queen 
 against the meddling of those rascally commissioners, from 
 heads of houses. 
 
 Aziola. Happy houses, that have got so little in their 
 heads ! 
 
 Bitlio. I'll write a line to F. M. the Duke of Wellington, 
 and beg to be informed why he, as Chancellor, refused to 
 present that petition, confound his impudence ! 
 
 Civetta. One of the most original geniuses of the day is 
 William Sewell, B.D. (of Oxford); his move in opposition 
 to the Universities' Commission is one of the most 
 dexterous of his achievements. I call it his move, but he 
 is supposed to have contributed to the manifesto — for it is 
 a manifesto — only his name. 
 
 U/w. That is likely, for he was, at the time of its ap- 
 pearance, engaged upon a translation of Horace — no easy 
 
158 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 task to a man who is at the distance of B.D. from his under- 
 graduateship, and this most hkely occupied his whole atten- 
 tion. It is published now, an excellent impalement of the 
 poet. 
 
 Civeita. Well, my dear sir, the notion of his manifesto is 
 that no inquiry is necessary. Oxford is ready to establish 
 branch colleges of her owai all over the country. — " Mrs. 
 Oxford, if I may say so without rudeness, I don't like your 
 pie." — " O Mr. Bull, don't mention it ; shall I assist you to 
 a little more ? " 
 
 Uh2i. The two Universities have to bestow about two 
 hundred thousand pounds in fellowships, more than two 
 hundred and fifty thousand pounds in Church preferment, 
 which all goes to Fellow^s ; they have nearly forty thousand 
 of revenue ; the rent of college rooms produces to them 
 nearly thirty thousand ; thirty-three thousand pounds more 
 goes to Fellows in the shape of college fees ; there are the 
 salaries of about forty heads of colleges and halls, and 
 about ninety Professors. There is all the money paid by 
 students to Fellows for private teaching. 
 
 Biilw. This money is the head and front of University 
 offending. Those rascally burglars are excited to activity 
 by this. 
 
 Aziola. They want to scrape it all out of the mud in 
 which we keep it safely buried, to deprive our Mistress 
 Ignorance of every penny, and pour it out before their 
 idol. Knowledge. They say. Here you have the means of 
 forming Educational establishments upon a grand scale, 
 thoroughly complete. 
 
 Uliila. Yes, here wc have the means, and Enemies of 
 Ignorance shall never move them from our keeping. What 
 excites you, Buho ? 
 
 Bulla. They are polking ! 
 
 Glaux. Free grammar-schools, by-the-bye, are in a 
 glorious condition ; following their founders' views as little 
 
Ignorance at tJic Universities. 159 
 
 as some colleges. I have facts upon that subject in my 
 Notes on Education of the Poor. Why, sir, there are no 
 less than two thousand four hundred endowed grammar- 
 schools in this country, provided for the sons of artisans 
 and other riff-raff; all in magnificent condition. Two 
 thousand of them do not educate four hundred of such scum. 
 The press — as pertinacious as a parish fire-engine when 
 nothing is the matter — scjuirted its black venom at one of 
 these some time ago ; a grammar-school which used to 
 educate its eighty pupils and support three masters, but was 
 then supporting one head-master, who sacrificed — for a 
 handsome compensation — none but his own two sons to the 
 manes of the founder. 
 
 Screech. My dear Buho, who is polking ? You disturb 
 me with your dumb-show ; besides, you attack my shins. 
 
 Glaux. Another of these free schools, in the Fens, 
 suffered from reform-fever about a year ago, when a charge 
 very properly was levied upon pupils. Some busybody pro- 
 posed to make this charge extremely small, but was out- 
 voted, for there rose in the town council a good friend of 
 Ignorance, saying, "No! if you do that, we shall be inun- 
 dated with scholars ! " 
 
 Civetta. Never may dear Old England see the day when 
 school-houses shall fill, and the great inundation of scholars 
 pour every morning through the streets of her fine town?, 
 rushing and eddying through each open school-room door. 
 
 Glaux. Sir, it was a great thing to dam out the poor from 
 those endowed schools. The funds have grown enormous!}-. 
 All the ragged imps in London could be taught out of the 
 funds of Christ's Hospital alone. Grow, sir ! the funds 
 may well grow ! 
 
 Ulula. They have a harp, piano, and cornet-a-piston ! 
 
 Glaux. Lawrence Sheriffe left the third part of a field of 
 twenty-four acres in the parish of Holborn, to endow a 
 grammar-school at Rugby. It produced then ;^8 ; it is now 
 
1 Go A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 covered with buildings, and its rental is ^10,000 a year. 
 True it is, that although we have wrested Rugby also from 
 the patrimony of the poor, that place has, in its own way, 
 done us mischief. Men like your Arnolds and your Attilas 
 arise sometimes to play the part of scourge. We could not 
 be safe against the force of many more than the one Dr. 
 Arnold. Never mind ; his shoes are buried with him. 
 When you think of the foundations absolutely rotted — 
 rotten foundations, you observe the joke— no, you observe 
 nothing : gentlemen, you are positively tedious. 
 
 Ulula. I do not understand this. 
 
 Screech. There, now you hear them laughing ; they are 
 tuning for a waltz. 
 
 Ulula. Will some one peep into 
 
 ci)e iLaDies' DraUn'ng^iaoom. 
 
 Do you smoke, Buho ? Ah ! you should ; you'd find 
 tobacco soothing. A cigar, Screech ? I must indulge my- 
 self, or I shall lose my temper. Mrs. U. might or might 
 not have approved of this meeting ; but I had, at least, the 
 civility to tell her what my plans were. I distinctly told 
 her that we should not go upstairs. 
 
 The Owlet {returning in a state of rapture). I drank in- 
 toxication through the keyhole. They are frolicking and 
 dancing ; and it is like a witches' Sabbath. Gentlemen, I 
 dote on a waltz. 
 
 Aziola. You may well be reminded of a witches' Sabbath ; 
 for you, of course, know that we are indebted to the healthy 
 imagination of the painters in the Middle Ages, who depicted 
 such scenes, for the origin of waltzing. Their bold genius 
 invented waltz-figures to heighten the Devil's fun upon the 
 Brocken ; and a bolder genius transferred their graces to the 
 drawing-room, and made that dance to be polite for ladies, 
 which was drawn for fiends to make them look uncomely. 
 
The Ladies Dyaiviii(:-Room. l6l 
 
 in 
 
 Buho. I enjoy a waltz. 
 
 Civetta. Certainly : • and above all things it is for ball- 
 practice that ladies should be trained ; I do not say for 
 balls alone, because their sphere of duty also should include 
 shirt-buttons and pastry. There we stop, however. When 
 the German emperor, Charles IV, married at Prague, the 
 father of his bride brought to the festival a waggon-load of 
 conjurers. Two, the most eminent of these, Zytho the 
 Bohemian, and Gourin the Bavarian, were pitched against 
 each other. Zytho then opening his mouth, it is said, from 
 ear to ear, ate up his adversary till he came upon his shoes, 
 and spat those out, because they were not clean. Now, we, 
 Hke Zytho, can devour all the charms and graces of a woman 
 till we come upon her understanding, and we spit that out. 
 We do, I say, and represent the mouthpiece of a nation. 
 
 Aziola. Russet apples half concealed beneath leaves from 
 the autumn sun that beats upon an orchard, apples in store, 
 or in a cider press, or glorified as penny pyramids upon the 
 dry plain of a London stall, sink into insignificance before 
 the fruit of a stage-banquet at the opera. The rosiest 
 plate-full of country apples would look out of place in com- 
 pany so brilliant. How brilliant is beauty at a ball ! How 
 insignificant a pippin is the untrained girl who scarcely 
 knows another chandelier than the sun, who cannot even 
 drop a handkerchief with grace, sings "Where the Bee 
 sucks'' if you ask her for a song • 
 
 Buho. Sucks, indeed ! vulgar ! 
 
 Aziola. And could not sing an air from Nabucadonosor, 
 no, sir, not if you bribed her with the promise of a husband 
 for it. The ball-room is the proper exhibition-room for 
 female elegance and worth. For the ball-room our wives 
 ought to be trained, and thither we must go, and, if we are 
 wise, do go, to seek them out. Hymen is delicate and 
 lights his torch at the wax candles oftener than at the 
 homely composite or the camphine. 
 
1 62 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Screech. Were any man to tell me that the brilliance of 
 woman at a ball, delightful as it is, will not content us — 
 that the enjoyment she affords there, like the banquet fur- 
 nished for your Brocken witches, will amuse the senses with 
 a ghostly supper and still let the hunger gnaw ; were any 
 man, sir, to attempt, by such an argument, to hit me in the 
 stomach, I would snatch up, in defence, a rolling-pin. Our 
 wives and daughters are not only to be visions of delight, 
 they are not only by their songs and dances, and by piquant 
 words and gestures, to delight our ears and eyes, but they 
 are by their pudding-crust to win the approbation, the devo- 
 tion also, of our bellies. When any of my nieces marry 
 they shall each receive from me as a bridal gift a little 
 parcel of white satin shoes with shirt and brace-buttons in 
 all their toes, and in the middle of the parcel, as its kernel, 
 they shall find a rolling-pin. 
 
 Civet fa. Francesca Romana was a good sort of saint, 
 devoted to her husband's comfort. Of course it did not 
 matter how she spent her time, so long as she did not let 
 his chops burn or his pudding become sodden. Being a 
 saint, she spent a large part of the day in devotion, but 
 rose from her knees instantly if the pot boiled, or baby 
 cried, or if her husband called out for a button. Once she 
 WMS called away eleven times before she could reach the 
 end of one verse in the Bible, and, at last, on her return, 
 she found that verse lighted up supernaturally. Her prin- 
 ciple was that " a wife and a mother must quit her God at 
 the altar and find him in her household affairs". 
 
 Biiho. Whether some of our well-trained wives would 
 carry that principle to the extent of quitting their God at 
 the looking-glass is doubtful. 
 
 Screech. Well, if not, we have the beauty as a recompense, 
 and many a grace acquired by patient study. It is study 
 bestowed to a good purpose. Look at the ladies who have 
 made themselves remarkable by other studies — say, Mrs. 
 
The Ladies' Dnxwiji^-Rooni. 1 63 
 
 Somerville, Miss Martineau. j\Iy young friend Captain 
 Little dances with the' foot of a master, wears miniature 
 boots and trousers absolutely faultless, he has the breeding 
 of a gentleman — and received last week, in return for twenty- 
 four postage stamps, a bottle of Crinilene from Miss Dean, 
 who promises him whiskers in three weeks. Fancy the 
 Captain waltzing with Miss Martineau, a lady who has 
 been caricatured in a leading magazine with a large cat 
 upon her shoulder. 
 
 Aziola. Why, the silliest of men can laugh at her, for 
 meddling with political economy, welfare of communities, 
 and all such stuff. Her novels I have read, and one need only 
 name Deerbrook ; let any man of sense compare that work 
 with a true standard woman, and he will know the measure 
 of Miss M.'s deficiency in qualities which give true lustre 
 to her sex. There are young women perversely educated, 
 who have read the book repeatedly, possessed with the 
 delusion that it softens all the hard lumps in their hearts, 
 and tends to make them what they ought to be — poor girls ! 
 
 Buho. I know nothing about that ; but I won't hear 
 Miss Martineau abused. She has proved mesmerism in 
 the teeth of opposition. The case of her pet cow, that she 
 brought forward last year 
 
 Aziola. And this year her pet donkey 
 
 Buho. Eh ! I haven't heard of that. 
 
 Ubila. A fact, sir ; she has been seen seated in mesmeric 
 state upon a most enormous donkey, that eats Bibles up 
 instead of thistles. 
 
 Buho. Bless me ! Doesn't it choke itself? 
 
 Aziola. O no ! mesmeric animals have enormous width 
 of swallow. 
 
 Buho. Sir ! Now, I tell you what, you don't believe in 
 mesmerism ? I do. But only fools discredit homoeopathy. 
 For width of swallow, I should say the allopaths are extra- 
 ordinary ! 
 
164 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Uhda. Buho, it is not wholly beside our purpose to 
 branch out into this subject. Perhaps you can produce 
 some facts. 
 
 BuJw. Myself, if you call me a fact. I wouldn't believe 
 in this sort of thing if I didn't see with my own eyes, as it 
 were ; for a man ought not to know or believe anything but 
 what he sees. Now a plain statement decides the question. 
 Sir, from a boy I always hated having my nails cut. It 
 hurts me, it fidgets me. I couldn't cut- 'em myself, and 
 always swore at anyone else who cut 'em for me. 
 
 Uhda, Well! 
 
 Buho. Well, I was advised to try homceopathy. What 's 
 the result ? Now, when I find it necessary, sir, I take the 
 billionth of a thought of steel going to bed, and find my 
 nails cut in the morning. 
 
 Aziola. Possibly your wife 
 
 Buho. Sir, my wife, or your wife, or the candlestick's 
 wife, is beside the purpose. Bless my soul, sir ! I tell you 
 a fact out of my own experience, and you insult me grossly 
 if you question it. . 
 
 Uhda. It is conclusive. Gentlemen, if you please, we 
 will return to our discussion of the ladies. We were talking 
 of Miss Martineau and earnest women. Our clerical friend, 
 Zumacaya, has, I see, a paper in his hand 
 
 Buho. If there is any cant that I despise, it is the hack 
 word "earnest". Tell me that anybody is an earnest 
 person, tell me that she has the plague, it is all one, I keep 
 my distance. I knew a young fellow who was famous for 
 his dashing wit, a first-rate quiz, before he married, by some 
 oversight, a girl just tinged, ever so litde tinged, with earnest- 
 ness. There was no enthusiasm in her, sir; she never 
 idolised a waistcoat or became enraptured at a joke, and 
 after he was married his wit burned so dead, that he abso- 
 lutely told me he had left off what he called sneering at his 
 
TJie Ladies' Drawing- Room. 165 
 
 fellow-men. " Fellow men" — how soon he picked up his 
 cant words, poor devil ! 
 
 Civetta. No, my dear sir, the man is rash who takes to 
 wife an earnest woman, unless, indeed, he have the virtue 
 of St. Sebald, who, for want of wood, could keep his fire 
 aHve with icicles. 
 
 Zuinacaya. Who are the men by whom we are antagon- 
 ised ? Let Englishmen be on their guard against encroach- 
 ments favoured by the Papist and the Unitarian. I appeal 
 to the religious feehng of the country ; and although, so 
 doing, I produce those Xo^/ovi aKcwOuocei'?, thorny arguments, 
 which it is by no means pleasant to lay hold of; still, since 
 they really are a furze-bush to the British Lion's tail, they 
 ought to be appended. I say, then, that, apart from our 
 own sense of what is right, we can perceive the necessity of 
 ignorance in women when we find it argued down by 
 Papists. What says Fenelon, an arch-deceiver, for was he 
 not a Roman CathoHc archbishop ? " It is ignorance", he 
 says, " which renders women frivolous." He describes in a 
 highly disrespectful manner female education, and then goes 
 on rudely : " Idleness and weakness being thus united to 
 ignorance, there arises from this union a pernicious taste 
 for amusements. Girls brought up in this idle way have an 
 ill-regulated imagination. Their curiosity, not being directed 
 to substantial things, is turned towards vain and dangerous 
 objects. They read books which nourish their vanity, and 
 become passionately fond of romances, comedies, and 
 fanciful adventures. Their minds become visionary ; they 
 accustom themselves to the extravagant language of the 
 heroines of romance." 
 
 Screech. Well, sir, and is everything to be mechanical — 
 are all minds to go clothed in frieze, with a foot-rule sticking 
 obtrusively out of the mind's pocket ? May not the pretty 
 nonsense of our fairy damsels, their delightful enthusiasm, 
 their emphatic little billets, in which every delicious^ heavenly^ 
 
1 66 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 or barbarous Nothing is ecstatically underlined, may they 
 not give innocent delight ? 
 
 Zumacaya. They may, sir, and they will : No Popery. 
 While we are talking of this sort of people, it will be well 
 to note how this benighted dignitary of the Romish Church 
 supports another false and specious cry raised by our 
 enemies. Just hear Fenelon's notions about education, and 
 you may well hold up your hands and mutter, he was born two 
 hundred years ago : " The greatest defect of common educa- 
 tion is, that we are in the habit of putting pleasure all on one 
 side, and weariness on the other ; all weariness in study, all 
 pleasure in idleness. Let us try to change this association; 
 let us render study agreeable ; let us present it under the 
 aspect of liberty and pleasure ; let us sometimes permit 
 study to be interrupted by httle sallies of gaiety. These 
 interruptions are necessary to relax the mind." Again : 
 "An austere and imperious air must be avoided, except in 
 cases of extreme necessity, for children are generally timid 
 and bashful. Make them love you ; let them be free with 
 you ; let them not hide their thoughts from you. Be in- 
 dulgent to those who conceal nothing from you. It is true 
 that this treatment will enforce less the restraint of fear, but 
 it will produce confidence. We must always commence 
 with a conduct open, gay." 
 
 Ulula. What next, I wonder, after a gay schoolmaster or 
 schoolmistress ! Can we contrive a climax ? 
 
 Ziunacaya. O yes, if we go among the Unitarians, we 
 shall find folly quite as rife. This is how Channing talks, 
 one of the lights of a sect certainly not Christian:- " Honour 
 man from the beginning to the end of his earthly course. 
 Honour the child. Welcome into being the infant, with a 
 feeling of its mysterious grandeur, with the feeling that an 
 immortal existence has begun, that a spirit has been kindled 
 which is never to be quenched. Honour the child. On 
 this principle all good education rests. Never shall we 
 
TJie Ladies' Draiving-Rooin. 167 
 
 learn to train up the child till we take it in our arms, as 
 Jesus did, and feel distinctly that ' of such is the Kingdom 
 ot Heaven'." In that short sentence is taught the spirit of 
 the true system of education ; and for want of understanding 
 it, little effectual aid, I fear, is yet 
 
 Biiho. Fire and fury ! I have cut myself paring my 
 thumb-nail. You, Screech, why did you dare me to do 
 it? 
 
 Screech. I will pull some nap out of your hat — ah ! you 
 have court-plaster, and your hat, I daresay, is of silk. 
 
 Aziola. I don't like hats, do you ? nobody does. Is it 
 not odd that we have persevered in wearing hats until 
 beavers — which, to the mere naturalist, are peculiarly in 
 teresting — have almost become extinct— and this in defer- 
 ence to habit, every man against his own conviction ? Well, 
 sir, if custom be so powerful in ordering the furniture out- 
 side our heads, in spite of us, it will prevail no less in 
 maintaining those internal fittings to which men have been 
 for centuries accustomed, and with which we are content. 
 
 Screech. Mr. Chairman, the young gentleman at the 
 bottom of the table has intimated to me that his father's 
 house is next door to a ladies' school, and that he has 
 observations to communicate. 
 
 Uhila. Precisely what we want. 
 
 The OivUt. The name of the school is • 
 
 Ulula. To be disguised in your notes, Mr. Secretary. 
 
 Screech. Certainly, sir ; I take great pains to avoid using 
 other people's names. 
 
 The Oivlet. Moira House Seminary, kept by three sisters, 
 the Misses Mimminipimmin. Miss Clotho, the elder, is a 
 good disciplinarian, who teaches what are called the usual 
 branches of an English education. Miss Atropos is some- 
 what good-tempered, and superintends the housekeeping 
 department. Miss Lachesis, the youngest, differs from her 
 sisters in not wearing a cap, and is the general instructor in 
 
1 68 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 things elegant. If you had been with me last night, when 
 I peeped through the schoolroom window, which opens 
 upon our yard, you would have seen the two remaining 
 teachers. They were eating bread-and-butter, and drinking 
 small-beer, by the light of a dip candle ; for last night the 
 Misses M. had company. Six ladies in a fly drank tea 
 with them, I know; and so the teachers, of course, had 
 their supply sent to them downstairs. You would have 
 been amused, had you been with me ! One, a comely 
 maiden, has a sweetheart somewhere labouring to earn her 
 for his wife, a fact at which Miss Lachesis especially is 
 aggravated. And certainly that teacher, as Miss Lachesis 
 has said to me, is quite unfit for her position. Her 
 thoughts are evidently all abroad : she lets the children 
 play, and has no nerve for discipline ; indeed, as Miss 
 Clotho says, she is too young. Last night, she was eating 
 her bread-and-butter with a good-tempered face, while 
 Mademoiselle Mignon — she is but a sickly little thing — was 
 choking over the small-beer. Mademoiselle is far away 
 from home, and has no lover to hear her complaints. She 
 did not know how much I overheard of them ; but the 
 French are so ridiculously sensitive. 
 
 The school, from what T^Iiss Clotho says, I know to be 
 exceedingly well-regulated. Of course nothing male, except 
 "approved good masters", can intrude upon the perfect 
 femininity of that establishment. I strictly believe that they 
 use female writing, female arithmetic 
 
 Ulula. Which every husband knows to be beyond male 
 comprehension 
 
 The Oiulet. And female grammar — the existence of a 
 masculine gender being denied, or suppressed, in every 
 language. But I can only guess at these things. It is true, 
 indeed, that I have sometimes endeavoured to peep through 
 the window during school-time ; but the elevation of my 
 head above the compo-horizon of the window-sill has caused 
 
The Ladies' Drawing- Room. 169 
 
 such instantaneous stir and titter among all the young ladies, 
 as if indeed their eyes had all been most attentive to the 
 window at the time of popping up my head, that I have 
 been too glad to pop it down again before Miss Clotho saw 
 me. I, too, feel some terror at Miss Clotho. After my 
 last attempt at suc'i peep, while I was creeping off, I 
 heard Miss Clotho's tongue busily punishing the English 
 governess for suffering the children to make a commotion ; 
 so I know that she can scold a full-grown person, and I do 
 not wish to come under the stroke of her jawbone. 
 
 Peeping about a ladies' school is very pleasant notwith- 
 standing. Out of a garret window I can look down upon a 
 corner of their garden, and- when the girls, in play-time, are 
 not walking in procession through the country, I can see 
 them there. It is an extraordinary fact, that all these girls 
 seem sometimes to go mad. Whether it has anything to do 
 with the moon I do not know. 
 
 Civetta. It may be so. " Kirckringius knew a young 
 gentlewoman" who was at new moon only skin and bone, 
 and stirred not out of doors ; but as the moon grew she 
 gathered flesh, until at the full of the moon she went abroad 
 commanding of all men admiration for her plumpness and 
 exceeding beauty. 
 
 The Oivlet. Young gentlewomen being thus sensitive to 
 lunar influence, it may be to the moon that I must look for 
 the reason why there should come every now and then a 
 day when the young ladies, commonly so tranquil, scamper 
 up and down the walks, shriek, jump, yea climb upon the 
 walls, while the French governess and the English governess 
 struggle in vain against the fever ; and it seems as though 
 all the Queen's Riot Acts and all the Queen's men couldn't 
 restore quiet to those girls again. Twice, however, I have 
 seen an instantaneous calm follow the tempest, and have 
 each time observed in a few minutes that Miss Clotho 
 
 I M 
 
170 A Defence of I grievance. 
 
 came into the garden dressed as from a walk. Commonly, 
 however, all is tranquil. 
 
 Civetta. As it should be in an academic grove. With 
 graceful gestures little hoops are being launched from sticks ; 
 or knots of girls with delicate complexions, shunning the 
 spring sun, sit under the 
 
 " Laburnums, dropping wells of fire", 
 
 from which they do not apprehend a scorching. Others 
 in pairs pace up and down with meditative steps, and, 
 earnestly conversing, look extremely confidential. Arms 
 interlaced bespeak in these 
 
 "The tender friendships made^twixt heart and heart, 
 When the dear friends have nothing to impart." 
 
 Far from that ; — I would scorn it, sir ; — you are quite wrong ; 
 I am not sneering at this tenderness. Brisk or steady, young 
 or old, and whether in a state of natural simplicity, ignorant 
 or sophisticated, there is something in every woman at which 
 no true man can laugh. In the sweet honeyed flow of youth 
 there is a charm, some part of which is not lost, although 
 time and careless keeping should induce acetous fermenta- 
 tion, as they often do. In the most vinegary woman there 
 is still a flavour of the warm sun on the fruit. The man 
 who blames our friends upstairs as frivolous, acknowledges 
 that any one of them has that within her which can make 
 her stronger than a strong man in the spirit of endurance 
 and self-sacrifice. 
 
 Ulula. And we who love the frivolous will own even of 
 learned women, that if they be unfit for partners, they are 
 very fit for friends. 
 
 Civetta. A bit of pure air sticks about a woman, let her 
 go where she may, and be she who she may ; the girl most 
 deeply sunk in misery and vice retains it, and can rise by 
 it when opportunity shall come. A little creature hves far 
 out at sea upon the gulf-weed — Litiopa is its name ; often 
 
TJie Ladies' D valuing- Room. 171 
 
 there comes a wave that sweeps it from its hold and forces 
 it into the deep. It carries down with it an air-bubble, and 
 glues to this a thread which, as the bubble rises to the sur- 
 face, it extends. The little bit of air, before it breaks out 
 of its film, floats on the water, and is soon attracted by the 
 gulf-weed, towards which it runs and fastens alongside ; up 
 comes the Litiopa by her thread then, and regains the seat 
 for which she was created. A bit of pure air sticks like this 
 about all women ; from the Queen on her throne down to 
 the world-abandoned creature on the pavement. 
 
 Buho. Prosy, sir ! 
 
 Screech. Not at all. Suffer me to observe that in greasing 
 your hair you have allowed a drop to fall upon that elegant 
 blue satin waistcoat. Considered in one point of view, it 
 may be filthy for men or women to make their heads look 
 like a sop in the pan, but I am not so narrow-minded that 
 I cannot see a case like this in all its bearings. With you 
 I defile my head on principle, to support a branch of female 
 manufacture. Were our heads in a cleaner condition, there 
 would be no need for those fancy cloths which ladies throw 
 over our chairs and couches to protect them from defile- 
 ment by themselves and us, anti-hog's larders or anti-macas- 
 sars. Protection is required for our crochet-workers. The 
 object at Moira House has been to educate young ladies in 
 such elegant accomplishments as shall not hurt their brains. 
 Our object is to put down learned women. Setting aside 
 all other obvious objections, it is enough to say that we 
 cannot afford to have our women's brains well filled. If 
 they begin to stick pins into us at our own fireside, in the 
 shape of all manner of familiar allusions to Godegisile, to 
 Verazzani, or the Chickahominies, what will become of us^ 
 what shall we do ? we can no longer presume upon wise hums 
 and hahs. Well-informed silence may be practised out of 
 doors, but at the family dinner we should be dragged daily 
 at the tail of a wife's conversational chariot ; for what a 
 
 M 2 
 
1/2 A Defeitce of Ignorance. 
 
 woman knows, and something more, she will inevitably talk 
 about. 
 
 Civetta. In such an event there would be no alternative 
 left for us but to imitate the practice of the weak forts on 
 the coast of Barbary, which, when a ship is entering their 
 harbour, sent on board a request that she will be so good as 
 to abstain from firing, because if the fortress be compelled 
 to return any salute, it will be forced to do so at the risk of 
 knocking its own walls to pieces. 
 
 Screech. The object of instructing ladies in crochet, 
 knitting, working upon cloth and velvet, is to enable them to 
 occupy their vacant moments in a harmless manner. Hour 
 after hour the fingers twist mechanically upon wool, when 
 they might be dangerously occupied with pen or pencil, and 
 the eyes bent upon Mrs. Warren's pictures of slippers and 
 polka jackets, are prevented from discovering how many 
 hours might be employed in musty book-work. The cover 
 of a music-stool (result of a month's leisure) may be worth 
 half-a-crown more than the materials employed in it ; but 
 the gain of the working lady has not been the mere half- 
 crown ; she has gained emancipation from all tedious occu- 
 pation ; she has protected that innocence, that sweet siiti- 
 plicity of brain, which makes the charm of female conver- 
 sation, and causes us so frequently to feel, however little we 
 may know, that we unbend when talking to a woman. 
 
 Uliila. Other accomplishments there are which lead a few 
 fair students, now and then, beyond our bounds ; but that 
 is not their object, nor is it usually their result. Drawing, 
 for example, is not taught, I hope, and judging from results, 
 I think, with a desire to awaken, through the eye, the 
 intellect to spiritual thoughts, though some misguided 
 women make exceptions of themselves. Ladies learn draw- 
 ing as they learn crochet, to give mechanical employment 
 to their fingers which shall not engage their brains. If 
 they sketch from nature it is very well ; for gentlemen can 
 
TJie Ladies' Drawi7tg-Roovi. 173 
 
 hold their pencils while they receive, without awkwardness, 
 the flattery for which, of course, all women were created. 
 Naked truth is to be looked at only by the coarser sex. It 
 is not intended that the eye shall perceive more than the 
 lines and colours to be imitated ; and the landscape is 
 worked upon paper with different tools, indeed, but with 
 the same feeling as if it were a watchpocket or kettle-holder. 
 Paintings from nature, however, are in less request than 
 large chalk heads and little album drawings, famous for the 
 careful delicacy of the finger-work, and the complete 
 absence of thought. Dear femininities ! of which the 
 dearest are those gorgeous little birds perched upon pencil 
 marks, whose only habitat appears to be the album, and 
 which are hatched out of no eggs but those which Mr. 
 Newman sells in nests of rosewood or mahogany. 
 
 Screech. Then music is most wisely taught on the same 
 principle. Music, as an intellectual pursuit, would be a 
 bore in woman. A wife who strums Lieder ohne Worfe 
 and looks down upon your taste for the " Drum Polka", will 
 not do for you, my dear sir, at any price. Thanks to a 
 judicious plan of education, such an affliction rarely falls to 
 a man's share. The use of music, as of drawing, is, that it 
 occupies only the fingers. It is better than drawing, 
 because it is an art exercised in full dress ; a gentleman 
 turns over the leaves instead of holding the pencils : so far 
 they are much the same ; but the voice is audible in all 
 parts of the room, and can be admired by more people at 
 the same time than a drawing, which can be seen only by 
 two or three together. The words of songs, being more- 
 over for the most part asseverations of great tenderness of 
 heart and capability of reciprocating an attachment, are 
 convenient for the purpose of advertising to all gentlemen, 
 in a sufficiently loud key. An eligible Heart to Let ; while 
 the post of observation occupied upon the rnusic-stool 
 invites all people to inspect the premises. Many a heart. 
 
174. A Defe7ice of Ignorance. 
 
 in fact, has been engaged upon the faith of such advertise- 
 ments, and many happy marriages have followed upon such 
 engagements. 
 
 Aziola. Such triumphs, and the time got rid of in the 
 finger-work of practising, are the great objects of music, as 
 it is taught by the Mimminipimmins. That any of the 
 young ladies sent out of their school care whether they hear 
 Fidelio or Lucia di Lammermoor when they go to the Opera 
 is doubtful; if they have a choice, I think they prefer 
 Lucia, which is presented to them at the Haymarket year 
 after year, while Fidelio has only just been raked out of a 
 dusty corner in the operatic lumber-room. Donizetti cer- 
 tainly is quite the ladies' man. 
 
 Civetta. Languages,'too, are taught at Moira House, but as 
 accomplishments, of course. Considered as acquirements, 
 they are used by bookish, dusty men to widen the range of 
 their reading in poetry, history, science, or whatsoever their 
 hobby may be. But ladies are lost if they ride hobbies, 
 and they have none, if a few ideas about the moon, in a 
 drawer upstairs, and some enthusiasm about Byron, be 
 not sufficient to convict them of a taste for poetry. Lan- 
 guages to them, therefore, are not acquirements, but accom- 
 plishments. They are ItaUan and French, Italian is used 
 as subsidiary to piano performance ; it is the language of 
 Donizetti, and it is the medium through which other nations 
 ought to speak. It is the language in which Beethoven's 
 " Adelaide" ought to be sung. And I daresay, " O mein 
 lieber Augustin," it is the language in which you may figure 
 as Mio caro Agosti-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-no.* Italian is also 
 
 ■■' For the other i's and hyphens we want space. Would they 
 be acceptable in a companion volume 't Of such a publication, 
 since no writer would expect anything for its composition, a very 
 thick lump could be sold for a few shillings. Singers are ap- 
 plauded, and paid also, when they issue flourishes in a consider- 
 
TJie Ladies' Drawing-Room. 175 
 
 important as the language, not of Dante or Ariosto, but of 
 the ^opera hbretto. French is to ladies almost more im- 
 portant than Italian, as it is the language of their common 
 life. I do not mean that they speak French entirely; 
 they have not been taught to do that, and it is not fit that 
 they should. Nor indeed can their brains work it off in 
 fragments through the medium of ordinary conversation ; 
 in the hurry of speaking they remember very tiny bits of 
 it, if we compare their spoken with their written language. 
 
 Civetta. The written language of the women of England 
 is a great subject, and will be treated in full by future anti- 
 quaries in America when writing about ancient England. 
 It is the finishing touch of delicate flattery that we not only 
 are allowed the relaxation of considering ourselves clever 
 when we talk to ladies ; but the dear creatures tumble help- 
 lessly before us in their letters ; and confess themselves 
 unable even to express their thoughts in any single tongue. 
 Buho, my dear fellow, we are friends ; I never get three- 
 cornered notes, but you do ; show me one. Ah, there 's a 
 good fellow ! I will not betray your confidence ; you have 
 one about you, I can see. No, I will not betray your con- 
 fidence. Do, please ; the little pink one that just peeps out 
 of your splendid waistcoat-pocket ; I know you are engaged 
 to Miss G., and ought not to show her notes, but I daresay 
 that one has nothing in it. Thank you; the argument, I 
 thought, would be convincing. What a strong perfume 
 musk is ! you might use the lady's notes to scent your 
 clothes-drawer. Never thought of that? yes, to be sure; 
 of course it 's a good idea. Ah, now, how prettily this lisps 
 along ! 
 
 able volume ; but the Printer, doubtful whether the same favour 
 would extend to him, desires the guarantee of a subscription 
 list. Parties desirous of purchasing a thick book devoted ex- 
 clusively to flourish, are requested, therefore, to apply personally 
 or by letter to the Devil, at the Printer's office. 
 
176 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 " Mon cher, Je fus -uexed que je was not at home ce soir. 
 Callez demain, mon petit, at the same heure^ and I shall be 
 heureuse. Addio. Votre. Marguerite Green." 
 
 Ulula. Why, that was last night. Did you see her, and 
 did she tell you nothing about coming hither? It is very 
 odd ; she is sure to be upstairs." 
 
 Buho. I propose that this meeting do adjourn. 
 Uhda. But, gentlemen, I told my wife, distinctly, that we 
 should remain here in the dining-room, because we had 
 important business to discuss. Shall we permit our charac- 
 ters to be stained with inconsistency? Moreover, I notice 
 that they have not been dancmg for some time. All is quite 
 still. 
 
 BuJio. I propose that this meeting do adjourn. 
 Screech. Impatient Buho ! Well, you show your sense 
 at any rate in seeking a young wife, why should you not ? 
 Besides, Miss Green acknowledges to thirty-one, and you 
 are, I imagine, fifty-five ; so there is only a difference of ten 
 years at the utmost; for it is another sweet acknowledg- 
 ment of female ignorance, that ladies, like the savages, 
 cannot count higher than twenty, and so, after twenty-two 
 or three become confused about their ages. Dear creatures ! 
 how much more to our purpose all this is, than that a girl 
 should be kept at home and trained to know all about 
 Titian, to tease us with classic music, to dance with gaiety 
 as if it were a frolic, talk about Tasso, vSpenser, Calderon, 
 Schiller, Moliere, as if they were her common gossiping 
 acquaintance, and look cross at our soft nothings meant to 
 flatter her ! How much better this is, than that girls and 
 boys, till puberty, should study side by side, and after 
 puberty the girls continue studying for years more, under 
 what the cant of the day calls the guidance of an earnest 
 man at home ! 
 
 Aziola. No doubt the education-mongers think that it 
 will matter little whether man or woman be the teacher. 
 
TJie Ladies' Drazving-Room. 177 
 
 Avhen there shall be what he would recognise as a supply of 
 women competent to teach. Women there are about the 
 country, and not few, who have been shameless enough to 
 forget their sex, and transgress customary rules. There are 
 women who have gained for themselves an infamous noto- 
 riety as successful naturalists, students of fine art, or — to 
 use another hack term — sterling writers ; and there are in 
 private life a great many strong-minded women, who claim 
 what they call a just position in society. 
 • Civetta. There are many, sir, of these, no doubt ; but do 
 not fear ; measured beside our population, they are few. 
 For centuries they will be few, for our opponents cannot get 
 at them wholesale. Dull books they very properly refuse to 
 read, and your human progress publications are insufferably 
 dull. Spoken to they cannot be, for any language except 
 flattery would be insulting to a^ lady's ear. They might 
 indeed be hooted out of some few habits by small boys, 
 according to the device employed, Monstrelet tells us, by a 
 friar, who paid little ragamuffins with pennies and pardons 
 for running after any lady in a steeple head-dress. The 
 friar had spent his eloquence in vain against the strength 
 fashion, but the boys soon achieved their triumph, and the 
 ladies brought their steeples to the church, where the priest 
 made a bonfire of them. But, except upon a few external 
 matters, in our case the small-boy-cautery is quite impossible. 
 Arm in arm with the ladies we can look our rivals boldly in 
 the face. Beauty's faith is plighted to us, and she will be 
 true. 
 
 Ulula. Buho, you are impatient for that arm in arm. For 
 my own part, I disapprove of this abandonment of principle. 
 Here is a deep trick of my wife's to tantalise us, when she 
 knows that I distinctly said we should not go upstairs. 
 
 Buho. I propose that this meeting do adjourn. 
 
 The Owlet. I second. 
 
 Screech. There can be no doubt, j\Ir. Chairman, that 
 
178 A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 ■when you put this motion it will be unanimously carried. 
 Nevertheless, my opinion is, that on appearing in the draw- 
 ing-room we shall look very foolish. We have heard many 
 
 arrivals, and a whole autumn of rustling 
 
 Civetta. And the present stillness is portentous. We 
 might be in the centre of a hurricane. Ulula, what do you 
 say? 
 
 Ulula. Since Buho presses his motion, and the public 
 feeling is in favour of its being carried, I can only acquiesce. 
 I would propose, however, that we be not too precipitate. 
 Let us adjourn in the first place softly to the iirst-floor land- 
 ing, where perhaps our young friend will again peep, and 
 ascertain the reason of this stillness. 
 
 Civetta. Very good, sir; and that having been ascertained, 
 we constitute you Patamankowe. 
 Ulula. What in the world is that ? 
 
 Civetta. The Patamankowe is a chief of Boni in Celebes, 
 whose actions all beholders are obliged to imitate. When 
 he sits they sit, and when he stands they stand ; if he wipe 
 his nose they wipe their noses. If he hunt and get a fall, 
 all who ride hunting with him fall when he does ; when he 
 bathes the whole court bathes, and any passer-by, who sees 
 him bathing, must immediately plunge, clothes and all, into 
 the water. When we see you plunge into the drawing-room, 
 we are prepared to follow, sir. We regulate ourselves by 
 you. 
 
 Ulula. Well, follow softly, then. They seem to have no 
 gentlemen, and they have been dancing only by fits. * * * 
 Listen ! It is all perfectly still, yet certainly they are not 
 gone. 
 
 T/ie Owlet. Here is certainly some mystery. Plush ! 
 don't cough ; I can see nothing through the keyhole. 
 
 Ulula. Surely they are gone, yet how they went without 
 our hearing them I cannot comprehend ! Hush ! Let me 
 
TJie Ladies' Drazviiig-Rooni. 1/9 
 
 open the door quietly and peep. I cannot hear a sound. 
 Hush ! 
 
 Draw my head back in a hurry ? I should think so. 'Tis 
 as dangerous as peeping in upon Miss Clotho's schoolroom. 
 Well, 1 think I was not seen. What this assembly means 
 I cannot in the remotest way imagine. There is a large 
 party of ladies all at one end of the room, sitting on chairs 
 and ottomans and at each others feet, working on slippers, 
 socks, watchpockets, and so forth ; my wife sits on a high 
 chair among them like a president, at work on an enormous 
 patchwork counterpane. Three musicians in a corner by 
 themselves are the only men, and I suppose they are there 
 that the ladies may dance now and then when they get 
 tired. They are evidently bent upon some conspiracy, which 
 is to be carried out by means of knitting-pins and needles. 
 We had better go downstairs again. That is my wife's 
 step. She saw me and thought I beckoned, no doubt. Hide 
 in the back-room for one minute. She thinks I have some- 
 thing to tell her. Farther off! she is at the door. 
 
 You may come forward, my dear friends, we are forgiven 
 — thanked. This is a first meeting of the Dove Associa- 
 tion ; Margaret is there, and the ladies will permit you to 
 be present, although gentlemen have been excluded by the 
 rules. The good creatures thought they could have also 
 their committee, and, desiring universal peace, have formed 
 a Peace Association, called the Doves. These ladies will 
 meet at stated times to work for the great cause. With 
 the produce of their toil it is their plan to furnish a 
 bazaar ; and whether they succeed or not, will you not kiss 
 the little satin slippered feet, that wish to stamp the cannons 
 into powder ? 
 
 The Select Committee for the Defence of Ignorance co- 
 operated during the remainder of the evening with the Dove 
 
1 8o A Defence of Ignorance. 
 
 Association, under the presidency of the three musicians. 
 The Secretary, however, begs to state, that when called 
 upon to produce a report, it was thought better, by the 
 Dove Association, that the piece should not be loaded with 
 a ball. The ladies, also, have forbidden him to state at 
 what hour the proceedings terminated. They gain no end 
 by this, for anyone can draw his own conclusion. 
 
PAPERS FROM " HOUSEHOLD WORDS' 
 
 (1850-1857.) 
 
TEN YEARS OLD. 
 
 In the triangular space left between the side of a steamer 
 and a pair of barrels, many years ago, there was jammed a 
 boy, myself, travelling from London to Rotterdam under 
 care of the steward. It was, or I was, a pale boy with blue 
 eyes and yellow hair, aged ten. I thought that I had 
 chosen with remarkable skill an entrenched position, parted 
 by the barrels from an impertinent world too ready with its 
 vulgar consolations, and very handy to the mighty basin of 
 the sea, for I was worse than qualm.ish. As for the steward, 
 I disowned his patronage. I was a free boy on a free 
 element. Accustomed up to that date to an income of 
 chance shillings and half-crowns that never became warm 
 in my pocket before they were torn out to feed an unknown 
 monster bearing the hard name of Savingsbank, I knew that 
 whatever adventures might befall, whether from whales or 
 pirates, on the way to Rotterdam, the ogre Savingsbank 
 could not stride through the ocean after me, though I had 
 money in my jacket, money in my waistcoat, and gold sewn 
 up in the waistband of my trousers. I belonged to the 
 moneyed world, and paid my way. That the steward was a 
 buccaneer in disguise, a very eminent sea robber, I soon 
 found out. But was he not my most obedient, humble 
 vassal ? 
 
 "One service, steward, you may do me," I said, "now 
 that we are at Rotterdam. Tell this Dutch porter, who 
 shoulders so easily my little school portmanteau and leaves 
 me to carry my umbrella — tell him that I want to go to the 
 
1 84 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 house of Mynheer Van der Tabak, and that he must take 
 me there." To that house I had been consigned, for 
 Mynheer Van der Tabak was the agent in Rotterdam to a 
 large school established at New Unkraut on the Rhine. 
 New Unkraut is upon the Rhine, although you will not find 
 the name on any map ; I went to school there, and I ought 
 to know. My father, tied to London, could not, on my 
 first departure thither, lead me in his hand to the school- 
 door, but he saw me safely on my way over the worst part 
 of the journey — London streets. From St. Katherine's 
 Docks it was all plain sailing, and a boy of ten must be a 
 dunce indeed if he could not find his own way up the 
 Rhine. 
 
 Besides, there was Van der Tabak ready to do everything. 
 I had a letter to him, addressed generally " Rotterdam", in 
 which town he was said to be so well known, that it had 
 been considered impertinent and useless to include on the 
 address the street celebrated as that on which his house 
 abutted. I followed the porter, therefore, confidently. He 
 stepped boldly out, up a street, down a street, over a bridge, 
 down a canal, up a street, over a bridge, down a street, 
 until he stopped at a small door, rang a bell, talked a great 
 deal of Dutch with the genius of the bell, and then, turn- 
 ing round to me as the door closed upon us, shook his 
 head and trotted up the street again. He had made a 
 mistake evidently, but he did not look chagrined. "Van 
 der Tabak!" I cried in his ear, and, pulling the letter out of 
 my jacket pocket, at the same time held before his eyes the 
 superscription. He then paused, and by words and signs 
 deliberately explained to me : " There are seventeen Van 
 der Tabaks." 
 
 The seventeen did not appear to constitute a loving clan, 
 for they had all carefully established themselves in places 
 very remote from one another. If I showed the address 
 on my letter with an inquisitive look to a passer-by, he 
 
Ten Years Old. 185- 
 
 either shook his head, or pointed off in some new direction, 
 saying a few words to the porter, who then added a branch 
 line to the main trunk along which we travelled. We com- 
 menced our stradametrical survey of Rotterdam at about 
 half-past one o'clock, and at about five o'clock — at which 
 time, I judged, the porter might begin to want his tea — I 
 was left with my little portmanteau at the proper house, dis- 
 tant about a quarter-of-a-mile from the spot at which the 
 boat had landed us. As I had no Dutch money, my friend the 
 porter very kindly consented to receive his hire in English 
 half-crowns, two of which satisfied him after much biting of 
 their edges, and a growl or two. I thought I had been 
 cheated. Probably the fact that I was a little tired and 
 hungry will account for the uncharitable suspicion. How- 
 ever, I had only paid five shillings for -a walk through all 
 the streets of Rotterdam with a real Dutchman: after alt 
 it was cheap. I felt for the hard lumps in my waistband, 
 found them there, and mounted two flights of dark stairs 
 to the chamber of Mynheer Van der Tabak, with the bold- 
 ness of a true whelp of the British Lion. 
 
 But Mynheer was out. Three women, wonderfully oily 
 for their age, sat at work in a horribly close room, with their 
 feet upon abominations that I then saw used for the first 
 time — hot chaiiffe-pieds^ though it was a July afternoon, 
 ^rethought, if these are ordinary Frows, I know how we 
 come by the word frowsy. Clotho Van der Tabak held her 
 hand out for my letter, looked at it, and put it into the big 
 pocket at her side. Lachesis asked me eight or ten ques- 
 tions in Dutch, and Atropos pointed to a wooden stool, at 
 some distance in front of the dread sisters, upon which I was 
 to sit. The distance pleased me. It was evident that I was 
 to wait until their father, husband, or son, the Van der Tabak 
 himself, should return; and I did wait for an hour, in silence. 
 During that hour the sisters talked but little to each other, 
 but sat stewing gently on their chauffe-pieds^ following their 
 I N 
 
1 86 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 work with their fingers, and watching me a little pitifully 
 with their eyes. At last one of them, after a long search 
 with her hand among the articles concealed within her 
 pocket, brought to light a soft cake in a state of perspiration, 
 which, with a word or two expressed in a kind tone, she 
 offered to me. They mistook me for a child, those Dutch 
 women. 
 
 I declined the cake, upon which its owner, having first 
 taken a bite out of it, returned it to her pocket. After 
 another pause there was a short discussion among the 
 women, and Clotho, stooping a little, drew from under her 
 chair, where it lay hidden by her ample skirts, such a stone 
 bottle as I should in England have supposed to contain 
 seltzer-water. From the same handy cupboard she pro- 
 duced a glass, having the mark of her own fair lips upon its 
 rim, impressed in at least three places. Into this she 
 poured for me some beer out of the stone bottle. I drank 
 that, and thought it good. But very soon my head began 
 to ache while I was wondering at what time Mynheer Van 
 der Tabak would come home to tea. 
 
 The Dutch women worked and the light waned. I stared 
 at them through the twilight and the thick, hot atmosphere, 
 while my mind ran in a melancholy way to the tune of 
 " Mynheer Van Dunk". Was Van der Tabak like his country- 
 man, given to sipping " brandy-and-water gaily"; and was 
 there no tea to be hoped for ; but would he come in pre- 
 sently and ask me to play at cards with him by the light of 
 a flaring candle, getting my nose red, and my body stout, 
 and my trousers wrinkled like his own ? Should we, in fact, 
 go to work in the true Dutch way, as I had seen it repre- 
 sented in old pictures. Was the unwholesome Lachesis to 
 lean over my shoulder as I deliberated whether I would 
 play the ace or ten of spades, and was I — longing for tea or, 
 to speak honestly, even a draught of milk-and-water — to 
 imitate my host who was accustomed to sip brandy-and- 
 
Ten Years Old, 187 
 
 water gaily, quenching his thirst with two quarts of the first 
 and a pint of the latter daily? 
 
 There was a creaking on the stairs. It was not Van der 
 Tabak. Under the weight of a true Dutchman they would 
 have groaned more heavily. A tall, spare, yellow man with 
 a long hooked nose entered. The women in a few quiet 
 guttural words acknowledged his presence and indicated 
 mine. He read my letter, looked at me, and said, " Very 
 goot, I will take you to a bed." We went downstairs; my 
 little portmanteau was again placed on the shoulder of a 
 porter, and I trotted out into the lamplighted streets beside 
 the hospitable Zamiel to whom I had been consigned. " I 
 will show you", he said, "a very goot hotel." I did not 
 talk to him, and I was glad to get out of his close room into 
 the summer twilight. As my guide stalked on, I fell into a 
 reverie beside him, and forgot my hunger. I should be 
 soon again an independent English traveller, able to call for 
 what I liked. As we walked by a canal-side, the lamplight 
 . and the water in the street, the quaint old houses and the 
 people round about me, even the very pebbles under foot, 
 were printed off on the white paper of my mind. We 
 passed an old church porch, and a rich flow of organ music 
 pouring over the fresh impressions as they were just then 
 made within me, fixed them permanently into the only 
 picture of the town of Rotterdam that time has been unable 
 to efface, 
 
 "You must take the boat to Cologne at two o'clock to- 
 morrow," said Mynheer. "You carry English moneys, I 
 suppose ?" I said " Yes." " Very goot. I will change it 
 for you into Dutches and Germans. I will be with you 
 when you get up to-morrow morning." So Mynheer con- 
 siderately left me at one of the few hotels in which there 
 happened to be not a waiter who spoke English. Ordered 
 by him in my name, there was brought to me a supper of 
 bread and milk. Then I was shown the way to bed. 
 
 N 2 
 
1 88 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 Alone that night upon a little bed, under clean dimity 
 curtains, I cried myself to sleep, for the spirit of childhood 
 came and set my tears a-flowing, But in the morning there 
 came Mynheer Van der Tabak, with the question, " What is 
 your moneys?" In exchange for a few sovereigns he gave 
 me a complete numismatical collection of greasy copper and 
 German-silver counters, having no recognisable image and 
 superscription ; over them he mumbled, as if it were a 
 benison, a very short and rapid account of their value. "You 
 must have pieces of all kinds and pay exact, or else in 
 giving change peoples will cheat you." I felt at the time as 
 though I had bought a copper mine, and lost considerably 
 by the venture. But as Van der Tabak said, "in giving 
 change, peoples will cheat you," so I pocketed without any 
 remark his dirty money'and his axiom. 
 
 Mynheer departed, and I saw no more of him. In a big 
 room I sat down before a fresh basin of bread and milk, 
 not feeling my dignity offended, because I had a real affec- 
 tion for good bread and milk, especially when I was master 
 of the sugar-basin. After breakfast I set out to do what 
 Mynheer should have done for me, and without much 
 trouble found the starting-place of the Cologne steamer and 
 the booking-office, there being plenty of English spoken by 
 the water-side. I paid my way — half fare as being a child 
 — on to Cologne ; made sure about the time of starting, and 
 went back to the hotel, where I was to dine like an inde- 
 pendent tourist at the table d'hote. The hostess, a clear- 
 skinned, stout, genial woman, caused me to sit by her side, 
 and I was not too proud to be glad that she assumed 
 towards me, with a great deal of nice tact, motherly rela- 
 tions. The dinner puzzled me. I did not understand the 
 meaning of dessert and meat at once upon the table-cloth. 
 There was so much oil in all the dishes that I felt a little 
 sick at contemplation of the long perspective of them. I 
 had some vermicelli soup, tasting of castor-oil. The fish 
 
Te7i Years Old. 189 
 
 fried in oil I could not put into my mouth. After that I 
 nursed terrible suspicions on the subject of the made 
 dishes. The waiters, hovering over us like harpies, pounced 
 upon the larger lumps and joints of meat, and bore them 
 away over our heads, to be sliced up at side-tables, and 
 brought round. I could not dine at all until I saw plum- 
 pudding. The good-hnmoured landlady was at last amused 
 and gratified at seeing that I made a hearty dinner upon 
 that. 
 
 Then all was paid for, and my little portmanteau went 
 upon a truck with other luggage to the boat. Fairly on 
 board and started up the Rhine, I went down into the cabin, 
 put my cap upon my knees, and emptied into it the coins 
 out of my jacket-pocket. I desired to know what they all 
 meant. I had already begun to use them, and in so doing 
 had obtained data to go upon ; therefore I set to work 
 upon the problem with the unsightly counters before me, 
 as I had set to work at home over a dissected map or an 
 ingenious labyrinth. A worthy Englishman accosted me. 
 "Terrible work that, sir," he said, with a comic air; half 
 humouring, half pitying my dignity of independence as a 
 tourist. "Terrible work. Can I help you at all?" "Thank 
 you," I said; "I should like really to know how much I 
 have been cheated." Then I told him my suspicion about 
 Mynheer Van der Tabak, and he sitting down by my side 
 helped me to a correct knowledge of the number of 
 shillings Mynheer had supposed to be contained in an 
 English pound, and instilled into me at the same time a 
 full knowledge of the mysteries of groschen, pfennige, and 
 so on. Thereafter I had no fear. He was an English 
 artist travelling with all his family, and taking sketches for 
 a book upon Rhine scenery. I used to look over his 
 shoulder, and marvel at the rapidity with which he pen- 
 cilled scenes down as the steamer passed. He used to 
 talk to me as though I were a man of fifty, and I attached 
 
igo Papers from ''Household Words". 
 
 myself to him, though it by no means suited my humour 
 to place myself in a formal way under his protection. 
 
 We slept on board one night, during which the steamer 
 ran aground, and jerked me off a table into a corner of the 
 cabin, to my great delight, for I had always enjoyed sl.ip- 
 wreck above all things. Unluckily, however, there was 
 nothing visible on deck more terrible than fog, and I had 
 seen fogs in London. We got off again after some hours' 
 delay, to my regret, without any catastrophe. We were 
 boarded somewhere for passports, but I was ready for all 
 that. My passport had been many days in my possession ; 
 a fond parent had, indeed, proposed before my departure 
 into foreign parts, that a full-length black profile of me 
 should be taken, in which I was to be represented with my 
 passport in my hand. 
 
 At Cologne, while the porters were at work upon the 
 heap of boxes under which my portmanteau was buried, I 
 got ashore and swang my legs in a high state of juvenile 
 enjoyment on a wooden railing. At the same time I was 
 enjoying thoroughly the sight of the distant mountains and 
 the near cathedral towers, the Rhine and the bridge of 
 boats. The artist and his family passed by upon their way 
 into the town, and rather hurt my dignity by glancing at me 
 and at each other with an interchange of some compassion- 
 ate remarks. I daresay I was looking sentimental ; I was 
 not too young to have read Childe Harold^ but I was as 
 happy as a prince, and had got on so capitally by myself 
 that I resented pity as injustice. The truth is, as I put it 
 to myself, the capacities of boys are generally underrated. 
 There are some men at fifty a great deal less fit to travel 
 unprotected than the majority of boys at ten. The artist 
 came to me in his poHte way, and said, " Perhaps, sir, as 
 we are fellow-travellers, both going on to-morrow morning, 
 we may do well to occupy the same hotel." I knew what 
 he mean , and thanked him, took the name of the hotel 
 
Ten Years Old. 191 
 
 for which he was bound, and went on with my medita- 
 tions. 
 
 My httle nugget of leather having been extracted from 
 the great mountain of luggage on the steamer, I went to the 
 hotel indicated, found an English waiter there, met my 
 friend the artist once in the corridor, who shook hands with 
 me heartily, and made a joke or two, but did not in any way 
 offer to invade my privacy. In the evening I went out for 
 a ramble by the water-side, and coming home, followed out 
 the idea by which I had been pleased in Rotterdam, and 
 supped on bread and milk. So far, all went well ; but the 
 next morning I was in sad distress, for the boat started at 
 five A.M., and the English waiter did not get up. Soon 
 after four in the morning I was crying out over the heavy 
 staircase of the dark old inn to sleepy people who spoke no 
 English, that, if they pleased, I should like to have some 
 bread and milk for breakfast before I left. Nothing could 
 be made of me, or done for me, and I went off in the raw 
 morning to the steamer, in company with the artist and his 
 family, the several members of which had been tumbling 
 about the inn staircases, dressing in furious haste, and 
 wanting hot water, a bill, a porter, and other matters, for 
 the last ten minutes : while I, more virtuous, but not more 
 happy for my virtue, had been up and dressed in time to 
 devote half-an-hour to the vain search for a breakfast. 
 
 That was the last stage of my journey. On the same 
 morning, when the boat stopped on its way alongside the 
 quiet town of New Unkraut, there stood upon the platform 
 a placid man with a small cloth cap on his head, and his 
 collar turned back from his neck, who smoked a pipe with 
 beautiful tranquillity, and who had evidently singled me out 
 from among the passengers. I saw that he was looking at 
 me quietly while the great scrambling of ropes took place. 
 I shook hands with my friends on board and stepped 
 ashore ; the portmanteau was dropped out of the vessel after 
 
192 Papers from ''HoiiseJiold Words'. 
 
 me ; the uml?rella I carried in my own right hand. The 
 quiet German instantly stepped forward, took from me the 
 umbrella (which I never touched again until my return to 
 England), and gave me, in the English language, a mild, 
 friendly welcome to New Unkraut. I believed in him 
 instantly ; and, taking his hand with all childish simplicity, 
 walked by his side, chattering, to school. 
 
 So ended my first taste of the responsibilities of life. I 
 liked it, and it did me good. In that little attempt to fly 
 alone, I obtained more practical knowledge than is usually 
 got out of a half-year's grind at F7'opria quce Maribus ; and 
 I have no doubt it went further to make a man of me than 
 any amount of physical injury and moral contamination I 
 could have suffered among what are sometimes called the 
 wholesome hardships of a fag. 
 
BROTHER MIETH AND HIS 
 BROTHERS. 
 
 Why do I look lovingly back on the two years of child- 
 hood passed in exile from all friends at home, among one or 
 two hundred boys under the guidance of one or two dozen 
 masters ? Why do I believe, as I do firmly, that I learned 
 precious things in that German school which suffered me to 
 forget my little Greek, and to dwindle down from a pre- 
 cocious bolter of Virgil to a bad decliner of rex, regis ; which 
 administered its Euclid in homoeopathic doses ; which 
 taught me to write in mystic characters that had to be 
 unlearnt at home \ and in which I cannot remember that I 
 ever did a sum ? Why do I believe that I learned more 
 than ever in the same time before or after, till I went as a 
 man into the school of sorrow ? For the benefit of teachers, 
 let me try to look at that school from the boy's point of 
 view, and find out what the lessons were by which I 
 profited. 
 
 From several English boarding-schools through which I 
 had been shifted with the vain hope of finding, at last, one 
 that was a proper place of education, I went to Ncm 
 Unkraut on the Rhine, a very little boy : experienced in the 
 applications of the fag, familiar with the respective powers 
 of fists, stones, nuts, whipcord in all its combinations, 
 bumping against corners of wall, tommy and cane, and 
 other means of torture. I had learned to be reckless about 
 blows, to regard a big boy or a schoolmaster as a natural 
 
194 Papers from '^Household Words." 
 
 enemy, and to feel proud because there were few others so 
 prompt to defy or insult the teacher, or to bite him while 
 he plied the stick. I was familiar with filth and falsehood. 
 I am ashamed to think of all that I, a very young child, had 
 learned, and I wonder at the little incidents belonging to 
 that time, which show how hard a struggle the good spirit 
 that belongs to childhood had maintained, in self-defence, 
 against such miserable influences. But the Seven Cham- 
 pions of Christendom defended me from a great deal of 
 harm. I should have been undone had not the genii and 
 the white cat, whom I nursed secretly, been on my side, 
 and given me good counsel. 
 
 Brother Mieth it was who met me on the pier when I 
 first landed at New Unkraut with my small portmanteau, 
 and there welcomed me in broken English as no teacher 
 had ever welcomed me before. 
 
 He took me into a school containing about one hundred 
 and fifty boys. These were associated as close comrades 
 in groups of twenty, formed by herding together those most 
 nearly alike in age. Each herd had its own rooms superin- 
 tended by two brothers : one brother to take charge of the 
 minds, the other of the bodies, of the children. The whole 
 school dined and supped together in one hall ; we all slept 
 together in one mighty dormitory : each in the little bed 
 that he himself had made ; and we all met at chapel. In 
 the classes that were changed from hour to hour, we were 
 thrown together in sets, formed, of course, not according to 
 our age, but our attainments. Out of doors, again, all were 
 together often in the common playground, a large garden 
 outside the town. Each, therefore, knew all. Of the play- 
 garden, be it said that there was material provided there for 
 plenty of rough sport, and there were temples in it adorned 
 with tablets to the memory of dead teachers who had 
 been much loved. For by incidents recurring almost daily, 
 our imaginations were appealed to, and our hearts were 
 touched. 
 
Brother MietJi and his Brothers. 195 
 
 That was the spirit of the school. Its power was 
 inimense. The multitude of boys, living together as a sort 
 of federal republic, was not only maintained in perfect 
 discipline without an act of violence, but very few went 
 away from among us whose minds had not been, to some 
 degree, enriched, enlarged, ennobled. During the two 
 years that I spent there, not a blow was struck, except the 
 few^ that seasoned our own boyish quarrels. They were 
 few enough. 
 
 We were not milksops. We braved peril in many of our 
 sports ; we were for true knights, not for recreants ; cowardice 
 was abhorred among us ; we were chevaliers without fear ; 
 but also, more than is usual among communities of boys, 
 without reproach, A spirit of truthfulness, of gentleness, 
 of cordiality between the teachers and the taught, pervaded 
 our whole body ; punishments of the most nominal kinds 
 sufficed for the scholastic discipline ; insubordination, there 
 was none ; secret contempt of authority, there was none. 
 New-comers brought vices with them very often, or began 
 their new school-life in the wrong tune ; the good spirit 
 soon infected them ; they fell into the right harmony within 
 a week or a month. And what was the secret of the in- 
 fluence exerted over us by these gentle Moravians ? They 
 lived before us blameless lives ; they had, in themselves, 
 a childlike simplicity of mind and purpose ; they were so 
 truthful, that they did not seem able to understand deceit ; 
 and, as I have said, they won our hearts by suffering the 
 free play of our fancies. 
 
 These Moravians are said sometimes to resemble Quakers, 
 and there is not much fancy in a Quaker, perhaps. It may 
 be said, for example, that the plan of burial used by the 
 brotherhood is Quaker-like in its simphcity. There is a 
 square churchyard with a broad walk down the middle. 
 The first brother who dies is laid in one corner, and the 
 first sister who dies is laid in the opposite corner ; the dead 
 
196 Papers from '^Household Words''. 
 
 who follow are set in rows, as beans are set in a field. The 
 rows of brothers multiply on one side of the walk, the rows 
 of sisters on the other, and no difference of rank is shown. 
 There is but a single form for the flat stone that is laid 
 over each grave as a lid. Formality this may be, but it did 
 not seem formality to us. Our hearts were moved at the 
 aspect of a graveyard that was so much like our own 
 dormitory with its rows of beds — a place in which all rested 
 as equals, until the time of the awakening. It stirred our 
 fancies more than any fancies could be stirred by the 
 colossal tea-caddies in stone, and the stone tea-urns w^ithout 
 spouts, that indicate, in English cemeteries, where the 
 respectable dead bodies have been placed. Concerning 
 them, a child can only wonder why there are only urns and 
 tea-caddies — why none of the tombs are decorated with a 
 cup and saucer, or a spoon, or sugar-tongs, — where the well- 
 executed toast-rack is. 
 
 Of this Moravian churchyard I have more to say, for it 
 was, in truth, part of our school. Not that we learnt any 
 geography lessons among the tombs, but we did certainly 
 learn lessons there. I am about to horrify some nervous 
 parents. We boys used to see corpses and attend 
 funerals. 
 
 Gentle Brother Mieth was but a young man. At one 
 time of his life he had been to the Greenland Mission ; 
 but failing health had warned his companions to send him 
 home to his own milder climate : so it chanced, therefore, 
 that he ended his life as a teacher at New Unkraut. He 
 taught, and he was prompt to learn, while holding friendly 
 talk with boys from all parts of the world, assembled in the 
 school. There were a great many of us English — all sad 
 braggers about our country ; new-comers, too, who had not 
 been sobered down, went so far as to invent matter for the 
 glory of Old England in general, and of their own homes in 
 particular. I myself had not been long added to the com- 
 
BrotJier MietJi and his BrotJicrs. 197 
 
 munity before I had executed a rude pen-and-ink sketch of 
 a spacious turreted castle with four corner towers of such 
 height as it would enter only into the mind of Mr. Barry to 
 conceive, and had confidently displayed it to some young 
 German and French friends, even to Brother Mieth anii 
 few teachers, as a sketch from memory of my native halls 
 in Gower Street, London. An English boy who had been 
 my companion at home bore witness to the accuracy of the 
 picture, and obtained from me, as his reward, the decision 
 that his father's park must be about three times larger than 
 th2 principality of Unkraut. Brother Mieth never doubted 
 us, or never seemed to doubt. When, during a long walk 
 on the allce bordered with apple-trees that led from New 
 Unkraut to Schneiderdingen, I described to Brother Mieth 
 a domestic ceremony that I had lately witnessed at home, 
 taking the whole mass of my very startling details out of a 
 tale in the Romance of Spa7iish History^ the good brother 
 manifested not a trace of doubt. He had seen strange 
 things in Greenland ; and in England things might possibly 
 be stranger. Against this quiet trustfulness, no child's spirit 
 of untruth could maintain itself I remember only one or 
 two in our whole mass who did not become, under its 
 influence, completely candid and trustworthy. 
 
 I seem to have wandered from the subject of the dead 
 bodies that we went to see, and yet have not wandered very 
 far. Brother Mieth disappeared from his desk and joined 
 the men and children tenanting a portion of our building 
 called the sick-room. What pleasure we all thought it to be 
 sick! A battered old soldier was the ministering nurse — 
 no woman could be gentler in the office than he was ; and 
 then what tales of battles and the deadly perilous breach he 
 liked to tell ! W^e did not pity Brother Mieth for being in 
 the sick-room, till the rumour grew among us that some 
 best authority had said that he would die. We began then 
 to pay him visits, and I do not think we were the worse for 
 
198 Papers from ^^ Household Words''. 
 
 the short texts lie used to show us in his unaffected way. 
 We all kept albums, little boxes of loose coloured leaves on 
 each of which a friend was to inscribe some syllables in 
 token of his love. We went to Brother Mieth with blank 
 leaves in our hands. It must have been solemn, yet not 
 sad work for him, sitting at his little table in the sick-room, 
 strewn with blank leaflets, pink, and blue, and white, and 
 yellow, and crimson, to write upon each one his farewell to 
 a child who loved him and whom he had loved. O brother 
 Mieth, brother Mieth ! Glad am I that I have my leaflet 
 still. 
 
 Our friend died, and they took his body, as they took 
 the body of every brother who died, to a little room in a 
 garc!en, built against the chapel wall : a place to which we 
 went between the garden flowers, by a trim walk, under 
 trellised vines. In that building, on certain days, accord- 
 ing to the custom of the school in such cases, we were per- 
 mitted (not compelled) to go and be with our friend for the 
 last time. And with what full hearts we passed the thres- 
 hold of the little room, to find Brother Mieth placidly sleep- 
 ing in a pretty bed, one of his hands lying on the counter- 
 pane with roses in it ! We felt no horror at the stillness 
 and whiteness of his face; our thoughts of death and heaven 
 were allied too closely for that. 
 
 Then came the funeral. Before we journeyed to the grave- 
 yard, all met in the quiet chapel, where there was a short 
 service, and a hymn : sung to stirring music of wind instru- 
 ments, stringed instruments, and organ. The minister then 
 opened a small paper, and read from it a brief memoir of 
 our friend, through which we heard for the first time what 
 had happened to him, and what work he had found time 
 to do in all the years before his grave was ready. Know- 
 ing then, better than ever, whom we followed, all the men 
 of the brotherhood, and all the boys in the school, two by 
 two, with no pomp but the pomp of numbers, followed the 
 
Brother MietJi and Jiis Brothers. 199 
 
 bearers of a simple coffin. Arrived at the churchyard, we 
 there formed a great square that ah-nost corresponded to 
 the square of its four edges. Brother Mieth was committed 
 to the earth with blessings, and to this day I can tell by the 
 thrill in my heart how we felt when, immediately afterwards, 
 the trumpets were blown over his grave. Aided by that 
 music, presently our funeral hymn rose from the voices of 
 many men and boys, and spread through the silence of 
 the country round about. 
 
 Of course English teachers cannot bury one another for 
 the edification of schoolboys. It is obvious that I am not 
 here recommending any rule of practice for adoption ; I 
 suggest only a principle. I had been used at English 
 schools to strictness of rule with laxity of principle: at New 
 Unkraut we had strictness of principle with laxity of rule. 
 At New Unkraut the discipline was (in consequence) 
 beyond comparison the most real and complete. I had 
 been taught in England to stick by my slate and dictionary, 
 to keep my collar clean on Sunday, and to learn the Collect. 
 I was taught at New Unkraut to give free play to all my 
 faculties ; the heart was stirred, the soul was roused, the 
 affections were satisfied, no check was set upon the fancy, 
 and we were abundantly provided with material for voluntary 
 exercise of thought. What if we did learn little algebra and 
 little Greek ! Every one of us was being humanised in the 
 best way, and trained to become a thinker and a student 
 for himself thereafter. Scarcely a boy was there who had 
 not his case of butterflies and beetles, diligently chased over 
 hill and dale, or the reward of much exploring upon trees, 
 among herbs, and under sunny bits of rock, or in the pools 
 under the mountains. Our fancy worked in all our play. 
 We spent many a summer afternoon in a craggy dell, acting 
 robber tales that we created for ourselves. Half-way up a 
 rock, some of us found a little nook approached through 
 thick bushes by an obscure path, which had been used 
 
200 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 once by a hermit. We made a secret of it, and created it 
 into a robbers' rendezvous : a band of gendarmes was 
 formed, while others volunteered to play the part of travellers 
 and wander through the wood, which was a very real wood. 
 We had attacks, rescues, searches, captures, and stored up a 
 great body of varied incident, until our career was stopped 
 by the fall of a bold robber down a rock, which he had 
 scaled to rescue a companion. The rock was then forbidden, 
 and as it overhung the place of rendezvous, the game was 
 spoiled. 
 
 It was no great check on the play of our imaginations 
 that the pious Moravians forbade novels and plays as read- 
 ing, and restricted us to edifying stories about Easter eggs 
 and other holy things. Shakspeare being a play writer, was 
 taken away from any English boy by whom he was imported, 
 and restored at his departure. We still found, however^ 
 many fanciful books, and there was no reason why we should 
 not contribute to each other all we knew concerning Schin- 
 derhannes, Eulenspiegel, and such worthies. We were 
 encouraged to tell tales of wonder to each other. I had not 
 been long in the school before I committed what would 
 have been in England the enormous offence of filling a 
 copy-book given to me for school uses, with a story about a 
 green huntsman, who went up a hill through a wood, and heard 
 a mysterious shot, and of what followed. Brother Reuchling 
 found the book and took it to his desk. Had he been a British 
 schoolmaster of the same date — woe to my skin ! Brother 
 Reuchling smoked a pipe over the crude, childish composi- 
 tion, and in the next playtime offered to read to the room 
 Damon's story. Straightway he began to deliver it from the 
 book in German, either much embellished by translation, or 
 to the most complaisant of audiences; and instead of a 
 thrashing, Damon had for doing what was surely a fair self- 
 imposed exercise, the reward of popular applause. 
 
 Then James Damon had a Rudolph Pythias in a pale 
 
Brother Mieth mid his Brothers. 201 
 
 young German, called the Baron, because he always wore a 
 fine black velvet frock. Damon and Pythias were insepar- 
 able ; their desks were side by side, and they went far 
 ahead or lagged far behind in the school walks, their usual 
 occupation being the exchange of wonderful stories out of 
 memory till memory was exhausted, and then out of recom- 
 binations and invention. A stray companion attached him- 
 self to us sometimes, and then another, until at last we lost 
 our privacy, and came to be appointed joint story-tellers and 
 poets laureate in the room to which we belonged, with a 
 reputation that extended over the rooms next above and 
 below us. We had to produce verses on birthdays and 
 school feasts, and to tell stories to order. A committee 
 would try its skill in setting us the hardest wonder-subjects. 
 In one case, for example, an appointed hero was to escape 
 from a tower with walls three hundred feet above the ground 
 and three hundred feet below it, and without doors and 
 windows ! he was to have his clothes stolen from his back 
 in daytime, while he was awake, yet without being aware of 
 the theft ; he was to swim through a river without being 
 wet, and to do other such things. To Brother Reuchling, 
 who fell in so pleasantly with all these humours, it must 
 have been amusing enough to hear the decisions of the jury 
 that accepted or refused as possible or impossible the 
 solutions we worked out for all such problems. A child's 
 notion of the possible and impossible in magic, of what is 
 not fit and proper for the business of the marvel-monger, 
 must furnish stuff for pleasant study to a thoughtful man. 
 
 Then we had festivals that did us in a few days lexicon 
 loads of good. We always went out in the warm spring 
 weather at Whitsuntide, for a long — perhaps, week long — 
 ramble from hill to hill and town to town : now mounted 
 upon donkeys, now rumbling in country-carts, now floating 
 down the river in flat-bottomed boats, but always proudest 
 and best pleased when we were a-foot. How intense was 
 I o 
 
202 Papers from ''Household Words", 
 
 our enjoyment of those walks ! We slept where we halted 
 for the night : in barns, in kitchens, — once in an old ruin 
 — commonly on straw — one night only, in a town hotel on 
 feathers, which we hated. It vexed us to have to tell our 
 friends, who had gone out in other directions, that we had 
 been supping in a common hotel, like milksops, and sleep- 
 ing through one of our nights on feather beds. Some 
 amends were made to us on the succeeding night, when it 
 appeared that a few of our party would be put to sleep in a 
 huge oven. The glorious possibility of being forgotten, and 
 of the housewife's coming in the morning, half sleepy, to set 
 light to the straw, was a sublime thought to dismiss our- 
 selves to sleep upon. We always preferred the halting- 
 places where we got the blackest bread ; and we thought a 
 farmhouse on a mountain, where the water was almost as 
 expensive as the wine, incomparably a better hostelry than 
 the "Blue Angel" at Wiesbaden. Among towns, we liked 
 best the fortresses in which we had prisons to see, and in 
 which there were men at work with iron balls chained to 
 their legs ; next to the fortresses, we Hked the towns that 
 had grand churches in them ; it delighted us to scramble to 
 the organ-loft and get a grizzly and good-natured organist 
 to play for us, and let us sound with our own finger the vox 
 humana, most beloved of stops. There was one cathedral, 
 I remember, in which there were by the altar twelve 
 apostolic seats, like huge gilt ottomans ; we came away 
 possessed with the idea that they were twelve huge masses of 
 gold — for we knew nothing of the world's gold-leaf and 
 veneer. 
 
 The festival of festivals was Christmas. The joy of it 
 extended over half the year ; three months were happily 
 spent in preparation for it ; three in recollection of its 
 glories. We prepared for this festival by writing lists of 
 articles that we desired as presents, within reasonable 
 bounds, of which we never felt the limit. The school gave 
 
Brother Mieth and Jtis Brothers. 203 
 
 to each of us at Christmas what his boyish heart desired. 
 Such gifts, doubtless, were set down in the bill sent home ; 
 but, inasmuch as that bill was a moderate one, such extras 
 nobly filled the place of what we, in England, call accom- 
 plishments on the usual terms. There, we were taught 
 music and modern languages and all such matters as things 
 of course. We had these gifts to expect, with stores of 
 sweetmeat and wax tapers, and we had also our own Christ- 
 mas decorations to prepare. 
 
 No manager, engaged in mounting a grand opera or fairy- 
 piece, can be busier than we were, or conceited ourselves 
 to be, in preparation for the Christmas festival. Pocket- 
 money was diverted from its usual channels; and, instead of 
 milk, eggs, chocolate, and cider, we bought coloured wax- 
 tapers, coloured cardboard, coloured paper, and coloured 
 pictures. The pictures and paper were sold by the drawing- 
 master. The world was then in a ferment on the subject of the 
 gallant Poles, and we liked nothing so well for Christmas orna- 
 ment as gay pictures of Polish lancers dashing down into the 
 thick of battle. Such scenes, and the Siege of Antwerp, very 
 rich in reds and yellows, and, next to these, pictures of 
 horses, we conceived to be at the head of the Fine Arts, 
 and sought accordingly ; for, during the Christmas week, 
 our rooms were to be picture-galleries. That was not all. 
 Every desk was to be illuminated with the greatest attain- 
 able blaze of little tapers ! and there was a rivalry among us, 
 each attempting to outshine his neighbours. That was not 
 all. We devoted our leisure to constructive works, erected 
 stables and mangers, cottages, palaces, and cathedrals of 
 cardboard ; cut out elaborately ornamented windows, and 
 filled them with bits of coloured paper oiled to represent 
 stained glass. Into our stables, cottages, palaces, and cathe- 
 drals we put tapers, and made the whole school a complete 
 maze of tapers, pictures, and transparencies, combined with 
 a tasteful and liberal display of sugar-ornaments, apples, 
 
 o 2 
 
204 Papers from ^^Hotisehold Words". 
 
 walnuts, and presents generally, among which skates and 
 butterfly-cases were the leading articles. The good people 
 of the town, whom we saw only then and at our school 
 oratorios, came round to wonder at our fairy-land ; a very 
 fairy-land it was to us, whatever they in their wisdom may 
 have thought about it. For weeks afterwards we played at 
 marbles for our walnuts, and so great was the glut of them 
 that one successful speculator, who was master of the bottom 
 drawer of a chest, was commonly supposed to have filled 
 that drawer with his winnings. 
 
 When the year w^as on the point of departure, we sat up 
 and went to chapel soon after eleven o'clock. Then, when 
 the worthy preacher, on the stroke of midnight, was 
 balancing a sentence on his two extended fingers, the clock 
 would chime, and our dear friends the trumpets would dash 
 in with a sudden crash, and smash the discourse in an 
 instant without mercy ; down sat the preacher and up rose 
 the people with a stirring hymn, accompanied by the pealing 
 organ, and the flutes, and horns, and fiddles. 
 
 So we began the year with a stir at our hearts and quick- 
 ened fancy; so we carried it through. The faculties that 
 made us happiest, and that were given for wise purposes in 
 special strength to children, were called into full play. 
 
 We kept all birthdays in a room. If there were twenty 
 boys and two brothers, there were twenty-two birthdays a 
 year to keep. Each boy received on his anniversary little 
 love-tokens from his comrades, and contributed in return a 
 scrap of pocket-money towards the establishment of a small 
 feast on the next half-holiday: a feast of cakes and cider in 
 a country orchard, when the season favoured: or, in cold 
 weather, of chocolate and cakes at home. The birthday of 
 either of the brothers would be kept more solemnly. Before 
 he came down in the morning, a little table before his desk 
 would be covered with a snowy napkin, and upon the napkin 
 would be placed our offerings. Always, there was a pipe 
 
Brother Ilieth and Ids Brothers. 205 
 
 with cunningly-worked stem and splendid bowl. Every 
 working brother possessed a cupboard full of such pipes, 
 and was as glad to be so richly stocked as any English lady 
 is when she is mistress of a wardrobe full of dresses. If it 
 were not really so, we thought so, and were never inter- 
 rupted in such thinking. To the pipe we added any other 
 trifles that we imagined likely to give pleasure, and some 
 articles contributed by individuals out of their own posses- 
 sions. We put a mighty nosegay in the background, and 
 tricked out with flowers all our sacrifice. Then, when the 
 good brother came down, of course we said many a kind 
 thing to him, and had many a kind thing said to us. And 
 in the afternoon we were repaid with perhaps a sail down 
 the broad river to some celestial inn among the mountains 
 and the vines, where we had real Malaga wine instead of 
 cider, and cakes only fit to be eaten with such nectar. 
 
 Very puerile, perhaps, all this was, but therefore, as a 
 dominie would say, most fit for piieri. I only know that 
 under such discipline our hearts were softened; that we 
 were, not in this instance only, but by the hundred and 
 uniformly, tractable and loving, while the simple piety of 
 the good brothers was so well recommended to us, that 
 although they taught no other doctrine than the principles 
 of Christian uprightness and charity, we learned as much of 
 truth from them as could have been communicated even 
 by any catechism I know — or don't know. 
 
 I was a little rascal when I first went to New Unkraut, 
 because my puerility had been, at other schools, discouraged 
 and repressed ; the instincts with which I was created had 
 been stupidly opposed, and I was diverted into a condition 
 for which the Creator never destined me. The liberty of 
 growth encouraged at New Unkraut may have been extreme. 
 I think it was not, but I will not presume to decide upon 
 the point. This only I have a right to testify, that from 
 the hard work-days of the world whenever energies were 
 
2o6 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 called for, troubles grew thick, or temper came to be tried, 
 I have always looked back with a strong affection to New 
 Unkraut as the place in which I had learned the lessons 
 that would help me best. 
 
 Yes, that those lessons have been my best helpers, I am, 
 in my grateful manhood, sure. When blight was gathering 
 about the budding faculties, those true-hearted Moravians 
 blew the blight away: and wretched indeed might have 
 been the blossom but for them. You pedagogues, who cut 
 and trim your children into shape, you know well enough 
 that if you mend a rosebud with your pen-knives, you destroy 
 that upon which you cut your mark. Water the roots, let 
 the wind blow, and the sun shine, and the rains fall ; 
 remove all that is hurtful, enrich the soil by which the plant 
 is fed, but let the laws of nature take their course. If you 
 know well that you must act so by a rosebud which you 
 wish to rear into a healthy blossom, why do you act with 
 less care in your treatment of the budding mind and soul ? 
 
BLACK MONDAY. 
 
 Outside the coach on one Black Monday morning, two 
 hours before sunrise, I found Phipps and Buttons — a boy 
 whose real name was Woodcock — Buttons in a thin old- 
 fashioned great-coat and a worsted comforter, behind the 
 coachman, and Phipps in a thick coat and heavy wrapper, 
 with his mouth lost behind his ample folds of handkerchief, 
 upon the box-seat. Phipps wore warm hair gloves ; Buttons 
 old BerHns carefully mended. " Hollo, Tub !" they cried, 
 as I scrambled up to them, "Hollo, Tub!" I was called 
 " Tub" from my shape at that time. " Hollo, Buttons !" I 
 answered, "Hollo, Phipps!" and then we all said "Here's 
 a go !" We didn't say more just then, for Phipps' father 
 and mine were there to see us off, and Buttons' mother — 
 Buttons had no father. Buttons' mother — such a pale 
 woman she was — had come out at that time in the morning 
 to see Buttons off, and when the ladder was put up for some 
 passengers to mount by, if she didn't clamber up and put 
 her arms round him and kiss him! Buttons turned scarlet, 
 and looked aside at Phipps. Phipps looked at me and 
 laughed, but somehow I remembered my mother's coming 
 to my bedside overnight, so that when Buttons made up a 
 mouth and kissed his mother back two or three times in 
 spite of us, I didn't sneer as Phipps did when the coach 
 drove off, but got out my dinner and began to eat a 
 sandwich. 
 
 At Putney, Pullet was in waiting, and wanted to get up 
 and make a third upon the box. "There's only room for 
 
2o8 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 two, you know," said Phipps. " There 's room for three 
 when two are boys, especially with a thin coachee," said 
 Pullet. Coachee w^as fat, and liked the notion. " Besides," 
 cried Pullet, "here's my pea-shooter, and I've got such a 
 jolly pocketful of peas." "Up with you," we all cried, 
 Phipps foremost. "Well," said the coachman, "you're a 
 bold boy to carry a pea-shooter. Black Monday. But you 
 mustn't do that, though." Pullet was firing into the flanks 
 of the horses, and making the coach go awfully. Railroads 
 have abohshed pea-shooters by this time, I suppose, but in my 
 young days it was always considered part of our equipment 
 when we went home on the coach-top — eight or ten together 
 — for the holidays, to carry pea-shooters and blow split-peas 
 at the passers-by, and into open windows, or against closed 
 windows at which anyone w^as sitting, as we rattled over the 
 stones of any country town. When we stopped to change 
 horses we' attacked the ostlers, and the landlord of the inn, 
 and the more irascible of the passengers who happened to get 
 down to drink a glass of ale or stretch their legs. As for 
 the coachman and guard, if they scolded now and then, we 
 got up a hailstorm for their own exclusive service. On the 
 way home that was very well ; but on Black Monday, on 
 the way to school, when a word from a passenger as the 
 coach stopped at Millstone Hall would subject our own 
 flanks to savage peppering, a pea-shooter on Black jNIonday 
 was indeed a bold conception. Nobody but Pullet would 
 have thought of bringing one ; being brought, however, 
 none of us thought for a moment of resisting its tempta- 
 tions. 
 
 When the sun was up and we had changed horses two or 
 three times, under the bright blue sky, breathing the crisp 
 morning air as the coach rolled up and down hill over the 
 white snow, we were all mad with joy. Black Monday 
 though it was. Buttons — who got terribly teased and 
 knocked about at school because he was a queer fellow. 
 
Black Monday, 209 
 
 though we all liked him — Buttons had his turn at the pea- 
 shooter, and after a successful combat with a gipsy woman, 
 his shot telling well about her nose and pipe, nothing further 
 offered itself. Suddenly Buttons looked mysterious, and 
 bent over to us, whispering, " Let 's have at the insiders !" 
 Glorious because dangerous game, we all rushed into ei^oy- 
 ment of the bold suggestion. Buttons, at the end of the 
 seat, had the coach window with a little twist of his body 
 fairly within range; he charged heavily his wrath-producing 
 tube, drew a good mouthful of breath, aimed at the opened 
 window, and discharged his piece at random. The shot 
 must have told with terrible effect. Instantly a head purple 
 with wrath was thrust out of the window with so much 
 abruptness that the hat fell out into the snow, and the coach 
 was stopped that the guard might pick it up. There was a 
 volley of words sent back for our volley of peas, among which 
 came often repeated the significant question, " Coachman, 
 what school are those boys going to?" The coach started 
 again while the coachman made a sound as of answering, 
 but the cold air soon caused the offended face to be drawn 
 back. " He has pulled up the window," said Buttons, 
 grinning. " Don't get us into trouble," said Phipps to the 
 coachman. The coachman looked stern, but I saw that he 
 meant kindness. "I tell you what," said Buttons, "when 
 we change horses next I'll tell him I did it, and beg his 
 pardon. I don't care if he cuffs me." We agreed that 
 nothing could be fairer than that, and when the coach 
 stopped at the "Robin Hood", and the old gentleman got 
 out and looked up at us viciously. Buttons — who had thought 
 twice about the cuffing — spoke an apology down to him 
 from his seat on the coach-top. "Come down, then, you 
 young rascal, and let me punish you," cried the gentleman. 
 Buttons began immediately to get down in a very simple- 
 minded way, but the old gentleman, when he got down, to 
 the amazement of us all, gave him a shilling, and told him 
 
2IO Papers from '^Household Words'. 
 
 to get up again. Pullet cried halves over Buttons' shilling 
 because the pea-shooter had made it, and the pea-shooter 
 was his ; Buttons agreed readily to that reasoning, and paid 
 Pullet a sixpence. 
 
 When we got to the " Robin Hood" at Bigglesford, where 
 there was always a coach-dinner ready in the parlour, we 
 boys scrambled down, and were in the inn by the time the 
 coachman had cried out, " Dine here, gentlemen." Buttons 
 came with us, because we had teased him already out of his 
 idea, that while we went in he would sit on the coach and 
 eat his sandwiches ; that he liked his sandwiches better, 
 because the bread in them was home made. Of course, we 
 had argued, he could eat his sandwiches and dine into the 
 bargain ; it was a pity to go hungry to Millstone Hall. So 
 we all went in, and were at work like little old men about 
 the table when the other passengers joined us. The old 
 gentleman, who had gone into a passion, looked at us very 
 good-humouredly, and, as we considered his behaviour to 
 have been extremely handsome, we were all anxious to show 
 him every attention in our power, and to help him to every- 
 thing that we thought good. "Pea-soup, sir?" cried Phipps 
 in a minute, for he had the ladle in his hand. *' Do take 
 some pea-soup, sir," said Pullet very earnestly, when the old 
 gentleman grinned and shook his head. Buttons' face 
 turned black, and after a throe or two, two boiling geysers 
 of soup burst out of the corners of his mouth. I don't 
 know where the joke was, but it suddenly occurred to us 
 that there was a great joke in asking the old gentleman to 
 take pea-soup, and we began, all of us, to take secret oppor- 
 tunities of exploding into laughter among ourselves, and now 
 and then burst out, we couldn't help it, in the midst of 
 speaking to the gentleman. We did our best to show our 
 goodwill, however. Phipps tried to cut out the breast of a 
 fowl for him as an especial tit-bit, and as he didn't eat it, 
 and nobody took any, the fowl was left so sadly mangled 
 
Black Monday. 2 1 1 
 
 that the landlord compelled Phipps to pay an extra shilling 
 for what he called a wilful destruction of his property. So 
 Phipps had to pay three-and-sixpence, and we others half-a- 
 crown apiece. We had our pocket-money with us, and 
 were capitalists till we got to Millstone, when our purses 
 would be given up to Mrs. Pestle, and our money given to 
 us in weekly pence spread over the half-year. Phipps said, 
 when we were off again, that if we had got a shilling by the 
 old chap, we had lost a shilling, and he didn't see why he 
 should lose it, so he proposed that Pullet and Buttons should 
 set their gains against it. Buttons didn't mind, but Pullet 
 did ; so Buttons paid to Phipps his second sixpence, and a 
 fight was arranged between Phipps and Pullet for the next 
 morning to adjust the difference about the other. Young 
 Buttons I thought afterwards a greater fool than I had 
 fancied at the time, for as his money yielded him through 
 the half-year only a penny a week, he must have had little 
 enough in his pocket after the dinner had been paid for. 
 
 After another stage or two, the old gentleman inside 
 restored the balance in his favour, by bringing out "to 
 warm the boys" a glass of mulled port wine. We were still 
 under the invigorating influence of this dose when the coach 
 got within the familiar range of our school walks, and 
 presently pulled up at the gate of Millstone Hall. The 
 afternoon was bitterly cold, so there were only the French 
 usher and servant-man in waiting. As v/e got down with 
 heavy hearts, we were all frightened at the appearance of a 
 lady's head which popped out of the coach-window, and 
 addressed Monsieur Camille with a fierce denunciation of 
 our conduct on the journey, and a request that we might all 
 be flogged. 
 
 Monsieur Camille, who only understood one word in ten, 
 poUtely approached the coach-window, and listened with 
 attention while our boxes were being let down from the 
 coach-top. With great courtesy he extended his hand to 
 
2 1 2 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 receive the small collection of parched peas that she had 
 picked up and reserved as her witnesses against us. We 
 did not like Monsieur Camille, and expected no good at his 
 hands ; infinite, therefore, was our relief, when the coach 
 rolled away, as we saw him throw the peas upon the ground 
 gently with a sigh, and walk in with a hand laid upon my 
 shoulder and Pullet's, as he pushed us pleasantly before 
 him. Since that day I have had reason to find out more 
 thoroughly what I was taught on that Black Monday of the 
 difference between the quick wrath of a warm-hearted man, 
 and a sullen, reserved, unforgiving temper. Our ignorance 
 of that distinction caused us all to hate M. Camille. He 
 could not win upon us much by words spoken in our own 
 tongue ; he was oppressed by his fellow-teachers, worried by 
 the boys as a Frenchman — we were very national, and 
 talked enormously about roast-beef and frogs — worried in 
 all ways by all kinds of sneers and tricks, into flashes of 
 passion, that brought down a storm about our cheeks and 
 backs. His weak health helped, I think, to make him 
 irritable ; and though, on the whole, I won't confess that 
 any^milksop system can be better than the old school plan 
 by which boys were hardened properly, and fitted for their 
 conflict with a selfish, wicked world, still I will own that I 
 thought Mr. Pestle's school-system had hardened us a little 
 too much, when, after Monsieur Camille had died in an inn 
 chamber at Millstone, and been buried without a tombstone 
 in our country churchyard, Mr. Pestle's elder boys found out 
 his grave, and paid off their old grudges by kicking the fresh 
 turf away from it, and stamping the little hill into disorder. 
 That they did that is a painful fact ; but, of course, a fact 
 perfectly exceptional in its character. It does not militate 
 against my argument for a good hardening school, the day 
 of return to which shall be distinguished as a genuine Black 
 Monday. 
 
 There can be no doubt that there is something naturally 
 
Black Monday. 213 
 
 rebellious in a child's heart ; we frolicked on the way to 
 Millstone, I confess with shame, because there seemed to be 
 a power within us that would shine out, and that not the 
 Blackest Monday in the year could fairly darken. The 
 fault was ours. But when we got within the walls of Mill- 
 stone Hall, and went into the large boarded barn — the 
 detached school-room — and saw the long rows of inky desks 
 and the four seats of the four kings of terror, Mr. Pestle and 
 the three masters under him and over us, all became black 
 within us. The Latin master, a stout man whom I had 
 seen once flogging four boys abreast with a postiUion's whip, 
 and who was unmerciful in all his dealings, sat on a chair 
 near the little stove. Far away from his chair and the little 
 stove — made dangerous by his vicinity — cowered the dozen 
 boys who had arrived already, whispering together, furtively 
 showing alley marbles to each other, and sucking them to 
 bring out the full richness of their colour. M. Camille came 
 in coughing, after having helped to carry up our boxes to 
 the dormitory, and sat on a form near us, willing, I thought, 
 to talk to us, had he known how to win our confidence, but 
 we were altogether cowed. Then the bell rang for tea. 
 
 Happy were those who sat at tea-time so placed that their 
 doings would escape the Latin master's eye. We had not 
 yet seen Mr. Pestle. Our luxury, when we could secure 
 enjoyment of it undetected, was to manufacture muffins out 
 of bread-and-butter. We did it in this way : every boy had 
 a large mugful of hot milk-and-water on the board before 
 him, with two very thick slices of bread. One of these 
 slices being turned butter downwards over the mug was 
 pressed over the rim until a circle was cut out by it, and left 
 fast as a tight lid over the milk and water, sucking in all the 
 steam. When we had felt this circle to be warmed quite 
 through, it required some ingenuity to get it out of the 
 mouth of the mug without letting it fall into the sky-blue 
 lake below, where it would become instantly mere sop. If 
 
214 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 extricated carefully it came out thick, and round, and hot, 
 and was, in fact, a muffin. Any boy detected in the act of 
 making muffin of his bread-and-butter was reported to 
 Mr. Pestle, and received due punishment. Monsieur Camille, 
 however, we all knew, suffered muffin to be made under his 
 very nose at that part of the table over which he watched. 
 
 After tea we went back to the school-room, where we 
 waited gloomily to be called in one by one to undergo the 
 tortures of the small-tooth comb. I need not dwell upon 
 these incidents, but we went early to bed, still without 
 having seen Mr. Pestle himself, who had a party in his 
 parlour. When left to ourselves for the night, our tongues 
 were suddenly unloosed, and in ten minutes we had our 
 bolsters up, and were dancing about the floor in the heat of 
 a brisk engagement. 
 
 Suddenly the door opened, and the jolly face of Mr. 
 Pestle, with the pale fat face of the Latin master, were pre- 
 sented to us. "All stand as you are!" cried a voice before 
 which we shrank. " You will now, Mr. Wilkins, take down 
 the name of every boy who is not in his bed, and give me 
 the list to-morrow morning ; each boy upon that list will 
 receive a caning." I was upon the list, for I was standing, 
 like a Hercules in night-clothes, with my bolster uplifted 
 over the prostrate Buttons, when we were all bidden not to 
 move another inch. So that Black Monday ended. If 
 Black Mondays in the present day are not maintained with 
 the same strictness of discipline, the next generation of men, 
 I fear, will not resemble those who were turned out into the 
 world after being duly bruised under the Pestles of more 
 Spartan times. The decay of virtue may in that case 
 shortly be expected. 
 
SOMETHING THAT SHAKESPEARE 
 LOST. 
 
 BeinCx treasurer and secretary to a country book-club, I 
 have imposed it as a duty upon myself to read the criticisms 
 on new books in a variety of journals, and to collect from 
 all some notion of the merits of the publications of the day, 
 by which I may be enabled to suggest convenient pur- 
 chases. My way is to give equal weight to every opinion, 
 and then think for myself with the majority. The other 
 evening — when I had been reading up the views taken in a 
 great number of critical notices of the same eight or ten 
 last-published works — I fell upon a consideration of the 
 times in which we live, and of the great disadvantage under 
 which among our forefathers both writers and readers lay, 
 when the appeal made by every book was straight home 
 from the writer to the reader, and there were no journals to 
 advise a reader what to think about the works he read, or to 
 instruct a writer, as he w^ent along, by pointing out to him 
 his merits and his faults. Only let us think, for example, 
 of what Shakespeare lost, in this way. Ben Jonson might 
 review him favourably in the Oracle of Apollo; but such 
 reviewing was mere after-supper talk. Had the Oracle of 
 Apollo been a literary journal or a newspaper, opinions 
 expressed in it might indeed have been of inestimable 
 service. 
 
 Let us shut our ears for a few minutes to rare Ben's 
 notions of sweet Will, and suppose that, instead of being 
 subject to mere play-house and pot-house comments, 
 
2i6 Papers from ^^ Household Words'". 
 
 Shakespeare's Hamlet^ — which, for argument's sake, we will 
 suppose to be a first work — has been distributed with leaves 
 uncut among the critics. 
 
 The poet's housekeeper collects for him, while he is out 
 of town, the reviews that appear during his absence ; and at 
 the end of a few weeks, when he has come home, he takes 
 them in his lap one evening after dinner, and, nestling snugly 
 in his easy chair, is instructed. 
 
 Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. A Tragedy. By William 
 Shakespeare. Heart, Soul, and Co. 
 It was the deliberate and characteristic opinion of the 
 economist Malthus, that those early incursions into Britain 
 of the " warlike Dane", whose piratical flag Charlemagne 
 had Avept to behold upon the translucent waters of the 
 Mediterranean, were to be ascribed to continued over- 
 population; the rigidly enforced law of primogeniture offers, 
 however, a more feasible solution of the interesting and im- 
 portant problem. The country situated between the 
 channel of the Skager-rack, the Elbe, the North Sea, and 
 the Kattegat, though the breadth of the isthmus of Sleswig 
 does not at one part materially exceed thirty miles, has 
 always been peculiarly interesting to the inhabitants of Britain. 
 Even more interesting to us is the land of wonders subject 
 to the Dane upon which the pirate Naddod was cast a 
 thousand years ago, w^iich the adventurous Gardar Swar- 
 farson circumnavigated, and whither, as our readers are, of 
 course, perfectly aware, Floki went with the intention of 
 settling. We cannot help thinking that the author of this 
 tragedy when he chose Denmark as a scene of action inter- 
 esting to the reader in this country, might have succeeded 
 better in his purpose had he looked to Iceland for a back- 
 ground to his plot. Upon this point, however, we must 
 allow him to be, perhaps, upon his own behalf the. better 
 judge, and since the tragedy is to be called that of Hamlet^ 
 
SoineiJii7ig that S J takes p care Lost. 217 
 
 Prince of Denmark, we will make no further comment on 
 this head. 
 
 The plot of Mr. Shakespeare's tragedy, though, on the 
 whole, well constructed, is exceedingly involved, and it is 
 made more difficult to follow by the circumstance that two 
 of the principal characters are mad, a third is fooHsh, and a 
 fourth is a ghost. This is a most talkative ghost ; the ghost, 
 indeed, of Hamlet's father, who is addressed by his son as a 
 "truepenny", an "old mole", and "a perturbed spirit". The 
 great compHcation of the plot seems, however, to arise out 
 of the introduction of a King of Denmark, who is a 
 fratricide; and, as Hamlet himself is made by the author 
 most truly to say, "a king of shreds and patches". He is 
 called also elsewhere, a "paddock", a "bat", and a "gib"l 
 By the omission of this character of King Claudius the plot 
 would be greatly simplified and the interest of the play 
 would be more strictly centred upon Hamlet. If the work 
 should ever be reprinted (and it certainly has merits which 
 warrant a belief that it may deserve the honours of a second 
 edition), we trust that Mr. Shakespeare will consider it worth 
 while to effect this slight alteration. He would thus obtain 
 space for exhibiting his hero from an interesting point of 
 view, which he has in the most unaccountable manner 
 wholly overlooked. 
 
 His Hamlet is a German student. When the play opens 
 he had come home for the long vacation from the University 
 of Wittenberg, and is on the point of returning thither; but 
 the king, having observed, in the somewhat affected language 
 which our poet usually adopts when he is not vulgar, that — 
 
 " For your intent 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
 It is most retrograde to our desire," 
 
 he stays in Denmark, and we lose the fine, ^esthetical 
 development which, by a shifting of the action between 
 I P 
 
2 1 8 Papers from ''Household Words". 
 
 Wittenberg and Elsinore, would bring us into contact with 
 the German Universities of the year 500 a.d. It is that 
 year which we find, from internal evidence, to be the period 
 illustrated. 
 
 We have taken some exception against Mr. Shakespeare's 
 diction, and it is a point to which we must direct his close 
 attention. He is a writer who, if not as a dramatist, yet in 
 some other walk of art, may hope to achieve something, for 
 he is not destitute of imagination ; but we predict for him 
 certain failure if his language be not better chosen than we 
 find it in the tragedy of Hamlet. There remains much to 
 be learnt by an author in whose play a king, having buried 
 a slain courtier in haste, and reflecting that he had been 
 unwise in not having given him distinguished public 
 obsequies, expresses this reflection in such words as these, 
 solemnly uttered : — 
 
 "We have done but greenly, 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him." 
 
 But it is now just that these friendly strictures should be 
 balanced by some passages in which the poet shall commend 
 himself to the attention of our readers. This, except two 
 words which we italicise as illustrating the defect in Mr. 
 Shakespeare's style, is extremely fine. Hamlet is speak- 
 ing:— 
 
 " Larded with many several sorts of reasons. 
 Importing Denmark's health and England's too, 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, — 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, — 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
 My head should be struck off. 
 Hor. Is't possible?" 
 
 This, too — though somewhat obscure, and injured in 
 effect by the accustomed fault of diction — is a noble 
 thought: — 
 
 1 
 
Something that Shakespeare Lost. 219 
 
 "A dull and muddy-pated rascal, peak, 
 Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 
 Upon whose property and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made." 
 
 We lay this work down — immature as it is — not without 
 expression of the pleasure we have had in its perusal. If 
 we have appeared to dwell upon its faults, we have done so 
 because we believe Mr. Shakespeare competent to under- 
 stand them, and still, with a promising career before him, 
 young enough to succeed in their correction. The tragedy 
 is one that will repay perusal. 
 
 The next paper is taken up, and the great Swan of Avon 
 finds himself afloat upon a very sunny stream. 
 
 Hamlet^ Prince of Denmark. A Tragedy. By William 
 Shakespeare. Heart, Soul, and Co. 
 The public will feel under obligation to the Messrs. Heart 
 and Soul for the liberal form in which they have presented 
 this delightful work. Hamlet is one of the most elegant 
 and charming dramas published of late years, and establishes 
 at once the credit of its young author. The plot is simply 
 told. Claudius, King of Denmark, wears the crown of a 
 brother whom he has poisoned, and has married also his 
 brother's wife within a month or two of the murder. Hamlet, 
 Prince of Denmark — son of the poisoned king, returned 
 from the excellent school at which he had been placed by a 
 wise father, at Wittenberg, to follow that beloved parent to 
 the grave — is scandalised at his mother's promptly succeed- 
 ing marriage with his uncle, and his dissatisfaction is 
 heightened by a communication made to him by his father's 
 ghost — strikingly depicted, and always vanisfiing at cock- 
 crow — who informs him of the crime by which his dissolu- 
 tion was effected. Unaccustomed to spirits, Hamlet becomes 
 light-headed, and is still further troubled by the refusal of 
 
 p 2 
 
220 Papers from ^^HoiiseJiold Words'. 
 
 Ophelia — whose character is nobly painted — to see him 
 again ; her father Polonius — an able sketch — as well as her 
 brother Laertes^a beautiful depiction — having told her that 
 attentions from a young prince could only be improper. In 
 this state of affairs Prince Hamlet, who leads his friend 
 Horatio — a noble development — to believe that he is 
 assuming the cloak of madness for a purpose, walks about 
 the palace, talking in a most interesting and amusing way, 
 and thus furnishing that comic element which is so essential 
 to the popularity of a great and imposing play. Nothing 
 will please Hamlet but that he must have a play acted in 
 the palace, representing before the eyes of Claudius and his 
 mother a forcible delineation (under the guise of an ingenious 
 fable actually at the time in print, and relating to quite other 
 persons) of the harm they have done to his dead father and 
 his memory. Much agitation is the result, and in a magni- 
 ficent scene Hamlet afterwards scolds his mother in her 
 bedroom, and kills the father of his Ophelia, w^hom he 
 mistakes for a rat, Ophelia goes mad upon this, and Hamlet 
 is despatched in a ship to England, given in charge to two 
 young men, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern — whose charac- 
 ters are magnificently portrayed — with sealed orders for his 
 decapitation by the British. Hamlet opening the seal 
 privily, sees the orders and changes them to an order for the 
 execution of the bearers, who, as the reader will perceive, 
 are no other than Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, thus shift- 
 ing, we will not say a burden, but the relief of a burden, 
 from his own shoulders to theirs. Hamlet escapes among 
 pirates, who attack the vessel, and returns to court, where 
 he arrives in time to find that Ophelia has been drowned by 
 accidental tumbling into a pond from an overhanging willow- 
 tree, which she had swarmed for the purpose of suspending 
 garlands on the top of it. Happening to enter the church- 
 yard at the time of Ophelia's burial, Hamlet has an interest- 
 ing scuffle with Laertes in her grave, which is portrayed by 
 
S 01 net J ling that Shakespeare Lost. 221 
 
 the poet in his most pathetic manner. King Claudius then 
 bets that Hamlet cannot fight Laertes with foils, and having 
 prevailed upon Laertes to fight with a poisoned foil, and 
 having prepared also for Hamlet a cup of poison as refresh- 
 ment during the heat of the exercise, a complication ensues 
 which results in the poisoning of all the leading parties to 
 the drama. Nothing can exceed the lightness of the touch 
 with which this interesting tale is told ; and, thrilling as the 
 pathos is, sublime as its terror is, imposing as its grandeur 
 is, beautiful as are its love-passages, uproarious as is the 
 mirth it now and then awakens, we believe that, great, in 
 fine, as the whole tragedy is, it is but the beginning of its 
 author's greatness. 
 
 Now, only think how Shakespeare would have been 
 rejoiced by liberal appreciation of that sort ! 
 
 Better and better. The next paper laid by for Shake- 
 speare by his housekeeper, blazons him as "the new poet", 
 and claims to have discovered him as such. Its notice is 
 long, and full of extracts. I suggest only a few portions of 
 the criticism. 
 
 " Observe again," it says, " the amazing subtlety of the 
 first address of Horatio to Hamlet, when they for the first 
 time meet after the night of the ghostly revelations. ' Hail 
 to your lordship !' says Horatio. Heretofore you have been 
 a prince fostered by sunny weather ; now your sky is clouded, 
 and there shall fall upon you, not soft rain, but the pitiless 
 and pelting hail; this shall come not to you, but to your 
 lordship, for it is'as a prince, with vengeance to be done 
 upon a king, that you shall feel the biting chill of your posi- 
 tion. ' Hail to your lordship !' The storm must come. 
 Horatio wishes it. The ghost wishes it. The Inevitable 
 wishes it. In this line we have the key-note of the entire 
 drama. Hamlet's Ich accepts his mission, but his Nicht 
 Ich shudders at it. The play is a tragical development upon 
 
222 Papers from ''HoiiseJiold Words'. 
 
 a philosophical basis of the struggle always going on between 
 the Ich and the NicJit Ich in the human soul. 
 
 "Again, what is there in the whole range of literature 
 finer than the reply of Hamlet to Ophelia's question as to the 
 dumb-show preluding the mock-play : ' What means this, my 
 lord ?' ' Marry,' he answers, ' Marry, it is miching mallecho/ 
 He had before said to her, ' Go to a nunnery, go' ; but that 
 was in an antecedent state of the development of his Life 
 Drama : now he says ' Marry,' and the word ' because' is next 
 understood — for here there is an aposiopesis — ' Marry 
 (because) this is miching mallecho.' Here we are so much 
 lost in admiration of the sentiment, that the perfection 
 of the chain of reasoning in the first instance escapes ordi- 
 nary observation : nevertheless, it is well worthy of careful 
 study." 
 
 But since by these songs of triumph the poet might be 
 led to forget that he is fallible and human, it is well that 
 there is here and there a critic ready to keep undue exalta- 
 tion of the mind in check. I think it likely that in the next 
 notice our bard would take up he might find himself sum- 
 marily dismissed in this fashion : 
 
 Hamlet. A Tragedy. By William Shakespeare. 
 
 The author of this ill-written play is one of the many 
 instances of young men, with good average parts, who have 
 totally mistaken their vocation. Hamlet is a melodrama of 
 the worst school. Let it suffice to say that of the dozen 
 characters it contains, exclusive of the supernumeraries, eight 
 are killed by sword, drowning, or poison, during the course 
 of the piece ; and one appears as a ghost because he was 
 killed before the play began ; killed, too, as it must 
 needs be, so horribly that, as his ghost does not forget to 
 describe — 
 
Something that Shakespeare Lost. 223 
 
 " A most instant tetter bark'd about, 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust, 
 All my smooth body." 
 
 There remain only three persons alive, two of whom are 
 insignificant courtiers, and the third has only been per- 
 suaded to postpone an act of suicide that he may remain 
 aUve for a time to act as a showman of the dead bodies of 
 the other dramatis personce I " Give order," he says — 
 
 " Give order that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view ; 
 And let me speak." 
 
 Beat the drum, Mr. Merryman ! Walk up, ladies and 
 gentlemen ! To ^r. Shakespeare's Hamlet we believe the 
 public would not often be persuaded to walk up, even were 
 it performed on the only stage for which it is in any degree 
 fitted — that of a booth at Greenwich Fair. 
 
 I have represented, and no doubt exaggerated, certain 
 ways of criticism ; there are other ways, and much better 
 ways, in use. The sort of reviewing I have illustrated, is 
 the sort I like ; and what I feel that Shakespeare missed no 
 Httle in losing. 
 
LANNA TIXEL. 
 
 Under a stiff hollybush cut like a dragon, the chief glory 
 in the garden of her father the Burgomaster, little Lanna 
 Tixel lay with her face to the grass, sobbing and quivering. 
 Ten minutes ago she had passed silently out of her father's 
 sick-chamber with a white face and eyes large with terror ; 
 she had fled through the great still house into the garden, 
 and fallen down under the dragon to give way to an agony 
 of something more than childish grief. Poor little Lanna ! 
 Sheltered by the prickly wings of that old garden monster, 
 she had wept many a time for the loss of a pale, blue-eyed 
 mother, who had gone from her to be one of the stars ; but 
 that was a grief full of love and tenderness, that led to 
 yearnings heavenward. She lay then grieving with her 
 tearful eyes fixed on the blue sky, watching the clouds or 
 wondering which of the first stars of evening might be the 
 bright soul of her saint. Now she had her face pressed 
 down into the earth — her father was on his death-bed ; 
 but there was something wilder in her agony than childish 
 sorrow. In the twilight the green dragon seemed to hang 
 like a real fiend over the plump little child that had been 
 thrown to it, and that lay cowering within reach of its jaws. 
 So perhaps thought the sallow-faced Hans Dank, the 
 leanest man in the Low Countries, and yet no skeleton ', 
 who, after a time, had followed the child down from the 
 sick-chamber, and stood gravely by, lending his ear to her 
 distress. Lie might have thought so, though he was by no 
 means imaginative, for he had facts in his head that could 
 
Lauiia Tixcl. 225 
 
 have, by themselves, suggested such a notion. " Lanna !" 
 said Steward Dank, as quietly as though he was but caUing 
 her to dinner. "Lanna!" She heard nothing. "Your 
 father asks for you." She rose at once, with a fierce 
 shudder, and Mr. Dank led her indoors by the hand. 
 
 Burgomaster Tixel was the richest and most friendless 
 man in Amsterdam. He loved only two things, his money 
 arid his daughter, and he loved both in a wretched, com- 
 fortless, and miserably jealous way. He was ignorant and 
 superstitious, as most people were in his time — two or three 
 centuries ago. If he could live to-day, and act as he used 
 to act, he would be very properly confined in Bedlam. 
 
 He lay very near death in a large room, gloomy with the 
 shadows of evening, and hung with heavy tapestries. Mr. 
 Dank led Lanna to his side. "You will conquer your fear, 
 darling," said the Burgomaster, with a rattle in his harsh 
 voice. " If you have loved me I prepare for you a pleasure. 
 If you have not loved me, if my memory is never to be dear 
 to you — be punished." 
 
 " O father !" 
 
 " You are too young to think — but twelve years old — it 
 is my place to think for you, and Dank will care for you 
 when I am gone, because, dear, it is made his interest to do 
 so. When you know the worth of your inheritance you 
 will not speak as you have spoken. You are a child. What 
 do you know ?" 
 
 "She knows," said Mr. Dank, in a dry, matter-of-fact way, 
 *'the value of a father's blessing." 
 
 "True," said the Burgomaster, glaring at the child; the 
 signal lights of the great rock of death on which he was fast 
 breaking to pieces glittered in his eyes. "True, Lanna. 
 Your obedience is the price of my last blessing." 
 
 " I will obey you," she said, and he blessed her. Then 
 the little girl fell in a great agony of fear, over his hand, 
 crying, " O father, I should like to die with you !" 
 
226 Papers from ^^ Household Words''. 
 
 "That is well, darling,'" said the Burgomaster. "Those 
 are tender words." 
 
 He made her nestle on the bed beside him, and then 
 put an arm about her : pressing her against his breast. 
 " Now," said he, "let the priests come in!" and the last 
 rites of the Church were celebrated over the Burgomaster, 
 while his little daughter remained thus imprisoned. And 
 the dead arm of the Burgomaster, when his miserly and 
 miserable soul was fled, still pressed the little girl to his 
 dead heart. 
 
 Eight years after the death in Amsterdam of Burgomaster 
 Tixel there was born at Bhckford, in Devonshire, the first 
 and last child of Hodge Noddison, a tiller of the soil, with 
 a large body, a hard hand, and a heart to match it. He 
 was not naturally a bad fellow, but he was intensely stupid 
 (as hand-labourers in those days usually were) for want of 
 teaching ; and so through sheer stupidity he was made 
 callous, obstinate, and cruel. He beat his wife every day 
 more or less ; amused himself on holidays with brutal 
 sports, and very much preferred strong drinks to the coarse 
 bread then eaten by the poorer classes in this country. 
 Noddison had been twelve years married, and had only 
 recently been blessed with a child, solely in consequence of 
 the aid of some scrapings from the tooth of a crocodile, 
 mixed with a little hedgehog's fat, and eaten oft" a fig-leaf. 
 
 One May evening Hodge Noddison was rolling home by 
 the field-path from a rough drinking-party at the "Bull Inn" 
 near Blickford, when the fat ribs of the fattest man in 
 Devonshire came in his way, and he was not sober enough 
 to see reason why he should not pummel them. To work 
 he set with such drunken exasperation, that he belaboured 
 his victim too frantically to find out that he was driving, as 
 fast as he was able, the life out of the tyrannical Dutchman 
 whom he called master ; the dreadful old Dank, upon whom, 
 
Lanna Tixcl. 227 
 
 at that time, himself, his wife, and his first-born were 
 dependent for bread. The fat old foreigner roared, and 
 screamed, and bellowed with pain to such an excess, that 
 his cries flew over the blossoms of the blackthorn hedge 
 from the ditch in which he was lying, and reached the ears 
 of Mrs. Noddison. Out she flew, and found Dank, although 
 not seriously hurt, lying insensible behind the hedge. 
 Noddison's wife had time to discover what deed had been 
 done, and to take counsel with herself before law and 
 vengeance knocked at the door of their miserable shed. 
 
 They lived in a sort of grotto made by a rude heap of 
 stones piled together on the edge of a great moor. There 
 was a piece of muddy water close by, known to the Blickford 
 people as Nick's Pond, in which it was the custom of the 
 place to drown all the black kittens that were born, and 
 through which all the black cats of the parish had gone 
 down to perdition years ago. 
 
 Mrs. Noddison got her husband home with difficulty, and 
 commenced maturing her plans. It was quite evident that 
 he would not get any work again on the Dutch farm, and 
 she did not mind that, for the estate was not in good repute 
 among the neighbours ; it was also evident that he would 
 be required to go to jail if he could not escape the con- 
 stables. How should he do that, when he had his liquor 
 to sleep off, and was already snoring at full length on the 
 earthen floor ? Her good-man might be carted off to 
 safety : but she had no cart, and he was much too heavy to 
 be carried pick-a-back. There was no chimney up which 
 he might be thrust ; there was, of course, no cupboard ; for 
 indeed there was not so much as a second room in the fine 
 old cottage where they dwelt, all of the olden time. There 
 was the straw they slept upon ; but there was not enough 
 of that to cover him. Besides, if there had been chimneys, 
 cupboards, or whole waggon-loads of straw, how could 
 they conceal a man who snored so mightily ? 
 
228 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 Mistress Noddison, living in a lone place, had no near 
 neighbours to whom she might run for counsel ; great was 
 her joy, therefore, when Goody Fubs happened to come 
 in, late as it was, with a bit of frog's bile, which she had 
 promised and vowed as a godmother should be her present 
 to the baby. A most precious remedy against all mundane 
 ills. 
 
 " Do you think. Goody, it would put my husband out o' 
 harm ?" Mrs. Noddison added to her question an exceed- 
 ingly long narrative. Mrs. Fubs responded with long 
 maledictions on the Dutch; and wished to know what 
 right foreign wenches had eating up the corn in Devon- 
 shire. Mrs. Noddison didn't so much mind the wench; 
 she was a bit mad, to be sure; but if, as folk said, the 
 heretics were out in her own country, and the powers of 
 evil were let loose, and there were burnings, and quarter- 
 ings, and cannon roarings, perhaps she was no fool to have 
 come to Devonshire for peace and quiet. For herself, too, 
 she was free enough of money and pleasant enough. — 
 *'When she is not possessed," said Goody Fubs. The 
 gossips then proceeded to discuss how far the Evil One had 
 power over Lanna Tixel, who had a queer stare betimes 
 about the eyes, and wandered about unseemly and — Holy 
 Mary ! what was that ? 
 
 A white figure flitted, like a phantom, by the open door. 
 The two women looked out together. It was she of whom 
 they talked. It was Lanna. When the moon shone out 
 from among the flying clouds they recognised her hurrying 
 along like one pursued. 
 
 They came in and shut the door, and fastened it, and 
 shook their heads at one another. Goody Fubs presently, 
 drawing a long breath, hoped the Dutch witch might not 
 be off to meeting. She looked, said Mistress Noddison, as 
 if she had a mighty way to travel before midnight. A loud 
 knocking at the door aroused them, and its clumsy fasten- 
 
Lanna Tixcl. 229 
 
 ings were almost in the same instant Ijurst open. The 
 women overlooked Hodge altogether ; justice had not. No 
 lamentation hindering, he was at once bound wrist and 
 ankle and dragged, grunting like a pig, to jail. 
 
 On the same evening, but somewhat earlier, before the 
 night-clouds had begun to flock into the sky, a young 
 English soldier, captain of a regiment, had ridden from the 
 stables of the manor-house, leaving the squire, his father, 
 comfortably coiled under his own dinner-table, and had 
 galloped down the lane, between the hedges full of May- 
 blossom, to pay a visit to his neighbours of the Grange, 
 known commonly as the Dutch Farm. He saw from his 
 saddle over the hedge-top how Hodge Noddison was help- 
 ing his unsteady homeward walk by steering with his 
 cudgel. Moreover, he was not sorry presently to see the 
 portly frame of Mr. Dank, surmounted by his very saturnine 
 and ugly face, moving towards him, with his back turned 
 to the Grange. The soldier greeted Dutch Dank with un- 
 wonted cordiality as he rode by, whispering to himself, 
 " Lanna will be alone." 
 
 The Dutch Farm answered to its title ; Cuyp might have 
 painted scenes out of it. The Grange itself had a trim, 
 closely-shaven aspect ; and, on a wide smooth lawn that 
 stretched before the windows of the house, there were yew 
 and box trees cut into fantastic shapes of cocks and men, 
 and even fishes : one tree, a large hollybush, was being 
 clipped and trained into the form of a green dragon with 
 expanded wings. There were no fragrant flower-beds or 
 pleasant bowers ; there was nothing gayer than a clump of 
 Guelder roses and laburnums near an open window. 
 
 At the window Lanna sat and saw the soldier coming. 
 She was a girl of twenty, lovely as a girl can be who has a 
 colourless face. She had a great wealth of brown hair, and 
 had also large, blue, wondering eyes. She knew that she 
 
230 Papers from ''HouseJiold Words'". 
 
 looked well in a white dress, and she, in some odd, boding 
 way, expected Captain Arthur — the young soldier, in his 
 father's neighbourhood, went by his Christian name — she 
 was, therefore, dressed in white. 
 
 " Dear lady, you have never before looked so pale," he 
 said. 
 
 The captain's horse was soon tied by its bridle to the 
 holly-bush, and Lanna, hurrying out upon the lawn, ex- 
 pressed her regret that Mr. Dank was absent. Yet, since 
 she loved Captain Arthur — the first man who had taken 
 pains to win her heart — with all the ardour of a young girl 
 who is fatherless and motherless; who lives exposed to daily 
 check and chill; in whom a flood of repressed feeling has 
 for years been accumulating, she could not have regretted 
 much the absence of the watchful steward. Captain x\rthur 
 was no genius, as Lanna would have known had she been 
 ten years older, but he was in a passion of what they call 
 love, with Lanna. And he had persisted in it, notwithstand- 
 ing much that he had heard. He did not care if it were 
 true, as the old squire swore, indignantly, that she bewitched 
 him with her glances. To say that of a young lady is now 
 a very pretty album-phrase. Then it conveyed coarser im- 
 putations than can decently be specified. Lanna, holy as 
 an angel in her maiden's heart, guessed her friend's love, 
 and wished to hear it spoken. 
 
 Captain Arthur did not disappoint her wishes. He spoke 
 boldly out. When he would have placed the trembling girl 
 upon a bench erected close under the clump of Guelder 
 roses, she looked at him, and said, with a quivering face that 
 would not lend itself to an attempt at smiles, "Let us sit 
 under the dragon." So they did sit under the dragon; and 
 there the captain made an end of speaking, and left off so 
 confident of her answer, that, while she remained fixed as 
 the statue of a listener, he must needs turn from the main 
 theme to ask her why her humour favoured that extremely 
 
LiDuia Tixel. 231 
 
 ugly hollybush, and why she must pronounce his sentence 
 under such a canopy. Lanna broke out into a wild fit of 
 sobbing; Captain Arthur comforted her clumsily; but 
 suddenly she became calm. 
 
 *'Here", she said, "is best; I shall talk to this dragon 
 when you are gone. We had such a dragon that knew my 
 secrets at home. If you would know my secrets, this is a 
 good tree for you to be under. Here is your horse close 
 by within reach. Should the wish suddenly seize you 
 to leave me alone and forlorn, you have but to mount 
 and fly." 
 
 The captain moved restlessly; did she mean to confirm 
 the worst suspicions of the parish before answering his 
 question? "I have no right to say what I would say to 
 you," he began, "but there is an odd question I would if I 
 dared — " He stopped suddenly — the stars of evening were 
 coming out, and Lanna looked up at them. 
 
 "Help me, mother!" she cried; and Captain Arthur, 
 running his thoughts on in the old groove, remarked that 
 she demanded help of mother somebody, and (a suspicious 
 fact) did not cry, "Help me, God!" 
 
 "I cannot let my heart loose, or answer you any question 
 that takes so much hesitation to ask," Lanna said, "until 
 you know the terrible condition by which torment is pre- 
 pared for any man who marries me." 
 
 The captain shrank from her side, and looked up with a 
 shudder at the wings of the green dragon under which they 
 sat enshadowed. 
 
 "There is a doom upon me," Lanna murmured; "and it 
 is I, now, who am waiting to be sentenced." 
 
 The captain had risen, and was stroking nervously his 
 horse's mane. 
 
 "Yet it is no great thing," Lanna continued, "that it 
 should so much affright me. You are a man, and perhaps 
 may laugh at it, and teach me to laugh at it with you." 
 
232 Papers from ^PioiiseJiold Words'. 
 
 Still she spoke in a reckless, hopeless way, and Captain 
 Arthur was more shocked than he had been before." 
 
 " Leave your horse but for one minute," Lanna said, 
 "and come into the house." 
 
 The captain wavered for a little while; but there was yet 
 love — or his sort of love — manfully wrestling in his heart 
 with superstition. He followed Lanna through the rambling 
 passages of the great house, ht dimly by the twilight out of 
 doors. With a key taken from her girdle she opened way 
 for him into a room, over the floor of which he walked some 
 steps and instantly turned back in affright, and meeting her 
 on the threshold, with uplifted hands and an imploring 
 face, he pushed her from him with a heavy hand, mounted 
 his horse and galloped away. She reeled ; but the blow 
 gave no pain to her flesh. It seemed to her that but an 
 instant passed before she heard the rapid gallop of his horse. 
 The first impulse she obeyed was absurd ; she followed him. 
 If she had told her story more methodically it could never 
 have affected him so much, although it would no doubt 
 have ended in his quitting her. She must explain all, or 
 what would he think? But Captain Arthur galloped as 
 though he were pursued by somebody not quite so innocent 
 as Lanna Tixel. A few minutes of running through cool 
 evening air checked that first impulse. 
 
 Then she sat dov.'n under the blossoms of a MayLliorn 
 hedge, picking mdustriously at its leaves ; and so she sat in 
 a long reverie, till the moon rose, and she heard groans of 
 which she had not earlier been conscious. At the same 
 time she saw, behind the opposite hedge, a face covered 
 with blood, which she took to be a dead face. It was the 
 living face of Mr. Dank, who had returned to sense after 
 his thrashing. She could not go home to rest. Terrified 
 and vexed in spirit, she fled, looking like a shrouded corpse 
 herself, towards the moor, and then it was that she inter- 
 rupted the gossips' learned conversation. 
 
Lajina Tixcl. 233 
 
 "And how does the frog's bile act?" asked Mrs. Nod- 
 dison. "That," said Goody Fubs, "I quite forgot to ask; 
 I had it from a gossip who is dead. No doubt it must be 
 eaten." Mrs. Noddison was not at all comfortless over the 
 departure of her husband. Free, he would earn nothing, 
 after his last evening's work. He might as well therefore 
 be fed in jail. Her skin, too, would be the sounder for a 
 rest. The baby was just one of those puny squalid things 
 that used to perish by thousands in the habitations of a 
 fine old English peasantry, all of the olden time. Mrs. 
 Noddison was full of mother's care about it. Goody Fubs 
 was full of neighbourly advice, and very eloquent upon the 
 subject of her nostrum, a black fetid mess containing 
 nobody knows what. 
 
 While the two gossips talked, the flying clouds let fall a 
 flying shower. Lanna was still on the moor, and the sudden 
 rain recalled her to a sense of her position. She was out, 
 she recollected, at a strange hour. It must be at the earliest 
 ten o'clock, an hour later than bed-time. Lanna turned 
 homewards, though there was no place so terrible to her as 
 home. 
 
 "Well, then, if you will hold the child/' said Goody Fubs 
 to Mistress Noddison, " Fll give it the remedy, and then it 
 never shall know harm again in this world." "Amen, 
 Goody, and thank you." When the child felt the frog's 
 bile in its throat it began to scream mightily and choke, but 
 the stuff nevertheless was swallowed. At that instant, as 
 Goody stated afterwards, the rain suddenly ceased to patter 
 on the shingles. The child screamed more and more. It 
 went into convulsions. The hut door had been left open, 
 and indeed almost broken to pieces by the constables. A 
 white figure glided by. " Ave Maria !" groaned old Goody 
 Fubs, not to be heard through the screaming of the child, 
 "there's Lanna Tixel !" The child's face was black. The 
 fierceness of the screaming caused Lanna to turn back, and 
 I Q 
 
234 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 stand irresolutely in the doorway, ready to enter and bring 
 help if she were able. Goody Fubs made a great cross 
 with her fingers over her own wrinkled forehead, and then 
 flew at the delicate face of Lanna with her fists. Lanna 
 fled again, followed by loud shrieks from Mrs. Noddison ; 
 the child's voice was gone, it lay dumb in a death-struggle. 
 
 "O the bile !" moaned Mrs. Noddison, 
 
 "The witch !" groaned Goody Fubs. 
 
 The two or three domestics living in the Grange were in 
 attendance on the barber surgeon, busy, Lanna found, with 
 Mr. Dank, who had been waylaid and beaten. She knew 
 then that it was no ghost she had seen, and, pitying his con- 
 dition, though he was no friend to her, she tended by the 
 steward's bedside half the night through, after she had paid 
 a visit to her secret chamber. His bruises were not serious, 
 the cut upon his head had been bound up, he had been 
 comfortably shaved, had been bled in the arm, and had 
 received an emetic. His case therefore promised well, and 
 towards morning the surgeon left him quietly asleep, and 
 recommended Lanna to retire, at the same time suggesting 
 that she should bathe her swollen nose with vinegar, and 
 take a powder, for she seemed to have had a very ugly 
 fall. 
 
 Lanna slept heavily for a great many hours, and in the 
 morning found that Mr. Dank, though very much weakened, 
 was not confined to his bed : he was up and out, gone to 
 encounter Noddison in a formal and judicial way before 
 the Squire and his brother justices. Lanna, with aching 
 heart and throbbing nose, and a wide border of black round 
 one of her blue eyes, endeavoured to go through her usual 
 routine of duties. In the course of the day they took her 
 into Blickford. 
 
 Two little boys at play in a ditch about a quarter of a 
 mile out of the village leapt up when they saw her coming, 
 
Laujia Tixcl. 235 
 
 and scampered on before as fast as they were able, shouting 
 her name aloud. They had been put there as scouts or 
 look-out men, and had beguiled their time while on their 
 post with pitch-and-toss. Lanna understood nothing of 
 that, and could not at all tell what it meant, when a turn 
 in the road brought her in sight of the first houses in 
 Blickford, and she saw the whole village turning out with 
 brooms to meet her. Goody Fubs advancing as the village 
 champion, struck the poor orphan with her broom, and then 
 throwing away the weapon, grappled with her. Men threw 
 stones at her, women pressed round, grappled together and 
 fought for the privilege of pinching her or pulling at the 
 rich locks of brown hair that Goody their leader had set 
 floating. 
 
 "Nick's Pond!" was the cry. The young foreignwitch 
 must be tried by water — innocent if she drowned, and guilty 
 if she swam. In a wild and terrible procession of the whole 
 population of the village, with the children screaming and 
 dancing joyously about in the excitement of a witch- 
 ducking, Lanna was dragged to the moor, where Mistress 
 Noddison flew from her cottage as a tigress from her 
 lair, and tore the flesh and garments of the witch, 
 and showed her the dead child. Mounted constables 
 were hurrying in the direction of the riot, but they only 
 came in time to drag the wretched girl out of the pond into 
 which she was thrust, and they came not to protect but to 
 arrest her. There was fresh evidence, some of the men 
 hinted to the villagers, and a most aggravated case against 
 her. She was therefore carried to the round-house, and 
 spent the next thirty hours, half suffocated, and locked up 
 with very filthy people. 
 
 Then she was brought out on one of the last and finest 
 days of the merry month of JNIay, and taken into the pre- 
 sence of the justices, with Squire Caufe at their head, who 
 had long been of opinion that she had bewitched his son 
 
 Q 2 
 
236 Papers from ''Hojisehold Words". 
 
 by wicked arts, and now was sure of it. The case was then 
 gone into. 
 
 It was shown that on a certain evening Hodge Noddison 
 maltreated the companion of the accused, a foreigner named 
 Hans Dank, who it was now ascertained had secretly made 
 his escape out of the neighbourhood, and had gone no one 
 could find out whither. It was presumed that she received 
 instant information, from some imp, of the deed that Noddi- 
 son had done, for she was out in the direction of Noddison's 
 house before any human tidings could have reached her. It 
 was proved that Noddison was cast into a deadly lethargy, 
 during which the witch was seen flitting about upon the 
 moor before his door, and that immediately after she had 
 vanished Noddison was taken by the constables. It 
 was proved that in further punishment of Noddison, the 
 accused Lanna Tixel did by her arts throw his only child 
 into violent convulsions, during which she again appeared 
 at the door and gazed in upon the child with her large blue 
 eyes, immediately after the infliction of which gaze it died. 
 It was shown, also, that the rain ceased when she appeared, 
 and that Goody Fubs lost a young porker, and suffered 
 more than usually from her rheumatism on the day that she 
 assisted at the ducking of the wicked woman. 
 
 These revelations were not necessary to induce Captain 
 Arthur to appear against the siren who had practised on him 
 with her arts. He proved that when he had been drawn by 
 her devices — especially, he thought, by her large eyes — to 
 declare love towards her, she believing that she had him in 
 her toils, confessed to him in plain words that she had a 
 familiar in the shape of a dragon or a hollybush with which 
 she often talked, and that it was acquainted with her secrets. 
 The dragon on the lawn was, therefore, part of her enchant- 
 ment, and it was natural to consider that the strange figures 
 of cocks and fishes to be seen on the Dutch farm, though 
 they looked like box, and yew, and holly trees, must be 
 
Lanna Tixd. 237 
 
 really and truly demons. The captain further proved, that 
 being in some trouble and sobbing, the witch called for help 
 upon a certain Mother Somebody — he did not catch the 
 name — because she, the said witch, sobbed while she was 
 Si^eaking. 
 
 In answer to a question from the bench, he said that it 
 was not "Mother of God". "She further", he said, "ven- 
 tured so far as to tell me that I was to marry upon the 
 condition of suffering eternal torment." (Here a thrill ran 
 through the whole assembly.) "She told me that she her- 
 self was doomed, but that was a light matter, and that we 
 might laugh at it together." 
 
 During this revelation Lanna fainted. She showed no 
 traces of her former beauty, for no change of dress or means 
 of cleanliness had been provided for her since she was taken 
 from the filthy pond, and she appeared to have caught some 
 kind of fever in the round-house. When she recovered she 
 was compelled to stand up that her face might be seen 
 during the rest of the examination. Her house had been 
 searched. A white object was brought through a lane made 
 in the shuddering crowd, and suddenly presented before 
 Lanna. She was seized with violent hysterics. It was the 
 waxen image of a corpse robed in its graveclothes : an exact 
 effigy of the dead body of her father. 
 
 "She took me to a room," said Captain Arthur, "in which 
 lay this image. I thought it had been taken from the grave, 
 and felt at once that she was one of the worst kind of witches. 
 I see now that it is made of wax." 
 
 While Lanna remained still insensible a learned priest 
 stood forward, and gave evidence that the use of these 
 waxen images by witches was well known. They were the 
 figures of men to whom they wished evil. The witches 
 moulded them and caused them to waste slowly, and as the 
 wax wasted, so wasted the victim's flesh. They also 
 pricked and stabbed them, and when they did so the true 
 
238 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 flesh felt every hurt that was inflicted. This was un- 
 doubtedly the image of some person whom the witch Tixel 
 had killed by her enchantments. 
 
 The learned justices then waited until Lanna was so far 
 recovered that she could be made to speak; pains being 
 taken to expedite her recollection of herself by means not 
 altogether free from cruelty. She said, however, very little. 
 There was no escape for her, she said, and she desired none. 
 She had lived too long. But she wished Captain Arthur to 
 reflect upon the words she had used, and hear now, if he 
 would, the story she designed to tell him. 
 
 She was ordered to address the court, and did so. Captain 
 Arthur being present. "That image was the doom I spoke 
 of. It is the image of my father as he lay dead when, if I 
 might, I would have died with him. He was superstitious, 
 as you all are who accuse me here to-day of witchcraft. He 
 was jealous of my love, and wished to be remembered by 
 me daily when I had his wealth. I would have rejected 
 that, for his desire was horrible to me. But next, on the 
 peril of losing his blessing, I was made to promise that, 
 wherever I lived, I would preserve the effigy of my dead 
 father, every day eat my dinner in its presence, and every 
 night kiss it before I went to rest. I was a child then, 
 and a terror seized me which I never have been able to 
 shake off. I have not dared to disobey. Hans Dank was 
 my father's steward, who was privy to it all, and who was 
 made by will my guardian and inquisitor. Let him prove 
 that I speak truth in this. There is one thing more which 
 concerns me little now. My father thought that while the 
 image of his body lasted, the body itself would remain 
 whole in the tomb, awaiting mine that was to be placed 
 beside it. Then our dust was to mingle. He was a super- 
 stitious man, as you are superstitious men. I shall be burnt; 
 you will defeat his wishes. That is the truth which I wish 
 Captain Arthur now to hear. INIy mother died when I was 
 
Lanna Tixcl. 239 
 
 four years old. I am friendless; and there is no one but 
 the man who offered me his love for whose sake I care 
 whether or not I die disgraced." 
 
 The squire was very wroth at these allusions to his son, 
 and said, when she had made an end of speaking, "Witch, 
 you know truly what will be your end. If your accomplice 
 were indeed here, he could not save you, but you can have 
 no support from him, because, knowing his guilt, he fled 
 when he first heard that these proceedings would be taken. 
 For your tale, by which you artfully endeavour to mislead 
 my son, it cannot serve you. It touches in nothing what 
 has been proved against you in the case of the Noddisons, 
 your victims. With what mysterious designs you caused 
 this dreadful image to be made, and kept it secretly within 
 your house, we cannot tell, nor does it concern us very 
 much to know. The meaning of the image we know well, 
 and we know also," said the squire, with a malicious grin, 
 "to what good use it can be put. Truly, it will be a fine 
 thing to save faggots in the burning of a witch so worth- 
 less." 
 
 And the law took its course, and solemn trial led in due 
 nme to solemn sentence, and Lanna Tixel, with the fatal 
 waxen effigy bound in her arms, was made the core of a 
 great holiday bonfire, which enlivened the inhabitants of 
 Blickford. When the wax caught the blaze made even 
 babies in their mothers' arms crow out and clap their hands 
 with pleasure. 
 
 A brilliant ending to this very pleasant story of the good 
 old times ! They are quite gone, and never will come 
 back again. And so, nothing is left for us to do but to 
 regret their memory, we puny men, we miserable shams. 
 
APOTHECARIES 
 
 About one hundred and fifty years ago, talking like an 
 apothecary was a proverbial phrase for talking nonsense ; 
 and our early dramatists, when they produced an apothe- 
 cary on the stage, always presented him as a garrulous and 
 foolish man. It was in what may be called the middle 
 period of the history of the apothecary's calling in this 
 country that it had thus fallen into grave contempt. At 
 first it was honoured, and it is now, at last, honoured 
 again. At first there were a few of the fraternity. Dr. 
 Friend mentions a time when there was only one apothe- 
 cary in all London. Now, there are in England and Wales 
 about seven thousand gentlemen who, when tyros, took 
 their freedom out to kill (or cure) where stands a structure 
 on a rising hill, 
 
 " Nigh where Fleet Ditch descends in sable streams, 
 To wash his sooty Naiads in the Thames," 
 
 namely, at the Hall of the Worshipful Society of Apothe- 
 caries in Blackfriars. Of course apothecaries do not 
 monopolise the licence to kill, or we never should have 
 heard of that country in which it was a custom to confer 
 upon the public executioner, after he had performed his 
 office on a certain number of condemned people, the degree 
 of doctor. 
 
 Against doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries in this 
 country, and at all times, many a sneer has been levelled. 
 AMiat is said against doctors and surgeons is equally true 
 or false here and elsewhere. The whole medical republic 
 
Apothecaries. 241 
 
 may assert itself. Much, however, that is said about 
 apothecaries in this country seems to be true — and is not 
 true, for in England the apothecary is a person differing in 
 almost every respect but name from the apothecary of the 
 Continent ; the word Apothecary means even in England 
 what it does not mean in Scotland. We believe that we 
 are usefully employed in showing what is really represented 
 in this country by Apothecaries' Hall. 
 
 Once upon a time, says Herodotus, in the land of the wise 
 there were no doctors. In Egypt and Babylon the diseased 
 were exposed in the most public streets, and passers-by 
 were invited to look at them, in order that they who had 
 suffered under similar complaints and had recovered, might 
 tell what it was that cured them. Nobody, says Strabo, 
 was allowed to go by without offering his gratuitous opinion 
 and advice. Then, since it was found that this practical 
 idea did not work to perfection, the Egyptian priests made 
 themselves students of medicine, each man binding himself 
 to the study of one sole disease. Nature, it is said, was 
 studied, for it was reported that the ibis taught the use of 
 injections, and that from the hippopotamus a lesson was got 
 in phlebotomy. Pliny is the authority for this, who says 
 that the hippopotamus, whenever he grows too plethoric 
 and unwieldy, opens a vein in his leg with a sharp-pointed 
 reed found on the banks of the Nile. The Greeks adopted 
 and enlarged what they found taught elsewhere about the 
 healing art, and had enough faith in the necessity of medi- 
 cine to provide the gods with a professional attendant. 
 Pluto, we are told upon the best authority — Homer's, of 
 course — when wounded by the arrow of Hercules, applied 
 to Pceon, the physician of the gods, for surgical assistance, 
 and obtained relief. Paeon then was a general practitioner, 
 accepting cases both in medicine and surgery. 
 
 In this country there are, at this time, three classes of 
 men following the healing art— physicians, surgeons, and 
 
242 Papers from ^'Household Words". 
 
 those who are best defined under the name of general prac- 
 titioners. Elsewhere there are two classes only. Celsus 
 and Galen both of them lay down the divisions of the 
 profession distmctly. There were first the men who cured 
 by study of the processes of nature in the human body, 
 and by adapting to them regimen and diet : these were 
 the original physicians, nature-students as their name pro- 
 nounces them. Secondly, there were the chirurgeons or 
 surgeons (hand-workers is the meaning of their name), 
 who attended to the wounds and other ailments curable 
 by hand. Thirdly, there were the pharmacists, who cured 
 by drugs. Some of the first class of practitioners used 
 drugs; but, by many, the use of them was repudiated. 
 This triple division of the healing art was still acknowledged 
 in the sixteenth century, when there were few great phy- 
 sicians who wrote books and did not write on diet and the 
 art of cookery. Thus the physicians were, at first, in close 
 alliance with the cooks. Sometimes, indeed, the alliance 
 was more close than wholesome. One of the earliest 
 illustrations of the fact that in old times the pharmacist, as 
 an apothecary in the strictest sense, was employed as an 
 adviser of the sick occurs in a story told by Cicero of a man 
 named Lucius Clodius, a travelling apothecary, who was 
 accustomed to set up as a distributor of advice and medi- 
 cine in the market-places of the towns through which he 
 passed. This man happened to pass through Larinum at a 
 time when the grandmother of Oppianicus Avas ill, and was 
 employed by her son to attend her. Now this son was an 
 infamous fellow, who kept a physician in his pay to destroy 
 by his prescriptions everyone who was supposed to be an 
 impediment upon his path. His mother was among those 
 whom he desired to poison, but she, being on her guard, 
 steadily refused both the attendance and the medicine of 
 her son's favourite. Application was made therefore to the 
 travelling pharmacopolist, v/hom she agreed to trust. Un- 
 
Apothecaries. 243 
 
 happily the apothecary was as bad as the physician, took 
 his bribe, and killed his patient with the first dose he 
 administered. 
 
 We speak of the pharmacopolist who practised ; but it 
 is to be understood that in those days the physician kept 
 his own drugs in his house — the list of medicaments was 
 smaller than it is at present — and compounded his own 
 medicines. Galen attempts to show that Hippocrates, 
 father of medicine, made up his own prescriptions ; Celsus 
 and Galen, it is certain, both dispensed their medicines 
 themselves, and knew nothing of the refinements of dignity 
 that were to be introduced by their successors. If Hippo- 
 crates did not dispense his own physic, it can only be said 
 that he was not true to his principles ; for " a physician", 
 he says, in one of his books, " ought to have his shop 
 provided with plenty of all necessary things, as lint, rollers, 
 splints ; let there be likewise in readiness at all times 
 another small cabinet of such things as may serve for 
 occasions of going far from home ; let him have also all 
 sorts of plasters, potions, and purging medicines, so con- 
 trived that they may keep some considerable time, and like- 
 wise such as may be had and used while they are fresh." 
 
 The ideal physician of Hippocrates is, in this country, 
 the apothecary of the present day. Galen says that he 
 had an apotheke in which his drugs were kept, and where 
 his medicines were always made under his own eye, or by 
 his hand. For one moment we pause on the word apotheke^ 
 whence apothecary is derived. It meant, among the Greeks, 
 a place where anything is put by and preserved — especially 
 in the first instance, wine. The Romans had no wine- 
 cellars, but kept their wine-jars upon upper floors, where 
 they believed that the contents would ripen faster. The 
 small floors were called /?/w^r/rt', the large ones apothecce. 
 The apotheca being a dry, airy place, became, of course, 
 the best possible store-room for drugs, and many apothecas 
 
244 Papers from ''Household 1 Fords'. 
 
 became drug-stores, with an apothecarius in charge. It is 
 a misfortune, then — if it be one — attached to the name of 
 apothecary that it has in it association with the shop. But, 
 to say nothing of Podalirius and Machaon, Cullen and 
 William Hunter dispensed their own medicines. So also 
 did Dr. Peckey. who inserted in the Postman of the six- 
 teenth of January, in the year seventeen hundred, when 
 doctors and apothecaries were at hottest war together, this 
 advertisement : — 
 
 "At the 'Angel and Crown', in Basing Lane, near Bow Lane, 
 lives J. Peckey, a graduate in the University of Oxford, and of 
 many years' standing in the College of Physicians, London; 
 where all sick people that come to him may have for sixpence 
 a faithful account of their diseases, and plain directions for 
 diet and other things they can prepare themselves : and such as 
 have occasion for medicines may have them of him at reasonable 
 rates, without paying anything for advice : and he will visit 
 any sick person in London or the liberties thereof, in the 
 daytime, for two shillings and sixpence, and anywhere else 
 within the Bills of Mortality for five shillings." 
 
 Doctor Peckey's charges are extremely modest, which 
 has not been at all times the case among those of his 
 brotherhood. The present practice among physicians of 
 being paid only by voluntary fees seems to have arisen out 
 of a law passed to prevent extortion. In Galen's time, 
 respectable physicians would not undertake small cases, 
 but they had acquired the habit of compounding secret 
 nostrums, which continued in full force for generations, and 
 was common also in the sixteenth century, when all 
 classical customs were revived. Aetius complains much, 
 in his writings, of the immense price asked for respectable 
 nostrums. Nicostratus used to ask two talents for his 
 isotheos, or antidote against the colic. At last Valentinian 
 established in Eome fourteen salaried physicians to attend 
 gratuitously on the poor, and obliged, by the same law, 
 
ApotJiccaries. 245 
 
 every other physician to accept the voluntary donation of 
 every other patient when he had recovered from his 
 disease, without making express charge, or taking advan- 
 tage of any promises rashly made under suffering. Here 
 we have not the fee system, but most probably the 
 groundwork of it. This mode of after-payment remained 
 for many centuries the custom of the empire, A physician 
 of the fifteenth century, Ericus Cordus, complained much 
 of the reluctance of his patients to reward him properly 
 when they were well, for service done to them in sickness. 
 
 In the eighth and ninth centuries surgery and pharmacy 
 began to decline in reputation. "The apothecary", said a 
 Latin couplet, "is the physician's right hand, the surgeon 
 his left hand" ; but this meant that the physician was the 
 head and body of the whole profession, with the hands 
 entirely subject to his will. At the same time there grew 
 up among these doctors paramount so strong a faith in 
 astrology, in charms and magical medicaments, that it 
 became necessary, as some thought, to warn them lest they 
 gave advice destructive to the soul ; since it is better for us, 
 as said Theodorus, to be always sick, than sound by the 
 contempt of God. 
 
 In an old historical account of the proceedmgs of the 
 College of Physicians against empirics and unlicensed prac- 
 titioners, written by Dr. Charles Goodall, a Fellow of the 
 said college, we read, how in King James's reign one John 
 Lambe, having acquired great fame by his cures, was 
 examined at the College of Physicians by request of the 
 Bishop of Durham, and among the examination questions 
 put to him we find that — 
 
 " Being asked in Astrology what house he looketh unto 
 to know a disease, or the event of it : and how the lord 
 ascendant should stand thereto ? 
 
 " He answereth, he looks for the sixth house : which 
 being disproved, he saith he understands nothing therein, 
 
246 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 but what he hath out of Cahman : and being asked what 
 books he hath read in that art, he saith he hath none but 
 Cahman." 
 
 It was long, in fact, before the traces of these false ideas 
 of nature were removed from the prescriptions of the 
 doctors. Doctor Merrett, in the year 1669, denounced the 
 frauds of apothecaries who sell to their patients sheep's 
 lungs for fox lungs, and the bone of an ox's heart for that of 
 a stag's heart; and, about the same time, Culpepper, in 
 translating the Pharmacopoeia, or official catalogue of medi- 
 cinal remedies and preparations issued by the College of 
 Physicians, ridicules some of the contents in a list like this, 
 inserting his own comments by parenthesis — 
 
 " The fat, grease, or suet of a duck, goose, eel, boar, heron, 
 thymallos" (if you know where to get it), " dog, capon, beaver, 
 wild cat, stork, hedgehog, hen, man, lion, hare, kite, or 
 jack" (if they have any fat, I am persuaded 'tis worth twelve- 
 pence the grain), " wolf, mouse of the mountain" (if you can 
 catch them), "pardal, hog, serpent, badger, bear, fox, vulture" 
 (if you can catch them), "east and west benzoar, viper's 
 flesh, the brains of hares and sparrows, the rennet of a lamb, 
 kid, hare, and a calf and a horse too" (quoth the college). 
 [They should have put the rennet of an ass to make medi- 
 cine for their addle-brains. J " The excrement of a goose, of 
 a dog, of a goat, of swallows, of men, of women, of mice, of 
 peacocks," etc., etc. 
 
 Well might the founders in this country of the science of 
 physic speak, even at a time later than this, with little 
 reverence for the learning supposed to be proper to their 
 craft. 
 
 " It is very evident", wrote Sir Richard Blackmore in his 
 treatise on the small-pox, "that a man of good sense, 
 vivacity, and spirit may arrive at the highest rank of phy- 
 sicians, without the assistance of great erudition and the 
 knowledge of books ; and this was the case of Dr. Sydenham, 
 
Apothecaries. 247 
 
 who became an able and eminent physician, though he 
 never designed to take up the profession till the civil wars 
 were composed, and then, being a disbanded officer, he 
 entered upon it for a maintenance, without any learning 
 properly preparatory for the undertaking of it. And to show 
 the reader what contempt he had for writings in physic, when 
 one day I asked him to advise me what books I should read 
 to qualify me for practice, he replied, ' Read Don Quixote — 
 it is a very good book. I read it still.' So low an opinion 
 had this celebrated man of the learning collected out of the 
 authors, his predecessors. And a late celebrated physician, 
 whose judgment was miiversally relied upon as almost in- 
 fallible in his profession, used to say, as I am well informed, 
 that when he died he would leave behind him the whole 
 mystery of physic upon half a sheet of paper." 
 
 He who said this was Doctor Radcliffe, physician to King 
 William the Third, the most successful practitioner of his 
 own day, and one of the honoured patriarchs of the London 
 College of Physicians. It is requisite thus far to understand 
 what the physician was during the years of which we now 
 proceed to speak. Up to the time when Garth's Dispensary 
 was published, there continued to be much general truth in 
 the impression here conveyed. After that time, in the days 
 of Mead, the erudite physician, and of Cheselden, the skilful 
 surgeon, whom Pope linked with each other in a line — 
 
 " I'll try what Mead and Cheselden advise," 
 
 and who consulted together on the case of Sir Isaac Newton, 
 there began with us another and a better epoch in the 
 history of medicine. 
 
 The first doctors in England were the Druids, who, by- 
 the-bye, collected their own mistletoe. The second race of 
 doctors was provided also by the religious orders ; they were 
 the monks (whose practice the Pope afterwards forbade) ; 
 and there came next a transition period, during which there 
 
248 Papers from ''Household Words'. 
 
 was much wavering between the two callings of physic and 
 divinity. Thus, among other instances, we find that Richard, 
 the son of Nigel, Bishop of Ely — who is called, not the 
 Physician, but the Apothecary to King Henry the Second 
 and the two succeeding monarchs — afterwards was created 
 Bishop of London. There was no College of Physicians 
 then existing, and this king's apothecary — the first man, we 
 beheve, to whom the calling is ascribed upon our English 
 records — evidently was no shopkeeper of small importance. 
 No doubt he practised medicine. Certainly, in the year 
 1345, Coursus de Gangeland, called an apothecary of 
 London, serving about the person of King Edward the 
 Third, received a pension of sixpence a day as a reward for 
 his attendance on the king during a serious illness which he 
 had in Scodand. Henry the Eighth gave forty marks a year 
 to John Soda, apothecary, as a medical attendant on the 
 Princess Mary, who was a delicate, unhealthy young woman, 
 so that we thus have the first indications of the position of 
 an English apothecary, as one whose calling for two hundred 
 years maintained itself, and continued to maintain itself till 
 a few years after the establishment of the College of 
 Physicians, as that of a man who might be engaged even by 
 kmgs in practice of the healing art. But in the third year 
 of Queen Mary's reign, thirty-seven years after the establish- 
 ment of the College of Physicians, both surgeons and 
 apothecaries were prohibited the practising of physic. In 
 Henry the Eighth's time it had been settled, on the other 
 hand, that surgery was an especial part of physic, and any 
 of the company or fellowship of physicians were allowed to 
 engage in it. 
 
 Wq remain awhile with Henry the Eighth, whose reign is 
 important in the history of the medical profession in this 
 country, Li the third year of that king thc<re was legislation 
 against unskilled practitioners and women who introduced 
 witchcraft and sorcery, with pretended nostrums, to the 
 
Apothecaries. 249 
 
 high displeasure of God, the great disgrace of the faculty, 
 and the grievous damage and destruction of the king's 
 liege subjects. It enacted, that no person within the city 
 of London, or a circuit of seven miles thereof, shall take 
 upon himself to practise either as physician or surgeon till 
 he have been examined and approved of by the Bishop of 
 London or Dean of St. Paul's, assisted by four physicians or 
 surgeons of established reputation, according to the branch 
 of practice designed to be engaged in, under the penalty of 
 five pounds per month for non-compliance. A similar rule 
 was to govern the profession in other dioceses, Fellows of 
 the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge being in all cases 
 excepted and provided against. 
 
 This law removed apothecaries to a lower level ; they 
 became connected altogether as mere druggists with the 
 grocers. They had neither obtained University degrees, 
 nor passed any ordeal of examination ; if they advised the 
 sick they did so on the faith of the skill they picked up by 
 observing the prescriptions of more learned men. Seven 
 years after the Act passed, the physicians were established 
 by King Henry the Eighth in a college — had a royal charter 
 of incorporation — and in another four or five years, when it 
 was confirmed to them, the office of examining candidates 
 for admission into any branch of the profession— for they 
 declared surgery a part of physic — was taken out of the 
 hands of the clergy, and conferred, as a new privilege, upon 
 the College of Physicians. In Queen Mary's reign the 
 College of Physicians acquired also a right of scrutiny over 
 apothecaries' shops. Doctor of Medicine was then supreme ; 
 apothecary was a druggist only, who wore a blue apron, but 
 had few ideas beyond his mortar, and sold not simply drugs 
 but also spices, snuff, tobacco, sugar, and plums. In the 
 time of James the First the apothecaries were incorporated 
 with the grocers under a new charter, in the fourth year of 
 his reign. But they did not remain for more than nine years 
 
 I R 
 
250 Papers from ^^ Household Words'. 
 
 so united. King James was at all times ready to make 
 money by the granting of new charters ; that was, indeed, 
 one of the ways and means familiar to the royal family of 
 Stuart. James the First granted fifteen incorporations, 
 Charles the First the same number, Cromwell one, Charles 
 the Second nine or ten. The apothecaries had been formed 
 into one guild with the old fraternity of grocers in the reign 
 of Edward the Third, and the charter, several times renewed, 
 had been confirmed by Henry the Sixth, who granted to 
 them the power by skilled persons — competent apothecaries 
 — of searching and condemning drugs ; the same power 
 which was afterwards conferred upon the College of Phy- 
 sicians. To the charter-granting Stuart his two body 
 physicians represented the prayer of sundry apothecaries on 
 behalf of their body, that they might have a distinct incor- 
 poration as apothecaries ; and this separation from the 
 grocers was effected in the year sixteen hundred and fifteen. 
 The higher class of the apothecaries had again earned credit 
 for their calling ; their guild was called not a Company but 
 a Society, and had so much of royal favour that King 
 James used to call them his own guild, being moved much 
 to favour them by his apothecary Gideon de Laune, whose 
 effigy, as that of a benefactor, is still to be seen at the hall 
 in Blackfriars. Gideon, says a descendant of his, lived 
 piously to the age of ninety-seven, was worth as many 
 thousand pounds as he lived years, and had by one wife 
 thirty-seven children. 
 
 Thus the apothecaries became organised, and more able 
 to carry on the war which for a time it was their part in this 
 country to wage with the physicians. It has been already 
 said that in Queen Mary's reign surgeons and apothecaries 
 were prohibited the practising of physic. In Charles the 
 First's time, the physicians found it requisite to petition for 
 another royal edict, that no apothecary should, under severe 
 penalties, compound or administer medicines without the 
 
ApotJiecancs. 251 
 
 prescription of a physician then Hving. The interdict had 
 httle efficacy, and at last became so obsolete that in the 
 sixth year of William the Third an Act passed which was 
 made perpetual in the ninth of George the First, exempting 
 apothecaries from service in parish offices and upon juries, 
 because unless so exempt they cannot perform the trusts 
 so reposed in them as they ought, nor attend the sick with 
 such diligence as is required. 
 
 The practice of the apothecary was, in fact, slowly becom- 
 ing a necessity imposed by the growth of the middle orders 
 of society. The physicians in this country have not altered 
 their position with relation (o the population, as the popula- 
 tion has changed its position with regard to them. They 
 have maintained themselves, wisely we think, as a class of 
 special counsellors, with counsellor's fees, not often to be 
 lowered without loss of dignity. Therefore, the apothecary 
 has been called upon to adapt himself as a professional 
 adviser to the wants of the million. He has done so. On 
 the continent of Europe it is the physician who has done so ; 
 he is, in many thousands of cases, just what the apothecary 
 in this country has been called upon to make himself, and 
 has throu_^h much trouble and conflict come to be. Even 
 in Scotland, the same pressure upon the apothecary has not 
 produced out of him the same thing. Scotch surgeons 
 were examined in medicine, and entered as' matter of course 
 into general practice, when in England surgeons were con- 
 fined—as they still are— to surgical examinations, and 
 obtained licence to deal only with a class of cases which do 
 not form more than one in ten of all that demand treat- 
 ment ; while the physicians stood upon their dignity, wisely, 
 as we have said, but in a way that has made the production 
 of a class of general practitioners quite unavoidable. 
 
 The Society of Apothecaries then obtained its separate 
 incorporation, and seceded from the grocers in the year 
 sixteen hundred and fifteen, three years prior to the first 
 
 R ? 
 
252 Pdf-ers from "Household Words''. 
 
 publicatiun of a Pharmacopoeia, and one hundred and thirty 
 years before the surgeons were dissociated from the Barbers' 
 Company. The first demand npon the apothecary was to 
 prescribe; he was to be, in Adam Smith's words, "the 
 physician to the poor at all times, and to the rich whenever 
 the disease was without danger." To unite the calling of 
 the apothecary with that of the surgeon, was to become 
 w^hat the public wished to have, namely, a man available on 
 -easy variable terms for daily use in every emergency. 
 
 In our days this problem has reached, or is reaching, a 
 most excellent solution. But it has not been worked out 
 without difficulty. The physicians not seeing that they 
 fought in vain against necessity arising from a social w\ant 
 which they were not themselves prepared to meet, not only 
 contested the right of apothecaries to advise, but even in the 
 chafe of controversy went so far as to "enact and decree 
 that no surgeon nor apothecary, nor any such artificer, who 
 has exercised any less liberal art, or bound to servitude has 
 served his apprenticeship in a shop, be admitted into the 
 class of candidates, or of fellows; lest haply, if such be 
 elected into the College, we shall not sufficiently appear to 
 have consulted either our own dignity, or the honour of the 
 universities of this kingdom." 
 
 War to the knife was thus declared, and during one or 
 two generations led in some instances to very scandalous 
 results. The physicians, judging it derogatory to compound 
 their medicines, were often obliged to be extremely heedful of 
 the disposition towards them of any apothecary to whom they 
 might send their prescriptions. Active pills were maliciously 
 made inert by the use perhaps of liquorice in place of steel 
 and aloes; the quarrel was of more consideration than the 
 patient. 
 
 When physician and apothecary were good friends, and 
 the physician was a man who in the phrase of the trade — 
 for here wc must needs call it a trade — could write well, 
 
ApotJiccaries. 
 
 253 
 
 something like this was the result. We quote only one 
 day's medicine, prescribed by a physician and administered 
 by an apothecary to a fever patient. The list of medicine 
 given OQ each other day is quite as long, and every bolus is 
 found in the same way duly specified in "Mr. Tarret the apothe- 
 cary's bill, sent in to Mr. A. Dalley, who was a mercer on 
 Ludgate Hill". We quote the supply for the fourth day's 
 illness : 
 
 Another Pearl Julap - 
 
 Another Hypnotick Draught 
 
 A Cordial Bolus 
 
 A Cordial Draught - 
 
 A Cordial Pearl Emulsion - 
 
 Another Pearl Julap - 
 
 Another Cordial Julap 
 
 Another Bolus 
 
 Another Draught 
 
 A Pearl Julap 
 
 A Cordial Draught - 
 
 An Anodyne Mixture 
 
 A Glass of Cordial Spirits 
 
 Another Mucilage 
 
 A Cooling Mixture - 
 
 A Blistering Plaster to the Neck 
 
 Two more of the same to the Arms - 
 
 Another Apozem 
 
 Spirit of Hartshorn - 
 
 Plaster to dress the Blisters - 
 
 One day^s medical treatment is here represented, as it 
 was often to be met with in the palmy day's of physic, 
 when — 
 
 "Some fell by laudanum, and some by steel, 
 And death in ambush lay in ev'ry pill." 
 
 Then truly might Dr. Garth write of his nciglibours 
 how — 
 
 Igll 
 
 ist 
 
 10. 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 -> 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
2 54 Papers from ^'HojtseJiold Words". 
 
 "The piercing caustics ply their spiteful pow'r, 
 Emetics wrench, and keen cathartics scour. 
 The deadly drugs in double doses fly ; 
 And pestles peal a martial symphony." 
 
 In the year 1694, the number of apothecaries had in- 
 creased in England froin about a hundred to about a thou- 
 sand; they had become an influential body, and their 
 claim to prescribe for the less wealthy section of the public 
 that could not afford to pay, first the physician for advice, 
 then the apothecary for his medicine, excited a discus- 
 sion that had reached its hottest point. Then it was 
 that some of the physicians, out of motives half-benevolent, 
 half-controversial, united in the establishment of dispen- 
 saries, at which they would give their own advice to the 
 poor, cheaply or gratuitously, and cause medicine to be sold 
 nearly at prime cost. One of the dispensaries was in a room 
 of the then College of Physicians (now a brazier's premi- 
 ses*) in Warwick Lane; another was in St. Martin's Lane at 
 Westminster; a third in St. Peter's Alley, Cornhill. They 
 came into operation in the month of February 1697, and were 
 soon resorted to by rich and poor, as druggists' shops at which 
 the apothecaries were competed with and underbidden by the 
 Faculty. A w^ar of tongues and pamphlets was, of course, 
 excited by this measure, of which the only durable record — 
 and that a record now almost lost out of sight— is the poem 
 that has been once or twice quoted in this paper, The 
 Dispensary : a Poem in Six Cantos, by Dr. Garth. Of 
 course, the physicians very soon abandoned the trade part 
 of the new system they had called into existence. 
 
 As a final effort, the physicians then tested in a court of 
 law the right of the apothecaries to advise as well as com- 
 pound. John . Seal, a butcher, had been attended by 
 Mr. William Rose, an apothecary, and there was obtained 
 
 * Tyler's. 
 
ApotJieca ries. 255 
 
 from him this evidence: "May the 15th, 1704. These are 
 to certify that I, John Seal, being sick and applying myself 
 to this Mr. Rose the apothecary for his directions and 
 medicines, in order for my cure, had his advice and medi- 
 cines from him a year together; but was so far from being 
 the better for them, that I was in a worse condition than 
 when he undertook me; and after a very expensive bill of 
 near fifty pounds, was forced to apply myself to the dis- 
 pensary at the College of Physicians, where I received my 
 cure in about six weeks' time, for under forty shillings 
 charge in medicines. Witness my hand." 
 
 Upon this case issue was raised, and after a special verdict 
 followed by three arguments in the Court of Queen's Bench, 
 it was decided that Rose had practised physic, and in so 
 doing had contravened the law. Against this decision the 
 Society of Apothecaries appealed to the House of Lords, 
 and by that authority the judgment given in the Queen's 
 Bench was reversed. Then it was finally decided that the 
 duty of the apothecary consisted not only in prescribing 
 and dispensing, but also in directing and ordering the 
 remedies employed in the treatment of disease. The posi- 
 tion of the apothecary thus became what it had been at the 
 first, and so remained; but obviously what was assured was 
 not sufficient for the due protection of the public. 
 
 For a long tmie nothing was done. The Society of 
 Apothecaries — which has never been a wealthy guild — 
 established a liberal organisation among its members. It 
 paid great heed to the botanic gardens at Chelsea, which it 
 had begun to lease from Lord Cheyne, in 1673, when the 
 dispute with the physicians was rapidly approaching its 
 climax, and which not many years after the settlement of 
 the dispute, in 1722, was made over to them in perpetuity 
 for a five-pound rental by Sir Hans Sloane, who had bought 
 the manor, on condition that it was to be maintained as a 
 physic garden at the charge of the apothecaries, "for the 
 
256 Papers from "Household Words''. 
 
 manifestation of the power, wisdom, and glory of God in 
 the works of the creation, and that their apprentices and 
 others may better distinguish good and useful plants". The 
 charge of the garden has accordingly been to this day main- 
 tained, without grudging, at a cost of about six hundred a 
 year, by the Society of Apothecaries. 
 
 There had arisen also, in connection with the Apothecaries* 
 Hall — by accident — a trade. In 1623, some members joined 
 to form a dispensary, under inspection, for the sake of obtain- 
 ing — for their own use only — pure and honest drugs. Half 
 a century later, a subscription among'members of the Hall 
 added a laboratory for the supply of chemicals used by them- 
 selves in their own practices. The credit of their prepara- 
 tions caused others to apply to these gentlemen for leave to 
 purchase of them; and this leave, at first refused, was 
 ultimately conceded, a few years before the date of the 
 establishment of the dispensary at the Physicians' College. 
 A drug-trade was thus commenced, not by the Society of 
 Apothecaries, but by some of its members at its Hall, and 
 their subscriptions and profits were their own private con- 
 cern, paid to and taken from what they termed "general 
 stock". In the early part of the reign of Queen Anne, 
 much difficulty having been found in the procuring of pure 
 drugs for the British navy, Prince George of Denmark, Lord 
 High Admiral, persuaded the Society to undertake the 
 supply. They then opened a separate commercial estabhsh- 
 ment, under the title of the Navy Stock, in which it was 
 optional with any member to take shares. After a time 
 these two stocks were joined as a common interest, and 
 became what it is now known as the United Stock of the 
 Society of Apothecaries. It is a distinct commercial enter- 
 prise, carried on, not by the Society, but by members of the 
 Society, at its Hall and under its sanction. It has its own 
 separate officers and committees, by whom, not by the 
 master and wardens of the company, its accounts are 
 
Apothecaries. 257 
 
 audited and its affairs controlled. It is well managed, and 
 yields high dividends to its proprietors, which were in- 
 creased by one-third, in consequence of the demand for 
 drugs during the recent war. It has been also an important 
 agent in keeping bad drugs out of the market. 
 
 Whoever pays a visit to the Hall in Blackfriars will be 
 shown how it is composed of two distinct parts. From a 
 steam-engine room he is taken to where great millstones 
 powder rhubarb, rows of steam-pestles pound in iron 
 mortars, steam-rollers mix hills of ointment, enormous 
 stills silently do their work, calomel sublimes in closed 
 ovens, magnesia is made and evaporated, crucibles are hot, 
 and coppers all heated by steam are full of costly juices 
 from all corners of the world. He will find in the cellar 
 barrels fresh tapped of compound tincture of cardamoms, 
 tincture of rhubarb, and such medicated brews ; he will 
 find in a private laboratory the most delicate scientific 
 tests and processes employed for purposes of trade by a 
 skilful chemist ; he will find warehouses and packing-rooms, 
 perhaps, Ifeaped up with boxes of drugs to be sent out by 
 the next ship to India, and apparently designed to kill or 
 cure all the inhabitants of Asia. These are the premises of 
 the United Stock. From them he will be led into the Hall 
 itself, the great room on the walls of which he reads who 
 has been mindful of the widow — for sixteen widows of poor 
 members the Society provides annuities — and round the 
 tables of which he may, perhaps, see young medical 
 students deep in the agonies of an examination to prove that 
 they have been educated as becomes those who are to join 
 a liberal profession. There is a separate examination-room 
 in which those pass as licentiates who can ; it is hung with 
 old pictures, and there is a small library hidden away in that 
 ante-chamber, known irreverently as the funking- room by 
 nervous candidates. This is the domain of the whole Society^ 
 Here it does its appointed duty to the commonwealth. 
 
258 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 For, as it has been said, the decision of the House of 
 Lords that an apothecary might prescribe, did not provide 
 all that belonged to the public want which has brought the 
 English apothecary of the present day into the average 
 position occupied by the physician of the Continent. If 
 apothecaries might prescribe, skilful or unskilful, there was 
 danger to be feared. Therefore, there arose at the be- 
 ginning of this century an agitation among many of the 
 apothecaries, to procure for themselves an examining board 
 that should exclude incompetent men from the use of the 
 privileges they enjoyed. There was an agitation for some 
 years ; several bills were introduced in Parliament, opposed 
 and abandoned; but at last, in 181 5, an Apothecaries' Act 
 was passed, which gave to the Society of Apothecaries the 
 appointment of a board of their own members for the 
 licensing of all who wished to exercise their calling, and 
 conferring privileges well known to the public. Before this 
 Act passed such was the state of the profession that not 
 more than about one person in nine of those who practised 
 medicine had been educated for the work in which they 
 were engaged. Not only has the operation of the Apothe- 
 caries' Act changed altogether this condition of affairs, but 
 it is due to the Society of Apothecaries to admit, that by a 
 high-spirited discharge of its new function, and a constant 
 careful raising of the standard of competence, it has com- 
 pelled strictness in others, and is adding continually to the 
 importance and efficiency of that body of medical advisers 
 which it has been called upon to furnish. Its work, which 
 never has flagged, had at the end of the first twenty years 
 of trial proved itself so well, that to a Select Committee of 
 the House of Commons Sir Henry Halford confessed — " I 
 was one of those who were sorry that the power was ever 
 given out of the hands of the physicians to license prac- 
 titioners of that description ; but since they have had it, I 
 must do the apothecaries the justice to say, that they have 
 
Apothecaries. 259 
 
 executed that Act extremely well, and that the character of 
 that branch of the profession has been amazingly raised 
 since they have had that authority." 
 
 That is still the universal testimony. If we have told our 
 story clearly, we have shown that the apothecaries simply 
 have become what — considering the position taken by 
 physicians in this country — they could not help becoming ; 
 and that since the Apothecaries' licence does not qualify 
 for surgery,* while at the same time the Surgeons' diploma 
 does not qualify for medicine, the class of surgeon-apothecary 
 was quite as inevitably called for. That all this history is 
 only an illustration of the stern law of supply and demand 
 a few figures will tell at once. There are in England and 
 Wales at this time only four hundred physicians with an 
 English licence, including as such Doctors and Bachelors 
 of Oxford, Cambridge, and London, Fellows, Members, 
 Licentiates, and Extra-Licentiates of the Physicians' Col- 
 lege; but there are 5,580 persons engaged in general 
 practice, with the two qualifications provided by the English 
 apothecaries and the surgeons; 1,880 more practising with 
 the single diploma of the English College of Surgeons, 
 1,200 with no more than the English Apothecaries' licence. 
 Eight thousand five hundred is now the number of the class 
 that the physicians once thought themselves able to crush, 
 and the country finds that it can manage with no more than 
 four hundred physicians. 
 
 * Since this paper was written there has been further advance 
 by the Society of Apothecaries in the right direction. Its system 
 of examination has more than kept pace with the advanced re- 
 quirements of the time ; full attention is paid to surgery ; and 
 the Apothecaries' licence now gives legal rights that cover the 
 whole duties of an English general practitioner in surgery and 
 medicine. 
 
THE CLUB SURGEON. 
 
 Pall Mall, your London street of palaces, does not 
 contain my Club. I have incurred no risk of being 
 pilled at the Carlton Club. I have never dozed at the 
 Reform Club. My Club is in the provinces. No doubt 
 it is a very poor affair ; and I was a great blockhead to 
 look forward, as I once did, to the day when I should be 
 balloted for by its members. I am surgeon to my Club. 
 I receive from it half-yearly pence, and pay to it daily 
 labour. Everyone may have heard of the Army and Navy 
 Club, the University Club, the Travellers' Club ; but there 
 are many, I daresay, who know nothing of the Country 
 Surgeons' Club. Most surgeons and apothecaries in the 
 country know of it, however, well enough. It is one of a 
 strong suit of clubs held by the provincial medical world ; 
 held very good-humouredly, although not trumps, by men 
 who arc ever ready to put forth their skill, and play — 
 indeed I must spoil the parallel to say here — to work, 
 and to work hard ; for love as often as for money. 
 
 No idlers at a window in St. James's can lounge better 
 than the members of my Club do on a Monday. The 
 members of my Club smoke often, and dine occasionally 
 at their club-house. They ballot for new members, they 
 are particular about their rules, and enforce them by means 
 of a committee. ]\Iost of the members dress strictly 
 according to the fashion of the place in which they live, 
 wearing over their other clothes a kind of flannel petti- 
 coat. We have a majority and a minority among the 
 
TJie Club SiiJ'^con. 26 1 
 
 members of that particular specimen of the Country Sur- 
 geons' Club with which I am connected. The majority 
 consists of colliers smutted with black who work every day 
 (except Monday), the minority, of potters who work all 
 day smutted white. But in the Club all members fra- 
 ternise: the black man and the white are brothers. 
 
 Brothers all of us in a peculiar sense, and having brethren 
 in all parts of England able to identify us by the mystic 
 nature of our grasp ; or, if more be necessary, by a few 
 cabalistic words and signs, which we have sworn not to 
 reveal to strangers; for my Club is a stout branch from 
 the stem of the Ancient Order of Woodmen, tracing our 
 genealogy very far back through Robin Hood. Clubs of 
 this kind are established, it is well known, as Friendly 
 Societies ; and the member, in consideration of regular 
 payments during health, is entitled to a weekly allowance 
 during sickness, to gratuitous medical assistance, to a fixed 
 allowance for funeral expenses, and to other advantages. 
 Some of the largest clubs are connected with societies 
 bound, by a system of freemasonry, in fellowship with 
 other bodies scattered through the country; — such as the 
 Odd Fellows and Foresters, while others are purely local 
 Benefit Societies. Until the calculations upon which these 
 bodies founded their schemes were put under the control 
 of a Government actuary, they often caused, in spite of 
 the best intentions, a great waste of the money of the poor. 
 Attempting too much, they became bankrupt just when 
 their solvency was most essential ; — when the young and 
 healthy men who had joined them, having become old 
 and infirm, required to draw relief out of the fund to 
 which they had been contributing their savings, during 
 perhaps twenty or thirty years. It is not my purpose here 
 to discuss the principle of clubs of this kind, and of 
 Benefit Societies. I am looking at my Club purely from 
 the medical point of view. 
 
262 Papers from ^^ Household Words'. 
 
 I was only beginning to get on in my district, doing the 
 reasonable work of two men for seventy pounds a year, as 
 parish surgeon, and filling up what leisure time I could 
 make with odds and ends of private practice and the work 
 supplied by a few unimportant clubs. The parish work 
 required the help of an assistant ; but, as the said assistant 
 must be qualified, and as a qualified surgeon could not be 
 lodged, fed, and salaried at a much smaller cost than seventy 
 pounds, it was quite evident that I must ride, walk, sit up 
 of nights, make pills, spread blisters for my slice or two of 
 bread-and-butter, hoping that by good deeds among the 
 multitude of men who could not pay me, I might earn the 
 confidence of some who could pay me. The name of a 
 small tradesman likely to run up, and able to pay, a ten- 
 pound bill in the twelve months was, at that time, one of 
 the best glories of my day-book and ledger. To get the 
 Woodmen's Club was then my nearest hope. There was a 
 chance for me : being the last new-comer I was very 
 popular among the poor ; and the miraculous recovery of a 
 patient whom I had left to nature, and to whom I had 
 administered water tinged with a little compound tincture of 
 cardamoms, had created for me an enormous reputation in 
 the immediate neighbourhood of some of the most influen- 
 tial of the Ancient Woodmen. Beerley — who was surgeon 
 to the club — had very often been re-elected in spite of a 
 repeated half-yearly notice of dismissal, on account of various 
 shortcomings ; but it appeared at length to be quite obsti- 
 nately settled that his last half-year of office had arrived. 
 It was then clear to all the parish that the choice of a new 
 surgeon would lie between me and my neighbour Parkinson. 
 
 To compare the teaching and the training which is of a 
 kind to make the thoroughly well-educated medical man a 
 genuine philosopher, with all the petty details of the life he 
 has to lead in many thousand cases as a general practitioner, 
 would be a very edifying task, Parkinson and I had terrible 
 
TJie Club Surgeon. 263 
 
 heartburnings about that Club, the appointment to which 
 involved attendance on a hundred and fifty men for the 
 payment of four shillings a year from each. But then we 
 reasoned : These men are in receipt of good pay ; among 
 the colliers are some charter-masters, and whoever pleases 
 them attends, perhaps, their families who are not members 
 of the Club, and against whom he may add up a bill. 
 Besides, it is all — that indefinable mystery — connection. 
 Therefore, I quarrelled with Parkinson because he can- 
 vassed among the Ancient Woodmen, insinuated himself 
 into the hearts of colliers w^ho had votes, and even courted 
 some of them at the "Thistle" itself, which is the house at 
 which my Club assembles, and there won the goodwill of 
 the host — always an influential person — by joviality and an 
 affected love of beer. I thought this unprofessional, and I 
 cut Parkinson ; for I was myself a very Coriolanus in the 
 way of canvassing. 
 
 Nevertheless I was elected. The secretary of our branch 
 of the Ancient Order of Woodmen, accompanied by a 
 member or two, came to announce to me, in a dignified 
 way, the cheering fact. I accepted office wnth none the less 
 dignity, because I knew the messenger to have been one of 
 my opponents. Parkinson attended the secretary's family, 
 and if I were to behave too cordially towards the head of 
 that family, it might be inferred that I desired to take away 
 some part of Parkinson's practice. I desired very much 
 that it should come to me, but had no right or wish to take 
 it ; therefore I w^as in constant dread lest some good- 
 humoured word or bit of cheerful gossip might, by some 
 possibility, be interpreted into an atttempt at theft. 
 
 Since it is necessary that the surgeon to the Woodmen 
 should himself be initiated as a member of that ancient 
 Order, my first duty to my Club was to become a Woodman 
 on the next evening of meeting. On that evening I went 
 down for the first time to my club-house, the " Thistle'', a 
 
264 Papers from ^^ Household Words''. 
 
 picturesque inn at the bottom of a hill-road, overlooking a 
 swift river. The evening turned out to be a black January 
 night ; and, as I sat by a dim light in the host's parlour, 
 awaiting the moment of formal introduction to the assembled 
 Woodmen upstairs ; getting an occasional sight of the 
 unfriendly face of the host, whose ale I was now, as in duty 
 bound, for the first time tasting ; and listening to the rush 
 of the river outside, and the discordant blowing of Wood- 
 men's horns upstairs, every now and then, at certain stages 
 of the ceremony ; I thought myself the loneliest of poor 
 young country doctors. 
 
 At length a functionary with a woodman's club in his 
 hand came for me, and ushered me upstairs to a door, 
 before which stood another club-bearer, who beat upon it in 
 a mystic way, who received answer mystically from within, 
 and so procured admittance. Then I beheld my Club in its 
 supreme glory. Its big horns, its mace, its badges, and its 
 officers and members, looking powerfully grave, as I was set 
 upon a wooden stool. The President then rose and read to 
 me as well as he could a very long sermon indeed, out of a 
 little book, concerning woodmen, from Adam and Eve down- 
 wards, and the duties and kind feelings by which woodmen 
 are bound together. I thought there was more than a spark 
 of wholesome, human goodness at the bottom of it ; but 
 the absurd solemnity of the assembly, the pantomime pro- 
 perties represented by the colossal horns, and the amazing 
 way in which the President pronounced all the hard words 
 he came to, made it extremely difficult for me to fill the 
 interesting situation in which I was placed without a displa)^, 
 before the court, of unbecoming levity. I repeated certain 
 forms, was instructed in certain childish mysteries, and, 
 kneeling on the footstool, repeated the formal vow not to 
 reveal them to the uninitiate. Having done that, I paid a 
 guinea, as the contribution of an honorary member. 
 
 The social business of the evening then commenced ; the 
 
The Club Surgeon. 265 
 
 grave court resolved itself into an assembly of colliers and 
 potters, who smoked pipes and drank beer in a spirit of 
 good fellowship, and abounded in courtesy and politeness 
 towards their newly-elected doctor. The great majority of 
 working-men are from iheir hearts truly courteous and 
 polite. I wish to say something about this. I began prac- 
 tice as assistant in a purely agricultural district, employed 
 by a practitioner of ample independent means. From the 
 first day that I went there, very young and utterly unknown, 
 every cottager touched his hat to me. Strangers who came 
 on a visit to the place, if they wore good clothes, were 
 greeted invariably with touched hats, bows, and curtseys. 
 That is not courtesy, it is a mark of a degraded state of 
 feeling. When I first went among the colliers I got no 
 signs of recognition until I had earned them. Better wages 
 and a little more to think about have made our workmen 
 in the north more independent than the southern agricul- 
 turist ; but it is precisely because they are less servile that 
 they are able to be more really courteous. Now that I have 
 made my way here and am prosperous, many hat-touchings 
 do indeed greet me — when, for example, walking against the 
 stream, I meet our congregation coming out of church ; but 
 these greetings express a genuine respect. I have joined 
 broken bones for the greeters, I have watched by their sick 
 children, I have brought health to their wives, often receiv- 
 ing, and I may venture to say contented by, these kind 
 looks for my main remuneration. The courtesy I get 
 among these colliers is genuine; and, although they and 
 their wives gossip like their betters, and make now and then a 
 little cruel mischief, I have seen and know that simple kindly 
 thoughts and impulses of the most genuine politeness prevail 
 largely among them. Yet, they are perhaps the roughest 
 and the least enlightened of the working-men, except those 
 who are employed in agriculture. 
 
 My Woodmen discoursed, therefore, in a courteous spirit ; 
 I s 
 
266 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 their officers discussed the few details upon which it con- 
 cerned me to be informed, gave me the names of those who 
 were then sick, together with a list of members of the Club, 
 by which I might know what men were entitled to demand 
 my services, in consideration of the four shillings apiece, 
 paid yearly on their account. So, after drinking a little 
 beer in token of good fellowship, I travelled home through 
 a wet night, with thirty pounds a year added to my income, 
 and the care of the health of a hundred and fifty men added 
 to my work. 
 
 Not long afterwards I found myself in charge of a very 
 large number of patients, for whom medical aid was procured 
 through a dispensary which paid to me three shillings for 
 the whole attendance upon each case, including medicine. 
 In this respect I was better off than many of my brethren 
 who strive hard to obtain appointments to dispensaries that 
 pay them nothing but the cheap accidental advantage of 
 putting their names a little more before the local public. 
 Other clubs subjected themselves to my lancet, among them 
 a large church club established by the rector in antagonism 
 to the societies which led men into the way of waste by 
 meeting at public-houses. Nevertheless the number of 
 my private patients increased slowly. At that time, after 
 receiving patients in the surgery, and visiting in busy seasons 
 as many as ninety sick people at their own homes, very 
 often there were only three or four doubtfully profitable 
 private entries for the day-book in the evening, and my 
 poor heart rejoiced at any midnight knocking that might 
 bid me give up my night's rest for a half-guinea fee. Very 
 often indeed, however, the night-call was to a club patient, 
 or parish or dispensary case. At that time, being unable to 
 afford assistance, I was out, on an average, not less than 
 three nights in a week ; and, as the average was very 
 unequally distributed, sometimes the act of going to bed 
 continued for a fortnight together to be a useless ceremony 
 
TJic Chib Surgeon. 267 
 
 tliat could result only in pure aggravation. I would not 
 record these experiences if they were matters purely per- 
 sonal, but there are thousands of my fellow-labourers who 
 are, and have been, in the same predicament. If a stray 
 club patient whose case fell properly to the care of my 
 neighbour Parkinson disturbed my broken rest, I sent him on 
 to the right door and went asleep again ; if Parkinson were 
 out, and he came back to tell me so, I went with him ; but, 
 if ever in such a case harm came of delay, the heartless 
 apathy of the doctor, who did not care for the lives of 
 club or parish patients, was noised as the cause of all. If 
 two urgent calls were simultaneous — as they would be some- 
 times — there was a certainty of getting heartily abused by 
 somebody, and a chance perhaps of having one's professional 
 and moral character be-argued in a court of law. Every 
 month I see some surgeon in the newspapers thus ill-rewarded 
 for the hard life he has led. 
 
 There is nobody to blame for all this, and there is 
 nothing wanting but a litde more discrimination on the part 
 of the public, a little generosity in recognition of the work 
 that country surgeons do. While families unable to bear 
 the extra cost of sickness form a large part of the popula- 
 tion, either one half of the people of this country must find 
 their way to the grave without a doctor, or else the doctor 
 must consent to spend a large part of his skijl in labour that 
 produces little or no money return. He does so spend it, 
 as he thinks, in the fulfilment of a noble duty. Though 
 among ignorant patients many things occur to vex him, he 
 bears with them patiently, and if he comes with a sound 
 heart to his work he acquires faith in the poor. 
 
 " Love has he found in huts, where poor men lie ;" 
 
 they become warm friends to him, and become lusty trum- 
 peters to sprtad abroad the fame of skill that he has been 
 glad to exercise among them. Our ill-paid work is done 
 
 s 2 
 
268 Papers from ^^ Household Words'. 
 
 ungrudgingly, but after it is done we are a little galled when 
 we are censured thoughtlessly for the neglects which are 
 inseparable from the performance of so huge a mass of 
 urgent duty. It annoys us when we have patients able to 
 pay becomingly for our assistance, who regard us rather as 
 tradesmen than as gentlemen, require bills that contain long 
 lists of pills and mixtures to be filed together with the 
 joints of meat and groceries consumed by the establishment, 
 and pay us with a secret feeling, half-expressed, that we 
 have taken care to be well paid. 
 
 Why then do we overload ourselves with work ? Why, for 
 example, did I consent to take the Woodman's Club? 
 Because I wanted thirty pounds a year; because I wanted 
 and liked work too, feeling pleasure — as only the dullest 
 surgeons do not — in the active exercise of my profession, 
 and because I hoped thereby to increase my knowledge^ my 
 power, and my connection. When I had a dispensary and 
 other clubs added to the parish why did I endeavour to do 
 all that work single-handed? Because I had not at that 
 time so much private practice as enabled me to pay the cost 
 of an assistant. It is not pure labour that the country 
 apothecary spends upon his parish and his clubs. They 
 oblige him to run up a heavy drug-bill, to buy expensive 
 instruments, and to keep a horse. 
 
 The drug-bill of a young country surgeon who has parish 
 work and clubs, with very little private practice, easily 
 reaches fifty pounds a year; and if he has no friend from 
 whom to borrow instruments, the cost of them is serious. 
 He must be prepared to meet every emergency and to per- 
 form any operation. He cannot send, as he would in 
 London, for assistance from the hospitals; and though he 
 may send for any surgeon in his neighbourhood by way of 
 consultation, to advise with him, or take part in the respon- 
 sibility of any obviously active measure, yet the performance 
 of the active measure must be by himself. When he trans- 
 
The Club Surgeon. 269 
 
 fers the duty to a rival he confesses his inferior ability, and 
 transfers to the prompter man his patient's confidence. The 
 country surgeon, if he would act for himself, and incur no 
 risk of figuring unpleasantly at inquests, must have at hand 
 every instrument which, like the stomach-pump, may be 
 demanded suddenly, and must purchase others as they are 
 called into request. If he has much poor practice, and 
 nobody to borrow from during his first years, while he can 
 least afford any expense, the call for one instrument after 
 another will be tolerably brisk. In the first quarter of my 
 attendance on the Ancient Woodmen I spent all the 
 quarter's money profit on an instrument required for the 
 performance on a Club member of an operation not likely 
 to be called for half-a-dozen times in a long course of prac- 
 tice. I had a broken leg two or three miles away in one 
 direction, and a fever case requiring for some time daily 
 attention two or three miles off in another. In addition to 
 the cases of average slightness furnished by my Club I was 
 summoned to some dozen members who had nothing par- 
 ticularly the matter with them, and who only sent for their 
 doctor on some trivial errand, because they had nothing to 
 pay for his attendance. 
 
 All this time the followers of Parkinson were on the watch 
 to register against me cases of neglect. 
 
 Of course they would and did occur ; but as like cases 
 were common to every surgeon in the parish, they were 
 easily attributed to the general carelessness of medical men 
 in their attendance upon the poor. They did me no harm, 
 but as Midsummer and the great annual Club day and Club 
 dinner drew near, I was warned that a hostile motion was 
 on foot, that Beerleyites and Parkinsonites were forming a 
 coalition, and that my-ownites could not maintain me in 
 my place if I did not wipe a certain stain out of my 
 character. 
 
 That stain was pride; inasmuch as the opposing faction, led by 
 
270 Papas from ''HotiscJiold Words". 
 
 mine host of the "Thistle", averred that it was very ungracious 
 in me never to have come down to the monthly meetings to 
 take my glass of beer with the assembled brethren. I was 
 too proud to associate with working-men. I was indeed 
 spending my life among them and upon them, but the main 
 point was the glaiis of beer. Besides, my pride was well 
 enough known, for I had missed the annual dinner at 
 another of my clubs, and had put upon it the indignity of 
 sending an apprentice, a mere boy, who could not carve a 
 sausage. I was warned, therefore, by friendly Woodmen, 
 that whatever I might think about the best employment of 
 my time, if I did not go to the Woodman's dinner, I should 
 in all probability get notice of dismissal from the Wood- 
 man's Club. 
 
 I revoked therefore my tacit intention to pay for the 
 dinner and abstain from eating it. True it is that the 
 eating and smelling of a quantity of hot meat, and the 
 breathing of tobacco smoke, in the middle of a hot working- 
 day in July, can be considered only as a serious infliction; 
 but I dared not trifle with my character. Already the 
 growth of private practice had been seriously retarded by 
 my unprofessional conduct in not wearing a beaver hat. 
 Subject to much physical fatigue, and liable to headache, I 
 had found beavers a source of torment, and wore therefore, 
 in spite of much scandal, a light fur cap in winter, and in 
 summer a straw hat, using Leghorn in deference to public 
 notions of respectability. The want of a black hat re- 
 tarded the growth of my private practice very seriously. 
 A very lady-like individual, wife of a small grocer, Mrs. 
 Evans, frequently declared that "she had heard me to be 
 clevsr, and would have sent for me in her late illness, but 
 she could not think of having a doctor come to her house 
 in a cap, it was so very unusual." As I really could not 
 give in on the hat question, it was a lucky day for me when 
 I afterwards bethought myself of making up for the loose 
 
The Club Surgeon. 271 
 
 style of dress upon my head, by being very stiff about the 
 neck. I took to the wearing of white neckcloths with the 
 happiest effect. Everybody thought of the Church: I 
 looked so good and correct in a clean white neckcloth, 
 that I drew a tooth from Mrs. Evans in the second week of 
 it. My practice rose steadily from that date, and in popu- 
 larity I became a rival even to the rector. What I should 
 have done, if I had effected a crisis by repenting of my fur 
 and straw, and resolving to wear a good hat for the re- 
 mainder of my days, and be at peace with all men, I don't 
 know. Hats I continue to abominate. 
 
 But as I had not then thought of the white neckcloth, it 
 was necessary that I should appease my Club public, at any 
 rate, by dining jovially in their company. I therefore not 
 only took a ticket for their feast, but replied to the dubious 
 inquiries of the stewards by a hearty promise that I would 
 be there, unless most urgent matters hindered me. 
 
 There was a grand procession in the morning through 
 our little town, when Club-day came. The Ancient Wood- 
 men walked with banner, badge, and bugle under the hot 
 sky, until one would suppose that they must have walked 
 themselves out of all appetite for anything but liquid food. 
 More urgent matters did not hinder me, and duly at half- 
 past one I saw the food they came to ; soHd enough. My 
 place was at the head of the table before a quarter of 
 lamb : down the table there were joints of meat and dishes 
 of ducks, a great many dishes of peas and a few dishes of 
 potatoes. There was no bread used except by half-a-dozen 
 of the hundred-and-twenty diners; the general sentiment 
 being that the Ancient Woodmen could eat bread at home ; 
 that they had paid a certain number of shillings for their 
 tickets, and were bound to eat the value of their money, 
 which they could not comfortably take in bread. The 
 same opinion operated against potatoes. 
 
 The colliers beat the potters hollow in the point of appe- 
 
2/2 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 tite. I have dined with City Companies, but even an 
 alderman cannot handle a knife and fork in competition 
 with a collier who is eating out the vali e of his dinner- 
 ticket, and endeavouring to secure a balance in his own 
 favour, if possible. The actual manipulation of the knife 
 may be more dexterous in aldermen ; the colliers were 
 sufficiently ungainly in the way of getting through their 
 work, but the amount of work they did, it was a grand 
 spectacle to see. Ducks were the favourite meat; they 
 were carved, invariably, and eaten, after a plan that would 
 have surprised nobody had they been partridges : each 
 duck was cut by main force into two equal parts, being 
 regarded only as sufficient to supply two plates. As for 
 my quarter of lamb — I am remembering, and not imagining 
 — when I had cut off the shoulder-joint and held it lifted 
 on the carving-fork in the vain expectation that somebody 
 would produce a dish in which to put it, a worthy collier 
 regarding that joint as a tender slice which he should 
 be sorry to see given to another, pushed up his plate, 
 and paralysed me for a moment with the hungry exclama- 
 tion — " I'll take that, if you please, sir." 
 
 So we began our dinner : how w^e went on, drank ale, and 
 smoked, and sang, and how I had a speech to make and 
 made it, how the Ancient Woodmen voted me a trump, 
 how I retained and still retain the confidence of my Club, 
 I need not go on to relate. It was my wish to make a 
 little knowledge public that will help harsh critics of the 
 country surgeon to more kindly and more just conclusions 
 than they sometimes draw from awkward premises. In a 
 vague way men are ready to confess that we give much 
 of our toil very generously for little or no pay, but they 
 have only a dim notion of the small annoyances we bear, 
 of the unjust complaints that vex us most when we endea- 
 vour most to do our best. 
 
BUYING A PRACTICE. 
 
 How to begin Practice? is a mighty question to young 
 medical men who have advanced no farther than to the 
 diploma, the first baiting-place upon the highway of ambi- 
 tion. If the world be as it used to be, there are brave 
 hearts among those young men, covering noble aspirations 
 under careless chatter ; cherishing sacred dreams of future 
 homes under an affectation of a worldliness that satisfies 
 their comrades and strikes awe into their juniors. If the 
 world be not changed, these young men, simple and warm- 
 hearted, are the chosen worms of certain hard-beaked birds, 
 who generously offer them a place in their own nests, who 
 snap them up and convey them to those nests on terms of 
 advantageous partnership. The worms are introduced for a 
 consideration. I myself was once a worm in a rook's nest ; 
 we were Mr. Rook and Mr. Worm, surgeons, many years 
 ago. But in my case the worm was lucky — wriggled out, 
 had a bad fall, and a complete recovery. 
 
 If I am not quite an obsolete croaker, and if the world 
 should have still a pinch of the old leaven in it, give me 
 liberty to speak. There is a dear, kind-hearted, blundering 
 old public on the one hand ; there is, on the other hand, a 
 battalion of brave young aspirants. As a friend to the one 
 and to the other party, let me try to bring them fairly face 
 to face. 
 
 Since rogues are to be mentioned, let me set out by 
 declaring an assured belief that there are a thousand reason- 
 ably honest men to set against every rascal in the universe. 
 
2/4 Papers from ''All the Year Round''. 
 
 Every man is indeed some sort of cheat ; but the great 
 majority of men err only by falUng into pits and over 
 snares. Those are the few, who dig and spread them. We 
 shall discuss medical rogues, and, therefore, let me for my- 
 self remember to how many of the men I honour and love 
 most in the world, and have most reason to love and honour, 
 physic is meat and drink. What noble toil, what sacred 
 aspiration, what self-denial, what divine soul of charity, have 
 I seen animating men of the prescription and the pestle ! 
 Well I know by the old doctors what the young doctors 
 — a still better educated race — will be. But if the world 
 be not changed, the race of rooks is active in its search for 
 worms. The recruit marching to join an army has to 
 press through a rascal crowd of camp-followers before 
 he reaches its main body, and will guard his pocket 
 in their company. There are underground workers in 
 every profession. Those of the medical faculty work in 
 two mines — public credulity and private innocence : the 
 innocence of the young men who wander up and down, 
 eager to learn how to begin practice. These young men 
 may be worked most profitably. They are small capitalists, 
 eager to find other men's pockets in which to place their 
 money : happy to pay bank-notes for flourishes on paper. 
 They are beset, therefore, with accommodating offers. 
 What shall they believe? How shall they protect them- 
 selves, and avoid buying sorrow for the bright young 
 partners of their hope with whom they exchange con- 
 fidential details and suggestions through the country post — 
 good little girls, who shall be doctors' wives some day ? 
 
 Be shrewd, now, for your own sake, little girl, and lend 
 the help of your bright eyes for the discovery of Doctor 
 Corvus whenever he is at hand. He is your lover's demon, 
 as you are his angel, and the tempter comes in many 
 shapes. That true-hearted young fellow, whose diploma 
 you have read with reverence, is quite a Faust for learning, 
 
Btiying a Practice. 275 
 
 and no Mephistopheles would make him wish for any other 
 prize of beauty than yourself. But there is a Mephis- 
 topheles who finds him eager for a nest to take you to, 
 ambitious and self-confident as youth should be. He it is 
 who may fly away with the young man into a crow's-nest. 
 Be a wise maiden, and keep watch. 
 
 I knew a clever youth — knew him because a day of 
 sorrow opened to my sight for a few hours the depths of his 
 warm heart — and when he had laboured much and suffered 
 something, he was looking for his place in life. When 
 should he, Biceps, begin practice ? There was the usual 
 little woman down in the country, writing the usual number 
 of little notes ; there was the lump of parental capital — an 
 honest tradesman's entire earnings — to set him up in a pro- 
 fession for which he was competent. To Biceps, tenderly 
 trained in a religious home, the tempter came, confessing 
 that he was a scoffer. "There's only a thousand a year at 
 Cheatenhall, expenses paid ; but it 's a large place where 
 there are thousands to be humbugged. If you join me, we 
 shall soon double the practice. Medical men take a great 
 deal of solemn credit to themselves ; but all these pills and 
 draughts and mixtures really are for the most part humbug, 
 and patients demand to be laboriously trifled with. Be- 
 tween ourselves, we are all of us humbugs. I profess only 
 to be a man of the world, give people what they choose to 
 pay for, and receive the benefit. I'm something of a 
 betting man, I am ashamed to say, and have neglected a 
 practice rather to my hurt. Besides, I don't get the pro- 
 fessedly religious people, who are a large body in Cheat- 
 enhall. If you stick to the work and go to church, 
 you'll soon double the bulk of the day-book. Half of a 
 thousand a year is not enough to live upon : but you 
 know very well, as a man of the world, that two 
 horses can pull a bigger load than one. However, I 
 would advise you to take your time, if you think 
 
276 Papers fro7n ''All the Year Rotmd". 
 
 anything of our putting our horses together. Come down 
 for a few months as an assistant, see what the work is, 
 and look at leisure through the books. It is easier to tie 
 a knot, you know, than to unpick it." Biceps went to see 
 for himself, and walked up and down Cheatenhall for weeks 
 in spectacles provided for him by the tempter, who was 
 always at his side. There was practice, there was money, 
 there was unlimited room for expansion. Corvus did truly 
 repel the religious world ; while all his talk was preter- 
 naturally laden with that selfish wisdom which young men — 
 especially when they are themselves generous and trustful — 
 often erroneously suppose to be the atmosphere of com- 
 merce : " I want this man", thought Biceps, " to help me to 
 make money. Surely he is the right sort of man to be safe 
 with in a pounds-shillings-and-pence relation." So the bond 
 was signed, and the rash student became the slave of his 
 familiar. Corvus, of course, intercepted and retained part- 
 nership money ; disappointing facts came out ; Biceps toiled 
 and hoped. Corvus dipped into a private and personal 
 bankruptcy of his own, and having already sucked up his 
 partner's capital, tested in the next place his borrowing 
 power, by involving him in fresh expense and risk. Years 
 have run by, and Biceps lights alone a weary battle, still 
 living on hope, with a sister for his housekeeper. The pale 
 little woman in the country still comforts him with little 
 letters ; sometimes he can escape to her for a chance day. 
 And the years are flying, and the five hundred a year, on 
 which one cannot live, is longed for as a dream of com- 
 petence which two may yet survive to share together. 
 
 Be true to your hearts, men and maids ! Defy whatever 
 tempts you with a sneer, and make no compact with avowed 
 dishonesty. It is not getting support from without in the 
 sort of worldliness you fancy to be wanting in your- 
 selves. The temper of each age is its own proper worldli- 
 ness. Joy is the worldliness of childhood, hope of youth, 
 
Buying a Practice. 277 
 
 prudence of age ; each does its own work in its own time, 
 when it hves faithfully in natural communion with the 
 other two. 
 
 Anceps wrote sentimental poetry and physicked another 
 man's paupers in the west, before he went north to expend 
 his capital in partnership with a philanthropist. Dr. Corvus, 
 of Smashley, what an honest man was he ! Substantial was 
 his build, his hair was crisp and grey, he abjured fermented 
 drinks, making amends to his system with butter and 
 potatoes ; his house was his own freehold, and the best 
 house in the place; his tongue was (if Anceps had but 
 known that soon enough) his whole estate. He was 
 a temperance orator, a benefactor of A., B.'s trusted adviser, 
 C.'s forlorn hope, and the friend in need of D. He could 
 talk jauntily to young Anceps about Avicenna, create an 
 impression of much hidden knowledge in himself while 
 syringing the ears of the young dreamer with oil of flattery. 
 " My practice", he said to the youth, "has been falling off 
 for years. I have been established forty years in Smashley, 
 and have done w^ell ; but a foolish desire to do what good 
 I can in unprofessional ways causes me to attend meetings 
 and to be summoned frequently to London. I have with- 
 drawn so much time from my practice that I shall be losing 
 it unless I take a partner \yho will see that nothing is 
 neglected. I am not wholly dependent on my profession, 
 and I could not tie myself to anyone who could not sym- 
 pathise with my desires and be an intellectual friend. I do 
 much hope that we shall come together. I liked you the 
 first moment I saw you." 
 
 So Anceps yielded up his blood. The young fellow went 
 to Smashley and began life as a working partner, while the 
 benevolent familiar was in London, strewing blessings on 
 his race, as he suggested. He was in reality spending the 
 patrimony of Anceps in riotous enjoyment of the law- 
 courts, upon which he had already wasted his own sub- 
 
278 Papers from ''All the Year Round'\ 
 
 stance. For, among writs, subpoenas, attorneys' costs, 
 bailiffs, mortgages, and executions, this particular form of 
 Corvus was at home. In his medical ledger there were 
 many names ; these had been all the wealthy and the honest 
 people in the town, and there were still most of the rogues 
 and paupers. There was only by the rarest chance ever 
 a patient who paid money without compulsion, or was asked 
 to pay less than four times an honest charge when finally by 
 due process of law compelled. The weak point of the 
 philanthropist was litigation. Some men love neighbours 
 who will sit down with them to a rubber at whist : this sort 
 of Corvus loved neighbours who would sit down with him — 
 no matter for what stakes — to an action at law. A law- 
 court was his gambling-house. He often won, and he had 
 ruined many — ruined others even when he was himself 
 a loser. When Anceps fell under his tempting, there were 
 hidden behind the mask of the philanthropist the haggard 
 lines of the long-ruined gamester. House and land were 
 mortgaged, show of practice was a fraud ; nobody warned 
 the deluded youth, lest warning might be actionable. 
 A little damsel, far away, doubted and hoped. The long- 
 haired young doctor, if Nature had not made a fool of him, 
 had made one of himself ; but alas ! not for himself alone ; 
 also for the loving little heart that pined and sorrowed far 
 away. Anceps became familiar with law procedure. He is 
 grey, and lean, and broken — and the little girl is dead. 
 
 Forceps had money enough to buy " opening" after open- 
 ing till all was spent. He had for his money three visits 
 from Corvus, of whom he purchased : i. A snug practice, 
 with an open shop, which ceased to comfort him when he 
 had eaten all the ginger lozenges that formed part of the 
 stock-in-trade. 2. Partnership with a religious physician, 
 who embezzled more than his share of the profits on the 
 prospect of which Forceps married. 3. A nucleus, as it is 
 called (a nothing which is paid for in the hope that it may 
 
Buying a Practice. 279 
 
 grow to something), in a seaport town. He has ten children, 
 and is medical adviser to the lighthouse. That was the 
 nucleus, and the lighthouse has diffused none of its rays 
 yet into his future. But Forceps is also surgeon to his 
 parish, and receives the cost of the horse he rides and of 
 the drugs he gives in labour for the poor, with nothing for 
 himself. His pains are his own, and he is left with them. 
 
 Forceps, I am sorry to say, found Corvus behind the 
 mask of a high professional reputation. He and another 
 youth joined capitals to pay the heavy price required for 
 introduction to an eminent position. They never doubted 
 that where fame was, there was honour also. A legal 
 evasion made it possible for the distinguished Corvus to re- 
 tain the cake that he had sold. The two young men were 
 ruined utterly. Forceps died long since of a broken heart. 
 His friend lives under a blue hght in a little by-street of 
 the London suburbs. The trim little lady of old who was 
 to have graced his drawing-room is to be seen at eleven 
 o'clock any morning in a dirty gown, with a lean first-born 
 clinging to it ; excusing, perhaps, her neglect of payment 
 to the butcher at the door, or uttering complaint to the 
 baker on the price of bread. 
 
 Deinceps had suspicion, but was eager. Promise was 
 very good in Corvus ; but, would he perform } Then said 
 the tempter, "Another presses me; agree now, or the open- 
 ing IS lost to you." He agreed, and this good opening in 
 life was lost to him indeed. 
 
 Broken fortune can be mended ; but, only with time, 
 and patience, and minute attention. It takes long labour 
 rightly to cement together all the pieces of a vessel that was 
 shattered in an instant by a single fall. Broken fortune may 
 be replaced with different and better fortune, by many who 
 have capital enough of energy within themselves. There is 
 no ruin for the strong of heart ; but all hearts are not 
 strong. — All the Year Rounds AugMSt 1859. 
 
PULLING THROUGH. 
 
 Mrs. Pawley, having made my punch, has left me by the 
 fire, and is in bed. Bokes, the apprentice, having sent out 
 all medicines, made all his infusions for to-morrow, and 
 rolled a gallipot full of our house-pills, has earned and eaten 
 an enormous supper, learnt the lower jawbone, read ten 
 pages of Tennyson's In Me?noriajn, written a letter to his 
 sweetheart, sharpened his penknife, operated upon his own 
 finger-nails, and is in bed. Eleven Pawleys junior retired 
 to bed at different times during the evening. All the house 
 is asleep, I hope, and everything alive in it pulsating as 
 calmly as the study-clock on yonder chest of drawers. 
 
 This is my hour for reading what my brother doctors are 
 about, and picking up new crumbs of knowledge helpful 
 to me in my practice from our weekly journals, quarterly 
 reviews, and half-yearly retrospect of medicine and surgery. 
 Sometimes, in spite of all precaution, it will happen that the 
 crumbs of science lie untasted, while Thomas Pawley enjoys 
 an hour's wool-gathering, his thoughts helped back now and 
 then into the past by a stray reference to the contents of all 
 those drawers on which the representative of friendly Time 
 now sits triumphant. It was a work of time, Deborah Tims, 
 but we pulled through. What pious resignations of all hope 
 of marriage, and what vows to be a faithful single woman 
 until death, true to the unfortunate Tom Pawley, that old 
 clock is chuckling over, with its long hand just about to 
 strike, and pointed upstairs towards the nursery over my 
 head. One, two, three, eleven ! 
 
Pulling Through. 281 
 
 There lies, ready to be posted, Bokes's letter to " Miss 
 Comfort, the Misses Dummie and Stiff, Chlorosis House, 
 near Godsacre". He is not yet of age to doubt about his 
 pulling through, and he will have to pull through his exami- 
 nation to get into practice, and pull through many a shallow 
 before Jane Comfort, now a governess pupil, presently to be 
 a governess, shall have pulled through the troubles of her 
 single state. Bokes's father failed last year ; and he has no 
 rich friend. But, wherever that young gentleman sleeps, 
 there sleeps the brave. No misgiving about the future hurts 
 his appetite or breaks his rest. Indeed, he looks down from 
 a mental elevation of his own upon my country practice, 
 profitable as it is, with all its toil and the disgraceful rows of 
 gallipots and bottles in the surgery. He means to be a 
 consulting or an operating surgeon, or a physician with a 
 place of business in Savile Row, and an estate at Windsor. 
 Let him unlearn his day-dreams, but remain determined 
 in his hope ; and, with the help of time, he will pull 
 through. 
 
 Five-and-thirty years ago, my best friend in this village, 
 and my sole companion in this house, was a dog. The old 
 post-woman ought to have been held a better friend, punc- 
 tually as she toddled to the back-door twice a week with a 
 bit of the love-tale of Deborah Tims in her basket. But 
 then, also, she toddled to the back-door daily with wafered 
 - letters of demand from creditors and lawyers, with notes of 
 contemptuous pity or expostulation from friends, refusal 
 of small requests, portentous missives of advice, anonymous 
 letters, meant to sting (though these counted but as the gain 
 of so much wastepaper), with everything that could premise 
 shipwreck of T. Pawley's life. In those days the sight of 
 the post-woman's red cloak gave me a thrill of pain. We 
 have a dapper postman now (for Beetleborough has enlarged 
 its borders), and the post-office is a fountain of delight to 
 all our household — now that it is thirty years since I 
 
 I T 
 
282 Papers from ''All the Year Roiind'\ 
 
 pulled through. The story of that pull may be of use to 
 some young Bokes ; so here it is, and much good may it do 
 him. 
 
 Desperately anxious to begin the world, I qualified myself 
 for practice at the age of twenty-one, and went into the 
 country as assistant to a busy surgeon, only that I might be 
 as free as I could make myself, while looking out for a fair 
 opening in life. I watched advertisements, and put myself 
 upon the books of medical agents, hoping for something 
 that would satisfy my longing, and pass m.uster with my 
 friends. It must be something very tempting that would 
 justify me, to them, in rushing at the unripe age of twenty- 
 one or twenty-two into the full responsibilities of independ- 
 ent practice. 
 
 To much noble promise I was deaf, until within a twelve- 
 month I had made a great discovery, and was put by a 
 medical agent into communication with Ezekiel Hawley, 
 Esq., M.D., of Beetleborough, who desired, on reasonable 
 terms, to share evenly with me a practice of One Thousand 
 Pounds a year. 
 
 Doctor Hawley had a frank way of correspondence, wel- 
 come to ingenuous youth, and his almost fatherly manner 
 when we met inspired me with respect and confidence. It 
 was the benevolence of a father — he was thirty years my 
 senior — blended with the respect due from an equal. I had 
 taken his fancy, as he found some way of saying ; there was 
 so much harmony of taste between us, and he had long felt 
 the want in Beetleborough of a friend with literary tastes 
 and enlarged sympathies with whom he could exchange, at 
 the end of his day's work, a thought, a feeling, or a fancy. 
 Beetleborough was in a wild pit-country, and its gentry was 
 composed chiefly of single ladies, while the great mass of its 
 population was unformed. A partner, in such a district, was 
 a pure misfortune if he could not be a friend, and he did 
 hope, therefore, that we might come to terms. He had 
 
Pulling Through. 283 
 
 practised in the place for four-and-tvventy years, but of late 
 it had begun so rapidly to increase that his work grew upon 
 his hands, when he was wishing for a little rest. He had 
 earned enough for himself and his wife, with their two 
 daughters, but he had no wish to sink into absolute in- 
 activity. Therefore, and because it was manifest that with 
 help from a younger man's energy the practice could in a 
 few years be doubled, he had thought of a partner. Pur- 
 chase-money for the practice w^as no great consideration 
 with him. His lawyer had fixed it at eight hundred and 
 fifty pounds. He had himself no notion whatever of the 
 sum that should be asked ; he did not care how it was paid, 
 and knew no more about law matters than he did of 
 
 Avicenna's . Here he named a work that I had never 
 
 heard of, and gave an impression of great knowledge in 
 professing ignorance. I went down to Beetleborough from 
 a sunny western village that defiled the air with nothing 
 coarser than a few wreaths of wood smoke. I left there a 
 benighted population, in which every man, woman, and 
 child not wearing broadcloth or silk made formal reverence 
 before those textures. What I found was the place where I 
 now live, a rich scene blackened and burnt, air thickened 
 by day with smoke of a hundred coke-heaps. It is so 
 ablaze by night with the reflexion from blast- furnaces, that 
 friends from London who come down to visit us in these 
 our quiet days, for the first night or two cannot convince 
 themselves that there are not houses on fire in every direc- 
 tion. Not a soul then gave to my broadcloth more than a 
 rough stare. When, however. Dr. Hawley drove me in his 
 gig to see " one or two of his poor pensioners", we had an 
 insulting body-guard of little boys behind us all the way up 
 a hill. 
 
 " These are the free ways of the North," said the good 
 doctor. 
 
 Tidier people looked at us with marked curiosity and 
 
 T 2 
 
284 Papers from ''All tJie Year Round". 
 
 interest, but I was glad to miss all the servile obeisances to 
 which I had been of late accustomed. 
 
 Now that I have pulled through, it seems that all this 
 happened for the best. I think it did. Nevertheless, for 
 years and years I felt that if, instead of offering to any one 
 of those small boys or of those wayfarers whom we met, a 
 penny for his thoughts, I had offered and paid even five 
 hundred pounds for the contents of the very emptiest head 
 of them all, they would have been cheap to me at such a 
 price. The juniors hooted and the elders stared ; but not a 
 creature said a word to save me from the ruin to which all 
 thought I was doomed. 
 
 In the doctor's house I could see ledger and day-book. 
 There was no lack of prescriptions and of patients' names, 
 with heavy accounts registered as paid. I could ask my 
 father to come down and see things for himself. Doctor 
 Hawley entertained him blandly, left all to him as a man of 
 the world, admired T. Pawley, but privately contrived to 
 suggest that as T. P. was young and somewhat romantic, the 
 alliance with a quiet old practitioner, who had experience 
 of life, would be the very thing to keep him out of danger. 
 Finally, the vicar came one evening, with one or two of the 
 more serious supports of Beetleborough, and they supped 
 with us at Doctor Hawley's, when a goose was cooked. 
 Hereupon my father was so far satisfied, that, after the 
 guests were gone, he came into my bedroom, gave me 
 friendly counsel, promised to lend whatever of purchase- 
 money was required beyond my own three hundred pounds, 
 and consented to the partnership. 
 
 To a raw youth the first load of responsibility is rather 
 welcome than unwelcome. It gives a sense of dignity by 
 the demand it makes upon his power. The cares of man- 
 hood are as welcome to bold two-and-twenty as the coats of 
 manhood to bold seventeen. My first act of prudence was 
 to ensure the safe possession of my partnership by at once 
 
P tilling ThrougJi. 285 
 
 paying the rest of the purchase-money. While remaining 
 in my hands, bank-notes might under some pressure change 
 to gold, and gold to silver. To some fifteen pounds of dis- 
 count for immediate payment, I observed timidly to Dr. 
 Hawley that I was entitled. He assured me that he had 
 DO present want of the money, that he understood nothing 
 about investments, for he held nothing but house-property. 
 If I paid him the money now, it would only lie idle at his 
 banker's, and so if I knew how to make fifteen pounds of 
 it by keeping it until the appointed day of payment, I had 
 better keep it. Then, of course, I paid all to him on the 
 spot without deducting discount, and again observed, but 
 not with suspicion, the swaft clutch into w^hich it was re- 
 ceived. Up to this time, Dr. Hawley had been my constant 
 companion in Beetleborough ; indeed, we were inseparable. 
 He now left me a little to myself. 
 
 There was at Beetleborough a poor, broken-down surgeon 
 — a Mr. Watts — upon the point of abandoning his work 
 and going to another place to die. He had a wife and half- 
 a-dozen sickly children, but no practice that he was clever 
 enough to sell. While planning to take off his hands his 
 house and furniture, with possibly some incidental scraps of 
 practice that might stick to the house-walls, I pitied Watts 
 with all my heart. But Doctor Hawley was so active in his 
 behalf that he had undertaken the whole management of 
 his affairs. Whether Watts, weakened by illness, could be 
 influenced in spite of knowledge, or w^hether it was that he 
 knew Hawley's power over me and looked to him as the 
 best agent through whom to effect an advantageous transfer 
 of his little properties, I cannot tell. Certainly Doctor 
 Hawley was allowed to assume the character of Watts's 
 sympathising friend. Deborah's father had lent me a 
 hundred pounds for purchase of furniture, an act of weak- 
 ness on his part, he said. He could ill spare it, and I was 
 to repay him in a year. Out of this I gave Watts forty 
 
286 Papers from '^All the Year Round''. 
 
 pounds through Doctor Hawley's hands, and by the 
 Doctor's private counsel, for a horse which I was forced to 
 sell again for five pounds within half a year. I had only 
 my partner's acknowledgment for that money, and dis- 
 covered some months later that but twenty pounds of it 
 were paid to the object of so much officious sympathy. It 
 was already little less than a defrauding of the widow and 
 the orphans ; Watts was in his grave within a twelvemonth. 
 He anticipated the approaching end by suicide. 
 
 Doctor Hawley went with me to Beetleborough, and then 
 excused, on account of his sympathy with so much deep 
 distress, an immediate return to London upon business re- 
 lating to poor Watts's affairs. He hoped that he might yet 
 find means to secure for his family some little opportunity 
 of livelihood. It was not a busy time for practice, and he 
 had lost ground, doubtless, by so many absences, but in a 
 few days he would be back for good, and then we would 
 both put our shoulders to the wheel. And so he vanished, 
 not for days, but weeks. 
 
 In the meantime, only a few paupers came to me. I 
 stuck close by the surgery, had leisure to wonder at the 
 very small quantity of drugs dispensed, though there was an 
 imposing array of empty jars and bottles, and perceived the 
 curious monotony of the prescriptions in the day-book, 
 which appeared to recognise one tolerably harmless com- 
 pound as the universal medicine. My paupers were 
 reserved in manner : those whom I visited appeared to be 
 afraid of me ; but all declared that Doctor Hawley was a 
 wonderfully clever man. 
 
 The doctor occupied the handsomest house in the 
 village. It was built by himself, and stood in large, 
 neglected grounds. Who would not put faith in such a 
 house as that, and the grey head that it roofed ? The 
 furniture was scanty, and the dinner-table was supplied 
 more freely with water and potatoes than with other sorts 
 
Pulling TJirougJi. 287 
 
 of food. In later days, when every man's business was 
 forced on my knowledge, I knew from the butcher that the 
 meat-bill of that mansion had not averaged five shillings a 
 week. But there was a very gentle lady in it— Mrs. Hawley 
 — by whom there was given me for my Deborah a shilling 
 copy, not a new one either, of Bogatzky's Golden Treasury, 
 She was a pious, simple-hearted, trusting woman, and alas, 
 alas ! the faithful, penniless wife of a swindler. She had 
 been married for her fortune, and the big house had been 
 built out of it. The doctor, whose degree was one of the 
 pretences upon which he lived, had spent every shilling she 
 possessed. He had deluded her, as he deluded hundreds 
 of people wiser in this world than she or I professed to be ; 
 but her only, for eighteen years, he kept in her delusion. 
 His bland manner was practised on her constantly. When 
 he had become— as he had when he picked me up— the 
 terror of the neighbourhood, and all honest men shunned 
 him ; when there were for years none whom she dared to 
 visit, none who dared visit her ; and when for months, in 
 every year, her husband was away, following his own 
 devices ; she sat patiently at home, true to her faith in 
 Heaven and the man whom she had married. From her 
 simple defence of him, when sometimes we were together 
 in his absence, and before I knew how much defence he 
 needed, I caught almost the first shadow of my doubt. 
 Everyone, she said, was jealous of his talents. Envy made 
 people his enemies : besides, unhappily (that was indeed 
 some grief to her), he had been misconstrued because he 
 did not go to church. But his heart was so warm, he was 
 so generous, she said, as she ate, shivering with frost by a 
 few flickering coals, her scanty, solitary meal. 
 
 Could there be need for so much parsimony, when I had 
 just paid my friend eight hundred and fifty pounds ? I had 
 only twenty-five sovereigns left, outside whatever might arise 
 
288 Papers from ''All the Year Roimd'\ 
 
 as earnings from the practice, and I could not see the use 
 of Hving upon water and potatoes. 
 
 One evening, there sat by the small basket of embers in 
 our surgery an old man angered by the toothache. He 
 planted himself on a stool. Dr. Hawley was expected home 
 that night. Nobody should pull out his tooth but Doctor 
 Hawley. He was a clever man, whatever he was. He 
 meant to wait for him, so he sat down and grunted for a 
 long time, till I ventured on a word of sympathy. 
 
 "You may just keep your sympathy for yourself, young 
 man." 
 
 " Why ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Doctor Hawley 's a deal cleverer than Master Pawley 
 knows. But you'll not be the first to find it out." 
 
 I had already fallen into the first stage of heartache, and 
 gave weight to the man's words. But I paid no outward 
 heed to them, and did not answer him. After another ten 
 minutes the toothache suddenly abated, and the sense of 
 relief from pain touched the old fellow's mind, I suppose, 
 for he suddenly broke out with — 
 
 " Hang it, I can't abide seeing you sit there by that glum 
 candle, looking so young and so pale, without telling you 
 right forward you're done for. There ! " 
 
 " You may tell me what you please. Perhaps you mean 
 well." 
 
 "I mean that the sooner you be gone the better. I've 
 known this house eighteen years, and never have seen 
 aught in it but misery. Ask any man, woman, or child in 
 Beetleborough. Doctor Hawley's most amazing clever, but 
 if there's a wickeder creature on the earth or under the 
 
 earth " 
 
 " Then why do you come to him ? Why do you wait for 
 him ? Why have you anything to do with him ? " 
 
 " Because he's the best doctor in the county. None of 
 the gentlefolks or tradesfolks come to him. I'm one of his 
 
Pulling Through. 289 
 
 patients. He'll do me good, and then I know he'll squeeze 
 me. But I want to be done good to now — I'll take my 
 chance about the squeezing. Many a poor man he 's 
 charged ten pounds for a week's illness, and had him to the 
 Court of Requests, and at last clapped him into prison." 
 The man's tongue once loose, wagged for an hour, pouring 
 incident on incident of fraud and cruelty. 
 
 " I do not believe all this scandal. Doctor Hawley is in 
 London even now for a kind purpose." 
 
 " He 's in London now about two law-suits, that 's where 
 he is. And that 's where all the money goes that ever he 
 has got. He 's never out of law-suits, and he'll soon be 
 having one with you. Nobody put you on your guard, 
 I suppose, when you first came here. Lots of us were sorry, 
 but there wasn't one dared speak. It 's actionable to speak 
 truth of such a man." 
 
 " What if I tell him all you have been saying ?" 
 
 " Keep it to yourself, young man, and turn it over. 
 Look about, ask questions, and then go back home." 
 
 The doctor did not return that night, nor for another 
 fortnight. To my written complaint that there was no prac- 
 tice at all, he replied that patients no doubt waited until he 
 returned. He was ashamed to be so much absorbed over 
 poor Watts, and so forth. When he did return it was but 
 for three days, during which his behaviour strengthened 
 every suspicion. Then he went back again to London. 
 
 In the meantime, I was practising among the poor, and 
 giving to my housekeeper, one after the other, the twenty- 
 five sovereigns which were all that I had to live upon. 
 When they were all gone, the domestic assured me, with 
 a bright face, that ready money did not matter, for I had 
 the best of credit ; and, since food was necessary, I began 
 to live on credit and run into debt. No money whatever 
 came to me from the practice. Nobody called upon me. 
 But I lived quietly, made humble friends, saw that a fierce 
 
290 Papers from ''All the Year Round''. 
 
 battle was before me, and made strong resolve, helpless as 
 I might seem to be, that I would not succumb. 
 
 During my partner's second absence I procured distinct 
 and legal evidence of the gross fraud that had been prac- 
 tised on me. I did not learn till afterwards how it was 
 that the vicar's countenance had been obtained for the 
 delusion of my father. Dr. Hawley, when our correspond- 
 ence began, suddenly frequented the church services, and 
 made, in the eyes of an evangelical preacher, so much 
 ostentation of conversion through his ministry, that the 
 good vicar, believing himself to be in a fair way to save 
 a soul, would not risk disappointment in so great a work by 
 staying away from a supper. It was the first and the last 
 time of his supping in that house, for he soon saw what use 
 had been made of him. 
 
 It may not seem to be an easy thing for a boy of twenty- 
 two, who has been fooled out of all his substance, and a 
 great deal more, to tell a grey-haired gentleman, in a cool, 
 courteous, and determined way, that he has found him out 
 to be a rascal. I had that to do. 
 
 Doctor Hawley did not appear surprised at the intelli- 
 gence. With a wonderful ingenuity, indeed, he assumed 
 the tone of an insulted, injured man ; and turned upon me 
 the character of a designing villain. But there was in his 
 hypocrisy an under-current of brutal defiance, and a bitter- 
 ness of insult obviously designed to drive me to extremes. 
 
 My temperate offer was that he should at once consent 
 to a legal cancelling of the bond of partnership, setting me 
 free, and keeping all the money I had paid. I would then 
 retire to the house I was occupying, and do what I could 
 alone in Beetl*eborough ; but I would not leave the place. 
 I had paid my footing, and would make my footing sure : 
 on that I was resolved. To any settlement of our affairs so 
 plain as this, Doctor Hezekiah would, on no account, con- 
 sent. He held me to the bond, meaning thereby to force 
 
Pulling Through. 291 
 
 me into flight, and leave him free to effect another sale of 
 the desirable position I had paid for. 
 
 " Very well, sir," said poor Tom, " since we are to be 
 partners, be it so. I will be your partner, but not your 
 associate ; will make a practice here in spite of you, and 
 let you spend upon your lawyers half of what I earn. 
 There is an end to seven years. Do what you may, I will 
 pull through." 
 
 The doctor said in his heart thatl should not, and spent 
 all his ingenuity in making an untenable position look as 
 hopeless and as wretched as might be. Still I was shunned 
 and (what was hardly better) pitied by the Beetleborough 
 people. But when they saw that, although Doctor Hawley's 
 partner, I knew my position, and was not his friend, and 
 that, pale and meek as I was, I ventured upon actual 
 defiance of the parish ogre, pity disappeared. A curious 
 visitor or two dropped in upon this little study into which 
 I had crammed my books, and in which on many a lonely 
 evening, after the day's calm endurance, I had sobbed over 
 poor Deborah's desponding letters. Then my one friend 
 the dog, in tribulation over my distress, would seize my 
 arm between his paws, and leap up, with a distressed whine, 
 to lick his master's hidden face. No matter. I had set 
 every nerve for the contest. In the eyes of Beetleborough 
 I was light of heart and light of step ; to some I may have 
 seemed but as a cork floating about upon the surface of the 
 storm. 
 
 Of course I could have fought and won my battle at the 
 cost of certain life-long ruin in the Court of Chancery, to 
 which all quarrels of partners are referred. Poverty and 
 common-sense preserved me from that folly. I was content 
 to possess evidence that made me reasonably safe against 
 attack by law on the next ground I ventured upon taking. 
 
 A gross act of my partner's involved me innocently, as a 
 witness in an assize case, of which all the details were dis- 
 
292 Papers from ''All the Year Round'\ 
 
 graceful. It was evident that the position I had chosen 
 really was untenable. Therefore at last I said to my partner, 
 " Do as you please. I have clear evidence of the fraud by 
 which I was induced to sign the deed of partnership be- 
 tween us. From this day forward I shall act as if it were 
 waste-paper. I shall practise by myself and for myself. 
 Hinder me if you can." 
 
 When my friends heard what Young Pawley was about, 
 horror and indignation seized them. They all gave him up 
 as mad. A gaol would be the end of him. If I would 
 leave Beetleborough and try fortune somewhere else (having 
 no penny of means to do so), they could then believe in 
 my discretion, but to face ruin, to defy the law, where were 
 my senses ? 
 
 And yet at Beetleborough tea-tables young Mr. Pawley 
 was declared to be a braver fellow than he looked. In the 
 village street he had many a warm gripe of the hand from 
 men who had been bitten — as there were few who had not 
 been bitten — by the ogre, and who liked him well for what 
 they called his pluck. During his five-and-twenty years 
 among these people, Doctor Hawley had contrived to make, 
 abuse, and forfeit everyone's friendship. His manners 
 were insinuating — he knew how, being in truth very ig- 
 norant — to suggest high opinions of his own professional 
 ability. He might, therefore, when I met with him, have 
 been the wealthiest and the most popular medical man in the 
 county, instead of the restless, penniless adventurer that he 
 had become through a diseased love of stray gains made 
 in the lump by a dishonest cleverness. For his litigious 
 character, even more than for the wrong he had done often 
 to the weak and helpless, he was everywhere as much 
 feared as he was hated. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was a wretched little tribe of village 
 vagabonds attached to him, by whose agency he could dis- 
 tribute scandals through a very ignorant and scandal-loving 
 
Pulling Through. 293 
 
 population. For one week it was village talk that I had 
 been seen drunk ; next week there was a deceased patient 
 of mine whom I had poisoned with an overdose of laudanum. 
 Anonymous letters were sent to me, or addressed to those 
 who showed themselves to have some care about me. Va- 
 grants were sent to sing insolent ballads, tallying with the 
 last libel — that might wound the fame, perhaps, of others 
 with my own — beneath my window. Scandal so foul as 
 some of that which spread can hardly be conceived by 
 those who have not lived where ignorance and immorality 
 abound. I knew the fountain of it all. Nothing on earth 
 except my dog saw that I ever suffered. Whatever scandal 
 came to me I put aside with the invariable answ^er to the 
 questioner about it, " You know whence the report came, 
 it is for you to believe it or not, as you please.' I meant to 
 pull through, and knew that I could not work like a horse — 
 for as I had been obliged to sell my horse, and could not 
 buy another, I did really perform a horse's rounds every day 
 on foot — I could not do that, and dispute into the bargain. 
 So I shut my eyes on Doctor Hawley ; never took part in any 
 talk about him ; never abused him, nor complained of him. 
 One day's rumour indeed set forth that Pawley and Hawley 
 had been fighting with each other in the street, and it is 
 most true that I never passed my partner and received the 
 sneer which he took care to thrust at me from a malicious 
 face, without a vigorous desire to lay my stick upon his 
 back. Oh, how I could have beaten him ! But I did 
 nothing, and said nothing, and looked nothing. I simply 
 did my work; quarrelled with nobody, bent before nobody; 
 but, sturdily and determinately facing the w^hole battery of 
 persecution, looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, 
 kept a firm grasp upon my plough, and went on with the 
 furrow. 
 
 Care w^as of course taken to assure all my creditors that 
 I was penniless, discarded by my family, already heavily in 
 
294 Papers from ''All the Year Round'\ 
 
 debt. Duns were thus raised about me. Lawyers were 
 set to bait me for small debts. I had to give up my watch, 
 every luxury of furniture, my books, and even yonder clock. 
 
 As the blood rises when the tempest beats upon the face, 
 and all the limbs grow vigorous when buffeting the wind, so 
 flute-playing Tom Pawley was made, earlier than happens 
 to beginners in all cases, something of a man through 
 trouble. He saw no way out of his wood, but a quick 
 marching steadily in one direction. He went into no by- 
 path of false pretences ; never denied access to a dun, nor 
 cheated a creditor with more than fair expression of hopes, 
 not in all seasons to be fulfilled. He found that the \vorld 
 was composed mainly of good fellows, glad enough to be 
 generous and trustful with beginners who do not fear work, 
 and who are open in their dealings. 
 
 Then it happened that, one evening when I was at tea, a 
 middle-aged gentleman knocked at my door, I rang im- 
 mediately for another cup and saucer when I knew his 
 errand. 
 
 " I am told, sir," he said, " that you were Doctor Hawley's 
 partner." 
 
 " I was so", I replied, "by a deed that is not acted on." 
 
 " I have been advised to come and speak to you. I have 
 just bought a partnership with Doctor Hawley. Some 
 doubt has arisen in my mind. Things have been said 
 to me " 
 
 This gentleman had been a ship-surgeon ; he had earned 
 money enough in Australia to buy a practice in England, 
 where there was a sweetheart he longed to marry. Hawley 
 had found him. All his money was in Hawley's pocket. 
 
 " Can 1 make a practice here ?'' he asked. 
 
 "That", I said, "is what I now am doing." 
 
 " Hawley told me you were a young simpleton ; an 
 interloper in the place, starving upon a hundred pounds 
 a year." 
 
Pulling Tluvngh. 295 
 
 " I earn three hundred, but starve upon that. Through 
 Doctor Hawley I am much oppressed with debt, and lose 
 much that I earn in lawyers' costs, forced on me by 
 impatient creditors. I shall succeed in the end. There 
 may be room for both of us." 
 
 "Ah no!' my friend sighed ; "I must go to sea again. 
 The long hope of my life is at an end." 
 
 He went away from Beetleborough. He gave his last 
 kiss to his sweetheart, and departed. 
 
 After this, I had no more obstruction from my partner ; 
 who, within another year, was himself taken from us all, to 
 our great joy. In London he had turned up a few wealthy 
 simpletons, one of whom was at last clever enough to put 
 him in the dock of the Old Bailey. He was sent to gaol ; 
 but I believe in my heart that he ought to have been sent 
 forty years sooner to a lunatic asylum. — All the Year Roinid^ 
 October 1859. 
 
SCHOOL-KEEPING. 
 
 Prizes are now being offered to the pupils at training- 
 schools in several English counties for the purpose of pro- 
 moting a knowledge of the art of conveying sound 
 instruction in common things to the children of the work- 
 ing-classes. In the movement that has thus been set on 
 foot by Lord Ashburton, the whole English public claims 
 to participate ; the need of much more sense in school 
 teaching, and even (with reverence be it said) in university 
 systems, is so very obvious, that Lord Ashburton's sugges- 
 tion has gone off like a gun in a rookery and has set many 
 a quill flying. 
 
 Doctor Quemaribus declares to all friends and parents in 
 his private circle that his school is exempt from the pre- 
 vailing attack. Public opinion seizes upon schools, now, 
 like an epidemic, and, as is the way with epidemics, fastens 
 with most severity on those that happen to be in a bad 
 condition. Dr. Q. pronounces his own school to be intact, 
 for does he not give object-lessons to the junior boys, does 
 he not provide lectures on chemistry for all the boys, does 
 he not teach the elders botany ? I, for my own part, do not 
 agree with Dr. Quemaribus in his opinion of the state of 
 his own kingdom at Verbumpersonale College. I have the 
 highest respect for that distinguished LL.D. I know, too, 
 that he is a good, earnest man, and that the boys he turns 
 out do him credit. They possess much knowledge though 
 they are not well educated — for to know much and to be 
 well educated are two perfectly distinct things — and they 
 
School- Keeping. 297 
 
 are gentlemen. They leave school with a respect for their 
 teacher, and they grow up excellent people. When the 
 hairs of Dr. Quemaribus shall have become white, and 
 when his voice of power shall have become weak and thin, 
 there shall collect tog.'ther stalwart men, tradesmen and 
 merchants, quick lawyers and slow divines, and shall dine 
 in his honour, and acknowledge him their friend, present 
 plate to him, and comfort him with words of generous and 
 loving recognition. He will deserve all they may say of 
 him or do for him. There is a legion of quack educators 
 in the land, but the principal of Verbumpersonale College 
 is not one of them. 
 
 There are thousands of fine-hearted and full-headed 
 Quemaribuses in all ranks of the scholastic profession. I 
 believe, in my heart, that as there is not a happier or nobler 
 occupation in the world than that of developing the minds 
 that are to work in the next generation, so, there are in this 
 country very many good men now occupied in teaching 
 children conscientiously and with exceeding care. 
 
 Yet, upon this subject of teaching I have long had 
 crotchets of my own, of which Dr. Quemaribus and many 
 other clever men used to declare to J me that they were 
 purely theoretical, that they were quite impossible of execu- 
 tion. Every practical man would tell me so. Every 
 practical man did tell me so. "My dear fellow," said 
 Quemaribus, " it is a very pretty amusement to plan model 
 school systems, but you don't know the difficulties with 
 which we have to contend. There is not time for all yoa 
 would have done, and you set [out with a wrong notion of 
 the nature of a boy. Your method never could be worked." 
 
 "Doctor,"! said, " I'll try." 
 
 " Then," said the doctor, " if you mean that, seriously, 
 you are mad. Every man will say so when he sees you 
 lay your bread and butter down to make a harlequin's leap 
 out of one profession into another — out of a business you 
 
 I u 
 
298 Papc7's from ''Household Words''. 
 
 understand into one of which, permit me to say, you 
 know nothing whatever. And how will you try ? Where 
 will you go ? " 
 
 " I will go into some tow^n w^here there are a great many 
 people, and say plainly: Thus I desire to teach. There 
 may be a dozen who will answer, fanciful as you think me, 
 Thus I desire my children to be taught." 
 
 I carried out that scheme and met with the result that I 
 expected. After two years of school-keeping, during which 
 I put my crotchets to a full and severe test, I left in a town 
 which I had entered as a stranger some of the best friends 
 I have ever made or ever shall make. I left there, also, 
 children whom I shall never forget, by whom too I hope 
 never to be forgotten. Moreover, I did not lose money 
 by the venture; in a commercial sense, the experiment 
 succeeded to my perfect satisfaction. 
 
 When it is possible to add a demonstration to a theory, it 
 ought to be done, and it would certainly be unjust towards 
 the little crotchets that I here wish to set forth if I did not 
 (as in truth I can) make evident that they are something 
 more to me than idle fantasies. At the same time, let 
 nobody interpret anything here said as a puff composed 
 during the Christmas holidays for the replenishing of any- 
 body's forms ; the writer's occupation as a schoolmaster is 
 over, he has now no school and takes no pupils, nor can he 
 name any school in this country that is carried on accord- 
 ing to his plan. Furthermore let it be said that if he did 
 know of such a school, it is quite possible that he might 
 entertain a low opinion of it, for a reason that will be made 
 evident by the crotchet next and first to be detailed. 
 
 Crotchet the First. Concerning plans of teaching. No- 
 body has any right to impose his plan of teaching on his 
 neighbour. There is no method that may call itself the 
 method of education. There is only one set of right prin- 
 ciples, but there may be ten thousand plans. Every teacher 
 
School- Keeping. 299 
 
 must work for himself as every man of the world works for 
 himself. There is for all men in society only one set of 
 right principles, yet you shall see a thousand men in one 
 town all obeying them, although all in conduct absolutely 
 differ from one another. They will present among them- 
 selves the widest contrasts, and yet every one may be 
 prospering and making friends. Thompson talks little, 
 avoids company, sticks to a few good friends, and does his 
 work in a snug corner. Wilson speaks freely and cheerily, 
 delights in associating with his fellows, and works with a 
 throng of helping hands about him. Jackson is nervous, 
 fidgety, and constitutionally irritable ; he does his duty, 
 though, and gains his end. Robson, on the contrary, is of 
 an easy temper, lets a worry rest, and never touches it when 
 he comes near ; he does his duty, too, and gains his end. 
 But, let the shy Thompson undertake to make his way in 
 the world by being like Wilson, sociable and jolly ; and he 
 will make himself contemptible by clumsy efforts, and the 
 end of them will be a dismal failure. In the school, as in 
 the world, a man must be himself if he would have more 
 than a spurious success : he must be modelled upon 
 nobody. The schoolmaster should read books of educa- 
 tion, and he may study hard to reason out for himself by 
 their aid, if he can, what are the right principles to go upon. 
 A principle that he approves, he must adopt ; but, another 
 man's plan that he approves, he must assimilate to the 
 nature of his own mind and of his own school before he can 
 adopt it. Even his school he must so manage that it shall 
 admit a great variety of plan within itself and suffer him so 
 to work in it as to appeal in the most effective way to the 
 mind of each one of the scholars. 
 
 The practical suggestion that arises from this crotchet is, 
 that each teacher should take pains not to make an abstrac- 
 tion of himself; but to throw the whole of his individuality 
 into his work ; to think out for himself a system that shall 
 
 u 2 
 
300 Papers from ^^ Household Words''. 
 
 be himself; that shall be animated by his heart and brain, 
 naturally and in every part ; that shall beat as it were 
 with his own pulse, breathe his own breath, and, in short, be 
 alive. 
 
 Crotchet the Second. Upon the qualifications of the 
 teacher. He may be mild or sharp, phlegmatic or passion- 
 ate, gentle or severe, he may thrash or not thrash — but I 
 would rather he did not thrash. As men differ and must 
 differ, so must teachers, so must schools. But no man can 
 be a good teacher who is a cut-and-dried man without any 
 particular character : his individuality must be strongly 
 marked. He should be, of course, a man of unimpeach- 
 able integrity, detesting what is base or mean, and beyond 
 everything hating a lie. He should have pleasure in his 
 work, be fond of children, and not think of looking down 
 upon them, but put faith — and that is a main point which 
 many teachers will refuse to uphold — put faith in the good 
 spirit of childhood. He must honour a child or he cannot 
 educate it, though he may cram many facts into its head. 
 It is essential also to the constitution of a good teacher that, 
 whatever his character may be, he shall not be slow. 
 Children are not so constituted as to be able to endure 
 slowness patiently. He must also not be destitute of 
 imagination, for he will have quick imaginations to develop 
 and to satisfy. 
 
 Furthermore, it is essential that he should deeply feel the 
 importance of his office, and utterly disdain to cringe to any 
 parent, or to haggle for the price of services that no money 
 can fairly measure. In all that I here say, I speak with 
 direct reference to schools for the children of those people 
 who are well-to-do in the world, and can afford to support 
 the kind of teacher they desire. Schools of that kind ought 
 to be in the hands of men trained long and carefully in 
 many studies. Assistant teachers should be men qualified 
 to aid, by undertaking each a single branch >!" study in 
 
School- Keeping. 301 
 
 which they have obtained perfection ; but the head of a 
 school should carry its brains and be, as nearly as he may 
 be, versed in all its business. It is not for him to teach a 
 speciality, but to command respect by the breadth of his 
 attainments, to link all parts of his plan together, and unite 
 them in the boys' minds into one great whole. He should 
 add to his classical knowledge an acquaintance with, at the 
 very least, two modern languages ; he should know how to 
 account for, and to make comprehensible to boys, the 
 reasonings of mathematics ; he should have studied, and be 
 able to teach, the history of the world as a whole; he 
 should be well read in books of travel, and have a full ele- 
 mentary knowledge of the entire circle of the sciences. 
 He should be well read in the literature of several countries 
 and of his own day; he should study the political and 
 social movements that are going on about him, and employ 
 even the news of the day in his teaching, by applying it to 
 school knowledge and school knowledge to it. He should 
 be able to bring every study into visible subservience to the 
 best and commonest aims of life, showing the children at 
 once how to think and how to make all acquired knowledge 
 available and helpful in their daily work. All this will be 
 too much for one man ; but it is not too much for one man 
 and a library. The proper breadth of cultivation given, 
 depth must be maintained by constant and habitual study. 
 The most learned teacher ought incessantly to read and 
 think, so that he may be on each topic as full-minded as he 
 should be when he proposes to give lessons to a child. The 
 good teacher must be devoted to his work; if he want 
 pleasure and excitement he must find them in the school- 
 room and the study. For it is only when his teaching gives 
 great pleasure to himself that it can give any pleasure what- 
 ever to his pupils. The parent must not grudge to a worthy 
 teacher the most liberal reward that lies within his means. 
 It is not to be supposed that any large body of men can be 
 
302 Papers from ''Household Words'\ 
 
 induced to devote themselves heart and soul to an ill-paid 
 profession, which demands peculiar talents and expensive 
 training, with a toil both in preparation and in action that 
 can never be remitted. 
 
 Crotchet the Third. Of the child taught. There is no 
 fault of character in boy or girl that cannot be destroyed or 
 rendered harmless, if right treatment be applied to it in 
 time ; that is to say, within the first twelve years. We 
 inherit tempers and tendencies which sometimes, when they 
 are neglected, bring us to harm. The bent of character is 
 settled before birth. Anything cannot be made of any 
 boy or girl, but something can be made of every child, 
 which shall be satisfactory, and good, and useful. The 
 tendency that would, under a course of neglect or bad 
 management, produce out of a cross infant a self-willed and 
 dogged man, may be so managed as to develop into firm- 
 ness tempered with right judgment. Mismanagement at 
 home hinders good management at school, and, for a 
 generation or two, that difficulty will hurt the operation of 
 the best school systems. There belong, however, to the 
 spirit of childhood and youth, qualities through which 
 a true-hearted appeal is sure of a true-hearted reception. 
 Children are good, and they are so created by Divine 
 Wisdom as to be wonderfully teachable. They are, how- 
 ever, also so created as to require free action and movement, 
 to be incapable of sustaining long-continued mental exer- 
 tion, to be restless. It is not in the constitution of a child 
 to sit day after day, for three or five consecutive hours, 
 upon a form. If the schoolmaster subject children to 
 unnatural conditions, and Nature assert herself in any boy 
 or girl more visibly than discipline admires, the teacher, not 
 the child, is then in fault, and it is he or she — if anyone — 
 who should stand in the corner, do an imposition, or be 
 whipped. It is only possible to teach a child well, while 
 accommodating one's ways humbly to the ways of Nature. 
 
School- Keeping. 303 
 
 Crotchet the Fourth. On the constitution of a school. 
 Since there is no such thing as a plan universal for all 
 teachers ; since each school should maintain its own indi- 
 viduality ; since a school of which the plan is an abstraction 
 is a dead school, I can only express my notions on this 
 subject by explaining what sort of a crotchet my own notion 
 of school-keeping was, and how it answered. Let me be 
 at the same time careful to reiterate that I do not propose 
 it as a nostrum, but that, on the contrary, I should hold 
 cheaply the wit of anyone who copied it exactly in practice. 
 I only want my principles adopted — nothing more. One 
 notion of mine was, that if children could be interested 
 really in their studies— as they can be— so long as they were 
 treated frankly and led by their affections, the work of 
 education could be carried on entirely without punishment. 
 I had been, as a boy, to many schools, and knew how dread 
 begot deception, and we were all made, more or less, liars 
 by the cane. Even our magnanimity consisted frequently 
 in lying for each other, and obtaining for ourselves the 
 floggings that impended over friends. I knew how deceits 
 rotted the whole school intercourse to which I had myself 
 been subject; how teachers, made distrustful, showered 
 about accusations of falsehood ; how we cribbed our lessons, 
 and were led to become sly and mean. I do not mean to 
 lay it down as a principle that schools should be conducted 
 without punishment. I can conceive a dozen kinds of men 
 who would know how to do good with a few floggings 
 judiciously administered. But I was not one of the dozen 
 — I should certainly have done harm. Corporal punish- 
 ments being abolished, there remained few others For, 
 I uphold it as a principle, that punishments which consist 
 in the transformation of the schoolroom to a prison, or in 
 treating studies and schoolbooks as if they were racks and 
 thumbscrews — instruments of torture to be applied against 
 misdoers, in the shape of something to write or something 
 
304 Papers from ^'■Household Words''. 
 
 to learn — to learn, forsooth ! — defeat the purposes of educa- 
 tion, heap up and aggravate the disgust which it should be 
 the business of a good teacher carefully to remove as it 
 arises. 
 
 I set out, therefore, with the belief that I could dispense 
 wholly with punishment, if I could establish a perfect open- 
 ness of speech and conduct in the school. Accordingly, a 
 little ceremony of signing a book w^as established on the 
 entry of each pupil, whereby the signer formally promised 
 in all dealings with his teacher or his companions " to act 
 openly and speak the truth". All motive to deception 
 being as much as possible withdrawn, the strongest motive 
 penalty could give was put in the other scale ; for it was 
 established as a fundamental law that a first falsehood 
 would be forgiven, but that after a second the offender 
 would be required to leave the school. This law was taken, 
 as it was made, in sober earnest. There was only one 
 transgressor, a youth of fifteen, blunted in feeling by a long 
 course of mismanagement. He did not remain with us 
 three months. Systems, and very good systems too, 
 according with the individuality of other teachers, would 
 provide for cases of that kind ; mine did not. It was so 
 far faulty. It would suit forty-nine children out of fifty, 
 but the fiftieth would need another kind of discipline. A 
 little pains being taken to keep up the feeling, perfect open- 
 ness was secured, and no tale-telling was possible, for every- 
 one told frankly his own offence. 
 
 And that, too, was the case, although it was found in 
 practice not quite possible to go on wholly without pains 
 and penalties. At first, when there were half-a-dozen pupils, 
 all went went well ; but when the number had increased, 
 though all continued to go well, and the best spirit was 
 shown by the children, it was not possible for them, 
 gathered in groups, to exercise so much self-control as they 
 might themselves wish, and as was necessary for a reasonable 
 
School-Keeping, 305 
 
 discipline. The joyousness and restlessness of youth, not 
 being chilled in any way, would now and then break out at 
 inconvenient times, and every idler was a cause of inter- 
 ruption to his neighbours. Penalties were therefore 
 established. They were of the lightest kind, and repre- 
 sented nothing but the gain or loss of credit. They would 
 have been ridiculous, except in as far as they were applied 
 to children anxious to prove their resolution to do right. 
 
 Rewards were established with the penalties, and it is 
 necessary to explain their nature first. I think it may be 
 laid down as a principle that the practice of urging school- 
 boys, or even young men, into fierce competition for a book, 
 a medal, or a sum of money, hurts, more than it helps, the 
 work of earnest education. The true teacher ought not to 
 give prominence to an unworthy motive for exertion ; only 
 a false teacher does that, to escape, in an artificial way, 
 some of the consequences which result from the false prin- 
 ciples on which he goes to work. It was my crotchet to 
 give nobody a book for being more quick-witted than his 
 neighbour, but, as much as possible, to set each working for 
 his own sake, and to fix a common standard : not of 
 intellect, but of application and attention, which each was 
 to endeavour singly to attain. It was possible that, at the 
 end of a half-year, every pupil might receive a first prize. 
 It was certain that, as prize or present, everyone would 
 receive a book, and that, although there were first, second, 
 and third prizes, the difference between them was not to 
 consist in money value. 
 
 This was our system of penalties, by which alone the 
 little state of children was held in sufficient check : — Who- 
 ever during work-time was a cause of interruption, had 
 an interruption marked against him. If he interrupted 
 three times, it was said that he lost half-a-day ; if six times, 
 he lost the day, and, for the day, had nothing more to lose. 
 If he chose — as he never did choose — it was to be supposed 
 
3o6 Papers from ''Household Words''. 
 
 that, having got so far, he might make as much noise as 
 he pleased thereafter. Gay spirits now and then indulged 
 themselves in the luxury of two offences against order, 
 stopping at the third. Every offence against discipline went 
 by the name of interruption ; and we called a day, a ticket. 
 At the end of the half-year each pupil's lost days were 
 counted, and, according to their number, was the number 
 of his prize. Within the cover of his book was pasted a 
 small printed form, which being filled up, carried abroad 
 the exact intelligence that its owner had been present and 
 attentive at school a certain number of days, absent or in- 
 attentive another certain number of days, and had received 
 that book as a first, second, or third prize. The success of 
 this plan was greater than a man putting no faith in children 
 might suppose. Stout boys who could pull at an oar with a 
 strong arm were not too big to cry, sometimes, over a lost 
 half-day. The ages of the pupils ranged between eight and 
 fifteen. Now and then it happened that some great event 
 outside, such as the freezing of a pond, produced an 
 irrepressible excitement. Common restraints would not 
 check talking and inattention. The punishment then 
 introduced is horrible to tell : — There was no teaching. All 
 lessons were put aside. Instead of extra lessons for a 
 punishment, no lessons appeared to me the best mark of 
 supreme displeasure. Lessons were not to be regarded as 
 their pain, but as their privilege ; when they became too un- 
 manageable the privilege was for a time withdrawn. What- 
 ever you may choose to call a punishment, becomes one to 
 an honest and well-meaning child. Stoppage of lessons 
 checked all turbulence at once, and the school looked like a 
 dismal wax-work exhibition until the prohibition was with- 
 drawn. 
 
 Children are very teachable, and it is just as easy to excite 
 in them, and to lead them by, a sense of honour and self- 
 respect, as to spur them on, by promoting among them 
 
ScJiool-Keeping. 307 
 
 rivalries and jealousies, and to try to drive them out of mis- 
 chief with a cane. 
 
 Having explained our criminal code, let me describe next 
 our ordinary constitution, which was from beginning to end 
 one shock to the feelings of Quemaribus, when I detailed it 
 to him. Children are not fond of gloom or ugliness, and it 
 is not wonderful if they have little admiration for the cus- 
 tomary schoolroom and its furniture. My crotchet on that 
 subject was, that the best room in the teacher's house 
 should be the schoolroom, and that he should do all he in 
 reason could to give it a cheerful and even elegant appear- 
 ance. The school of which I speak was established by the 
 seashore, and there was a very fine view^ from our school- 
 room window. It must be confessed that there was plenty 
 to look at, and sometimes certainly a ship or a donkey would 
 appear at inconvenient seasons ; but, as we did not shut the 
 world out from our teaching, there was no good reason why 
 it should be shut out from our eyes. There w^as a back- 
 room used for supplementary purposes, but the front-room 
 was the main work-place. I was the first tenant of the 
 house, and papered it. For that schoolroom, in defiance of 
 all prejudice, and in the mad pursuance of my crotchet, I 
 chose the most elegant light paper I could find — a glazed 
 paper with a pure white ground, under a pattern that inter- 
 fered little with the whiteness and delicacy of the whole 
 effect. After two years of school-work in that room, it being 
 always full, the paper was left almost without a soil. There 
 had been a few inkspots that could be readily scratched out 
 with a knife, and one mishap with an inkstand, of which the 
 traces were sufficiently obliterated with the help of a basin 
 of cold water. 
 
 Upon the mantelpiece were vases, which the children 
 themselves kept supplied with flowers. The room was car- 
 peted, and it must be granted that the carpet soon wore out. 
 There were neat little cane chairs instead of forms, cheerful- 
 
3o8 Papers from ^^ Household Words''. 
 
 looking tables instead of school desks. The aspect of the 
 room was as cheerful as I could contrive to make it, and 
 was a great shock to the prejudices of Dr. Quemaribus. It 
 did contain, however, a black-board, a pair of little globes, 
 and a large map of the world : — to which our references 
 were so incessant, and I believe often so pleasant, that 
 I think we all were glad to be familiar with its features. 
 
 Dr. Q. called on us one Monday morning before his own 
 Christmas holidays were over — ours being short — and he 
 made a grimace when he found us very snugly seated about 
 the room, one stirring the fire, and all talking about the news 
 of the day. I was insane enough to devote every Monday 
 morning to that sort of study, and the Doctor candidly con- 
 fessed before he left that it was not altogether folly. Boys 
 accustomed to discussions upon history, looked at contem- 
 porary events from points of view that appeared quaint to 
 him, and not entirely useless. They bewildered him by 
 their minute acquaintance with the recent discoveries at the 
 North Pole, which they had acquired while their hearts were 
 full of sympathy for Sir John Franklin. There was a new 
 scientific discovery of which they were endeavouring to 
 understand as much as possible, and they were criticising 
 social movements in a startling way. The Doctor observed, 
 too, how the tempers and the humours of the children were 
 displayed in this free talk, and how easy it became, without 
 effort or ostentation, to repress in anyone an evil tendency 
 — the tendency, perhaps, to pass summary and contempt- 
 uous opinions — and to educate the intellects of all. A great 
 deal may be done when all seem to be doing nothing. 
 When news was scarce, and time was plentiful, we filled that 
 morning with a lesson upon what we entitled "common 
 knowledge". That topic recurred two or three times a 
 week, and was concerned with reasonings and explanations 
 on the commonest of everyday words and things. 
 
 We divided the day into two very distinct parts. Half 
 
School- Keeping. 309 
 
 was spent upon book-study, as of languages, arithmetic, and 
 mathematics ; the other half upon history and science. I 
 began to struggle through the history of man — fully enough 
 to occupy over the task five or six hours a week, and get to 
 the end in about three years. In the same time, we were 
 to get through the story of the world about us, and complete 
 the circle of the sciences. Geography we learnt insensibly 
 with history and science, filling up our knowledge of it with 
 the reading of good books of travel. In these studies, the 
 interest taken by the children was complete ; but partly be- 
 cause I felt that there was insecurity in oral teaching by 
 itself, partly because I wished to see how we were getting 
 on, a practice was established of mutual examination in all 
 things taught verbally to the whole school together. All 
 were parted into two sides, matched pretty evenly, whose 
 work it was to puzzle one another. The sides were often 
 shifted, for the eagerness of competition became sometimes 
 greater than was wholesome : though it was a pure game of 
 the wits, in which there was no tangible reward held out to 
 the victor. Very proud I felt at the first trial, when I heard 
 questions asked and answered upon facts in history or 
 natural history, or explanations of familiar things taught ver- 
 bally, in some cases, twelve months ago. It was felt to be 
 of no use to ask anything told within a month or two, be- 
 cause that probably would not have been forgotten. I got 
 a book and entered every question that was asked, wording 
 it in my own way, but altering or prompting nothing ; and 
 the book now lies before me, an emphatic proof of the 
 degree and kind of interest that children, taught without 
 compulsion and allowed to remark freely upon all that they 
 are doing, can take in the acquisition of hard knowledge. 
 They began curiously with thoughts rather than things, and 
 with thoughts, too, that had not been discussed among us 
 for a twelvemonth. "Why does China stand still in her 
 civilisation ?" was asked first ; that being answered, the other 
 
310 Papers from ^'HouscJiold Words''. 
 
 side returned fire with the same kind of shot, " Why did our 
 civiHsation begin on the shores of the Mediterranean?" 
 That was remembered, and there was a return question 
 ready, " Upon what does the advance of civihsation depend 
 chiefly ?" That, too, was known, and there was a shot more 
 in the locker, " Why is England so particularly prosperous 
 — why not some other island ?" Then, there was a change 
 of theme ; a demand for the habits of the sexton-beetle was 
 returned again in kind by a demand for ditto of the ant-lion, 
 and upon the white ants there was a retort made with the 
 gad-fly and the Bosphorus. Then, one side grew nautical, 
 and wanted a description of all the parts of an ancient ship 
 of war. They were remembered — for the topic was but a 
 few months old — and the retort was, " Describe the spy-boats 
 of the ancient Britons." That day's engagement ended 
 with the question, " Why is it close and warm in cloudy 
 weather?" to which the return inquiry was, "Why is it 
 colder as you rise into the air, though you get nearer to the 
 sun ?" Every question asked that day was fairly answered. 
 On the next day of battle I find one side asking to be 
 shown the course of the chief ocean currents, and the other 
 demanding to be told what causes ebb and flow of tide, 
 spring and neap tides, and to be shown the course of the 
 tide wave. I find questions in the same day on the wars of 
 Hannibal, the twinkling of the stars, the theory of coral 
 reefs, the construction of the barometer and thermometer, 
 the tide in the Mediterranean, and how one branch of a 
 fruit-tree can be made to bear more than the rest. Farther 
 on, I find such questions asked as the difference between 
 ale and porter, between treacle and molasses, how a rope is 
 made, how spines are formed on shells, when linen was first 
 used in Europe, and what is the use of eye-brows and eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 After this system of mutual examination was established, 
 a new phase of our school-life displayed itself. The oral 
 
School-Keeping. 3 1 1 
 
 teaching, which had evidently not been thrown away, was 
 cultivated with new care ; a great system of note-taking 
 arose ; all kinds of spontaneous efforts were made to retain 
 things in the memory ; and the result was, that, as I read 
 before I taught, and could not remain always so full of in- 
 formation on a topic as I was while teaching it, the children 
 over and over again remembered more than I did. I soon 
 needed all my wits not to be nonplussed myself, when they 
 were labouring to nonplus one another. 
 
 Now if work of this kind can be done merrily, stopping 
 at the end of every hour for five minutes of play, and 
 throughout without any employment of a harsh restraint ; 
 if over work of this kind faults of character or temper can 
 be easily and perfectly corrected — as with us in two or three 
 instances they were — a spirit of inquiry can be begotten. 
 That done, a boy can be made to feel the use and enjoy the 
 exercise of education, and in the end will turn out eager to 
 go on acquiring knowledge for himself. Surely, if this be 
 so, there must be something rotten in existing school sys- 
 tems, planned upon the models set up in the Middle Ages ! 
 Truly, I think there is great room for a Luther among 
 schoolmasters ; and I do marvel greatly at the pertinacity 
 with which society adheres, in these days, to scholastic 
 usages whereof familiarity breeds in it no contempt. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 (1841-1848.) 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 THE DREAM OF THE LILY-BELL. 
 
 Yet blushes Earth : for yet the last sweet kiss 
 Of her hot sun-love lingers on her lip, — 
 The parting kiss, ere he, and with him day 
 And light and gladness, left her. Fastly fades 
 The blush that is not shame. In close-drawn folds, 
 Wrapping her dusky garb across her breast, 
 Earth slumbers. Ever present Love quits not. 
 Quits never, its once consecrated Temple ; 
 Earth slumbers : yet still in a tender dream 
 Will she behold her Sun. 
 
 O ye are holy, happy dreams of Love, 
 
 That free the spirit from its daily thrall ; 
 
 When none may fear to meet Love's honest pledge ; 
 
 And the chaste lip that whilome called the tint 
 
 Of shame, unworthy shame, to meet its touch 
 
 That else had been unhallowed, dares to dwell 
 
 In sacred fondness on a brow as pure 
 
 As it is changeless in its purity. 
 
 So lovely earth, made crimson by the breath 
 
 Of her dear sun-love, turns aside and shrouds 
 
 In gloomy cowl her face of happiness : 
 
 Yet many a kiss, the long dream through imprints 
 
 Her love's dear image that she chastely meets, 
 
 Therein most beauteous, though she blushes not. 
 
 O ye are holy, happy dreams of love ! 
 
 Ye are most holy, for ye gaze on heaven ! 
 
 X 2 
 
3i6 Appendix. 
 
 What, then, were man's whole life of love a Dream? 
 Within himself the night that hides the world, 
 His reason torn from intercourse with sin. 
 His love all purity and gentleness. 
 
 Earth blushes yet; yet o'er the forest trees 
 
 Last glances of the sun in radiance stream ; 
 
 Yet the green foliage, sparkling in the breeze, 
 
 Mingles its lustre with each golden beam. 
 
 And through the forest walks of green and gold 
 
 The shadows of the Night with stealthy pace 
 
 Close to the rough sward creep, or there more bold 
 
 Where foot of man not yet hath broken way, 
 
 In the dense thicket and the tangled copse 
 
 Throng unaffrighted. All without is bright ; 
 
 Sunshine and smiles ; within they canopy the night. 
 
 So, like a forest is the human heart, 
 
 With all its hidden paths and tangled ways ; 
 
 Its open spots to let the sunshine in 
 
 On moss-flowers, and on fragrant violets, 
 
 Its pleasant shades that guard the lily-bell. 
 
 Its thickets wild, and barren growths of fern, 
 
 And rank luxuriant wastes, where poison plants. 
 
 The ghastly agaric and gaudy foxglove grow. 
 
 And belladonna with false painted fruits. 
 
 Alluring to destroy. 
 
 So like a forest is the human heart ; 
 
 And oft without that wood seems dark and lone, 
 
 While sunbeams sport with the wild birds within 
 
 That carol to their glittering playfellows. 
 
 Or it may shine, perchance, a realm of heaven. 
 
 And court, in robe of gold, the distant sight. 
 
 Yet not one bird within its depths shall sing. 
 
 Yet not one flower in its dark paths shall bloom. 
 
 Yet scarce one little ray of truant light 
 
 Shall bring disturbance to its settled gloom. 
 
The Dream of the Lily -Bell. 317 
 
 Within the wood there is a quiet break, 
 An open spot whereon the sunlight plays ; 
 Around it clustering the noblest trees, 
 Great Nature's priests, their arms in blessing raise, 
 While ministering branches interlace 
 To lift a golden canopy above, 
 Meet shadow for the spirit of that place. 
 The fairy queen, who there holds reign of love. 
 And all the ground that is not shadowed thus, 
 Is carpeted alike with gold and green. 
 Alike the gift of that gay prodigal, 
 The laughing sun, who looks so long on men 
 That, worldly wise, he learns to court his flowers 
 From the east and from the west with scattered golden 
 showers. 
 
 It is the spring-time, and the trees around. 
 
 Some budding, others half burst into leaf. 
 
 Are fresh in beauty that no bitter wind 
 
 As yet hath breathed on ; others gay in tints 
 
 Of varied foliage, gem with brighter green 
 
 Of fresh-sprung shoots, luxuriant in youth. 
 
 The mellowed verdure of maturer boughs. 
 
 The very sky is green with the rich stream 
 
 Where floods of gold its azure wavelets meet ; 
 
 While fleecy clouds that float across them seem, 
 
 Stained by the ruddy waves, like some fair fleet 
 
 Of angel ships sailing on heaven's sea. 
 
 Full of bright hosts that have come forth to gaze 
 
 On the pure beauty of earth's evening. 
 
 The grass grows long within that wilderness, 
 
 Save where its growth is stayed by violets 
 
 That cluster upon little banks of moss 
 
 Around the trees, among their winding roots 
 
 That break with solid knots the yielding turf ; 
 
 There many a bank is gemmed with primroses, 
 
 There valley-lilies, like new-fallen snow. 
 
 Whiten the ground with their sweet weeping bloom, 
 
 And modest daisies there, and the wild thyme ; 
 
31 8 Appendix. 
 
 Beauty and fragrance all ! The fairies sure, 
 
 Weaving this garden from the forest flowers, 
 
 Wept that earth's blossoms not more beauteous were, 
 
 Till, watered with such pure and holy dew. 
 
 The grateful flowers full soon to heavenly beauty grew. 
 
 But ah ! the flower never yet hath grown 
 
 That bore not with it traces of decay ; 
 Ah, never yet a summer sun hath shone 
 
 So fair that winter feared to break its sway ! 
 Over these freshest blossoms of the vale 
 
 The withered leaves of the last autumn dance ; 
 Now their grey skeletons ride the odorous gale. 
 
 Now sport in the clear sunlight, or, perchance, 
 Light on a budding branch, and there they cling 
 To some fresh leaf in mockery, some leaflet of the spring. 
 
 The massive oak, the noblest of the wood. 
 
 That once o'ershadowed yonder flowery rise, 
 For ages had it Winter's wrath withstood — 
 
 Why did the Summer its stern faith despise? 
 It stood the lord of all the forest round. 
 
 Ripe acorns clustering in its rich brown leaves ; 
 In forest cave no cooler shade was found 
 Than its wide branches spread upon the ground. 
 The Summer, swollen with her own hot fires. 
 Came, a proud beauty, rioting in love. 
 And shot down lightnings on her favourite. 
 So now one half that noble tree is dead, 
 Its riven heart is open to the sun ; 
 One palsied arm still pointing to the skies, 
 Reproachfully it stands. Full many a tear 
 Hath Summer rained upon that broken heart, 
 And many a sad day long hath fondly kissed 
 That blighted form, but what her pride hath killed 
 Her love shall never wake to life again. 
 Yet still beneath the black and shattered tree, 
 Mocking with scanty leaves, or a few boughs 
 Of wonted verdure, its own barrenness. 
 There, on the grassy slope it shaded once 
 
 I 
 
 ( 
 
The Dream of the Lily -Bell. 319 
 
 The fairest flowers of all the forest grow. 
 There, on those beds of moss and violets, 
 Linger the sunset's last and loveliest hues, 
 And there above the greenwood's choristers 
 Their sweetest lays attune. Pale primroses 
 There ever earliest bloom, and never flower 
 Opened its heart upon that bank and died 
 That sowed not sevenfold new beauties there. 
 
 A rude cross, formed out of the forest wood. 
 Even from the withered branches of that oak 
 Which yields it scanty shelter, hath the hand 
 Of some sad mourner raised :— one who is dead 
 Hath rest beneath these flowers. The lily-bells 
 Cluster around that rugged cross's foot. 
 And a fresh woodbine half the height hath climbed 
 With fondling touch upon its mossy stem. 
 
 Ye are all fair, ye flowers that there bloom 
 
 Upon the grave of beauty ; ye are fair. 
 
 Ye drooping lilies that so sweetly mourn 
 
 Loves' hapless fate, ye starry primroses 
 
 That in your tender fleeting shadow forth 
 
 The beauty of young death, ye violets 
 
 That pour your incense o'er the holy grave, 
 
 Ye are all fair ; yet primrose, violet. 
 
 Nor tender lily were like that bright flower 
 
 Whose stem here broken lies. The lightning stroke 
 
 That with its fury shattered the stern oak 
 
 Snapped a white lily too :— they died together. 
 
 Lo, weeping by the cross, a mourner kneels. 
 
 The soft breeze playing with his long black hair ; 
 
 One arm around the symbol of his hope 
 
 Clings tight, the other fallen listlessly. 
 
 While an unconscious hand is wandering 
 
 Among the fresh-culled flowers that scattered lie, 
 
 A fairy crowd, beside him. He will deck 
 
 The cross, the grave, with these. The mourner's lip 
 
 Is quivering, and the teardrop in his eye 
 
320 Appendix. 
 
 Scarcely can dim the wild unearthly light 
 That glitters there. O, she was dear to him ! 
 She was most dear ! and she is dead — she dead 1 
 How coldly sing the birds ! — The evening wind, 
 How carelessly it stirs the leaves of grass 
 That grows above her grave ! 
 
 The mourner's face, 
 Though sorrow clouds it now, how brightly once 
 It could beam love, and joy, and tenderness 
 Those features tell ; and tenderness and love 
 Are in it yet ; all that was joy is gone. 
 There sat enthroned the pride of intellect, 
 But one sharp pang, and that hath fallen too ! 
 One lightning flash ; the proud oak buds no more : 
 One lightning flash ; the lily's stem is snapped : 
 One flash ; the tower of a mind hath fallen ; 
 The palaces of reason into dust 
 Have crumbled, and its pavements are o'ergrown 
 With mourning wild-flowers, flowers of weeping love. 
 
 Though all else perish, sorrow cannot kill. 
 
 Storm cannot shatter, the sweet flower of love ; 
 
 Yet their fierce rain may fill its tender cup 
 
 With tears, with heavy tears that bow it down 
 
 To the cold earth beneath their weight. Alone, 
 
 In wrack of all things else within his mind, 
 
 The flower of love to Erdelmot remains, — 
 
 And that is bowed, alas, how heavily ! 
 
 He hath one thought, — to dwell beside her grave ; 
 
 He hath one care, — to deck her cross with flowers, 
 
 And pluck out weeds should they grow near her rest ; 
 
 But never yet hath weed that spot o'ergrown, 
 
 That holy grave of sleeping loveliness. 
 
 See, from the cross removing now his hand, 
 
 He shades his eyes to gaze upon the sun 
 
 That glows, half set, behind the forest trees. 
 
 Its gleam is over him. He drops his hand, 
 
 And bitterly he sighs, and hides his face 
 
 
 \ 
 
The Dream of the Lily-Bell. 321 
 
 Amid the lilies of the grave, there bathes 
 
 His hot brow in the heavenly dews they weep, 
 
 And weeps with them ; nor are his tears less holy. 
 
 And now above his head the nightingale, 
 
 Whom sympathy of sadness thither draws 
 
 At each day's fading, over that sad grave 
 
 To pour her sweet complaint, awakens him 
 
 To conscious grief once more ; so, lifting up 
 
 His wet face from the dewy flowers, he kneels, 
 
 Clinging again around the mossy cross. 
 
 And listens to the song. At length a smile, 
 
 Like sunlight in a ruin, lighteth up 
 
 The windows of his soul : a moment more 
 
 And it hath faded into gloom again. 
 
 And sighing, now he bends his mournful gaze 
 On the plucked flowers that beside him lie ; 
 Trembling, he kisses them ; his broken voice 
 Bursts then to melody, that thrills at first 
 Subdued with awe, then swelling, as it flows, 
 Rolls floating onward in its stream the sighs 
 And tears that rise to check it : — 
 
 Rosabel I Rosabel ! 
 
 List to him who loved thee well ! 
 Leave thy seraph haunts above ; 
 Bear awhile with earthly love ; 
 Be thou near me while I tell 
 My simple tale, bright Rosabel ! 
 
 I have wandered seeking flowers 
 By the garden's nested bowers ; 
 I have told my tale of sadness 
 Amid merriment and gladness ; 
 And the gayest heart would swell, 
 And laughter weep for Rosabel. 
 
 Rosabel ! Rosabel ! 
 
 List to him who loved thee well ! 
 Leave thy seraph haunts above ; 
 Bear awhile with earthly love ; 
 
I 
 
 322 Appendix. 
 
 Be thou near me while I tell 
 My simple tale, bright Rosabel ! 
 
 Seated calmly by her bower, 
 Smiled a merry wedded maid : 
 First of her I begged a flower ; 
 She the willing tribute paid ; 
 And she gave this lily-bell 
 For my spotless Rosabel. 
 
 She of old had known thee, dearest, 
 And she mourned thy hapless fate ; 
 Happier hers ! For thou wert nearest 
 Death, with joy when most elate. 
 From her lids a teardrop fell 
 To thy memory, Rosabel. 
 
 Rosabel ! Rosabel ! 
 
 Come to him who loved thee well ! 
 Leave thy seraph haunts above ; 
 Bear awhile with earthly love ; 
 Be thou near me while I tell 
 My simple tale, bright Rosabel ! 
 
 Next I met a husband, cheerful, 
 Rosy children by his side ; 
 Me he saw approaching, tearful, 
 Whom such bliss had been denied, 
 Often he had heard me tell 
 How I loved thee, Rosabel ! 
 
 And he gave this flower, sighing. 
 While the children pressed around, 
 Innocently, kindly, vieing 
 To heap high the sweets they found ; 
 For they've heard their father tell 
 The story of lost Rosabel ! 
 
 They have heard, with childish sorrow, 
 They have wept, my sweet, for thee ; 
 Hither haste they all to-morrow 
 Fresher flowers to bring to me, 
 
The Dream of the Lily- Bell. 323 
 
 And to sit while I shall tell 
 Of the dear — dead — Rosabel ! 
 
 Rosabel ! Rosabel ! 
 
 Come to him who loved thee well ! 
 Leave thy seraph haunts above ; 
 Bear awhile with earthly love ; 
 Be thou near me while I tell 
 My simple tale, bright Rosabel ! 
 
 Through the last faint gleam of the setting sun 
 There shies an purer light. The earth is hushed. 
 The singer's face looks upward towards heaven, 
 As seeking Rosabel. In the still air 
 A radiance floats across his melody — 
 An earthly shape of angel loveliness — 
 And bendeth over him. 
 
 A spirit's kiss is on a mortal brow ; 
 
 The mourner smiles, — it is a smile of love, — 
 
 And sinks among his flowers. 
 
 1841. 
 
OUR LADY'S MIRACLE. 
 
 Half bosomed in the tinted hedge, with shady boughs above, 
 There stands a wayside monument, a holy rustic fane, 
 
 A little niche of mossy stone, by pious Christian's love 
 In ages past devoted to Our Lady of the Plain. 
 
 Dark ivy crowns its pointed roof, and each decaying stone, 
 As aged heart with holy thoughts, with bloom is overgrown, 
 And o'er each tiny parasite that round the ruin clings 
 The glory of its place of birth a robe of grandeur flings, 
 So beautiful, although as frail, and of as little span, 
 Shines grafted on the house of God the faithful heart of man. 
 
 Upon a bank of softest moss is built the rural shrine. 
 Behind it is the forest, and before the distant line — 
 That line we ne'er attain to here, though ever in our sight, 
 Yet ever far — where earth and heaven to mortal eyes unite : 
 That sacred niche from yonder line, as from the mercy-seat, 
 Is parted by an even plain that stretches at its feet. 
 
 A little fountain bubbles from the chapel's polished floor, 
 And leaping down from step to step, it scatters all its store ; 
 Its store upon a crystal pool is cast in pearly spray. 
 And from the pool around the wood a brooklet winds its way. 
 
 To pious men this holy spot hath ne'er appealed in vain, 
 None ever passed that paused not with Our Lady of the 
 
 Plain. 
 Worn they came and wasted, and with weary travel faint, 
 Beside the spring they slaked their thirst, and knelt before 
 
 the saint. 
 
Our Lady's Miracle. 325 
 
 And poured with strengthened spirits many a long and 
 
 earnest prayer 
 To God, the good and merciful, who, as He blessed them 
 
 there, 
 So ever on the road of life, in providence had placed 
 At intervals such spots of bliss, such temples in the waste. 
 
 I know not whether true it be that living spirits dwell 
 
 In every little flow'ret, as the mystic sages tell ; 
 
 I know not whether need there be with aught of earth's 
 
 philosophy 
 To cumber a great miracle whose witnesses remain : 
 'Twas wrought within this Chapel, by Our Lady of the Plain. 
 
 It v/as an April day, and Heaven was smiling through the 
 
 tears 
 Of Earth awakened from a dream of dark and icy fears, 
 The setting sun had thrown its arch across a whispering 
 
 shower, 
 Swung raindrops light on every leaf, and slept in every 
 
 flower. 
 
 The chapel's roof they circled with a rosary of glass, 
 Bead on bead fell glistening, and broke upon the grass ; ■ 
 Bead on bead the flowers caught which maiden fingers twine 
 And wreathe around the portal of the Holy Mother's shrine. 
 
 The breeze of evening scatters beads within upon the stone. 
 Or on the spring that murmuring within the chapel flows ; 
 
 One flies to rest upon the breast, so delicate and lone. 
 
 Of a tender, milk-white Violet that near the Virgin grows. 
 
 I know not whether true it be that living spirits dwell 
 
 In every little flow'ret, as the mystic sages tell ; 
 
 I know not whether need there be with aught of earth's 
 
 philosophy 
 To cumber a great miracle whose witnesses remain ; 
 'Twas wrought upon this Violet by Our Lady of the Plain. 
 
326 Appendix, 
 
 Star by star is breaking into light, 
 
 One by one the cloudlets die away ; 
 Clouds that dared uphold against the night 
 
 Still the failing colours of the day. 
 
 Now the night-wind sweeps across the fields, 
 Waves the grass or whispers in the trees ; 
 
 If some bough too pliant to it yields. 
 Birds awaking cry unto the breeze. 
 
 At midnight from the fountain that beside the Virgin springs 
 
 A silver mist ariseth, and around the chapel clings : 
 
 The risen moon is shining on the forest and the plain, 
 
 In wondrous mist the shrine alone encompassed doth remain. 
 
 And so may beam in every breast, as on the lighted land, 
 Each smile and shade to view confessed, yet ever there will 
 
 stand 
 In every breast one sacred spot, like yonder shrine, concealed, 
 One mystery to eye profane that must not be revealed. 
 
 And some relate that in the shrine were angel voices heard, 
 And by the breath of angel wings the silver cloud was 
 
 stirred ; 
 And strange unearthly melodies the night- wind bore along : 
 A nursling bade the mother list, there was an angel song ; 
 
 An angel song was passing by ; — and to the mother's side 
 It nestled as it listened ; and that night a maiden cried 
 Amid her sleep, soft, unknown words : and fragments of a 
 
 strain 
 Another uttered ; holy dreams were scattered o'er the plain. 
 One died that night, and by the dead an aged mourner wept, 
 Distinct beside the mourner's ear those angel voices swept. 
 
 I know not whether true it be that living spirits dwell 
 
 In every little flow'ret, as the mystic sages tell ; 
 
 I know not whether need there be with aught of earth's 
 
 philosophy 
 To cumber a great miracle whose witnesses remain : 
 'Twas wrought before the Angels by Our Lady of the Plain. 
 
Our Ladys Miracle. 327 
 
 The wreathing mist hath passed away, and melted into Hght ; 
 
 The subtle light hath vanished ; yet its momentary gleam 
 One vision hath disclosed amid the pictures of the night 
 
 Like to the life revealed within a saint's ecstatic dream. 
 
 From yonder wonder-spot, enshrined with a maiden's heart, 
 The Spirit of the Violet hath mission to depart ; 
 The new-created form beneath the chapel shadow lies, 
 While soul-less at the Virgin's feet the parent flower dies. 
 
 The new-created Viola now sleeps within the shrine ; 
 Around her are the flower-wreaths that maiden fingers twine 
 To deck the holy portal, and upon her whiter breast 
 A snowy little lily-bell has laid itself to rest. 
 
 That flower hath sought favour of the breeze who passed 
 
 them by 
 That he would gently bow her on her sister's heart to lie, 
 There rising now and falling as the kindred bosom heaves, 
 She nestles all regardless of the murmurs of the leaves. 
 
 And emulous of the lily, who is cradled thus in bliss, 
 
 A blushing rose bends down and strives the maidens lip to 
 
 kiss. 
 Who fails, yet half accomplishes her fond and loving sin, 
 And as the sleeper breathes she drinks the rose's fragrance in. 
 
 That lip is as the ruddy gate unfolded by the dawn ; 
 
 Her cheek is as the twilight cloud that lingers in the west ; 
 Her brow is as the stainless robe by perfect spirits worn 
 
 When free from sin they wander in the mansions of the 
 blest. 
 
 A wand is laid beside her, for a pilgrim she shall be. 
 To love — to soothe — to serve — to teach mankind humility; 
 And all who love meek Viola them will the Virgin bless. 
 And pity them who pity all her trial and distress. 
 
 Now, like the tender hope of man, the doubtful morning 
 
 breaks, 
 Scarce daring yet to shed a beam upon the sullen flakes 
 
328 Appendix. 
 
 That stretch across the east, as though they gathered there 
 
 to bar 
 The passage of the coursers of the sun's triumphal car. 
 The ruddy streaks of morning float above the silent plain, 
 And from the trees their early dew descendeth as a rain ; 
 A ray escapes to play across the fountain in the shrine. 
 And on the Virgin's imaged face a smile appears to shine. 
 
 Perchance it was the shadow of a flower waving there, 
 
 Perchance in that uncertain light her vision was beguiled, — 
 
 But Viola was kneeling at Our Lady's feet in prayer, 
 
 And suddenly it seemed to her the blessed Virgin smiled. 
 
 The failing soul of Viola was strengthened by the sign. 
 Yet, failing still, with timid step she parted from the shrine ; 
 And thrice she faltered back again, and thrice again she fell, 
 As many times the Virgin smiled, her doubting to dispel. 
 
 At length her heart is boldened, and upon the mossy rise 
 
 Before the holy portal without trembling she can stand. 
 Till, gazing on the plain below, a love-dew veils her eyes. 
 
 Those eyes that beamed so tenderly upon the waking land. 
 To love — to serve — to soothe : and is there sorrow to allay ? 
 
 Beneath this heaven's gladness can the heart of man be 
 dark? 
 Doth love not pour as surely thence to meet the light of day 
 
 As fragrance from us flowers, or as music from the lark ? 
 
 "Alas, and if the light of God cannot relieve their pain. 
 What can a lonely maiden" — then upon her covered breast 
 
 Her snowy arms are crossed, and her meek head is bowed 
 again 
 To pray the Virgin's pardon for the murmur so repressed. 
 
 Living dewdrops glitter on the lawn. 
 Ride on leaves or cling upon the spray ; 
 
 Each, an angel, smiles upon the dawn. 
 Laughing hails the advent of the day. 
 
Our Lady's Miracle. 329 
 
 Man, else unprotected, to defend 
 
 From the accursM legions of the deep 
 
 These the guardian angels that descend 
 When the world is sinking into sleep. 
 
 But when fleets the shadow of the night, 
 When each baffled demon with it flies — 
 
 Summoned by the kisses of the light, 
 Homeward floats that army to the skies. 
 
 The dew strews gems before her feet, upon her blushing face 
 
 The April sunlight plays and shines, and glitters in her 
 
 dress, 
 
 As through the plain from yonder shrine, with music in her 
 
 pace. 
 
 Sweet Viola now wanders forth the bleeding heart to bless. 
 
 A robe she wears of virgin white, and purple is her zone ; 
 Her eyes are of the deepest blue that e'er in heaven shone ; 
 A wand she carries with her, for a pilgrim she must be, 
 To love — to soothe— to serve — to teach mankind humility. 
 
 1844. 
 
SUNRISE IN ITALY. 
 
 I. 
 
 *' With diligence, dear Grandfather, your praises I have earned ; 
 Two hundred and two score and ten Pope's histories Tve 
 
 learned ; 
 And had you not been kind enough of many to explain 
 That things continued much the same as in a former reign, 
 
 '" I should have been well puzzled ; but the task is now com- 
 plete : 
 
 The Popes have done their best to make Battista grow discreet." 
 
 So said a boy, with ruddy cheek upon an old man's shoulder. 
 
 '" What wisdom I have learned, I hope to prove when I am 
 older." 
 
 '^' You speak too lightly, wayward child. — Look, whither points 
 
 my hand ? 
 Hourlong beneath yon castle walls I see my pupil stand, 
 And think there comes a voice from them which his young 
 
 spirit hears. 
 That then Battista meditates upon his mother's tears." 
 
 *' I hear a voice," the youth replied. " My father's prison tells 
 Its dismal, dream-like secrets : and the light is in its cells, 
 Like conscience in a mocking heart, whenever the gaudy shoM 
 Of fire plays, at the Carnival, above Sant Angelo. 
 
 *'A mother's tears: — the burning sun, and all that God hath 
 
 made. 
 The song-birds of the forest, and the flowers of the glade. 
 All things teach me to meditate upon my mother's grief" 
 ^' And with their sad monition, do they bring thee, child, relief?" 
 
Sunrise in Italy. 331 
 
 " Yes. To the purest sunbeam do not men deny access ? 
 
 And from their homes and from their cheeks ward off its warm 
 
 caress ? 
 The song-bird, for its singing, to a prison is exiled, 
 From nest and mate is parted, as my father from his child. 
 
 "The flower for the beauty of its blossom is destroyed. 
 
 Is plucked before the seed-time, with a short half-life enjoyed ; 
 
 They do not heed how rapidly from day to day it dies 
 
 Of pining for its sister-buds, its native earth and skies. 
 
 " My father, for the music and the manhood of his voice, 
 Is prisoned like the bird whom God created to rejoice ; 
 My father, for the glory of a blush upon his brow. 
 Is fading, like a gathered rose, in cold Sant Angelo. 
 
 " My father, for the light of truth which on his firm lip plays. 
 Is shut out from the eyes of men who, darkling, fear to gaze. 
 They dare not meet his countenance, and therefore, tutor dear, 
 My mother weeps a widow, and I stand an orphan here." 
 
 " You stand, my child," saith Alban. " It were better did you 
 
 kneel. 
 The power of authority, go forth, Battist, and feel ! 
 The son will never conquer where the father fought in vain. 
 Shall the widow wander childless, will you rend her heart 
 
 again ? " 
 
 " May a thousand generations dedicate to God their breath. 
 Though the mantle of the prophet be the solemn robe of 
 
 death, 
 It is still a prophet's mantle ; still is worthy to descend 
 The holy mission, ' Seek ye good, and dare to meet your 
 
 end ! ' " 
 
 " It is not good," saith Alban, "to resist the powers that be. 
 And all too weakly have I taught their high authority. 
 We read and listen — not behold — as men upon a brook 
 Learn moonlight by reflection, and, as downward still the 
 look, 
 
 Y 2 
 
332 Appendix. 
 
 " The glory that is distant seems no more to be sublime ; 
 Made near, 'tis but a spectacle, a sport in summer time, 
 To look upon, to pelt with stones in idle summer play 
 And watch the silver rings they make, the glitter of the spray. 
 
 " So seems a prince in history. Not so upon the throne. 
 
 At him it is no idle thing to cast thy little stone. 
 
 Men's swords are his protection, and God's Word is his support ; 
 
 God saith, ' Obey' : to disobey, Battist, is fearful sport." 
 
 " God saith, ' Obey,' dear Grandfather ; obedience then be 
 
 mine 
 To give ; kings' words shall even be authority divine. 
 Not more — you would not more?" — "My child, more power 
 
 cannot be," 
 Saith Alban. — " Then the King of kings, what power claimeth 
 
 He? 
 
 " God made us to His will, and yet He leaves us to our own ; 
 And what our hearts conceive. He gives us language to make 
 
 known. 
 He bids us to seek good, and yet He, Source of good for ever, 
 Prompts not one human syllable, compels not one endeavour. 
 
 " He watches all, and punishes the evil that is done. 
 
 Love through free-will our God demands from all beneath the 
 
 sun. 
 No king is king of heaven to unsettle God's decree : 
 No prince hath power to bind the soul : it must, it will, be 
 
 free ! ' 
 
 Against a wan and furrowed check, a crimson cheek is pressed ; 
 A bended neck by brawny arms is tenderly caressed ; 
 Ripe lips of youth with fondling kiss delight the lips of age ; 
 Battista, with a glance of hope, can Alban's fear assuage. 
 
 The black locks of the boy across the old man's bosom fall ; 
 The darker heart, whose hope is dead, they cover like a pall. 
 Shine seventeen warm summers through the IdoUI Battista's ej-e. 
 While rustle eighty autumns through the timid Alban's sigh. 
 
Sunrise in Italy. 333 
 
 " Now hear you not my mother's step ? — Oh, do not turn away ! 
 Her footfall soundeth weary. We are supperless to-day. 
 Oh, let not thy grief grieve her, let us feed her with our love ; 
 Her heart is in Sant Angelo, her hope in God above. 
 
 " How pale she is ! — Dear mother " but Battista speaks no 
 
 more. 
 With strangely solemn tenderness upon the boarded floor 
 Of her mean home the woman kneels — not with a face of care, 
 Though tremblingly her pallid lips are shaken by a prayer. 
 
 To God the prayei, but her eyes, her clasped, extended hands. 
 Her heaving bosom turn to where her husband's prison stands. 
 And still her bosom swelleth when her prayer is at end, 
 There dawning hope and twilight awe for mastery contend. 
 
 " Look at the robe of sunset on Saint Peter's ruddy dome, 
 Look steadily ; and let there be deep silence in the room : 
 For God will speak." — Upon her son the trembhng mother 
 
 leans, 
 The old man ponders anxiously what this wild bidding means. 
 
 They hear each other breathing. Young Battista's breath is 
 
 soft, 
 His mother's cometh quickly now, now stops, suspended oft ; 
 Old Alban sigheth heavily... Hark l...hark !. ..Saint Peter's bell. 
 A mighty death-toll. — " Kneel with me ; — ^join prayers with 
 
 yonder knell ! 
 
 " Pray thou, Battist : — a mighty foe is gone*; 
 Go thou to God for aid, forsake all other I" — 
 
 " Teach me, O Lord, to lean on Thee alone, 
 To judge myself, and not to judge my brother. 
 
 " Happy the man whose heart condemns him not. 
 
 Whose heart I see not, let not me condemn. 
 To every age its path Thou dost allot ; 
 
 The tide of Progress, error cannot stem. 
 
 * Gregory XVI. 
 
334 Appendix. 
 
 " Teach me to hate injustice, and to love 
 And pity all them who unjustly deal ; 
 
 As Thou, All-Righteous, stooping from above. 
 Towards us sinners dost all mercy feel. 
 
 " Teach me to struggle ever for that Right 
 
 Which may be wrong, yet shall to me right seem, 
 
 But never taunt with mockery and spite 
 
 That which another shall more worthy deem. 
 
 " The Pope, whose soul is fleeting unto Thee, 
 Strove in the flesh to worship Thee aright ; 
 
 And if his actions would dishonour me, 
 .From him they were true dealings in Thy sight. 
 
 " Acts we can read, but actors are impelled 
 By motives ill-revealed to mortal sight. 
 
 Foul deeds must be in foul abhorrence held : 
 Man may do foully from a sense of right. 
 
 " Therefore to Thee, O Father God, to Thee, 
 From all intolerance, all stubborn grudge, 
 
 Teach me to yield my heart for ever free ; 
 To Thee and Jesus, the beloved Judge !" 
 
 How beautiful is prayer ! Let the soul be desolate. 
 And grant that human fancy man's Creator does create, 
 How noble yet the glance that seeks to penetrate the sky, 
 The spirit, upon Earth so meek, that yet would climb so high. 
 
 How glorious the myriad of upward-looking eyes 
 
 From every race throughout the world all tending to the 
 
 skies I 
 Has man no God — so mighty is this universal prayer ; 
 Has man no home beyond the stars, it can create one there. 
 
 Yet God there is, and God is friend and father to us all. 
 On each eye that looketh upward shall the light of Heaven 
 fall. 
 
Sunrise in Italy. 335; 
 
 In cathedral, church, or chapel, in the cl(i6Ct or the field. 
 Heart to God that hath been opened, ever hath by God been 
 
 healed. 
 Never was true prayer fruitless, God will answer who will call. 
 On each eye that looketh upward shall the light of Heaven 
 
 fall. 
 
 In the prayer of Battista fondly bore his mother part. 
 
 With the movement of his lips there moved in unison her 
 
 heart. 
 And when'lhe paused she kissed him ; but no word of love 
 
 she said. 
 Old Alban laid a trembling hand upon Battista's head: — 
 
 " Thine is an easy doctrine, child, but narrower the way 
 Whereby the children of the night may reach the realms of 
 
 day. 
 There is one only path to bliss, whereon so lately trod 
 The holy father of our Church — the orphaned Church — of God.. 
 
 " Giovanna, daughter, hast thou not a prayer for the dead ?" 
 " No prayer for the infallible, all prayer's fountain-head. 
 Yet my forgiveness follows him, and in his prison-cell 
 My husband kneels, forgiving, as he hears the solemn knell. 
 
 " Pope Gregory sought God, as God to him had been re- 
 vealed ; 
 Blind, not self-blinding ; cold, but not by cruel nature steeled 
 Against the world without, he held to that which he received. 
 And what tradition taught him he too fervently believed, 
 
 " An earnest student in the lore of many an Eastern land. 
 His movement in the world was like a Avave's upon the sand ; 
 He mo\ed not like a river, onward, forward to the last. 
 But limited to narrow bounds an idle life he passed. 
 
 " To him the labours of mankind were labours of the pen ; 
 .He studied books, not hearts ; the words, and not the deeds 
 of men. 
 
336 Appendix. 
 
 Hearts struggling onward broke beneath the curbing of his 
 
 will : 
 He held the chariot-reins, held firm, no more availed his skill. 
 
 " The chariot was motionless, the coursers shook the ground 
 Impatient. Now the hand is gone that held them so long 
 
 bound. 
 Husband, I feel thy prayer :— Now, O now a worthy guide ! 
 Rest to the dead — and rescue to the living God provide !" 
 
 II. 
 
 A temple, built to Jupiter when Rome and earth were young', 
 The cross surmounts, and hymns therein to Jesus now are 
 
 sung. 
 Yet graven still on many a stone the memories remain 
 Of worship that within its walls can never wreathe again. 
 
 Maturer years bring higher love. Passionate first, half-blind, 
 Faith lifts the loved one to the sky, gladly enslaves the mind 
 To homage questionless ; yields all, asks nothing in return. 
 Be the beloved wise or weak ; love will as hotly burn. 
 
 A temple, built to Jupiter when Rome and earth were young, 
 The cross surmounts, and hymns therein to Jesus now are 
 
 sung. 
 White vestments, incense, choristers, priests among holy shrines 
 Of saints are there ; and equally through truth and error 
 
 twines 
 
 One golden band, a love divine, through flower, bud, and leaves. 
 New ways are open to the heart ; one will our God perceives 
 In all who kneel before Him in the spirit and in truth ; 
 He loves us in our childhood, and He loves us in our youth. 
 
 This is thy heart, O changing Rome ; this is thy heart, O Man I 
 This temple built for prayer that reveals the mighty plan 
 
Siuirisc in Italy. 337 
 
 Of growth eternal. Yet thine age of manhood is to come, 
 When Love shall wander fetterless, and Earth be one wide 
 Home. 
 
 Thought shall be free and worship one, equal and uncompelled. 
 Those antique traces, these rich shrines, as memories still held, 
 Shall deck a temple for mankind which not a foot will shun, 
 When all shall worship by one Love, as all see by one sun. 
 
 Then is the time of labour ; then this strong world shall fulfil 
 Its master's bidding, with glad hope and one according will. 
 Thereafter death ; when, like a figure kneeling on the shore 
 Of a wide ocean, starlit, man shall bend and be no more. 
 
 White vestments, incense, choristers, priests among holy 
 
 shrines 
 Of saints ; vast aisles, athwart whose gloom the ray of sunset 
 
 shines 
 Through windows many-hued with dreams, winged angels, 
 
 martyr woes ; 
 So shines the mighty gospel-light through patterns men 
 
 compose. 
 
 Huge marble columns, capitals ornate with rich design ; 
 Sculptors' apostles before which submissive groups incline ; 
 The Virgin mother, lovely birth, won by much happy pain 
 And willing labour, in old times, from the warm painter's brain. 
 
 Lamps in the temple numberless, for night will be ere those 
 Who linger last shall leave the church and its wide gates shall 
 
 close ; 
 Incense fills all, and melody ; thine is the strain, Mozart, 
 Delight in adoration, praise that sings out of the heart. 
 
 Gloom is between the columns where a little household kneels : 
 Old Alban sought a spot retired, for darkness now conceals 
 His tearful prayer ; young Battist is at his mother's side ; 
 Giovanna, praying restlessly, wills not to be descried. 
 
 Not upward to the shrine she looks, nor downward to the floor; 
 Her back is to the altar, and her face to the church-door : 
 
33S Appendix, 
 
 Now, sharing in the sacred chant, a loud exulting praise 
 Her lips pour forth, then suddenly the flood of song she stays 
 
 To listen ; and Battista, nestling near his mother's breast, 
 Feels tear-drops quickly falling, while his head is fondly 
 
 pressed. 
 " Our peace is come," she whispered him. " Stay by my father 
 
 here, 
 A step I know treads in the porch ; a face, than thine more 
 
 dear, 
 
 Will smile out Widow from my heart, Battista. Kneel thou 
 
 still 1 " 
 Softly she rose. How much of bliss a human form can fill 
 Which yet shall move to outward sight with quiet step along ! 
 How much of joy the soul can speak through an adoring 
 
 song ! 
 
 So quietly Giovanna moved, so joined to the choir 
 
 Her carol. Now the eyes are full ; the heart hath its desire. 
 
 A hand that trembles not she yields unto her husband's 
 
 holding, 
 One look of welcome, one proud glance her w^oman's love 
 
 unfolding. 
 
 A silent, happy wife, her face shines with a holy care. 
 She touches her Antonio. Across the mist of light 
 To the high altar they advance, and meekly kneeling there 
 Bend, pressing closely side by side. — Now from the depth of 
 night, 
 
 Without the porch, another comes, and others, haggard men. 
 Household embraces meet them, children cling to them, and 
 
 then 
 Love irrepressible with cries of joy the temple fills, 
 Delicious tumult ; till some change the loud emotion stills. 
 
 A new Pope on the Gospel builds his power ; letteth fall 
 The chains that Christ commanded not ; proclaiming unto all, 
 The true or false, an Amnesty ; to all who for the cause 
 Of Liberty lie captive. — Why does now the tumult pause ? 
 
Stmrise in Italy. 339 
 
 The quelling pause, when suddenly the solemn organ's tone 
 Dies into stillness, over these no thrilling spell has thrown. 
 Redoubled praise, in measures changed— Beethoven's mystic 
 
 sea 
 Of music, deep and swelling as the soul of man set free, 
 
 Drenches the temple. In rare hours can pure emotion rise 
 More fitly winged to God than thus. No eagle to the skies 
 Soareth more grandly upward than the mighty master's strain ; 
 A cloud with sunbeams purple, dropping beauty like a rain. 
 
 Huge marble columns, capitals ornate with rich design, 
 
 White vestments, incense, choristers, men, from before each 
 
 shrine 
 Arising, on the temple floor assemble, where above 
 Hang lamps, like bright star-clusters, glittering o'er the scene 
 
 of love. 
 
 Forth issuing from the church, with one consent this night to 
 
 preach 
 Unto the world that Hope wherewith all Italy grows warm, 
 These haggard men, with wives and friends collecting around 
 
 each, 
 By priests and boys with censers joined, a strange procession 
 
 form. 
 
 From the radiance and the music, out into the silent street, 
 Dark until the torches light it, as the crowding Romans meet. 
 Meet, and gather round, and join them, men and wives and 
 
 children go ; 
 From all sides to travel with them troops in noisy torrents 
 
 flow. 
 
 From the churches, from the houses, from the river and the 
 
 square. 
 From their idling, and their labour, and their quickly finished 
 
 prayer. 
 Thousands upon thousands throng with torches, join the growing 
 
 band, 
 Not with murder-singing trumpet, with no blazonry made grand, 
 
340 Appendix. 
 
 Not with gold in corpse-light lustrous, trappings gay of ghastly 
 
 death, 
 Moves this troop. The priest is leader, and its music is the 
 
 breath 
 Of a spirit that the fetters of its slavery hath burst ; 
 War of Love alone it wageth, where the gentlest rank the first. 
 
 Now from all Rome pours forth at length that ever-rising word 
 Wherein a waking nation makes its loud emotion heard. 
 So long repressed — O Italy, hope Freedom I — And the cry 
 Is "Viva Pio !" this like fire is spreading and swells high. 
 
 There, sobbing, walk, as many sob, with happy terror blessed — 
 
 Alban, Battist, Antonio, Giovanna, closely pressed. 
 
 So dense the concourse. Walls and windows glare around all 
 
 red 
 Through ruddy smoke of torches that the crowd waves o\er- 
 
 head. 
 
 The lofty Quirinal reflects the torchlight in the square. 
 To that assembled city there comes forth into the glare 
 Pope Pius, idol of a land by him aroused to see 
 Living the form of Hope it loved in dreams. All bow the 
 knee. 
 
 A sick man tossing on his bed, whose window looketh down 
 On those assembled thousands, might have fretted to a frown 
 At some lone moth attempting to fly through the glass, and 
 
 might 
 Have hated it for living in the stillness of the night. 
 
 While forty thousand men of Rome in breathless love were 
 
 bent. 
 Receiving benediction. They arose, and each man went 
 Silently homeward. But, before they parted, full of Hope, 
 With one great shout of rapture shook the palace of their Pope. 
 
Stuirise m Italy. 341 
 
 III. 
 
 " How still the noon is ! " said a mason, as he laid his hammer 
 
 down. 
 "Ambrose, I will cease my chipping. Turn your face towards 
 
 the town. 
 When the clocks chime in Netuno, you will hear them very 
 
 well : 
 Bring the basket ; and their music, son, shall be our dinner-bell. 
 
 " What, you thief, the fruit is eaten ! When you should have 
 
 been asleep. 
 While I worked, you were devouring. Well, the basket still is 
 
 deep. 
 You shall go and gather shell-fish— go and paddle down the 
 
 shore. 
 Or go up into the wood there. Do not vex me any more. — 
 
 * Wait. Who walks now in the village ? Look you, Ambrose, 
 
 who is he ? 
 Like a priest — yes — you are right, boy. Father Bernard it 
 
 must be. 
 Others stir not in the noonday. He has been with that sick 
 
 child, 
 So long sick, in yonder cottage, where the garden has run 
 
 wild. 
 
 " When the good man passes by us, if he stop and say a word, 
 Ambrose, you must stay and listen ; for your brains can ill 
 
 afford 
 To dispense with such instruction as may come into your way. 
 Never walked the priest so slowly. He must curse the sun 
 
 to-day." 
 
 In the centre of a village works Francesco ; and, around 
 His scene of toil, a ragged wall, half raised above the ground, 
 Includes an ample space. Close by, beside the market pool, 
 More workmen rest, and eat, and talk about the future school; 
 
342 Appendix. 
 
 And why the Pope bids schools be buih ? And whether he will 
 
 find 
 Their own school, when the roof is on, built wholly to his 
 
 mind ? 
 They think the Pope and Emperor of Austria should fight, 
 If swords are turned to spelling-books, and all the men of might 
 
 Are trained to use a grammar in the place of pike or gun, — 
 Where's Solomon ? For here is something new under the sun. 
 But since the Pope decrees, Build schools, and teach throughout 
 
 the land, 
 The Pope is right. And they are poor ; too poor to understand 
 
 The meaning of their betters. But they know the Pope does 
 
 well, 
 And the aim of all his actions, were they wiser, they could tell. 
 Talking thus in listless humour, lounging by the market pool, 
 Sit the builders, idly looking at their work, the Village School. 
 
 The white road and the houses glare beneath an autumn sky ; 
 Across the blue there flits no cloud, and not a bird will fly ; 
 The sea, a waving desert strewn with diamonds for sand ; 
 The wood, unwaved, distinct, seems hewn out of the crystal 
 land. 
 
 " He will pass us looking downward !" — " Walks as if beside a 
 
 bier 1" 
 " Now, God bless thee. Father Bernard. See, we are not idle 
 
 here ! 
 Look, the School is growing I" — " Hither, Father, turn thine 
 
 eyes ! 
 Some unwonted light is in them." — " Has he seen a spirit rise I'"" 
 
 After gentle benediction grows the Father's forehead clear, 
 And unto those idle builders by the pool he draweth near, 
 Saying, " Son, you guess not wrongly." All regard him with 
 
 surprise. 
 " Even near us, in the Village, I have seen a spirit rise. 
 
 " You remember little Laurence, when he last played on the 
 
 shore, 
 And faltered honieward, not again to pass his chamber door." 
 
Sunrise in Italy. 343 
 
 "And is he out to-day ?"—" To-day his soul is gone abroad, 
 Next Sabbath eve his body will be borne the Sabbath road. 
 
 "A Sabbath road unto the grave it is ;— a bridal bed 
 The coffin ; — a triumphal stone the grave-mark overhead. 
 Gladly, O Lord, I seek Thy will with all this watchful breath : 
 Then welcome spirit-peopled night, star-crowded night of 
 Death 1" 
 
 The priest a moment pauses ; and his words half understood 
 Breed second ignorance. His face is shrouded in his hood. 
 But as pearls thrown upon water are the sorrows of the wise, 
 They sink into the depths ; are still. — " That I have seen a spirit 
 rise, 
 
 " I told you," saith the Father, as he joins the gossip throng : 
 " The soul of little Laurence. Yes, you wonder. It was long 
 Before the hand of sickness wiped the stain of earth away ; 
 For two long months was Laurence ill before he learned to pray. 
 
 " Prayers to repeat, learned when he lisped, he used, yet never 
 
 prayed. 
 He stretched his arms to God, not loving ; bent before Him not 
 
 afraid. 
 He did not hate, he knew not God ; could neither dread nor dare; 
 And, knowing neither hope nor fear, was free from human care. 
 
 " A barren mind, a thoughtless faith, I found, and for the praise 
 Of God alone I laboured his unlifted soul to raise. 
 By scanty lore of earth made ripe for commune in the skies, 
 My little child, to-day I saw thy happy spirit rise ! 
 
 " Pray for his soul ! Yet little needs that spirit intercession. 
 Already of his heritage our Laurence hath possession. 
 Build on. His blessing sanctifies your labour ; for to-day 
 Almost his latest action was for this our School to pray. 
 
 " The Holy Father of our Church to-day I love the more. 
 Since I have heard a dying child God's mighty grace implore 
 
344 Appendix. 
 
 On him who biddeth Schools be built."—" And so 'twas no real 
 
 ghost, 
 Good Father Bernard," said Francesco ; " and my little son has 
 
 lost 
 
 " A sermon by not sitting here to listen. — Ambrose, come— 
 You shall feel that I am angry when I have you safe at home ! 
 He will not leave that butterfly. Young Laurence was his friend 
 And playfellow. How wondrously things very often end !" 
 
 The white road and the houses glare beneath an autumn sky ; 
 Across the blue there flits no cloud, and not a bird will fly. 
 The sea, a waving desert strewn with diamonds for sand ; 
 The wood, unwaved, distinct, seems hewn out of the crystal land. 
 
 The sunlight glitters in the pool ; the workmen idle sit. 
 And scant attention to the priest their laggard brains admit. 
 Regarding Ambrose mournfully, the pious Father stands. 
 While Ambrose hunts the butterfly, a rough stone in his hands, 
 
 Filched from the builder's heap. "Child, do you hear of 
 
 Laurence dead ? 
 From him to you, his little playmate," Father Bernard said, 
 " There is a love-gift leftt his morning. — God of Mercy, pardon 
 
 thee !" 
 The stone has crushed the butterfly ; and Ambrose dances mad 
 
 with glee. 
 
 1848. 
 
 I 
 
NEMOPHIL. 
 
 " Bene h verace Amor quel che m' ha p-eso 
 E ben mi stringe forte ; 
 Quand 'io farei quel ch' io dico, per lui." — Dante. 
 
 " This superstition is an old one concerning fairy rings. If any pure maid 
 shall so trespass as to sleep, on certain nights, within one of these circles 
 on the grass, she is likely to be removed by its proprietors. And, if her 
 friends behold her no more for twelve months and a day, then she is said 
 to be adopted by the fairies, and supposed to become a perpetual denizen 
 of their mysterious land." 
 
 PART I. 
 
 » 
 
 Straight as the shaft of spear, a silver line 
 Grows on the vessel's track. An eagle held 
 One instant trammelled in the fowler's net, 
 Darts not more swiftly from its prisonment 
 Than did yon bark when, on grey wing outspread, 
 First fluttering in the river's islet thread. 
 She floated forth upon the lake's blue waters. 
 
 Straight as the shaft of spear, a silver line 
 Traces her passage towards Erwin Tree. 
 Venator comes. The vessel strikes the sand, 
 And lashing waves reproach the rule they bear. 
 Alone Venator comes. He leaps to land : 
 A single maiden waits to meet him there. 
 Prayerful and silent, by the moonlit sea 
 The fond lone stood ; awaiting one 
 Who came not. When her gentle eye perceived 
 Venator unaccompanied — her prayer 
 Unanswered, yet still undespairing — tears 
 
 I 2 
 
346 Appendix. 
 
 Gathering upon her reddened cheek did stand 
 Like dew upon the rose-leaves. Faithful maid ! 
 She like a woodbine twined once around 
 Her idol-temple, absent Nemophil. 
 
 " She is not lost, Venator"; — tenderly 
 
 lone speaks : — "yet there remains one span 
 
 Ere the moon reach mid-heaven. Though, year long, 
 
 Thy love hath sought, ours waited — yet an hour 
 
 Remains, last hour of hope, and knowest thou 
 
 That hope and music still most deeply sink. 
 
 And sweetest are, when dying ? Doubt thou not. 
 
 Stretch the warm hand of love up into heaven. 
 
 Her palm shall meet it. Thou shalt draw her back 
 
 Into thy bosom. — Fairies cannot will 
 
 One sorrow to the soul of Nemophil. 
 
 Fear thou no ill from the chaste elfin throng : 
 
 Do thou but love, they cannot do love wrong. 
 
 Yet doubt thou not, yet be thou not faint-hearted. 
 
 Love as she loveth, ye will not be parted." 
 
 Nature and thought are one. The waking day 
 Scatters its first faint smiles on the dark world. 
 They shed no general light ; but where the snow 
 Lies whitest, where the waters are most clear. 
 Into the dewdrop and the diamond 
 The first ray sinks. So ever on pure hearts 
 Pure things first dawn. Venator heard no sound 
 When ceased lone's voice. He heard no sound 
 Above the flowing music on the sand : 
 The sighing of the wood-imprisoned Lake : 
 Why did lone listen ? 
 
 " Hark, they come ! 
 The fairies come !" she cried. Across the moon 
 A film of summer mist there seemed to pass, 
 Borrowing radiance ; brighter this became, 
 And brighter, floating o'er the star-built SKy 
 And brightest as it sank towards the Lake 
 A sister light in Heaven, bent to kiss 
 The silent Lenimar. 
 
Ncmophil. 347 
 
 A sense there came 
 Of melody ; — 
 
 Not music ; yet there might have been a sound ; 
 Both felt it : an emotion of delight 
 Without its sensual cause. Upon each soul 
 It crept. I one's lip was closed with awe. 
 Then shapes of beauty played within the cloud, 
 Like motes in sunlight, of whose radiant forms 
 The eye grasps all in one, but not one singly. 
 
 lone kneels. Venator, prompted, lifts 
 
 His outstretched arm. With that act, suddenly. 
 
 There floats a flood of flame across the sky. 
 
 The vision is no more. Black mountain-clouds 
 Roll o'er the spot in heaven which it filled. 
 They spread ; the sky is veiled. The water's breast 
 Heaves with a strange emotion. Thunders peal ; 
 The trumpet of a judgment angel sounds. 
 The powers of Light and Darkness are at war, 
 And, as they cast each vivid mass of Light 
 From those black caves, the forces of the Night 
 With boastful roar pursue the fugitive. 
 
 Now do these spell-bound giants live, and yearn 
 To join the dreadful combat. Every tree 
 Doth groan and struggle. Now they seek to loose 
 The binding earth from their vast roots, when thus 
 Each sturdy trunk is shaken. — The loud wind 
 Dashes the frothing waters of the lake 
 Across lone. Silent, motionless. 
 Without a fear, the trusting maiden kneels. 
 Venator trembles. A tall branch is hurled 
 Upon the beach before them. Kneeling still 
 lone lifts her folded palms to God 
 And feareth not. Wildly Venator clings 
 Around the Tree for aid. From falling huts 
 To the less fragile shelter of the boughs. 
 While their homes crash the perilled tenants fly. 
 These giants live. The legend of the wood, 
 
 z 2 
 
348 Appendix. 
 
 In such a night as this, dares none deny. 
 Thus tell the foresters : A fairy Queen 
 Was Lenimar, whom Erwin deigned to love 
 (Erwin, the chieftain of a giant tribe), 
 But loved not worthily. Her eye was light, 
 
 His darkness ; and no fellowship had they ; 
 Then Erwin, shrinking from the fairy's sight, 
 
 Came back to war against her gentle sway — 
 Rude war of strength against a world of grace ! 
 He came. With legions of his giant race 
 Encompassed her. Sunk, conquered, at his feet, 
 
 Breathless, yet stainless, must the Virgin lie. 
 Breathe, Lenimar, one only spell ! Defeat 
 
 The coward purpose ! — Yes, thou hast a sigh ; 
 
 One long, sad sigh.^ — Sweet fairy queen, farewell ! 
 
 Heavy upon thy bosom rests the hand 
 Of Erwin In that sigh was her last spell. 
 
 Above a fountain see the giant stand. 
 Behold, in fear, the ponderous host retreat ; 
 The flowing waters follow still their feet : 
 Transforming" limbs more painfully they move ; 
 Then halt, for ever fixed : one mighty forest grove. 
 
 These giants live. To-night, with brutal force. 
 Again they labour to escape the charm. 
 Great Erwin Tree alone, above the Lake, 
 L'nmoved his mighty tread, bends proudly calm, 
 While lightnings lick each far-extended palm. 
 Therefore around the base of Erwin Tree 
 Crouches a trembling throng. Closer in dread 
 Than ever yet in timid love's embrace 
 Cling lovers there, heart singing unto heart. 
 Closer in fear than yet in infant faith 
 The babe creeps to its home between the breasts. 
 Shrouding his household, the gaunt woodman spreads 
 His cloak against each ghastly blaze of light. 
 But the old nian looks — timeworn, isolate — 
 Up to that angry heaven with filmy eye, 
 
NemophiL 349 
 
 And in the bursting of each thunderclap 
 
 Hears, doubting, the dark message : " Thou shalt die ! ' 
 
 MoonHght upon the shore, upon the wave, 
 
 MoonHght upon the leafy capital 
 
 Of each eternal column. Broken rays. 
 
 Through the wet foliage, shine among the group 
 
 Of tremblers. And across I one's face 
 
 A mild ray falls. 
 
 The Lake now smiles again 
 Men trust thy story, gazing thus on thee, 
 Pale Lenimar, dear wood-encircled sea. 
 As queenly now and fair to look upon 
 As when, ere yet within thine elfin court 
 Unwonted loves were told, the fairy troop 
 Paid to thee willing homage. Homage still 
 The fairies bring. Each summer breeze which goes 
 
 Whispering, at twilight, through that forest hoar 
 Plucks the ripe leaves from every day-kissed rose, 
 
 And strews its burden on thy tranquil shore. 
 
 The summer night looks with a thousand eyes 
 
 Upon the flood ; the pirit of each star 
 Leaving its wondrous nome in ether, lies 
 
 Upon thy pulseless breast, pale Lenimar. 
 
 As many petals as the breezes bring ; 
 
 As many stars as mingle with thy sheen : 
 So many fairies still around thee sing ; 
 
 So many, subjects still, surround thee still their Queen 
 
 Intently through the starry firmament 
 
 lone gazes. Her calm prayer hath ceased, 
 
 The very breath which wafted it to heaven 
 
 Seems lingering in heaven with the prayer. 
 
 Her bosom is all still. Strange harmonies 
 
 The woodmen hear, above, around, they seem, 
 
 Following softly where a ray hath trod. 
 
 Like moonbeam music, hymns which light may sing, 
 
 WJmdering from heaven through the worlds of God. 
 
350 Appendix. 
 
 A sudden cry breaks through the melody, 
 Re-echoes through the cloisters of the grove ; 
 A cry of joy, and from Tone's lips, 
 A cry of love, the name of " Nemophil ! " 
 Once and again the name of Nemophil 
 Thrills through her ancient dwelling in the wood. 
 Why should Venator mutter that dear name ? 
 I one's brow is crimsoned with delight, 
 I one's arms outspread, in haste to claim 
 The love which must be ransomed to-night, 
 Or lost to earth for ever, — There are sobs 
 Which float above the Lake ; and fairy shapes, 
 Playing an instant on the sight, dissolve. 
 These all are sad. lone heedeth none. 
 Trust in her heart, and ignorance of ill, 
 Her lips pour forth the name of Nemophil. 
 
 Now the lake ripples round an elfin boat. 
 The light breeze flutters in its snowy sail : 
 
 She comes. I one's foot is on the wave. 
 She comes. Venator's lip is ashen pale. 
 
 Upon the prow a fairy figure stands 
 Of noble manhood, 'tis the fairy king : 
 
 His face averse he covers with his hands. 
 While weeping strains unseen attendants sing. 
 
 Kneeling, half fondly, by the spirit's side 
 A blue-robed maid, the forest Nemophil, 
 
 Is gazing down upon the silver tide 
 While on her ear those warning accents thrill. 
 
 " Thou floatest, beloved, 
 From rills of light, 
 To the silent land 
 Of the dreary night. 
 
 " The cold, cold world- 
 All cold, like Death- 
 Shall moan in thy heart 
 With its icy breath. 
 
Neinophil. 351 
 
 " Thy heart is so tender, 
 Martyr of Love, 
 O hnger with us 
 In this heaven above '. 
 
 " An angel-suitor 
 
 By thee doth serve 
 Spiritus loveth, 
 And doth deserve. 
 
 Spiritus loveth ; yet not from his lip 
 
 Cometh the plaintive suit. He doth deserve. 
 
 Heaven only saw the tears of Nemophil 
 
 Heaven, and Lenimar upon whose flood 
 
 The light drops fell. Then suddenly she turned, 
 
 And tenderly removing one thin hand 
 
 From that bright spirit's face, into his eyes 
 
 Looked up ; so spoke with him. One gentle kiss 
 
 She printed then upon the fairy's brow. 
 
 Fond Spiritus, the first kiss and the last 
 
 From lips of thy beloved Nemophil. 
 
 Then calmly bent the fairy over her, 
 And from her flowing golden locks removed 
 The twining chaplet ; yet — was it design 
 Or chance ? — one little flow'ret lingered still 
 Among those locks imprisoned. 
 
 Spiritus 
 Is gone. The boat hath vanished on the shore. 
 And Nemophil within lone's arms 
 Is clasped exultingly. 
 
 Go forth, my Voice, and, with the worldling wroth. 
 To him whose love is lucre-fed declare 
 
 How Nemophil, true to a broken Troth, 
 Came back from heaven to this land of care. 
 
352 Appendix. 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 " Forgive me, Nemophil 1" It is a God, 
 It is a God within a mortal breast, 
 This heaven-created Love. It clothes the world 
 With blossom, showers music all around, 
 Pure, everlasting, all-compassionate ; 
 Sinned against daily, grief destroys it not : — 
 Nothing receiving, still it gives ; forgives 
 The sinner ; spirit-like, unnourished lives. 
 
 O lift your hearts, ye maidens and ye youths,. 
 
 Lift up your hearts, and love like Nemophil ! 
 
 Never one thought of worldly profiting 
 
 Must curdle like a poison in the cup 
 
 Of lovers' bliss ; — there is a curse on gain, 
 
 Happy are they who give the most in love. 
 
 Never one word, one little word of strife 
 
 Must soil the lips for kissing, or the kiss 
 
 Beareth no blessing in it. Lovers' strife 
 
 Exists not, or, if it exist, it wears 
 
 Another than the fabled character. 
 
 It is not the light April storm which passes, 
 
 Leaving the sky serene, the air more pure ; 
 
 Each cruel word will cut a separate wound^ 
 
 A wound that may remain, and if it heal 
 
 A lasting scar is its memorial. 
 
 * There is no fear in Love, for perfect Love 
 
 Casteth out fear,' — thus sang a voice from God, 
 
 The voice of Love's Apostle. Jealousy 
 
 Delusive minstrels have with love entwined ; 
 
 No part, no part ! As the gorged Dragon sleeps. 
 
 Entwined around the spotless shivering Nymph, 
 
 Its victim cruelly reprieved, so link 
 
 Pure stainless Love and Jealousy together. 
 
 Trust not the Poet's tale of bitter-sweet. 
 
 Heaven hath no bitter in 't, and Love is Heaven. 
 
 Last and most godlike, crowning work of Love, 
 
NeniopJiit. 353 
 
 Self must be sacrificed. Another's joy 
 Another's wealth, another's heavenward steps 
 Are love's best care. Is Self upon the throne 
 Of thine unconquered heart, thou lovest not. 
 By sacrifice, and sacrifice alone, 
 Is pure Love worshipped. 
 
 Happy is your lot. 
 Children of peace, who love like Nemophil ! 
 " Forgive me, Nemophil !" there whispereth 
 A voice into her ear. Sweet whispering 
 Like that of summer winds whose lullaby 
 The nested birds among the foliage 
 At twilight hear, such welcome murmurers 
 Were once Venator's words to Nemophil. 
 But many days are in a mortal year. 
 And many thoughts make up a mortal day. 
 And many thoughts within Venator's heart 
 Had come and gone since earth lost Nemophil. 
 Frail is the clay we tenant ; earth to earth 
 Attracted strains ; a minute's accident 
 O'erturns the balanced strength, or time impairs 
 The little moulded mass, and into dust 
 It crumbles. Frailer yet is worldly love, 
 Disturbed and drawn aside by every lure 
 Of the world's ever-changing scenery, 
 Injured by every thrust within a crowd 
 Where all are thrusting, jostling with each other ; 
 Dependent on a hundred careless censors. 
 Declaring well to-day, and ill to-morrow ; 
 Running aside for gold, and back for jewels ; 
 Dazzled by dancing lights, believing all 
 And moving as if blindfold, worldly love 
 Gropes on its painful way. There is no hope. 
 No faith, no peace, in earth-love. All alone 
 It fights forlorn against unnumbered foes ; 
 It dies ; and finds in death no charity. 
 Thus loved Venator. Nemophil forgives 
 Yields all ;— and still loves on. — 
 
354 Appendix, 
 
 Upon a moss-grown rock near to the sea, 
 
 The heaven-deserting Nemophil recHnes ; 
 A sunbeam, captive in her golden hair, 
 
 Like a bright cloud about her forehead shines. 
 Her azure raiment has joined half its tints 
 With the soft radiance of surrounding air : 
 And still she seems ethereal, still the sign 
 Of fairy life plays through the fond blue eye 
 Which rests upon Venator standing by. 
 " Forgive me, Nemophil !"— " I all forgive, 
 And yet I know not wherein thou hast erred.' 
 Sweet Nemophil, love in thy heart doth live ; 
 To fault forgiveness is thine echo-word. 
 There is a spectacle upon the lake ; 
 Boat after boat, in flaunting bravery. 
 Through yonder gilded islets gaily float. 
 Long pennons wave, and joyous minstrelsy 
 Times the glad rower's oar. 
 
 " A bridal song ; 
 And mine the bride. Forgive me, Nemophil. 
 Dearest, I did not will to do thee wrong ; 
 Though mine, and not for thee the marriage-strain, 
 I did not think to hear thy voice again. 
 Forgive me, Nemophil !" — 
 
 " I all forgive." — 
 " I will renounce my second destiny. 
 I will remain with thee !" — 
 
 " Ah no, ah no. — 
 She loves thee ; leave her not." — 
 
 " Thou lovest me, 
 Venator murmurs ; then his voice is still. 
 He hears the panting heart of Nemophil. 
 A spirit speaks with her ; — for, being pained 
 By this first grief, out of her golden hair 
 Had fallen the one flow'ret that remained 
 Of the bright crown that fairy-mortals wear ; 
 And in the minute's sense of agony 
 
Nemophil. 355 
 
 She kissed the rehc— Even love oppressed 
 
 Must speak, and fond deeds are the voice of love. 
 
 Torn from its natural embrace, it clings 
 
 To flower, bird, or tree ; it cannot hang 
 
 Its listless arms, but it must fondle still, 
 
 And commune fondly with some gentle thing. — 
 
 Lo, at the kiss upon that fairy rose 
 
 Impressed, the mournful music of the night 
 Loudly, more loudly to her sad ear flows. 
 
 And fairy realms re-open to her sight. 
 Loud in each accent of the bridal hymn 
 
 She hears the burden of their elfin song : 
 " Martyr of Love !"— Now she beholdeth him, 
 
 Pure Spiritus, among the sinless throng. 
 Most perfect of a perfect race is he, 
 And his an undefiled destiny. 
 
 He kneels before the mortal. " I have loved.'' 
 
 So to his gaze the tearful Nemophil 
 
 Yields answer. "Tempt me not, but leave me." Then, 
 
 As doubtful of herself, with eager hands 
 
 Those eyes like blue and sunny firmaments 
 
 She covers close. — And Spiritus is gone. — 
 
 Venator saw not the maid's elfin suitor. 
 
 " I have loved. Leave me 1 " these the words he heard, 
 
 " I have loved. Leave me I " and the bridal song 
 
 Approaches and the bridal train invites 
 
 His tardy step. — She looks not up at him. 
 
 Still with her fingers o'er each eyelid pressed. 
 
 Silent and calmly breathing she has rest. 
 
 Hark to the music, see the laughing crew. 
 One kiss, and so — from the old love to the new. 
 First by a fond and passionate embrace. 
 By words of love with fury strangely mixed, 
 Is Nemophil awakened. At her side — 
 Venator gone — the dear lone kneels. 
 Bosom to bosom she can press. " Arise, 
 Beloved, — see, the Lake avenges thee 1 — 
 Rage, Lenimar ! Strike their accursed fleet ! " 
 
356 Appendix. 
 
 Her dark eyes flashing, one slight arm outstretched, 
 
 With action menacing, she bends above 
 
 The mossy rock now beaten by the sea. 
 
 " His sail is broken. Aid me, Lenimar, 
 
 One blow of righteous vengeance on the bark 1 " 
 
 But Nemophil with tranquil smile will kiss 
 
 The fairy rose again, and she will dare 
 On Spiritus to call : " Sweet Spiritus, 
 
 For my love and for thine, assist my prayer." 
 
 The flower is gone. The fairy lake is still. 
 In morning light o'er an untroubled sea 
 The fleet is passing by, while Nemophil 
 Kneels, gazing, on the rock. Pure as the light 
 Around her is the maiden's whispered prayer. 
 The fondest blessings on thy bridal night, 
 Venator, Nemophil is sobbing there ! 
 Go forth, my voice, and, with the worldling wroth, 
 
 Who loving one weds more, and thinks no ill ; 
 Tell how pure Nemophil interprets troth. 
 
 How love forsaken, mourneth loving still. 
 
 III. 
 
 Noon o'er the lake. The sleepy sands are warm 
 Save where the cool tide laves them, and the birds 
 Roost idly sheltered in the foliage 
 Of that vast wood. Light streams among the trees ; 
 In their close paths beneath they have obscured 
 All-covering heaven from view, yet the glad ray 
 Will enter : so the world hath shut out God, 
 Yet to the closest corner penetrates 
 Diffused, the sunshine of His tender care. 
 
 Long years have fled, still faithful doth remain 
 
 The fond lone to her early friend ; 
 And still shall Nemophil's firm heart sustain 
 
 Its noble grief, its love without an end. 
 
NemopJiil. 357 
 
 These two together share a single cot 
 
 Beside the lake ; there nightly as they pass 
 
 The fairies dance around the hallowed spot, 
 And leave their mystic circle on the grass. 
 
 Secured from evil hap by fairy power, 
 
 The dwelling stands. By fairy guards concealed, 
 
 Unseen, save some time in the twilight hour 
 By a chance feeling to the sense revealed. 
 
 By fairy guards is each unholy tread 
 
 Averted from that consecrated ground ; 
 By fairy servitors the board is spread ; 
 
 By fairy hands the gayest blossoms found 
 
 To plant the garden, or to twine its bowers, 
 To strew its paths, and arch them overhead ; 
 
 Nightly fresh moss and petals of strange flowers, 
 Breathing new odours, build the sisters' bed. 
 
 Soft s the couch, arranged by fairy hands. 
 Whereon like doves they nestle side by side ; 
 
 And, mingling in their dreams, fond elfin bands 
 With blossom veils each mournful image hide. 
 
 Or doth a dreamer wake to weeping, then 
 
 There murmurs at her ear a fairy strain. 
 Or floats upon the breeze o'er lake and glen, 
 
 Lulling her back to peaceful rest again. 
 
 Oft, while those elfin voices are all still. 
 
 Bends Spiritus above the tender pair. 
 Then clasps lone tranquil Nemophil, 
 
 Sleeping, yet sobbing with a blind despair. 
 
 But never once before their waking eyes 
 Appeared the fairy king. His love is pure. 
 
 No selfish hope into his heart can rise. 
 
 He loves ; she loveth : both loves must endure. 
 
358 Appendix. 
 
 From him all fairy honour freely flows, 
 And never shall his liberal bounty cease ; 
 
 He seeks no recompense, save her repose : 
 To see her smile, to think she is at peace. 
 
 To know that he hath brought to her a joy, 
 These the rewards to Spiritus most dear ; 
 
 And Nemophil, by no false lust made coy. 
 Receives his gifts and service without fear. 
 
 Whispering at times : " I bless thee, Spiritus ! "— 
 Her whisper falls not upon listless air ; 
 
 And, if she prays amid her solitude. 
 An unseen angel joins in all her prayer. 
 
 The holy symbols which in fruit and flower 
 Express Divinity ; the water's voice ; 
 The writing on the sky's unfolded page 
 Which spreads at night before the spirit world 
 That infinite and never-weary tale 
 Of God's eternal glory, and His works. 
 All writ in light, and every point of light 
 A glory world ; of these, and of the truth 
 And love which human hearts to human kind, 
 As rendered unto God, should ever bear : 
 The teaching of her own untainted soul. 
 Brightened with knowledge from the fairy world : 
 Daily of these to guileless auditors 
 Is Nemophil's discourse. — Surrounded now 
 By baskets flower-wreathed, and sunny fruits 
 The constant payment of their constant toil, 
 lone, Nemophil, beneath the grove 
 Within a group of eager children move. 
 There every heart pours its unsullied love 
 Upon the sainted pair ; for through the wood 
 With kindling awe these sisters are revered. 
 They heal the sick, they visit them that mourn ; 
 Strange comfort to the good, and strange rebuke 
 To evil soul in their mild voices dwell ; 
 And eagerly the little infants press 
 
Nemophil. 359 
 
 To feel their fondling touch, beHeve,and rear 
 Into a creed of Love, each word they hear. 
 
 Nemophil now doth clasp lone's form — 
 Too slender span ! — It may be, this thin form 
 Which like the pale-leaved poplar quivereth, 
 This wasted image of the black-eyed girl 
 Of olden time, wanting that firm support, 
 Would stand erect no more. A vivid light 
 Shines from beneath the drooping lids which veil 
 Her altered glance ; all tremulous and white 
 The sunken features, and around them flow 
 Her fallen tresses, like a cloud of night, 
 Fearful horizon to the moonlit snow. 
 
 The children flock around them, and like birds 
 Press to receive the precious grain that falls. 
 Nemophil teaches ; and lone's voice 
 Aids ever with one lesson, learned at will : 
 She prints a kiss upon some upturned face : — 
 " I thank thee, child,— thou lovest Nemophil 1" 
 
 " lone — dearest — lift this fallen head — 
 I shudder — God — upon my bosom dead I" 
 Nemophil weeps — alone. 
 
 Go forth, my Voice, and, with the worldling wroth, 
 
 To him whose love is lucre-fed declare 
 How Nemophil, true to a broken Troth, 
 
 Bore her dark portion in this land of care. 
 
 1847- 
 
A TRACT UPON HEALTH FOR COTTAGE 
 CIRCULATION. 
 
 Under Providence, it is in every man's power to increase or to 
 diminish the heahh (consequently the enjoyment) and duration 
 of life in those immediately around him. Dirt, carelessness, 
 and unwise diet produce effects which no man, however ignorant, 
 can fail to contrast with the results of cleanliness, prudence, and 
 regularity of living. The accurate results of modern science 
 have made it possible to define with great certainty the road 
 upon which health usually travels ; and it is in order to substi- 
 tute in the mind of the cottager this road, for the intricate and 
 contradictory by-paths which the old sign-posts of prejudice, 
 still unremoved, point out, that this little guide-paper has been 
 written. The reader will, perhaps, be glad to consider how far 
 it is in his power to pursue the way of health : — (ist) In the 
 Management of his House ; (2nd) In Management of the 
 Person ; (3rd) In Management of Food and Diet ; and (4th) 
 In Management of Time. 
 
 MANAGEMENT OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 I. If it be in your power to select a cottage of your own, do 
 not be guided only by its distance from your place of work. 
 When it is possible be particular in this, that as you stand and 
 look out from its threshold you may breathe fresh air. Remem- 
 ber, it is on this threshold that your children play ; if you can 
 avoid it, do not let their young breath be tainted with the 
 odours of a pig-sty, a drain, or a dunghill. If you keep a pig, 
 the sty is better at a distance, and you must keep it scrupulously 
 clean. If a drain be out of order near you, do not let your 
 landlord rest until he has repaired it ; one of your children may 
 at any time fall sick, and it very easily may happen that the 
 poison of that \cry drain shall cause the sickness to be fatal. If 
 
A Tract upon IlcaltJi for Cottage Circulatio}i. 361 
 
 you have control over an adjacent dunghill, bear in mind that 
 every scent which rises from it is so much loss to its owner; it 
 is the fertilising- part which flies away. A dunghill carefully 
 covered in, until it be wanted, with a layer of stifi" clay, or mud, 
 is equal in value to another of twice the size which has been 
 constantly left open to the weather. 
 
 2. The next rules for selecting a dwelling-place are not all of 
 the same importance. A. — Many cottages ha\-e a back and 
 front door in the same room on opposite walls. If you live in 
 a cottage of this description you will be often reminded that one 
 half of your room is spoiled by a great draught. There is one 
 tirne also when such a draught is particularly dangerous. It is 
 luhen you are fatigued, cither by toil or sickness. To be hot 
 alone, while you are strong and continue in exercise is no great 
 cause of hazard ; the risk occurs when you or any of your 
 family happen to be hot and tired ; or to be tired, whether hot 
 or no. A back door like that just mentioned it is as well to 
 doctor by nailing a strip of list or flannel round its edges, so 
 that there shall be no crevice after it is closed. B. — A bedroom 
 in which only one pane of glass opens to admit fresh air is not 
 good ; but a bedroom with a good fireplace and chimney is 
 better than a room with an opening window, where chinmey 
 there is none. C. — When you have chosen a house do not go 
 into it until it has had all the w^alls freshly whitewashed, and all 
 the floors and painted woodwork cleaned. If there be any 
 corner which your landlord will not assist you in purifying, 
 because it looks already fit for tenancy, whitewash or scrub it 
 for yourself ; you will not lose by the precaution. 
 
 3. If you already possess a home, and it is not in all respects 
 like that which I would have you choose, there is no need to be 
 dissatisfied. You must endeavour to bring it to the healthy 
 standard. The nearer the pig-sty is to your door, the more care- 
 fully you must clean it. Dunghills can be moved ; and, if not, 
 they can do no harm when managed properly. Faulty drains 
 can be mended, and I earnestly impress it upon you to be 
 careful in that matter ; represent the case respectfully to those 
 from whom your remedy should come ; and, if you are put off, 
 as I think you would not be, never give up the point ;. petition 
 together with your neighbours and you are not likely to be 
 
 I A A 
 
362 Appendix. 
 
 refused. Then indoors, a draught can be cured, and, if not, you 
 have only to avoid its neighbourhood ; and if your bedroom be 
 ill-ventilated, sleep with its door left open. 
 
 4. Truth lies at the bottom of a well, and health is in a 
 whitewash pail. Do not let the walls of your house ever be 
 dirty. Paper, if you have any, should be renewed at least 
 every three years ; coloured walls should be freshly coloured 
 every two years ; and those which are whitewashed should have 
 a new coat every spring. In this arrangement health is very 
 materially concerned, and you should on no account neglect it. 
 If you have a garden, you will, of course, keep it in neat order ; 
 and teach your children to assist in so doing. Let them, if you 
 can, have a small slip for flowers of their own, and induce them 
 to find pleasure in its orderly appearance, remembering that 
 the way to keep them out of bad thoughts, bad company, 
 mischief, and danger, is to find them wholesome, harmless 
 occupation. 
 
 5. Upon all other matters which concern the arrangement of 
 the house, I address its mistress. It is your wish that your 
 husband should be as happy as possible in the society of your- 
 self and of his children, that he should not spend any of his 
 earnings in the parlour of a beer-shop. Then you will remove 
 out of sight everything which can make home look wretched. 
 Perhaps your whole time is spent in the arrangement of your 
 household ; it ought then to be perfectly well managed. If not, 
 you can at least contrive an hour or two in each day which you 
 might spend in keeping home in order. Your floor and your 
 furniture, if the latter be but a joint stool and a table, must be 
 not rubbed, swept, or wiped, but scrubbed : and whatever can 
 be washed should be well washed in plenty of clean water on 
 Saturday in every week. You should not let this duty be un- 
 finished when your husband comes back from his work. Your 
 home should be quiet, and in its cleanest state by six o'clock in 
 the evening ; for it is possible that a weary man may need more 
 than common inducement to avoid the more than common 
 temptations offered out of doors on Saturday night. If it be 
 possible, it may be better to make your week's purchases before 
 the evening ; if you cannot do this, you can at least avoid un- 
 necessary delay and gossip over them. If you leave him, and 
 
A Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation. 363 
 
 talk scandal at the store-shop, your husband is naturally driven 
 to find Ins solace at the public-house. Twice every day the 
 room in which you live should be swept, cleaned, and set in 
 order. If you do not let dirt accumulate, it will be no toil to 
 get rid of its presence. The first cleansing- should be, of course, 
 on rising in the morning ; the second, before " the good man" 
 returns from work, when he must find c\crything in neat and 
 pleasant order. 
 
 6. A pure atmosphere in the bedroom is essential to health. 
 Lea\e open door and window during the day, and rest assured 
 that there is a want, which you must remove, either of air or 
 cleanliness, wherever you can perceive in a sleeping-room 
 which you are about to enter for the night the faintest odour. 
 Your night arrangements are of vast importance. Each sleeper 
 draws into his chest, about fifteen times in every minute, a 
 certain quantity of the surrounding air, and returns it, after a 
 change within the body, mixed with a poison. A hundred and 
 fifty grains by weight of this poisonous ingredient are added to 
 the air of your bedroom in one hour, by a single sleeper ; more 
 than one thousand during the night. Unless there be a suffi- 
 cient quantity of air around you to dilute the mixture well, or 
 unless ventilation provide a sufficient quantity of fresh air — 
 fresh food for life— your health will be undermined, your life,, 
 perhaps, endangered. A cottage bedroom of the usual size, 
 when it is quite shut up, contains not more than enough air for 
 a single occupant. It almost always, however, has two or three, 
 sometimes four, five, or six. If you have such a bedroom and 
 it has an open chimney, it is well. That is a famous ventilator. 
 It carries off the spoiled air, and makes space for a fresh and 
 wholesome supply which finds it way into the room. I am 
 sorry to have observed that from some mistaken prejudice this 
 most healthful opening is generally blocked up with a soot-bag, 
 or a chimney-board ; some very energetic people e\en employ 
 bricks and mortar. This is a dangerous mistake. If there be 
 no chimney in your room, or if with a chimney the number of 
 sleepers be still disproportionately great, then you should bear 
 in mind the above cautions, and, in order to admit sufficient air 
 for all, leave the door of your chamber open. Do not, however, 
 carry your care too far. I knew a family of philosophic ladies 
 
364 Appendix. 
 
 who once became enthusiastic o\'er books on \entilation. The 
 consequence was that every night before retiring to bed, when 
 others make close their shutters, they threw wide open every 
 window on the upper stories of a large London house. If 
 phrenology had not interfered soon, and turned their learned 
 investigations into another channel, probably not one of these 
 ladies would have now been living. Avoid opening the window, 
 and do not allow anyone to sleep in any part of a room where a 
 stream of air can be distinctly felt upon the bed. This is im- 
 prudent even in the warmest nights of summer. 
 
 7. Let us sum up all in this — through every corner of your 
 house, the strictest cleanliness must be preserved. It must 
 be free from smell of every sort, except that which in cooking, 
 washing, etc., may be unavoidable ; and all trace even of these 
 must be removed as soon after their, cause as possible. Do 
 not believe in " wholesome smells". No smell, not even the 
 delicious fragrance of the rose, is more, at its best, than a fit 
 source of occasional pleasure. The air we breathe, which 
 surrounds all the world, is scentless, and only in the scent- 
 lessness of our houses have we a safe assurance that the 
 atmosphere is pure within. I have now said as much as is 
 necessary to give you the power of managing your house in 
 such a manner as shall provide you with the best possible 
 security, in that respect, of uninterrupted health. Much of 
 the sickness which we see around us in its most dangerous 
 and painful forms has proceeded either from ignorance of the 
 above rules, or from the want of will or power to obserxe them. 
 Ignorant wow yoic are not. If you have the power, will alone 
 is wanting. If you have not the power now, it is a matter of 
 ten chances to one that still the w ill can ])rocure it for }ou. 
 Try. 
 
 management of the person. 
 
 I. The body also has been called "The house we live in"; 
 and, like the house just spoken of, requires to be kept very 
 clean ; dirt is dangerous. When we are hot and perspire, the 
 water which we see upon the skin is only a visible, because 
 increased, quantity of that which is passing as a vapour from 
 e\ery inch of our bodies every moment that we live. It has 
 been calculated that as much as a quart of water, and often 
 
A Tract upon HcaltJi for Cotla^^-e Circulation. 365 
 
 more, passes daily in this manner through the skin of a 
 healthy person. It passes through minute openings which 
 cover the whole surface, and if these be plugged up by dirt or 
 any other obstruction, it cannot pass at all. In that case it is 
 compelled to seek a passage through the kidneys, and gives 
 rise to internal disease. The recommendation to cleanliness 
 of person is, therefore, not a matter only to please the eye or 
 the fancy ; it is a duty of the first importance. If you live in 
 any place where bathing is possible and safe, it will very greatly 
 promote health if you are able to make use of that advantage 
 once a week. If not, whenever it is possible an opportunity 
 should be taken to wash the entire body. Upon you who are the 
 heads of a family there is a responsibility beyond that which 
 you owe to yourselves. You must set an example of cleanliness 
 and neatness to your children. At no time allow dirt to remain 
 upon any part of your body, or of their bodies, while you have at 
 hand the means which will enable you to remove it. The best 
 time for a full and perfect wash is immediately before you retire 
 to bed ; even if your health be already very good, you will 
 find it improved by adopting such a practice. In this evening 
 wash, thoroughly performed, it will be well habitually to include 
 your feet ; if then you add the precautions necessary to secure 
 a well-ventilated bedroom, you obtain for yourself during that 
 period which constitutes in all a third part of your lives, the 
 best assurance of health and the most complete refreshment. 
 Then, also, you do not run the risk of danger from a hurried 
 morning ablution, while the time may press you to return to 
 work.- The second wash immediately upon rising is very neces- 
 sary to remove the perspiration of the night, and to act as a 
 refreshing stimulus in overcoming that stupefying effect which 
 will generally follow from the long breathing of an air which 
 is, even in the best ventilated rooms, more or less poisoned. 
 The best time for cleaning the teeth is at bed-time, to remove 
 those impurities which adhere during the day's meals, and 
 which would otherwise remain during the night to exercise 
 their injurious action. But this cleansing is obviously necessary 
 in the morning also. Every man, woman, and child should go 
 forth in the morning perfectly clean, and— to repeat the old test 
 —perfectly free from smell of any description, to the work of 
 
366 Appendix. 
 
 every day. Finally, on returning from labour, if there be an 
 interval of e\ening rest — a few hours in which to enjoy home — 
 I need not say that the husband should find wife and children 
 clean and ready to receive him, and that his first act should be 
 to eftace the dirt, and with it the reminder of his past day's 
 toil, before he sits down to the perfect enjoyment of those hours 
 w hich ought to be the pleasantest in all the day. 
 
 2. All children running alone ought to be washed three times 
 daily. The mother of a large family cannot perform this task ; 
 but if the family be large, then it must include elder children, 
 and to one of these — or to two or three in turn — the duty of 
 keeping the young household clean should be entrusted. A 
 child's hair should be brushed morning and evening, and the 
 head washed every week. If the head be thus kept clean, there 
 will be no need to scrape it with the small-tooth comb, which is 
 an injurious custom. Let a child's face and hands be washed 
 whenever they are dirty ; and let whomsoever you have en- 
 trusted with the towel, be also instructed that it is neither 
 necessary nor wise to accompany the process of ablution with 
 slaps upon the back, poking of soap in the eyes, or the infliction 
 of peevish remarks upon the understanding, from which practices 
 has sprung a great distaste for purification among the little 
 commonwealth. When children do not like to be washed, it is 
 because they arc accustomed to the hands of those who do not 
 like to wash them. Cleanliness, howe^•er, though less frequent, 
 is even more essential to the child than to the adult. It is 
 scarcely too much to say that one-half of the ailments among 
 children of the poor would never occur at all, if they were never 
 suffered to be dirty. 
 
 3. Not only does the skin act in the manner previously 
 described, passing a constant vapour outwards from within ; 
 but it is also capable of absorbing — sucking inwards — matter 
 placed upon its surface. It is plain, therefore, that the health 
 will be lessened if you place over the greater part of the 
 surface of your body that foul plaster which is formed by dirty 
 clothes. Bear ever in mind the certain truth that cleanliness is 
 only next in importance to food and sleep, as a requisite to 
 health, and you will not find it difficult to adopt a regulation suffi- 
 ciently strict for every useful purpose. Let that part of clothing 
 
A Tract upon Ilcaltli for Coftd'^c Circulation. 367 
 
 M-hich is worn next to the skin l)c the part most carefully 
 attended to ; let it be put on clean twice every week throughout 
 ^•our famih'. If you arc accustomed to wear flannel on the 
 body, do not leave it off carelessly or without medical advice ; 
 neither in any case recommend or adopt this use of flannel 
 where clean linen should be, unless directly advised to do so. by 
 your medical attendant. The practice is not only unwholesome, 
 but in most cases has originated in a prejudice useless, absurd, 
 and full of danger. It must, however, once adopted, at no 
 time be suddenly left off; in the whole arrangement of your 
 remaining dress, observe, above everything, so far as your 
 occupation will permit, the comprehensive rule " Be Clean". 
 When possible use clothes made of a material which will admit 
 of being washed, and do not allow dirt to accumulate upon them. 
 In your best attire, if you can afford to be not only clean but 
 ornamental, that is as you please, but ornamental clothes and 
 dirty linen only excite contempt. The commonest and oldest 
 garment, if its tatters be thriftily mended, and if it be the clean 
 covering of a clean body, will be always a sure passport to 
 general goodwill. 
 
 4. As far as your means permit, adapt the warmth of your 
 clothing to the season. Do not wilfully adopt any foolish 
 system of neglect or exposure, with a view to hardening your 
 children. Some people point to the hardships endured by the 
 robust children of the Indian savage, and pretend that, by like 
 exposure of our youth, we also should rear up a hardy race. 
 Yes, we should, and in the same manner ; by killing all the 
 more delicate children under a system which the robust only 
 can survive. Avoid equally the extreme of carelessness. 
 Within the bounds of common prudence leave the long list of 
 precautionary measures to a healthy instinct. To a healthy 
 person, naturally trained, great-coats and umbrellas will be- 
 come undoubtedly a nuisance, but those who are accustomed 
 to them cannot, perhaps, dispense with their protection. The 
 rule applies here which has already furnished us a hint or two. 
 While he is in active motion wet cannot hurt a healthy man ; 
 but to sit or walk slowly in a state of fatigue, whilst our clothes 
 are wet or (what is equally bad if not worse) whilst they are 
 damp, it is therein that the danger lies. Every unhealthy 
 
36S Appe7tdix\ 
 
 influence acts most powerfully on the body while it is in a state 
 of fatigue, and has least influence while it is in a state of 
 vigorous and steady action ; thus it is most proper to bathe in 
 the morning, while the energies are fresh, the body calm and 
 active ; but if yoii less wisely arrive at the water-side in a 
 heated and excited state, it is better to leap in at once, and 
 after you have come out, immediately continue your former 
 exercise, than to sit down languidly and wait till you are cool, 
 as the custom is, in which case you wait until bathing has 
 become imprudent. A little reflection upon these last scattered 
 hints will probably guide you in forming a tolerably correct 
 judgment of your own in most cases which concern the 
 Management of the Person. 
 
 MANAGEMENT OF THE FOOD. 
 
 I. To begin at the beginning. The food provided for an 
 infant immediately after its birth into the world contains prin- 
 ciples, admirably proportioned, for the purposes of nourish- 
 ment and growth. We are not to "assist nature" with sugar 
 and butter, castor oil, or calomel. Milk and sleep are the 
 two requisites of infant life. Both should be provided with 
 punctual regularity. During the first five or six months of a 
 baby's life it should be suckled night and day, at regular in- 
 tervals of four hours. It should not sleep with the nipple at 
 its mouth : accustom it to the breast whenever it cries, and it 
 will be always crying. From the first, confine it to these 
 regular intervals of food and sleep ; the child will then seldom 
 require more, and will generally wake up at feeding time with 
 perfect punctuality. — At about the seventh or eighth month the 
 teeth first show themselves, and nature gives a hint that she 
 is preparing for a change of diet. Then begin to wean. 
 Lengthen gradually the intervals between the periods of 
 suckling in the night ; but during the hours proper for sleep 
 never give the child any artificial food. During the day 
 diminish gradually the number of suckling periods, substituting 
 for each, at the proper time, a proper artificial diet. At first 
 this should be soft bread steeped in hot water, with a little 
 sugar and fresh milk added ; cow's milk alone is too rich for 
 thc stomach of an infant ; with water and sugar it forms an 
 
A Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation. 369 
 
 imitation of the child's first natural provision. Afterwards 
 once during the day the food may consist of some light broth 
 free from fat or vegetable. The child should not be laid upon 
 its back and crammed, but held erect and its actions watched, 
 that the feeding may stop the moment it is satisfied. — During 
 nursing the mother should preserve her own healthy digestion, 
 by adhering to her usual diet, according to the requirements of 
 a probably increased appetite. She is not benefited by porter 
 unless it form part of her usual meals, nor is she the better for 
 any other unaccustomed mode of feeding. Anger and evil 
 passions in the mother during nursing injure the diet of the 
 child. — For some time after weaning, the spoon-meat, with one 
 meal of light broth as before mentioned, should continue to be 
 the infant's food. Four hours form the best interval between 
 meals. Sleep is better than food during the night ; for if the 
 child be fed within that time the disturbance of the stomach 
 from a state of rest interferes with the healthy repose of the 
 whole body. Bread, milk, water, with light meat broth, free 
 from fat, and, as more teeth appear, fresh meat with a little well- 
 cooked vegetable for its dinner, are all the articles which should 
 form the diet of a healthy child up to its seventh year. It 
 should be fed at strictly regular intervals, and then only* 
 
 2. After the formation of the second teeth, from about seven 
 years old, the child may be admitted to a wider range of diet. 
 The rest of his life divides itself into two natural and distinct 
 periods : the time of growth, and the time of equilibrium, that 
 is to say, the time after which growth is ended. Here we find 
 it necessary to apply ourselves to the question, What is food ? 
 The human body throughout life is in a state of perpetual decay. 
 By the air we breathe and other influences there is produced an 
 incessant waste, every instant it is going on. The loss on this 
 account our food supplies. Renewal, thus follows decay, so 
 surely and so completely, that of the body which you now 
 possess, scarcely a particle was yours seven years ago ; it is one 
 great repair constructed gradually and imperceptibly of the 
 food which you have eaten in the interval. Obviously the body 
 
 * The above outline of Infant Management is adopted from the ad- 
 mirable Treatise on the Diseases of Children, by Drs. Maunsell and 
 Evanson, of Dublin. 
 
:)/" 
 
 Appendix. 
 
 cannot add to itself that which it does not receive, and it follows, 
 therefore, as a matter of necessity that the food should contain 
 exactly the same materials as those of which the body is com- 
 posed, and these too in a correct proportion. For all this God 
 has so wonderfully provided, that I regret the impossibility of 
 entering at any length into so beautiful a subject. The most 
 obvious manner of attaining a food w hich will make flesh, is the 
 adoption of a meat-diet only. This will not do — and for what 
 reason would it not ? Modern science has divided food into 
 two classes : i. That which adds itself to the body, that which 
 nourishes ; and of this meat may be called a type ; and 2. A 
 class which will not nourish, and the purpose of which is to 
 make heat ; to support respiration and keep up that warmth in 
 the body, without w^hich the processes of life cannot go on. 
 The chief element in this second class is called carbon ; it is the 
 same which we burn in our grates under the form of coal, which 
 we eat in sugar, in potatoes, and which we drink in wane and 
 beer, and it burns by a chemical action within our bodies 
 exactly as it does within the fire by w^hich we sit, only so much 
 more slowly that we do not feel its violence, and light and flame 
 are not evolved. Thus, for our diet to be useful, we must not 
 only eat nourishme7it-food (so to speak), but we must eat with it 
 fuel-food m order that it may be prepared for change into a 
 living part of our own living body. The body requires these 
 two elements in a fixed proportion. A healthy m.an to one part 
 of nourishment requires eight parts of fuel ; flesh itself contains 
 fuel in a much less proportion, and a person who confines him- 
 self to that diet must eat to waste — must, in fact, take nourish- 
 ment which he cannot use, for the sake of the accompanying 
 fuel. Starch contains, on the contrary, little nourishment, but 
 much of the heat-producing element. Thus it has been cal- 
 culated that if you were to provide a man with one animal and 
 an equal weight of starch, and he could live a certain number 
 of days in health and strength, another man without the starch 
 would rec[uire to consume five such animals in order to support 
 life for an equal length of time. 
 
 Vegetables contain more or less of certain compounds exactly 
 corresponding in their elements to animal flesh and blood — 
 animal flesh and blood, therefore, with these compounds, which 
 
A Tract upon Health for Cottai^c Circulation. 371 
 
 are called vegetable tibiine, albumen, and caseinc, form the 
 7wurishment of man ; the fuel exists chiefly in fat, potatoes, and 
 starchy vegetables, gum, sugar, wine, beer, and spirits. This, 
 then, is an outline of the nature and use of food ; but we 
 referred just now to two periods of life, a time of growth and a 
 time of equilibrium. In the adult man or woman there is con- 
 stant decay, and renewal in exact proportion. It is consistent with 
 perfect nourishment that there should be neither the gain nor loss 
 of even an ounce in weight, gain and loss are exactly balanced ; 
 that, then, is the time of equilibrium. In the child every process 
 of life is more rapid ; not only is the comparative waste far greater, 
 and therefore a greaterproportion of nourishment would be needed 
 to sustain a balance only, but more than balance is required, in- 
 crease must exceed loss — there must be an excess of nourishment 
 — the child \TiViS\. grow. At every age there is daily variation, the 
 waste is greater in an active man than in one who sits at home, 
 the constant labourer requires more nourishment, the idler less, 
 than the moderately active man. 
 
 Now, therefore, you will be able partly to understand from the 
 following table how, in the milk, nature has so wisely provided 
 for the infant's wants : the proportion of nourishment being one 
 to every two of fuel ; while one in eight is the adult standard. 
 I copy this table from the most recent work of authority, on 
 the Philosophy of Diet."^ The proportion of nourishment-food 
 to fuel -food is in — 
 
 Milk (food for a growing animpM . . i to 2 
 
 Beans i ,, 2^ 
 
 Oatmeal • . i ,, 5 
 
 Barley i .. 7 
 
 Wheat flour (food for an animal at rest) . i ,, 8 
 
 Potatoes I ,, 9 
 
 Rice I ,, lo 
 
 Turnips . . . . .i,,ii 
 
 Arrow-root, Tapioca, Sag j . . i ,, 26 
 
 Starch i ,, 40 
 
 Meat has been spoken of. The food for an animal in Nouth 
 and during exercise should range therefore between milk and 
 wheat flour. 
 
 * Experimental Researches on the Food of Animals and Man, by R. D. 
 Thomson. 
 
1^2 Appendix. 
 
 Milk, adds Dr. Thomson, may therefore be used with a certain 
 amount of farinaceous matter, such as the class of flour and 
 meal, with probable advantage ; but the dilution should not 
 exceed the prescribed limits. We learn that as nature has pro- 
 vided milk as the true food for the support of children, their diet 
 should be always regulated in accordance with this type. The 
 use of arrow-root, tapioca, and preparations sold as " farinaceous 
 food" is wholly opposed to the principles unfolded in this table. 
 The proportion of nourishment in these is one to twenty-six, 
 instead of one to two, the quantity required. Arrow-root may 
 be compared to flour deprived as much as possible of its nutri- 
 tive matter, and is fit only in inflammatory diseases when it is 
 advisable to withdraw nourishment from the child, and at the 
 same time it is requisite to keep up the animal heat. Dr. 
 Thomson ascribes a large proportion of the complaints of the 
 nursery, irregularity of the bowels, etc., to a mistaken faith in the 
 preparations above condemned. The use of " farinaceous food" 
 is, in fact, ec^uivalent to bleeding. 
 
 It appears also from the above table that the health of an 
 adult cannot be supported firmly upon vegetable diet, unless it 
 should include a liberal quantity of bread, which is rightly called 
 the " staff" of life", since it contains the exact elements necessary 
 to maintain the body in a healthy balance. Those Irish who 
 live upon potatoes consume eight pounds for the daily average 
 allowance of each individual ; this does not support vigorous 
 life, and a much larger weight of food is taken than might 
 be necessary if the elements were otherwise proportioned. 
 
 Four pounds out of every five in the weight of the human 
 body is made up of its water only. We include water in our 
 bread and in all other forms of food, but it is necessary, in order 
 to supply the loss from constant evaporation and excretion, that 
 we add to our diet a considerable quantity also in the liquid 
 form. We flavour, drug, and disguise it as wine, beer, tea, etc. ; 
 in all these the pure water alone is that which is essential. It 
 is probable that we should best consult health if we confined 
 ourselves at all times to pure water as a drink. Alcoholic 
 lic[uors supply fuel, as we have before said, in a very concen- 
 trated form ; but it must be confessed that in ordinary diet the 
 fuel can be ol^taincd in a less exceptional)le manner. That 
 
A Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation. 373 
 
 spirit, wine, or beer contains no particle of nourislinient is now 
 universally known. Some of them produce fat, but that is 
 explicable on simple grounds, as it is, in fact, a production of 
 disease. Some forms have a slight tonic property, and all are 
 more or less stimulant — used very moderately, they relieve 
 fatigue and promote cheerfulness of mind. You will consult 
 your discretion in employing or abstaining from this form of 
 diet ; but if you drink beer, you had better brew at home. 
 Hard porter was formerly made out of new by the addition of 
 sulphuric acid ; and old beer is made mild by carbonate of lime 
 soda, or potash. Cocculus-indicus, a virulent poison, which 
 produces giddiness and convulsions, is quietly recommended in 
 at least two treatises " on brewing", by Childe and Maurice — 
 3 lbs. to ten quarters of malt — the giddiness it produces passes 
 for strength of liquor, and, says Maurice, " it prevents a second 
 fermentation in bottled beer." There is now a penalty of ^^200 
 on the use, and ^^500 on the sale of this drug ; but brewers' 
 druggists often evade the law with a watery extract which is sold 
 as " black extract" or " hard multum". Quassia and colocynth 
 are used as bitters, colocynth acting as a violent purge, (irains 
 of paradise and cayenne give pungency. Coriander, carraway, 
 etc., give flavour. Liquorice, treacle, and honey give colour and 
 consistence to porter ; and finally, the fine frothy or cauliflower 
 head is often made by a mixture called beer-heading, composed 
 of green vitriol, alum, and common salt. 
 
 If you take beer it should be only with your meals ; the 
 practice of drinking it at various times in the day, even in 
 moderate quantities, is most pernicious. Employers who give 
 beer as a donation, or in place of bread, meat, or money, as a 
 part of wages, are either unwisely liberal or wickedly unjust. 
 The liberal would gladly turn their generosity into a more useful 
 channel, upon being simply asked to do so. The unjust should 
 be withstood and made to abolish the practice, which prevails in 
 too many districts, of " Beer wages". I think on the whole that 
 you will find it cheaper and healthier to transfer your patronage 
 from the publican to the butcher and the baker. My certain 
 w^aining, however, extends no further than to this : if you would 
 preserve health you must drink beer only with your meals, and 
 it must be beer upon the genuineness of which you can depend, 
 
374 Appendix. 
 
 home-brewed if possible. Whether you cannot dispense with it 
 entirely, and to domestic advantage, is a question worth inquiry 
 — and worth perhaps a month's experiment. 
 
 Much strong tea is also objectionable, and the stomach is not 
 strengthened by being filled twice daily with very hot water. 
 Cocoa (if it be cocoa) contains nutriment, and is a wholesome 
 breakfast drink, but it will not agree with all stomachs ; much 
 that is sold consists of the husks only ground to powder, or of 
 damaged nuts from which the oil has been pressed out, mixed 
 with potato-flour, mutton-suet, etc. Bread and milk form 
 perhaps the most wholesome breakfast, and from the other 
 drinks now in ordinary use you have now knowledge enough 
 to make your own selection. The bloom on tea is given with 
 sulphate of lime and prussian-blue or indigo, but the adultera- 
 tion is harmless. Coffee cannot be poisoned by any number of 
 beans, and it is also (very slightly) nutritive. 
 
 MANAGEMENT OF TIME. 
 
 I. The Periods of Sleep. — An infant sleeps continuously, 
 awaking only to be fed at proper intervals. Up to the third 
 year, in addition to its nightly rest, a child will require to sleep 
 for about two hours in the middle of each day. Afterwards and 
 in all cases the youth requires more rest than the adult, but the 
 exact proportion varies in individuals according to constitution 
 or the influence of external causes. There is an adage attri- 
 buted to King George IV upon this subject, which, as we 
 might expect from such a source, is of no earthly value. He 
 allowed " six hours for a man, seven for a woman, and eight for 
 a fool". I would advise you if possible to endeavour to make 
 yourself a fool. Early rising is in itself only beneficial to those 
 who retire to bed proportionately soon. " Rise with the lark'' is 
 a good recommendation, if you will also roost with her. The 
 lark sleeps for eight hours at least ; few animals take shorter 
 rest, and in winter all of them require more ; we may take 
 warning, therefore, from the animated world around us, and be 
 guided also by our own personal experience. Those whose 
 circumstances enable them to retire to bed at nine and rise at 
 five are, perhaps, most fortunate in such a period of sleep, and 
 
A Tract upon Health for Cottage Circulation. 375 
 
 are in that respect placed in circumstances most advantag^cous 
 to good health. Nature by a longer night warns us that in 
 winter the period of rest should be increased. 
 
 2. The Period of Meals. — Of the intervals most proper for a 
 child we have before spoken. Concerning the number of meals 
 proper for general use, and the best times of taking them, 
 scientific opinions are most contradictory. It is certain only 
 that a second meal of solid food should not be taken until the 
 first has been digested, and the stomach has had a short rest, 
 that is, there should be, at any rate, a four hours' interval. 
 Some maintain that two full meals daily, with a free interval of 
 seven or eight hours, will be all that is sufficient, and will serve 
 best to maintain good health. The truth probably is, that 
 within the above restriction all such arrangements are entirely 
 immaterial. So long as the accustomed hours be perfectly 
 adhered to, the form of diet be of the same general character, 
 and the amount of food taken in each meal be sufficient, not 
 excessive, and tolerably uniform from day to day, nature will 
 accede perfectly to any arrangement which your household finds 
 convenient. A full supper, however, is not advisable shortly 
 before the time of sleep. 
 
 3. Your hours of labour probably are fixed ; upon your hours 
 of leisure it would be impertinent in me to dictate anything. 
 I speak only of that which bears a direct influence upon health, 
 and the following remarks are all which now remain. As far as 
 possible in everything you do let there be a system — let every 
 recurring task or pleasure have a fixed period in which to 
 return. By every departure from a wise punctuality of conduct, 
 nature is offended and health threatened. That evil passions 
 destroy the soul, you hear in church and chapel ; it is my business 
 only to tell you that they prey upon the body also. Sin and 
 lust not only shut out heaven, but they tend, by the diseases in 
 their train, also to embitter and to shorten the few days of your 
 residence on earth. The code of the Christian is the code as 
 well of bodily as of spiritual health. 
 
 1847. 
 
A TRACT UPON INTERRUPTED HEALTH 
 AND SICK-ROOM DUTIES. 
 
 " But none shall attain herein to perfection except they who are Patient ; 
 neither shall any attain thereto, except he who is endued with a great 
 Happiness of Temper."— The Koran. 
 
 \_Fro?n this iract^ published in 1847, only a fciv passages are 
 here reprinted?)^ 
 
 1. When we live, breathe, and act with perfect ease ; feel 
 in our bodies no pain, no impediment ; when the machinery 
 of our perishable frames performs its work so smoothly that 
 we are never reminded to consider whether it be well with us 
 or not, then we say that Ave have Health. We do not know 
 that we then have it. Death comes to us sometimes as a taste- 
 less poison, which kills before it has destroyed the pleasure of 
 the cup with which it had been mixed. So long as we feel no 
 ill, we say that we are well ; and all deviation from the con- 
 ditions by which Health has just now been defined, we call 
 Disease or Sickness. 
 
 2. Four things are requisite to Life and Health : Air, Water, 
 Warmth, and Food. These are provided in the world around 
 us. To the influence of some deficiency in one of these re- 
 spects may commonly be traced the interrupted health of 
 childhood, youth, and adult age. Death in these periods of 
 life — while Providence disposes all — we may be able, by an 
 exercise of reason, to account for ; and against like danger, 
 if God will, we may by remedies protect ourselves. But the 
 decay of the old man is the true Natural Death. It is the 
 result of an inscrutable decree. Philosophy, having the Bible 
 shut, cannot explain why we live. Life being granted — the 
 four requisites of life being given — one of the first philosophers 
 
Interrupted Health and Siek-ronni Ditties. 377 
 
 of our own age confesses that he cannot solve the problem, 
 Why we die. Man is born, — he attains strength, — produces 
 new men to supply his place when he shall be no more, — his 
 strength fails, — and he crumbles into dust. 
 
 In a former Tract, our subject was the way of Health ; and 
 now we come to speak of Sick-room Duties. But, as you 
 would not build for yourself a cottage over the ruins of a shed, 
 but would assuredly remove the shed and then begin to build : 
 so neither can I speak to you of right management in case of 
 interrupted Health, until I have endeavoured in the first place 
 to remove those obstacles of prejudice with which the ground 
 we need is uselessly (nay, dangerously) bestrewn. Before you 
 learn what plans you should adopt, learn what YOU SHOULD 
 ABANDON. 
 
 % -x- -it -Jf # 
 
 \_T/ie learnings were aj^>-ainst PJiysie at Birt/i., Domestic Medi- 
 cine^ the Infanfs Opiate., the Qiiaek., ineliiding the " experienced 
 frie?id^\ and misuse of the Druggist.'] 
 
 Domestic Medicine. — At no time give or take medicine 
 of any description without good ad\icc. Medicine cannot 
 make well better ; but it cannot fail to make well worse. It 
 can cure sickness, sometimes, but it can never increase health. 
 Be warned by the old epitaph : " I was well — I would be 
 better — and here I am." Every drug acts by creating a 
 disease. Its usual object is to excite a morbid action which 
 shall neutralise (so to speak) the powers of another action al- 
 ready set up in the body. In every recovery you require time 
 for nature to repair the injuries occasioned by the medicine, 
 as well as those which yet remain from the disease against 
 which it was provided as a remedy. To use a plain example. 
 You know well, because it is evident to your eyes, that the 
 surgeon with his scalpel "wounds to heal". If he removes 
 the smallest tumour he must still leave a knife-wound in its 
 place ; and for the cure of this, he depends trustfully on 
 nature. It is exactly so with the physician and his remedies. 
 Medicine is the knife which works in parts unseen. And if 
 you would not with your own hand thrust a lancet into your 
 child's skin, so neither should you thrust a drug into its body. 
 ^ -it * -x- * 
 
 I B B 
 
2,/S Appendix. 
 
 Can I show you by example the absurdity of the pretence on 
 which the sale of patent medicines is often founded ? Take for 
 example a statement, commonly employed, that at the source of 
 all diseases is an impure state of the blood ; that therefore, 
 to purify the blood cures all diseases, that Pikpokket's Pills 
 purify the blood ; and that, therefore, Pikpokket's Pills cure 
 all diseases. This is true Cjuack-logic, in which every statement 
 in the chain of reasoning is an untruth. But now what would 
 you say to a watchmaker who asserted that at the foundation of 
 all correct clock-work is a smooth movement of the wheels ; 
 that for this purpose oil only was needful ; that Oldrogue's oil 
 caused a most perfect smoothness and accuracy of movement ; 
 and, therefore, that Oldrogue's oil would correct every error in 
 a clock or watch, cracked glasses, broken springs, bent hands, 
 loss of pendulum, etc., enumerating every accident to which a 
 time-piece is exposed. You laugh at Oldrogue's oil, because 
 you know something of the constitution of a clock ; and if you 
 do not laugh at Pikpokket's Pills, it is because )'ou know no- 
 thing of that machine of infinitely greater delicacy, and more 
 intricate adaptation, of the constitution of your own living- 
 body. 
 
 * * -sf * -X- 
 
 The Druggist is a useful auxiliary to health, when he per- 
 forms only his legal duties. His duties are to sell good drugs, 
 using precaution that he does not let any which are dangerous 
 pass into unsafe hands ; and he is to compound from authorised 
 prescriptions. Generally the country druggist is a bit of a doctor, 
 and sometimes performs as much work as a bit of a pestilence 
 in the way of destroying health and life. Knowing nothing of 
 the human body, and of the action of drugs only a " dangerous 
 little", he can, by one wave of his hand before a shelf have at his 
 fingers' ends a score of deadly poisons. This is enough to 
 make one timid. But then, again, if the druggist knows little of 
 remedies, that little is called not too often into use. He is re- 
 Cjuired to treat patients whom he has not seen, upon a statement 
 of symptoms which would puzzle the most acute physician. 
 " Something for a staking at the stomach," as an instance, is a 
 demand which would produce an answering compound of very 
 doubtful efficacy. '' Something for the child's cough," too, is a 
 
hiterriiptcd Health atid Sick-rooui Duties. 379 
 
 request tolerably vague, considering that a cough is no more 
 than an effect which may depend on very many causes, and 
 that very commonly too it is itself a remedy, an effort made by 
 Nature to get rid of some obstruction. Such an effort parents 
 and druggists combine with determination to put down. The 
 child is at length perhaps threatened with suffocation, and a 
 more trustworthy adviser sent for. The Chinese have a remedy 
 for the plague. They make a hole in the ground, fill it with 
 water, and stir well with a stick. The resulting liquid they 
 drink as plague-medicine, under the title of Earth Soup. If 
 you must attempt some cure (Tf sickness before you call in 
 skilled assistance, let me advise you, in preference to your own 
 guesses — quack deceptions, or the better-intentioned guesses 
 of the druggist — try Earth Soup. Do not laugh at the Chinese. 
 If you will take drugs blindl)', )our treatment is a great deal 
 more unwise than theirs. Their way is innocent, but your way 
 bristles with dan^rer. 
 
 Dr. Cheyne (I think) has said of his brethren, that " he cures 
 most, in whom most put their trust". Daily experience proves 
 this. The originator of a new plan works wonders with it — 
 but it is not his plan, but his enthusiasm, which affects the sick. 
 They catch his tone of confidence, and get well quickly. These 
 facts point out to you your proper duty to the patient over 
 whom you watch. Let no meddling lips destroy his confidence 
 in those remedies to which he looks for aid. He is attended by 
 one surgeon, you prefer another. Do not draw invidious com- 
 parisons. Hope, Patience, Cheerfulness, these are your main 
 duties to the sufferer. As a nurse, bring to him his medicine 
 with regularity (Nature responds to Ptaictuality, but is distressed 
 greatly by its absence), and let each dose be accompanied with 
 hopeful words ; — spoken, too, in a hopeful tone, a tone of 
 settled confidence in good results. Pain you must soothe with 
 cheerful kindness, but with no doleful pity. Fatigue you must 
 bear, but never talk about. Provocation of patience you must 
 endure with an unaltered voice and countenance. If any 
 sudden danger threaten, repress all sign of hurry and alarm. 
 Sav not a word of dangler, relate or suffer the relation of no 
 
38 J Appendix. 
 
 dismal stories in the hearing of the sick ; neither permit levity. 
 From the sick-room every disturbing passion ought to be ex- 
 cluded ; no person who is out of temper ought to enter it. 
 Every privilege of health should be allowed to the sick man 
 (man, woman, or child, I mean, of course, throughout), every 
 privilege of health which he is able to retain with safety. 
 Paraphernalia of sickness are not to be obtruded upon his 
 notice. Take pains to select topics of conversation which will 
 interest and please his mind. If he will dwell upon dismal 
 thoughts, you must not chide him, it is a sign that you have 
 much to do : — patiently persevere in cheerful answering, and 
 seek, by quiet tact, to lead his mind into a happier current. 
 Let him be led daily to religious musing — to the consolations of 
 religion, not its terrors. If ever a man needs terrors to drive 
 him to God, it is assuredly not upon the sick-bed. Let a short 
 time daily be devoted to the reading of the Scriptures, and let 
 the reader be that member of the household whose voice will 
 be most pleasant in the sick man's ear. Select always passages 
 which speak of love and mercy, and thus rob death of its 
 alarms. If any pray with him, in addition to the minister, let 
 it be only those whom he respects and loves. Exclude those 
 well-meaning volunteers who " exercise themselves" by ghostly 
 — and more than ghost-like — performances among the sick. I 
 remember a patient seriously ill, whose life was unquestionably 
 shortened by the effects of her complaisance in this respect ; 
 she was told that there " could not be too much of a good 
 thing", and dared not refuse admission to anyone who came to 
 pray beside her. The result was a succession throughout the 
 day of saints, and fancied saints, of every creed and character. 
 Some brought terrors and some weariness ; none peace. Some 
 raised their voices that the edification might extend to the 
 sick woman's neighbours, and the people in the street ; while 
 some were more disposed for confidential groaning. When 1 
 expostulated with the most assiduous, their answer was, " You 
 may be right, but the soul is to be considered before the bod)-, 
 and the Gospel teaches us to ' Pray without ceasing'. " Now 
 I am not disposed to quarrel with a strictly literal interpretation 
 of that text, because I believe that a dependence upon God is 
 so comj)letely intcrwoxcn with the tcm})cr of the Christian, that 
 
Iiiicrniptcd Health and Sick-room Futics. 381 
 
 he does actually, in every act or word, pray without ceasing. 
 Not by groan or exclamation. It is with the heart that prayer 
 is made to God, and only to man on the lips. Do you think 
 that a sick person ought perpetually to hear the prayers of 
 others ? Has he no themes for secret contemplation .' Do you 
 think that, with the Bible on his bed, and the voice of a beloved 
 one ready, when he desires it should be read ; with the prayers 
 of his life's companions around him ; with his own minister at 
 hand to guide him, comfort him, and solve his doubts if any 
 should occur; with the events of a past life in his memory, and 
 a Great Future in his hope : do you think that, as he lies quietly 
 upon his bed, so provided, so surrounded, that his heart cannot 
 ascend to God in one incessant sacrifice of prayer ? Perhaps 
 he is a dying man and his hours few^ ; is there an intruder so 
 vain of his own piety as never to feel doubt whether, in such a 
 case, he may not be a great obstruction ? If he feel no such 
 doubt, then is he far worse than the Pharisee in the Temple. It 
 is as if, had he been a Pharisee, he would ha\e looked down with 
 patronising glances on the Publican, and said, " Poor mortal I 
 see, he cannot pray" ; and have approached, interrupting his 
 devotions, to perform some oratory for him. Far be it from me 
 to question the Christian sincerity of every stranger who brings 
 unasked prayers to a sick-room ; only to you, who act as nurse 
 to a sick friend, I repeat the caution ; let those who pray with 
 him be only those to whom he is linked by natural affection ; 
 those out of his own circle, who as charitable friends, as district 
 visitors, or coming in any other form, have obtained a real hold 
 upon his esteem, and finally, the minister from whom he has 
 been accustomed to receive public instruction. Against all 
 other comers, resolutely shut the sick-room door. When death 
 has in any case become inevitable, sometimes the fact is con- 
 cealed from the sufferer. That is unnecessary. He can, without 
 any excitement, be prepared for a fatal issue to the utmost ex- 
 'tcnt that the most timid conscience could desire. The right 
 way is to dwell seriously upon death as possible ; that being 
 done, revert to the old hopeful strain. This duty is in the 
 province of the surgeon, and requires some little tact. When 
 properly performed, it carries with it no delusion, and it retains 
 hope to the last ; for as the earthly Hope breaks bit by bit 
 
382 Appendix. 
 
 away, a better Hope ebbs in upon the soul, and the most 
 glorious time of Hope at which a man arrives is in the very 
 moment of his dying. 
 
 You think that I have demanded for the sick man's nurse no 
 trit^ing qualifications. I ask what few indeed can bring, but all 
 can strive towards. The sick man requires Faith and Hope ; 
 the nurse must have Faith, Hope, and Charity. True charity it 
 must be too, suffering long, and kind. With a speech free from 
 envy and boasting. Beha\ing not unseemly. Free from 
 selfishness and malice. Not easily pro^•oked. Bearing all 
 things. Believing all things. Hoping all things. Never 
 failing. Thus you perceive that while we have already found 
 that Christianity does most to make a healthy man, so do we 
 now discover that it is of all things best adapted even to the 
 temporal requirements of the sick ; and that there is no better 
 method of performing Sick-room Duties than by perfomiance 
 of the first great duties of a Christian. 
 
 \_0n the last leaf of this Tract upon ''Interrupted Health'' 
 iv hat follows^ 
 
Interrupted HealtJi and Sick-room Duties. 38 
 
 PSALM XCI. 
 
 SEARCH AFTER HEALTH, 
 
 Under the shadow of Thy throne, O Lord, 
 The man abides who dwelleth near to Thee ; 
 
 To him whose trust is in Thy steadfast word 
 A refuge and a fortress Thou wilt be. 
 
 Him, Thou wilt loosen from the fowler's snare, 
 
 And rescue from the noisome pestilence ; 
 For him shall night no shroud of terror wear. 
 
 By day from danger Thou art his defence. 
 Him shalt Thou cover with Thy feathered wing, 
 
 To him thine inmost Love is all revealed ; 
 Him to Thy brooding bosom Thou shalt bring ; 
 
 Thy truth shall be his buckler and his shield. 
 
 Through midnight gloom the Pestilence shall stride 
 
 At noon Destruction walk, and make a void 
 Around thee ; thee no evil shall betide : 
 
 The child of God remaineth undestroyed. 
 A thousand men shall perish at thy side, 
 
 And tens of thousands fall at thy right hand ; 
 Thou with thine eyes shalt see their answered pride 
 
 They all are scattered ; thou shalt ever stand. 
 
 No evil shall befall thee. No Plague stalk 
 Within thy dwelling. For the Lord most High 
 
 Shall give his angels charge with thee to walk. 
 And keep thee on thy way, and strength supply. 
 
384 Appendix. 
 
 Thou, if tliy foot should dash against a stone, 
 
 Shalt be supported, by their hands up-borne ; 
 From the dank adder's mouth its sting is gone 
 
 Where thou dost tread ; and thou shalt pass untorn 
 Among the lions. Thou the dragon's nest 
 
 And the young lion's lair shalt trample down 
 Unhurt, because thy love on God doth rest, 
 
 And thou hast made the House of God thine own. 
 
 Therefore the Lord God will deliver thee — 
 
 Thou that hc:st learned to know His holy Name :— 
 To Him in days of trial thou shalt flee ; 
 
 To Him from whom the days of trial came. 
 Honoured by Him, thou shalt be lifted up ; 
 
 Rescued by Him, on whom thou hast relied; 
 God shall with His Salvation fill thy cup: 
 
 And with long life shalt thou be satisfied. 
 
 : WHlTINtJ AND CO., ZO ANIi 32, SARDINIA STKHKT, 
 
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 OCT 28 1966 
 
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 ««i.CI8. KOI/ 3 '82 
 
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 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
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