THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 
 
 
 
 Ex Libris ^ 
 ► ISAAC FOOT ' 
 
 
 

 
 NOONTIDE ESSAYS
 
 UJftitristna: 
 
 Noontide Essays 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart., M.P. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'passages IN THE LIFE OF 
 SIR LUCIAN ELPHIN,' ETC. 
 
 ' And if I laugh at any mortal thing 
 ' Tis that I may not 7vcep." 
 
 — Don Juan, iv. 4. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 M D C C C X C 1 1
 
 M£M47
 
 S. S. L. D. 
 
 The Book of the Order of S. Victor of Paris 
 contains tlie followinoj rule : — 
 
 " In summer it sljnll be latoful far ang of tfje Brdljrcn 
 to real) far an Ijoiir at naaii in ttjc tiarmttoru, pra&i'licti 
 ttat care hz taken nat ta make a eracklintj noise in 
 turning t'^e leabes. Sit tfjat fjour tlje Brctljren man 
 recline, but initfjout untircssing, anti must on no account 
 eitentJ tf)eir feet iegonti tlje bets." 
 
 This noontide siesta was called Meridian a — 
 a slumberous appellation, suggestive of light 
 reading in a cool chamber, what time the sun 
 beat fiercely on the roof-tiles, and only the 
 lizards could endure the heat. The drowsy 
 purpose of such an hour may be served by the
 
 vi S. S. L. D. 
 
 following papers, wliicli have already appeared 
 in ' Blackwood's Magazine,' except that on 
 " Birds," which is here reprinted by kind per- 
 mission of the editor of the ' Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury,' and the address on Education, hitherto 
 published only in the local newspapers.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ANCIENT LIGHTS, . . . . . 
 
 1 
 
 A COUNTRY member's MOAN, . 
 
 35 
 
 MANNERS, ..... 
 
 61 
 
 CUSTOMS, ...... 
 
 86 
 
 CONTRAST, ..... 
 
 . Ill 
 
 CIVILISATION, .... 
 
 .142 
 
 MNEMOSYNE, . . . . . 
 
 . 174 
 
 IMAGINATION, .... 
 
 . 2U0 
 
 PLEASURE, . . . . 
 
 . 234 
 
 PERSONAL NAMES, 
 
 . 267 
 
 BIRDS, ..... 
 
 . 301 
 
 EDUCATION, ..... 
 
 . 328 
 
 INDEX, 
 
 347
 
 NOONTIDE ESSAYS. 
 
 ANCIENT LIGHTS. 
 
 T HAD been spending one of the most delightful and 
 -^ exciting afternoons I ever remember. Fond as I 
 am of pictures, and unwilling to miss visiting any of 
 the annual exhibitions, yet I find a gallery a most try- 
 ing place. My frame is generally bowed with fatigue, 
 my legs ache wofully — long before my eyes are satis- 
 fied with the feast. Apart from the physical strain of 
 standing about for hours, there is something in the 
 motionless, warm air of most picture-shows that takes 
 it out of you ; then it is cold outside — you carry in 
 with you a thick overcoat that soon weighs like lead, 
 there is nowhere to deposit it, you must bear it about 
 till you are half cooked; and in addition to all this, 
 there is the too plentiful presence of your fellow- 
 creatures. A knot of people have gathered just in
 
 2 Noontide Essays. 
 
 front of a small picture you are especially anxious to 
 examine : they have got into interminable conversation 
 about the parochial affairs of Sludgebury, or the County 
 Council of Potatoshire ; they could carry it on just as 
 well anywhere else, but there they stand — bulky, 
 vociferous, abominably good-tempered : the conference 
 seems likely to last half the afternoon. You pass on 
 in despair, and presently become absorbed in contem- 
 plation of another work, till you are reminded by an 
 aura of impatience behind you that you are yourself 
 obstructing the Adew of others equally anxious, per- 
 haps, to get a fair view of the piece. All this and a 
 thousand other little inconveniences combine to make 
 your recreation a test of physical endurance. 
 
 But here — to-day — in the New Gallery, among the 
 enchanting objects wdiich compose the Guelph Ex- 
 hibition, all had been different. In the first place, it 
 had so happened that there were comparatively few 
 visitors ; and these had seemed as much attracted by 
 the miniatures, letters, jewellery, &c., shown in cases 
 in the centres of the rooms, as in the pictures on the 
 walls. But in the next place, there was the peculiar 
 nature of the exhibition itself. Viewed merely as a 
 collection of pictures, it must be frankly owned that 
 the standard was not high. Pot-boilers abounded — 
 too few of them bearing comparison with the noble 
 pot-boilers of Pranz Hals, in which every stroke of 
 the brush tells of confident freedom and knowledge, 
 the fruits of thorough training and hard work — too 
 many of them betraying conventional treatment, faulty
 
 Ancient Lights. 3 
 
 materials, or hurried execution, as if the painter had 
 been impatient to get to the coffee-house. 
 
 Yet it would he difficult to find a more satisfying 
 expanse of colour than that displayed on the walls of 
 the North Gallery. A few marble busts at long inter- 
 vals were relieved on a background of mellowed can- 
 vas, and the eye was not cloyed with the profusion of 
 new gilding that detracts so painfully from the charm 
 of an exhibition of modern pictures. The feeling of 
 gold was there, but the metal was tarnished, and worn 
 to a low harmony. 
 
 But it was for the mind rather than the senses that 
 this treat had been prepared; here Mnemosyne, the 
 muse of Memory, presides. Of all the centuries of 
 English history, none lays hold more powerfully on 
 the imagination than the eighteenth ; remote enough 
 to be romantic, it is not so long past as to bo in- 
 distinct. None of the previous centuries have been 
 brought so thoroughly within our understanding by 
 literature ; the influences which actuate us, the aspira- 
 tions which inspire us, the customs we observe, seem 
 to have taken their birth among the men and women 
 with whom Chesterfield, Walpole, Selwyn, and Bos- 
 well have made us so intimate. Admit that this is a 
 superficial view of our civilisation, but admit also that 
 the gulf which separates us from mediaeval feeling lies 
 on the far side of the seventeen hundreds, and that 
 nothing divides us from the people of last century but 
 the accident of — death. Even this separation was 
 hard for a visitor to the Guelph Exhibition to realise
 
 4 Noontide Essays. 
 
 as he encountered the gaze of so many well-known 
 personages, whose eyes followed him somewhat wist- 
 fully as he passed along. 
 
 So, as I have said, the afternoon had been to me 
 one long delight. The excitement of meeting — in the 
 flesh, I had nearly said — at all events, of being in the 
 visible presence of illustrious men and beautiful 
 women, who had all borne a part in the making of 
 England, had prevented my feeling the exhaustion I 
 had surely earned. I drew a long sigh of gratitude 
 on coming to the end of the gallery up-stairs, and 
 finding a bench in a retired corner, I sat down to rest 
 and meditate for a few minutes in the growing dusk. 
 But the bodily part of me had its revenge for the long 
 innings of the intellectual, and lulled by the tinkle of 
 the fountain in the central court, I fell fast asleep. 
 
 When I awoke, all was dark and silent. I shall 
 never forget the bewilderment — the utter impossibility 
 of recollecting where I was. I had actually to retrace 
 mentally every action of the previous day, from the 
 time I had left my house till I visited the pictures, 
 and then — it was all clear. I had slept so long and 
 so sound that I had been overlooked when the gallery 
 was closed for the night, and — I was locked in. 
 
 I had not even a lucifer-match to enable me to see 
 my watch. I was in total darkness, and scarcely 
 dared to move, lest I should fall down some stairs, or 
 run against a glass case. It was not cold — that was 
 something to be thankful for, and, after all, the morn-
 
 Ancient Lights. 5 
 
 ing must come, and I had spent nights in far worse 
 quarters than this. I was hungry, not ravenously so, 
 for, with advancing years, I have grown to rely more 
 on luncheon and less on dinner than of yore; still, 
 visions of consommS mix ceufs pocMs floated tantalis- 
 ingly before me, and I thought tenderly of cotekttcs 
 jmrde cle marrons. I rose and stretched myself; my 
 slumbers on an oaken bench had been soft, but still — 
 oak is oak and flesh is flesh. A clock within the 
 building struck twelve, and suddenly, as the last 
 sound of the bell died away, I became aware of a soft 
 light spreading itself through the rooms. It grew 
 steadily, till at last every object was plainly visible — 
 as plainly as in broad daylight, but with a difference. 
 I cannot describe the strange nature of this light : it 
 was very pure, very soft, yet penetrating, but it took 
 me some minutes to realise its peculiarity — it cast no 
 shadous. It was indeed the " light that never was on 
 sea or land." The effect produced was one of inter- 
 minable space: the walls of the building and the 
 picture-frames seemed to recede or become intangible, 
 though the pictures themselves remained as clear as 
 before. Nay, more so; for presently they appeared 
 to disengage themselves, and I could hardly persuade 
 myself that they were not living, though motionless, 
 men and women. Their outlines rounded themselves 
 or became more distinct, the discoloration of age or 
 varnish slipped aside like a film, fresh hues revived in 
 faded cheeks and tarnished dresses. And presently 
 they began to move. I left my place and wandered
 
 6 Noontide Essays. 
 
 about like one in a trance. With the darkness silence 
 had ceased : the air was full of sound, but sound as 
 unfamiliar and unearthly as the light. I could not at 
 first distinguish its origin or nature, but as my ears 
 became accustomed to it, I recognised it as the articu- 
 late speech of a crowd. I could catch words and 
 sentences as one does in the babble of a large as- 
 sembly; but, though it was human and English 
 speech, it had the indescribably small yet startlingiy 
 near character of a voice sounding through a tele- 
 phone. The voices lacre tJiose of the spirits of the 
 pictures. 
 
 I was still in the balcony ; but no sooner did I 
 realise that the spirits were speaking than I conceived 
 a strong desire to go to the South Gallery, where the 
 portraits of those distinguished in Arts, Letters, and 
 Science are collected. The narrow staircase happened 
 to be occupied by two persons, one in military uni- 
 form, the other a slightly framed, middle-aged man, 
 fantastically draped in a dark-red furred mantle, and 
 wearing a long white lace cravat. I paused behind 
 them, unwilling to interrupt their conversation by 
 attempting to pass. 
 
 " I am positively getting tired of this, Harry," said 
 he of the furred cloak. " I own I was delighted with 
 it all at first ; but a month among these people has 
 driven mo back upon the conviction I formed a 
 hundred and fifty years ago, that hardly one in a 
 hundred of the people we know are worthy of ac- 
 quaintance, and were it not for you and Mason and
 
 Ancient Lights. 7 
 
 two or three others, I should shrink from jumping 
 out of the shades — like old Mrs Nuo-ent out of her 
 po'chaise — into an assembly." 
 
 "Don't be more misanthrope than of yore, dear 
 Horace," returned the soldier, turning so as to show 
 me his handsome and intelligent countenance. " I 
 shall return presently to look for you as soon as I 
 have made my obeisance to the King ; and I know 
 I shall find you closely hedged in by the petticoats of 
 all the pretty women in the place. How long have I 
 known you ? Who will be more chagrined than you 
 when the time comes that we all have to separate 
 once more ? How well I remember your saying that, 
 like a meml)er of Parliament's wife, you revived 
 directly you came to London." 
 
 " Yes ; but recollect I was then imprisoned in a 
 wretchedly constructed carcass. My life, for the last 
 thirty years of it, was but one long stratagem to 
 escape the gout, but my heart ever lay at Strawberry. 
 
 ' Fortune, who scatters her gifts out of season, 
 Though unkind to my limbs, had yet left me my reason.' 
 
 I lived much apart. You, wlio have ever moved in 
 the great world, have been lured into believing in it. 
 I, from my groves — from my philosopher's tub, if you 
 will — obtained a clearer, less prejudiced view, and 
 could distinguish scarcely one who was not either 
 scamp or dullard." 
 
 " Horace, Horace ! " said the soldier quietly, smiling 
 but shaking his head.
 
 8 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " Harry, you know there are exceptions," returned 
 the other ; " none knows better than yourself how 
 grateful I am for them. Never suppose that I hold 
 myself to be one of these exceptions. I have not, like 
 
 Pope, 
 
 ' ]\Iatle every vice and private folly known 
 In friend and foe, a stranger to his own.' 
 
 IsTay, I have lived selfishly, peevishly, with shallow 
 joys and narrow aim, but, thank heaven ! I have never 
 been found dull. I may have often been hated, but I 
 never was dreaded as a bore. I have seldom been 
 loved, but many have coveted my society. Gods ! 
 what is the cruel law of moral chemistry that makes 
 dulness an inevitable ingredient of temperance and 
 chastity ? Now begone ! do your devoir and return. 
 I shall wait about for you." 
 
 Left alone, he paced restlessly up and down the 
 landing muttering to himself, and smiling with a 
 peculiar, calm, though penetrating look in his dark 
 eyes. These, and a sensitive mouth, redeemed the 
 liarshness of his features, which were of bloodless 
 pallor, though suffused with the fire of intelligence. 
 I grew impatient to descend to the lower rooms, now 
 crowded with company, whence rose an ever-increas- 
 ing murmur of voices, and, while attempting to pass 
 the cloaked figure of the unknown, he turned so 
 quickly that I had to draw back with an apology, lest 
 I should have run up against him. 
 
 " Beseech you, sir ! do not apologise," he exclaimed 
 with a courtly bow.
 
 Ancient Lights. 9 
 
 " I was afraid I startled you, sir," I said. 
 
 " iSTay, sir, I have no nerves now, yet I pray you will 
 not put yourself to the exertion of shouting " (I was 
 aware that my too earthly voice was in loud contrast 
 to the delicate, metallic tones in which I was ad- 
 dressed), " I am not deaf. But stay — I do not know 
 — I have not the honour of recognising your features : 
 your dress too — pardon me — but have I the good 
 fortune to address a living gentleman ? " 
 
 I owned to the substantial fact. 
 
 " I am indeed fortunate : it is wliat I have longed 
 for for years. Oh, you were afraid of running up 
 against me ! My dear sir, you may run through me if 
 you please, I should never feel it. I am a have-been 
 — a phantom — a mere simulacrum. And you — you 
 are still really solid ? " 
 
 " I am indeed," I answered, excitedly, " and I'm so 
 glad to meet you, for I'm tremendously interested in 
 spooks — I beg your pardon — in spirits. I never saw 
 one before." 
 
 " Well, I am infinitely at your service, sir," ho re- 
 joined; "and I think I can sympathise with you. 
 Let me make myself known to you — I am the ' uncle 
 of the late Earl of Orford ' : it is j)ossible you may 
 have heard of me as Horace Walpole." (I bowed.) 
 " Well, as you know, I became Lord Orford later. 
 You look perplexed — permit me to explain. We have 
 been brought here by our great-grandchildren to illus- 
 trate the history of our century — that is to say, our 
 portraits have been brought here, and we — that is, our
 
 10 Noontide Essays. 
 
 disembodied spirits — are permitted — nay, directed — to 
 associate ourselves with our pictures each night from 
 twelve to three. This, as you probably are aware, is a 
 standing order in the Shades, wherever our pictures 
 happen to be ; the only choice allowed us is as to 
 which of our portraits we shall attach ourselves for 
 the night. Now it so happens that every existing 
 portrait of me hangs in a country-house where it is 
 the rarest thing possible for anything of more consid- 
 eration than a mouse to bo stirring after midnight. 
 Hence the peculiar pleasure which I experienced when 
 I realised that you are still in the flesh." 
 
 Then in the politest manner, but with an eager- 
 ness which he tried unsuccessfully to disguise, my 
 new acquaintance pressed me with questions about 
 what was going on in the great world — politics, art, 
 the theatres, the law courts, society of rank, the con- 
 struction and prospects of the Cabinet — on each and 
 all of these he found me totally unable to inform him. 
 For literature and science, the only fields with which 
 I can claim any familiarity, lie manifested a deplorable 
 contempt. 
 
 " My dear sir," he said, " I am a Fellow of the 
 Eoyal Society ; but I have very rarely attended their 
 meetings. Each time I have done so I have conceived 
 a deeper distaste for the task of Sisyphus ; each suc- 
 ceeding generation is engaged in dispelling the fal- 
 lacies of that which preceded it. As for literature, it 
 is to the realities of life merely what the steam is to 
 the punch-bowl — a pleasantly scented vapour, only a
 
 Ancient Lights. 11 
 
 whet to the thirst of one who has learnt deep drink- 
 
 ing. 
 
 " Yet you were yourself a successful author," T 
 hazarded. " Lord Byron has affirmed that in the 
 ' Castle of Otranto ' and the ' Mysterious Mother ' 
 you proved yourself the ' father of the first romance 
 and the last tragedy in our language,' and therefore 
 deserving of higher renown than any of his lordship's 
 contemporaries." 
 
 "High praise indeed," said Mr Walpole, "though 
 its value, like water, cannot rise above the level of its 
 source ; and I must say I never suspected his lord- 
 ship of literary proclivities." 
 
 " Literary proclivities ! " I exclaimed ; " that is 
 surely a mild expression for the capacity of the 
 author of ' Childe Harold.' " 
 
 " Ah, I see how it is," he replied ; " we must be 
 talking of different men. The only Lord Byron whom 
 / knew was lie who killed poor ]\Ir Chaworth in a 
 duel." 
 
 Whereupon I pointed out to him the poet Byron, 
 whom I happened to recognise at the moment, loung- 
 ing in a doorway, and explained to him that praise 
 from a poet of such iiigh order was praise indeed. 
 
 " I see you wonder that I know nothing of your 
 great men. Sir, in the Shades we mingle only with 
 those whom we knew on earth. We see countless — 
 myriad forms ; but we have no means of knowing 
 them. Our only chance of becoming acquainted with 
 what is going on in our old homes exists in the ex-
 
 12 Noontide Essays. 
 
 ceedingly rare occasions when we encounter and con- 
 verse with one still living. You told me that you had 
 never before seen a spirit ; only thrice since I breathed 
 my last have I met with living human beings. One 
 was a wretched housemaid, who dropped her candle- 
 stick and fled screaming ; another was the owner of 
 one of my portraits, who had lingered long over his 
 port in the dining-room where that portrait hung, was 
 seized with apoplexy, and expired in my presence a 
 few minutes after midnight, just as my spirit disen- 
 gaged itself from the canvas ; on the third occasion, a 
 couple of housebreakers, seeing me standing on the 
 carpet, took to their heels. So you must be indulgent 
 to the curiosity I showed just now in questioning you 
 about the affairs of the world. But to return to the 
 subject we were discussing — literature. 'Tis very 
 true, 'tis a pretty pastime for middle and old age — no 
 pleasanter incident than tlie post bringing the proof- 
 sheets ; but it is not work to fill a young, strong life. 
 If a man has learnt to put his mettle into real work 
 before he is thirty, depend upon it he will not be con- 
 tent to spend the rest of his life gathering the leaves 
 of Parnassus." 
 
 He spoke scornfully, and being something of a 
 quill-driver myself, I had an uncomfortable feeling 
 of inferiority to the spectre. 
 
 " I feel that I am detaining you from the soci- 
 ety of your friends below, sir," I said, preparing to 
 move on. 
 
 " Friends ! " he sighed, with a slight shrug of the
 
 Ancient Lights. 13 
 
 shoulders, " alas ! most of these are absent — Mr 
 Chute, Sir Horace Mann, Madame de Deffand — they 
 are not here, though I should not complain, having 
 General Conway, who left us just now, and Mr 
 Mason. Pray, do not leave me ; you do not con- 
 ceive what keen pleasure it gives me to converse with 
 one in warm flesh and blood — sure, there never was 
 one who so loved the world as I, or who understood 
 it so well. Yet I flatter myself I parted with it with 
 some philosophy." 
 
 The charm of his manner emboldened me to express 
 the wish that he would point out to me some of the 
 people he knew : he agreed to do so, and as we de- 
 scended the stairs, he explained how he came to be 
 so fantastically dressed. 
 
 " It was a sudden freak. Since we came to town, 
 I have each night attached myself to Hogarth's por- 
 trait of me (253) (you see we are all numbered 
 like convicts) " 
 
 "And are out on ticket-of -leave," I interrupted, 
 coarsely enough, though luckily the allusion was lost 
 on ]\Ir Walpole. 
 
 " But to - night," he continued, " the fancy 
 
 seized me to lodge in a wretched sopra porta, that 
 I had done for Mrs Kitty Clive, dimidiuiii animm 
 mem." 
 
 " Ah ! that accounts, sir, for my not recognising you 
 at once," I exclaimed. 
 
 " What ! " he replied, " you know my old olive 
 velvet suit. Lord ! I had grown sick of it ; it clung
 
 14 Noontide Iiissays. 
 
 to me like a cerecloth, and I had no alternative but 
 to don this masquerade." 
 
 The sound of my footfall, the only one in that 
 great assembly, caused every one to look round, 
 though I trod as lightly as possible. People looked 
 at me with a well-bred stare; most of them recog- 
 nised my companion, and began to crowd round him, 
 so that for some time we got no further than the 
 foot of the staircase. 
 
 " You know that lady in the laylock dress ? " Mr 
 Walpole whispered to me, as he bowed in return to 
 a gracious smile from a handsome lady, leading a 
 round-faced little boy. " That is Lady Pembroke ; 
 verily an earthly paragon, and without doubt she 
 is now a heavenly saint, for her husband inflicted 
 martyrdom upon her. Yonder is he, in a scarlet 
 uniform and a big red face. He left her, you know, 
 and eloped with the pretty Scotch Miss Hunter, and 
 was afterwards brute enough to insult the wife of 
 whom he was unworthy, because she hesitated to 
 divorce him. Of all the ladies I have known, she 
 most fulfils the ideal of grancle dame." 
 
 I remembered the painful story, and as I looked 
 from one to the other of this ill-matched pair, I could 
 not but reflect that the lady, whose face, with all its 
 beauty, told of a cold and formal nature, was scarcely 
 one to hold in thrall a man of violent passions and 
 impulsive disposition. 
 
 " La ! Mr Walpole, I vow I was dying to meet with 
 you. Come, give me your arm and take me for a
 
 Ancient Lights. 15 
 
 saunter. My good-for-nothing husband has gone off 
 with Mrs Garrick — Lord knows where 1 Won't you 
 avenge me ? " 
 
 This was one of the lovehest creatures I had ever 
 seen: she had eyes of wonderful softness and brill- 
 iancy, and a charm of gesture and manner, of move- 
 ment of head and hands, that was altogether be- 
 witching. No wonder that Mr AValpole, forgetful 
 of my existence, turned to offer his arm, saying, 
 "With all the pleasure in life, Mrs Sheridan," but 
 at t-liat moment the hand of another lady was laid 
 on his sleeve, and he bowed low to Elizabeth, 
 Duchess of Devonshire, a charming jDhantom in 
 clouds of laces, little bows of pink ribbon, light-blue 
 sash, and powdered hair. Oh, what an apparition of 
 beauty ! Eest assured that I, in the unmitigated 
 broadcloth of the nineteenth century, carrying a 
 shocking umbrella in one hand and a shabby chimney- 
 pot hat in the other, felt sufficiently abject in her 
 presence. 
 
 Mrs Sheridan's eyes flashed wickedly, and her lips 
 formed a decided pout as she drew her hand away 
 from Mr Walpole's arm, and exclaiming, " Nay ; but 
 I am not to be put off with the decimal part of a 
 man ! 'tis a pity that I never can find you except in 
 vulgar fractions, sir," tossed her pretty head, floated 
 off, and was lost in the crowd. 
 
 " What a pretty creature she is ! " said the Duchess, 
 as her dark eyes followed the petulant beauty; "I 
 don't wonder Mr Sheridan eloped with her."
 
 16 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " I could condone duelling," answered Mr Walpole, 
 " if the cause was always as worthy as that for which 
 he fought two." 
 
 "Poor little thing!" observed the Duchess of 
 Gordon, who, looking charming in her white muslin 
 dress, had joined our group, and had witnessed what 
 had passed, "you should devote yourself to her to- 
 night, Mr Walpole ; if she finds her husband she 
 will make him a scene: she has a sharp tongue, 
 and cannot bear to see our friend Sherry as he is 
 to-night." 
 
 She made a significant motion of her hand to her 
 
 lips. 
 
 " Ah, is it so again ? " sighed Mr Walpole, shaking 
 his head sadly ; " the pity of it, the pity of it ! that 
 such a matchless wit should be so recklessly blunted. 
 Yet, with such a consort, he, of all men, might surely 
 echo Ben Jonson — 
 
 ' Leave but one kiss within the cup, 
 And I'll not look for wine.' " 
 
 " Pah ! I'd never spend a kiss upon a sot," said the 
 Duchess, tossing her chin. 
 
 "Yet they say of you, Duchess, that you spent 
 many kisses in the service of a country that holds 
 more sots than any in the world." 
 
 "Fie! Mr Walpole," returned the Duchess, who 
 spoke with a strong Scottish accent, " I cannot have 
 my character traduced before this gentleman " (point- 
 ing to me). "Mr Walpole refers," she continued,
 
 Ancient Lights. 17 
 
 addressing herself to me ; and as she spoke, her 
 manner, which had been languid and as of one 
 weary, brightened into animation — " jNIr Walpole 
 refers, you must know, to my recruiting service. My 
 duke received the king's commission to raise a regi- 
 ment of Gordon Highlanders: the fellows showed 
 no disposition to enlist in the Hanoverian army, 
 even at the bidding of the Cock o' the North, so I 
 came to the rescue. I allowed every man who would 
 take the shilling to take it with his lips from between 
 mine. I vow I was vastly sorry when the battalion 
 was at its full strength of a thousand," 
 
 " Jane, Jane, you are incorrigible ! " said the other 
 Duchess ; " you always made yourself out worse than 
 you are." 
 
 " Better to be a saint, my dear, and act the sinner, 
 than be a sinner and act the saint." 
 
 " And how would your Grace judge a poor mime," 
 asked a gentleman in brown coat and lace ruffles, who 
 overheard the last remark, " who both is and acts the 
 sinner ? " 
 
 " By a new decalogue, specially framed to embrace 
 every case from Macbeth's to Abel Drugger's," was 
 the reply, "and even that will require a codicil to 
 deal with Mr Garrick, who has shown so little regard 
 for the old law." 
 
 It was not a c^rimace — it was a transformation — 
 that came over the great actor's features ; never had 
 I seen a human countenance so completely altered by 
 momentary contortion of the muscles. " All ! " he 
 
 B
 
 18 Noontide Essays. 
 
 exclaimed, his face resuming its natural intelligent 
 beauty, and his black eyes sparkling merrily, " what 
 can be more appropriate ? — here comes the third 
 Grace to complete the group. Your Grace," he said 
 to the beautiful Elizabeth Gunning, Duchess of Ham- 
 ilton and of Argyll, as she joined us, " we will, if you 
 please, reverse the procedure in the judgment of Paris : 
 I claim to be tried by the three goddesses." 
 
 " You must first allot us our parts," answered the 
 third Duchess (in whose beauty, I may remark paren- 
 thetically, I was sadly disappointed, though that may 
 have been the fault of the painter), as she took a 
 delicate pinch of snuff from the jewelled box handed 
 to her by the Duchess of Devonshire. 
 
 " Unless," replied Garrick, " I am allowed the same 
 facilities as Paris enjoyed, I can only allot the parts 
 according to the make-up ; and your Grace, in that 
 macrnificent robe of crimson velvet and ermine, can 
 fill no other part but that of Juno. But you must 
 remember that the milliner's art was not allowed to 
 interfere with Paris's impartiality," 
 
 " For shame, sir ! " cried the Duchess of Gordon ; 
 " how dare you make such a suggestion to the mothers 
 of three families ? " 
 
 All fell a-lauohins; — thou2;h I confess to having felt 
 a little shocked at the freedom with which an actor 
 spoke in the presence of these great ladies. 
 
 " Well, well, ladies," observed Garrick, " have it as 
 you will ; I throw myself on the mercy of the court, 
 but I beg that in trying my case you will bear in
 
 Ancient Lights. 19 
 
 mind the appeal made by an Irish counsel, who, in 
 defending a prisoner, besought the jury to remember 
 the Scriptural doctrine, that there is more joy in 
 heaven over one guilty person who is acquitted, 
 than over ninety and nine innocent ones who are 
 convicted ! " 
 
 Suddenly all was hushed, and with a look of comical 
 terror they separated, leaving Mr Walpole and me in 
 the presence of a lady of middle age and extraordinary 
 appearance, fantastically arrayed in oriental dress. I 
 observed that Mr Walpole shuddered slightly, though 
 he was too well-bred to exhibit any expression except 
 one of courteous deference to the new-comer. 
 
 "Well, I declare," she exclaimed in a high key, 
 " this is too bad ! I heard you all laughing ; and I 
 am dying to hear some fun, and they have all run 
 away as if I had the plague. Why did you let them 
 go, Mr Walpole ? " 
 
 " I never aspired to have the slightest control over 
 persons of your sex, madam," replied he, in tones of 
 mock solemnity. " I can, however, easily divine that 
 their Graces have gone in search of more diverting 
 company than mine." 
 
 She gave a discontented little laugh, reminding me 
 for all the world of a wicked fairy. 
 
 " Well, sir, and isn't it cruelly cold here to-night ! 
 La ! how I could ever be fool enough to come back to 
 this odious climate, only fit for seals and wild geese ! 
 And then everything is penetrated with the horrid 
 odeur anglaise — the smell of coal-smoke. T declare
 
 20 Noontide Essays. 
 
 I have never been clear of the catarrh since I 
 landed." 
 
 " Your ladyship's toilet is certainly better adapted 
 for the latitude of the Golden Horn than an island in 
 the North Sea," observed Mr Walpole, with a malicious 
 glitter in his eye, as he glanced at her open vest, wide 
 silken trousers, and girdle which Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu chose to wear. 
 
 " You seem on your way to a hal masqui, Mr Wal- 
 pole," retorted tlie lady, pointing to the white domino 
 which he carried aside ; " the time was, you used to 
 rail at such frivolities. I am "lad to see 
 
 O' 
 
 ' Senior et melius fis accedente senecta.' " 
 
 I was surprised to hear a lady quote Horace so 
 ghbly and with such a correct accent ; but Mr Wal- 
 pole only smiled and said — 
 
 '• In common with snakes and some other of the 
 lower animals, T possess that of occasionally casting 
 my slough, whereas your ladyship, dove-like, seems to 
 have but one suit of feathers." 
 
 " You must at least admit that they are fine ones. 
 But you men are all the same : you would have us all 
 dressed alike, laced and powdered " (" And washed," 
 I heard Mr Walpole mutter), " no matter what our 
 figures and faces are like. ISTow I hold that the 
 woman who can do without stays is a fool to wear 
 them. Ah, I remember what the dear King, when 
 he was Prince of Wales, used to say about me — but 
 you and I, Mr Walpole, have been long enough about
 
 Ancient Lights. 21 
 
 the Court to know that the motto on all jDalace gates 
 is ' Hush.' " 
 
 " Heaven forbid, madam ! " ejaculated Mr Walpole, 
 impatiently. " I never was about the Court a moment 
 longer than I could help, and never will be." Then, 
 as if to change the subject, " Pray, don't I see his 
 Grace, your father, yonder ? I have not remarked 
 the duke before in our assembly." 
 
 " Nay, it is not possible, for by some strange omis- 
 sion his portrait is not hung." (1 fancied I heard Mr 
 Walpole mutter under his breath, " It was a greater 
 omission not to hang the original," but perhaps my 
 ears deceived me.) " We poor shades, you know, can 
 only go where are our pictures. But, indeed, I scarcely 
 resret his absence : the duke has been little of a father 
 to me since his unfortunate second marriage. ]\Ion- 
 strous ! that a man should be allowed to marry a chit 
 of a girl younger than his three married daughters. 
 Did you ever hear the smart epigram written about 
 my young stepmother ? — 
 
 ' Her beauty, like the ScrijDture feast, 
 To wliicli the invited never came, 
 Deprived of the intended guest. 
 Was siven to the blind and lame.' " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! yes, I fancy I have heard them before.^ 
 But, indeed, I never fail to wonder at the blindness 
 of the man who, once delivered from matrimony, 
 
 1 Written on Miss Pelham'.s marriage to Lord Lincoln, these lines 
 occur in a letter of Walpole's to Sir Horace Mann.
 
 22 Noontide Essays. 
 
 chooses to surrender his liberty a second time. Clii 
 percle moglie c un quattrino, ha gran perdita del 
 quattrino." 
 
 " In the present instance," said Lady Mary, bridling, 
 " Mr Walpole speaks with less than his usual courtesy; 
 he surely forgets that the moglie in question was my 
 mother." 
 
 ]My companion bit his lip. 
 
 " True," he said, " few persons can vie with your 
 ladyship in the happy use of polyglot quotation. 
 Good evening, Mr Pope," he exclaimed, stopping an 
 ugly little man in a bright green cloak and scarlet 
 cap who was hobbling by ; " active as ever, I see, and 
 with an eye upon everybody." 
 
 "Mr Walpole, your very humble servant," replied 
 the poet stiffly, rolling his protruding watery eyes. 
 
 As soon as Lady Mary caught sight of him she was 
 off, her Turkish draperies flying behind her. 
 
 " As for humility — that we know is your constant 
 failing, my dear sir," said Mr Walpole, with his eyes 
 on the retreating figure, " and there is no doubt that 
 on this occasion you have done me valuable service. I 
 believe no one but yourself could put a stop to that 
 woman's tongue. Few people can tempt me to rude- 
 ness ; but there is something in her restlessness, her 
 vanity, her continual innuendo about the Prince 
 of Wales's passion for her, her scraps of Latin, and 
 her ridiculous affectation, that makes me forget all 
 breeding." 
 
 " The lady seems at least to have this singular gift,"
 
 Ancient Lights. 23 
 
 sneered Mr Pope, " that she can make Mr Walpole 
 speak with absolute sincerity." 
 
 So saying the poet passed on, leaving Mr Walpole 
 somewhat disconcerted. He turned to me with a 
 shade of confusion, and remarked — 
 
 "The aid of a common libeller to rid one of a 
 malicious blue-stocking is like encouraging the gout 
 because it keeps other ailments away. Of all the 
 persons of my acquaintance, I think I have just 
 parted with the two I dislike most." 
 
 " Yet Lady Mary has left behind her the reputation 
 of a wit," I remarked. 
 
 " Oh, I am not surprised," replied Mr Walpole ; " she 
 amuses some people. When they cannot laugh at her 
 sallies they can always laugh at her. But Lady Mary 
 is well informed — far better than nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine hundredths of her sex (or, for that matter, 
 ours either) — what makes her ridiculous is that she is 
 always straining for admiration. In a young woman, 
 ostentation of learning is endurable, because youth 
 and grace atone for almost anything ; but an old 
 woman brandishing her accomplishments in your face 
 only intensifies the unloveliness of age. Then she 
 is for ever imposing her company upon people far 
 younger than herself, which is a common, but deplor- 
 able, weakness. I suppose no one ever carried with 
 him into old age a stronger disposition towards tlie 
 society of young people than I did ; but I had 
 enough sagacity to perceive that the presence of 
 an aged person is to them as a draught of cold air
 
 24 Noontide Essays. 
 
 iu a parlour — they are never at ease till it is shut 
 out." 
 
 " At least you must give Lady Mary the credit of 
 one service to her fellow-creatures," I persisted, feel- 
 ing a little displeased at my companion's ill-natured 
 speech ; " she introduced inoculation for smallpox, did 
 she not ? " 
 
 " Ah, my dear sir, you have indeed reminded me of 
 what I should be the last to forget, for no one could 
 understand better the value of that invention. Yes ; 
 odious as I must ever regard Lady Mary's character, 
 conduct, and conversation, let it be inscribed to her 
 undying fame that she brought this blessing among 
 our people. When I was young, what a state of 
 society there was ! Every man of position drenched 
 his intellect with strong drink, every woman's beauty 
 must run the gauntlet of the most loathsome of all 
 diseases. Thank God ! I lived to see a great change 
 in both respects, and one-half of the improvement 
 we owed to Lady Mary's importation. Yes, yes ; give 
 the devil his due and Lady Mary hers." 
 
 We had been moving during this conversation to- 
 wards the South Eoom, where there was a dense 
 throng of figures. I followed Mr Walpole to where 
 half-a-dozen men were standing in earnest conversa- 
 tion. They opened out to welcome him, and here I 
 felt indeed that I was with the immortals. A stoutish 
 man with a plain calm face, and dressed in a russet 
 cloak, first addressed my companion. 
 
 " Pray let us have the advantage of your opinion,
 
 Ancient Lights. 25 
 
 Mr Walpole : there is, I am sure, no one better able 
 to give a sound decision on a question of literary 
 taste." 
 
 Walpole. " N"ay, Sir Joshua ; but you are paying 
 me a compliment that I have done nothing to 
 deserve." 
 
 Reynolds. " Ay, ay ; but we have long ago made 
 up our minds on that point. Have we not, gentle- 
 men ? 
 
 All expressed ready assent except one man of 
 remarkable appearance. He was very stout, his brow 
 and jaws were peculiarly heavy, and the flesh was 
 rolled round his deep-set, twinkling eyes, so as almost 
 to give him the look of blindness. 
 
 " Sir," he said, " I am always slow to make up my 
 mind, and equally slow to change it." 
 
 Bci/. " Well, the discussion arose thus : ]\Ir Boswell 
 expressed admiration for the poetry of Allan Eamsay, 
 in which Dr Johnson could not agree. Now Mr Bos- 
 well very happily quoted some lines which seemed to 
 me greatly to the credit of the poet." 
 
 Johnson. " Yes, sir, because he was a Scotchman ; 
 but they would not do credit to any one else." 
 
 Bosioell. " I am sure, sir, you would not so often 
 speak harshly of my country if you could realise how 
 much I love it." 
 
 Joh. " Sir, if your country is so worthy of your love, 
 none of us will interfere to prevent you returning to 
 it — and staying there." 
 
 Dr Johnson shook with immoderate laughter at his
 
 26 Noontide Essays. 
 
 own joke, screwing up his rugged face and knocking 
 the end of his cane on the floor. 
 
 Bos. {seeming to relish, rather than to resent, the 
 rehuff). " Sir, we recognise in you such unerring 
 judgment and discrimination that it will be the 
 happiest day of my life when I shall convince you 
 that the Scots are a noble race." 
 
 Wal. "Pray, sir, is there any difference between 
 judgment and discrimination ? " 
 
 Bos. " Perhaps as much, sir, as between common- 
 sense and wisdom." 
 
 Wal. " Then I take it there is not much, for com- 
 mon-sense seems to me to be but the retail quantity 
 of the stock-in-trade wisdom." 
 
 Bos. " Possibly, sir ; but we are rash to interpret 
 terms in the presence of the great lexicographer. 
 Pray, sir, what is your opinion ? " 
 
 Joh. " Why, tliis, sir ; that I have lost all idea 
 equally of your judgment or discrimination, wisdom 
 or common-sense, since you chose to publish one of 
 my letters without my leave." 
 
 Bos. " Pray, sir, consider how strong was the temp- 
 tation." 
 
 Joh. " Sir, some characters are so weak that they 
 find every temptation too strong." 
 
 I felt quite sorry for poor Mr Boswell, who per- 
 severed with singular ill success to restore his 
 learned friend to good humour, and cut a very 
 sorry figure in the attempt. Yet he seemed actually 
 to enjoy it, looking round for our approbation at
 
 Ancient Lights. 27 
 
 each new sally of Johnson's, and I observed that from 
 time to time he made pencil notes in a small book he 
 carried. 
 
 Bos. " I am sorry we cannot conclude our discussion 
 on Allan Eamsay's poetry, for here, I see, comes his 
 son and namesake, the painter. Permit me to recall 
 you to the subject of our conversation last night — the 
 advantage of country over town life." 
 
 Joh. " Sir, I will waste none of my time in discuss- 
 ing paradox. Let's have no more on't ; it is neither 
 entertaining nor instructive." 
 
 Bos. " Eelatively, perhaps, rural life is not so satis- 
 fying as life in the city ; but abstractedly, I am con- 
 vinced that it is preferable." 
 
 Joh. " Sir, I once knew a man who always wore a 
 night-cap instead of a wig : abstractedly, the night-cap 
 was the better head-gear, but relatively it was the 
 worse ; for when he would go abroad, the boys ran 
 after him and hooted him." 
 
 Bos. " Well, sir, many a time I was in the humour 
 to spend my life in the desert." 
 
 Joh. " Sir, none of your friends would have hin- 
 dered your spending it in your native land ; and there, 
 an it pleased you, you might have laid aside both wig 
 and night-cap and donned a fool's cap." 
 
 Rey. " I see you cannot forgive the Scotch, sir. 
 At least they have one merit, they produce good 
 gardeners." 
 
 Joh. " Yes, sir, because in that wretched climate 
 nothing grows spontaneously. Even barley must be
 
 28 Noontide Easays. 
 
 sown in a greenhouse. Come, sir [to Boswell], let 
 us be gone ; I see one coming in whose company I 
 am in no mind to be, still less to be exhibited by 
 him as a laughing-stock on the stage." 
 
 I followed his glance and beheld one approaching 
 dressed in a white coat and yellow waistcoat. Mr 
 Walpole explained to me that this was Mr Foote, 
 the actor, " the only man for whom that bear is 
 terrified." 
 
 " Nay, sir," remarked one who had hitherto been 
 silent, whom I recognised as Mr Oliver Goldsmith, 
 " you do him injustice ; that man has nothing of the 
 bear but his hide." 
 
 Rcy. " Well said, old friend ! I would rather leave 
 my character in your kindly keeping than with any 
 one else of my acquaintance." 
 
 Wal. " I am not so amiable, gentlemen ; I recog- 
 nise the manners and the voice of the charmin" 
 animal as well as the hide." 
 
 Goldsmith. " Surely, Mr Walpole, you cannot be 
 blind to his excellent sense and charitable dispo- 
 sition." 
 
 Wal. " I admit them freely, sir ; but that is no 
 reason that his brutalities should be hailed as hons 
 mots, or that one who lias all the bigotry of a wash- 
 erwoman should be hailed as a philosopher." 
 
 Gold. " It is a good sign of his nature that his 
 friends are infinitely attached to him." 
 
 Wal. " 'Tis to be regretted he does not make a 
 better choice of tliem. Tliat unhappy Scotchman
 
 Ancient Lights. 29 
 
 fawns like a spaniel the more he is belaboured, and 
 absolutely revels in the ill-nature of his patron. II 
 est hetc commc celui qui a inventi la hetise." 
 
 " Ah, Horace, my boy ! " rang out a cheery voice 
 behind us, " you keep excellent company, I am happy 
 to see." 
 
 Turning round, we saw a gentleman in dark blue, 
 with the ribbon and star of the Bath, with a pleas- 
 ant jovial expression on his face, and leaning on the 
 arm of one wearing a grey wig and a crimson coat, 
 with ribbon and star of the Garter. 
 
 " Sir, I am delighted to see you are in good health," 
 said Mr Walpole, with a respectful bow to the first ; 
 then, with another bow to him in crimson, " my Lord 
 Chesterfield, your most obedient servant." 
 
 " Ha, Horace ! I notice you cannot forget the con- 
 ventionalities of our old world," replied he whom I 
 recognised as Sir Eobert Walpole, the father of my 
 cicerone. " Health — egad ! I am tempted to wish 
 sometimes for a twinge of gout, to delude me into the 
 idea that I still possessed flesh and bones. Look you, 
 you dog ! there are half a score of fine ladies hunting 
 for you in the other room ; your niece, the Duchess 
 of Gloucester, especially commands your presence." 
 
 " I will wait upon her Eoyal Highness without 
 delay, sir," replied Mr Walpole. 
 
 Lord Chesterfield turned his somewhat harsh face 
 full upon the last speaker, with a kind of wistful 
 look in his dark eyes, and, after gazing in silence 
 for a moment, said —
 
 30 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " Young sir, forgive what might be impertinence 
 in one nearer your own age. You possess that charm 
 of manner which, it seems to me, the new generation 
 disdain to cultivate." 
 
 " I can only account for it," Mr Walpole answered, 
 with a frank smile, " by the fact that I have studied 
 to acquire the good breeding of my father and his 
 friends." 
 
 Lord Chesterfield sighed ; Sir Eobert gave us a 
 careless nod, and as they moved on Mr Walpole led 
 me swiftly towards the West Gallery, wherein the 
 Eoyal personages were holding court. Was it j)os- 
 sible, thought I to myself, that this rubicund, burly 
 country gentleman was really the father of the sal- 
 low, dark-eyed, slightly limbed creature by my side ! ^ 
 ISTever was there such a slight cast on the doctrine 
 of heredity. Mr Walpole seemed to divine my 
 thoughts, for, bending a penetrating glance upon me, 
 he said — 
 
 " My father's exterior and mine are not very simi- 
 lar, are they ? We resemble each other in this, at 
 least, that I have carried into practice in private life 
 the motto which continually ensured the success of 
 his long administration — quieta non movcrc." 
 
 " Who is that gentleman in blue coat and gold but- 
 tons, just entering the West Gallery ? " I asked. 
 
 " What ! you do not recognise him ! My dear sir, 
 he would be but ill pleased if he thought that possible. 
 
 1 It was currently believed that Horace Walpole really owed his 
 existence to Carr, Lord Hervey.
 
 Ancient Lights. 31 
 
 Fame (and port wine) are his daily — his only diet: 
 that is Mr William Pitt. It would be folly to deny 
 the ability of one who became Prime Minister at 
 twenty-four; but, Lord! what a crop of discontent 
 and disaster has been sown by his inexperience, vanity, 
 and insolence. Saw you ever such a haughty counte- 
 nance, such audacious disdain of his fellows ? 
 
 ' Pert without fire, without experience sage, 
 Young with more art than Shelburne drew from age. 
 With studied dignity and solemn state 
 This yoiuig Octavius rises to debate, 
 Nor county members think his speech too long, 
 "While words, like treacle, trickle from his tongue.' 
 
 Ah ! but look you, sir, who comes behind him. That 
 gentleman, I mean, in the murrey coat, unpowdered 
 hair, and with those dark, strangely arched brows." 
 
 " Who is that ? " I asked. 
 
 " The greatest tliat ever thumped the Treasury box ; 
 Charles James Fox, whose genius soars above the 
 capacity of his rival as you may see the towers of 
 Westminster Abbey overshadow the puny pile of St 
 Margaret's Church. Look on him, my dear sir, for it 
 is he that redeemed our Parliament from the hum- 
 drum of the Butes, the Norths, the Chathams, who, 
 since my father's day, had grown round it as fungus 
 collects on an aged oak. At his voice Liberty raised 
 her drooping head — but I must beware of rhapsodising 
 like Mr Boswell, or fulminating like Junius. By the 
 by, I suppose no one ever reads the ' Letters of Junius ' 
 nowadays."
 
 32 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " Indeed they do, sir," I answered warmly ; " tliey 
 must ever remain splendid specimens of style." 
 
 "In our days," said Mr Walpole, "half their 
 piquancy lay in the fact that no one knew who wrote 
 them. It was really vastly diverting — every one in 
 the Opposition with a grain of literary ability was in 
 turn suspected ; indeed, when I left the earth, five- 
 and-twenty years after the appearance of the last of 
 the letters, the controversy about their orthodoxy was 
 still proceeding." 
 
 " It is not ended yet," I remarked. 
 
 " Hot ended yet ! " he exclaimed ; " you don't mean 
 to tell me the secret has never come out ? Oh ! this 
 is an amazing piece of fun." 
 
 He was evidently very much tickled, rubbing his 
 hands together, and chuckling gently. 
 
 " Then you know who was the real author ? " I in- 
 quired eagerly. 
 
 " Know ? of course I know ; I thought all the world 
 had either forgotten the letters or knew aU about them 
 by this time. EeaUy, if you feel any curiosity about 
 it, I do not see why I should not gratify it, for I fancy 
 you are the only person within these walls to whom it 
 is still a secret. Pardon me one moment, sir ; I will 
 return immediately and tell you all about the hoax, 
 but I see her Eoyal Highness, my niece, expecting 
 me." 
 
 Leaving me on the rack of impatience, he went up 
 to a tall lady in white, with a scarlet mantle, standing 
 near the door of the Presence Chamber. They spoke
 
 Ancient Lights. 33 
 
 together earnestly for some minutes, and then, even as 
 I watched them, a shadow seemed to fill the space 
 around me, the light dwindled, the figures melted 
 away, the walls closed in once more, and I stood alone 
 in the hall. Just then a clock struck three, and all 
 became pitch-dark. I groped my way cautiously to a 
 seat, and sat down to wait for morning. 
 
 It was maddening to think how near I had been 
 to solve the riddle which has perplexed generations. 
 Fooi that I had been not to think of mentioning it 
 sooner ! Well, well, it could not be helped now : I 
 had undergone a wonderful experience. I had been 
 in the very presence of the departed ; their voices still 
 rang in my ears, the faint perfume of the ladies' dresses 
 still floated in the air. Yet — must I confess it ? the 
 uppermost thought in my mind was one of delight 
 that I was soon to return to the society of my living 
 friends. Mj books— some, the works of those I had 
 been with just now, others, those that told me of their 
 lives— would be dearer to me than ever; but I had 
 seen nothing in the men and women of the past to 
 make me think them better than their descendants. 
 History preserves what is memorable, excellent, or 
 notorious in the departed ; authors are always on their 
 best behaviour ; if they record what is commonplace, 
 despicable, or dull, they are not read— that is all. The 
 dust gathers undisturbed on volumes that contain 
 nothing that is grand, witty, wicked, or romantic : we 
 devour those that make the past seem nobler and more 
 
 c
 
 o 
 
 4 Noontide Essays. 
 
 gay than the present. But I had been a witness that 
 human nature with periwigs, swords, and lace ruffles 
 differs not at all from the same with chimney-pot hats 
 and silk umbrellas, and I found myself muttering old 
 Villon's line — 
 
 " Mieux vaut goiijat debout qu'empereur enterre."
 
 A COUNTRY MEMBER'S MOAN. 
 
 rpHERE really seems to be some prospect of revolt 
 -■- against the tyranny which compels every head 
 of a family who can wring out the needful expense 
 to shut up the country home at the moment when 
 the year is getting loveliest ; to exchange the fragrance 
 born of burgeoning tree and blossoming herb for the 
 stale atmosphere of streets and squares, and instead 
 of the untainted breath of the hillside or the coast, 
 to inhale air already sucked into and expelled from 
 myriad lungs. 
 
 When London, like a greedy leprosy eating away 
 the beauty of vale and down, shall have grown to that 
 scale, of which it lacks little even now ; when the 
 ceaseless Thames — 
 
 " Like some huge giant weary of the load " — 
 
 shall fail in the task of purifying the millions of homes 
 within his basin; when even the ocean's mightier 
 gorge, rejecting the mountains of pollution that are
 
 36 Noontide Essays. 
 
 hourly thrust upon it, shall begin to fling back upon 
 our shores the indigestible impurity that we try so 
 hard to put decently out of sight — must we wait till 
 then before our broad-acred squires awake to know 
 that purer pleasures may be found among leafy woods 
 and circling streams, among springing crops and twi- 
 light glens, than in the murky labyrinth of the city or 
 the precarious verdure of the Park ? And if, sooner or 
 later, a reaction must set in against the way well-to-do 
 people dispose of their seasons and the seasons of those 
 dependent on them — will it come within our own time ? 
 or must we sadly forego the enjoyment of summer in 
 the country, and while we creep sorrowfully along the 
 shady side of the street, "babbling o' green fields," 
 and panting like the hart after the water-brooks, re- 
 flect that at least our children will probably be wiser 
 in their generation than we ? 
 
 Speculations such as these may be born in the brain 
 of a member of the still Imperial Parliament, as, an 
 exile from his well-loved and tended woods and his 
 distant stately hall, he wends his way some brilliant 
 afternoon in July to take a part, whether silent or 
 otherwise, in interminable wrangles in Committee of 
 Supply, or listen to the never-ending plaint of that 
 hopeless femme incomjJQ'isc, Erin, But the despon- 
 dency of this self-sacrificing senator has lately had a 
 ray of hope flung across it. There are not wanting 
 signs that the stolid patience of the well-to-do Briton 
 is being undermined by a suspicion that he is not 
 getting the best out of life ; that, on the contrary, if
 
 A Country Member's Moan. 37 
 
 the procession of the seasons is an ordinance capable 
 of ministering to the sweetness of existence and affect- 
 ing the comfort with which the journey througli life 
 may be performed, we have got into the habit of doing 
 things at the wrong time. As it was happily ex- 
 pressed lately by the Prime Minister, the natural 
 forces are gaining strength which in August impel the 
 young to go to Scotland and the old to Germany. 
 
 It was this suspicion that found expression in the 
 vote recently ^ taken on Sir George Trevelyan's motion, 
 that, "in the opinion of this House," the holidays 
 should begin early in July, and that Parliament 
 should reassemble in November to get through such 
 gabble as cannot be overtaken in the first six months 
 of the year ; a motion which was only rejected by four 
 votes in a House of 342 members. Nor can it be 
 doubted that this minority would have become the 
 majority had it been clearly understood among the 
 supporters of the Government that the leader of the 
 House, although voting for the status quo, was in- 
 different into which lobby his usual followers went. 
 So bitterly has it been driven in upon the minds of 
 members that to be kept in London till the golden 
 sands of September are running through the vase, to 
 watch the sunshine of a lost summer ebbing away, 
 while blinds and shutters in the West End speak of 
 the flight of happier mortals from the weary town — 
 that all this is a penalty for which even the so-called 
 sweets of office cannot compensate, and that relief 
 
 1 In 1890.
 
 Q 
 
 8 Noontide Essays. 
 
 from the bondatre of routine must be sought and 
 obtained. 
 
 London is eminently a city within doors ; the open- 
 air caf6s, the al fresco concerts and dancing — essential 
 features of every Southern town — are either totally 
 wanting in our capital, or, at most, are timidly imi- 
 tated, at precarious financial risk, in the exhibitions 
 which of late years have been added to our list of 
 crepuscular entertainments. It is obvious, then, that 
 in such a city, where comfort can only be ensured be- 
 hind plate-glass and within brick walls, winter is the 
 time of all others for enjoyment of social pleasures, 
 and that the proper season to revel in the verdure and 
 tranquillity of the country must be before November 
 gales have Jiurled the woodland into sodden ruin, while 
 meadows are still deep with waving grass and gardens 
 heavy with the perfume of roses. What a perverse 
 arbitrament it is that shuts us up in sun-baked streets, 
 until the angry autumnal sky, stooping low over the 
 sloppy land, stints the sunless hours of daylight ! 
 Who that has felt the ineffable sweetness of June 
 twilight, prolonged almost to meet the approaching 
 dawn, rich with the fragrance of unnumbered flowers, 
 musical with the tender sounds of a midsummer night 
 — the hum of the chafer, the pipe of the plover, the 
 nightingale's song, the corncrake's chastened discord, 
 the sigh of the wind in the firs, or the murmur of 
 waves upon the beach — who that has learned these 
 delights will not blush when he finds himself wedged 
 in a row of theatre-stalls, or seated at a superfluous
 
 A Country Memhers Moan. 3 9 
 
 ball-supper ? Who that knows them will not revive 
 at the first signs of a release from the bondage our 
 own perversity has imposed ? 
 
 Of course, the objection obvious to every English- 
 man to a rearrangement of our London and country 
 seasons is that winter is the time for sport ; and 
 this is true, in a great measure, so far as sport is 
 limited in meaning to the destruction of wild or 
 pseudo-wild animals. But even in this restricted 
 sense it is only partially true. Fox-hunting (long may 
 it flourish !) and pheasant-shooting (an innovation in 
 its modern form) are exclusively autumnal and winter 
 pastimes ; but there remain the important sections of 
 grouse and partridge shooting, salmon and trout fish- 
 ing, and deer-stalking, not to mention such minor pur- 
 suits as otter-hunting and sea-fishing. If the term 
 sport may be employed for recreation without blood- 
 shed — yachting, racing, cricket contain capabihties of 
 rural diversion not to be despised. Then the amazing 
 development and popularity of golf in the South have 
 admitted the Saxon to a source of enjoyment long con- 
 fined to Caledonian circles. Suppose that Parliament 
 in its wisdom were to resolve that, at any cost, ad- 
 journment were to be made in the middle or towards 
 the end of July, that would mean a general exodus 
 from London in that month. We are not concerned 
 to examine how far such a resolve would expedite or 
 retard the transaction of the business of legislation, or 
 what the effect might be upon the Government of the 
 day in depriving it of the long close time afforded by
 
 40 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the present system of adjourning, say, early in Sep- 
 tember, and reassembling in the middle of February. 
 What we want to arrive at is an estimate of the addi- 
 tion to the enjoyment of living secured, under such an 
 arrangement, to members of Parliament themselves, 
 and to those who regulate their movements to and 
 from the country more or less in conformity to the 
 session. 
 
 First of all, then, there would be no interference 
 with grouse or partridge shooting ; nay, many perma- 
 nent officials, as well as members of both Houses, who 
 are now kept away from the moor or the stubble till 
 an indefinite date of release on the rising of Parlia- 
 ment, would be free to make their engagements with- 
 out resjard to the success of obstruction. To such 
 persons it would mean the gain of two months, be- 
 ginning, say, on 15th July, and the loss of Novem- 
 ber and part of December and January. The deer 
 forest and the salmon river would remain as open 
 to them as at present ; but from fox-hunting, save 
 what may be undertaken from London, they would 
 be practically debarred, and they could only take 
 part in such battues as were arranged for October, 
 before the long-tails are in strong feather, or were 
 reserved for the fortniglit's holiday at Christmas. 
 Would this add to or diminish the sum of enjoyment ? 
 So far as Parliament represents the collective sense 
 of the people concerned, it is almost certain that the 
 next time a vote is taken on the question, it will be 
 in favour of the change. Even in the highly artificial
 
 A Country JTemher's Moan. 41 
 
 * state of society at which we have arrived, man re- 
 tains the natural instincts of an open-air animal; he 
 feels the impulse to be out in the sunshine, and to 
 get into snug winter quarters ; and sooner or later 
 these instincts will assert themselves by increasing 
 the summer holiday and diminishing that in winter. 
 There will be much grumbling at the change ; habits, 
 especially vicious or stupid ones, are not easily broken ; 
 but the change will come. 
 
 The prospect is one to suggest a review of the capa- 
 bilities of country houses as places of recreation, apart 
 from the slaughter of pheasants and the pursuit of foxes. 
 What manner of persons ought they to be who possess 
 these palaces of pleasure that are scattered through 
 the length and breadth of our fair island ? how far do 
 they fill the part of skilful and successful hosts ? do they 
 make the most of the dominion of which each of them 
 is the prince ? Perhaps in some respects it is hardly 
 a fair time to ask these questions, when those who 
 draw their incomes from land are still staggering from 
 the ansemia of long years of falling rents and untilled 
 farms ; but we seem now to have entered upon a more 
 prosperous period, in which many hospitable doors 
 will be once more thrown open, though some of the 
 old squires, too hardly hit to rise again, are forced to 
 let their parks pass into the hands of those who have 
 the needful means. New men and old acres are, senti- 
 mentally, a mesalliance ; but let us make the best of 
 the inevitable, and contribute, if possible, a few sug- 
 gestions towards success in that highest, if most diffi-
 
 42 Noontide Essays. 
 
 cult, branch of hospitality, entertaining a party in a 
 country house. 
 
 For, after all, the country is the place of holiday : 
 radiance, space, colour, fragrance, silence broken only 
 by sounds sweet in themselves, or softened by dis- 
 tance — it is with conditions such as these that most 
 of us associate the idea of a holiday — a rest from 
 competition, a well-won leisure. 
 
 How far do country houses, as we have them and 
 know them, fulfil the requirements of recreation and 
 repose ? In respect of structure and appliances of 
 comfort, the answer must be that, in general, they 
 fulfil them admirably. It is very rare indeed, now- 
 adays, that a guest suffers physical discomfort in the 
 house of a landed host. Beds, baths, fire, food — the 
 main necessaries of existence — are, as a rule, unex- 
 ceptionable ; although, perhaps, some discretion is 
 necessary on the part of the guest in regard to one 
 component of the last named of the four — namely, 
 wine. There is more good wine made at the present 
 than in any former period of the world's history, but, 
 relatively to those who can afford it, there is many 
 times less. For one cellar fifty years ago, there are 
 fifty or a hundred now, owned by liberal, if unin- 
 structed persons, who — their hospitable instincts out- 
 running their discrimination — they pour wine of high 
 price and good vintage without stint before it has 
 reached maturity. It may be safely asserted that 
 three parts of the best wine is consumed before age 
 has developed its virtue, mellowed its crudity, and
 
 A Country Memher's AFoan. 43 
 
 allowed the hurtful acids to be transformed into the 
 beneficent and palatable ethers which constitute the 
 charm of a fine wine. 
 
 Of another sort is the host who fondly imagines 
 that all old wine must be good. Often it happens 
 that the fathers have laid down what was originally 
 good liquor, and by the self -same fluid — quantum 
 mutatus ah illo — the children's teeth are set on edge. 
 Who does not writhe at the recollection of a bottle of 
 Madeira being passed round, specially recommended 
 by the host as having been sent twice round the Cape 
 " by my father, sir, and worth now a guinea a glass," 
 but, alas ! faded into an acrid liquid that it is hard to 
 imagine ever flowed from the veins of the vine ? Or 
 perhaps a flask of Stygian hue is circulated — " '20 
 port, my boy ; precious little of that going nowadays ! " 
 and you are bound to fill and refill your glass, won- 
 dering the while at the Pautagruelian palates of 
 Georgian bucks, who were wont to slake their thirst 
 with what suggests to your degenerate taste a com- 
 pound of Harvey sauce and treacle. All the while 
 Amphitryon, as he contemplates complacently the re- 
 volving decanters, is sipping the weak whisky-and- 
 water to which he is limited by the advice of his 
 physician; and you — the guest — just arrived from 
 London to spend the Whitsun holidays in rural 
 dehghts, are dying to be out in the garden where 
 shaven lawns spread out so soft for wearied feet, and 
 the twilight is wreathed with odours of honeysuckle 
 and sweetbriar. It is in vain : the bonds of good
 
 44 Noontide Essays. 
 
 society restrain you ; you must retain your seat and 
 pass the bottle the prescribed number of times : coffee 
 follows, and then you are invited to join the ladies, 
 when, in fact, you are faint with desire to join the 
 nightingales — with a cigar. 
 
 Discipline such as this (it is unvarying in the 
 houses of some of the elder generation of squires) 
 seems devised to neutralise the very colour and flavour 
 of country life, and tempts one to exclaim that, after 
 all, if such routine imist be observed, it is less irksome 
 in a town, where, if moon-rise cannot be enjoyed, it 
 may at least be forgotten. 
 
 By the younger generation these rigours have been 
 relaxed. Moonlight strolls are undertaken, while 
 timely incense curls from the tip of the cigarette. 
 If there is a lake or river, most likely there are 
 well-appointed boats, more than one of which may 
 be seen shooting from under the dark shore, bearing 
 in its luxurious cushions a nymph who prattles gently 
 to him who labours at the sculls. The sweetness of 
 summer evenings are too well known by the young 
 host and hostess to be neglected : the emancipated cit 
 is admitted to joys to which, for many weary months, 
 he has been a stranger. But, after return is made to 
 the house, and the ladies have retired, he is inclined 
 to murmur at the interminable stance in the billiard- 
 room, with pipes and whisky-and-water. In vain he 
 tries to slip away. The young host is one of those 
 who seem to dread going to bed as they would going 
 to the grave, and shrinks from being left alone. He
 
 A Country Member s Moan. 45 
 
 pleads for companionship in a way that it is hard to 
 resist without rudeness ; and it is perhaps nearly two 
 in the morning before, having thoroughly exhausted 
 the somewhat limited range of subjects on which the 
 conversation has turned, the worn-out guest is allowed 
 to blink his way up to his comfortable bed that has 
 been so long ready for him, and he for it. 
 
 This habit of sitting late in the smoking-room pre- 
 cludes anything like early hours. The modern squire, 
 as a rule, has discontinued the practice of family prayer, 
 and breakfast is not on the table till a loose ten. Long 
 before it is over the dew is off the grass, the air has 
 lost that tingling freshness that flies with the morning 
 prime, the shadows are shrinking to noonday measure 
 — the natural day is half over. Such spendthrifts we 
 are of the glorious summer solstice ! 
 
 Yes ; in fashionable or would-be fashionable houses, 
 morning prayer is becoming a forgotten thing. Per- 
 haps, as conducted by the ordinary British squire, it is 
 impressive only from its extreme simplicity, and does 
 not count for much in the sesthetic estimate of life in 
 a country house — that with which we are exclusively 
 concerned in the present observations. As a rule, it 
 seems, guests are not expected to attend ; at least, as a 
 matter of fact they don't. Should a stray one per- 
 chance mistake the prayer-bell for the summons to 
 breakfast, the master, in gaiters and homespun, looks 
 uncomfortable or apologetic. If the house is a small 
 one, probably the assembly takes place in the dining- 
 room: the stranger diffidently sidles into a remote
 
 46 Noontide Essays. 
 
 chair, whence, being one of those reserved for ser- 
 vants, he is nervously beckoned by the lady of the 
 house. Three, four, six, eight, nay, ten pairs of round 
 young eyes have been known to be focussed on the 
 unhappy intruder, as he deposits himself in a legiti- 
 mate seat — a manoeuvre not to be accomplished, if 
 the schoolboy's holidays are on, without a titter that 
 threatens to become an explosion. 
 
 Then the rightful occupants of the serried row of 
 seats troop in, the women-servants first in rigid order 
 of precedence, the rear being brought up by the men ; 
 the door is closed, and the ceremony begins. 
 
 When the late Bishop Wilberforce was asked to say 
 grace at a private dinner-party, it is recorded that he 
 demurred, on the ground that every man is the priest 
 of his own house. That is a good reason for regretting 
 that so few men read well ; for in this respect they are 
 far inferior to women. The average squire generally 
 reads prayers as if labouring under just indignation. 
 Often he is quite incoherent — blunders over punctua- 
 tion, mangles the most familiar passages, and, in his 
 nervousness, jangles the teacups. The reading of 
 Scripture over, prayers begin. It is well if he con- 
 fines himself to the noble language of the Church's 
 confession and collects, even though he fires these 
 off half defiantly, half timidly. Too often his wife, 
 earnest for the welfare, of his soul (which, when she 
 first got hold of it, was in a sadly comatose condi- 
 tion), has put into his hands some collection of family 
 prayers, the phraseology of which is almost oriental
 
 A Country Memhers Moan. 47 
 
 in metaphor, abounding' in abject imagery totally 
 different from the simple words in which one of 
 Teutonic race, left to himself, would frame a petition. 
 It sounds strangely from the homely, stammering lips 
 of the reader. One follows without fervour, and rises 
 unrefreshed. 
 
 Let me present a sketch of morning prayer in 
 which it was my privilege to join not long ago in a 
 country house in the north of England. The young 
 host and hostess were what is known as "smart" 
 people, such as one might be slow to credit with 
 thoughtful or reverent habits ; nevertheless their 
 practice was to conduct a simple service, which be- 
 came not only a spiritual refreshment and a purify- 
 ing influence, but a very notable feature in home life. 
 It is true that the house was one of unusual beauty, 
 — an Elizabethan liall with low, fretted ceilings 
 carved oak panelling and latticed windows, opal- 
 escent with age and set with gem-like sparks of 
 transparent heraldry. It is also true that the host 
 and hostess were comely beyond the common — facts 
 that undoubtedly made the impression more vivid 
 and lasting. Still, the impression vms made, and 
 can never pass away. 
 
 A recess under the wide oak staircase had been 
 railed off centuries ago, so as to form a little chapel ; 
 seats on either side, and a reading-desk at the end, 
 provided for all being done decently and in order. 
 On the morning in question the host was absent; 
 his young wife read prayers. She was all in scarlet
 
 48 Noontide Essays. 
 
 — a directoirc dress of scarlet. As she stood in the 
 reading-desk, her bright figure relieved against the 
 dark oak panels, and read the solemn words in clear, 
 unfaltering accents, one could not but feel that if this 
 little ceremony had been omitted, far more would 
 have been lost to the day than the few minutes thus 
 occupied. "We cannot all live in picturesque old 
 houses, we cannot all be beautiful, or (with advan- 
 tage) wear scarlet direcfoire gowns ; but we can at 
 least be mindful to bring to the gathering of our- 
 selves together for worship that measure of dignity 
 and grace which is too often conspicuous by absence. 
 Turning from spiritual to carnal wants, it may 
 be doubted if the prevailing arrangement of hours 
 for meals permits the most to be made of the day 
 either in town or country. Hereditary habit and the 
 exigencies of field-sports apart, it is difficult to see 
 any advantage that the normal British arrangement 
 of breakfast from 9.30 onwards, luncheon (in dimen- 
 sions a dinner) at two, five o'clock tea, and dinner 
 at eight, possesses over the Continental practice of 
 morning coffee and mid-day ddjeilner a la fourchette. 
 The scale of modern field-sports, and the thorough- 
 ness with which they are undertaken, of course ren- 
 der an important mid-day meal inconvenient, for no 
 one seems to think it worth while to go out for less 
 than a whole day's shooting : and hunting, carried on 
 in short winter days, must be begun betimes. But 
 if the change advocated by Sir George Trevelyan is 
 carried out, country houses will become once more
 
 A Country Member s Moan. 49 
 
 places of summer resort, making it necessary to pro- 
 vide for guests other entertainment than shooting or 
 hunting. This part of the question affects the classes 
 rather than the masses, and the classes, Mr Glad- 
 stone informs us, are irremediably conservative. In 
 spite of this, and with a full sense of the solemnity 
 of the subject, we venture to submit the advantages 
 which Continental hours seem to present when com- 
 pared with those so rigidly adhered to here and now. 
 At present the social day is bisected by luncheon, 
 which, we maintain, has acquired a spurious and 
 treacherous importance. Young men — (be it said 
 that it is the prejudices of men only that require 
 conciliation on this question, for women readily adapt 
 their digestive organs to the most arbitrary arrange- 
 ments) — young men rarely fail to do themselves justice 
 at breakfast; but he who has arrived at or passed 
 maturity (whenever that period may be fixed), especi- 
 ally one whose work lies in the town, is generally 
 conscious of a coyness of appetite before mid-day. 
 He recoils from the row of steaming side-dishes, 
 and dallies with the toast-rack and the teapot. The 
 result of this, under the influence of country air, is, 
 that long before the luncheon - gong sounds he ex- 
 periences a vacuum that requires to be considerately 
 dealt with. He is already far hungrier than ho feels 
 in London before the principal meal of the day. If 
 he gives rein to his appetite, he quite unfits himself 
 for the employment of a hot afternoon. He may 
 have undertaken to form one of a set of lawn tennis ; 
 
 D
 
 50 Noontide Essays. 
 
 then certainly he will find himself indisposed to bound 
 about a grassy court under a broiling sun. Still less 
 will he feel inclined for horse exercise ; and as for the 
 expedition on wheels that may have been planned, 
 driving in the open air is of all others the most 
 soporific, and few tortures are more acute than those 
 entailed by the effort to conquer sleep in a four- 
 wheeled dog-cart. If, on the other hand, he limits 
 his luncheon to the wing of a fowl and a single glass 
 of claret, then long before dusk he will find his 
 strength failing, and, succumbing to the meretricious 
 seductions of the tea-table, he will jeopardise his di- 
 gestion by indulgence in chocolate cakes and sugared 
 buns, so rendering himself hopelessly unfit to approach 
 that crown of virtuous living — a good dinner. 
 
 All these pitfalls would be escaped by the adoption 
 of the more rational system. Caf6 cm lait or tea, with 
 a fresh roll and fragrant butter, served in the dressing- 
 room, disposes the mind and body to the transaction 
 of such business as the post may bring to hand, to the 
 study of the morning papers (which, in this ideal 
 country house, must be brought to every guest with 
 his hot water), or to a stroll in the park and gardens 
 in the fresh morning air. No host intelligent enough 
 to adopt the new system will dream of trying to en- 
 tertain his guests in these morning hours. Let them, 
 if they will, arrange morning walks between them- 
 selves, but let him beware, as he hopes for a beuison, 
 of yielding to that pride of proprietorship which 
 tempts a man to show off his shorthorns, his horses,
 
 A Country Member's Moan. 51 
 
 his pointers, or what not. Nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine people out of a thousand don't care twopence 
 for other people's shorthorns, though they may all 
 pretend out of politeness to do so, and the thousandth 
 will find his own way to them, and be much happier 
 going round them alone. The host's power to please 
 will begin with the mid-day dSjeHner. By that time 
 the weather will have declared itself ; he himself will 
 not wear that preoccupied air born of "letters to 
 write " or the " bailiff to see," which sits so ungrace- 
 fully on an entertainer; his mind will be free to 
 devise amusements for the party, whom the pretty, 
 punctual, social meal will dispose to easy good- 
 humour. 
 
 If this alteration of hours may be held promising 
 of enhanced attractiveness to country-house life, how 
 much more are they so for life in London ! The mar- 
 vel is that people have submitted so long to the present 
 arrangement: but to touch on that would exceed the 
 subject under immediate consideration. 
 
 Objection to reform may be heard on the score that 
 Continental hours suit the Continental climate, and 
 that English weather requires special arrangements 
 to encounter it. Against this I must once more cite 
 my own experience, and record the favourable impres- 
 sion of visits in two houses — one in the south of 
 England, the other in the west of Scotland — where 
 the modifications sketched above have been followed 
 out with the pleasantest results. 
 
 There is, however, one point in the equipment of a
 
 52 Noontide Essaijs. 
 
 country house the importance of which is emphasised 
 by the uncertainty of our weather — namely, the 
 supply of books. Books should be everywhere — not 
 only in the library, but on tables ready to every 
 hand, and in bedroom shelves. No doubt, in the 
 last-named place they are exposed to the risk of 
 being packed accidentally in the portmanteau of 
 the departing guest, but tbe butler or housekeeper 
 would soon learn the duty of checking involun- 
 tary biblioklepts, and there is nothing adds so much 
 to the air of comfort in a bedroom as a few well- 
 chosen volumes. A sympathetic host or hostess may 
 even pay a delicate deference to the visitor's tastes 
 by the selection of a dozen tomes for his special 
 solace. Yet in how few houses, comparatively, is any 
 discrimination shown in literature, or facilities of 
 access to it provided ! Libraries there are, it is true, 
 in most houses : in older houses it is often a subject 
 of speculation what was the evanescent impulse under 
 which, towards the close of the last and the beginning 
 of this century, the shelves, now mellowed by time, 
 were filled. To judge from the inevitable presence 
 in such collections of ' Gil Bias,' ' Don Quixote,' 
 Adam's ' Eomau Antiquities,' Eollin's ' Ancient His- 
 tory,' Fenelon's ' Telemachus,' these works must have 
 enjoyed a popularity with our great - grandfathers 
 which was nothing short of prodigious. But among 
 these common objects of the country gentleman's 
 library there often lurk unsuspected treasures, and 
 a wet afternoon may prove a godsend if it gives an
 
 A Country Member's Moan. 53 
 
 excuse for loitering among them. Too often, how- 
 ever, the library is also the master's sanctum, and 
 even if you obtain permission to examine tlie books, 
 you feel that you are on debatable ground. Books, 
 to be enjoyed, must be as free as wayside ears of corn 
 are to Eastern travellers. 
 
 "I am not ignorant," writes Eobert Burton, ruefully 
 enough, in his 'Anatomy of Melancholy,' "how barbar- 
 ously and basely for the most part our ruder gentry es- 
 teem of Libraries & books, how they neglect & contemn 
 so great a treasure, so inestimable a benefit, as yEsop's 
 Cock did the Jewel he found in the dunghil; and all 
 through error, ignorance, and Avant of education. And 
 'tis a wonder withal to observe how much they will vainly 
 cast away in unnecessary expences, quot mocUs pereant 
 (saith Erasmus) mar/natilms p)ecuni(je, quantum ahs2nna7it 
 alea, scoria, (■ompotationes, profectiones non necessariai, 
 pom])ce, bella qucesifa, arahitio, colax, morio, ludio, Sfc, 
 what in hawks, hounds, lawsuits, vain biiilding, gurmun- 
 dizing, drinking, sports, playes, pastimes, &c. . . . For 
 my part, I pity these men, stultos juheo esse lihenter ; let 
 them go as they are, in the catalogue of Ignoramus." 
 
 Things are better now ; still, to adopt the phrase- 
 ology of Democritus junior, there should be no pre- 
 scription, restriction, hindrance, bond, obligation, cir- 
 cumstance, or interference affecting access to books ; 
 they should be kept as handy as Sairey Gamp's bottle, 
 so that the visitor may refresh himself as often and 
 as soon as he feels " so dispoged." Not seldom a way- 
 side snack of literature forms the initial of serious and 
 fruitful study.
 
 54 Noontide Essays. 
 
 May it be hinted without ingratitude to the thought- 
 ful housewives, to whom we owe the delightful fresh- 
 ness and brightness of country-house bedrooms, that 
 there is still one point essential to comfort which it 
 is the exception to find attended to : so small that 
 allusion to it is inseparable from apology, yet bearing 
 directly on the full enjoyment of books. Of all 
 blameless pleasures, the consummation, some of us 
 think, is to be found in reading in bed ; not at night 
 when the eyes are weary and should be trained to 
 sleep, but in the morning when the white light 
 streams through the casement, and the mind awakes 
 alert and strong. It is then that, in the panoply of 
 snowy sheets, the reader may have such communion 
 with a fresh or favourite author as he can enjoy at 
 no other hour of the twenty-four. He is in nobody's 
 way, and nobody in his ; the body is still at rest, and 
 thought leaps lightly alongside of soaring thought. 
 But too often, alas ! a physical bar exists to the full 
 enjoyment of this priceless hour. Euthless hand and 
 heedless head have arranged the bed with its foot to- 
 wards the window, from which, unless shuttered and 
 curtained (whereby waking on a summer morning in 
 the country is shorn of all delight) the glare dis- 
 turbs the slumberer betimes ; the hand steals forth 
 to seize the volume for which the head hungers, 
 but, with the light in front, reading is impossible, 
 sleep has been banished, and the hour that should 
 afford a foretaste of paradise is wasted in discon- 
 tented tossing. It is a crude idea of a bed that
 
 A Country Member's Moan. 55 
 
 destines it only for slumber in the dark ; one of its 
 main functions is to serve as a study in the daylight, 
 and it should be so placed as to receive that daylight 
 conveniently. 
 
 On the same subject of books may a word be added 
 here, in the interest of visitors' servants, whose time, 
 it may be suspected, sometimes hangs heavily enough 
 on their hands. Does any one ever bestow a thought 
 upon a supply of literature for them ? A bookshelf is 
 not a common feature in the servants' hall, yet the 
 experiment of providing it seems worth a trial. 
 Every great circulating library disposes at the close 
 of each year of its surplus volumes : a few of the 
 better of these, purchased at a trifling cost, and put 
 in substantial bindings, would form the foundation 
 of a lasting source of recreation to a class, the in- 
 tellectual wants of which are only too apt to escape 
 attention. It is hard to say after how many days, 
 or in what manner, bread thus cast upon the waters 
 may not be found. 
 
 No estimate of the resources of country-house life 
 would be complete without alluding to the garden as 
 it is, and as it might be. About thirty or thirty-five 
 years ago a most destructive revolution overtook hor- 
 ticulture in this country, under which the contents 
 of immemorial parterres were ruthlessly rooted out 
 to make way for ribbon - borders and bedding-out — 
 a system which secured a brilliant display in the 
 autumn months, when the family had returned from 
 their annual sojourn in the metropolis. The meas-
 
 56 Noontide Essays. 
 
 ured procession of bloom that delighted iis as chil- 
 dren, beginning with the scattered jewellery of early 
 spring flowers, gaining volume and variety under 
 April showers and May sunshine till it culminated 
 in the glorious coruscation of midsummer, afterwards 
 dying slowly in prismatic embers of decay until the 
 white pall of December was drawn over the scene 
 — all this patient pageant was dispersed by the im- 
 perious decree of fashion. Crown imperials and mar- 
 tagon lilies were swept out, or at best huddled into 
 the kitchen - garden ; the beds remained brown and 
 bare for nine months in the year, in order that they 
 might glare for the remaining three with fierce blue, 
 yellow, and scarlet. English gardens, rich with all 
 manner of tender association, were for the time 
 ruined; clumps of hepatica and fritillary, of un- 
 measured age (for the life of some of the hvimble 
 flowering-plants is not less enduring than that of 
 the oak), were torn up and flung aside, to make 
 way for " Mrs Pollock " geraniums and " Duchess 
 of Omnium " calceolarias. The mania affected even 
 the owners of cottage-plots ; and " bedding-out," the 
 effects of which are magnificent enough when man- 
 aged skilfully on a princely scale, pervaded even the 
 garden of the country rector and the village doctor. 
 Happily a reaction has been in progress for some time : 
 gardeners are now as keen to get an old-fashioned " her- 
 baceous" as they were ten years ago to get a new 
 lobelia; the uniformity that oppressed the weary 
 eye in search of freshness and repose is giving way
 
 A Country Member's Moan. 57 
 
 to a method that will restore individuality and variety 
 to the grounds of country houses. Once more the 
 garden will become, to those who know how to enjoy 
 it, a source of never-ending pleasure ; once more, 
 perhaps, we shall be allowed to return to it before its 
 glory is dimmed by the dwindling days of autumn. 
 
 Who that has lagged wearily home along the flags 
 on a July evening in London, what time the steam 
 of approaching dinners steals from ten thousand 
 areas,~ but has sickened to be free and far away ? 
 Who could then repeat without maddening impa- 
 tience the little - known lines of the Scottish min- 
 ister ? — 
 
 " western wind, so soft and low, 
 
 Long lingering by furze and fern, 
 Rise ! from thy wings the languor throw. 
 
 And, by the marge of mountain tarn, 
 
 By rocky brook and lonely cairn. 
 Thy thousand bugles take, and blow 
 
 A wilder music up the fells. 
 
 The west wind blows from Liddesdale, 
 
 And, as I sit between the springs 
 Of Bowmont and of Cayle, 
 
 To my half-listening ear it brings 
 All floating voices of the hill — 
 
 The hum of bees in heather-bells,' 
 
 And bleatings from the distant fells, 
 The curlew's whistle far and shrill, 
 And babblings of the restless rill." 
 
 But in advocating summer as the only season in 
 which perfect holiday may be made, and the full
 
 58 Noontide Essays. 
 
 joys of country-house life understood, it must not 
 be thought that those of winter are regarded lightly. 
 
 " Oh for the wood ! the moan of the wood, 
 
 When the cold is waxing strong ; 
 When the grey sod shrinks, and the dry wind bites, 
 And about the tracks, like troubled sprites. 
 
 The dead leaves whirl along." 
 
 The very contrast between the dreariness and dark 
 without, and the warmth and light within, deepens 
 the sense of comfort within the old walls. By day, 
 the light that shines through streaming panes falls 
 pleasantly on the volume, to the perusal of which 
 one may give a whole morning; by night, the wind 
 that shrieks about the chimney-tops and roars away 
 over the woodland, only makes the log-fire burn the 
 more merrily. 
 
 Far be it, also, from us to depreciate the merit of 
 field-sports. Fondly does the memory linger round 
 the mysterious candle-light breakfasts, the drive over 
 plashy roads to the covert-side, the gleams of uncer- 
 tain sunshine upon scarlet coats and snowy leathers, 
 the note of hound, and twang of horn ; nay, what 
 heart that has once known the rapture is now 
 so sluggish as not to stir as it recalls the piercing 
 halloo, the glimpse of the fleet pack running almost 
 mute across the open, the breathless struggle for a 
 start, the priceless reward of having secured it. 
 Neither, on a lower level, are the pleasures of the 
 battue to be denied, when the knights of the trigger
 
 A Country Afe'mhe7''s Moan. 59 
 
 muster beside the brown copse, and the woods re- 
 echo to a cheery fusilade. But the pleasures of the 
 few must yield in time to the necessities of the many. 
 The millions multiply so fast within this island, that 
 elbow-room for field-sports is becoming less every 
 year. The time cannot be far distant when success- 
 ful game-preserving and fox-hunting will be restricted 
 to a few specially favoured districts ; and, when these 
 potent spells shall have been broken, who shall say 
 that if half the year must be spent in London, it 
 ought not to be the winter half ? All the more reason- 
 able will this seem when it is remembered that it is 
 not only the happiness of people who can afford field- 
 sports that is affected, but that that of a whole host of 
 humbler folks is involved — parliamentary reporters, 
 messengers in public offices, domestic servants, shop- 
 keepers, and shop-assistants. All these, were they 
 consulted, would affirm witli one voice that a holiday, 
 to be a holiday, must be had in summer. 
 
 One advantage, and one only, yet one not to be 
 lightly set aside, must be claimed for the prevailing 
 allotment of season between town and country, and 
 it is this. It sends those who can help among those 
 who need help at the time of year when help is most 
 required. Were fashion to decree that the well-fed 
 and warmly clothed should shut up their country 
 homes in winter and repair to the town, there would 
 be danger lest the helping hand will be wanting in 
 the' day of sorest need.
 
 GO Noontide Essays. 
 
 " That out of sight is out of mind, 
 Is true of most we leave behind ; 
 Foi" men that will not idlers be, 
 Must lend their hearts to things they see." 
 
 Yet this is not the consideration that will guide the 
 House of Commons next time it is called upon to 
 declare when it will take its holiday. 
 
 I
 
 MANNEKS. 
 
 " "\^JE must be careful that all our looks be full of swect- 
 ness, kindness, and modesty, not affected and with- 
 out grimaces ; the carriage of the body decent, without 
 extraordinary or apish gestures ; in all our ordinary actions, 
 be it in eating, drinking or the like, we must show modesty, 
 and follow that which is most received, amongst those with 
 whom we converse, for that courtier is but over punctual, 
 who in a country gentleman's liouse will strictly practise all 
 his forms of new breeding, and Avill not be content to express 
 his thanks, and esteem to others in the same manner, and 
 with the same ceremony that he receives the respect of 
 others, his practice shows like a correction of the other, and 
 oft puts the modest company into a bashful confusion, and 
 constrained distrustful behaviour and conversation." 
 
 This sentence, of which the portentous length is ren- 
 dered hardly less breathless by the arbitrary scattering 
 of a few commas, is culled from a little brown volume 
 in duodecimo, entitled ' The Akt of Complaisance, or 
 THE Means to oblige in Conversation' (London, 1697). 
 Such merit as flows from rarity belongs to this anony-
 
 62 Noontide Essays. 
 
 mous treatise, for it is mentioned neither in Lowndes^ 
 Allibone, nor in the later dictionary of Halkett and 
 Laing. It is prefaced by a letter signed " S. C." 
 addressed "To his ingenious friend, Mr W. B." and 
 bears on the title the forbidding aphorism — "Qui 
 nescit dissimulare nescit vivere" — (he who knows 
 not how to dissemble, knows not how to live). 
 
 There is, however, nothing very sinister in the 
 dissimulation prescribed by this seventeenth-century 
 mentor : il n'est pas si diaUe qu'il est noir. He com- 
 mends the self-restraint of a Chesterfield rather than 
 the duplicity of a Machiavelli. 
 
 " The height of abilities," wrote the former authority 
 in the course of liis fruitless and pathetic endeavour 
 to kindle his son's sluggish spirit, "is to have volto 
 scioUo and loensicri stretti — that is, a frank, open, and 
 ingenuous exterior, with a prudent and reserved 
 interior ; to be upon your guard, and yet by a seem- 
 ing natural openness to put people off theirs." 
 
 This is very much the key of " S. C.'s" treatise, 
 yet throughout it there breathes the spirit of a cruder 
 age, when, to use the pregnant phrase of Mr Nichol 
 (the biographer and shrewd analyst of Francis Bacon), 
 it was as expedient to flatter monarchs as it now is to 
 iuon-le mobs. The modern reader, running over the 
 several chapters devoted to the principles of conversa- 
 tion at Court, with great men at " the Innes of Court, 
 where are to be found a great number of the finest 
 spirits," with ladies, and, lastly, with persons of all 
 humours, ages, and conditions, will be rewarded by
 
 Manners. 63 
 
 many passages of charming ndiveU and astonishing 
 frankness ; but he may find his smile tending to a 
 sneer at the chapter on " How we must demean our- 
 selves to gain the favour of our Prince or Soveraign." 
 Princes and sovereigns are still held to be very proper 
 objects of consideration, and those who please them 
 best will not lose their reward; but it wounds our 
 democratic self-respect to see the rules of the game 
 set out in cold blood and black and white. Ars est 
 celare artem; the taste of our age is too nice to brook 
 having all the tricks of the trade revealed: it spoils 
 the sport. 
 
 What possible approval can we lend to the conduct 
 of "a reverend courtier who, being asked by what 
 means he had lived so long and (was) so firm in 
 favour at Court, answered that it was by patiently 
 supporting injuries and by repaying thanks in lieu 
 of revenge " ? A mean creature, truly, yet our con- 
 tempt for him in this nineteenth century may be 
 somewhat chastened by recalling a remark of Bacon's, 
 that " the lowest of all flattery is the flattery of the 
 common people." (Tory democrats please copy.) 
 
 We may dismiss " S. C." with a single extract from 
 his chapter on Conversation with Ladies : — 
 
 " It is necessary that a man wlio visits Ladies wear 
 always good cloatlies, even to magnificence, if he may do 
 it without impairing his fortune : the expence we make in 
 habits bears us through all, — as an ingenious man once said, 
 it opens all doors to us and always procures us an obliging 
 reception ; and as the exteriour part, striking first the sight,
 
 64 Noontide Essays. 
 
 is that which makes the first impression on our spirits, 
 doubtless Ave ought to take some care to render that impres- 
 sion favourable." 
 
 It is a common complaint among older people 
 that manners have grievously deteriorated with the 
 present generation. Perhaps it is so ; but similar 
 complaints have been uttered over every successive 
 generation : there are always plenty to moan over 
 all change as bitterly as if it were bloody revolution. 
 Our contention is that changed as manners are there 
 is still plenty of scope for consideration of others, 
 which is the source of social sweetness. The eigh- 
 teenth century abounded more in courtliness than does 
 the nineteenth ; it was more picturesque. There is less 
 formality now both in dress and address than of yore, 
 but the gulf that separates the well-bred from the 
 ill-bred remains as deep and wide as ever. If we 
 have not so many Sir Charles Grandisons, surely we 
 have fewer Squire Westerns. Is it the refinement 
 of a fin de sUdc drawing-room a hundred years ago 
 that would most impress one of us, could he be trans- 
 ported back to it ? Change of manners and habits is 
 inevitable, but it does not necessarily imply deteriora- 
 tion. To make a less distant comparison — what is 
 more common in these days than to see a lady being 
 driven alone in a hansom cab ? Twenty years ago, 
 in the days when many girls were prohibited from 
 waltzing except with cousins, that would have been 
 pronounced as compromising as going to a music-hall ;
 
 Manners. 65 
 
 yet who will say that English girls of to-day are one 
 whit less pure or lovable than their mothers were ? 
 
 But if we are apt to pass harsh judgment on the 
 manners of our own time, we are equally prone to 
 sniff at any departure from the standard of to-day. 
 There is a very suggestive passage in Mr Hamerton's 
 interesting book, ' French and English.' That writer 
 enjoys the enviable scope of being as much at home 
 with the one nation as with the other : it gives him 
 alh the advantage possessed by one sitting astride of 
 a high wall as against one standing on either side of 
 it— he can see and compare objects on both sides. 
 
 " In any attempt," he says, " to judge of manners, especially 
 in a foreign nation, we are liable to two mistakes. We are 
 likely to think that a degree of polish inferior to our own 
 is rudeness, whilst the refinement that surpasses ours is 
 affectation, we ourselves having exactly that perfection of 
 good breeding which is neither one nor the other. An 
 Englishman is particularly liable to think in this way, be- 
 cause the present English ideal of good manners is a studied 
 simphcity. We come to think that a simple manner is 
 unaffected, whilst liigh polish must have been learned from 
 the etiquette-book." 
 
 Between the African potentate who, in order to 
 do honour to a distinguished visitor and to save him 
 exertion, masticates gobbets of meat with his own 
 royal grinders before placing them in his guest's 
 mouth, and the Lancashire miner to whom the ap- 
 pearance of a stranger at once suggests " 'eaving 'arf 
 a brick at 'is 'ead," there is room to show almost every 
 
 E
 
 66 Noontide Essays. 
 
 degree of consideration. The conclusion to which one 
 comes after studying any of the many writers who 
 have tried to formulate rules of social procedure, from 
 Epictetus down to the compiler of the latest manual 
 on etiquette, is that there exists a ncscio quid — a spirit, 
 intangible, not to be described, but essential to the 
 sweetness and light of human intercourse, without 
 which " the rest is all but leather or prunella," Sweet- 
 ness of manner has its source far too deep to be learned 
 by practice or rote ; it is no use trying to learn the 
 trick of putting it on, like a grenadier's cap, to make 
 one's self of consequence ; it must be innate, for it 
 is the outward and visible sign of an inward and 
 spiritual grace — an instinctive consideration of the 
 feelings of others, a forgetfulness of self. Courtliness 
 is the counterfeit, often passing muster for the real 
 thing; its success is commensurate with the success 
 of the effort to please others. But, it may be urged, 
 a man may be full of kindness and sympathy for 
 others and yet fail to please because of his shyness. 
 Well, shyness is of two kinds, the first and least 
 deplorable being a gracelessness caused by unfamiliar 
 surroundings and uncertainty how to behave. It pro- 
 duces agonies of misgiving and thought - dispelling 
 perplexity. But, observe, this kind of sufierer is 
 apprehensive, not of being laughed at, but of intruding 
 on or being a bore to others. He dreads giving offence. 
 Painful though it be, his is, if properly and timeously 
 treated, a transient malady, and often leaves the con- 
 valescent more able to give and receive pleasure in
 
 Manners. 67 
 
 the society of others than many who have never 
 sufl'ered from the disease. The reason for this seem- 
 ing paradox is that shyness of this kind is the result 
 of a lively imagination acting on love of approba- 
 tion, each of which is, in due measure, essential to 
 a sympathetic nature. But it must not be neglected 
 or encouraged by circumstances, or it will become 
 chronic, and the torment will be lifelong. 
 
 The other and more malignant form of shyness is 
 really nothing but pride, generating suspicious watch- 
 fulness and cold reserve, each of them fatal to a 
 pleasant manner. You cannot give a sullen pool 
 the sparkle and dash of a mountain stream, any more 
 than Lord Chesterfield could pour his own light and 
 grace into his son's dull nature. This conviction 
 seems to have forced itself on the hapless father 
 rather early in the celebrated letters ; for we can 
 almost hear the sigh with which, after writing re- 
 peatedly and at length upon the precepts of good 
 behaviour, he flings down the pen with which he has 
 traced these lines : — 
 
 " All the above-mentioned rules, however carefully you 
 may observe them, will lose half their ellect if unaccom- 
 panied by the Graces. ... If your air and address are 
 vulgar, awkward, and (jauche, you may be esteemed indeed, 
 if you have great intrinsic merit, but you will never please." 
 
 You 'will never -please ! It is a heavy sentence. How 
 far must it be held a just one ? How far is a man 
 responsible for not having a good address ? If our
 
 68 Noontide Essays. 
 
 contention is right, he is as responsible for not having 
 natural sweetness as for being deficient in courage, 
 honesty, continence, or any other natural virtue. But 
 the punishment falls less heavily on the selfish man 
 than on one for whom life without the friendly esteem 
 of others, is worthless. Never please ! never feel the 
 firm clasp that betokens the answering warmth in a 
 friend's heart, nor enjoy the genial glow that welds 
 two equal spirits moving to the same goal ; not even, 
 it may be (though herein exist some different and per- 
 plexing considerations), exchange that exquisite flat- 
 tery of preference between man and woman which 
 is no small ingredient in the sweet draught of love. 
 Never see faces look round brightly at the sound of 
 your footfall, nor a circle open with glad acclaim on 
 your approach ; but, instead, mark the chill diffused 
 among those into whose company you come — the con- 
 straint of remarks addressed to yourself compared 
 with the ceaseless flow of talk among others. Never 
 please ! it is worth much study and much pains, if by 
 study and pains the art of pleasing might be learnt ; 
 but to worry one's self over the rules without culti- 
 vating the virtue which is at the root of the whole 
 matter, is so much study and pains thrown away. 
 
 There is, indeed, one constituent in the power to 
 please which is beyond any one's control — namely, per- 
 sonal appearance. Comeliness, though not essential 
 (for many plain-featured people are of the pleasantest), 
 must be admitted to give an enormous advantage to 
 its possessor. Herein is just one of those perplexing
 
 Manners. 6 9 
 
 inequalities which incline one to charge nature with 
 injustice. Too little nose by the eighth part of an 
 inch — too much eyelid by the hundredth — harshness 
 in skin-texture, or irregular action of sebaceous glands 
 — why are these, or accidents even more infinitesimal, 
 suffered to rob a countenance of beauty ? But on the 
 whole the injustice is seldom as great as it seems. 
 Proportionate intellect is rarely the complement of 
 great personal beauty. The combination is so rare 
 that, when it docs take place, it explains the classical 
 belief in demigods — creatures with mortal bodies and 
 human passions, but suffused with the fire of divinity. 
 It is impossible to withhold sympathy from Lord 
 Chesterfield in the fruitlessness of his patient endeav- 
 our to make his son brilliant or distinguished. Uii- 
 fortunately, the inferiority of the offspring of great 
 men is a common experience ; it seems to be a law of 
 heredity to which there are few exceptions that, while 
 the sire transmits to the children his physical qualities, 
 their mental capacity is proportionate to that of the 
 mother. Hence it comes that though men of action 
 are generally the sons of obscure fathers, there is 
 nothing more rare than to find conspicuous ability in 
 two successive generations. It may have been from 
 observation of this circumstance that the ancient Pict- 
 ish law was framed, which debarred sons from suc- 
 ceeding to their father's possessions. Brother succeeded 
 brother, but otherwise " it is in right of mothers they 
 succeed to sovereignty and all other successions." 
 Another nation, more highly civilised tlian the Picts,
 
 70 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the Chinese, took precautions against hereditary 
 honours falling into unworthy hands, for by their law 
 of chivalry, it is said, it is, or was, the children who 
 retrospectively ennoble their ancestry. A man rising 
 to distinction among the Chinese would be offered the 
 privilege of having his forefathers raised to the peer- 
 age, and they, being safely underground, might be 
 trusted not to bring the honours into discredit. There 
 is much to be said ^for this system, for, truly, a high- 
 sounding title borne by a boor is like a jewel in a 
 swine's snout. 
 
 The world is so full of men and women — fuller than 
 it ever was before — that it is harder than ever for 
 those anxious for a young man's career to believe that 
 he can ensure success otherwise* than by looking after 
 his own interest. Some pushing fellow is sure to fill 
 the place for which we have destined our son or 
 friend's son if he wastes his chance in considering the 
 welfare of others. Not so ; this altruism I am advo- 
 cating will so work on his personality that it will 
 draw to him far more than he could have earned by 
 selfish effort. As he travels on life's journey he will 
 find himself surrounded by gracious looks and helping 
 hands ; even the most worldly will look kindly on one 
 who never interferes with their pleasure or ambition, 
 whose manner and temper are like a fragrant breath 
 of mountain air. Tliere is nothing mawkish in such 
 a character; the self-sacrifice that moulds it implies 
 resolution. 
 
 Tliis one is in no degree akin to him nf whom men
 
 ^fanners. 71 
 
 say, " He is no man's enemy but his own." Such a 
 man may be easy, good-natured in the vulgar sense, 
 and cheerful, but he occupies a place at the lower end 
 of the scale of selfishness. If he is indulgent to others, 
 he is so from indolence, and his ruin comes from in- 
 dulging his own inclinations. 
 
 At the other end of the same scale stands ambition, 
 which is only an exalted form of selfishness. This 
 may seem a hard saying, but it will stand scrutiny. 
 Of those who have attained high renown in history it 
 may sometimes be hard to discern the leading motive ; 
 but to take the instance of two notable rivals — 
 Napoleon and Wellington — the difference seems clear 
 enough. The former, perhaps, was the more powerful 
 mind, but it was intensely selfish. The indomitable 
 will never turned aside out of consideration either for 
 nations or individuals ; the feelings, the sufferings of 
 others were never glanced at in the ruthless march to 
 the end in view : whereas the other, early steeped in 
 the spirit of duty and subordination, grew to grandeur 
 by means of insensible ascendancy over the wills of 
 others, and finally triumphed by virtue of their devo- 
 tion to and confidence in him. The memory of each 
 differs as much in kind as the effects of their life- 
 work. Ze petit ccqjoral was worshipped and feared, 
 but men loved and adored the Iron Duke. Of the 
 former, how few are the kindly human traits recorded ! 
 while of the other, to this day fresh proofs keep com- 
 ing to light of simple sweetness dwelling long in the 
 minds of men. The following anecdote concerning a
 
 72 Noontide Essays. 
 
 letter lately exhumed by the editor of a weekly paper 
 may serve as one instance out of a thousand illustrat- 
 ing the sympathetic nature of the great commander. 
 The letter, so far as my memory serves, was in some 
 such terms as these : — 
 
 " Field -Marshal tlie Duke of Wellington begs to 
 inform William Harris that his toad is alive and well." 
 
 It seems that the Duke, in the course of a country 
 stroll, had come upon a little boy weeping bitterly over 
 a toad. A strange trio they must have been — the lean, 
 keen-eyed, old soldier, the flushed, sobbing boy, and, 
 between them, the wrinkled reptile squatting, with 
 tearless eyes and throbbing sides. The boy wept be- 
 cause he was going to school next day : he had come 
 daily to feed his toad ; the little heart was racked 
 with grief because he feared his darling would be 
 neglected when he was gone, and might starve. The 
 Duke's heart was as soft as the boy's, for he under- 
 took to see that the toad was looked after, and the 
 letter above-quoted is one of the subsequent bulletins. 
 
 Montaigne pleads eloquently for the cultivation of 
 sympathy : — 
 
 " le loiierais un ame a, divers estages, qui s^aclie Sz se 
 tendre & se desmonter : qui soit bien par tout oil sa fortune 
 la porte : qui puisse deuiser auec son voisin, de son basti- 
 ment, de sa cliasse & de sa quereUe : entretenir auec plaisir 
 un charpentier & un iardinier. . . . Le conseil de Platon 
 ne me plaist pas, de parler tousiours d'vn langage maistral a 
 ses seruiteurs, san ieu, sans familiarity : soit enuers les
 
 Manners. 73 
 
 masles, soit enuers les femelles. Car, outre ma raison, il 
 est inhuniain & iniuste de faire tant valoir cette telle quelle 
 prerogative de la fortune ; & les polices oil il se souffre moina 
 de disparite entre les valets et les maistres me semble plus 
 equitables." 
 
 Peculiar piquancy and interest attached themselves 
 in those days to conversation with a neighbour on 
 the subject "de son bastiment et de sa querelle." 
 Viewed in the lidit of events related in the anecdotes 
 to be presently referred to, it is clear that not only 
 esthetic but defensive qualities were necessary for 
 a satisfactory residence ; and a disagreement with a 
 neighbour wlio was supported by "followers very 
 well mounted and armed, to the number of five-and- 
 twenty or thirty," was one that invited discussion 
 at considerable length and in some detail. In the 
 four and a half centuries that have run their course 
 since these lines were penned we have not done 
 much, in England at least, to reduce the barrier 
 between master and man. Many good, kind men 
 would willingly converse more freely with their ser- 
 vants were the force of habit less binding : there is no 
 mauvaise honte more oppressive than that which con- 
 strains such people to a silence which is attributed 
 to haughtiness, and cannot indeed be removed from 
 the category of imperfect manners. 
 
 But a still worse fault and a more frequent is the 
 ignoring of the presence of servants. Tilings are said 
 before them utterly regardless either of prudence or 
 of the effect on their feelings and morals. People
 
 74 Noontide Essays. 
 
 converse at meals as freely as if the intelligent 
 beings behind them in broadcloth or plush were 
 deaf and dumb automata. It makes one shiver to 
 think of the kind of thing that those who wait at 
 any London dinner-party must overhear: the con- 
 trast between the freedom of conversation used hefore 
 them, and the frigid sentences usually addressed to 
 them must sometimes give them plenty of material 
 for thought. 
 
 It is worth quoting the example of a man of the 
 world. At a dinner - party in Voltaire's house a 
 discussion took place one day on the existence of 
 God, against which many arguments were pressed 
 with much force. Suddenly the host ordered the 
 servants out of the room, and, locking the door, 
 "Proceed now, gentlemen," he said; "but I do not 
 wish that my valet should cut my throat to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 Montaigne gives practical instances of the advantage 
 of a pleasant countenance. He is so frankly egotist 
 in discussing his own character, so little disposed to 
 screen his vices or exalt his virtues, that one can 
 easily believe a couple of anecdotes with which he 
 illustrates his doctrine concerning a sweet manner. 
 These contain, moreover, such lively pictures of inci- 
 dents in the life of a French country gentleman of the 
 fifteenth century, that perhaps no apology is needed 
 for repeating them ; but much of the aroma evapo- 
 rates in rendering them out of the old French of the 
 original.
 
 Manners. 75 
 
 He describes how a certain neighbour and relation 
 of his own endeavoured to obtain possession of his 
 house and person. Sitting one evening in his library, 
 which he describes with much affectionate detail, 
 perhaps composing one of his delightful essays, he 
 was disturbed by a loud knocking at the gate of his 
 chateau, which proceeded from this gentleman, who, 
 seated on a horse ridden to a foam, loudly called for 
 admission. He said he was flying from an enemy 
 who had overtaken him in the neighbourhood, and 
 " luy avoit merveilleusement chausse les esperons " 
 — had pressed him very hard. He also expressed 
 himself as in great distress about his men, who had 
 been scattered, and who, he feared, had been killed or 
 captured. Montaigne threw open his gates and en- 
 deavoured tout naifvement, as he says, to comfort and 
 refresh the knight. Soon after, the scattered follow- 
 ing began to arrive by twos and threes to the number 
 of five-and-twenty or thirty, all pretending to believe 
 the enemy was at their heels. Then, naif though 
 he was, the scholar-knight began to smell a rat — " ce 
 myst^re commenceoit k taster mon souspe^on." Never- 
 theless he acted up to his principles, was urbane and 
 solicitous for their safety, stabled their panting horses, 
 and admitted them all. Then ensued the triumph of 
 a good manner over ferocity. The courtyard was full 
 of armed men, the two gentlemen were regaling them- 
 selves in the hall. The "race with which the involun- 
 tary host dispensed hospitality, and the affable way 
 he chatted to his reprehensible cousin over their bottle.
 
 76 Noontide Essays. 
 
 so won upon the latter's heart that he confessed his 
 treacliery, and gave np all idea of carrying it out. " II 
 se veit maistre de son entreprinse ; et n'y restoit sin- 
 ce poinct que I'execution. Souvent depuis il a diet, 
 car il ne craignoit pas de faire ce conte, que mon 
 visage et ma franchise luy avoient arrache la trahison 
 des poings." 
 
 The other instance given by the Seigneur savours 
 less of " hamesucken " and more of knight-errantry. 
 He tells us how he was journeying through a remark- 
 ably ticklish country (" par pais estrangement chatouil- 
 leux") when he found himself pursued by two or 
 three parties of horse. On the third day one of these 
 overtook him, and he was charged by fifteen or twenty 
 gentlemen, followed by a band of ragamuffins. Over- 
 powered by numbers, he was carried off into the forest, 
 where his trunks were rifled and the horses of his men 
 divided among his captors. Then ensued a wrangle 
 about how he should be disposed of, which ended in 
 Montaigne being mounted on a sorry jade and packed 
 about his business. But he had not ridden off two or 
 three musket-shots from the place before the charm 
 began to work. The leader of the troop galloped after 
 him "avecques paroles plus doulces," apologised for 
 the inconvenience to which he had been put, made 
 his knaves busy themselves in repacking his trunks, 
 and set him on his own beast. He then raised his 
 visor, made himself known, and assured his late cap- 
 tive that he owed his release entirely to the exquisite 
 courtesy of his demeanour, which he had maintained
 
 Manners. 7 7 
 
 under such trying circumstances. " Me redict plu- 
 sieurs fois que ie debvois cette delivrance a mon 
 visage, liberte et fermete de mes paroles, qui me 
 rendoient indigne d'uue telle mesadventure." 
 
 Then, witli an unusual access of piety, this quaint 
 writer concludes : " II est XDOSsible que la bonte divine 
 se voulut servir de ce vain instrument (his pleasant 
 manner) pour ma conservation; elie me defendit 
 encores I'endemain d'aultres pires embusches." 
 
 It would be ungenerous, especially after such a 
 lapse of time, to attribute the change in manner 
 and intent which the Seigneur credits to his per- 
 sonal charm and frankness, to the fact that his 
 captors may have mistaken him for some one else, 
 and released him on discovering their mistake. 
 
 Baron Holbach, writing to Diderot from England, 
 declares himself disgusted with Englishmen, because 
 you never see on their faces confidence, friendship, 
 gaiety, sociability, but on every countenance the 
 inscription, "What is there in common between me 
 and you ? " On the other hand, Horace Walpole 
 returned the compliment, for he tells Selwyn in one 
 of his letters from Paris that he cannot endure the 
 philosophers, they are so overbearing and under- 
 bred. " I sometimes go to Baron d'Holbach's, but 
 I have left off his dinners, as there was no bearing 
 the authors and philosophers and savants, of which 
 he has a pigeon-house full. ... In short, nonsense 
 for nonsense, I liked the Jesuits better than the 
 philosophers."
 
 78 Noontide Essays. 
 
 No one can have mixed much with people in a 
 humble rank of life without having marked the 
 patient sweetness with which they meet a thousand 
 aggravating and irritating discomforts, any one of 
 which would be apt to put a well-to-do person out 
 of humour. Just as the wayside dandelion, drawing 
 filth of the gutter into its veins, filters it by its 
 own virtue into a beneficent juice, so among the 
 poor there are those who change the use of adversity 
 and the humiliation of disease into a spirit that 
 sweetens all their surroundings. Following the ex- 
 ample of the Seigneur de Montaigne, I am tempted 
 to describe an incident in my own everyday experi- 
 ence, which, however, unlike those of that illustrious 
 writer, tells of the influence of the sweetness of others 
 upon my own churlishness. It happened on a railway 
 journey in the west of Scotland, on the Monday of 
 Glasgow Fair ; and whoever has experienced the vicis- 
 situdes of that anniversary must remember that it 
 involves all the congestion, hurry, delay, discomfort, 
 and ill-will of a dozen Bank Holidays in the South. 
 I had important business to attend to in a distant 
 town, and had to wait at a wayside station for an 
 hour and a half beyond the time appointed for the 
 train. "When at last it appeared, every carriage was 
 choked with excursionists ; the observance of classes 
 was annulled ; first, second, third class — everything, 
 even to the guard's van, was packed with holiday 
 folk. Finally, I was fain, muttering impotent ven- 
 geance upon unhallowed directors, to squeeze into a
 
 Manners. 7 9 
 
 compartment already occupied by seven adults and 
 two children. Though in a thoroughly bad temper, 
 I could not but observe the suavit)^ with which room 
 was found for me by those already inconveniently 
 crowded, and, of course, perfect strangers to me. 
 Let any one who thinks this a trivial remark, try a 
 similar experiment in a carriage filled with well- 
 dressed pleasure-seekers, strangers to himself, bound, 
 let us say, to Ascot races. He will not be inclined to 
 repeat it. Gradually the contagion of good temper 
 overcame my ill-humour. It was intensely hot, we 
 were closely packed, and, to crown all, one of the 
 children was taken violently ill. But nothing dis- 
 turbed the equanimity of my fellow-travellers, nor 
 the simple eagerness with which they noticed way- 
 side objects and the incidents of the route. I parted 
 company with them at the end of the journey, thor- 
 oughly penetrated with the lesson they had uncon- 
 sciously administered, that sweetness of manner and 
 consideration for others neutralise more than half of 
 any discomfort we may be called on to endure. The 
 poor are constantly in discomfort ; their patience offers 
 a reproachful contrast to the arrogance of the rich ; 
 and it is only by realising this that the first beati- 
 tude — that spoken to the " poor in spirit " — can be 
 understood. 
 
 Conversation is an important part — though only a 
 part — of satisfying intercourse. The necessity for 
 saying something weighs grievously upon most of us 
 at times, and drives us to say many things which
 
 80 Noontide Essays. 
 
 neither enrich nor adorn acquaintance. It is only 
 among friends that periods of silence are endurable. 
 The secret of interesting conversation is the same as 
 that of literature — having something in the mind, 
 something to say. Yet how few people seem to have 
 minds furnished with anything hut commonplace, or 
 at least how few can produce acceptable fragments 
 from a store of knowledge ! Those who have devoted 
 themselves arduously to intellectual work — specialists, 
 in short, who know what work is — are often the pleas- 
 antest talkers ; not by any means on their special sub- 
 jects alone, but on anything that stirs the intellects of 
 others, by the reflex sympathetic action of mind to 
 mind. IMany of us must have felt contact with a 
 trained intellect to be the best refreshment after 
 the gabble of " society." As ]\Ir Hamerton says : 
 " Severed from the vanities of the illusory, you will 
 live with the realities of knowledge, as one who has 
 quitted the painted scenery of the theatre to listen by 
 the eternal ocean, or gaze at the granite hills." 
 
 It must, however, be confessed that it is often dis- 
 appointing to meet with a brilliant writer, a renowned 
 artist, or a distinguished scientist. Thrilled as we 
 have often been by the accomplishments of such an 
 one, it is vexatious to encounter in him tiresome 
 tricks of manner, or perhaps to find him seeking 
 relaxation from strain in those very trivialities from 
 which we are anxious to escape. At other times he 
 will sit silent while others' tongues are wagging. It 
 is not the deepest streams that make the most noise.
 
 Manners. 8 1 
 
 Here is a scrap of conversation — practically it was 
 monologue — echoed from a country-house smoking- 
 room, where eight men of varied accomplishments were 
 sitting. The speaker was a handsome young fellow, 
 with a frank manner, a pleasant voice, and a fine out- 
 of-doors complexion, who had just returned from a 
 voyage round the world. The chief charm of con- 
 versation is that it should be spontaneous — that is, 
 not careless, but without effort ; but incessant prattle 
 oppresses one with the idea that serious thought must 
 either be still-born or strangled at birth, unless it is 
 to be built up between the boards of a book, and so 
 save other people the trouble of thinking for them- 
 selves. The Grand Tour of our days — a journey 
 round the world— is often performed, and it is a com- 
 mon thing to meet with a young fellow just returned, 
 ready enough to talk about it in his own way. How 
 often one longs, on such occasions, for the enforce- 
 ment of Condillac's precept — by taking trouble to 
 speak with precision, one gains the habit of thinking 
 rightly. For too often the narrative will be some- 
 thing like this: — 
 
 " Oh yes, I went with D., you know ; a capital fellow 
 to go globe-trotting with ; d — d clever chap ; knows a lot, 
 doncha know ; all about china and pottery and books and 
 that sort of thing, doncha know. Knew the Taj the mo- 
 ment he saw it, you know. D — d if / should have known 
 the blessed thing, you know ; but bless you, he knew it in 
 a minute. Oh, he showed me a lot. I give you my word 
 of honour, when we got back to London I stopped the cab 
 
 F
 
 82 Noontide Essays. 
 
 in Trafalgar Square, and got out to look. I never knew 
 there was anything there, you know ; but D. had taught 
 me to look about ; and by I think it's as fine as any- 
 thing we saw all the Avay round. Oh, travellin' teaches one 
 a lot, you know, &c., &c." 
 
 Now this young gentleman most likely had received 
 the immeasurable advantage of a first-rate education. 
 He would, no doubt, if called on, have risked his life 
 to save a friend, or shed the last drop of blood in his 
 honest heart for his country. He will perhaps some 
 day inherit a fair slice of the earth's crust, and be an 
 example of the virtues and defects of an English 
 squire. When the bright light shall have waned 
 from his eyes, when anxiety and perplexity shall 
 have graven their lines on his brow, when the charm 
 of youth shall have melted away — what will remain ? 
 Alas ! his prattle will no longer be endurable ; he will 
 be voted a bore ; younger folk will get out of his way ; 
 his contemporaries will cling to him from habit, or 
 because his cellar is stocked with choice wines, and 
 his covers with plenty of pheasants. He will never 
 earn that rarest of all distinctions, that of being a 
 charming old man — one who, retaining the freshness 
 of his natural faculties, imparts to others from his 
 store of experience, and sympathises with the hopes, 
 fears, wishes, and aims of young people. 
 
 " I see these locks in silvery slips, 
 This drooping gait, tliis altered size ; 
 But springtide blossoms ou thy lipe, 
 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes."
 
 Manners. 83 
 
 Some people have the gift of pleasant deference in 
 manner, which, though it may he acquired in some 
 degree by study, is only secure of its effect when it 
 arises from a sympathetic imagination. " ]\Iy son," 
 said Parmenio to Philotas, "make thyself small 
 before Alexander : contrive for him now and then 
 the pleasure of setting thee right, and remember it 
 is only to thy seeming inferiority that thou wilt owe 
 his friendship." This was the secret of the late Lord 
 Beaconsfield's extraordinary influence over the minds 
 of others, especially of younger men. In conversation 
 with one he used to give him the impression that it 
 was Ms opinion he most desired to have — Ids experi- 
 ence he most coveted ; and this idea was not conveyed 
 by any formal words, rather by expression of meaning 
 eye and mobile lip — by manner ratlier than speech. 
 ]Men are easily moved by this delicate flattery ; they 
 treasure up the words and traits of such an one, and 
 dwell lovingly upon them in after-years, when, per- 
 haps, he shall have passed away. 
 
 Nor men alone: women (though the rules regu- 
 lating their preference transcend definition) respond 
 gratefully to its influence. The mode alters, but the 
 spirit remains the same. Kaleigh's gold-laced cloak 
 flung across the miry pavement would find no approval 
 nowadays ; the action would be felt to be as stagey as 
 the embroidery : we have passed into a dim age of 
 broadcloth and chimney-pot hats. In outward mien 
 we differ from the courtiers of Elizabeth as widely 
 as the man past middle age differs from the lad whose
 
 84 Noontide Essays. 
 
 photograph records what he once was. It is hard to 
 believe the hair once clustered so low and thick on the 
 brow now so bare — that the deeply graven cheeks 
 were once so round and smooth. But the good-nature 
 within will find expression in subtler ways. The late 
 George Whyte-Melville, standing in a muddy street, 
 was splashed from head to foot by a lady's carriage- 
 and-pair suddenly pulled up beside the kerb. Hat, 
 face, collar, coat, all were liberally bespattered; but 
 almost before the lady could lean forward to express 
 
 her concern, he exclaimed, " Ah, ]\Irs A ! I 
 
 thought it must be you : you always have the best 
 horses in London." This bring;s to mind a sentence 
 in the ' Tatler ' : "A man endowed with great per- 
 fections without good breeding is like one who has 
 his pockets full of gold, but wants change for his 
 ordinary occasions." Yet if a man has store of gold 
 he is seldom without plenty of small cash. 
 
 Mr Morley quotes from one of Diderot's letters a 
 charming narrative of grace in the most difficult of all 
 arts — the art of giving. He tells a correspondent how 
 a friend of his had assisted a poor woman in a law- 
 suit ; she was successful, but her adversary decamped, 
 and she got no advantage for the money it cost her, 
 which she could ill afford. However, she came to 
 thank her benefactor ; and, as she sat with him, hap- 
 pened to pull out a battered old snuff-box, and scraped 
 together the few grains it contained. "Ah ! " exclaimed 
 Diderot's friend, "you have no snuff; let me fill your 
 box." He took it, crammed it with snuff, and slipped 
 
 \
 
 Manners. 8 5 
 
 in a couple of louis d'or, which he took care to bury 
 out of sight. "Now, there," Diderot comments, "is 
 an act after my own heart. Give, but, if you can, 
 spare the poor the shame of holding out the hand." 
 Of all the weapons in the armoury of intercourse 
 this sixth sense is the most potent : it implies at once 
 the perfect temper of the metal and the consummate 
 ornament of the hilt. There is yet another that can 
 hardly be acquired, least of all by our own country- 
 men. If laughter is that which distinguishes men 
 from beasts, a smile is the badge of their fellowship 
 with angels. It cannot be put on, it must come from 
 the heart ; for affectation, always hateful, is more re- 
 pellent in an artificial smile than in any other guise. 
 Have we but the heart to smile in difficulty or dis- 
 aster, how these will melt away before us ; how angry 
 men's brows will unfurl and fists unclench, — for we 
 know instinctively that none but the gentle can smile, 
 just as none but the churlish can scowl. Sons, look 
 in your mothers' faces with a smile ; brothers, in your 
 sisters' : let their memory of you when absent be of 
 those who looked kindly on them ; for, believe it, 
 there is no pang more common, none more unquench- 
 able, than the thought in after-years that we wounded 
 our loved ones with sour looks, born of passing dis- 
 content. 
 
 Of these supreme signs of graciousness may be 
 written the legend once inscribed behind a sculptured 
 group of the Graces — 
 
 " Senza di noi ogni fatica e vana."
 
 CUSTOMS. 
 
 TT^EOM time to time some senile dilettante awakes 
 -*- from his afternoon snooze, repeating to himself 
 a nursery rhyme he babbled many decades ago, before 
 he began the business of life. That business being 
 now wellnigh at an end for him, he has retired from 
 the fray, and has plenty of time for mild literary 
 pursuits. He begins to think of the meaning of these 
 childish rhymes running in his head ; perhaps he 
 cannot remember the exact words. Forthwith he 
 writes to ' Notes and Queries,' and in due course his 
 communication appears set forth (to his delight) under 
 the title of " Folk-lore." It may be somewhat to the 
 following effect: — 
 
 " Folk-lore. — In my childhood I was taught some verses 
 which yet dwell (though somewhat imperfectly, I fear) in 
 my memory. Feeling uncertain as to the precise words of 
 the last line, and as I am positive that I used to hear iden- 
 tical verses repeated in other nurseries at the time, I ven- 
 ture to ask for a place in your columns for an inquiry on
 
 Customs. 87 
 
 this subject, in the hope that it may catch the eye of one 
 
 of those who were children with me, and that he (or she !) 
 
 may confirm or set right my version. The lines are as 
 
 follows : 
 
 ' Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, 
 Humpty Dumpty got a great fall, 
 All the king's horses and all the king's men 
 Could not set Humpty Dumpty up again.' 
 
 My difficulty is this. The last line, as I have set it down, 
 is defective in rhythm (the rhyme may pass). Can any one 
 assist me to the right reading 1 FoGius antiquus." 
 
 The letter elicits many others ; the discussion is 
 sustained for several months, until it is proved to the 
 satisfaction of all, except unlettered scoffers, that 
 Humpty Dumpty was an Aryan hero whose fame is 
 celebrated in many tongues, whose memory is pre- 
 served by many and curious customs among different 
 nations. " Fogius antiquus " is as agreeably surprised 
 as M. Jourdain was when he found that, without 
 suspecting it, he had been talking prose all his life. 
 It had never occurred to him that by his simple in- 
 quiry he should enter a province ticketed with the 
 impressive title " Folk-lore." 
 
 Folk-lore is a field of liberal proportions, and the 
 labour of those who till it is enlivened by many 
 exciting discoveries ; but in discussing certain customs 
 in the following pages it is not proposed to deal with 
 them in a scientific light : it is but the plain, every- 
 day aspect of them, as they appear to an ordinary 
 observer of men and women, that will be dealt with.
 
 88 Noo7itide Essays. 
 
 In ' L'Esprit,' the book with which Helvetius aston- 
 ished and disgusted the world, startling even Voltaire 
 into passionate protest, he endeavoured to trace in 
 self-love and self-interest the motive of every human 
 action and virtue. To this source he also attributed 
 national customs. " However stupid we may suppose 
 the nations to be, it is certain that being enlightened 
 by their own interests, it was not without intention 
 that they adopted the customs that we find established 
 among them. . . . Their most ridiculous, as well 
 as their most cruel customs have always had for their 
 foundation the real or seeming utility of the public 
 good." There is some truth in this ; at the same time, 
 the principle by which some customs are rejected and 
 others adhered to is less apparent than the original 
 motive for adopting them. It might be supposed that 
 man, being a reasoning creature — Homo sajiicns as 
 naturalists with some arrogance have classified him — 
 would have acted with some intelligent discrimination 
 in this matter. There is, however, little trace of any 
 such influence ; he has kept one and flung aside 
 another, with little apparent regard to comfort, con- 
 venience, or decorum. Human beings, especially those 
 of the gentler gender, being, on the whole, conservative, 
 are generally loath to part with old customs, even 
 those which are irksome or which have lost all sig- 
 nificance among new surroundings. Yet are they so 
 capricious that often they allow useful and convenient 
 customs to fall into disuse, and retain those that serve 
 no practical end.
 
 Customs. 8 9 
 
 Formerly, for example, it was usual for non-profes- 
 sional gentlemen, living in a town, to have brass plates 
 bearing their names on their front doors. Only three 
 survivals of this convenient practice linger in the 
 writer's memory — two in London, at the Earl of 
 Warwick's house in St James's and the Earl of Powis's 
 in Berkeley Square, the third, till recently, in Edin- 
 burgh, at the Earl of Wemyss's old town house. When 
 and why did this become discredited among what 
 French novelists choose to write about as le hig-lifc ? 
 Any one who has rung at the wrong door in a London 
 street must have winced before the aggrieved and 
 dignified air of the six feet of broadcloth and plush 
 whom he has disturbed in the study of the ' Morning 
 Post.' Never, or hardly ever, do the servants in No. 
 100 know who lives in 99 or 101 ; and as for the resi- 
 dence of Mr PJser, Q.C., being known to the footman 
 of Sir Gilbert Grandechose — why, the idea has only to 
 be mentioned that its absurdity may be apparent. 
 Whereas another custom which has neither utility, 
 ornament, nor cleanliness to recommend it — that of 
 causing servants in livery to load their heads with 
 white powder — threatens to live as long as there are 
 masters and men. 
 
 Another instance of putting down a good and con- 
 venient custom, and retaining one which, though harm- 
 less and picturesque, serves no useful end whatever, 
 is found in that palace of paradox — the House of 
 Commons. Until recently, so recently that Whips 
 still living (and not only living, but retaining much of
 
 90 Noontide Essays. 
 
 that air — half statesman, half bookmaker — which is 
 the accredited exterior of a Whip) shake their heads, 
 and moan, " It never was so dans le temps" — it used 
 to be an honourable understanding between the two 
 sides that no important division should be taken 
 during the hours sacred to the principal meal of the 
 day. Members were allowed to go home, dress, dine, 
 and sip their claret leisurely, with the perfectly calm 
 mind essential to digestion, and the certainty that if 
 they were back by eleven o'clock, they were doing 
 all that could be reasonably expected of them. All 
 the "Whip's concern was that enough members should 
 remain to keep a House. 
 
 But it is far otherwise now ; so much so, that one 
 who entered Parliament not earlier than the general 
 election of 1880 might be at a loss to account for 
 the indicfnation of an honourable member for one of 
 
 O 
 
 the northern counties of England, who, one evening 
 lately, was stopped at the door by his T\1iip, and 
 pressed to stay and dine. " Dine ? dine here ? " he 
 exclaimed, as the flush rose to his brow. " I have 
 been twenty years in this House, and I've never done 
 that yet. I'm blanked if I begin now I "' and out he 
 marched. That understanding of mutual convenience 
 is a thing of the past. Not only must the Govern- 
 ment Whips keep a house, but they must keep a 
 majority : there is a party of Irreconcilables who, 
 gifted with enviable digestions and palates which, if 
 not the reverse of fastidious, are subject to admirable 
 discipline, never seem to leave the House, and are
 
 Customs. 9 1 
 
 alwa3^s in watch to spring a division when it is at its 
 lowest ebb. No Government has ever yet received 
 a wound, much less a death-blow, during the dinner- 
 hour; it is not possible that any Government ever 
 will do so : herein, therefore, a return might surely 
 be made to the older and better custom, with increased 
 comfort all round, if the House of Commons would 
 only act like thinking creatures. But perhaps that is 
 too much to expect as things are. 
 
 Faithless to tradition as it has been in this respect, 
 how tenaciously the House clings to it in others. 
 Night after night, at the end of business, just as the 
 Speaker leaves the chair, the doorkeeper's stentorian 
 voice echoes through the lobby, " Who goes home ? " 
 A needless inquiry, it might seem to the thoughtful 
 stranger in the gallery, who has been informed that 
 beds are not provided on the premises for members, 
 and observes that preparation is being made for turn- 
 ing out the lights. But that cry was full of meaning 
 to members in the days when Westminster was sepa- 
 rated from London by a fair slice of country. It has 
 come down to us from a time when legislators made 
 up little parties for mutual escort homewards, for there 
 were those infesting the green fields and dark lanes — 
 gentlemen with strong arms and supple fingers — for 
 whom a Parliament man, short in the wind and round 
 in the waist after the manner of his kind, would have 
 proved a sorry match. The day may come — the last 
 trappings of oligarchy having been swept away, the 
 Lyon King-at-Arms having been done to death as
 
 92 Noontide Essays. 
 
 thoroughly as the griffin and the dodo, when heredi- 
 tary pensions shall be remembered with the same 
 chastened horror with which we now behold the in- 
 struments of torture in the Tower — when the stern 
 Eadical, seeking what he may devour, will sweep this 
 ancient custom into limbo also. Meanwhile let us 
 enjoy the faint flavour of romance that clings to it, 
 even while wondering why other customs more useful 
 should have been lost. 
 
 There is one observance in which we Britons have 
 acquired a greater degree of freedom than probably 
 was ever enjoyed at any previous stage of civilisation 
 — namely, shaving. Yet even now shaving in pre- 
 scribed limit is obligatory on certain callings. It is 
 difficult to find any practical reason why domestic 
 servants should be allowed to grow hair on the cheek, 
 but not on the lip or chin ; soldiers on the lip but not 
 on the cheek or chin ; sailors, again, if on the lip, then, 
 compulsorily, on both cheek and chin. 
 
 The history of shaving is a very ancient one ; it was 
 practised in the New World before that was discovered 
 by Europeans, for Torquemada sets our' teeth on edge 
 by describing how the Mexican barbers shaved their 
 customers with flakes of obsidian (volcanic glass), each 
 piece as it lost its edge being flung away and a new 
 one applied. The latest instance of political signifi- 
 cance in the mode of shaving must be fresh in the 
 minds of many people. It was after the downfall of 
 Napoleon III., when the French army ceased to be 
 Imperial and became Republican, that a general order
 
 Customs. 93 
 
 was issued that all military chins were to be shaved, 
 and forthwith the familiar and characteristic "im- 
 perial" disappeared from 500,000 chins. 
 
 For many years before the Crimean War, the mous- 
 tache, in this country, was the distinguishing badge of 
 the cavalry ; it was prohibited in the infantry, and as 
 for the civilian who braved public opinion by sporting 
 it, he was looked on either as an artist, an eccentric, 
 or as wishing to pass for a hussar. But shaving by 
 regulation (little as it may be suspected by those who 
 submit to it) has an origin more serious than mere 
 caprice or love of uniformity. It is the badge of ser- 
 vice ; a survival of the primitive custom of mutilating 
 slaves to prevent their escape, or ensure their recog- 
 nition and recapture if they did escape. The Mosaic 
 law made the mutilation more merciful than it prob- 
 ably had been previously. The proper mode of re- 
 engaging a servant is set forth in Exodus xxi. 6 : " Then 
 his master shall bring him unto the judges : he shall 
 also bring him to the door, or unto the doorpost ; and 
 his master shall bore his ear through with an awl, and 
 he shall serve him for ever." 
 
 As manners grew milder, even this slight mutilation 
 was discarded, and shaving the beard or the head was 
 resorted to for marking servants. Fierce and long 
 was the controversy that raged in these islands during 
 the sixth and seventh centuries, even to shedding of 
 blood, as to the right manner in which priests — 
 servants of the Lord — should shave their heads. At 
 this distance of time there seems as much to be said
 
 94 Noontide Essays. 
 
 for St Columba'.s frontal tonsure — from ear to ear 
 across the brow — as for that favoured at Eome, which 
 eventually carried the day — the coronal, on the summit 
 of the head. The Eoman Catholic priesthood has not 
 yielded to the lax practice of the age ; indeed it is 
 not many years since any Protestant clergyman of 
 these islands, had he grown anything more than the 
 orthodox "mutton-chops," would have forfeited the 
 confidence of his entire Hock. 
 
 Modish young men of the present day for the 
 most part affect the tonsure described by Julius 
 Csesar as prevailing among the Celts of Britain 
 when he first landed — that is, they shave every- 
 thing except the upper lip ; and, on the whole, if 
 the human countenance as planned by nature is to 
 be altered, this seems to be the most comely way 
 of doing it. 
 
 Many attempts, more or less successful, have been 
 made to distinguish man succinctly from other animals : 
 he has been defined as a laughing, a cooking, a read- 
 ing, a writing animal, but perhaps the speciality least 
 likely to be begrudged him was that of a shaving 
 animal. Alas for our exclusiveness ! even that elabo- 
 rate process no longer serves to differentiate us from 
 the lower animals. Visitors to the Natural History 
 Museum in South Kensington may see specimens of 
 a pretty South American bird, the Motmot {Moimotus 
 hraziliensis), which, as soon as it comes to maturity, 
 begins to trim with its bill the long feathers of its 
 own tail, till, by clipping off the web, it brings them
 
 Customs. 9 5 
 
 to a uniform approved pattern, leaving a neat little 
 oval tuft at the end of each. 
 
 When we reflect with satisfaction how far we have 
 emancipated ourselves from the restraints of fashion 
 in the matter of beards, does it not seem marvellous 
 that we still endure the oppressive, though unwritten, 
 law which constitutes the chimney-pot hat to he the 
 only decorous head-dress for well-to-do male humanity ? 
 Woe ! woe ! aesthetic woe to the sons of men ! who, 
 haviilg cast aside one after another the Phrygian cap, 
 the furred hirrus, the slashed bonnet, the knightly 
 beaver, the three-cocked hat, and the feathered glen- 
 garry, have resolved that whosoever will enter good 
 society must bind his brows with the gloomy cylinder 
 of Lincoln & Bennett! None has a word to say in 
 its favour; every one hates it and condemns it. In 
 travelling, the hideous object has to be provided with 
 a special case ; yet for more than three generations it 
 has been held indispensable to respectability. There 
 is a cynical levity in the ribbon which still encircles 
 its rigid circumference, recalling the happy days when 
 a hat-band was a reality, used to adjust the flexible 
 covering to the head. Odious as it is admitted to be, 
 perhaps the most serious objection to it, from the 
 point of view of taste, is the hindrance it presents to 
 any tendency in our other garments to become more 
 picturesque. Every visible article of outfit has to 
 be brought down to the cesthetic level of the head- 
 piece. A chimney-pot hat crowning a tasteful costume 
 reduces it to ridicule.
 
 96 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Only the other day I received an agreeable morning 
 visit from a French prior, dressed in the black and 
 white garb of a canon - regular of the Order of St 
 Benedict. It was pleasant to rest the eyes on a dress 
 that has altered little or not at all since the days of 
 the Crusades ; and as he sat before my study fire 
 sipping a glass of sherry, I felt as if I ought to 
 apologise for not having the recipe for burnt sack 
 or hippocras. Marry ! my shooting suit of modern 
 " mixture " seemed all too vulgar beside his classical 
 raiment. But when he rose to go what disillusion 
 awaited me, on finding that he had left in the hall 
 an unmitigated chimney-pot hat, crowned with which 
 his figure, as he retreated down the avenue, lost all 
 its medieval grace. 
 
 If there is one point on which an Englishman preens 
 himself, it is his personal cleanliness. In this respect 
 he is prone to draw Pharisaic comparisons between 
 the habits of his own and those of other nations. Yet 
 our ablutions are much less elaborate than those of the 
 ancients. The tub has taken the place of the bath. 
 If it were possible for one of the Eomans who 
 garrisoned Britain in the third or fourth century to 
 revisit it in the nineteenth, he would, of course, be 
 amazed at the wealth and size of our cities, and the 
 cleanliness of our streets, but he would not fail to be 
 puzzled by the insignificance of the public baths 
 therein, or even by their complete absence. jSTor 
 would the bathing arrangements in private houses 
 strike him any more favourably. Imagine him paying 

 
 Customs. 9 7 
 
 a visit in a large country house : how perplexed he 
 would be to make use, unaided, of the tin saucer 
 containing three or four inches of tepid water, the 
 sole substitute for the luxurious halnearia of many 
 chambers, which formed part of a Eoman villa of any 
 pretension. A sponge, a towel-horse, a lump of soap 
 — the meagre accessories of the British tub — he would 
 feel to be a barbarous exchange for what he had 
 known of yore. Marble tanks through which flowed 
 limpid streams heated to different temperatures, and 
 often perfumed; silent-footed attendants to conduct 
 the bather from one chamber to another; then the 
 delightful lounge in the tepidarium, where his body 
 was anointed and his hair dressed by light-fingered 
 unctores and aliptce (most charming fellows, who played 
 on the muscles and joints, bringing them all into 
 harmony — body-tuners, in fact) ; lastly, in the public 
 baths, the pleasant loitering with those of his ac- 
 quaintance in the porch and vestibules — for such 
 accustomed pleasures he might long and look in vain. 
 As an institution the bath has passed completely 
 away, though the Turkish hammam in Jermyn Street 
 has its devotees. The people are clamouring now for 
 free education; the citizens of Rome were kept in 
 good humour by free baths. It is difficult to realise 
 that, in a state of society where the limits of class 
 were at least as sharply defined as in our own, the 
 Patricians, even the Emperors themselves, resorted 
 to the same baths as the lowest of the people. Among 
 those who had leisure, it was no unusual thing to 
 
 G
 
 98 Noontide Essays. 
 
 bathe six or seven times a-day. The Emperor Com- 
 modus set the example of taking his meals on a 
 floating table. Bathing, indeed, was only part of the 
 attractions of the public baths; they were great 
 social centres, where all the latest, freshest news was 
 to be picked up. Here the latest lion might be seen, 
 Juvenal's last satire laughed over, or the newest novel 
 of Marius jNIaximus discussed. Here a brilliant young 
 general, fresh from a successful campaign in Africa, 
 might be sure of a degree of attention more flattering, 
 because more discriminating, than the public ovation 
 that was arranged for him in the streets on the 
 morrow ; or another, appointed to a command in 
 distant, cloud -wrapt Caledonia, would receive con- 
 dolence from his friends of both sexes on his ap- 
 proaching exile. 
 
 Of both sexes — for although in most establishments 
 there were separate bathing-places for men and women, 
 there was undoubtedly a great deal of promiscuous 
 bathing. Anyhow, the galleries and palm -fringed 
 courts afforded delightful resorts for conversation and 
 flirtation, ideal shrines for " le petit dieu dont les 
 yeux sont caches et les fesses sont a d^couvert." 
 
 For good or for ill we have separated ablution from 
 social intercourse ; if we want the latter, we must 
 take our chance in a form of entertainment utterly | 
 
 unknown in classical times ; we shall have to squeeze 
 up crowded staircases at midnight, elbow and jostle 
 our way through an elbowing and jostling mob, and 
 try to feel that being " in society " atones for all this 
 
 i
 
 Customs. 99 
 
 discomfort and condones the mockery of it. One 
 looking at the two systems impartially might be 
 tempted to the conclusion that, on the whole, we 
 have not advanced in the science of pleasure ; that a 
 stroll in bath-costume (made as graceful or coquettish 
 as you will) through marble halls " that echo to the 
 tinkling rills," and leisurely conversation in the twilight 
 of oleanders, is better fun than wrestling, broadcloth- 
 clad, with a multitude gabbling at the top of their 
 voices in a Cubitt-built house. One feels how de- 
 lightful it would be just to arrange one London season 
 on old Eoman lines, to return to the old natural hours, 
 instead of, as we do, 
 
 " To make the sun u bauble without use 
 Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce ; 
 Through mere necessity to close our eyes 
 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise." 
 
 While regretting the loss of some customs which 
 we have discarded and repining at the irksomeness of 
 some that survive, we have reason to be grateful that 
 things are not worse than they are. Mesmerisers and 
 thought-readers established themselves among us some 
 time ago, hypnotists are the latest vogue ; but at 
 least the law no longer allows that any woman who 
 happens to be older, uglier, and cleverer than her 
 neighbours may be called on to prove that she is not 
 a witch under pain of being burnt alive. It makes us 
 shudder to read of the atrocities perpetrated by witch- 
 finders and witch-prickers among a fine race such as 
 the Zulus, and we blush as we remember that not
 
 100 Noontide Essays. 
 
 many generations have passed since similar ignorant 
 cruelty was permitted iu this country. Not many 
 years ago I knew an old woman in Scotland who had 
 the reputation of being a witch, prided herself, and 
 traded on it. Undoubtedly but for the protection of 
 the law she would have received hurt from those who 
 believed themselves injured in person or property by 
 her spells. One Sunday I happened to pass her 
 house, which was on a lonely part of the road, and 
 stepped iu to ask for a light for my cigar. She was 
 sitting reading beside the fire and rose civilly to give 
 me what I wanted, laying her spectacles across the 
 open book. " After all," I thought, " she is not as bad 
 as her reputation, or she would not be reading the 
 Bible," and I looked to see what part of the Scripture 
 she had been studying. Imagine my amusement and 
 surprise to find that it was not a Bible at all, but a 
 copy of Lord Chesterfield's ' Letters to his Son ' ! Now 
 this old dame would infallibly have gone to the stake 
 in the days of Queen Anne. 
 
 There are jealous husbands among us still ; law and 
 custom unite to give them due protection, whicli, com- 
 bined with public opinion, has prevailed to suppress 
 the frightful cruelty of certain precautions which, in 
 primitive society, are sanctioned to ensure the fidelity 
 of wives to their lords. It is said, for instance, that 
 among some hill-tribes in India, it is the custom for 
 a husband to cut off his wife's nose as soon as the 
 honeymoon is over, so that her beauty may not attract 
 inconvenient admiration. Among that people the cus-
 
 Customs. 101 
 
 torn is as closely associated with the marriage ceremony 
 as that of the wedding-ring is among ourselves. 
 
 Talking of marriage and its accompanying obser- 
 vances, it is high time to protest against a silly exotic 
 practice which has been allowed to fix itself in our 
 country — namely, rice- throwing at weddings. Old 
 shoes, if you will, though some people might be glad 
 if these unlovely missiles were prohibited at what 
 ought to be a picturesque and is a somewhat affecting 
 moment ; but if anything m^cst be thrown, let it be 
 old shoes, according to native tradition. Pace has no 
 sanction in the annals of Christian weddincjs : it is a 
 pitiful sight to see a bride and bridegroom screening 
 their eyes to avoid the stinging grains ; nor always 
 successfully — for one instance, at least, remains in the 
 memory, of a bridegroom who was laid up for weeks 
 from the effects of a grain of rice in the eye. 
 
 Obviously, this is not a custom indigenous to 
 Britain, though in the country of its origin it boasts 
 a respectable antiquity, dating from about the year 
 1500 B.C., when a certain sorcerer, named Chao, was 
 plotting against the life of a rival sorcerer, a young 
 lady named Peachblossom. Peachblossom being be- 
 trothed to Chao's son, Chao fixed for the wedding a 
 day when the Golden Pheasant, apparently a most 
 truculent bird, was in the ascendant (whatever that 
 may mean). He knew that at the moment the bride 
 should enter the palanquin the spirit-bird would 
 cleave her pretty head with his powerful beak. But
 
 102 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the art of Peachblossom was a match for that of Chao. 
 Foreseeing everything, " when the wedding morning 
 came she gave directions to have rice thrown out at 
 the door, which the spirit-bird seeing, made haste to 
 devour, and while his attention was thus occupied, 
 Peachblossom stepped into the bridal chair and passed 
 on her way unharmed. And now the ingenuous 
 reader knows why he throws rice after the bride." 
 
 So says a writer in the Chinese Times ; but vener- 
 able as the story is in the Flowery Land, there is not 
 the faintest excuse for commemorating Chao and 
 Peachblossom in Christian espousals. Perhaps of 
 equal antiquity, but of far deeper pathos and signifi- 
 cance, is the custom which once prevailed in certain 
 parts of Scotland of including in the bride's trousseau 
 a set of grave-clothes. Of such provision much might 
 be made by the sombre genius of Pierre Loti. 
 
 Having once opened the door to foreign customs 
 in connection with our marriage ceremony, it is hard 
 to say where the line should be drawn. There is a 
 bewildering abundance and variety to choose from. 
 One that prevails, or used to prevail (for it is said 
 the missionaries have succeeded in making it un- 
 fashionable), in the New Hebrides would find un- 
 bounded favour with the disciples of Mrs Mona Caird. 
 It is neither more nor less than the elevation of 
 elopement into a national institution. In that land a 
 girl used to have no choice in the matter of a hus- 
 band ; that was left in the hands of her parents or the § 
 chief of the tribe, who generally gave her to a bride-
 
 o 
 
 Customs. 103 
 
 groom much older than herself. What followed is 
 described by Eev. Dr Inglis in his ' Bible Illustrations 
 from the New Hebrides ' : — 
 
 " As a general rule she lived quietly with him, through 
 fear, for five or six years, till she reached the full vigour of 
 womanhood, when she showed that she had a will and 
 power of her own. She then began to cast her eyes on 
 some vigorous young man of her own age, of that class who 
 could more than hold his own with her husband . . . 
 they then eloped ; a quarrel and sometimes a war ensued, 
 if peace was not secured by a large present being given to 
 the injured husband and his friends. After a year or two, 
 longer or shorter, as the case might be, the woman would 
 quarrel with her new husband, or he with her, and she 
 would leave him and become the wife of a third husband. 
 This was not an exceptional case ; it was the normal state 
 of society. When we came to know the people, we foimd 
 in the district where Ave lived, that among the thirty or 
 forty families nearest to us, there was scarcely a woman 
 who had reached middle life to whom it might not have 
 been said, as our Saviour said to the woman of Samaria, 
 ' Thou hast had five husbands, and he whom thou now hast 
 is not thy husband.' I knew one or two women who had 
 had as many as ten liusbands," 
 
 But our would-be emancipators of women must 
 understand that before they can hope to establish 
 this Utopian state of things the male population must 
 considerably outnumber the female, so that ladies 
 shall be at a premium. In Aneityum, the metropolis 
 of the New Hebrides, where this Art of Levanting 
 prevails, it seems there used to be only sixty-five 
 women to a hundred men, a result arrived at by a
 
 104 Noontide Essays. 
 
 national custom less romantic than universal elope- 
 ment — namely, the strangulation of every wife on the 
 death of her husband, and the slaughter of female 
 infants. It seems, fortunately, as if these restless 
 architects of new-fangled hearths have been born 
 centuries too late to induce the world to try their 
 experiment. Christianity, chivalry, and civilisation 
 have prevailed to alter man's instinctive inquiry, 
 " Wliere is a woman ? " to " What is a woman ? " to 
 change his prayer from " Bring me a woman," to 
 "Explain to me a woman." 
 
 Customs connected with so primary a want as food 
 might be supposed to be enduring, and so they are 
 in some respects, but in others they are constantly 
 changing. Not to revert at present to the question 
 of the best hours for meal-times it may be noticed 
 that the mode of serving dinner has been revolution- 
 ised within the memory of most of us, " To put your 
 legs under a friend's mahogany " is still a well-under- 
 stood figure of speech, but, for all you know, in sitting 
 down to dinner with him you may be putting them 
 under plain deal. The phrase tells of a time before 
 diner a la russe had made the table-cloth a fixture, by 
 removing the joints and other dishes to the side-table, 
 and replacing them by barrow-loads of fruit, flowers, 
 and sweetmeats, a revolution almost as complete as 
 took place when the Gothic conquerors of Italy set 
 the fashion of sitting at table instead of reclining 
 in the Eoman manner. Two country houses, and two
 
 Customs. 105 
 
 only, I have the privilege of visiting, where the carv- 
 ing is still done on the table ; and after dinner, every 
 movable having been lifted, the butler withdraws the 
 cloth, and, with pardonable pride, reveals an expanse 
 of mahogany — deeply, darkly, beautifully brown, with 
 a surface like ice to the eye, and satin to the touch. 
 It is probably its rarity that makes one appreciate 
 this feature in the entertainment ; but certainly, as 
 the decanters slide noiselessly round in their silver 
 trays, the claret seems to borrow a more silky seduc- 
 tion, the old sherry a more voluptuous glow, than 
 they possess on dinner-tables a la mode. One thing 
 is certain, that he is a sagacious host, who, instead of 
 following sheeplike in the ruck of everyday entertain- 
 ers, has the courage to retain some distinct feature 
 like this. It is sure to dwell pleasantly in the minds 
 of his guests, for it reminds them of times long gone 
 by, which always seem brighter and dearer than the 
 present. As M. Taine has observed, "Je veux bien 
 croire qu'alors les choses n'etaient point plus belles 
 qu'aujourd'hui ; mais je suis siir que les hommes les 
 trouvaient plus belles." 
 
 There prevails in our dinner-parties a sad want of 
 sense of the eternal fitness of things. The cookery is 
 far better than might be expected from a nation that 
 boasts thirty-six religions and only one sauce, but 
 there is far too much of it, except for an epicure ; and 
 if you want to play the epicure, then the party should 
 be small, and intent on the same purpose. The 
 Eomans of the decadence brought the art of dining to
 
 106 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the highest perfection. Their parties never exceeded 
 nine in number : professed gourmets, they devoted 
 themselves during dinner to the pleasures of the table ; 
 afterwards, when the body had been cared for, came 
 the time for the exchange of such intellectual refresh- 
 ment as might be had. This was rational. If one is 
 to be sensual let it be set about in a business-like way. 
 Under the present system we confound two things ; 
 we spend lavishly on the material part of the feast, and 
 we arrange it as if it were possible to do it justice and 
 amuse our neighbours at the same time. The moment 
 when your spirit leaps to the knowledge that, in spite 
 of the eleven chances to one against it in a leg of 
 mutton, the gods have so ordered that upon your plate 
 shall rest the succulent disc known a,s the "Pope's 
 eye" — that moment, I say, is not one in which you 
 find it agreeable to enter upon the merits of the De- 
 ceased Wife's Sister Bill with the county member's 
 wife beside you. You feel that you must either 
 swallow the delicate morsel with as little ceremony as 
 if it were a piece of ordinary muscular tissue, or con- 
 centrate all your faculties on its deglutition. Nor, on 
 the other hand, if by some harsh arbitrament of Fate 
 you have been served with the wing of a woodcock, 
 while an uninstructed creature at your elbow in tulle 
 and moir^ ribbons picks hesitatingly at the juicy thigh 
 of the same bird, and allows all the savoury wealth of 
 the trail to be carried lintasted away, can you be ex- 
 pected to respond satisfactorily to the artless inquiry 
 — " If you are fond of lawn- tennis ? "
 
 Customs. 107 
 
 No. Business is business. The Eomans acted 
 wisely in so arranging as to attend to one thing at 
 a time. By all means have large dinner - parties ; 
 but, by the shade of Lucullus ! let there be more 
 elasticity about them. 
 
 " weariness ! beyond what asses feel 
 Who tread the circiiit of the cistern wheel ; 
 A dull rotation never at a stay, 
 Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; 
 While conversation, an exhausted stock, 
 Grows weary as the clicking of the clock." 
 
 Thus groaned Cowper, and matters have not mended 
 much since his day. 
 
 Of course there are dinner-parties, never large, 
 that are as delightful as the overgrown feast is dis- 
 mal; little intimate gatherings, where, amid shaded 
 lights, well -cooked dishes, and well -ripened wines, 
 the golden hours slip by all too fast. But if you 
 want your hospitality to linger long and brightly 
 in the memory of your guests, don't send a string 
 of people down with the nicest attention to order 
 of precedence, even to the dates of the creation of 
 different baronets, ply them not with more dishes than 
 any one ought to, or than most people can, eat — do 
 not give them as much wine as they can walk away 
 with, and withal expect them to be entertaining. 
 Every one who is neither glutton nor dullard groans 
 at the length and dulness of dinners; hence the re- 
 course which has been had of late years to tobacco 
 in the dining-room, saturated with which, and reek-
 
 108 Noontide Essays. 
 
 ing in every stitch of their garments, men condescend 
 to spend a few minutes in the drawing-room with the 
 ladies before the party breaks up. 
 
 There is room for a spirited change in this custom 
 of dinner-parties — for a new departure on the part 
 of some one in a good position and with a good cook. 
 Suppose some lady who has a large London house, 
 and who wishes to entertain, were to intimate that 
 she is " at home," say from eight to eleven, and put 
 2Ktits diners in the corner of her cards. Answers 
 would of course be requested, and the number who 
 would come could be calculated almost to a nicety. 
 Then let the dining-room be set as for a ball-supper, 
 with small tables laid with four or six covers each. 
 Guests would arrive at different hours, the onus of 
 precedence (totally out of place in a private house) 
 would be dispensed with, little parties would arrange 
 themselves at the several tables, and a delicate 
 dinner be served to each. In this way, in a roomy 
 house, it would be quite easy to entertain forty or 
 fifty people in an evening, and the double triumph 
 would be attained of breaking intolerable routine and 
 making the guests enjoy themselves. At least the 
 experiment is worth trying. 
 
 By the by, as we have got on the subject of dinners, 
 how often one hears the title cordon Ueu misapplied 
 to a man-cook. It is exclusively appropriate to a 
 woman, as may be seen from the following extract 
 from the 'Almanach des Gourmands' (1830): "Si 
 les gages d'un cuisinier, et surtout les habitudes de
 
 Customs. 109 
 
 I'artiste, vous le rendent trop dispendieux, bornez- 
 vous au cordon hleu. Faites choix d'une cuidnUre 
 active, propre," &c. The origin of the distinction is 
 well told by Abraham Hay ward in his anonymous 
 and lively work, 'The Art of Dining' (London, 1852). 
 It appears that Louis XV. held the firm opinion that 
 no woman could ever attain to the highest accom- 
 plishment in cookery. Madame Dubarry, resenting 
 this as a slight upon her sex, resolved to convert 
 him by stratagem. She caused a consummate supper 
 to be prepared and served for the king in her 
 rooms : the menu has been preserved to this day in 
 evidence of the truth of the story. It was a com- 
 plete success. 
 
 " ' '\ATio is this new cuisiiiicr of yours 1 ' exclaimed the 
 monarch when this unparalleled succession of agreeable 
 surprises was complete. 'Let me know his name, and 
 let him henceforth form part of om' royal household.' 
 ' A Ilo?is done, la France ! ' retorted the delighted Qyi-ijnseUe, 
 ' have I caught you at last ? It is no cuisinier at all, but 
 a, cuisinihre ; and I demand a recompense for her worthy 
 both of her and your Majesty. Your royal bounty has 
 made my negro, Zamore, governor of Luciennes, and I 
 cannot accept less than a cordon hlea for my cuisiniere.^ " 
 
 Unluckily there is one link missing to complete 
 the authenticity of this anecdote — the name of this 
 great artist does not appear on the roll of the 
 Order. 
 
 A brief reference to yet another custom and I 
 have done. Grace before meat should never, under
 
 110 Noontide Essays. 
 
 any circumstances, be dispensed with, not only be- 
 cause of the high example set us in this matter and 
 the unvarying Christian practice, but also because 
 of historic association (though this is getting danger- 
 ously near the dread province of folk-lore). If any one 
 is disposed to ask why gratitude should be shown by 
 saying grace before taking food, any more than before 
 putting on his clothes, or entering his house, or en- 
 joying anything else that is as necessary to life as 
 food, let him remember that man did not always 
 live in such abundance as we do now ; that his 
 supplies were not always so secure, and that a meal 
 in primitive times generally depended on his skill 
 and luck in hunting and fishing. Can it be won- 
 dered, then, that a man who owed reverence to any 
 divinity at all, fell, in very early ages, into the ex- 
 cellent habit of expressing the thanks he felt at sit- 
 ting down to a good square meal ? To clothes, for the 
 most part, he was indifferent, they were an extra, 
 and he could always fall back on paint; a house 
 also might be dispensed with, so long as there were 
 good caves ; but food — that must be had. So it is 
 an old and good custom saying grace, and must not 
 be allowed to fall into disuse, even if we can find 
 no better expression of it than that found in a manu- 
 script volume of recipes, once the property of the 
 rough-handed Sir Eobert Grierson of Lag — 
 
 " O Lord, ■weir ay gangan and wer ay gettan, 
 "We soud ay be commau to thee, but wer ay forgettan,"
 
 CONTRAST. 
 
 T)EEHAPS there never was a question less creditable 
 ■*- to the discernment of the mind which gave it 
 birth than one lately propounded, Which is more 
 essential to beauty, harmony or contrast ? It is about 
 as reasonable to ask. Which is longer, a mile or a 
 month ? or (to choose a more faithful illustration) 
 to inquire, Which is more worthy of praise, virtue 
 or honesty ? Just as virtue exists not without honesty, 
 so harmony implies the presence of contrast, the ab- 
 sence of which means monotony; and just as a char- 
 acter, in so far as it is honest, partakes of virtue, 
 so contrast is indispensable to harmony, which is the 
 essence of beauty. 
 
 But contrast means more than mere difierence, and 
 is generally somewhat loosely defined. The fine arts 
 being the exponents of beauty, there is a tendency, in 
 discussing its nature, to slide into the use of technical 
 terms peculiar to the arts — a habit which, so far from 
 tending to elucidate, only serves to confuse and con-
 
 112 Noontide Essays. 
 
 ceal sense. This inconvenience is increased when the 
 expressions proper to one of the arts are applied to 
 works in another. Thus the calculated eccentricity 
 of a certain English painter has accustomed the public 
 to the paradox of "symphonies" (that is, harmony 
 of sound) in such and such colours ; we read of 
 pictures executed in a high or low " key " of colour ; 
 while, on the other hand, it is common for critics 
 to praise one piece of music as "sparkling" or 
 " brilliant " (that is, shining, reflecting much light), 
 and to depreciate another as being deficient in 
 " colour." Here is a paragraph from a musical review 
 in the newspaper nearest at hand, published yester- 
 day : " This suggestive subject was treated in most 
 thoughtful and artistic fashion, shaded with pathos 
 and tenderness, and developed into sentences of great 
 character and brilliancy." 
 
 At what point is this licence of language to stop ? 
 As reporting becomes more and more realistic and 
 personal, such piracy of phrase may be indefinitely 
 extended. Thus we may have to read some day that 
 " the right lion, gentleman resumed his seat amid a 
 perfect panorama of applause. In the speech, which 
 even political opponents must admit was a master- 
 piece, his well-known vigour of impasto was not 
 permitted to interfere with sobriety of colour : the 
 fingering in the intricate financial ohlligato was a 
 consummate piece of dexterity, and almost led the 
 audience to imagine that two human instruments 
 were sounding, — an illusion intensified when the
 
 Contrast. 113 
 
 speaker permitted himself an occasional scumble of 
 local allusion. The staccato was well marked, and 
 led up with incisive effect to the stately chiar' oscicro 
 of the peroration, which closed in a grand crash of 
 harmony." 
 
 The Court journalist will revel in this linguistic 
 elasticity : " Lady Lydia Fetterless wore a charming 
 ballad in French grey, illustrated with delicate vig- 
 nettes in pale-blue and pink ribbons. This simple but 
 pleasing melody is the composition of ]\Iadame Mirliton 
 of South Audley Street : and the diamo"nd movement 
 on the bosom and hair was admirably executed by her 
 la.dyshi'p' s fe^nme de chamhre, Mile. Jane Schoking." 
 
 All this, if not mischievous, is unnecessary, for 
 every art has by this time a complete terminology of 
 its own ; and although it would be pedantic to deny 
 that occasionally a term borrowed from a single art 
 has become indispensable to all, yet it is worth re- 
 marking that what is gained for the art which borrows 
 is lost in definite meaning to that which lends. The 
 word " tone," for example, is not only constantly used 
 in painting, but in the compound " monotony " has 
 extended far beyond the arts altogether ; and the art 
 of music has now no precise word to express the 
 sound emitted by a stretched string, to define which 
 the word "tone" was originally formed from the 
 Greek t6vo<; — reivetv, to stretch. In revenge, artists 
 have laid claim to a monopoly in certain words, or 
 exact, as it were, a royalty on their use, as if, which 
 is not the case, such words had been devised by 
 
 H
 
 114 Noontide Essays. 
 
 them. Thus musicians have laid violent hands on 
 the excellent words "harmony " and "discord." The 
 filching of the latter word has been made easier 
 by a supposed connection with a chord in music ; but 
 in fact the real meaning of concord and discord is a 
 far wider one — namely, the union and jarring of 
 hearts. As for "harmony," it is a Greek word 
 meaning the joining of things fitly together, yet it 
 has long ago become difficult to separate its use from 
 the idea of melody. In the "Testament of Love" 
 Chaucer say^« — 
 
 " There is a melodye in lieauen wliiclie clerkes clepen ar- 
 mony," — 
 
 and one should be slow to grudge the clerks the use 
 of such a well-chosen expression ; but the fact that 
 they have chosen well so to " clepe " melody should 
 not be allowed to narrow the scope of the term proper 
 to what is the chief element in all beauty. 
 
 These preliminary paragraphs have the object of 
 making clear that contrast, discord, harmony, and 
 such terms are not used here in the limited or 
 technical sense in which they are often found, but in 
 the essence of their own meaninfj. 
 
 o* 
 
 Contrast is sometimes understood to imply sudden- 
 ness or violence of opposition, but such is no essential 
 part of its nature. Contrast consists in the balance 
 of qualities — those which are absent in one part of a 
 group, organism, scene, or work of art, being present 
 in another part. In respect of suddenness, contrast
 
 Contrast. 115 
 
 posses,ses every variety of degree : for instance, it is as 
 much present when the full chord is struck as when 
 the notes of it are sounded arpeggio or consecutively ; 
 as much in the grey dawn stealing slowly over the 
 dark sky as in the blinding flash of lightning at mirk 
 midnight. Each is part of that harmony, or fitting 
 together, which carries out the scheme of beauty. 
 Human beings, perhaps from impatience for sensation, 
 seem unconsciously to prefer those passages in nature 
 wl\ere the contact of extremes simplifies the contrast 
 and makes it more vivid. The operation of this 
 instinct sometimes brings about results resembling 
 mere fickleness of fashion, due, however, less to a 
 revolution in taste than to altered conditions. A 
 curious instance of this is recorded in connection with 
 a certain beautiful park on the Firth of Clyde, which 
 was laid out by " Capability Brown," the great land- 
 scape-gardener. There is a steep hill in full view of 
 the house, clothed with wood, save where a precipitous 
 grey crag shows its impracticable front through the 
 foliage. This shred of savage nature in the midst of 
 peaceful greenery is a charming feature in the land- 
 scape ; but it was not so regarded by Mr Brown, who, 
 it is said, considered it a blemish, and urged that it 
 should be painted green, so as to look like a grassy 
 slope ! Now, in Mr Brown's day, the surrounding 
 country being all heather and rock, the artist's object 
 in designing the park was to create a green oasis in 
 the brown wilderness ; hence his proposal, though in 
 dubious taste even then, might be more plausibly
 
 116 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 defended than now, when all the land for miles 
 around is under cultivation, and the eye turns grate- 
 fully for relief to the hoary precipice. 
 
 The great charm of water in scenery consists in the 
 wonderful contrast it affords to the solid earth. Your 
 child strays from you in the grounds ; if there is a 
 brook or a pond in the demesne, it is there you will 
 turn to look for him, and it is by the margin that 
 he will assuredly be found. The same impulse pre- 
 vails with grown people. The Londoner's idea of a 
 holiday is to get to the seaside, where lands and waters 
 meet. It would seem, indeed, as if absolute and sud- 
 den contrast were necessary to the highest beauty in 
 landscape. The place where perfect scenery may most 
 surely be looked for is where mountains rise from the 
 plain. Artists know this well. It is not among the 
 restless outlines and unquiet foregrounds of an Alpine 
 valley that great subjects offer themselves. Studies 
 there are in plenty, such as the deep-browed chalet 
 with luscious warm hues among the timber joints and 
 exquisite greys on the shingle roof ; the copious crys- 
 tal of the mill-stream dashing over the wheel, and 
 hurrying away among the mossy boulders below. The 
 grass is nowhere of so clear a green, nor set with 
 flowers of such pure hues, as where the steep moun- 
 tain lawn loses itself among the crowded pines. The 
 effect of all this lavish colour and vibrating growth, 
 this play of falling waters and comfort of securely built 
 homestead, is enhanced by the motionless, colourless, in- 
 hospitable snow-field above. But to imbibe the magic
 
 Contrast. 117 
 
 which transfers to a piece of canvas measured by inches 
 that sense of space which is the true charm of landscape 
 art, the painter must descend to a plain, such as that, 
 for example, lying round the city of Turin. Here the 
 level land, deeply farmed and set with ordered rows of 
 trees garlanded with vines, spreads for miles to where, 
 afar and widely on the north, rises sudden surge of 
 many-crested Alps, Here is not merely the opposi- 
 tion of level plain to jagged horizon, of shadow of 
 flying cloud to sunlit peaks, but something that rouses 
 the fancy as well as excites the eye. Insensibly the 
 mind compares the rich, busy, easily traversed plain 
 with the impassable, barren solitude of the heights. 
 So long as paint and canvas endure, generations after 
 the hand that united them has mouldered into dust, so 
 long will one beholding such a picture be thrilled by 
 the eternal harmony of such a scene. 
 
 Every one deplores the lack of beauty and interest 
 in contemporary portrait-painting, but allowance is not 
 always made for the enormous difficulty to be encoun- 
 tered by our painters, seeing that far more than half 
 the portraits executed in each year are those of men, 
 and that never in the history of the world was the 
 dress of the civilised male so hideous as it is among 
 ourselves. The Chancellor of the Exchequer expressed 
 this well in his speech at the Eoyal Academy banquet 
 last year, when, in apologising to the artists for the 
 humdrum and commonplace subjects supplied for rep- 
 resentation by nineteenth-century civilisation, he said 
 that the impression left on his mind by the portraits
 
 118 Noontide Essays. 
 
 in the Exhibition was that of " a blameless record of 
 duties comfortably performed and of taxes punctually 
 paid." It is doubtful if Adam and Eve, when, still 
 acalypt, the necessity for some covering first dawned 
 on their perplexed senses, can have endured such poig- 
 nancy of shame as must overtake an educated man 
 when he reflects that it is his example that has caused 
 the Japanese to fling aside their delicately tinted 
 silks and exquisite embroidery, and to don the odious 
 envelope of a nineteenth-century European. The bom- 
 bardment of the Parthenon was a more violent, but not 
 a more vulgar outrage upon the beautiful. One is re- 
 minded of a burlesque called " Tlie Happy Land," which 
 was put on the stage some twenty years ago, and the 
 whole town crowded to see. It was a bitter piece 
 of satire on the administration of the day, and in- 
 cluded such wicked caricatures of three of the princi- 
 pal Ministers, made up to the life, that the Lord Cham- 
 berlain interfered to prohibit the performance. One 
 of the characters thus held up to ridicule was the 
 late Mr Ayrton, then First Commissioner of "Works. 
 The Ministers were represented as transported into 
 Paradise ; the scene was aglow with lovely colour, 
 which proving intolerable to the official mind of the 
 First Commissioner, he promptly ordered everything 
 to be painted "Government grey." It is perhaps not 
 generally known that a monument of this policy re- 
 mains to this day. The inner lobby of the House of 
 Commons, which, whatever may be held to be the 
 merits of the style, is at all events a consummate
 
 Contrast. 119 
 
 example of our native Tudor architecture, has fretted 
 walls of stonework and a wooden roof. Some diffi- 
 culty was found in keeping this stonework clean, 
 owing to the smoke from numerous gas-burners. Mr 
 Ayrton settled the matter by ordering the whole of 
 the walls to be painted stone - colour, and the roof 
 yellowish brown, so that the effect now is exactly the 
 same as if the whole affair was stucco and pasteboard ! 
 
 Well, to return to portrait - painting. Broadcloth 
 seems to have spread the same blight upon our can- 
 vas that coal-smoke has brought upon our scenery. 
 Black garments did not prevail, it is true, to numb 
 the consummate hand of such a master as Franz 
 Hals ; but in his day, at least, there was still some 
 beauty in tailors' designs ; even he might have felt 
 daunted if, instead of trunk - hose, his subjects had 
 concealed their lower limbs in shapeless tubes of 
 cloth, and had crowned their persons, not with the 
 broad-leaved beaver, but with the chimney-pot hat, or 
 — grande tufas et rnorte piandum — the billycock. 
 
 There seems only one device (if one unskilled may 
 speak and live) by which portraits of eminent males 
 in this age may be conceived so as to earn such 
 reverent contemplation from posterity as we freely 
 bestow on the works of dead painters ; only one plan 
 suggests itself to cause our grandchildren to recall us 
 as creatures more worshipful than smug railway direc- 
 tors or tobacco-consuming mole-catchers. Of these 
 two ideals, the former is preferable ; for when the 
 reaction against broadcloth brings about, as it some-
 
 120 Noontide Essays. 
 
 times does, a resort to home-spun and suits of dittos, 
 it is a sight to make the angels weep. It is nothing 
 less than a broadcast insult — a posthumous affront — 
 that a man should dare to transmit his portrait to 
 generations to come, unless dressed in the best of his 
 wardrobe. It is a profanation of the art of Tinto- 
 retto and Velasquez — of all the masters who rightly 
 revelled in costly textures and glowing dyes — to em- 
 ploy it on coarse and common fabrics. Ugly as our 
 " Sunday best " may be (and the gods know that noth- 
 ing more unsightly could be devised !), let a protest be 
 lodged in the name of all that is decorous against 
 that ignoble horror of these latter days, the portrait 
 of a country squire in shooting clothes. The doom 
 is harsh indeed which deprives our eyes of the sight 
 of well-turned legs now swaddled by fashion's decree 
 in shapeless trousers ; but more vicious than trou- 
 sers is the knickerbocker, which wrongs proportion, 
 distorts shape, and, in virtue of the material being, 
 as a rule, ostentatiously common, carries an air of 
 hilarious vulgarity, which in portraiture is wholly 
 unendurable. 
 
 No : the day may yet be distant when our tailors 
 find themselves " filled with wisdom of heart to work 
 all manner of work of the embroiderer, in blue, and 
 in purple, and in scarlet and fine linen ; " but nothing 
 is more likely to hasten the much-needed aesthetic 
 revolution in men's attire than insisting that every 
 one sitting to a painter shall wear the best clothes he 
 has. Artists should be resolute in this matter; let
 
 Contrast. 121 
 
 them patiently continue to depict the smugness of 
 black frock-coats and sticking-plaster boots, for we 
 shall never be converted if they fly for relief to rough 
 fabrics and neutral tints. 
 
 What, then, is the device (consideration of which 
 has been postponed to a spasm of honest indignation) 
 by which the spirit of beauty is to be infused into 
 portraits of the disfigured men of this day ? Some 
 means must be found to invest the "portrait of a 
 gentleman " with effects more subtle than those 
 yielded by a black waistcoat and a white shirt-front. 
 Eecourse must be had to the commonest, yet the 
 noblest, of natural contrasts — that of the sexes : that 
 balanced harmony of which the lion's mane, the 
 pheasant's glittering neck — nay, humbler still, the 
 perianth of the wayside weed — are as much a part 
 as a man's beard or a woman's bosom. Thus, if the 
 merit of two isolated portraits of husband and wife 
 be represented by any value you choose to put on 
 them, the merit of a picture in which these two 
 portraits form a single composition is infinitely more 
 than double that of either of them singly. 
 
 A remarkable instance of the delightful result of 
 this use of contrast was to be seen in the winter exhi- 
 bition of 1891 in Burlington House. It was a picture 
 by the Spaniard, Francisco di Eibalta, representing the 
 artist and his young wife, life-size. Francisco, who 
 is fair, with light-brown hair, stands in a black dress, 
 embroidered with the red cross of Santiago, showing a 
 painting to his wife, who is seated, wearing a rich robe
 
 122 Noontide Essays. 
 
 with gold embroidery and white sleeves. She is ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful, very dark, with heavily fringed 
 eyes and massive coils of hair, redeemed from absolute 
 blackness by gleams of russet light. Through these 
 coils has been elaborately plaited a white satin ribbon. 
 Hardly could two individuals of similar age present a 
 more striking contrast with each other — in attitude, 
 in dress, in expression. The composition is a masterly 
 example of the well-known device in heraldry called 
 "counter-changing," by means of which brilliancy is 
 obtained by the division of the field into two parts of 
 different hues, those parts of the figure or principal 
 charge which fell on the first being of the colour of 
 the second, and vice versa. The painter stands, fair- 
 haired, grey-eyed, and darkly clothed, looking intently 
 on the brilliant brunette in light-coloured raiment 
 sitting at ease before him. One cannot help con- 
 structing a theory of the relations between these two. 
 Eibalta seems to be waiting so wistfully for some ex- 
 pression of sympathy for his art — to be hungering for 
 some word of approval or sagacious criticism. It must 
 be confessed that she looks a little indifferently on the 
 picture he is showing her. What might he not accom- 
 plish if he could excite in her something more than 
 polite interest in his work ? Will the fire slumber for 
 ever in those languorous eyes, the fire he used to 
 know how to waken not many summers ago — nay, 
 that he saiv glow so hotly only three nights since, as 
 the young Count Fernandez whispered to her under 
 the oleanders at the Duke's ball ? 
 
 •i
 
 Contrast. 123 
 
 Three hundred years have rolled away since this 
 canvas was painted, and still Francisco stands wait- 
 ing, waiting for the light that is never to shine for 
 him again. Admitted that tliis is all pure surmise 
 (in this particular case it happens to be misleading 
 surmise : there is nothing of revelation in it), the 
 painter and his wife might have been the most hum- 
 drum of couples — he intent on pot-boilers, she wrapt 
 up in narrow household cares, or the petty problems 
 of millinery — yet there is something in the juxta- 
 position of the figures to stir the imagination as por- 
 traits in separate frames never could do. Herein is 
 an echo of the eternal concord of marriage — man and 
 the help-meet created for him, " the melodye in heauen 
 whiche clerkes clepen armony " — not less thrilling 
 because it is in the mournful minor key. 
 
 By the by, it is not more than just to Eibalta and 
 his wife to end this allusion to them by explaining 
 that they were very far from being either humdrum 
 or dissatisfied with each other ; on the contrary, their 
 love-story ran on a high level of romance, as I dis- 
 covered when, my interest in them being excited by 
 the picture, I hunted up what is preserved of their 
 history. It is not the least likely that the artist's 
 wife ever showed indifference either towards him or 
 his art, for she was herself the daughter of a painter, 
 of whom the young Francisco became a pupil. He 
 incurred his master's displeasure by falling in love 
 and carrying on clandestinely with the lovely daughter. 
 Love-making being peremptorily interdicted, the young
 
 124 Noontide Essays. 
 
 painter left the country and worked for three or four 
 years in Italy. Coming home thence to Valencia, he 
 strolled one day into his old master's studio, and find- 
 ing an unfinished painting on the easel, coolly set to 
 work to finish it. The old man, returning, was struck 
 with admiration for the excellence of the unknown 
 painter's work. " Ah ! " he exclaimed, turning to his 
 daughter, " here has been some one whom, if I could 
 find him, I would gladly welcome as a son-in-law — 
 an artist, indeed, very different from that idle dauber 
 Eibalta." How wickedly those dark eyes must have 
 flashed as the maiden explained to her sire the trap 
 into which he had fallen ! 
 
 Would that some of the many scores of couples who 
 sit each year for their portraits would act on the lesson 
 drawn from the Spanish painter's composition ! the 
 interest and beauty of family portraits would tlien 
 be multiplied manifold. Instead of a series of per- 
 sons obviously posed to be painted, hung at regular 
 intervals upon the walls, we might enjoy a succession 
 of realistic studies of bygone lives ; husband and wife 
 — lovers still — playing chess or piquet, or puzzling 
 over their household bills ; mother and daughter busy 
 together in one of their countless common occupations 
 — anything to escape from the dreary impression insep- 
 arable otherwise from a portrait-gallery, that of a wait- 
 ing parlour, full of people showing no shred of interest 
 in each other or anything else, condemned to be for 
 ever dumb and idle. 
 
 With statuary the case is somewhat different. Here
 
 Contrast. 125 
 
 colour is sacrificed to enhance the effect of form ; there 
 is nothing to confuse the eye in contemplation of the 
 contrasts which abound in the ideal human body. 
 Hence it comes that the most beautiful statues are 
 those of single figures, and much of their fascination 
 is owing to isolation — to the contrast of the white 
 unchanging marble, raised above the eye level, Vvith 
 the crowd, chattering, whispering, perspiring, and 
 elbowing through the gallery. It is not often that 
 the presence of living human beings, and the incidents 
 of modern life, serve to enhance the sentiment of a 
 l)icture, yet it sometimes happens that this is so. 
 Two such occasions occur to remembrance while these 
 lines are being penned. The scene of the first was 
 the picture-gallery at Bridgewater House, where the 
 Conservative party assembled after their disastrous 
 reverse at the polls in 1880 to take counsel with 
 their chief, the late Earl of Beaconsfield. Midway 
 between the two ends of the saloon hung a full-lemrth 
 Madonna by Murillo ; it was immediately in front of 
 and below this picture that the ex -Premier rose to 
 address the assembly. Many of those present must 
 have been struck by the singular group thus formed : 
 the colouring of the man and effigy were one ; the 
 same brush might have laid the sallow flesh tints and 
 painted the black raiment of each. The Virgin's pose 
 — spreading her hands over the statesman's head and 
 bending her mournful gaze upon him — seemed to ex- 
 press her concern in what concerned him, and there 
 was little in the restrained gestures and passionless
 
 126 Noontide Essays. 
 
 expression of Disraeli to dissociate living flesh from 
 simulacrum. But this unison served but to accentuate 
 the contrast between the sorrow of Mater Dolorosa 
 and the senator's anxiety for the fortunes of a politi- 
 cal party. 
 
 The other example referred to occurred at the Royal 
 Academy banquet last year. Those who have seen 
 Mr Calderon's picture representing St Elizabeth of 
 Hungary's great act of renunciation, can surely never 
 forget the terrible scene depicted.^ Light streams 
 into a dark chapel from a narrow window behind an 
 image of the crucified Christ, and falls on the shoulders 
 of the Landgravine, who, having laid aside her gar- 
 ments in token of absolute abnegation of parents, chil- 
 dren, friends, and everything else that endears itself in 
 this world to our human nature, kneels clinging to the 
 altar, her dainty head bowed low between her out- 
 stretched arms. Behind her, ill defined in the gloom 
 of which he seems an embodied part, stands Conrad 
 of Marburg, who devised and imposed this mortal 
 sacrifice. Altogether the piece is one of unutterable 
 anguish, only to be endured by virtue of unfaltering 
 faith in the wickedness of the world, and the sure 
 reward for those who have fortitude to cast away 
 the cfood things of this life. Now for the contrast — 
 the strange " uncanny " contrast — presented to all who 
 had eyes to see. This weird picture hung immediately 
 behind the gilded chair occupied by the President 
 
 ^ This paper was written before the wordy controversy about this 
 picture arose, and I am careful not to enter upon the dispute now.
 
 Contrast. 12*7 
 
 at the banquet. On his right and left sat Koyal 
 Highnesses, right honourables, men distinguished by 
 birth, by position, or by achievement, and the feast 
 proceeded with all the luxury that civilisation and 
 wealth enables men to enjoy. As if to emphasise the 
 princess's sacrifice by a living example of the pomp 
 she was laying aside, there was drawn up, according 
 to custom, behind the chairs of the principal guests, 
 a line of scarlet-coated, epauletted, powdered lackeys, 
 whose function is to stand still and do nothing while 
 the company is served by less gorgeous attendants. 
 Far be it from these lines to convey the lesson that 
 stately hospitality is an evil thing in itself, or that a 
 good dinner is to be avoided because there are many 
 who have to go to bed without any dinner at all. 
 
 "We hae meat, and we can eat, 
 And sae — the Lord be tliankit ! " 
 
 But we are none of us any the worse, while we delight 
 our souls with fatness, of being reminded that there 
 have been those to whom the Word of God has proved 
 sharper than any two-edged sword, " piercing even to 
 the dividing asunder of soul and body." Never was 
 this lesson more poignantly brought home than in the 
 manner described above : it was soothing to take 
 counsel after it with an easy-going philosopher, and 
 to hear what comfortable words Xavier de Maistre 
 saith in this matter: "Et pourquoi (mon ame) re- 
 fuserait-elle les jouissanccs qui sont cparses sur le 
 chemin difficile de la vie ? EUes sont si rares — si
 
 128 Noontide Essays. 
 
 clair-semees, qu'il faudrait etre foil pour ne pas 
 s'arreter, se detourner meme de son cliemin, pour 
 cueillir toiites celles qui sout k notre portee," 
 
 To return for a moment to the consideration of 
 wherewithal we choose to clothe ourselves. In the 
 art of dress the right use of contrast is as essential 
 as in any other art, and by observing its laws it is 
 possible to mitigate the evil effects wrought by the 
 prevailing mode. One vital principle to be insisted 
 on is, that no natural feature or limb should be so 
 clothed as to seem a distortion. The chimney-pot 
 hat is, in itself, about as ugly a device as could be con- 
 ceived, yet it is better than the " billycock " for this 
 reason — that by no illusion can one be betrayed into 
 thinking that the head which it clothes is so shaped 
 as to require that peculiar form of covering. Its lines 
 are opposed to the lines of the human skull. But it 
 is otherwise with the billycock : here we have a black 
 dome like an exaggerated cranium, distending the 
 form of the head beneath it in such a manner, that 
 one landing from a distant planet among a Sunday 
 mob in Hyde Park would imagine that he had come 
 among a race of " swelled heads." The dress of women, 
 which has passed through many beautiful phases of 
 late, is liable to similar discordant treatment. Shoul- 
 ders that by nature have a sweet and delicately 
 modelled contour are suddenly concealed — nay, dis- 
 torted — by hideous puffs, made to look less like freaks 
 of millinery than swollen joints ; and the waist — ah !
 
 Contrast. 129 
 
 why will fashion not permit it to remain in appear- 
 ance where it is in reality, just under the bosom, as 
 Ptomney and Eaeburn loved and knew so well how to 
 depict ? 
 
 Orators rarely speak as if they understood the value 
 of contrast, perhaps because very few public speakers 
 ever are at the pains to learn the rudiments of their 
 art, but tumble haphazard into whatever style of 
 speech they liappen to be naturally inclined to. Hence 
 the hums and haws which mar the listener's interest ; 
 hence the unrelieved flow of eulogy or invective, 
 according to the subject. Montaigne tells us of the 
 more cesthetic practice of the countrywomen of his 
 own neighbourhood, who, when one of their number 
 happened to lose her husband, used to assemble round 
 the bereaved one, and, while recalling all his good and 
 amiable qualities, enumerated also his imperfections. 
 " De bien meillure grace encore que nous," he observes, 
 " qui a la perte du premier cognu, nous piquons a luy 
 prester des louanges nouelles et fausses ; et a le faire 
 tout autre, quand nous I'auons perdu de veue, qu'il ne 
 nous sembloit estre quand nous le voyions." 
 
 So it is in literature ; the unrelieved gloom of such 
 a work as Count Tolstoi's ' Kreutzer Sonata ' defeats 
 its proper aim, which is to depict the blackness of 
 guilt. True, there is plenty of black used, but the 
 absence of one brighter touch not only fails to give 
 the full effect of darkness, but oppresses the senses 
 with the intolerable sameness of denunciation. The 
 effective moralist knows how to make use of tender 
 
 I
 
 130 Noontide Essays. 
 
 and humorous passages to bring out true pathos and 
 rouse indignation against evil. 
 
 Unconsciously we derive much of the interest and 
 pleasure of existence from the contrast between the 
 past and the present. But, oddly enough, we invert 
 the relation which would naturally be expected to 
 present itself between them. The formula given by 
 old-fashioned drawing-masters for composing a land- 
 scape was: "Distance — mystery; middle -distance — 
 gloom ; foreground — brilliancy ; " and thus, not inaptly 
 one would think, the scene of history might be sum- 
 marised. The early tradition of our race lies dimly 
 seen and nebulous on the horizon, merging into the 
 shadows of superstitious ignorance of the dark ages, 
 and light increases steadily and lies more brightly on 
 the records of later times. After men have been 
 toiling and scheming for so many ages to compass 
 the comfort of their kind, and to store up riches 
 and knowledge, it must surely be that life on this 
 earth is lighter and brighter than of old. But it 
 is notorious that few people will admit that to be so 
 — none, indeed, except lovers and children, and they, 
 being creatures not in full possession of reasoning 
 powers, are hardly worth consideration. None, that 
 is, that can get anybody to listen to what they say, 
 so we need not take the prophets into account, for no 
 one has ever paid more than passing heed to them. 
 Even a remark on this subject by Solomon himself, 
 the wisest of men, seems to have attracted no atten- 
 tion: "Say not thou. What is the cause that the
 
 Contrast. 131 
 
 former days were better than these ? for thou dost 
 not inquire wisely concerning this." 
 
 " The good old times " hold their place well in the 
 popular sentiment, in spite of all that can be proved 
 against them in the matters of intolerance, violence, 
 tyranny, cruelty, ignorance. Wq sigh with Hood's 
 young lady : — 
 
 " days of old, O days of knights, 
 
 Of tourneys and of tilts, 
 When love was haulked, and valour stalked 
 
 On high heroic stilts, 
 Where are ye gone ? Adventures cease, 
 
 The world gets tame and flat, 
 We've nothing now but New Police — 
 
 There's no romance in that." 
 
 The fact is, that the past contributes beauty to history 
 by contrast with the present. Men and women dimly 
 recognise this, and attribute all the beauty to the past 
 alone. It is not difficult to find an illustration of this. 
 Acts — even crimes — that we should read of in the 
 morning paper with horror or disgust as happening 
 among ourselves, often lose their repulsive aspect 
 after the actors have been long laid to rest. As 
 Theophile Gautier observes: "II se fait d'ailleurs 
 d'etranges revirements dans les reputations, et les 
 aureoles changent souvent de tetes. Apres la mort, 
 des fronts illumines s'^teignent, des fronts obscurs 
 s'allument. Pour les uns, la posteritc — c'est la nuit ; 
 pour les autres — c'est I'aurore." 
 
 " Les aureoles changent souvent de tetes " : for one
 
 132 Noontide Essays. 
 
 person who has heard of EKzabeth of Hungary, and 
 been touched by the sorrow of her livin" sacrifice, 
 thousands have mourned for the fate of Francesca da 
 Eimini ; yet tlie one, in renouncing her earthly crown, 
 fulfilled the highest act of faith, and crucified the 
 affections of the flesh, by yielding to which the other 
 won for herself a place in undying story. Strange 
 justice this ! it will seem the stranger if we reflect on 
 the relative judgment passed by contemporary opinion 
 upon Father Damien, whose self-abnegation was as 
 complete as St Elizabeth's, and the late leader of the 
 Irish parliamentary party, whose undoing has been 
 the same in kind as that of Paolo and Francesca. 
 The first has won for himself unstinted eulogy — the 
 other has been denounced as forfeiting all claim to 
 that position among his colleagues which liis talents 
 had secured to him. 
 
 Less than a century is sometimes required to effect 
 this regilding of tarnished fames. History owes much 
 of its charm to the foibles of great men and the 
 frailties of fair women : we hoard relics, the only value 
 of wdiich consists in their association with persons 
 whose manner of life would exclude them from modern 
 respectable society, and affectionately preserve even 
 the garments of those, from contact .with whom, were 
 they to come among us again, we should bid our 
 daughters draw aside their skirts lest they should be 
 contaminated. Much of the love and regret that we 
 bestow on the past are of the nature of rightful affec- 
 tion ; but much is owing to the fact that it is past, and
 
 Contrast. 133 
 
 is lavished on those things which, were they among 
 us still, would be objects of distrust or contempt. 
 
 I have attempted to show that true contrast is 
 indispensable to beauty, and therefore can never pro- 
 duce discord. Contrast, that is to say, as distinct 
 from mere difference, for there are acts and qualities, 
 of which the very nature exclude them from the scheme 
 of beauty — of which the presence inevitably creates 
 discord. These qualities are mainly two — stupidity 
 and cruelty ; perhaps if this pair were cast out, this 
 would be such a sweet world that we should cease to 
 look for a better one to come. 
 
 " Moreover, the dogs came and licked his sores." 
 The presence of Lazarus at the gate of him who is 
 clothed in purple and fine linen is no true contrast, 
 it is a hideous discord — a loathsome taint in the 
 existence of one who plans and pays for luxurious 
 living, and neither plans nor pays for help to the 
 poor. Is this stupidity or cruelty 1 Is the mind of 
 Dives so lulled by comfort and dulled by an overfed 
 carcass as to be incapable of realising the sufferings of 
 Lazarus, or of perceiving what an ugly footnote his 
 presence on the premises furnishes to the gorgeous 
 text of the rich man's life ? or does he actually derive 
 pleasure from the evil contrast between his own ease 
 and the beggar's misery ? If the latter is sometimes 
 the case, then it was only an extreme instance of 
 what may be commonly observed, that the dehght of 
 possession is enhanced to base minds by the fact that
 
 134 Noontide Essays. 
 
 others have to go without. No man can eat his own 
 weight in much less than six weeks : the motive that 
 makes a rich man load his table with provisions far 
 beyond the capacity of his guests (as is commonly 
 done) is not hospitality but ostentation. A. has a 
 dinner of six courses served, so B. is unhappy unless 
 he can amaze his guests with one of seven. A. cannot 
 afford six courses : B. accomplishes seven, and the 
 only gratification he gets out of the feat is that he has 
 done what A. has to deny himself. 
 
 But stupidity — inertness of intellect, either innate 
 or acquired — is more likely to be the source of Dives's 
 wickedness. Observe, it is neither the poverty and 
 suffering of Lazarus that it is impossible to bring into 
 harmony with the wealthy establishment ; poverty and 
 pain are necessary ingredients in many a beautiful 
 composition. The rich man's gate should be the 
 surest place for the poor man to go to for succour ; his 
 presence there completes the picture. The irreconcil- 
 able discord arises when his condition is uncared for, 
 his wounds untended, except by the dogs. Sympathy 
 is but the action of healtliy imagination, causing one 
 being to feel for and with another. Imagination itself 
 depends on memory and experience ; what we have 
 never known we can only depict in our minds by com- 
 parison with what we have known. Those things which 
 the eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, it has never en- 
 tered into the heart of man to conceive, because they 
 transcend his experience. We could imagine neither 
 joy nor sorrow had we never smiled or wept ; and it is
 
 Contrast. 135 
 
 incredible to those who have not watched the process, 
 how dwarfed or warped the imagination may become 
 in one accustomed to have everything done and found 
 for him ; who has never known what it is to feel a 
 want without the means of satisfying it. When the 
 imagination is slow, stupidity is the result ; when it is 
 warped, cruelty : and it is the peculiarity of these two 
 vices, that they are devoid even of that quality which 
 permits the employment of other kinds of guilt as 
 artistic material. Unlovely in themselves, they do 
 not even by contrast enhance their corresponding 
 virtues. Stupidity is of no service as a foil for wit 
 and wisdom ; cruelty adds no whit to the sweetness 
 of mercy. Therefore it behoves every one who con- 
 cerns himself with the harmony of this world to wage 
 unrelenting war against these two " lothely worms." 
 
 It oufrht never to be forgotten that man is not 
 naturally stupid : he has a reasonable soul, and, in 
 modest recognition of that gift, naturalists have dubbed 
 him Homo sapiens. There are born fools, of course, 
 but these are abnormal cripples ; the law is, stultus fit, 
 non nascitur — the fool is made, not born. But it is 
 otherwise with cruelty. There remains in every human 
 character the core of a savage, vengeful nature, the 
 heart of the predatory animal, dominated and in some 
 degree concealed by Christianity (the one creed which 
 softens men's hearts), civilisation, and education, but 
 neither dominated nor concealed among certain races 
 where these have had no sway. It may be asked of 
 those whose habit it is to extol the past at the ex-
 
 136 Noontide Essays. 
 
 pense of the present, whether some progress has not 
 been made in teaching men to be merciful not only to 
 their fellows but also to the lower animals. A couple 
 of centuries ago — the very heyday of the good old 
 times — it seems hardly to have dawned on men's minds 
 that the sufferings of brutes were worthy of serious con- 
 sideration. Great scandal was caused when, in 1722, 
 the Eev. James Granger preached a sermon against 
 cruelty to animals, and printed it under the title of 
 ' Apology for the Brute Creation, or Abuse of Animals 
 censured.' His parishioners were indignant, and it 
 is recorded that the mention of horses and dogs was 
 resented as a prostitution of the dignity of the pulpit, 
 and was thought to be a proof of the excellent man's 
 insanity. 
 
 All honour to Mr Granger, and grateful lionour to 
 the men and women who work so diligently now to 
 carry on the work he so well begun. There is plenty 
 left for us all to do. Many cruel practices have been 
 put down by law, and there prevails among most 
 people such a degree of tender mercy towards their 
 speechless fellow-creatures as would make Mr Granger's 
 parishioners rub their eyes and wonder what kind of 
 finikin folk we had become. But from time to time 
 one gets a painful reminder that men are born cruel, 
 and that mercy is a matter of education. Many a fair 
 day is darkened by one witnessing a cruel act. Such 
 was one of the first bright mornings of tlie laggard 
 spring of 1891. On a common near London a couple 
 of clowns were observed intently watching some object
 
 Contrast. 137 
 
 in the grass. Four or five decently dressed people 
 had been attracted to look on, and the curiosity of a 
 passer-by having been excited, he also joined the group, 
 only to witness a piece of brutality the recollection of 
 which haunted him for many days. A lizard, than 
 which there is no more shapely or harmless creature 
 (with a pedigree, moreover, that puts to shame the 
 proudest human families, for it is the heir of the mighty 
 saurians of Pleiocene times), had come out to bask 
 in the welcome sun. These trousered monsters had 
 caught it and cut it in two, in order to watch the 
 movements of the mutilated parts, and laughed (Lord ! 
 is there anything so cruel as laughter ?) as the head 
 and tail moved in different directions. 
 
 So these two, cruelty and stupidity, remain, the 
 perpetual foes of sweetness and light, each an intoler- 
 able discord in the harmony of creation. The hatef ul- 
 ness of cruelty makes many people doubt the possibil- 
 ity of eternal punishment. They feel it impossible to 
 believe that God would permit the existence of crea- 
 tures whose whole occupation is to be tlie infliction of 
 torment, or the resurrection of human beings to endure 
 eternal anguish. Let any one who has visited, say, 
 the marble-quarries of Carrara, and witnessed the life- 
 long misery borne by the wretched oxen hauling the 
 heavy blocks, doubt, if he can, that men are sometimes 
 as relentlessly cruel as any devils. Nay, but there is 
 worse than this and nearer home. The following ugly 
 little vignette gives an awful glimpse into that hell 
 which human beings create for each other in this life : —
 
 138 Noontide Essays. 
 
 "William , a labourer, was yesterday, at Cardiff 
 
 Police Court, charged with nuirderirg his wife. One 
 
 witness said that he saw kick the woman twice in 
 
 the back. She Avas then lying upon the floor, and cried, 
 'Oh, don't. Bill ; I am gone.' Another witness stated that 
 
 dragged his wife through the passage, holding her by 
 
 the hands and rolling her over with his feet. He left her 
 upon the pavement, and she died." 
 
 Alas ! this is no isolated instance of savagery sur- 
 viving centuries of civilisation. It was taken from 
 the ' Standard ' newspaper on the very day that these 
 lines were penned. And now, on the very day that 
 they are being revised for the printer, I cut the 
 following paragraph from the ' Scotsman ' : — 
 
 " At the Liverpool Assizes yesterday, before Mr Justice 
 Lawrance, Henry , aged forty-five, a collier, was in- 
 dicted for the wilful murder of his wife, Margaret , at 
 
 Ince, near Wigan. It appeared from the case for the prose- 
 cution that prisoner and his wife lodged with a Mrs Brown, 
 and on the 21st ISTovember the three of them, together 
 with a labourer named George Sturgeon, were drinking 
 more or less all day. In the evening Mrs Brown went to 
 bed, having previously alleged that the prisoner's wife had 
 stolen a shawl. This charged seemed to have angered the 
 prisoner, and shortly after the landlady retired he began 
 to abuse his wife, and ultimately knocked her down, and 
 began to kick her repeatedly with frightful violence about 
 the head and body, finally making a 'running kick' at 
 her, and inflicting a ghastly wound at the side of the head, 
 which caused almost instant death. The prisoner had his 
 clogs on at the time. The man Sturgeon was in the room 
 during the whole time of the assault, and witnessed the
 
 Contrast. 139 
 
 prisoner's brutality, but beyond remarking, ' You will kill 
 the Avoman,' he did not do anything until the final kick was 
 given, and then he went out and told the police. Sturgeon 
 was called yesterday, and when asked the reason of his 
 non-interference, he said it was not for him to step in 
 between man and wife, but he informed the police and 
 left them to settle the matter. The defence was that there 
 was no evidence of premeditation to sustain the capital 
 charge. The jury found the prisoner guilty of man- 
 slaughter, and his lordship, remarking it was manslaughter 
 of the worst kind, sentenced him to twenty years' penal 
 servitude." 
 
 It is, in truth, no delight in horrors that has made 
 me preserve these mournful records, but a deep con- 
 viction of the frnitlessness of babblins; about culture 
 without realising the true nature of what we have to 
 cultivate. It may be urged that these ruffians were 
 under the influence of drink ; quite so, but it is when 
 the will is suspended by drunkenness that the funda- 
 mental nature of the animal reveals itself ; a drunken 
 brute is but the brute ^J^^'s the fool, and the fact re- 
 mains that this is the nature which every evangelist, 
 politician, schoolmaster, or other agent of culture has 
 to encounter and undertake to redeem. The result, 
 however, is even more sickening when deliberate, sys- 
 tematic cruelty is inflicted by a person who cannot 
 plead the miserable excuse of intoxication. It is only 
 fair to that class to which the culprits referred to in the 
 preceding paragraphs belonged, to admit sorrowfully 
 that this horrid vice lingers in all ranks of life. Hell 
 — on the severest evangelical plan — could scarcely be
 
 140 Noontide Essays. 
 
 imagined more intolerable than the anguish inflicted 
 hj the mother whom a jury lately recommended to 
 mercy, because, though she had tortured all her chil- 
 dren for years, and caused the death of one of them, 
 they believed she liad done so with a moral purpose 
 — for the good of their souls ! 
 
 Eationalist philosophers are never weary of declaim- 
 ing against the theologist's doctrine of the innate 
 depravity of human nature, but one need not be a 
 theologian to read in lessons such as these that man 
 is at bottom a savage beast. 
 
 "The stories," writes Mr John Morley, "of the American 
 Archipelago, of Mexico, of Peru, . . . show how little 
 power had been won by the Christian spirit over the rapac- 
 ity, the lust, the bloody violence of natural man. They 
 show what a superficial thing the professed religion of 
 the ages of faith had been. . . . The doctrine of moral 
 obligations towards the lower races had not yet taken its 
 place in Europe, any more than the doctrine of our obliga- 
 tion to the lower animals, our ministers and companions, 
 has yet taken its place among Spaniards and Italians." ^ 
 
 The misgiving must often be felt that much of the 
 time and money we spend in afflicting young souls 
 with compulsory education is not sheer waste. One 
 result seems to ])e the rearing of children to aspira- 
 tions far beyond the humble callings of their parents, 
 and by so much to unfit tliem for lowly duties which 
 must be exacted somewhere ; but perhaps this is only 
 the initial jar incident to novelty. The true end of 
 
 ^ Diderot and the Encj'clopEcdists, ii. 223.
 
 Contrast. 141 
 
 education is to eij^uip the student, not to unfit liiin : 
 surely toil may be lightened to the workman whose 
 senses are trained to apprehend the scale of nature's 
 contrasts, the mighty and grand — as in the contrast 
 of continent with ocean, or floating cloud with massive 
 mountain — as well as the small and exquisite, as in 
 the bursting of scarlet flower from grey bulb, of 
 tender leaf from harsh twig, or brilliant insect from 
 dry chrysalis. There is no room for stupidity in the 
 mind ,that has been wakened to this limitless har- 
 mony, and penetrated by the light of beauty, in 
 which cruelty cannot exist, for it is the dark places 
 of the earth that are the habitations of cruelty. 
 There is plenty of needless suffering inflicted upon 
 animals still ; but any one who remembers agricul- 
 tural life as it was five-and-twenty years ago, must 
 have observed gratefully the greater consideration 
 shown to work-horses and cattle by the present gen- 
 eration of farm-servants, especially in the northern 
 part of this island. Scotland has for centuries led 
 the van of education, and lier people seem still to 
 maintain that honourable place, inasmuch as they 
 display in a greater degree than their southern fellow- 
 subjects that sure token of true culture — gentleness 
 to dumb animals.
 
 CIYILISATIOK 
 
 'rpiS very commonly said (perhaps no assertion is 
 -^ less likely to be disputed) that the age of mir- 
 acles is past ; yet the statement will hardly bear 
 analysis, unless the word " miracle " is used only in 
 a secondary and special sense. Dr Johnson defines 
 it as " a wonder, an event contrary to the laws of 
 nature "; but Professor Skeat, a later and stricter 
 etymologist, only gives "a wonder, a prodigy"; and 
 on turning to find his interpretation of " prodigy," 
 lo ! he can only explain it as " a portent, a wonder." 
 Now, if a miracle is nothing more than something 
 astonishing, something to excite wonder, surely the 
 age of miracles is in full swing ; surprises lie in wait 
 for us round the corner of each new almanac. On 
 the other hand, if we adopt Dr Johnson's alternative 
 interpretation, the proposition is as unstable as ever, 
 for the Doctor himself would assuredly have con- 
 sidered that to travel from London to Edinburgh in
 
 Civilisat ion. 143 
 
 eight hours would be " contrary to the laws of nature." 
 During the whole history of the world, up to his time, 
 the fastest locomotion on land had been by means of 
 horses yoked to wheeled vehicles ; imagination failed 
 to surmise anything beyond what could be accom- 
 plished by the fleetest animals harnessed to the most 
 perfect chariot. Sir Walter Scott was not deficient 
 in imagination, but one has only to turn to the open- 
 ing paragraphs of the ' Heart of Mid-Lothian ' to 
 recognise the author's conviction that travelling had 
 been brought to perfection. When he wrote, "Per- 
 haps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be awakened 
 by the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of the 
 guard of a mail-coach," he evidently thought he was 
 trespassing beyond the verge of probability ; yet in a 
 few months from now these echoes will resound to 
 the clatter and roar of express trains, devouring the 
 ground at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Could Sir 
 Walter see this, wliat could he do but exclaim with 
 one of his own creatures, " Prodigious " ? To him it 
 would appear a miracle. 
 
 But, considered as a mere achievement of human 
 ingenuity and perseverance applying natural forces, 
 it would not be miraculous in the special sense of the 
 term. A genuine miracle must be an act or process 
 transcending and independent of all natural law — an 
 impossibility, in fact. For instance, there never was 
 a time when the Irishman's aspiration to be in two 
 places at once, "like a bird," could be fulfilled, for 
 that would violate what we must recognise as a law
 
 144 Noo7itide Essays. 
 
 which no sane person would spend a single hour in 
 studying to evade, that no single body can simulta- 
 neously occupy more than one uhi. There are doubt- 
 less laws in nature of which we know nothinc^, and 
 therefore have not yet recognised ; feats performed by 
 means of these laws may seem to us miracles, but we 
 have no right to call them supernatural because we 
 cannot trace the action of the law. 
 
 There is no irreverence to Scripture involved in this 
 assertion. We see through a glass darkly ; we know 
 in part. The Lawgiver reveals Himself to us by the 
 action of His own laws, by us imperfectly understood ; 
 that action has in past times transcended or evaded 
 the observation of those who witnessed certain events 
 which We class as miracles, just as the possibility of 
 travelling sixty miles an hour transcended the imagin- 
 ation of Sir AYalter Scott, and just as the nature of 
 the electric current has hitherto evaded definition by 
 men of science : each of these phenomena are miracles 
 in the sense that they justly excite our wonder, but 
 not in the sense that they are supernatural. The 
 firmer a man's faith in the unseen, the firmer must 
 be his conviction that although there are many things 
 superhuman, there is nothing supernatural. It is a 
 redundant adjective ; everything that exists is natural, 
 for nature is omnipresent, and by its laws everything 
 that is unnatural ceases to exist. The most striking 
 rniracle that can take place — the restoration of the 
 dead to life — is not one whit more miraculous or be- 
 yond our powers than the origin of life itself or the
 
 Civilisatioii. 145 
 
 circulation of the blood. So long, therefore, as there 
 remain uufathomed mysteries such as these, so long 
 the age of miracles endures. 
 
 Looking back along the road travelled by human 
 beings in what we conceitedly call the March of 
 Civilisation, what a blundering, crooked track it is ! 
 how much shorter the journey might have been made ! 
 How deeply the ground is trampled where frequent 
 conflicts have taken place ! how many mighty barriers, 
 thrown across it by lawgivers, ecclesiastics, warriors, 
 may still be traced by their crumbling ruins ! " That 
 which we call progress," observes Mr Leslie Stephen, 
 "is for the most part a process of finding the right 
 path by tumbling into every ditch on each side of 
 the way." Can it be claimed that our course even 
 now is less sta2f2ferin2; and blindfold than heretofore ? 
 Consider, for instance, the precautions taken for 
 the physical development of the human race. It is 
 possible that in after-ages our posterity will look back 
 with amazement to the nineteenth century, when 
 people in the van of civilisation freely devoted mind 
 and means to developing the most capable strains of 
 domestic animals, and were content to leave the 
 perpetuation of their own species to utterly random 
 haphazard. The mighty Clydesdale dray-horse, the 
 racer with lungs and legs enabling him to outstrip the 
 hurricane, and the shaggy little Shetland, are members 
 of identically the same species: in the two first, 
 qualities latent in the original animal have been 
 developed by thoughtful selection of parents, and, in 
 
 K
 
 146 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the last, have had to manifest themselves only in the 
 degree permitted by an inclement climate and scanty 
 food. Were the same discretion and control exercised 
 in the preliminaries of human matrimony, instead of 
 leaving them all to the guidance of a proverbially 
 blind little god or the calculations of mercenary 
 prudence, what physical and intellectual miracles 
 might not follow ! Each succeeding generation might 
 excel the last in symmetry, beauty of countenance, 
 the use of all the senses duly balanced by intellectual 
 qualities. Gentlemen there might then be — not clas- 
 sified as such on account of their balance at the 
 banker's or the superficial trick of caste, but because 
 they would be gentle in the strict sense — i.e., men of 
 birth — till in time a mongrel would be as out of place 
 in human society as it is now in a pack of fox-hounds. 
 Disappointment, of course, might be expected in the 
 earlier stages of the system. The offspring of an 
 alliance carefully selected to produce a race of coal- 
 heavers might conceive an invincible desire to become 
 a Court florist, or one destined to excel as a musician be 
 possessed with an irrational impulse to be a member 
 of Parliament ; but firm and scientific administration 
 might be relied on to eradicate these eccentricities in 
 time. Some people may be disposed to think the 
 present Government have allowed a great opportunity 
 to go past when they constituted a Department of Agri- 
 culture by Act of Parliament, instead of setting up a 
 Ministry of Matrimony. However, this is a hazardous 
 subject : it is rather of what civilisation has done for
 
 Civilisation. 147 
 
 us thau of what it might have done, or may do, that 
 it is intended to treat in this paper. 
 
 To resume the metaphor of a march (for which I 
 am in no degree responsible) — one looking back over 
 the line of it may descry in the distance certain races 
 that seem hardly yet to have started, and he is perhaps 
 puzzled to account for their laggardness. Arithmetic 
 is the simplest of the three E's, as well as the most 
 indispensable in anything like business, yet there are 
 primitive races whose language fails to define any 
 proportion beyond duality. Some of the Australasian 
 tribes reckon up to two and no more — every thing 
 beyond that being comprised in a word meaning 
 "plenty." The West Australians have advanced a 
 little further, and by means of counting their fingers 
 and toes, and (in the higher standards) other people's 
 fingers and toes, may be considered quite ready reckon- 
 ers. One of these, wishing to express " fifteen," would 
 say, " Marh-jin-helli-heUi-giidjir-jina-hang-ga'' — that is, 
 "a hand on either side and half the feet."^ The 
 Tonga Islanders are a long way further on, for they 
 not only can count up to 100,000, but have given 
 proof of a highly developed sense of humour. They 
 got bored by the French explorer Labillardiere, who 
 " pressed them further, and obtained numerals up to 
 1000 billions, which were duly printed, but proved on 
 later examination to be partly nonsense words and 
 partly indelicate expressions; so that the supposed 
 series of high numerals forms at once a little vocab- 
 
 1 Primitive Culture, by Professor E. Tylor, vol. i. chap. vii.
 
 148 Noontide Essays. 
 
 ulary of Tonga indecency, and a warning as to the 
 probable results of taking down unchecked answers 
 from question-worried savages." 
 
 Think what a vast interval of education a mind 
 in this primitive state has to traverse before it can 
 apprehend the bare existence of the legion numerals 
 handled by mathematicians, let alone handling them 
 himself. Talk of miracles ! Herein is one far worthier 
 of wonder than the Indian juggler's magic mango, 
 that the dwarfish intellect whose reckoning power 
 fails to apprehend definitely more than " we two " — 
 everything over that being an unnumbered crowd — 
 can be trained to grasp even the elementary measure- 
 ments of science, such as that of the velocity of light, 
 and, thus trained, comprehend the magnitude involved 
 in the fact that the rays which left the star Aldebarau 
 Beta 50,000 years ago are only just reaching the 
 earth now, though they have been travelling hither 
 through the intervening space at the rate of 180,000 
 miles a second ever since. To cause the warm blood 
 to course again through dead veins, or to change water 
 into wine, are more sudden, but scarcely more wonder- 
 stirring feats than wakening the dormant faculties 
 of the mind or turning ignorance into knowledge. 
 
 Ages ago a Phceuician merchant, ingenious beyond 
 his fellows, and overwhelmed by the increasing multi- 
 tude and complexity of his transactions, devised a 
 series of symbols by means of which, scratched on 
 tablets of baked clay, he was enabled to exchange 
 information with traders at a distance. " Behold,
 
 Civilisation. 149 
 
 how creat a matter a little fire kindletli!" What 
 a blaze of illumination may be traced to that un- 
 certain spark ! A faculty took its birth therefrom, 
 second only in importance to articulate speech. 
 Hitherto intercourse in absence had been as im- 
 possible as it is now for a man to be simultaneously 
 in more than one place. Henceforth distance in 
 space and time were alike set at naught; the wall 
 of Pyramus was penetrated; the king's sign-manual 
 commanded obeisance in the uttermost parts of his 
 realm ; lovers' flames were fanned even when their 
 whispers were hushed by distance; and, marvel of 
 marvels, men being dead yet spoke in their own 
 words to countless unborn generations. A man must 
 be in love — a woman must be a mother — before 
 either can realise the full value of letters. There 
 are some who never find themselves in either of these 
 conditions — to whom perhaps correspondence has been 
 so watered down by frequency and by the added 
 importunity of telegrams, that they have come to 
 look on the post-bag as an irksome incident, like 
 shaving. And all of us (lovers and mothers except- 
 ed, lien entcnclu) have suffered indolence to interfere 
 with intercourse by letter. Lord Byron wrote letters 
 not amiss, yet even he willingly shirked putting pen 
 to paper. " No letters to - day," he notes in his 
 journal ; " so much the better — no answers." We 
 are prone to assume that the age of correspondence, 
 like that of miracles, has passed away ; if that is so, 
 it has happened through our own neglect. Letters
 
 150 Noontide Essays. 
 
 are but written conversation : bright, natural con- 
 versation is the outward and visible sign of friend- 
 ship; and bright, natural letters are as delightful 
 and as highly valued as ever — only we are too lazy 
 to write them. Yet what loads of leisure some people 
 have ! How few of the young men (young women 
 must be credited with plenty of industry in corre- 
 spondence) who loll away rainy hours in country 
 houses over the pages of sporting and society papers 
 ever think of taking up a pen to exchange thoughts 
 with distant friends ! Let us pry into the corre- 
 spondence of a member of this envied class, taking 
 care to fix on one who is heart-whole, untrammelled 
 by engagement with any fair — for, of course, the 
 mind of the enamoured male is abnormally active, 
 and drives the quill far and fast. 
 
 It is perhaps the afternoon of Sunday, often a 
 period of self-reproach by reason of the seductions 
 of luncheon all too generous. The golden youth 
 rises from before the fire, yawns, stretches himself, 
 and, asking his host what time the post goes out, 
 straddles off to the smoking-room, observing that 
 lie has a lot of letters to write. This young gentle- 
 man has received an education costly beyond the 
 wildest dreams of the medieval student : he is one 
 on whom thousands of pounds have been lavished 
 to give him the standing of a scholar ; he has means 
 enough to make him absolute disposer of his own 
 time, and is of such station in life where a consider- 
 able degree of mental culture may be expected. Here
 
 Civilisation. 151 
 
 are surely the head and the hand to bring the Phoeni- 
 cian's invention to consummate fruit. Learninsj and 
 leisure, with all the luxurious appliances of a wealthy- 
 country house at their command, hampered by no 
 irritating defect of circumstance — mind will commune 
 with mind ; and as as we prepare to look over his 
 shoulder, we anticipate a real intellectual treat. 
 
 Drawing a sheet of exquisite smoothness from 
 the stand, and dipping a new grey-goose quill in 
 a silver fox-head inkstand, the scribe pauses, biting 
 the feather of the pen and gazing with a far-off look 
 out of the window. His eye wanders over the soaked 
 lawn, which was once the cloister garth of an ancient 
 religious house. Even so in olden days may a monk, 
 wearied with the task of illuminating a psalter, have 
 rested his eyes on the same emerald sward. To tell 
 the truth, our friend is puzzled to remember the day 
 of the month, though that happens to be displayed 
 in large black figures in a frame on the mantelpiece. 
 The mental effort seems too much for him, for, laying 
 down his pen, he pulls out a morocco-leather cigar- 
 case ; and it is not till he has a fine regalia under way 
 that he begins a letter 
 
 -'»" 
 
 To HIS Sister. 
 
 " Carol Priory Soppingham, 
 Sunday. 
 
 "Dear Polly, — Please tell the governor I shall 
 arrive on Tuesday by the 5.15, and will he send a trap 
 for me. Eaining like anything. — Yours, Bob."
 
 152 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Evidently he reserves the confidence, always so facile 
 and full between brother and sister, for their early 
 meeting. 
 
 Before beginning the next letter, some minutes are 
 devoted to reflection and calculation, aided by the 
 aromatic incense of Havannah. Ah ! he is now going 
 to commit to some intimate friend choice thoughts 
 from that well-shaped, capable head. But no; the 
 letter is 
 
 To THE Secretary, Army and ISTavy Co-operative 
 Society, Victoria Street, S.W. 
 
 " Captain de Crespiguy, Xo. 1,291,065," (shade 
 of the great Crusader ! what think you of your direct 
 descendant having to certify his identity by a number 
 like a convict's?) "requests that 1000 c. f. E.C. cart- 
 ridges, No. 6 shot, may be sent to him at Hieover Hall, 
 Huntingfield." 
 
 o 
 
 The third and last is going to be the letter to admit 
 us to the writer's mind, for it is 
 
 To his Friend. 
 
 " Dear Old M^vn, — You wanted to know what we 
 did here. Friday — Cockshot Wood, 5 guns, 720 
 pheas., 213 hares, 30 rab., 2 woodcock, 18 various; 
 total, 1083. Saturday — Bangover Covers, 105 phea- 
 sants, 65 part., 19 hares, 573 rabb., 10 woodcock, 2 
 various ; total, 774. Weather blagard [sic], powder 
 straightish. We don't shoot to-morrow ; there's a 
 
 II
 
 Civilisation. 153 
 
 rotten cattle-show or something. I'm off on Tuesday 
 — Rome. Haven't seen you for an age, I don't 
 suppose we shall meet till about the Derby. Take 
 care of your life. — Yours ever, 
 
 "Bob de Crespigny." 
 
 Alas ! it seems as if the cheapness of correspondence 
 has brought upon it the proverbial corollary. Yet 
 this is an age of copious, if not fastidious, reading. It 
 is still recognised as a duty to society to make one's 
 self as agreeable as may be in conversation. It would 
 therefore seem worth the little extra trouble involved 
 to make a letter as attractive as a paragraph in an 
 evening paper. If it were once realised that it is as 
 much a breach of good manners to write slatternly 
 as to speak curtly, the habit of adequate literary 
 expression would soon be acquired. It is as integral 
 to good breeding to amuse or inform a friend at a 
 distance as to do so to one sitting in the next place at 
 dinner. 
 
 It is easily imagined how, in former times, the 
 arrival of the weekly post must have been a vivid 
 incident in the dulness of country life ; but 
 
 " Born a goddess, Dulness never dies," 
 
 and she seems to have avenged herself for the greater 
 frequency of letters in these latter days by pouring 
 her spirit upon their pages. 
 
 In this country we look back to the latter half 
 of the eighteenth and the first quarter of the nine-
 
 154 Noontide Essays. 
 
 teenth century, as the last period when men took 
 enough pains to write letters worth reading ; but 
 we should be slow to admit that friendship is less 
 prized now than then. Walpole, the prince of cor- 
 respondents, quarrelled with most of his friends 
 except Sir Horace Mann. Perhaps it was distance 
 alone that prevented disagreement with him ; but 
 how full and warm the current of sympathy flows 
 through the letters to the end ! and, but for this 
 art, their friendship must have died early of star- 
 vation. It may be as cynically true as ever, that 
 although any man can say how many horses or 
 cattle he possesses, none can say how many friends 
 he reckons: still — friendship endures; and, while 
 it does so, it is passing strange that the price- 
 less link of correspondence should be allowed to 
 rust. 
 
 At the risk of being wearisome, I must carry in- 
 quiry into this matter a little further. It is as- 
 sumed that, because letters are so cheap and common, 
 they can never be again what they were a hundred 
 and fifty years ago. It is not difficult to imagine 
 what they were then. In a certain Scottish country 
 house there hangs on the wall of the central hall 
 a mighty fabric of appliqvA work, originally intended 
 for and used as a carpet. Chairs and sofas are 
 covered with the same material. It is the handi- 
 work of a former lady of the house, and dates from 
 1767-77. The faithful effigies of hyacinths, crown 
 imperials, fritillaries, honeysuckle, hellebore, tiger-
 
 Civilisation. 155 
 
 lilies, moss and other roses — all the lavish heraldry 
 of the seasons that flaunted in the castle parterres 
 in those long -dead years — still attest the industry 
 of this fjentle dame and her maidens. One can see 
 them sitting round the plum-coloured fabric, stitch- 
 ing away as weeks, months, years slipped by. The 
 part she had to play in life is known to have been 
 the "patient Grizel" business; there remain her 
 letters in witness of it, the ink more faded than 
 her flowers. Truly to her, left to struggle with 
 the narrow supplies allowed her by her selfish and 
 absent husband, the rare arrival of the post must 
 have been an event much looked forward to and 
 greatly prized. But the point insisted on is this — 
 it was not the rarity of it that gave it value, but 
 the trouble people took to make their letters com- 
 pensate for their rarity and cost. 
 
 Obviously, it is the people who meet oftenest and 
 on the easiest terms who most prize each other's 
 company ; so the ease of frequent correspondence 
 ought to multiply rather than detract from its 
 value. It is easy to test the truth of this. Does 
 the lover of to-day treasure one whit less fondly, 
 or read over one fraction less frequently, the daily 
 letter from his mistress that costs him nothing, than 
 the lover of last century, who got a letter but once 
 a-week that cost him eighteenpence ? Does the nine- 
 teenth-century mother's heart yearn less achingly 
 over her schoolboy's blotty scrawls, because she re- 
 ceives in a single morning more letters from her
 
 156 Noontide Essays. 
 
 friends than her grandmother got in six months ? 
 Not a bit. As an avenue of intercourse, a bond of 
 affection, a source of delight, letter-writing has no 
 more lost its virtue than speech has, but by our 
 slipshod ways we let the wine run in the kennel 
 that we used to love to set before our friends. 
 
 As with most metaphors, so fault may be found 
 with that of a march to express the increase of 
 civilisation. In some aspects it is like a stream 
 that has ceased to run in its old channels. For the 
 first time in history, from no cause that has ever 
 been explained, we are without living architecture. 
 In every former age, one desiring to build a house 
 or a church instructed his architect as to the scale 
 of the work, but never thought it necessary to 
 specify the style ; that was spontaneous. In the 
 eleventh century the windows and doors would 
 have round arches; in the thirteenth century, 
 pointed with capitals on the pilasters ; in the fif- 
 teenth century tiie mode dispensed with capitals — 
 and so on. In each age it was assumed that the 
 new building would be in the fashion of the day. 
 Even when that fashion was a renaissance, it was 
 a uniform, well-defined renaissance. Not till Wal- 
 pole built Strawberry Hill and Scott followed with 
 Abbotsford was it evident that architecture had 
 ceased to live. Henceforward pretty and interesting 
 piles might be reared with the bones of the mighty 
 dead (with becoming respect to comparative anatomy), 
 but houses could no more be living fabrics.
 
 Civ ilisa tion. 157 
 
 Modern architects can build excellent houses in 
 any known style: he who pays for them has only 
 to specify his fancy. Hence the hizarre phenomena 
 of justice scowling down Fleet Street from the battle- 
 ments of a feudal fortress — a Venetian Gothic palace 
 trying to smile through the drizzle of the Western 
 Highlands — a timbered, red -tiled, Cheshire manor- 
 house perched beside a Eenfrewshire coal-pit, like a 
 pretty, smartly dressed lady in a dust-cart. 
 
 Signs of flickering life survived even Strawberry 
 Hill and Abbotsford ; there remained till within the 
 last quarter -century a semblance of a style of the 
 day. Cubitt and Haussman may hereafter be re- 
 membered as the last architects whose work car- 
 ries upon it the evidence of its date. After them 
 — chaos: Queen Anne elbows the Abencerrages, 
 King John rubs shoulders with Adelphi Adams, 
 and the niggling confectionery of our native Tudor 
 cringes before 
 
 " Those marble garments of the ancient gods, 
 Which the blaspheming hand of Babylon 
 Hath ii^athered out of ruins, and hath rai.sed 
 In this, her dark extremity of guilt." 
 
 One is led to wonder what kind of sentiment will 
 hang in after-ages round the ruins of the nineteenth 
 century. It has been said that, prone as men are 
 to revivals, no one will ever be tempted to revive 
 the eighteen hundreds. It is indeed difficult to 
 imagine any one studiously reconstructing Bucking- 
 ham Palace (itself a distorted renaissance), nor can
 
 158 Noontide Essays. 
 
 one believe that any degree of antiquity can ever 
 invest it with the charm that hangs over the wasted 
 walls of Holyrood, or even the well-preserved dowager- 
 hood of Hampton Court. 
 
 One thing is certain, — our architects are preparing 
 a pretty comedy of errors for future generations of 
 antiquaries. Massive Norman keeps that frown over 
 English meadows, hoar peel -towers of the Border, 
 dismal brochs on Highland capes, countless country 
 churches and manor-houses — each has an intelligible 
 story for the traveller ; but heaven help him who shall 
 try five hundred years hence to read the tale of nine- 
 teenth-century civilisation by means of its buildings ! 
 
 We do not realise the full absurdity of it now — 
 perhaps it is as well for the tempers of some of us 
 that we do not ; but it will reflect little credit on our 
 art hereafter. A spick-and-span house built in the 
 fashion of a medieval baron's stronghold is a common 
 object on a Surrey heath or at a seaside watering- 
 place. As parts of a detached villa, towers with 
 machicolated battlements and loopholed turrets are 
 really nothing but an elaborate practical joke ; an 
 elisjible seaside residence tricked out with these is 
 about as serious as the men-at-arms in a Lord Mayor's 
 show. Our architects display a creditable acquaint- 
 ance of archffiology, but the effect is not more pleasant 
 than when a grown person affects juvenile airs. 
 
 But however absurd some results of the Gothic re- 
 vival may be, we are bound to be grateful for others. 
 Receiving its main impulse from the skill of Pugin,
 
 Civilisation. 159 
 
 guided and strengthened by the exquisite feeling and 
 noble language of the author of the ' Stones of Venice,' 
 it has taken such firm hold of the popular imagination 
 that each year sees more intelligent care bestowed on 
 our ancient buildings. In its early fervour it was the 
 cause of terrible ravages from the hand of the restorer, 
 but even his work is carried on more reverently now ; 
 and as for pulling down or wantonly defacing — an 
 effectual stop has been put to these. One can hardly 
 imagine a state of public opinion that would allow of 
 such an act being perpetrated as that of which I have 
 lately seen mournful traces in a certain ruined Scottish 
 priory. The south doorway of the nave is of late 
 Norman work, enriched with delicately carved mould- 
 ings : in adapting the building to the requirements of 
 a modern Scottish kirk (presumably about two hun- 
 dred years ago), a deep straight groove was cut right 
 through each side of the arch mouldings, in order to 
 support the gable of a jDorch. 
 
 Certainly one of the pleasanter signs of recent 
 civilisation is a new-born respect for relics of the past. 
 It is a sentiment which may not, perhaps, rank as 
 a moral virtue, but is to be prized, if on no other 
 account, for the keen enjoyment it confers. No doubt 
 the present often jars harshly with the past, yet often 
 it falls into unexpected harmony with it. One spring 
 afternoon I strolled into the gardens surrounding the 
 Cathedral of Tours. The sun shone brightly on the 
 young leaves ; an artillery band was playing ; the 
 townsfolk strolled about or sat under the trees ; the
 
 160 Noontide Essays. 
 
 men, as usual, vying with each other in ughness of 
 attire — the women displaying travesty of the last but 
 two Parisian fashion ; children ran about ; nurses 
 wheeled perambulators, — in short, it was such a gather- 
 ing as may be witnessed on a fine day in any French 
 garrison town. But what has stamped it as one of the 
 fairest scenes in a life's memory is that high over the 
 delicate greenery soared the grey cathedral towers, shin- 
 ing softly like columns of dull silver against the blue 
 vault. Eighteen generations or more have been laid in 
 the earth since these stones were reared heavenward ; 
 rough fellows we should count the builders if they stood 
 among us now, and we should expect them to be aston- 
 ished at our progress, and in that they would not disap- 
 point us : yet it was their handiwork that gave peculiar 
 charm to the scene. The band would have played, the 
 sun shone, the trees given as soft a shade, but the whole 
 thing would have been forgotten as a sleepy /e^c-day 
 but for those cathedral towers, which modern masons 
 misht mimic, but no modern architect could invent. 
 
 With all our accumulated experience we lack discre- 
 tion in the art of enjoyment — seem indeed to be get- 
 ting worse rather than better in this respect, more 
 stupid rather than wise. It is only possible within 
 reasonable limits to touch on an instance of these here 
 and there, but a very obvious one may be taken at 
 random. The hue of gold is that from which the eye 
 derives the fullest delight — not yellow, as of a butter- 
 cup, but the hue of the metal itself. There is in it a
 
 Civilisation. 161 
 
 sense of fulness and richness, a blending of glow and 
 coolness, which the old illuminators well understood, 
 and which no other substance can give. Plainly, 
 then, aesthetic continence would forbid the vulgar use 
 of gold, even after profusion of discovery had put it 
 within every one's reach. On the cupola of St Paul's, 
 on the vanes of "Westminster, on the gates of the 
 Monarch's park — it may be most rightly spread, for 
 these are what we have of most noble ; but it is not 
 reserved for such as these — it is spread more profusely 
 over the walls of gin-palaces than in the royal house ; 
 the panels of every hackney - cab blaze with it as 
 brightly as the State coach : the trade advertisement, 
 the publican's sign — everything that is common and 
 much that is unclean — borrows the lustre of gilding, 
 till our jaded sight loses the sense of what should be 
 matchless beauty, and we derive less pleasure from it 
 than a negro rightly does from contemplating his glass 
 beads. It is a sound canon of taste that places ormulu 
 under the same ban as stucco. 
 
 However, it is idle to repine, for if sumptuary law 
 were ever to be revived, there are perhaps sores for it 
 to deal with deeper than this mere surface irritation. 
 
 It may not be too much to hope that the reverence 
 which is beginning to be shown for ancient monu- 
 ments may be extended to animate and inanimate 
 nature. Hitherto civilisation has dealt harshly with 
 lands and their wild creatures, altering the face of the 
 former and brushing aside the latter to make way for 
 
 L
 
 162 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 omnivorous, insatiate man. In this country the regret 
 that has long weighed on the minds of the few at the 
 sight of devastated landscapes, has at length, almost 
 too late, begun to find expression in the voice of the 
 many. On no question does Parliament show more 
 vigilant jealousy than on those touching encroachment 
 on waste lands ; railway engineers may no longer 
 regard a common as a space intended by nature to 
 have a branch line run through it. But scored and 
 seared and deeply smirched as is the fair face of our 
 island, a similar process is going on in all parts of 
 this overcrowded globe. Many of us are old enough 
 to remember the publication of Mr Gordon Cumming's 
 work on African adventure and sport, describing how 
 he carried out the purpose defined in his preface — " to 
 penetrate into the interior further than the foot of 
 civilised man had yet trodden." His pages reek v,'ith 
 the slaughter of countless pachyderms as well as of 
 elands, giraffes, and lions. The term of a single human 
 generation has sufficed to extinguish these noble forms 
 of life in Eechuanaland ; their existence, is, indeed, 
 incompatible with civilisation, unless by timely and 
 kindly forethought the example of the United States 
 Government is followed in reserving large tracts as 
 as national parks, wherein some of the old world 
 animals may be preserved. 
 
 We may plume ourselves, not without reason, on 
 the restrictions placed in late years on the cruelty 
 of human beings, whether towards each other or 
 towards the lower animals. It is an astounding
 
 Civilisation. 163 
 
 matter for reflection how long the much vaunted 
 " march " went on before it occurred to men that 
 the world would be a better place if there were less 
 suffering in it. Some of the pioneers of civilisation 
 themselves suffered most bitterly. No mortal ever 
 was born upon tliis earth more willing and capable 
 to leave it a better place than he found it than the 
 Franciscan friar, Eoger Bacon. In his day alchemy and 
 astrology obscured the field which was afterwards to 
 be^ explored by the clear lenses of chemistry and 
 astronomy ; yet, hindered as he was by the prejudice 
 and superstition of the thirteenth century, his genius 
 touched the true clue to physical knowledge, and re- 
 vealed to him, as through a mist, the outlines of truth. 
 The vast range of subjects dealt with in his little- 
 known works ; the spirit in which they are handled, 
 so averse from the mysticism and obscurantism of 
 his contemporaries, testify to his unflagging zeal 
 and seldom erring understanding. One has to pic- 
 ture the breathless, reverent patience with which he 
 watched the veil moving little by little aside from 
 the face of nature, to note the masculine fibre of 
 the mind that steered so stoutly athwart the strong 
 current of contemporary thought, before realising 
 how bitter must have been the doom to which jealous 
 ignorance consigned him. His precious writings were 
 torn from him and condemned ; he himself, deprived 
 of books and writing materials, was imprisoned for 
 many years ; the piercing intellect, forced to refrain 
 from observation or research, brooded in silence over
 
 164 Nooiitide Essays. 
 
 the might-have-been. " I was imprisoned," he wrote 
 mournfully in after-years, " because of the incredible 
 stupidity of those with whom I had to do." Could 
 human cruelty devise a more brutal punishment than 
 this ? 
 
 Oh, but it may be said, this happened in the dark 
 ages. Very well : skip three hundred years, and 
 observe the incidents of the "march" just two 
 centuries ago. Sir Thomas Browne, Doctor of Medi- 
 cine, the cultivated and lively author not only of 
 'Pseudodoxia Epidemica,' a work devoted to the 
 refutation of vulgar errors, but of the far more pro- 
 found ' Eeligio Medici,' appears in the witness-box 
 to give evidence against two witches. 
 
 More than a hundred years later (we are getting 
 towards the recent stages of the " march " now) lively 
 debates took place in the House of Commons upon 
 a bill to abolish bear-baiting. The bill was thrown 
 out by 50 votes to 32, although, to illustrate the 
 horrors of the system, the Hon. George Lamb, 
 member for Dungarvan, produced a printed paper 
 (which is still in existence) in the form of a play- 
 bill, having at the top the Eoyal arms between the 
 letters A. E. {Anna Begina), of which the following is 
 the text : — 
 
 "At the Bear Garden iu Hockley in the Hole, near 
 Clerkenwell Green. 
 
 " These are to give notice to all gentlemen, gamesters, 
 and others that on this present Monday, being the 27th of 
 April 1702, a great match is to be fought by a bald faced
 
 Civilisation. 1 G 5 
 
 Dog of Middlesex against a fallow Dog of Cow Cross, for a 
 Guinea each Dog, five let-goes out of hand, which goes 
 fairest and furthest in M-ins all : being a General Day of 
 Sport by all the Old Gamesters and a Great Mad Bull to be 
 turned loose in the Game-place, with Fire-works all over 
 him, and two or three cats ty'd to his Tail, and Dogs after 
 them. Also other variety of Bull-baiting and Bear-baiting. 
 Beginning at two of the Clock." 
 
 It is true tliat the advertisement was at that time 
 (in 1825) more than a century old, but there was 
 nothing in the law as it then was to prevent similar 
 horrors, and the House of Commons refused to alter it. 
 
 This brings the matter down to our own times. 
 Much has been done, but our hands are hardly clean 
 enough for complacency yet. 
 
 Few societies have done more good work than that 
 for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, yet any one 
 walking in the Birdcage Walk of an early morning 
 and seeing the barbarous treatment of costers' donkeys 
 and ponies there, must come to the conclusion that 
 more is wanted than any society, however diligent, can 
 effect. It is a long, flat piece of road, and underfed, 
 over-loaded animals are mercilessly raced along it. 
 
 It is a pity that horses suffer mutely. If they could 
 express their torments by yells as piercing and loud 
 in proportion to their size as, for example, a wounded 
 hare utters, we should soon be enlightened as to the 
 amount of suffering in our streets. Some of the 
 hansom cabs which ply there are admirably turned 
 out and driven, but there are still many whose owners
 
 166 Noontide Essays. 
 
 act on the principle of a minimum of corn and a 
 maximum of whipcord. In one such I was travelling 
 one day : tlie driver plied his whip vigorously about 
 the tenderest parts of his liorse's flanks, and awk- 
 wardly allowed the lash to strike me across the face. 
 The pain was acute, and / did not suffer in silence ; 
 yet for one indirect cut that I received in that jour- 
 ney, the unfortunate quadruped received scores. He 
 received punishment at the rate of about fifty lashes 
 a mile, which, if his average daily task is moderately 
 computed at twelve miles, would give the Indeous total 
 of six hundred lashes a-day ! 
 
 This incident took place in broad daylight, but 
 cabmen's night - horses are indeed a pitiful class. 
 Nearly all of those that are assembled nightly in 
 Palace Yard, when the House of Commons is sitting, 
 are suffering from navicular disease, caused by fast 
 work on liard pavements. You may see the unhappy 
 animals standing with first one fore-foot, then the 
 other, pointed forward to relieve the pain, which must 
 resemble toothache on a large scale, for it is caused 
 by the decay of a bone nearly two inches long in 
 the centre of the foot. AYould society endure horses 
 being worked in this condition if they could signify 
 their pangs as plainly as a tine lady with neuralgia ? 
 
 The barbarity of tight bearing-reins was forcibly 
 exposed and condemned by a writer in 'Blackwood's 
 Magazine' of June 1875, and certainly the excessive 
 use of them thereafter became less common ; but it is 
 still too often to be seen. It would not be seen at all
 
 Civilisation. 167 
 
 if people in general understood the peculiar form of 
 torture produced by it. A pair of fat, well-groomed, 
 IG-lmnds carriage-horses standing in the streets are 
 not subjects to attract commiseration from passers-by ; 
 the restless tossing of their heads may be taken for 
 the sign of pride and spirit : but what heartrending 
 groans could alone express wliat these fine animals 
 have to endure ! Along the top of a horse's neck 
 runs a massive sinew, strong enough to support the 
 leverage of the head ; it is attached to several vertebrae 
 nearest the shoulder, then it runs free over the crest 
 and becomes attached again to the vertebrte nearest 
 the poll. When the head is pulled into the posi- 
 tion decreed by man's vanity, the vertebrae under the 
 crest press hard into tlie sinew, and must cause in- 
 tense suffering, sometimes setting up the inflammation 
 known as poll-evil. 
 
 Christianity and civilisation are both relied on as 
 effective agencies to insure merciful treatment of 
 dumb animals, yet how strangely they are found 
 sometimes in alliance with gross cruelty. To be a 
 Wesleyan minister implies Christianity — to possess 
 a pony-carriage and groom implies civilisatioji ; but 
 while I am revising these pages for the press tlie fol- 
 lowing strange story appears in the newspapers : — 
 
 "At the Godstone Petty Sessions on Wednesday, the 
 
 Eev. , described as a Wesleyan minister, of 
 
 Coptliorne, was charged on a summons witli cruelty to a 
 pony. Mr H. Eentinck Budd stated tliat on the 29th ult. 
 he was opposite the Mission-Hall at Lingfield, and noticed
 
 168 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the defendant's pony-carriage was in charge of a groom. On 
 the front of the carriage was inscribed, * Thy grace is suf- 
 ficient for me,' and on the back was written the text, ' Be- 
 hold, the coming of the Lord draweth nigh.' Observing 
 that the pony, which was five years old, and in good con- 
 dition, was in great agony, and that its neck was arched in 
 an unnatural manner, witness examined it and found that 
 its mouth was covered with blood and foam. Its tongue 
 was hanging out, being perfectly black and hard and swollen. 
 Its lower jaw was discoloured, and its mouth wide open. 
 There Avas an indiarubber bearing-rein fastened from the top 
 of a pad to a Liverpool curb bit, and attached to the ring 
 were two bags of shot, which were afterwards found to 
 weigh 2 lb. 6 oz. The poor animal appeared to be in such 
 excruciating pain that he insisted upon the instrument at 
 once being removed, and for that purpose he sent for a 
 policeman. 
 
 "By Mr Cripps (who defended). He had no objection 
 Avhatever to the text being on the carriage, but he did object 
 to the hypocrisy of the thing. He did say that if the 
 defendant had been a younger man he would have given 
 him a good thrashing. 
 
 " Mr E. A. Thrale, veterinary surgeon, of Croydon, said 
 that, having examined the rein, Szc, he was of opinion that 
 the animal must have suffered great pain. It was a most 
 improper thing to use for driving, being in reality part of a 
 ' dumb-jock,' which was used in the stable to ' mouth ' a 
 young horse. In its place it was a good thing, but he had 
 never heard of one being attached to harness before. 
 
 " For the defence, Mr Eoberts, a veterinary surgeon, of 
 Tunbridge Wells, stated that the same sort of rein was in 
 constant use for driving in Yorkshire. It was a capital 
 thing, and was not cruel, as, being made of indiarubber, it 
 would naturally stretch.
 
 Civilisation. 169 
 
 "■ Bij iJie Bench. He did not know that it contained 
 stout blind-cord, wliicli prevented it stretching liej'ond a 
 few inches. 
 
 " A representative from the makers of the rein was called 
 and stated that they had a large sale for them. It was not 
 cruelty to use them. 
 
 " The Chainncm. T)o your firm recommend them for 
 drivin" in the manner the defendant has done ? 
 
 " Witness. Certainly not, 
 
 " The Chairman said the Bench was satisfied that the 
 defendant had committed a gross act of cruelty, and that 
 there were no extenuating circumstances. A fine of <£5, 5s,, 
 including costs, was imposed." 
 
 Some years ago I was witness of an act of great 
 though unintentional cruelty inflicted by the ignorance 
 of scientific people concerned in the management of 
 an electric exhibition. Among other examples of the 
 application of electric lighting was one to show it 
 in operation under water. A glass globe, filled with 
 water, contained a burner in full blaze, and — a gold- 
 fish. Of course the fish was only put in to make an 
 attractive object, but one has only to remember that 
 fish suffer from exposure even to ordinary daylight, 
 that the whole surface of their bodies is sensitive to 
 it, and lastly, that they have no eyelids — cannot close 
 their eyes — to realise that this was torture applied of 
 more than Carthaginian ferocity. In this matter of 
 cruelty the intentions of this generation are undoubt- 
 edly good, although it seems as if in some respects 
 civilisation had outstripped knowledge — as if we had 
 been travelling too fast to take sufficient thought.
 
 170 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Although we are all ready to take credit for the 
 advance of civilisation, there are constantly heard 
 complaints about the signs of the times. One of the 
 commonest of these is that " servants are not what 
 they were." It would he very odd if tliey were, con- 
 sidering that masters pride themselves upon being 
 very different from those of olden time, and that all 
 the surroundings and manner of life have altered so 
 much. But what is intended to be conveyed is that 
 servants are no longer so good as they were. It is a 
 peevish and wearisome complaint that has been heard 
 from generation to generation. Even such a shrewd 
 observer and frank moralist as Defoe gave utterance 
 to it nearly two centuries ago. Hear his grumble in 
 " Everybody's Business is Nobody's Business " about 
 the servant girl of 1725 : — 
 
 " Her neat leathern shoes are now transformed into laced 
 ones with high heels ; her yarn stockings are turned into 
 fine woollen ones, \ni\\ silk clocks ; and her high wooden 
 pattens are kicked away for leathern clogs. She nuist have 
 a hoop, too, as well as her mistress ; and her poor linsey- 
 woolsey petticoat is changed into a good silk one, for four 
 or five yards wide at the least. Not to carry the descrip- 
 tion further, in short, plain country Joan is now turned into 
 a fine city madam, — can drink tea, take snuff, and carry 
 herself as high as the best." 
 
 But indeed this spirit of complaint is of far higher 
 antiquity than Defoe's day. As a narrative, few 
 chapters of Holy Writ arc more grapliic than 1 Sam. 
 XXV., which describes an episode in the knight-
 
 Civilisation. 171 
 
 errantry of David, the future King of Israel. He 
 comes to the abode of Nabal, " whose possessions were 
 in Carmel ; and the man was very great, . . . and the 
 name of his wife was Abigail ; and she was a woman 
 of good understanding, and of a beautiful counte- 
 nance : but the man w^as churlish, and evil in liis 
 doings." Has it not a familiar ring in our ears when 
 this rich churl exclaims, " There be many servants 
 that break away from their masters noicadays " ? 
 Well, at all events, persists the laudator temporis acti, 
 there was always a wholesome distinction between 
 classes until recent years: the aping of gentility by 
 such persons as have no real claim to the quality has 
 come in since the first Reform Act. That also is a 
 peevish delusion. Here is a passage from a letter to 
 the 'Edinburgh Magazine' for September 1785, which 
 might have appeared with equal freshness in the 
 ' Saturday Ileview ' of last week : — 
 
 " The Avord [/entlcman seems to have extended its signi- 
 fication very considerably within these last few years, and 
 in my memory to have comprehended almost every male 
 being who wears a linen shirt. The (jcntleman, I was in- 
 formed, who had come to take my measure for a pair of 
 black plush breeches, was in the lobby ; the r/entJemaii of 
 whom I had bought some cart harness had, it seems, done 
 me the honour to call when I was abroad (i.e., out walking 
 or driving, not in foreign parts), and had left his name on a 
 card, forsooth," &c. 
 
 The influence under which the minds of men revert 
 fondly to bygone times is not altogether unkindly;
 
 172 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " the pattern of the altar of the Lord wliich our fathers 
 made " must ever be dearer to ns than the latest im- 
 proved design : but to fall foul of trifling failures in 
 social respect, or to imagine a new-born uppishness in 
 wage-earners, betokens imperfect understanding or a 
 dull imagination. It sits with least crrace on those 
 who have derived most advantage from the general 
 advance in comfort and abundance of every sort. 
 
 But to quote Mr Leslie Stephen once more, "We 
 must not cry over a dead donkey while the children 
 are in want of bread," The times have a far graver 
 aspect than any that have been touched on in the 
 random and somewhat trivial paragraphs of these 
 pages. We cannot escape from our own shadows. The 
 time may be at the door when the people shall be so 
 well educated, and shall have learnt so perfectly the 
 art of self-government, that spoiled ballot-papers will 
 be unknown, save such as may be defaced, of signifi- 
 cant purpose, by poetical lampoons on the candidates. 
 But also the time must be at hand when, if the popu- 
 lation maintains its present rate of increase, standing- 
 room on the globe will become a pressing problem. 
 The strain of competition is intense ; capital and 
 labour seem to have thrown aside all semblance of 
 goodwill ; there is an anxiety on the minds of those 
 who have leisure to think that is not lessened by the 
 thought that the administration of affairs in this 
 country depends upon those who have little time for 
 reflection, upon whom the question of a few shillings 
 a-week more or less wages presses far more nearly than 
 
 \
 
 Civilisation. 173 
 
 the guidance of an empire's destiny. There be many 
 who sigh, " Ask for the old paths where is the good 
 way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your 
 souls," and to these it seems almost as if the dilemma 
 were one fulfilling the condition stipulated for by the 
 heathen poet — 
 
 " Nor let the God in person stand display'd, 
 Unless the labouring plot deserve his aid."
 
 MNEMOSYNE. 
 
 rpHE harp of memory has many strings, but none 
 -*- of them all vibrate so easily or so truly as those 
 of scent and of sound. It might be supposed that 
 sight would link us more securely than these to the 
 past, for seeing is believing, we say : to have seen 
 is to know. In Greek — the most exact language 
 in the world — olSa, I know, is the perfect tense of 
 the verb elSecv, to see. Nevertheless blind men have 
 the most featly memories; vision has the effect of 
 distracting as well as of supplying thought. It is 
 the custom of Ministers at question time in the 
 House of Commons to read their answers, so as to 
 ensure accuracy ; but those who were in the House 
 when the late Mr Fawcett was Postmaster-General, 
 must remember how unerringly that sightless official 
 used to repeat long statements full of complicated 
 detail. 
 
 Besides, sight, being subjective, is treacherous. 
 Scent and sound, it ma}- be said, are as truly sub-
 
 Mnemosyne. 175 
 
 jective as sight, and so far might be held to be not 
 more trustworthy as recorders of passing events ; but 
 they differ from it in this respect, that their record 
 is not affected by a sense of i^roportion. The perfume 
 of a rose and the sound of a trumpet seem as power- 
 ful to a grown man as to a child ; but a child looking 
 on a lake, a house, or a horse, is impressed with the 
 size of the object compared to himself : as he grows 
 in stature, the impression grows on a proportionate 
 scale. At middle age a man may shut his eyes and 
 behold the school he left thirty years ago : he has 
 never been there since, yet all the well-known features 
 present themselves as clearly as if he still stood among 
 them. He resolves to devote a day to revisiting the 
 old place ; perhaps he has a son to enter in the same 
 establishment where learning was drubbed into himself. 
 When he gets there, is his recollection confirmed ? 
 Infallibly no. Even if familiar houses have not 
 been pulled down and rebuilt, or the twilight lanes 
 he used to idle in have not been transformed into 
 busy glaring streets — if self-conscious villas and 
 rectangular garden-plots have not covered the hillside 
 whereon he knew nothing taller than the foxglove, 
 or more formal than the breadths of fern — there is 
 a change defying definition. Though not a brick 
 may have been laid nor a tree felled since he last 
 stood there, he is as nmch perplexed as Rip van 
 Winkle. The distances are all false, the heights 
 are all altered; trees, houses, and hedges stand in 
 the well-remembered relation, but everything seems
 
 176 Noontide Essays. 
 
 as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope. 
 There is the cricket-ground, and beyond it the brick 
 wall of the garden ; it used to be recounted as a 
 heroic feat how Buller, one of the under-masters, 
 once made so mighty a swipe to " long on " that 
 he drove the ball right over the wall, and through 
 the roof of the head-master's vinery. Now what 
 strikes the visitor is the perilous proximity of the glass 
 to the wickets. 
 
 No ; it is no longer to the man the same place 
 it used to be to the boy — not the scene which in 
 the interval has so often passed before his after-sight. 
 His own growth, alike in mental scope and in pounds 
 avoirdupois, has made it impossible for him ever 
 to be in the old relation to it again, so as to see it 
 in the old proportion. An early Italian poet, Zappi, 
 sings, "When I used to measure myself with my 
 goat, and my goat was the taller, even then I loved 
 Clori ; " and throughout Zappi's life that goat remained 
 the taller. 
 
 Alas ! if that be so with houses and fields, much 
 more is it the case with faces of friends. A man 
 grows through youth to manhood and middle age ; 
 little by little the features of his associates change 
 as his own change: the untiring sculptor adds line 
 upon line so stealthily, here a little and there a little, 
 that Tom still seems the same Tom to Dick and to 
 himself as when they played in the eleven together ; 
 the same old jokes as of yore show no signs of 
 wear and tear; still, perhaps, to each of them the
 
 Mnemosyne. 177 
 
 future seems as much better than the present as ever 
 it did. 
 
 " I say, old fellow/' Dick says to Tom one day, " I 
 declare your hair is turning grey ! " 
 
 "Oh, I know, dear boy," answers Tom, jauntily; 
 " all my family have that way with them, you know. 
 Why, the governor (bless the old boy!) used often 
 to tell me that he was as grey as the Bass Eock when 
 he married, and he wasn't much over thirty then, I 
 expect." 
 
 Or, perhaps, Tom's eye rests meditatively on the 
 fifth button of Dick's waistcoat, as they stand pala- 
 vering in the street* 
 
 " Holloa, old man 1 " he exclaims seriously, " you're 
 
 not getting a ? " and he passes his finger along 
 
 the line of beauty. " I declare you are, though ; 'pon 
 my sacred Sam, you are ! you're getting quite a bow- 
 window." 
 
 " I ? not a bit ! " returns Dick, straddling confidently 
 and pulling down his waistcoat ; " that ass Stitch way 
 never can cut a white waistcoat decently. Oh, one 
 always puts on a bit of weight in summer, you know, 
 but I'll soon work that off in August." 
 
 And so they mutually humbug each other, and 
 neither of them notes the relentless arithmetic of 
 time, till, perhaps, one Sunday afternoon, having 
 strolled into Tattersall's yard, the naked truth of 
 chronology is flashed upon them. 
 
 " Who the deuce is that nodded to me just now ? " 
 Tom asks Dick— " that fat old fellow there, with a 
 
 M
 
 178 Noontide Essays. 
 
 red face and grey whiskers. Strikes me I know his 
 face, too, but hang me if I can put a name to it ! " 
 
 " Don't know, I'm sure," replies Dick, who is busy 
 consulting the catalogue of to-morrow's sale; "never 
 saw the beggar before in my life." 
 
 Presently the " beggar " comes towards them. 
 " Why, Tom," he exclaims, " I declare I believe 
 you've forgotten me ! Well, it is a long time since 
 we were in Lower Fifth together, still you might 
 remember Harry. And you, Dick — why, man, you'd 
 never have got out of that scrape with the catapult 
 but for me." 
 
 They stand together again — Tom, Dick, and Harry 
 — as they have not stood together for a quarter of a 
 century, and, for the first time, Tom and Dick realise 
 the fact that they are old fogies. Yes ; not a shadow 
 of doubt about it: they have the damning evidence 
 of Harry's appearance to convict them. The sands 
 have been running so silently all the time, the change 
 in themselves has been so gradual, that, seeing each 
 other constantly, they never suspected the mischief 
 that was going on, till, presto ! here is Harry, whom 
 they have remembered as they last saw him, smooth- 
 faced, slim, and eu/coyao? as young Achilles, grown 
 stout, bald, with watery eyes, and the harsli skin 
 of age, to remind them that each of thein is within 
 a few moons of the half-hundred. Things that are 
 equal to the same thing are equal to one another — 
 Dick cannot evade that simple proposition : he knows 
 he is the same age as Tom and Harrv, he sees that
 
 Mnemosyne. 1*79 
 
 Tom looks as old as Harry ; argal — he is as much a 
 fogie as either of them. 
 
 It arrives to all of us sooner or later, softly or 
 suddenly, the doleful conviction that youth has sped. 
 Leisurely lives are often embittered by long antici- 
 pation of coming age, but busier men are oftenest 
 brought abruptly face to face with knowledge of the 
 fact — like Tom and Dick. Poets of all languages 
 have made much of this pathetic crisis. Some, like 
 Coleridge, grow restive under what they feel to be an 
 injustice, that a spirit still young should be doomed 
 to durance in a failing frame. 
 
 " Ere I was old ? ah, wolul Ere, 
 Which tells nie Youth's no longer here. 
 Oh, Youth ! for years so many and sweet 
 
 'Tis known that thou and I were one. 
 I'll think it but a fond conceit, 
 
 It cannot be that thou art gone." 
 
 Poor Villon resents it too, but admits, by the mouth 
 of la belle Hcaulmyere, the hopelessness of the 
 
 case : — 
 
 " Ha ! Viellesse felonnc et fiere, 
 Pour (|uoy ni'as si tost abatue ? 
 
 Qu'est devenu ce front poly, 
 Ces cheveulx blonds, sourcilz voultyz. 
 Grand entr'oiil, le regard joly, 
 Dont prenoye les plus subtils ; 
 Ce beau nez droit, grand re petiz, 
 Ces petites joinctes oreilles, 
 Menton fourchu, clair vis, traictis, 
 Et ces belles levrcs vernieilles."
 
 180 Noontide Essays. 
 
 But Alfred de Musset, too gentle to resist, mournfully 
 shakes his wise head and sighs : — 
 
 "Qu'ai-je faif? qu'ai-je appris? le temps est si rapiclc, 
 L'enfant marche joyeux sans songeant au chemin; 
 II le croit infini n'en voyant pas la fin. 
 Tout a coup il rencontre un source limpide, 
 II s'arrete, il se penche, il s'y voit tin veillard." 
 
 If eyes are such treacherous witnesses of what is 
 passing daily before them, it follows that their evi- 
 dence must ever be an untrustworthy basis of memory. 
 What service were his eyes to George Eomney in 
 preparing him to meet again the wife he had deserted 
 thirty-seven years ago ? They had learnt in the in- 
 terval to dwell on the figures and features of all the 
 smart ladies who had sat to him ; to revel in the 
 statuesque poses of the " Mistress of the Attitudes," 
 Lady Hamilton — how could they retain a faithful 
 picture of the rustic Westmoreland lass, as she was 
 when he first loved her ? how much less could they 
 help him to recognise her in the homely grey-haired 
 dame, to whose forgiving care he committed himself, 
 broken with disease, when fine-weather friends forgot 
 him ? 
 
 The untrustworthiness of eyesight arises from its 
 subjectivity. All the senses, indeed, are subjective, 
 but some are not so easily betrayed as others. The 
 senses of smell and hearing are vigilant sentries; 
 nothing stirs memory more surely than a perfume. 
 Eevisit after long absence a house once well known, 
 and though rooms may have been repapered and re-
 
 Mnemosyne. 181 
 
 painted, though the familiar furniture may have had 
 to make way for the latest freaks of upholstery, though 
 new pictures hang on the walls and strange voices 
 echo through the corridors — still there hangs about it 
 the same odour, peculiar to that house and to no other, 
 recalling countless associations that no unaided feat 
 of cogitation could renew. 
 
 Although this is all too well known to hear repeti- 
 tion, and is alluded to here, not as the result of ob- 
 servation, but as what every one is familiar with, yet 
 no one has ever exj^lained why every house possesses 
 its own distinguishing scent, differing from that of all 
 other houses as indescribably yet as perceptibly as 
 the timbre of one human voice differs from all others. 
 This is probably the case even in those houses where 
 uniformity of character and circumstance produce 
 identically the same impression on the olfactory nerves 
 of the casual stranger entering them. 
 
 Horace Walpole complains to one of his corre- 
 si^ondents of the monotony of town architecture and 
 furniture in his day. He says he never can tell at 
 any moment whether he is in the house he is in, or 
 in the one he has just come out of. But this could 
 only be true of those houses where he was an infre- 
 quent caller, for his keen observation would soon 
 have enabled him to detect individuality in the at- 
 mosphere of each. This aura is distinct from tlie 
 well-known smells dominant in different classes of 
 dwellings, such as the odour of " peat-reek " impreg- 
 nating the cottages of the north ; while in some parts
 
 182 Noontide Essays. 
 
 of England houses of that class are redolent of bacon, 
 in other parts of apples. In like manner, in a certain 
 class of small town-houses, lodging-houses, and the 
 lesser orade of suburban villas, the visitor is certain 
 to encounter the smell of roast mutton. This is as 
 sure to happen as that he will be stung if he kicks 
 over a bee-hive. If he dislikes pain he had better 
 give the bee-hive a wide berth ; if he objects to the 
 smell of mutton he should keep outside houses of this 
 description, for there it has been, is, and will be for 
 evermore. It would make no difference could it be 
 proved that mutton had not been cooked in the house 
 for a mouth, or that the whole household lived upon 
 herbs — that scent is indigenous to buildings of this class, 
 and is altogether independent of domestic incidents. 
 
 But assuredly there is a subtler aroma which the 
 chance visitor cannot perceive. The peat-smoke, the 
 bacon, the apples, roast mutton itself, but produce the 
 dominant air ; along with each there runs a delicate 
 dbUigato, touching the sense of any one who has lived 
 or loved or suffered in that dwelling, and evoking 
 ghosts with which the grosser effluvia have nothing 
 to do. Any one can prove this for himself. If there 
 is one room in any country-house, that is likely to 
 smell the same as the corresponding room in another 
 country-house, is it not the smoking-room ? Enter 
 half-a-dozen smoking-rooms in the course of an after- 
 noon, or as many as you can that are invested with 
 associations for you, and say if there is not a difference 
 between the smell of each. Of course they all smell
 
 Mnemosyne. 183 
 
 of tobacco ; but if you are not struck by the characteris- 
 tic odour of each — the second scent — if you are not 
 thrilled by a host of bygones, if you do not hear the 
 voices of the dead as though death itself was no more, 
 if you cannot feel the warm clasp of lingers long since 
 fleshless, nor see bald pates once more covered with 
 shining curls, — then you should take immediate pre- 
 cautions against creeping paralysis, locomotor ataxy, 
 or premature senile debility. 
 
 ^Perhaps, after all, you need not take alarm ; modern 
 methods have tended in some respects to modify and 
 disarrange the importance of the senses. No one 
 thinks of cultivating the nose, although no trouble 
 and expense is spared in training the ear and edu- 
 cating the eye ; as an avenue of understanding and 
 enjoyment, the faculty of smell is utterly ignored in 
 our scheme of education. When Jacob the supplanter 
 stood by the sick-bed of his blind sire, we read how 
 Israel thought he recognised the odour of his first- 
 born, and it pleased him. " See," he said, " the smell 
 of my son is as the smell of a field which the Lord 
 hath blessed." Modern prudery recoils from such a 
 mode of reognition, simply because modern noses have 
 been allowed to grow insensible to all except pungent 
 or overpowering smells. Eightly trained, the sense 
 of smell would indefinitely extend our tt'Sthetic per- 
 ception, and we might even learn to derive pleasure 
 from some of the odours which our untutored faculties 
 now make us consider unpleasant. The mere smell 
 of kid gloves prevails to send the writer of these lines
 
 184 Noontide Essays. 
 
 into a tender ecstasy, in virtue of its association with 
 a dancing academy, where, in his earliest teens, he 
 lost his heart to a pink-cheeked maiden. 
 
 But enough of smells for the present ; as a subject 
 for special study, there prevails as yet in genteel 
 circles a remarkable degree of prejudice against them. 
 Sound, however, is under no such ban ; all properly 
 instructed people smile at the Scottish country gentle- 
 man who was kept awake by the nightingales the 
 first night he spent at Florence, and complained that 
 "he couldua sleep for the roarin' of some beasts 
 in the bushes ; " and sound has a connection with 
 memory almost as intimate as scent has. As I write 
 these lines, I hear under the window a strain that stirs 
 a different train of recollection from that awakened by 
 the blackbirds and thrushes which conspire to mono- 
 polise this month of March. It is the wintry little song 
 of the robin, and it carries me back over a score of 
 autumns to one bright October morning, keen with 
 the nip of earliest frost, rich with newly stored stack- 
 yards, and radiant with splendour of changing woods. 
 
 I am once more in the noblest of all the English 
 counties, Northumberland, more lavish than all the 
 others in charms for the lover of scenery and of history 
 — for the devotee of rod, of gun, or of boot and saddle. 
 Yes — Meltoniaus must not snort disdain at this 
 assertion ; it is not intended to draw a presumptuous 
 comparison between Belford enclosures and Ashwell 
 pastures — between Coquetdale and Whissendine : yet 
 these north-country foxes take a lot of catching,
 
 Mnemosyne. 185 
 
 having, indeed, the knack of running straight in a 
 degree not always conspicuous in their southern 
 kindred. It needs a stout heart beneath his waist- 
 coat, quick eyes under his hat, and a well-bred nag 
 between his knees, to keep a man on terms with the 
 Tynedale or Morpeth packs when scent lies hot on 
 the Border uplands. Those who have conned the 
 pages of Nimrod's ' iSTorthern Tour ' may have learnt 
 that hounds can race and men will follow in latitudes 
 far north of the classical shires. It is in Northumber- 
 land more than in any other county that hunting, 
 shooting, and fishing of excellent quality exist side 
 by side. 
 
 I retrace my steps on that far-off October morning, 
 till I stand, rod in hand, and cased to the armpits 
 in waders, where Tyne rolls his dark flood between 
 Bellingham and Wark. I was to begin that day on 
 the Doctor's Stream, which laves the foot of the 
 doctor's garden ; for the said doctor (peace be to his 
 kindly soul !), though a keen fisher, never used to turn 
 out before mid-day, and, having none of the angler's 
 proverbial jealousy, cared not though liis stream had 
 been whipped over before he came to it ; he was 
 pretty sure to show as good a record as any one who 
 had preceded him. Perhaps the secret lay in the 
 doctor's peculiar style of fishing. ]\Iost salmon-fishers 
 believe in a low point and a sunk fiy, in single gut 
 (except in heavy water), in frequent changes of fly, 
 and in using only one fly at a time. ISTot so the 
 doctor : in sunshine as in shade, this original always
 
 186 Noontide Essays. 
 
 used unstained treble gut, and fished with two flies of 
 an unvarying pattern on his cast, very bushy, witli 
 grey wool bodies and long upright wings made of 
 dyed feathers, resembling no living thing in the 
 heaven above, or on the earth beneath, or in the 
 waters under the earth. These extraordinary com- 
 positions he used to fling out at right angles to the 
 stream, and, holding aloft his rod, draw them towards 
 him along the surface of the water. That this 
 heterodox method did not prove so unprofitable as by 
 all the canons of angling it should have done, may be 
 judged from the fact that at the time of this, my first 
 visit to iSTorth Tyne, the doctor had already scored 
 upwards of one hundred and fifty salmon during the 
 season. 
 
 Well, to return to my own proceedings : of course 
 there was the usual argument with the attendant who 
 " knew the water " as to the best fly to use. Salmon- 
 fishing would be reft of half its delightful mystery if 
 fishermen allowed common-sense to persuade them 
 that, inasmuch as their lures must pass between the 
 fish and the light, almost all theory about the colour 
 of flies must be utterly illusory. Eobert Eobson 
 (would that type could represent the exquisite Nor- 
 thumbrian burr in his name !) was loyal to the time- 
 honoured patterns — the dun turkey and grey mallard ; 
 I, on the other hand, had made it a rule wherever I 
 went to put up flies as different as possible from those 
 locally in use, thereby, as may be supposed, often 
 incurring thinly veiled contempt for my ignorance.
 
 Mnemosyne. 187 
 
 As in those days dull and neutral tints were held 
 sacred on most rivers, it followed that my polychrome 
 collection used grievously to scandalise responsible 
 riparian authorities. Eobson fingered the Jock Scotts, 
 Pophams, Silver-greys, and other masterpieces, with 
 an indulgent disdain which even his excellent manners 
 could not conceal. Finally he closed the box and 
 remarked, as he drew a stained envelope from his 
 breast-pocket, " The wetter is rayther small, sir, and 
 th-e sun is vorry braight to-day ; I would advaise you 
 to try a small flee I have here," and he handed me a 
 dingy, mean-looking insect about an inch long. " Our 
 fish does not seem to heed the gaedy Irish flees," 
 he continued, as I fingered the native manufacture 
 fastidiously, trying in vain to smooth its hackle into 
 some sort of symmetry ; " I never seen any good 
 come of using the like." 
 
 However, I had the fortitude or irreverence to put 
 up a small Poynder of my own, and was soon up to 
 my middle at the head of this fine stream, stretching 
 the line bravely over what Robson assured me was 
 a " vorry smittle [sure] place." Pish were showing 
 themselves all over the pool. I could see them 
 plvmging like round-shot as far down as the bend 
 where, a quarter of a mile below, the river wound 
 out of sight between high wooded banks ; but although 
 I fished most carefully over three or four that were 
 rising close by, they paid no attention to the fly. At 
 the end of twenty minutes or so, Robson called out 
 from the bank that I should take off the stranger
 
 188 Noontide Essays. 
 
 and try them with the " din tor-r-rkey " ; but I 
 replied, tliough with secret misgiving, that a fish 
 which wonld not look at a Poynder would not look 
 at anything. By this time I had fished a hundred 
 yards down the stream : the current ran more lan- 
 guidly, and the surface seemed oily in the strong 
 sunshine ; the likeliest water was behind me. I 
 noticed a dimple behind the fly, as if an over-curious 
 troutlet had followed it round, when suddenly the 
 line stopped — then came tlie well-known elastic drag, 
 the reel spun round, and I was fast in a fish. 
 
 How different is the run of a salmon in a wide 
 river with plenty of elbow-room, from the half-hearted 
 struggles of one liooked in a narrow channel where he 
 is from first to last under the point of the rod ! This 
 fellow played boldly, throwing himself well out of the 
 water, showing himself to be a red kipper, turning 15 
 lb. on the scale when we got him out. Another about 
 the same weight hooked himself a little lower in the 
 pool than the first, and as I was bringing him to shore 
 the doctor came down the river-bank to watch the 
 proceedings. 
 
 What a comical figure he was, and liow clearly 
 that robin has sung him to life again ! — a little 
 chubby, rosy-cheeked, fair-haired man in enormous 
 waders, with a pair of twinkling blue eyes and ex- 
 cessively long whiskers hanging on each side of a 
 shaven chin, the whole crowned with a broad-flapped 
 hat of whitish felt, stuck all over with fuzzy salmon- 
 flies and innumerable ends of gut. His appearance
 
 Mnemosyne. 189 
 
 suggested irresistibly the sentences which were wont 
 to be used as a test for French pronunciation : 
 " ' Original des originaux ! comment te desoriginal- 
 iseras - tu ? ' ' Je suis un original des originaux, et 
 je me ne desoriginaliserai jamais que lorsque tons 
 les originaux se seront desoriginalises.' " Taken as 
 a whole, his most remarkable features were the 
 whiskers and the waders ; and it was precisely these 
 two which once combined, as he subsequently de- 
 scribed to me, to land him in a curious fix. He used 
 to wade very deep, till nothing remained visible above 
 water except the hat, the whiskers, and the arms 
 wielding aloft a Castle Connel rod. Thus immersed, 
 he one day hooked a heavy fish which spun out the 
 line at a great pace. In one of these runs, the handle 
 of the reel caught in the doctor's right whisker, 
 wound it close up to his cheek, and there was the 
 poor little man with the reel bound closely to his 
 jowl, and every flap of the salmon's tail communi- 
 cating a thrill of anguish to his captor. At length 
 he managed to struggle ashore, sent a boy up to his 
 house for a pair of scissors, and, having shorn the 
 imprisoned whisker close off, succeeded in landing 
 his fish. 
 
 Having begun it, I may as well complete the record 
 of this, the first of many days since spent on North 
 Tyne. Leaving the doctor in possession of liis own 
 stream and the pool below, which I had not touched, 
 Robson led me down to where the river plunges 
 into the gorge of Hargroves, reputed the best autumn
 
 190 Noontide Essays. 
 
 cast on the whole of the Tyne. Here the little Poyn- 
 der accounted for two more fish, besides stirring 
 several others ; and then, out of indulgence to what 
 Eobson called his opinion, and I his prejudice, I 
 submitted to his attaching a plain grey mallard to 
 the cast. The result, I feel sure, must have often 
 provided for him the subject of complacent narrative, 
 as going to prove the superiority of local knowledge 
 to exotic arrogancy. JNIidway in the channel, where 
 the river sweeps under the cliff of Hargroves, rises 
 a huge boulder, round which the water roars and 
 churns unceasingly. This rock bears the name of 
 Roaring Meg, and so high is the reputation it bears 
 as a " smittle " spot, that probably any Tyneside 
 angler who might be offered the choice of fishing 
 five - and - twenty yards of water anywhere between 
 Kielder and Prudhoe during an autumn day, would 
 declare for ten yards above and fifteen yards below 
 Eoaring ]\Ieg. 
 
 I had fished this favourite spot once, if not twice, 
 without stirring scale or fin. My own conviction re- 
 mains unshaken, that had I persevered a third time 
 with the same fly, the result would have been as pro- 
 pitious as that wliich followed on the exhibition of 
 Piobson's fetish. But that can never be proved now. 
 Just as the little grey mallard swung round in the 
 strong water above Pioaring Meg it was seized below 
 the surface, thirty yards of line were torn from the 
 reel, and a splendid clean fish threw himself out of 
 the water below the great rock. It was the best 
 
 •I
 
 Mnemosyne. 191 
 
 fish of the day, and I could feel no resentment at 
 Kobson's caustic observation as he removed his fly 
 from the lip of the salmon, "Maybe we'd ha' done 
 better to fish wi' the grey drake raight through." 
 
 Bonny Tyneside ! how I love that robin whose 
 feeble note — 
 
 " Whispering I know not what of wild and sweet, 
 Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing, 
 When Ilion like a mist rose into towers " — 
 
 has carried me, iirocul negoiiis, to where your lordly 
 reaches wind among the groves of Hesleyside ! How 
 grandly your towering cliffs flush into scarlet and 
 gold before the November gales begin roaring across 
 the North Sea ; and how good it is to muse upon the 
 kindly manners and quaint sayings of the race that 
 own your beautiful valley as their home ! 
 
 Situated as we are, perhaps it is doubtful how far 
 we should conduce to our happiness or usefulness by 
 intensifying beyond a certain point the vividness of 
 recollection. Themistocles held the art of oblivion 
 in hisher esteem than the art of memory. ]\Ian has 
 been synthetically described as an animal who weeps 
 and makes others to weep, and most of us have some 
 day to weep when we remember Zion. In most lives 
 there is something it is wiser to forget — much un- 
 wisdom, many a disappointment, partings, lost oppor- 
 tunities, and hasty words — the degree in which that 
 may be done depends much on temperament; the
 
 192 Noontide Essays. 
 
 more sanguiue minds, though they cannot escape 
 
 regret, do not repine. There is as much difference in 
 
 the quahty of grief as in the compass and quality of 
 
 different voices : — 
 
 "Oh, my boy ! 
 Thy tears are dewdrops, sweet as those on roses, 
 But mine the faint and iron sweat of sorrow." 
 
 Over - sensitive spirits sometimes allow the remem- 
 brance of a heavy loss or single grievous fault to 
 embitter the whole current of existence. Two persons 
 lately stood on the shore of the Clyde on a bright 
 summer day. A steamer came down the blue firth, 
 pouring from her funnel volumes of black smoke, 
 which trailed behind her in the calm air for a couple 
 of miles. 
 
 " Isn't it monstrous," exclaimed one, " that that 
 odious boat should be allowed to defile such a fair 
 landscape ? Surely those who live here, and still 
 more those who come to the seaside for health, 
 have a right to insist on legislation to put down the 
 nuisance." 
 
 " As for the blemish on the landscape," replied the 
 other, who haiDpened to be a man of science, " I agree 
 that it is barbarous in the last degree; but as to 
 the injury to health I am not so clear, because if 
 you could collect several miles of that smoke-trail 
 and compress the solid matter, you would find it would 
 all go easily into a single teacup." 
 
 So it often is with the grief or remorse that is 
 allowed to trail through and darken the whole course
 
 Mnemosyne. 193 
 
 of a life. Analysed and vigorously dealt with, it would 
 be found that it has been allowed to assume import- 
 ance quite out of proportion to its intrinsic weight. 
 
 Then comes the question, was Dante justified in 
 pronouncing the oft-quoted judgment which has passed 
 
 into aphorism ? — 
 
 " Nessum maggior dolore 
 Che recorclarsi del tempo felice 
 Nella miseria." 
 
 Prosper Merimee has left it on record how he used 
 to discuss this passage with his friend, Henri Beyle, 
 who would maintain that Dante was wrong, and 
 that the recollection of happiness is always, and 
 under any circumstances, itself a source of enjoyment. 
 Merimee defended the poet; but, in his old age, he 
 wrote, "aujoicrd'hui il me semble que Beyle avait raison" 
 Dante's sentiment is musically echoed in the verse of 
 a modern Scottish poet — 
 
 " 0, I wad fain forget them a' — 
 
 Remembered guid but deepens ill, 
 As gleids o' licht far seen by nicht 
 Mak' the near mirk but mirker still." 
 
 Only you see the Scot, less scholarly than the Italian, 
 has allowed himself the hazardous luxury of a meta- 
 phor—a kind of two-edged instrument that requires 
 to be handled carefully. " Gleids o' licht " — i. c, 
 flames — though by contrast they intensify the gloom, 
 do enable us to get through the night more safely 
 and comfortably than we could do without them: 
 though they may be too far off to dispel the darkness, 
 
 N
 
 194 Noontide Essays. 
 
 yet their cheering influence tends to lighten the 
 oppression. Dr Eoss sounded a truer note when 
 he used to say that as sunshine is stored up in coal- 
 measures, so past joy and gladness may be stored 
 up in the soul as a light-giver in dark days. How 
 many lives would be barren of joy, or even of hope, 
 but for the light reflected from a happy childhood ! 
 
 This will be more clearly seen as the process of 
 memory is more closely examined. Scientists ex- 
 plain how everything we witness, endure, or con- 
 sciously enact, makes an impression, indelible except 
 by disease or senility, on tissues in the convolutions 
 of the brain. We must all have been conscious at 
 times of the unexpected revival of such impressions, 
 brought about by some external influence, when 
 scenes, deeds, words which had long been as if 
 absolutely forgotten, and as if they had never been, 
 suddenly come to mind, either vividly or at first 
 faintly, but capable, by mental effort, of being brought 
 into clearer relief. The impression has been there 
 all the time, but the mind has been too much occupied 
 with other and newer impressions to be conscious 
 of it. 
 
 It is easy to illustrate this by a simple experiment. 
 Of all the materials common to every room in every 
 house, glass is at once the least impressionable and 
 the most enduring. If a name or word be traced with 
 the pressure of a clean finger upon a clean window- 
 pane (the glass must be perfectly free from all film 
 of moisture or dirt), the writing will be invisible ; but
 
 Mnemosyne. 195 
 
 for many days, even weeks, afterwards, it will appear 
 distinctly if the glass is breathed upon, gradually fade 
 away again, and reappear as often as the breathing 
 is repeated. This helps us to understand the mys- 
 terious process of memory. Some external influence 
 acting on the senses produces an effect on the brain 
 similar to that of the breath on the glass, reviving 
 impressions made long before, the very existence 
 of which was unsuspected, which no unaided mental 
 effort could evoke. This is as true of a person with 
 a good memory as of one with a bad one ; the first 
 has liis " negatives " arranged in better order than 
 the other, and by practice has accustomed himself to 
 handle them frequently and revive the record with 
 which they are charged. 
 
 It is difficult to overrate the advantage of rightly 
 ordering and exercising the memory, so vastly is 
 the value of life thereby enhanced both as a pos- 
 session and as an instrument. This is indeed the 
 highest form of culture, though, alas ! modern rnetliods 
 of education seem devised to huddle into the brain 
 the greatest possible number of impressions in the 
 shortest possible time, rather than to allow leisure 
 to store them so that they may be conveniently 
 resorted to afterwards. This is the answer to the 
 puzzle so often presenting itself, why so many " double 
 firsts " subside in after-life into creatures of no more 
 than average brilliancy. The knowledge is there, the 
 impressions are there, but they have been crammed 
 in in such hot haste and consequent confusion, piled
 
 196 Noontide Essays. 
 
 one upon the other, that it is only by chance that 
 their owner derives any advantage from them in 
 the conduct of life. Yet it would never occur to 
 any reader to hesitate in choosing between a limited 
 number of volumes conveniently arranged in shelves, 
 and ten thousand heaped pell-mell on the library 
 floor. 
 
 Some of the best work in the world has been done 
 by those who were reckoned dullards at school and 
 undistinguished at college. The fact is that the 
 education of these only began when the harassing 
 S3^stem of cramming came to an end. The value 
 of knowledge consists not in possessing information, 
 but in having it so arranged that it can be produced 
 when the occasion requires. 
 
 If anybody doubts this, let him consider the case 
 of a man who may be supposed to have received a 
 deeper impression than any other of which human 
 beings are susceptible — namely, one thoroughly in 
 love. Depend upon it, that portion of brain-tissue 
 impressed with his mistress's image is breathed upon 
 pretty frequently in the course of each four-and- 
 twenty hours. He can produce it at will, and, as 
 often as he has a spare moment, out comes the mental 
 photograph, and he revels in contemplation of the fair 
 vision. He knows so exactly the spot occupied by 
 this plate among the others, and is so accustomed to 
 take it out for the solace of his soul, that even when 
 the will is at rest and he asleep, trickles of thought 
 flow over it, and Edwin dreams of his Angelina. But
 
 Mnemosyne. 1 9 *7 
 
 it is only by poetic licence that he can declare she is 
 ahoays in his thoughts. She is nothing of the kind. 
 If he is a proper lover she is oftener there than 
 anything else; but were it true that his thoughts 
 never turned aside from her image, the man would be 
 a ninny, not a lover : he would forget to pull up his 
 boots, to pay his servant's wages, to go out to dinner, 
 or to attend to necessary business of any sort, and 
 would probably be killed at the first crossing. But 
 he is a devoted swain all the same, and proves it by 
 the certainty with which, as often as his mind is free 
 from other needful heed, he breathes on the glass, 
 and straightway appears, not Phyllis or Amaryllis, not 
 Lydia or Chloe, but Angelina. 
 
 As with the enamoured Edwin, so with the true 
 lover whose mistress is Knowledge. There is no fear 
 but that the plates are sensitive enough to receive all 
 her impressions ; the important matter is so to arrange 
 them in the storehouse of the brain, that at any 
 moment the breath of thought may be directed upon 
 the right one to produce the image required. Troni 
 Simonides of Cos, who lived five hundred years be- 
 fore Christ, down to our own day, men have busied 
 themselves in devising mechanical aids to memory. 
 Eoger Bacon, Eaymond Lully, Petrus de Ravenna, 
 Lambert Schenkel (whose feats of memory were so 
 extraordinary as to cause him to be persecuted as a 
 sorcerer), Winckelmann, Leibnitz, Packard Grey, and 
 many others, have propounded systems of mnemonics, 
 in each one of which reliance seems to have been
 
 198 Noontide Essays. 
 
 mainly placed on eyesight as the only sure index, the 
 inlluence of scent and sound being altogether ignored. 
 The usual method prescribed by these masters was the 
 wedding together of ideas, names, phrases, and events 
 with visible objects, such as the buildings in a town, 
 and especially with articles of furniture in the differ- 
 ent rooms of a familiar house, so that the sight or 
 recollection of each should evoke the image of the 
 subject connected with it. Cicero mentions with 
 approval the prescription of Simonides : " I owe 
 thanks to Simonides of Cos, who, they say, first 
 formulated the art of remembrance. ... It is true 
 that the natural faculty of memory cannot be created 
 by such exercises if it does not exist ; but undoubtedly, 
 if it is latent, it can thereby be roused." When the 
 Children of Israel passed over Jordan, Joshua made 
 them set up twelve stones — " That this may be a sign 
 among you, that when your children ask their fathers 
 in time to come, saying. What mean ye by these 
 stones?" they should hear the narrative associated 
 with them. 
 
 It is a light thing, after venturing to demur to the 
 utterance of so great a seer as Dante, that one should 
 find himself at issue with one of Cicero's authority in 
 this matter of memory : certainly the reflections put 
 forward in this paper on the intimate connection of 
 scent and sound with that faculty are at variance 
 with the conclusions arrived at by the great orator. 
 He confirms, in the " De Oratore," an observation by 
 Simonides to the effect that those things fix themselves
 
 Mnemosyne. 199 
 
 most firmly in the mind which are supplied and con- 
 firmed by the senses. So far there is no difference 
 between us ; but it is not easy to follow him when he 
 goes beyond Simonides, and lays it down that of all 
 the senses, eyesight is the keenest and most to be 
 relied on as the basis of memory. One longs to argue 
 it out with him, and to ask if poetry itself does not owe 
 its origin to the assistance which memory derives by 
 rhyme and metre ? If sound is not charged with 
 association, how is it that the passions of men are so 
 deeply stirred by music ? What lashes a rabble into 
 riot so surely as the " Marseillaise," with all its mem- 
 ories of blood and tears ? What touches the heart 
 of the exile to such tenderness as the songs of his na- 
 tive land ? And how, even in this utilitarian, ultra- 
 economic age, when the word has been passed to put 
 down all panoply and display, can the maintenance 
 of military bands be justified except by acknowledg- 
 ing the magic of chivalrous suggestion that exists in 
 martial music ? 
 
 It is to our loss that we neglect the training of all 
 the senses as handmaids to memory, for to most of us 
 it arrives, soon or late, to echo the sigh graven on the 
 urn at Leasowes : 
 
 " Hen ! (juanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui im;m- 
 inisse." 
 
 (" Woe is me ! how much less it avails to converse 
 with the living than to dwell on the memory of the 
 departed ! ")
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 A DASH of paradox sometimes contributes the 
 poignancy essential to a good aphorism. It 
 acts like the etcher's acid, biting into the copper the 
 lightest scratches of his needle and making them 
 permanent. When Disraeli affirmed that, of all the 
 attributes of a statesman, imagination was one of the 
 most important, people perhaps thought he was trying 
 to be original or funny. It seems so clear that in the 
 routine of office-work — finance, diplomacy, patronage, 
 the methodical conduct of business in Parliament — 
 the less rein given to imagination the safer should 
 be the management of affairs. Nobody, it might be 
 urged, would intrust his private business to the hands 
 of a dreamer of dreams ; how much less commit the 
 affairs of a nation to the care of a visionary ! 
 
 This would be downright sound sense if imagination 
 were nothing but reverie — had no more solid properties 
 and fulfilled no more important functions than those 
 commonly credited to it. But, rightly weighed, this
 
 Imagination. 201 
 
 saying of Disraeli's will reveal unsuspected meaning. 
 It is the observation of one lonsf schooled in "the 
 great principles of human experience," and deeply 
 versed in the ways of men. What seems at first sight 
 but glitter of phrase, shines forth as the steady flame 
 of understanding. Everything depends on what 
 meaning is attached to the term imagination. If, as 
 is often wrongly done, it is restricted to an act of 
 dreamy reflection, whereby unsubstantial visions are 
 encouraged to throng the field of thought, then, as soon 
 as it is a question of quick wit and ready hand, when 
 unerring deed must follow close on kindling thought, 
 men do well to look suspiciously on imaginative per- 
 sons ; but to take this view is to do wrong to that gift 
 which, of all those we are endowed with, brings us 
 most near to the Divine. 
 
 Imagination is a property indispensable in one who 
 aspires to govern his fellow-men. Countless are the 
 occasions in the ordinary work of administration when 
 its presence will enable a ruler to carry his purpose 
 without a blow struck ; while, without it, one direct- 
 ing all the artillery of authority may lay a country in 
 ruins, and deluge it with blood and tears — only to 
 pave the avenue to his own fall. But its existence in 
 the subjects is as important as in the ruler. The 
 Western world soon wearied of its kings, when, walled 
 about by ceremony and the exaggerated etiquette 
 copied from oriental courts, they were made to stand 
 so far apart from their people that the tide of intelli- 
 gent sympathy between them had to meander through
 
 202 Noontide Essays. 
 
 artificial channels so many and so intricate that it 
 grew cold and sluggish. Gibbon has traced the weak- 
 ness of the Eoman Empire to the day when Maximian, 
 by withdrawing the Imperial Court to Milan from 
 Eome, where the popular assembly held its sittings, 
 dealt a mortal wound to the constitution ; while his 
 greater colleague, Diocletian, simultaneously made 
 Nicomedia tJie seat of rule in the East. Hitherto 
 the Emperor had been but the chief citizen ; no 
 special sanctity beyond what was conferred by the 
 suffrages of his countrymen hedged him from easy 
 though respectful access ; his prerogative was as jeal- 
 ously limited by custom as by law. But as soon as 
 he imitated the Persian monarchy in crowning himself 
 with the diadem — hitherto unknown to Eoman rulers 
 — tedious forms, abject obeisance, difficult approach, 
 were insisted on, deepening the awe, but diluting the 
 affection that formerly moulded the relations between 
 ruler and people. The gulf was made so broad that 
 the popular imagination could not bridge it. It is 
 well if it is less wide now between the cottars of 
 Connemara and Windsor Castle — between dwellers in 
 the Xew Cut and Balmoral ? 
 
 Those responsible for the oriental social scheme 
 were careful to avail themselves of safeguards im- 
 practicable among the free races of the West. Slavery 
 might be relied on to carry out the most tyrannous 
 edicts ; and caste, if it was not a cunning contrivance 
 on the principle divide et impera, was at all events 
 a convenient machinery for severing one class of
 
 Imagination. 203 
 
 subjects from all sympathy or co-operation with 
 another. 
 
 With us the king could do no wrong, so long as 
 he was near and among his people : but the moment 
 Court officials ceased to be links and became barriers, 
 the magic current was interrupted, he had to rely 
 on ministers as interpreters, and the first fool in 
 office brought about the crash. Charles I., by nature 
 gentle and considerate, would have shrunk from in- 
 tentional oppression ; but it required a stronger im- 
 agination than his to realise the hardships inflicted 
 in his name, and he paid the penalty. Thereafter 
 the monarch must be restricted to reigning ; ministers 
 were to rule, but still it was woe to the minister whose 
 imagination halted. 
 
 Who can trace the course of events leading up 
 to the revolt of the American colonies without 
 cursing Lord North's somnolence and bemoaning 
 the obstinacy with which he re-enacted the blunders 
 of the preceding century ? Of course it may be 
 urged in the minister's defence that this was the 
 first time that a British colony had grown so power- 
 ful as to be able to defy the home Government — 
 that there was no parallel experience in British 
 history to guide him. Precisely ! experience is much, 
 but it is not all ; it can never stand in the stead 
 of the divine flash which illumines the true course 
 through a dilemma — of imagination, that is to say, 
 the power of forming with indescribable swiftness 
 a true mental imacfe of the result of calculated causes.
 
 204 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Experience cannot count for much in a youth of 
 four-and-twenty, but William Pitt became Prime 
 Minister at that age, and has never been excelled 
 in the sagacious courage he brought to a great under- 
 taking. He possessed that faculty which, being akin 
 to divination, enables sagacity to outrun and dispense 
 with experience, creates an intuitive sympathy with 
 untried conditions of life, and confers foreknowledge 
 of human motive. 
 
 If, then, imagination be of such value in the con- 
 duct of human affairs, it is a property worth de- 
 veloping, training, strengthening, and regulating; but 
 before attempting to do so, it will be well to ascertain 
 what is the nature of the subject with which it is 
 proposed to deal. Most philosophers who have dis- 
 cussed and attempted to analyse imagination, have 
 failed to give a satisfactory explanation of it, ap- 
 parently because it is generally assumed to be a 
 separate faculty, a province of the brain, either inde- 
 pendent of other mental powers or specially connected 
 with one of them. Thus Hume and Malebranche 
 pronounce it to be a form of memory ; Addison is 
 of opinion that it depends upon eyesight for its exist- 
 ence, because " we cannot have a single image in 
 the fancy that did not make its first entrance through 
 the sight." Locke separates it from judgment, holding 
 that while imagination grasps resemblance, judgment 
 deals with difference. But it has been reserved for 
 a modern writer to jDut into a suigle sentence a truer 
 definition of imagination than is to be found in the
 
 Imagina tion. 205 
 
 writings of all who have troubled themselves with 
 metaphysics. 
 
 "Imagination is but a name for the free play of 
 thought, one of the most important features of which, 
 but still only one, is its attachment and sensibility to 
 the memories of sight." ^ There is the whole root of 
 the matter. Imagination is not a thing by itself, but 
 a mental quality akin to physical agility, enabling 
 the reason to act with greater velocity and certainty, 
 intensifying faith, quickening conscience, rendering 
 memory more vivid, sympathy more sure, judgment 
 more certain. Every intellectual quality is intensi- 
 fied for good or for evil by imagination. 
 
 "There is nothing," writes George Eliot, "more 
 widely misleading than sagacity if it happens to get 
 on the wrong scent ; and sagacity, persuaded that 
 men usually act and speak from distinct motives, 
 with a consciously proposed end in view, is certain 
 to waste its energies on imaginary game." 
 
 Imagination, on the homceopathic principle, is the 
 surest influence to preserve sagacity from following 
 the scent of " imaginary game " ; but it is a formidable 
 power, imposing great risks, as well as high privi- 
 lege, on its possessor. Of the former, an anecdote 
 which occurs somewhere in Sir Walter Scott's writings 
 is a good illustration : — 
 
 " An Italian nobleman, suffering from ague, was inveigled 
 by his valet into such a situation as involved a ducking 
 and a severe fright. The valet's intention was good — 
 
 1 The Gay Science, by E. S. Dallas (Londou, 1866), i. 262.
 
 206 Noontide Essays. 
 
 namely, to cure his master's disease ; and the cure was 
 effectual. But his master, determined to punish him ap- 
 propriately for the trick, had him tried for his life and 
 sentenced to decapitation. He was led to the scaffold 
 blindfolded, and laid his head on the block, when the exe- 
 cutioner, acting on his instructions, dashed a jugful of cold 
 water on his neck. The joke was then complete ; but poor 
 Gonella did not see it, for it was found that he had died 
 from the shock to his nerves." 
 
 In other words, his imagination had killed him. 
 
 A trivial instance of the kind of second-sight sup- 
 plied by imagination takes place as I write these lines. 
 I happen to be travelling in an express train on the 
 Great Western Eailway, full of gratitude to that ex- 
 cellent company for the luxury in which I am carried 
 at high speed on this bright summer day through the 
 fair English champaign. It is pleasant, in the inter- 
 vals of scribbling, to rest the eyes on voluptuous hedge- 
 rows and breadths of springing corn, on breezy downs 
 and velvety woodlands. But for the last half-hour I 
 have been tempted to irritation by some passengers 
 in a forward carriage who find amusement in trailing 
 a newspaper on a long string from their carriage-win- 
 dow. It has been dancing and flapping against the 
 panes of my compartment in the most exasperating 
 way, interfering with the view of the landscape, and 
 wholly infringing upon my privilege as a first-class 
 passenger. Just now I am specially anxious to get 
 a good view of the White Horse on Uffington Hill — 
 the confounded sheet has spread itself over the glass,
 
 Imagina Hon. 207 
 
 and for the twentieth time I am on the point of 
 seizing the wretched paper and breaking the string. 
 But it flashes across my mind tliat at the other end 
 of the string there are probably a couple of children, 
 whose pastime gives them more pleasure than it gives 
 me annoyance ; and if I put an end to it (as I have 
 a perfect right to do), those in charge of them would 
 in turn have to suffer from their restlessness. So I 
 refrain ; and even wliile I am revolving these trifles 
 in my mind, we ran into Swindon Junction, and my 
 journey is at an end. In this case imagination was 
 a medium of information which no other faculty could 
 have supplied, and in tlie more important affairs of 
 life it is often of advantage to know what is going on 
 at the distant end of the string. 
 
 A healthy, vigorous imagination is the best possible 
 safeguard against despondency about human nature. 
 Thereby a man understands that every lofty thought 
 or noble aspiration which thrills him is the common 
 property of his fellows, and he will be slow to impute 
 unworthy motives to others. To quote George Eliot 
 once more — " Plotting covetousness and deliberate 
 contrivance, in order to compass a selfish end, are 
 nowhere abundant but in the world of the dramatist ; 
 they demand too intense a mental action for many of 
 our fellow-parishioners to be guilty of them." 
 
 In a recent number of one of the more serious 
 weeklies, there was a paper entitled " Small Mean- 
 nesses," which gave an unpleasant glimpse into the
 
 208 Noontide Essays. 
 
 mental process of the "unco guid." To deplore the 
 imperfection of human nature is part of the moralist's 
 proper work ; but he has other and not less important 
 functions, and (not to put it too high) the general 
 effect is more artistic when these are allowed some 
 influence in leading to a judgment. 
 
 The writer of this essay on " Small Meannesses " 
 begins by the sweeping assertion — " One of the 
 most curious and unpleasant characteristics of human 
 nature is its inability to resist the temptation of 
 fraud, should ever an opportunity of wrongful posses- 
 sion, without the possibility of detection or punish- 
 ment, present itself." 
 
 Is this the mournful case ? Of all the gleamless 
 dogmas of fatalism this is surely the most sorrowful. 
 Happily it is as groundless as it is unpleasant. There 
 are mean natures, of course, just as there are cowardly 
 and cruel and deceitful natures ; but surely it is not 
 the case that, if a man carelessly leaves on his dressing- 
 table an uncounted handful of gold or silver, his valet 
 is certain to slip one of the sovereigns into his waist- 
 coat-pocket, because it would be almost impossible to 
 detect or punish him. The chance of detecting a 
 morning caller's theft (and there are many traces of 
 human nature even in morning callers) is even less 
 than in the case of a servant ; yet a lady may still, 
 with reasonable safety, allow valuable knick-knacks 
 to lie about on drawing-room tables. 
 
 Take the two instances given by our essayist as ex 
 ungue leonem. The first is that of an entertainment
 
 Imagination. 209 
 
 given during the summer of 1891 in aid of a charity 
 by the Benchers of the Middle Temple. It was found 
 that owing to a licence not having been taken out in 
 time, the committee would have been acting illegally 
 in taking a price for the tickets ; consequently the 
 visitors received their money back at the door, with 
 a request that they would forward it direct to the 
 managers of the charity. Some weeks after, a gentle- 
 man writes to the papers complaining that the fund 
 is .still considerably short of the amount which should 
 have been remitted if everybody had paid up punc- 
 tually, upon which the hebdomadal moralist works 
 himself into a paroxysm of virtue, and asks what 
 hope there can be for humanity when a number of 
 well (? expensively) dressed people thus conspire to 
 defraud a charity. But charity, in its fuller sense, 
 would take into account the ease with which small 
 debts are overlooked or postponed at the busiest 
 season of the social year (especially when, as in the 
 case in question, it is impossible to send reminders), 
 and imao-ination would read in "small meanness" 
 only forgetfulness writ large. 
 
 In the other case, however, there could be no mis- 
 take about the evil intention. A " gentleman " escort- 
 ing a lady home in a hansom cab, left her at her 
 house, and told the cabman to drive to another ad- 
 dress : before reaching it he stopped the cab, asked 
 the driver what the fare was, and on being told 5s. 6d., 
 said generously, "Make it six bob!" pressed three 
 coins into his hand, and disappeared in the darkness. 
 

 
 210 Noontide Essays. 
 
 The cabman discovered immediately that the coins 
 were not florins but coppers, and being naturally 
 unwilling to be bilked, had recourse to a stratagem 
 which implies something akin to genius. He drove 
 straight back to the lady's house, told ]ier that her 
 friend had enormously overpaid liim, and as he (cabby) 
 was sure there was a mistake, begged her to let him 
 know the gentleman's address. The result was the 
 bringing of a rascal to justice. But how childish — 
 rather, how old-womanish — it is to offer the conduct 
 of this crepuscular scamp as an average sample of 
 the way people in general treat cabmen ! Nine 
 ]nen out of ten habitually and purposely overpay 
 them. Tlie le^al fare in London is one shilling for 
 two miles : he who would give less than eighteen- 
 pence between South Kensington station and West- 
 minster Bridge, must be one who is forced by cir- 
 cumstances to look not only at both sides of a coin 
 before parting with it, but at the nicks too. 
 
 There is a compact little sentence in one of Mr 
 Birrel's " Obiter Dicta " — other essayists please copy — 
 " The spots in the sun may be an interesting study, 
 but anyhow the sun is not all spots." A riglit imag- 
 ination will behold 
 
 " Men — not animals erect — but mortal gods ; 
 
 it will not dwell on human failure and error, but 
 
 will rejoice with the angels at every conquest of 
 
 difficulty, at every triumph over temptation and 
 weakness.
 
 Imagination. 211 
 
 It is not study, nor is it training only, that gives 
 this affinity to what is noble in others ; it is the 
 spontaneous action of imagination imparting that 
 quality which our great -grandmothers termed sen- 
 sibility. Still, training is responsible for a great 
 deal : the power of sympathy may be brought out 
 or dwarfed according to the encouragement given 
 and the example set to it. One is painfully familiar 
 with the odious phrases uttered year after year when 
 tire annual harvest of English art is ripe. " Been 
 to the Academy ? Poor show, isn't it ? " — " Shocking 
 set of daubs ! " — " There's hardly a picture fit to look 
 at " — " Should be hung faces to the wall," &c. Young 
 people are encouraged to go to Burlington House in 
 an adversely critical spirit ; to look out for faults 
 instead of anticipating beauty. What an opportunity 
 is here lost of exalting the imagination by leading 
 a young mind to comprehend the painter's enterprise, 
 realise his patient toil, and sympathise with his suc- 
 cess (in truth there is always plenty of this last), 
 leaving the garbage of failure to be snarled over by 
 narrower souls ! What a pure source of pleasure is 
 poisoned by this carping habit — the pleasure of read- 
 ing nature interpreted by accomplished hands ! What 
 reverence is discouraged — the reverence for laborious 
 and intricate handicraft ! Train a youth going to one 
 of these exhibitions to look out for what pleases him, 
 for what he can admire; he will soon find that he 
 has no time for displeasure with shortcomings. Mr 
 Morley quotes and translates a sentence of Diderot's
 
 212 Noontide Essays. 
 
 on this matter : " I am more affected by the charms 
 of virtue than by the deformity of vice. I turn 
 mildly away from the bad, and I fly to embrace the 
 jiood. If there is in a work, in a character, in a 
 painting, in a statue, a single fine bit, then on that 
 my eyes fasten : I see only that : that is all I remem- 
 ber : the rest is as good as forgotten." Again, in one 
 of his letters to Mile. Voland, Diderot exclaims : "Why 
 be silent about the good qualities, and only pick out 
 the defects ? There is in all that a kind of envy 
 that wounds me — me, who read men as I read authors, 
 and never burden my memory except with things that 
 are good to know and good to remember," 
 Pope was also of this mind : — 
 
 " A perfect judge will read eacli work of wit 
 Witli the same spirit that its author writ ; 
 Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find 
 Where nature moves and rapture warms the mind." 
 
 Many people have found difficulty in endorsing Pope's 
 estimate of Akenside as a poet. When the author 
 of the 'Pleasures of Imagination' oflfered his manu- 
 script to Dodsley the publisher for £120, the latter 
 asked Pope's advice before closing on the bargain, 
 and the verdict was favourable to Akenside, — "For 
 here," said Pope, " you have no everyday writer." 
 The impression left on the reader of to-day by the 
 perusal of that, Akenside's chief work, is that the 
 bard was something deficient in the very faculty 
 which he celebrated in several hundred lines of the 
 blankest of blank verse. Nevertheless the source of
 
 Imagination. 213 
 
 sympathy between the two poets may have been the 
 generosity with which Akenside always regarded the 
 accomplishment of others. He did not speak con- 
 temptuously of painters and their work, but gratefully 
 and reverently, as of those who 
 
 " "With easier liand 
 Describing lines, and witli more ample scoiJe 
 Uniting colours, can to general sight 
 Produce those permanent and perfect forms, 
 Those characters of heroes and of gods 
 Which form the crude materials of the world 
 Their own high minds created." 
 
 As in art, so in the conduct of life : tuned to the 
 proper pitch, a young mind will respond to the teach- 
 ing of a higher authority than Pope, and will uncon- 
 ciously draw to itself " whatsoever things are true, 
 whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are 
 just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things 
 are lovely." " Unconsciously ! " demurs the theologian ; 
 but this is conscience." Well, we will not dispute 
 about terms, for to some it will always seem hard to 
 define the difference between conscience and trained 
 imagination. A chemist will suspend a common iron 
 key in a vat containing double cyanide of gold and 
 potassium : it might hang in the solution till the crack 
 of doom and never be anything but an iron key ; but 
 thrill its molecules with the current from a Daniell 
 cell, and lo ! the homely little object begins to draw 
 to itself all the precious metal out of the surrounding 
 fluid, clothing itself with gold, so that henceforth it
 
 214 Noontide Essays. 
 
 shall take rank among the aristocracy of keys, and be 
 for ever secure against rust or corrosion. 
 
 True education consists in directing upon the grow- 
 ing mind that influence which, like the electric cur- 
 rent on the key, gives it a ceaseless affinity to noble 
 impression and aspiration, and is as different in method 
 as it is in result from the prevailing system of " cram," 
 which, for any permanent end, is about as fruitless as 
 trying to gild the key by burying it in a bag of dry 
 gold. 
 
 Think how the enjoyment of life is deepened and 
 widened by the cultivation of this faculty ; how many 
 a poor little horizon has been illumined by the splen- 
 dours of imagination ! He who possesses it moves, 
 indeed, in a light to which the eyes of others may be 
 blind, yet they are conscious of the radiance reflected 
 from him ; but colloquial English is so mesqiiin that 
 all they can say of him is that he is " clever." 
 
 We have no other word to express that quality 
 which enables, nay impels, a mind to extract precious 
 essence from commonplace surroundings. It is from 
 such a mind that criticism distils, not as a corrosive 
 and defacing acid, but a cleansing, sparkling source 
 of refreshment. We have literary parasites on the 
 heroic scale of Thomas Warton, who, so far from 
 weakening the authors on whom they feed, make 
 them nobler and more satisfying to less gifted stu- 
 dents : just as a mounted horse suffers no disadvan- 
 tage from the weight of his rider, but will go 
 farther and faster than one without a load, so poets
 
 Imagination. 215 
 
 and moralists gain in effect when subjected to the 
 play of a just critic's imagination. 
 
 Baron Stosch laboured hard to prove that the 
 human soul was nothing but a little glue ; he would 
 have been nearer the mark in declaring that it was a 
 slumbering fire capable of being nursed and fanned 
 into a clear flame. One possessed of such a power 
 of penetrating the surface and solving the substance 
 of things, can never, unless condemned to solitary 
 confinement, be dull ; even Ovid was probably not so 
 utterly wretched in his exile at Tomi as he endea- 
 voured to make us believe ; rest assured that his 
 thoughts were busy enough with what was passing 
 round him. " Le repos," said Voltaire, " est une bonne 
 chose, mais I'ennui est son frere ; " but a man of quick 
 imagination, not debarred from intercourse with men 
 and women, will never droop from ennui except such 
 as arises from indigestion. Is the imaginative person 
 among dull people — their very dulness will be a 
 source of amused speculation to him ; even if he is 
 doomed to be with lovers — his own thoughts are not 
 handcuffed by passion or self-interest, and, as an 
 onlooker, he sees most of the game. 
 
 Greatly as this faculty is to be prized and richly as 
 it responds to cultivation, it lays a character open to 
 peculiar dangers. Though a powerful ally to gen- 
 erosity and mercy, it is a treacherous companion to 
 courage, requiring constant watchfulness to prevent 
 it so vividly portraying danger or suffering as to
 
 216 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 suggest or strengthen apprehension. To realise other 
 less serious risks besetting it, one has only to compare 
 the characters and lives of some of those endowed 
 with it above the common. Honore de Balzac, the 
 novelist, offers an extreme instance of vivid but un- 
 disciplined imagination. It is not only that he allowed 
 himself to live in a perpetual moonlight of hallucina- 
 tion, under the glamour of which he wandered into 
 a labyrinth of debt and anxiety out of which he never 
 found a way: that only affected his own happiness, 
 or, to speak more accurately, only that of those per- 
 sonally concerned with him, for he was wonderfully 
 waterproofed against despondency by the intense real- 
 ism of his fancy. He used to delude himself with the 
 belief that he was living in affluence, and straightway 
 he positively derived through his imagination all the 
 pleasures that could be conveyed by riches ; so that, 
 except at the moments when he was actually flying 
 from his creditors, a comfortless and anxious life was 
 transformed for him into one of perfect content and 
 limitless possibility. The means by which he imposed 
 upon himself were ludicrously simple. Mr Leslie 
 Stephen has described the manner in which, being 
 heavily in debt, Balzac managed to furnish and dec- 
 orate Les Jardies, a cottage which he built for himself 
 in the suburbs of Paris : " He inscribed in one place 
 on the bare walls of his house, ' Ici un revetement de 
 marbre de Paros ' ; in another, ' Ici un plafond peint 
 par Eugene Delacroix'; in a third, 'Ici des portes, 
 faQon Trianon,' " and so on ; and if we are to believe
 
 Imagination. 217 
 
 the testimony of those who knew him, he derived as 
 much satisfaction from this childish device as he could 
 have done from the gorgeous reality. In short, he 
 carried into effect the delusion described in Praed's 
 " Love and Hope " — 
 
 " When poverty beset tlieir patli 
 
 And threatened to divide them, 
 They coaxed away the beldame's wrath 
 
 Ere she had breath to chide them, 
 By vowing all her rags were silk, 
 
 And all her bitters honey, 
 And showing taste for bread and milk, 
 
 And utter scorn of money." 
 
 But a mind so saturated with sham could not produce 
 wholesome fruit. Balzac's novels oppress one like 
 the nightmare. ' La Comedie Humaiue ' is a series 
 of scenes in a God -forgotten, hope -deserted, dread- 
 haunted world : the author portrays plenty of sacri- 
 fice — of the virtuous and gentle by the evil and cruel ; 
 but he offers no picture of the chief ordeal of nobility 
 — self-sacrifice ; he exhibits all the savage temper of 
 the tragedian, without the tenderness essential to the 
 production of perfect art — all the cynicism of the 
 vivisector undisturbed by the misgivings of sympathy. 
 Even in those parts of his writings which approach 
 most nearly to tenderness, the sentiment is like the 
 night-wind — 
 
 " Wafting wallflower scents 
 From out the crumbling ruin of lalse hopes 
 And chambers of transgression now forlorn." 
 
 He insisted that Parisian society was a festering mass
 
 218 Noontide Essays. 
 
 of corruptiou, and that innocent lives were irredeem- 
 ably at the mercy of selfish, libidinous, and avaricious 
 monsters; yet he is always invoking his reader's 
 admiration for what was to him the only city in the 
 world. " Paris ! qui n'a pas admire tes sombres 
 paysages, tes echappees de lumiere, tes culs-de-sac 
 profonds et silencieux ; qui n'a pas entendu tes 
 murmures entre minuit et deux heures du matin, ne 
 connait encore rien de ta vraie poesie, ni de tes 
 bizarres et larges contrastes." 
 
 But even his adoration for the beloved Paris was 
 part of the sham, and in moments of intimacy he 
 would allow his mask to slip aside and reveal the 
 angry resentful features of a disappointed man. He 
 would at such times take a friend to a spot at Les 
 Jardies whence a view of the city might be had, 
 exclaiming, " Venez I allons cracher sur Paris ! " 
 
 Listen to the despairing confession that he allowed 
 to flow from his pen at the moment when his cherished 
 illusions turned to dust: "Les belles ames arrivent 
 difhcilement a croire aux mauvais sentiments, a la 
 trahison, a I'iugratitude ; quand leur education est 
 faite en ce genre, elles s'elevent alors a une indulgence 
 qui est peut-etre le dernier degrc de mepris pour 
 I'humanite." 
 
 It is refreshing to turn from poor Balzac's record to 
 that of another of the demigods of imagination. Just 
 at the time when the first volumes of 'La Comedie 
 Humaine ' appeared, another long series of fiction was 
 drawing to its close, not inferior to the Frenchman's
 
 Imaginatio n. 219 
 
 work ill graphic description and illusory spell, but, 
 unlike his, exalting the aims and refining the pleasures 
 of mankind, though without prudishly screening its 
 frailty and failure. Sir Walter Scott's money troubles 
 were on a scale which dwarfs those of Balzac to 
 insignificance ; and though the two men agree in this, 
 that neither of them permitted anxiety or embarrass- 
 ment to dull his imagination or damp his energy, one 
 of them confronted disaster with virile resolution to 
 repair it, while the other simply refused to acknowledge 
 it, created an imaginary credit to balance liabilities 
 which were themselves to a great extent illusory, and 
 had recourse to the vulgar device of evasion. 
 
 The epithet " vulgar " calls to mind an incident 
 recorded by Lockhart in his ' Life of Scott ' (which, 
 be it said in passing, remains, in spite of the host of 
 competitors which the taste for that class of literature 
 has produced, the masterpiece of biography in this 
 century) : — 
 
 " Sir Walter Scott's daughter once spoke in his hearing 
 of something she could not endure because it was vulgar. 
 * My dear,' replied her father, ' you speak like a very young 
 lady. Do you know, after all, the meaning uf this word 
 vulgar? It is only roiniiion; nothing that is common, 
 except Avickedness, can deserve to be spoken of with 
 contempt. When you have lived to my years, you will be 
 disposed to agree with me in thankmg God that nothing 
 really wortli having or caring about in this world is 
 uncommon.'' " 
 
 In this sentence, perhaps, may be recognised the key-
 
 220 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 note of Scott's genius. His sympathy with the aspira- 
 tions, the temptations, the shortcomings, and the dis- 
 appointments of his fellow-men was so complete, his 
 mind was so thoroughly manly, that he was able out 
 of everyday material to create thoroughly wholesome 
 and ennobling images. His villains are black enough, 
 but their dye is not allowed to suffuse every page ; 
 vice persists, but is not permitted to prevail, and the 
 reader is not oppressed by the dreary feeling that, do 
 what we may, evil governs the world, and it is neither 
 pleasant nor profitable to be virtuous, or true, or 
 chaste, or unselfish. In Scott's universe there is God 
 above and heaven before us ; in Balzac's there is 
 neither — nothing but vindictive fate inhabiting a 
 vault of bewilderment. To lay down ' L'Histoire des 
 Treize ' or ' Le Pere Goriot,' and to take up ' Quentin 
 Durward' or 'The Antiquary,' is to pass from the ex- 
 hausted air and unfragrant thoroughfares of a city to 
 leafy lanes and summer hillsides. 
 
 There is not more difference between the work of 
 these two masters and its influence on the imagination 
 of millions, than there is between the place each of 
 the two men now holds in the affection of mankind. 
 The name of Honore de Balzac can scarcely be pro- 
 nounced without a smile, recalling, as it does, a career 
 of gasconade, of make-shift and make-believe. But 
 through all his embarrassment Walter Scott never for- 
 got his dignity : popular though his writings have been 
 almost beyond precedent, that which his countrymen
 
 Imctgination . 221 
 
 cherish even more fondly is the memory of his kindly 
 quaint ways, his unswerving integrity, and above all, 
 his firm faith in the good that is in human nature. 
 Balzac's imagination was most penetrating, but it was 
 deficient in scope ; dwelling almost exclusively on the 
 evil side of humanity, its pinions never carried him to 
 the purer levels of life ; but Scott's raised him to that 
 helpful understanding of his fellow-men which has 
 been epitomised in the saying — " Comprendre — c'est 
 tout 'pardonner" 
 
 A very common fault in modern literature — 
 especially fiction — is too minute description of gesture, 
 too laborious exposition of feeling and motive. Every 
 one is familiar with one characteristic of the journal- 
 ism of the present day which spares no detail of dress 
 or feature of public men ; but after all, journalism is 
 a record : it may be as important to be informed that 
 Lord Salisbury wore a black frock-coat and shepherd's- 
 plaid trousers in the House of Lords last week, as that 
 Mr Fox wore a blue coat and buff waistcoat in the 
 House of Commons last century. But it is altogether 
 intolerable that this practice should be carried into 
 fiction in a degree insulting to the reader's imagina- 
 tion and injurious to his understanding. There is a 
 fine contrast between the naive, almost bald narrative 
 of such a work as Provost's ' Manon Lescaut,' and the 
 unctuous, overloaded pages of the average modern 
 novel. The genuine artist is not careful to explain all
 
 222 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the motives and dissect all the emotions of his char- 
 acters ; he knows it is his business to tell his tale 
 clearly, be it in fifty pages or five hundred, relying on 
 the events he has to describe being capable of engaging 
 attention, and crediting his reader with enough imag- 
 ination to supply much that might be written between 
 the lines. The truth is, that, although he might not 
 like to be told it, the modern analytic writer is far 
 more matter-of-fact than the old-fashioned synthetic 
 one, because he labours to explain everything as if 
 he doubted his readers having any imagination at 
 all. One gets exasperated with him, and constantly 
 feels inclined to exclaim, " You ass ! I can see that 
 without your telling me." He blunders as unpardon- 
 ably as a host who insists on drawing his guest's at- 
 tention to the excellence of his dishes and the high 
 equality of his wines. It is not the business of a 
 writer to show tlie fine feats of his own imagination, 
 but to stimulate that of his readers. 
 
 To illustrate this modern vice of over-description, 
 here is a passage from a novel opened at random — a 
 novel not selected for the present purpose, but liter- 
 ally the nearest to hand among a row in the club from 
 the circulating library : — 
 
 "Delicacy more than beauty was the charm of the 
 woman's face. The expression was wistful and abstracted, 
 with something of glacial austerity in its purity, and a cold- 
 ness of pride in the pointed chin, and the Avay her head was 
 set on a long and slender throat, that awed. Her arms 
 were bare, rounded and white like a child's or very j'oung
 
 hnagination. 228 
 
 girl's, though extreme youthf ulness was not the claim of her 
 grave proud face. Her neck, too, was softly but slenderly 
 filled in, unadorned by gem or flowers, and so white as to 
 suCTtrest the want of red blood in her veins. The colour 
 and texture of her gown, pale blue of gossamery stuff, full 
 in fold and much be-ribboned and flounced, added to the 
 pictorial unreality of her extreme fairness, as did her brown 
 hair worn high and loosely coiled, with a pearl crescent 
 catching its topmost roll," &c., &c., &c. 
 
 iSTow compare with this verbiage the style in which 
 I'Abbe Prevost, in the above-mentioned romance of 
 'Manon Lescaut,' enlists admiration for his heroine. 
 Indeed it is not easy to find any passage in which she 
 is described. One reads page after page of this fas- 
 cinating story, and is penetrated with the sense of 
 Manon's beauty and charm, in spite of the fact that 
 the author nowhere tells so mucli as the colour of her 
 eyes and hair. The reader's imagination has been 
 encouraged to fill in the outlines for himself. The 
 description approaching most nearly to detail is given 
 in the Chevalier Desgrieux's own words. It is after 
 he has given up Manon, returned to Saint-Sulpice, 
 and made his oration in the School of Theology. He 
 has not seen his old mistress for more than a year, 
 and is manfully striving to forget all about her in 
 preparing for the sacred calling chosen for him. He 
 is told that a lady has called to see him, and he goes 
 to the parlour to wait upon her : — 
 
 "Dieu! quelle apparition surprenante! j'y trouvai Manon. 
 C'^tait elle, mais plus aimable et plus brillante que je ne
 
 224 Noontide Essays. 
 
 I'avais jamais vue. Elle ctait dans sa dix-hiiitikiie annee : 
 ses charnies surpassaient tout ce qu'on peut decrire : c'etait 
 un air si fin, si doux, si engageant ! I'air de ramour meme. 
 Toute sa figure me parut un enchantement." 
 
 That is all — practically all the personal description 
 given of what every one who has read the romance 
 will agree is one of the most fascinating female char- 
 acters in fiction. 
 
 By condescending to superfluous detail, a writer for- 
 feits the respect which he should be very jealous to 
 secure. Authors aspire to control and direct opinion : 
 it is at their peril that they forget that rulers betray 
 themselves when they stoop to familiarity. If they are 
 to maintain their authority, there must be no visible 
 anxiety to please ; they should rather invite others to 
 share their prerogative of understanding, than step 
 down from their dais to gossip in corridors or at 
 street corners. This is the kind of pride which 
 Chamfort declared, includes all the commandments of 
 God ; whereas to show how cleverly trivial details 
 may be explained is part of the vanity which, he 
 said, contains the seven deadly sins. 
 
 The deterioration of fiction has its counterpart in 
 the new journalism. Editors of old were careful that 
 their leader-writers should be shrouded in the sonor- 
 ous " we." Judgment delivered by veiled prophets 
 carried far more weight than the same sentences 
 delivered by a visible, perhaps insignificant-looking, 
 individual " slinging ink " for a livelihood, and shrewd 
 anonymity appealed powerfully to the imagination.
 
 Imagin atio n. 225 
 
 But it is one of the signs of democratic times that an 
 ever-increasing number of people are deeply interested 
 in the movements of fashionable or wealthy people, 
 and it has been found that a fascinating sense of 
 familiarity with modish circles is conveyed by sub- 
 stituting the first person singular for the first person 
 plural. The writer talks airily of the doings of great 
 folks, takes his readers into his confidence, and, by 
 implication, associates them with the characters in 
 hia chronicle. Their imagination is agreeably stirred 
 by such paragraphs as these : — 
 
 " I am delighted to see that the young Duchess of 
 Manylands has thrown off all traces of her severe 
 attack of influenza. She was looking quite her best 
 on Friday night at Lady Bellastre's smart little dance, 
 and looked fascinating in a costume of white chcchesse 
 satin, with ribbons of grasshopper green and rose pink, 
 and a coquettish bunch of ostrich - feathers on one 
 shoulder," 
 
 " So Lord Tunbridge has made up his mind at last, 
 I really thought that long-talked-of Canadian trip 
 would never come off; but he tells me that he really 
 sails next week in the Umbria, and with him go 
 ' Froggy ' Desborough and ' Toler ' Macdonald." 
 
 One of the most formidable instances of the sway 
 wielded by an individual over masses of his fellows, 
 without the aid of religious excitement, is that of 
 Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland and Mecklenburg, 
 who commanded the Emperor Ferdinand's forces in 
 
 p
 
 226 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the Thirty Years' War, Although it is true that the 
 struggle was one between Catholics and Protestants, 
 Wallenstein's troops were drawn from all parts of 
 Europe, attracted by prospect of pay and booty, and 
 not to be suspected of devotional fervour. His mili- 
 tary capacity and great wealth would doubtless have 
 proved enough in themselves to make him remark- 
 able ; but it was his austere personality, enhanced by 
 the exaggerated ceremony on which he insisted, that 
 exalted him into an object of superstitious dread, and 
 made his power unrivalled while it lasted, by means 
 of the impression on the imagination of those whom 
 he ruled : — 
 
 " Wallenstein's appearance," writes IMichiels, " was 
 enough in itself to inspire fear and respect. His tall thin 
 figure, his haughty attitude, the stern expression of his pale 
 face, his wide forehead that seemed formed to command, 
 his black hair, close-shorn and harsh, his little dark eyes, in 
 which the flame of authority shone, his haughty and sus- 
 picious look, his thick moustaches and tufted heard, pro- 
 duced at the first glance a striking sensation. . . . Whilst 
 his army devoted itself to pleasure the deepest silence 
 reigned around the general. He could not endure the rum- 
 bling of carts, loud conversations, or even simple sounds. 
 One of his chamberlains was hanged for waking him with- 
 out orders, and an officer was secretly put to death because 
 his spurs clanked when he came to the general. His ser- 
 vants glided about the room like phantoms, and a dozen 
 patrols incessantly moved round his tent or palace to main- 
 tain perpetual tranquillity. Chains were also stretched 
 across the streets in order to guard him against any sound. 
 . . , He was never seen to smile, and his pride rendered
 
 Imagination. 227 
 
 him inaccessible to sensual pleasures. . . . When he gave 
 any orders or explanations he could not bear to be looked 
 at curiously ; when he crossed the camp the soldiers were 
 obliged to pretend they did not see him. Yet they experi- 
 enced an involuntary shudder when they saw him pass like 
 a supernatural being. ... He Avalked alone, surrounded by 
 this magic influence like a saddening halo." 
 
 Thus, if Disraeli was right in declaring imagination 
 to be necessary in a ruler, it is not less true that it has 
 to be reckoned with in the ruled. The example of 
 Wallenstein may seem to be at variance with what has 
 been said above about weakening the influence of 
 rulers by increasing the gulf between them and those 
 they should rule, but the difference here is that Wallen- 
 stein was always present with and visible to his armies. 
 
 Besides the action of imagination which exalts a 
 favourite politician into a popular hero, whose every 
 saying and movement commands attention, there is a 
 most practical and commonplace result, which makes 
 people willing to be heavily taxed for imaginary en- 
 joyment. For example, the pleasures of tobacco are 
 shrewdly analysed by one of the characters in the 
 Memoirs of Jacques Cazanova (a book remarkable 
 for better qualities than its outrageous profligacy). 
 Josouff, a Russian Jew, " qui fumait en Turc, c'est-^- 
 dire sans cracher," utters some reflections which the 
 experience of every smoker will confirm : — 
 
 " Ecoute ! le principal plaisir de fumer consiste dans la 
 vue de la fumee. Tu ne dois jamais la voir sortir de la 
 bouche, mais toute du coin de la bouche, a distances
 
 228 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 m^surees et jamais trop frequentes. II est si vrai que ce 
 plaisir est le principal que tu ne verras nulle part un aveugle 
 fumer. Essais toi-meiue de fumer dans ta chambre la nuit 
 sans lumiere ; un moment apr^s avoir allume ta pipe tu la 
 mettras bas." 
 
 Nobody can smoke in the dark ; so it seems as if 
 Josouffs explanation is correct, that the chief pleasure 
 consists in watching the puffs — a pleasure, in fact, of 
 the imagination. What are the people of this country- 
 willing to pay for this pleasure ? In 1890 the amount 
 of duty paid on about 46,000,000 lb. of imported 
 tobacco was no less than £9,214,627; and allowing 
 twelve pipefuls to every ounce, we arrive at the 
 astounding total of 8,849,041,000 pipes consumed by 
 a population of 38,000,000. The mere increase in 
 duty paid over the preceding year was nearly half a 
 million, representing 560,000,000 pipes more in 1890 
 than in 1889. In view of these stupendous figures, 
 which themselves almost transcend imagination, what 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer can henceforth disregard 
 the imagination of the people as a chief factor in 
 filling; the national coffers ? 
 
 As an agent to make life sweeter and better, the 
 imao^inative power is capable of infinite extension by 
 education. Each new avenue of intelligence opened 
 admits it to the influence of fresh delight. It is 
 rather humiliating that the experience of so many 
 ao-es of civilisation has not enabled us to decide on 
 the best curriculum; many are crying out against
 
 Imagination. 229 
 
 the prescription of the classics, complaining that we 
 sacrifice our children's time and pains to acquiring 
 a knowledge of dead languages which should be 
 devoted to modern literature, science, and art. Mon- 
 sieur Guyau is perhaps the most intelligible exponent 
 of the opposite view, defending classical education on 
 the ground that the true object is not the acquirement 
 of useful knowledge but intellectual development; 
 to form heads, as Montesquieu said, not to fill them. 
 It^is a question not easy to decide; but one thing 
 seems clear, that it is a grievous imperfection in 
 upper-class education that it should be radically 
 different for the two sexes. To store a boy's mind 
 with the philosophy of Greek and Eoman sages, to 
 instil into him the charm of classic poetry and 
 illusion, and to leave him to choose a companion for 
 life from among girls who have been carefully ex- 
 cluded from such knowledge ; and, conversely, while 
 girls are taught music and modern languages as a 
 matter of course, to leave it to pure chance whether 
 a boy acquires any instruction at all in these — seems 
 to be a system devised to hinder rather than encourage 
 the quick sympathy essential to perfect union. When 
 two young persons enter the state of matrimony, it is 
 in compliance with a mutual impulse of harmony; 
 each invests the other with ideal attributes which can 
 never, in the imperfection of human nature, be fully 
 realised. But the chill of disappointment has been 
 carefully prepared by a scheme of education which 
 has trained the thoughts of husband and wife to run
 
 230 Noontide Essays. 
 
 in different channels, and accustomed the intellect of 
 each to slake its thirst at sources inaccessible to the 
 other. Such refreshment is a necessity ; what wonder, 
 then, if minds which ought to move together often 
 grow accustomed to seek their relaxation separately ? 
 Companionship postulates common understanding; it 
 is to be deplored that the present system provides so 
 little common ground. 
 
 More careful culture of the imagination would 
 put an end once and for all to slipshod habits in 
 writing or speech. Emerson said that " in a letter 
 any expressions may be abbreviated rather than those 
 of respect and kindness : never write ' Yours aff'ly.' " 
 But, be it said with all respect, this smacks of pedantry. 
 The close of a letter is mere formula, and is precisely 
 that part which, in writing to a friend, may without 
 risk of misunderstanding be cut short or dispensed 
 with : between friends ga va sans dire. But no 
 degree of familiarity palliates careless expressions in 
 the letter itself; and a common mark of disrespect 
 which, by the rules of ordinary courtesy should be 
 discountenanced, is to finish with the words "in 
 haste." Oftener than not, they are used insincerely : 
 the writer has really plenty of time to write what 
 he has to say, but he feels it is rather a bore, and 
 so permits himself a liberty which he would never 
 venture upon if, instead of corresponding, he were 
 to meet his acquaintance in the street. If a corre- 
 spondent is worth addressing, he is worth the few 
 minutes required to express one's self with ordinary
 
 Imagination. 231 
 
 consideration : it is not flattering to him to feel that 
 you are in haste, for that only means, in most cases, 
 that you are in haste to be done with him. Written 
 words stand by themselves ; the tone of voice and the 
 glance of the eye, which often convey more than half 
 the meaning, are not there as footnotes ; many and 
 many an unintentional sting has been planted by a 
 clumsy phrase or halting expression. 
 
 The same principle holds good in conversation. 
 Considering what a beautiful instrument is speech, 
 and how closely it may express every thought and 
 fear and hope, it is astonishing how awkwardly and 
 carelessly it is employed. A good talker — not a 
 profuse conversationalist nor an orator, but one who 
 expresses himself in clear and simple words — imparts 
 so much pleasure, that it is much to be regretted that 
 the species is so rare. And the value we set upon 
 such a one is not solely because he tickles our ears 
 agreeably ; the imagination at once, and rightly, 
 connects distinct articulation and appropriate words 
 as indicative of intellectual clearness and vigour; if 
 the thoughts are not powerful and well ordered, the 
 speech will be awkward and blundering. Men of 
 great mental power may be insignificant in person 
 and homely in feature, but they are almost always 
 remarkable for lucidity of expression. St Paul may 
 have justly described his own presence as weak, but 
 he probably did himself an injustice when he added 
 that his speech was contemptible. There is, however, 
 one exception to this rule. Literary men, accustomed
 
 232 Noontide Essays. 
 
 to express their thoughts by mechanical contrivance 
 instead of by the natural organs, often come far short 
 of a satisfactory standard of elocution. 
 
 There is one sweetener of society which, perhaps 
 above all others, depends on a quick imagination, and 
 that is chivalry. It has its rules, no doubt ; but 
 they liave never been written, at least they are ob- 
 served by men (especially some in humble life) who 
 never can have read them ; and they must be felt, not 
 uttered. 
 
 Chivalry implies forgetfulness of self and considera- 
 tion of others, and cannot exist save where the imagin- 
 ation is trained and lively. As this paper begins with 
 allusion to a saying of Mr Disraeli's, it may fitly 
 conclude with reference to an incident in that states- 
 man's life affording an apt illustration of the charm 
 which the spirit of chivalry infuses into everyday life. 
 Mr Gladstone was delivering an attack in the House 
 of Commons upon the administration of ]Mr Disraeli. 
 He had begun a sentence — " The right honourable 
 gentleman and his satellites" — when some interrup- 
 tion threw him out ; he came to a stop, and seemed 
 on the point of breaking down. Disraeli leaned 
 across the table and repeated the word "satellites," 
 whereupon his adversary at once recollected himself 
 and resumed his invective. 
 
 There must always be " sides " in this life. " If 
 there were no difference of opinion there would be no 
 fancy waistcoats." It is good to be reminded some-
 
 Imagination. 233 
 
 times that there is still room in the long-drawn con- 
 flict for sympathy of chivalrous spirits. 
 
 A friendly critic, looking through the proof-sheets 
 of this paper, has just remarked that it is so rambling 
 that it requires a good deal of imagination to imagine 
 that the subject of it is imagination. The thrust is 
 fair enough ; my retort is that their purpose has been 
 served if these paragraphs, however loosely thrown 
 together, have reminded the reader that imagination 
 sometimes does what no other faculty can accomplish.
 
 PLEASURE. 
 
 TITHEN Sainte - Beuve published his romance 
 ' ' 'Volupte,' he showed some solicitude for the 
 scruples of those who might take alarm at such an 
 equivocal title, explaining to them frankly in the 
 Preface that his hook, though written with a serious 
 moral purpose, was not meant for those who were 
 too strait-laced to have feeling for human foibles. 
 At the same time, he dismissed rather contemptu- 
 ously those who might be lured to peruse it by the 
 very same appearance of evil that scared graver 
 minds, remarking that he did not concern himself 
 though they would certainly be disappointed. Mon- 
 taigne, on the other hand, anticipating Helvetius by 
 three centuries in declaring that, even in virtue, the 
 principal aim of man is pleasure, found a mischiev- 
 ous delight in scandalising prudes. " 11 me plaist de 
 battre leurs aureilles de ce mot (la volupte) qui leur 
 est si fort a contre-coeur : " — I delight in dinning into 
 their ears this word which is so odious to them.
 
 Pleasure. 235 
 
 Of the two examples, that of Sainte-Beuve is the 
 safer for a writer in these days to follow, and to 
 acknowledge that the word which stands at the head 
 of this page is one of doubtful reputation. It has 
 been too often seen in bad company ; noscitur a sociis 
 — it is looked on askance by steady-going people, as 
 if it were a synonym for revelry, debauchery, pro- 
 miscuous junketings, horse-racing, card-playing, and 
 suchlike. 
 
 Towards the close of last century there was started 
 the ' Sporting Magazine,' which ran a career, neither 
 inglorious nor unprofitable to the publishers, for up- 
 wards of seventy years. The title-page of the earlier 
 numbers undertakes that " the Turf, the Chace, and 
 every other Diversion interesting to the Man of 
 Pleasure " will be fully dealt with. It must be con- 
 fessed that some of the contents of this magazine in 
 its youthful days were such as to favour the sinister 
 significance of the term " Man of Pleasure " ; for the 
 editor took a catholic view of sport, and not only 
 interlarded the records of tlie chase with annals of 
 the cock-pit and the prize-ring, and realistic descrip- 
 tions of public executions, but, in certain paragraphs 
 headed " Matrimonial Sporting," admitted detailed 
 accounts of the raciest m7?i. con, and abduction cases. 
 This gave the lover of legitimate sport a bad start. 
 A periodical conducted on such loose lines might 
 well strengthen the opinion held by some serious per- 
 sons that all sport involves disreputable associations, 
 and helped, no doubt, to bring it about that many
 
 236 Noontide Essays. 
 
 people in this country still think and speak coyly of 
 pleasure, as if it were in itself a hurtful or obnoxious j ' 
 
 thing. 
 
 Nevertheless, rightly understood, pleasure is the 
 chief object of all human government — the art, 
 namely, of making people jDleased or happy; and it 
 would not be less rational to condemn religion be- 
 cause of the cruelties that have been inflicted in its 
 name, or art because some good pictures have an 
 immoral tendency, as to inveigh against pleasure be- 
 cause some people pursue it selfishly or find it in 
 unworthy objects. 'Op^w? ^atpeti;, to enjoy rightly, 
 is one of the surest precepts of human happiness ; 
 and it is difficult for a layman to put his finger on 
 any denunciation of pleasure, as such, in either Old 
 or New Testament. There is something of insin- 
 cerity, something unmanly, in the conventional atti- 
 tude assumed towards pleasure by professing Chris- 
 tians. AVe are constantly seeking it, yet we declare 
 abhorrence of pleasure-seekers ; we profess to despise 
 it, yet the whole effort of the nations is to obtain it. 
 Montaigne, distinguished for frankness rather than 
 sternness of philosophy, makes no bones about this: 
 " Toutes les opinions du monde en sont la, que le 
 plaisir est notre but ; quoyqu'elles en prennent divers 
 moyens : aultrement on les chasseroit d'arrivee ; car 
 qui escouteroit celuy qui, pour sa fin, establiroit 
 nostre peine et mesaise ? " 
 
 This contradiction of profession and practice arises 
 in part from sheer hypocrisy, in part from imper-
 
 Pleasure. 237 
 
 fectly understanding the true nature of pleasure, or, 
 as it may please some to put it (though the phrase 
 so arranged is neither so comprehensive nor so ex- 
 plicit), the nature of true pleasure. Christians, it is 
 true, are told to rejoice when men shall speak evil of 
 them and persecute them, and this seems sometimes 
 to be interpreted as an injunction to make themselves 
 so ungenial and disagreeable as to bring upon them- 
 selves the natural consequences of being disliked ; but 
 it is .certain there is notliing good or to be grateful 
 for in evil-speaking and persecution, and no merit in 
 enduring or courting such treatment, except so far 
 as it is a sign that those who incur it are taking a 
 course opposed to the will and practice of worldly 
 men. But even such martyrs are not called on to 
 resign all idea of pleasure for evermore; the enjoy- 
 ment is but postponed, " for great is their reward 
 in heaven." Throughout Scripture pleasure is pro- 
 nounced a good and right thing, and therefore to be 
 desired. " I know that there is no good in them," 
 says the Preacher, " but for a man to rejoice, and to 
 do good in his life. And also that every man should 
 eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it 
 is the gift of God." 
 
 However thorough our persuasion may be that ours 
 is no continuing city, and that we are on the way to a 
 better world, there is no merit in making our journey 
 thither uncomfortable. What is the aim of all phil- 
 anthropy but pleasure in the present ? what is the 
 promise of every religion but pleasure in the future ?
 
 238 Noontide Essays. 
 
 With what consistency can the honest believer under- 
 value pleasure, when the Psalmist declares that at 
 the Lord's " right hand are pleasures for evermore " ? 
 Even Jeremiah, the eponymus of all that is doleful, 
 is constrained to offer pleasure as the reward of 
 righteousness : " Then shall the virgin rejoice in the 
 dance, both young men and old together ; " yet there 
 lingers among certain sects a feeling, expressed in 
 Petrarch's description of the dance, as quoted by 
 Burton, as " a circle of wliich the devil himself is 
 the centre ; many women that use it have come 
 dishonest home ; most indifferent ; none better." 
 Burton himself, after citing the most furious de- 
 nunciations of it as well as what has been written 
 in its praise, was led to the following conclusion : 
 " This is my censure in brief ; dancing is a pleasant 
 recreation of body and mind, if sober and modest 
 (such as our Christian dances are), if tempestively 
 used." 
 
 It is delicious to picture the prolix and erudite 
 Anatomist of Melancholy being lured out of his den 
 in Christ Church to join "tempestively" in the dance: 
 perhaps it was this that led the " ancients of Christ 
 Church" to assure Anthony a-Wood "that his com- 
 pany was very merry, facete, and juvenile." 
 
 If we may start with the assumption that pleasure 
 is a good and right thing, one to be desired, and 
 therefore one that it is worth taking some trouble to 
 secure, then it will not be wasting time to consider 
 its true nature and remark upon some of the more 
 
 t
 
 Pleasure. 289 
 
 frequent and remediable hindrances to its attain- 
 ment, as well as to point out the common neglect of 
 some of its purest sources. 
 
 Pleasure, then, not in the limited, painfully techni- 
 cal sense in which Sainte-Beuve used the word, but in 
 the full meaning of enjoyment and delight, is indeed 
 one of the most difficult subjects that can possibly be 
 submitted to analysis. Seek and ye shall 7iot find it, 
 unless your search is wisely directed. Often it eludes 
 the most elaborate plans and costly preparation for 
 its capture. Equally often it springs out unawares 
 upon the wayfarer when he is least looking for it, 
 meets him with frankest countenance where its 
 presence would be least suspected. Thus the ordi- 
 nary scheme of social entertainment is devised to 
 encourage that most pcecious of all earthly joys — 
 human intercourse. The stranger wandering through 
 London on some night in June finds himself in a 
 street crowded with glittering carriages, a constant 
 stream of airily dressed, bejewelled, and beflowered 
 men and women flows across the carpeted steps of a 
 spacious mansion ; strains of exquisite music lioat 
 through open windows into the summer night ; 
 glimpses may be had of staircases and shaded bal- 
 conies bright with all the flowers of fairy-land. To 
 the poor wanderer it seems impossible to imagine 
 enjoyment more complete than that prepared for 
 those privileged to meet their friends in such a lovely 
 scene; and turning away with an envious sigh, he 
 betakes himself to his lonely lodging to dream of
 
 240 Noontide Essays. 
 
 delights that are far beyond his reach. Beyond Ms 
 reach only, does he think ? He little knows ! Con- 
 versation has been described — neither inaptly nor 
 irreverently — as the communion of saints, but, in 
 some of its phases, it is pretty well disguised. 
 
 " Going to Lady Midas's to-night ? " inquires a 
 weary-looking woman of one whom she meets dining 
 at a friend's house, who, elderly and overfed, finds it 
 a task almost beyond her powers to keep awake till 
 the men come up from the dining-room. 
 
 " Yes," replies the second, ineffectually smothering 
 a yawn ; " we must just show ourselves there, I 
 suppose. But it's a bore ; for there are two or 
 three balls to-night, and it is such a bad house to 
 get away from." 
 
 Or perhaps it is among tl:ke men that the popular 
 aspect of Lady Midas's magnificent entertainment 
 reveals itself. 
 
 "Not going yet, old fellow," says the host, "not 
 going into sodety, eh ? You surely know better than 
 that at your age. Look here," sinking his voice, 
 "just you wait till the women have gone, and we'll 
 have a quiet rubber and a cigar." 
 
 "Ah, wouldn't I just like it!" replies the other, 
 ruefully ; " but you see my wife insists on my going 
 to a confounded squash at Lady Midas's — won't go 
 without me, you know." 
 
 Yet the hostess's object is as laudable as the pains 
 she takes are elaborate. She throws open her house.
 
 Pleasure. 241 
 
 fills it with flowers, music, and soft light, provides 
 a supper fit for Lucullus — all to enable people to 
 meet their friends. Why is it all a failure (though 
 every one agrees it was a great success)? why are 
 nineteen out of every twenty people bored at having 
 to go, and why are they in such a hurry to come 
 away ? The thing aimed at — pleasant intercourse — 
 is far from unattainable ; for that may turn up sud- 
 denly, without the slightest preparation, in a chance 
 meeting on a railway journey, or (this has actually 
 happened) in a dentist's waiting-room. The fact is, 
 elaborate preparations are more likely to scare than 
 to secure pleasure. To quote some expressive words 
 of Mr Dallas : " Pleasure seldom gives note of her 
 coming. She comes like an angel — unheard, un- 
 seen, unknown ; and not till she is gone or parting 
 from us are our eyes opened to what we have 
 enjoyed." 
 
 The nature of the object sought after is not in 
 itself of the essence of pleasure. There is, perhaps, 
 no engine of ease more consummately designed for its 
 purpose than a modern bed, with its liberal expanse 
 of resilient mattress and alternate layers of snowy 
 flax and creamy wool, by which temperature and 
 weight of covering may be adjusted with the last 
 degree of nicety. As a machine for repose it really 
 leaves nothing to be desired ; yet how completely, 
 after all, does the enjoyment of it depend on cir- 
 cumstances beyond the occupant's control. There is 
 
 Q
 
 242 Noontide Essays. 
 
 no half-hour of physical enjoyment so unalloyed as 
 that before getting up in the morning. The limbs 
 revel in the delicate contact of fine linen and the 
 amorous pressure of the mattress. Is one too warm ? 
 — there are unexplored recesses under the sheets 
 stored with refreshing coolness, into which feet and 
 arms may be thrust. Is one chilly? — there is the 
 eider-down quilt, light as a lover's whisper and warm 
 as his nymph's embrace, to draw over the top. Nor 
 is it merely an hour of sensuous ease. There is none 
 in the whole round of the clock when the intellect 
 is so active, or when thought flows so quick and 
 so clear. A considerate host remembers this, and 
 makes bedside book -shelves as integral a part of 
 bedroom furniture as a wash-hand-stand or a ward- 
 robe. Yet, to the bedridden, what is this bed but 
 Gehenna? The same sheets, the same springs, the 
 same decorous luxury is there, but they confer no 
 pleasure ; the sick man loathes the very same couch 
 which, when healthy, he was often too laggard in 
 leaving ; and when visitors come, bringing with 
 them the smell of the field and the wood, his whole 
 being creaks with longing to be out in the free air, 
 to feel the glorious sun or to cower in the bitter 
 blast. 
 
 Again : to the student — the genuine helluo lihronim 
 — books are all in all ; give him a generous supply of 
 these and he is satisfied, he wants no more ; he even 
 grudges the time spent in taking food, rest, or neces- 
 sary exercise ; in extreme cases he becomes indifferent
 
 Pleasure. 24 
 
 Q 
 
 > 
 
 to living friendship, finding all his solace in the com- 
 panionship described by Mr Ruskin in one of the 
 soundest of his many sound scoldings : — 
 
 " There is a society continually open to ns, of people avIio 
 will talk to us as long as we like, whatever our rank or 
 occupation : talk to us in the best words they can choose, 
 and with thanks if we listen to them. And this society, 
 because it is so numerous and so gentle, — and can be kept 
 waiting round us all day long, not to grant audience, but to 
 gainjt ; — kings and statesmen lingering patiently in those 
 plainly furnished and narrow ante -rooms, our bookcase 
 shelves, — we make no account of that company, — perhaps 
 never listen to a word they would say all day long." 
 
 Long before Euskin, Eichard of Bury, when as yet 
 printed books were not, spoke not less reverently of 
 literature. " These are masters," he wrote in his 
 ' Philobiblon ' (a.d. 1340), " who instruct us without 
 chastisement, without anger, without fee ; if you 
 repair to them, they are not sleeping ; if you ask 
 them anything, they do not hide themselves ; if you 
 blunder, they complain not ; if you betray ignorance, 
 they laugh not." 
 
 How can any one remain insensible to books as a 
 source of pleasure ? — one at which the million may 
 slake their thirst. Nevertheless, not to mention the 
 schoolboy, in whose eyes books are but elaborate 
 obstacles to the enjoyment of life, there are thousands 
 and tens of thousands of educated men who prefer 
 the scribbling of daily journalists to the written 
 thoughts of kings and statesmen, and seldom read any-
 
 244 Noontide Essays. 
 
 thing but newspapers and shallow magazine articles ; 
 or, at the highest, quaff, not from the perennial wells 
 of Helicon, but from the wayside rills of contemporary 
 fiction. They indulge in what Mr Braithwaite has 
 spoken of as "a feeble attempt to think by proxy." 
 But this kind do not know the pleasure of litera- 
 ture, because desire, in the gratification of which 
 consists the nature of pleasure, has not been born 
 in them ; " many are the thyrsus-bearers, but few are 
 the mystics." There are plenty who take books in 
 their hands, but few who care to commune with the 
 writer, content if he prattles to them pleasantly 
 enough to keep their thoughts in a state of agree- 
 able titillation. 
 
 In like manner, persons of a devout temperament 
 have resort to the services of the Church, and find 
 therein comfort for their souls and the brightness of 
 their lives. It is not for a pretence they make long 
 prayers, but because to do so satisfies a want of their 
 nature ; while others, not merely the careless or ir- 
 reverent, but some thoughtful, earnest men, dread 
 the effort involved in the frequency and length of 
 public worship. 
 
 Examples might be multiplied, all tending to prove 
 that there is no such thing as objective pleasure, but 
 that pleasure is a harmony — that is, a fitting together 
 — a fitting of an external object with a mood or want 
 within ourselves. It is, to put it plainly, the fulfil- 
 ment of desire, the gratification of an appetite not 
 necessarily ignoble, but often, in our strangely com-
 
 Pleasure. 245 
 
 plex beings, very much the reverse. In short, as 
 Suckling says — 
 
 *' 'Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite 
 Makes eating a delight." 
 
 The word " harmony," it may be observed, is not used 
 here in a loose or metaphorical sense, but in its literal 
 etymological meaning. Human speech is a spon- 
 taneous growth, and words long retain an intrinsic 
 significance which may have been obscured by every- 
 day use. Thus "harmony is best understood by re- 
 membering the meaning of the original Greek ap/jiovta, 
 a fitting together of parts. Being a convenient ex- 
 pression for the pleasing arrangement of musical 
 notes, the term has been almost monopolised by 
 musicians ; but so far from there being any affecta- 
 tion in applying it generally, it would be the most 
 mischievous form of pedantry to restrict it to tech- 
 nical use. The word suggests a true analogy between 
 the agreement of musical sounds and that fulfilment 
 of desire which creates or constitutes pleasure; and 
 the art of pleasure is, in fact, neither more nor less 
 than the science of harmony. 
 
 For reasons already referred to, of special weight in 
 a country which retains the stamp of tlie Puritan fur- 
 nace, it is difficult to get the popular mind to analyse 
 the nature and ingredients of pleasure, without im- 
 porting moral considerations into the process ; but 
 even these may be more closely examined hereafter, 
 if a clear understanding may be had of the former.
 
 246 Nootitide Essays. 
 
 In the ancient Greek philosophy two distinct 
 theories of pleasure claimed disciples : the earlier 
 Cyrenaic school taught that pleasure was to be had 
 only in action, securing a process of change from an 
 indifferent state to a better one, thereby leading to a 
 reliance on the senses to produce material delight ; 
 the Epicurean doctrine (strangely misapprehended by 
 modern people) being that pleasure is the result only 
 of repose, that tranquillity of body and mind should 
 be the end in view, and that the intellect is the 
 true channel of enjoyment. Plato, one of the earliest 
 and most courageous chemists of pleasure, endorsed the 
 views of the Cyrenaics, and explained that pleasure 
 could only be defined as a relief from pain. This was 
 also the opinion of Kant, who held that what we strive 
 to attain is not so much a definite gratification as the 
 appeasing of disquiet : — 
 
 " And that it is not a pleasure which entices us to this 
 (the passing from one state to another), but a kind of dis- 
 content with present suffering, is shown by the fact that we 
 are always seeking for some object of pleasure without 
 knowing what that object is, merely as an aid against the 
 disquiet — against the complement of petty pains wliich for 
 the moment irritate us and annoy us. It is thus apparent 
 that man is iirged on by a necessity of his nature to go out 
 of the present as a state of pain, in order to fuid in the 
 future one less irksome. . . . Pleasure is nothing positive ; 
 it is only a liberation of pain, and therefore only something 
 negative." 
 
 This is the sort of quagmire in which ingenious phil- 
 osophers delight in landing us. We know — every
 
 Pleasure. 247 
 
 natural healthy mind that does not torment itself with 
 phrases knows — that positive pleasure does exist ; and 
 though we may be unable to define it in a thoroughly 
 scholarly way, and may be uncertain whether it 
 should be classed as a thing or a state, we are as well 
 able to recognise it as the source of joy when we meet 
 with it, as w^e are to recognise pain as the source of 
 sorrow. Physicists tell us, with perfect truth, that a 
 rainbow has no actual existence, that it is merely a 
 sensation produced in the optic nerve by the decom- 
 position of light under refraction ; nevertheless all but 
 the colour-blind know a rainbow when they see it, 
 and, regarded purely as a phenomenon, it is capable of 
 being examined and explained. We respond readily 
 enough to the Sursum corda ! of pleasure, though it 
 may be difficult to explain the nature of the summons 
 to our own satisfaction or that of others ; but it seems 
 easy to show, by a concrete instance, the delusion of 
 holding pleasure to be nothing but an escape from 
 pain. Jeremiah's approval of dancing as an expres- 
 sion of mirth has already been quoted. Suppose a 
 young girl, undressing to go to bed, were to receive an 
 unexpected message inviting her to a ball ; would she 
 hesitate, think you, between her pillow and her ball- 
 dress ? Here is no case of escaping from pain ; she is 
 sleepy, and disposed for rest, as all young things ought 
 to be at night ; her desire and instinct is to say her 
 prayers and lay herself down. Kant perhaps would 
 maintain that directly she hears of the ball, she con- 
 ceives a desire to dance, stronger than the desire for
 
 248 Noo7itide Essays. 
 
 rest, and she hastens to the ball to assuage the unease 
 or pain of desire. The philosopher may be right ; but 
 to plain folks, unversed in metaphysics, it would seem 
 that for this girl pleasure begins the moment she hears 
 of the ball, and, let it be hoped, continues as long as 
 she stays at it. She was perfectly content and at ease 
 when she received the summons, perhaps was meditat- 
 ing on the pleasure of getting into a comfortable bed, 
 so that, according to Kant, it was impossible for her 
 to derive pleasure from the ball, for she was conscious 
 of no pain before going to it, and, says he, "it is 
 the sudden, the instantaneous removal of the pain 
 which determines all that we can call a veritable 
 pleasure." 
 
 According to this doctrine, pleasure only arises from 
 abrupt contrast, and while discussing this matter, Mr 
 Dallas, in the dainty bundle of essays v/hich he 
 labelled by the fanciful title of ' Tlie Gay Science,' ^ 
 very aptly quoted one of Browning's characters in sup- 
 port of it : — 
 
 '"Heigho !' yawned one day King Francis, 
 'Distance all value enhances ! 
 When a man's busy, why, leisure 
 Strikes hiin as wonderful pleasure. 
 Faith ! and at leisure once is he, 
 Straightway he longs to be busy. 
 Here we've got peace, and aghast I'm 
 Caught thinking war the true pastime.' " 
 
 But Plato himself had misgivings on the strict 
 Cyrenaic theory that all pleasure was the result of 
 
 ^ Two vols. Loudon : Chapman & Hall. 1866. 
 
 i
 
 Pleasure. 249 
 
 escaping from a condition of little ease into one of 
 greater. In one of his dialogues he puts into the 
 mouth of Socrates a clear definition of absolute as dis- 
 tinguished from relative pleasure. It is true that he 
 admits a very limited number to the list of absolute 
 pleasures — viz., " Those from beautiful colours, as they 
 are called, and from figures,^ and most of those from 
 odours, and those from sounds, and any object whose 
 absence is unfelt and painless, while their presence is 
 sensible and productive of pleasure. ... To these 
 may be added the pleasures of knowledge, if you grant 
 that no hunger or pangs of hunger precede their 
 acquisition." 
 
 What, then, is the true definition of this pleasure, of 
 which an attempt has been made to delineate some of 
 the traits ? by what means is its coming to be ensured ? 
 by what features is it to be recognised, and by what 
 craft can its flight be delayed ? Alas ! it all comes 
 to this, that Pleasure like Beauty eludes definition. 
 " Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or 
 loose the bands of Orion ? " "I cannot help laughing," 
 said Goethe, "at the eesthetical folks who torment 
 themselves in endeavouring by some abstract words 
 to reduce to a conception that inexpressible thing 
 to which we give the name of beauty. Beauty is a 
 primaeval phenomenon which itself never makes its 
 
 ^ In a subsequent and remarkable passage he makes an important 
 limitation to this : "By beautiful figures I do not mean what the 
 mass of men might imagine, animal shapes or painted forms : but 
 straight and curved lines, says my theory, and the planes and solids 
 they generate with turning-lathes, and rulers, and goniometei's."
 
 250 Noontide Essays. 
 
 appearance, but the retiection of which is within a 
 thousand different utterances of the creative mind, 
 and is as various as nature itself." 
 
 So is pleasure — "a primaeval phenomenon " — a 
 radiance shed from the presence of Him at whose 
 right hand there are pleasures for evermore, the source 
 of which, though we may speculate about it, we cannot 
 yet know. This much, however, it is in our power 
 to do ; seeing that pleasure is a sensation arising from 
 the fitting of fulfilment to desire, and of condition to 
 mood, we can encourage those desires and train those 
 moods which conduct to the purest gratification ; the 
 furniture of " the soul's dark cabin, battered and de- 
 cayed," may be so arranged that nothing shall inter- 
 cept the bright rays that fall on the casement : it 
 is even permitted to make new apertures or widen 
 existing ones, each an avenue of fuller delight, a trap 
 to catch the sunbeams of joy. 
 
 For example, the immense expansion and inexorable 
 precision of modern science, though they deter most 
 people from taking an active interest in it, have, 
 notwithstanding, immensely increased the richness of 
 natural science as a source of pleasure. One is not 
 necessarily a drone because he revels in the store 
 accumulated by the industry of others. It is quite 
 true that the farm of science is divided into a thousand 
 fields, and it is only by diligent labour in one of these 
 — often in no more than a compartment of one of these 
 — that substantial addition to the harvest of knowledge 
 can be made. It was otherwise in the days when
 
 Pleasure. 251 
 
 Bacon wrought ; the scope of science was then so 
 little developed that a diligent student might excel 
 in and contribute to ahnost every branch of it, but 
 now the labour has to be divided among specialists. 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes's entomologist is no caricature ; 
 his department of insect life was the Coleoptera or 
 beetles, and he indignantly resented some question 
 addressed to him about a butterfly, as if he were one 
 who should concern himself about those meretricious 
 Lepidoptera. It is a condition of things bringing to 
 mind the Italian prescription for a salad sauce, which 
 requires four men to concoct — namely, a spendthrift 
 for the oil, a miser for the vinegar, a councillor for 
 the salt, and a madman to stir it. 
 
 But the harvest is garnered not for the labourers 
 alone, but for all ; " whoso is simple, let him turn in 
 hither." It is possible for every one with ordinary 
 leisure to acquire considerable knowledge of the re- 
 sults of many branches of science. "The world," 
 observed Seneca, " would be a small thing if it did 
 not contain matter of inquiry for all the world ; " 
 and who can number the new sources of pleasure 
 opened up by merely becoming acquainted with the 
 province of scientific research ? " Jack of all trades, 
 master of none," may be objected ; but here is no 
 question of being a master — the work has all been 
 done, the feast prepared for us by others. One who 
 has instructed himself in the classification and distri- 
 bution of plants is not thereby entitled to rank himself 
 as a botanist ; but henceforth — let the hillside where
 
 252 Noontide Essays. 
 
 he wanders be never so desolate, the way he fares 
 along never so dreary, they will have for him a bright- 
 ness and a significance beyond the understanding of 
 one who sees there nothing but " weeds." So in the 
 kindred sciences, geology and zoology, there exists not 
 a habitable spot on the globe where a mind equipped 
 with simple instruction in these will not derive far 
 deeper delight than that so keenly sought for in the 
 destruction of fur and feather. Sir John Lubbock, by 
 lending his countenance to that device of the enemy 
 — the "Hundred Best Books" — has raised serious 
 misgivings as to his merit as a guide to sound enjoy- 
 ment ; but no one is better qualified than he to speak 
 to the value of science as a source of pleasure. Those 
 who know the diligence with which, in the intervals 
 of leisure in a life of unusual activity and versatility, 
 he has applied himself to strenuous and fruitful study, 
 will best appreciate the reason he has for devoting 
 a chapter to " Science " in his ' Pleasures of Life." 
 " Those," he says, " who have not tried for themselves, 
 can hardly imagine how much science adds to the 
 interest and variety of life. It is altogether a mistake 
 to regard it as dry, difficult, or prosaic — much of it is as 
 easy as it is interesting. . . . The real causes of natural 
 phenomena are far 'more striking, and contain more real 
 poetry, than those lohich have occurred to the untrained 
 imagination of mankind.'* 
 
 The voice of Nature speaks to all who will hear: 
 it is not a serious task to learn her speech, for the 
 task itself is a pleasure. Almost every one is so sit-
 
 Pleasure. 253 
 
 uated as to make it a matter of choice whether it 
 shall fall on his ears as the unmeaning clatter of a 
 foreign tongue, or shall be close communion so long 
 as life endures. There is an exquisite fairy tale about 
 a lad who received the marvellous gift of understand- 
 ing the speech of every living creature, from the ant 
 to the elephant ; not less marvellous is the interpre- 
 tation within reach of almost every one. Upon the 
 whole of creation, animate and inanimate, is written 
 the legend, " Whoso hath ears to hear, let him hear." 
 
 Proof of the enduring quality of pleasure derived 
 from knowledge of physical science may be had in 
 the fact that no one is ever known to tire of it. No 
 one has ever seen a man once instructed in botany 
 become indifferent to trees and flowers ; he who has 
 acquired a knowledge of zoology will, sometimes un- 
 consciously, note every bird that flies out of the hedge ; 
 and let anybody once become acquainted with the 
 character and succession of geological strata, any 
 ordinary railway cutting will henceforth be to him 
 as a page in a fascinating book. It is the noble old 
 myth of Memnon's statue, which alone, of all those 
 the morning rays smote upon, gave forth responsive 
 music. In the Platonic dialogue already quoted, 
 Socrates is made to affirm that "intellectual pleas- 
 ures may be assumed to be unmixed with pain, and 
 the lot, not of the many, but of extremely few," be- 
 cause the intellectual hunger which spurs one to 
 pursue them is in itself a pleasant sensation, a safe- 
 guard against ennui — that cancer which eats into so
 
 254 Noontide Essays. 
 
 much good leisure. But, in order to satisfy this 
 painless hunger, men are content to undergo priva- 
 tion and encounter much suffering. The chronicles 
 of travel are crowded with evidence of this, though 
 the great travellers, from Christopher Columbus to 
 Dr Nansen, the recent explorer of Greenland, are 
 not exactly cases in point, the suffering they endured 
 having been met with, not in recreation, but in the 
 discharge of their chosen profession. A better illus- 
 tration may be found nearer home, in Robert Dick, 
 the baker of Thurso, one of the latest martyrs of 
 science. "VVho can read unmoved the pathetic narra- 
 tive of this lonely but ardent life ? who can follow 
 him without admiration when, after a night spent in 
 preparing the daily tale of loaves, he left his house 
 at four in the morning to walk twenty or even thirty 
 miles across the bleak pathless hills to dig a Holopty- 
 chius out of a cliff of Old Eed Sandstone, or gather a 
 Sonchus from the shoulder of Morven, returning at 
 night dead beat, but supremely happy ? Happy, that 
 is, in all but this, that of all his fellow-townsmen and 
 women there was not one from whom he could expect 
 the slightest sympathy ; for most of them regarded him 
 as eccentric, and all wished he would pay more atten- 
 tion to the quality of his bread. Now, the question 
 which each of us must settle for himself is, whether 
 these high pleasures were too dearly bought. Is it 
 worth incurring the sharper pain in order to share 
 the higher delight? Is the intellectual enthusiast 
 wiser than the debauchee who professes to be satisfied
 
 Pleasure. 255 
 
 with an ounce of pleasure to a pound of pain ? Or is 
 there greater wisdom in the mood that sighs — 
 
 " Happy the man whose wish and care 
 A few paternal acres bound, 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 In his own ground '' ? 
 
 Many may be ready to declare that Eobert Dick had 
 been on the whole a happier man if he had been a more 
 careful baker, and so kept out of financial embarrass- 
 ment. ^ But who can doubt, were it given to him to 
 live his life aoain, what his own choice would have 
 been ? For what balance at the bank would he have 
 foregone that "one crowded hour of glorious life" 
 when he discovered Hicroclilo'e horealis, thereby adding 
 a new plant to the British flora ? For how many 
 score of opulent customers would he have exchanged 
 the single visit of Sir Roderick Murchison, and missed 
 the ecstasy, after five-and-twenty years of solitary toil, 
 of showing his rich store of fossils to the great geolo- 
 gist ? Assuredly he would hug his hardships again to 
 his bosom, so might he have the same reward. The 
 true lover counts not as suffering the sacrifice made 
 for his beloved. 
 
 But the point on which it is desired to lay stress 
 is this, that all this fund of exquisite pleasure might 
 be drawn on by multitudes without paying the heavy 
 price exacted from Robert Dick. There are thou- 
 sands of well-to-do folk who might share his pursuits 
 without sacrificing comfort and risking solvency as he 
 had to do ; thousands to whom locomotion is easy, and
 
 256 Noontide Essays. 
 
 leisure ample, whereas Dick wore out his frame by 
 extraordinary physical exertion, and stole the neces- 
 sary time for study from the hours available for 
 repose. 
 
 The testimony of all who have tried it is unani- 
 mous that intellectual pleasures transcend every other 
 kind of pleasure within our reach ; yet it remains 
 as true in this day as it was in the days of Plato, 
 that " they are the lot, not of the many, but of ex- 
 tremely few," The faculty of knowledge is latent in 
 every sound mind : it has been shown that pleasure 
 is the common aim of all human society ; how pass- 
 ing strange it is that so few think of developing 
 this, the source of the highest and most enduring 
 pleasure. 
 
 Midway between the province of science and the 
 province of art, blending its confines into those of 
 each, and partaking of their properties, stands litera- 
 ture. It is dangerous to speculate on the pleasure 
 attendant upon authorship : let it be assumed that 
 it is not wanting, or there would not be so many 
 quills dipped in inkhorns, and there let the matter 
 rest, lest by dwelling on it encouragement should 
 be given to latent ambition ; scribimus indocti doc- 
 tiqiie ; in all conscience, there are as many scribblers 
 as this much-enduring world can suffer. As to the 
 readers, reference has been made already to their 
 general neglect of works of the higher class — let the 
 returns of every free and circulating library in the
 
 Pleasure. 257 
 
 realm be cited if confirmation is wanted. One can- 
 not but believe that if it were only known what 
 stores of delight are ready to pour forth from library 
 shelves for any one who once gets hold of the right 
 key, the dust would not be suffered to gather on these 
 treasures. It is impossible to contemplate the indif- 
 ference shown to literature by many amiable, well- 
 conditioned people, without deploring the capacity 
 for enjoyment thus allowed to lie waste. The spec- 
 tacle of such a source of pleasure neglected brings 
 to the lips the ejaculation of the nameless lord in 
 'All's Well that Ends Well,' "Is it possible he 
 should know that he is, and be that he is?" 
 
 Well, it may be said, it's all very well to tell 
 one to read ; but how the deuce is one to know 
 where to begin in such a congestion of literature? 
 There are 20,000 volumes published every year ; the 
 most diligent "sap" can only get through 7000 or 
 8000 in a lifetime, so this is a natural and reasonable 
 question, and if one might, without presumption, offer 
 advice — the fruit of vain regret for much misspent 
 time — it would be this : choose some definite subject 
 for the immediate purpose, it does not much matter 
 which, and read some of the best — shim some of the 
 newest works dealing with it. You will be brought 
 into view of innumerable side vistas, some of them 
 so enticing that you will perhaps be led off the track 
 you intended to follow, so far astray, it may be, that 
 you will never return. There is no harm done : Saul, 
 of a family the least of all the families of the smallest 
 
 K
 
 258 Noontide Essays. 
 
 tribe of Israel, was in search of his father Kish's asses 
 when he met with the prophet who anointed him 
 King of Israel ; you may lose sight of the object in 
 pursuit of which you started, but you will find one 
 loftier, or at least you will become so enamoured of 
 the route, that you will never sigh for the insipid 
 pastures of ignorance again. But there must be 
 method even in vagrancy : get into the habit of 
 taking notes as you read. Without this precaution, 
 literature flows over the brain in a current, pleasant 
 and wholesome, indeed, but unfruitful. The mind 
 cannot retain distinct impressions without mechanical 
 aids, and there is no condition of mental atmosphere 
 less satisfactory than haziness. Much of the pleasure 
 of which we are conscious exists in memory : it is 
 plain, therefore, that very much of it must be lost 
 by those who neglect to train, assist, extend, and 
 cultivate the memory. Mr Morritt has described 
 how, when visiting Egglestone and Brignal with Sir 
 Walter Scott, who intended to make these places 
 the scenes of some incidents in " Eokeby," he observed 
 him noting down everything, even to to the kind of 
 wild-flowers growing near. "I laughed, in short, at 
 his scrupulousness ; but I understood him when he 
 replied, 'that in Nature herself no two scenes are 
 exactly alike, and that . . . whoever trusted to 
 imagination would soon find his own mind circum- 
 scribed and contracted to a few favourite images, 
 and the repetition of these would sooner or later 
 produce that very monotony and barrenness which
 
 Pleasure. 259 
 
 had always haunted descriptive poetry in the hands 
 of any but patient worshippers of the truth.' " 
 
 Elaborate prescriptions have been given for arrange- 
 ment of commonplace-books, but they are all in vain : 
 the habit of making notes once acquired, method will 
 shape itself for every one according to what he finds 
 suits his convenience best. Even marginal notes (on 
 one's own books, lien entenclu) are not to be con- 
 demned ; not tbe pert exclamations and marks of 
 approbation or disapproval with which the readers 
 of books from the circulating library deface the page 
 and irritate those that follow them, but notes ampli- 
 fying or illustrating the author's meaning. An ex- 
 ample of this is at hand. There happens to be lying 
 on the table beside me a copy of Mr Hamerton's 
 ' Thoughts about Art.' It is open at page 142, where 
 that suggestive writer compares the prices given for 
 pictures by living artists and those by dead ones. 
 Some one has pencilled in the margin the follow- 
 ing note: "Millet, when alive, offered Ins 'Angelus' 
 to the dealers for 2000 francs (£80), to keep him 
 from starving. He could not get it, and died 
 in great want. In 1889, the same picture was sold 
 for 1,500,000 francs (£60,000), and his mother and 
 sister were in great poverty." Enriched with margin- 
 alia of this sort, a book acquires the character of 
 a symposium — a constellation of thought, interfer- 
 ing not at all with the radiance of the original 
 planet — and the pleasure of reading it is greatly 
 enhanced.
 
 260 Noontide Essays. 
 
 There are subsidiary sources of pleasure to be found 
 in books besides those in the printed page. The ways 
 of the bibliomaniac may seem ridiculous enough, and 
 the absorption in his pursuit as narrow as that of 
 Wendell Holmes's coleopterist ; but it is not neces- 
 sary to be qualified for a place in John Hill Burton's 
 minute classification as " a black-letter man, or a tall- 
 copyist, or an uncut man, or a rough-edge man, or 
 an early - English dramatist, or an Elzevirian, or 
 a broadsider, or a pasquinader, or an old - brown- 
 calf man, or a Grangerite, or a tawny moroccoite, 
 or a gilt - topper, a marbled - insider, or an editio 
 princcps man," in order to derive pleasure from a 
 general knowledge of the styles of j)i"iiiting and 
 binding. He who is either quite indifferent to or 
 ignorant of the way a book is got up, or who despises 
 it as a kind of literary millinery, is shut out from 
 one of the most accessible by-paths of enjoyment. 
 To light by chance in the neglected shelves of a 
 country-house upon the graceful sprays of Nicolas 
 or Clovis Eve, on the delicate tracery of Le Gascon, 
 on the bird of Derome or the fanciful inlaying of 
 Padaloup, is one of those incidents which enrich the 
 hours of leisure and keep ennui at bay. There is 
 nothing to prevent as good a speech being delivered 
 in Hyde Park or at a street corner as in the House 
 of Commons or to a great assembly in a large hall ; 
 but no one would hesitate as to winch would be the 
 better place for it : so one with a cultivated taste to 
 gratify will enjoy the fitness of a good author's dis-
 
 Pleasure. 261 
 
 course, conveyed with choice type, good margins, and 
 comely title-page, and enshrined in tasteful and en- 
 durino- binding. Just as the botanist finds material 
 for observation and pleasant thought in whatever land 
 it may be his lot to linger, so the book-lover will 
 extract pleasure from the second-hand stalls in any 
 country town where he may have to wait for a train. 
 The necessary knowledge is easily acquired, and carries 
 no sorrow with it. 
 
 Hardly less pure than the pleasure of knowledge, 
 though partaking more of the sensuous element, is 
 the pleasure derived from art. It is of two kinds — 
 the pleasure of production, which is purely intellec- 
 tual, and the pleasure of reception, which is partly 
 of the mind and partly of the senses. The artist 
 alone can plumb the depth of the first; to realise 
 the second calls for a degree of training, neither 
 arduous nor necessarily prolonged, but too seldom 
 insisted on. The fine arts reach the mind through 
 two only of the avenues of sense — sight and hearing. 
 Of these two, the eye is at once the more sensitive 
 and the more tolerant, because it is in constant 
 dependence on the intellect. It is a fact not gen- 
 erally appreciated that images of external objects 
 are received upside-down on the retina ; a babe's first 
 impression of its father is that his boots tower far 
 above its head ; it is experience — i.e., knowledge — 
 that convinces the child of the true relation of every- 
 thing : images on the retina continue throughout 
 life to be inverted, and it is by a continued though
 
 262 Noontide Essays. 
 
 unconscious play of thought that they are restored 
 to their natural position. 
 
 It is this intimate association of the eye with the 
 reflective faculty that makes the appeal by art to 
 the intellect more direct by pictures and images than 
 by sound. For although most of the knowledge that 
 comes by direct instruction arrives at our mind through 
 the ear, the information so conveyed is not received 
 unconsciously, it has to go through a conscious mental 
 process before it is received ; whereas eyesight in- 
 volves incessant unconscious cerebration in the re- 
 version of images as explained above. Many people 
 totally uninstructed in painting derive pleasure from 
 looking at a picture by Titian, who are simply indif- 
 ferent to or even bored by a sonata by Beethoven. 
 
 In pronouncing the eye to be more tolerant of bad 
 art than the ear, perhaps due allowance has not been 
 made for the power it has of protecting itself. 
 
 " Swans sing before tliey die, 'twere no bad thing 
 Did certain persons die before they sing." 
 
 The ear has no lids : when a bad performer is singing 
 or playing it is not often possible, consistently with 
 good manners, to shut out the excruciating sound ; 
 but when an amateur exhibits his sketches, though 
 they are too likely to be full of wretched drawing 
 and unpleasant colour, the spectator is not obliged 
 to dwell on them, and may even endure the painful 
 sensation caused thereby, in consideration of the in- 
 terest of incident or topography contained in them. 
 
 \
 
 Pleasure. 263 
 
 In art, as in all other things, increased capacity 
 for enjoyment brings with it increased capacity of 
 suffering. Nevertheless the pleasure of good art, 
 when it can be found, is so infinitely enhanced by 
 rightly understanding it, that it is worth while en- 
 countering the offence caused by inferior or misapplied 
 work. The untrained eye is insensible to the mischief 
 of base ornament. So great is the development of 
 machinery that the forms of beauty are mimicked 
 and' degraded by application to the meanest and 
 most trivial objects. Designs originally conceived 
 for the adornment of a king's diadem or an abbot's 
 psalter appear in caricature on penny match-boxes or 
 soap-boiler's advertisements ; the perception that is 
 not keen enough to be offended is deadened by this 
 excessive multiplication of what should be choice and 
 rare. In no department of art has this had a more 
 perceptible effect than in bookbinding. The English 
 fashion of putting everything into cloth binding, 
 tricked out with cheap ornament copied from the 
 designs of good artists, is fatal to the appreciation of 
 genuine work ; and the admitted superiority of French 
 binders is partly owing to the practice of publishing 
 in paper covers, after which, if the book is worth 
 binding, it is worth bestowing thought on the fashion 
 of it. 
 
 One exception must be made to the remark that 
 increased capacity for enjoyment involves increased 
 capacity for suffering. That is not the case in respect 
 of one pleasure — namely, the pleasure of fine weather.
 
 264 Noontide Essays. 
 
 There is none more thorough or with less alloy; it 
 is unlike other kinds of pleasure in this, that it is 
 independent of anticipation, for, in this climate at 
 least, we never know whether the morrow will be 
 fair or foul, nor is it marred by the apprehension, so 
 hurtful to other enjoyment, of its coming close. We 
 revel in it while it lasts, more thoroughly conscious 
 of it, perhaps, at the moment, than of any other sort 
 of pleasure, and feel inclined to exclaim continually, 
 " What a lovely day ! " And the remarkable thing 
 about it is, that he who enjoys fine weather most 
 keenly will derive enjoyment from all kinds of 
 weather ; indeed Mr Euskin says in one of his books 
 that there is no such thing as bad weather, only every 
 kind of delightful weather. 
 
 To what general conclusions, then, do these reflec- 
 tions lead us as to the nature of Pleasure and the 
 surest way of securing it ? Can we not find an 
 explanation of it more likely to enable us to attain 
 to it than that given by Aristippus, and repeated by 
 Kant, that it is but an escaping from pain ? or one 
 more lustrous than that supplied by the Epicureans 
 and the Buddhists, that it is only to be attained 
 in repose, and, ultimately, in the securest repose, 
 annihilation or Nirvana? or one less cumbrous than 
 Sir William Hamilton's, that " pleasure is a reflex of 
 the spontaneous and unimpeded exertion of a power 
 of whose energy we are conscious " ? or one less 
 dubious than Dallas's, who pulls all these to pieces,
 
 Pleasure. 265 
 
 and declares that pleasure for the most part is 
 unconscious ? We demur to the first, because we 
 know that much pleasure — that derived from beauty, 
 for instance — comes to us with no heraldry of pain ; 
 to the second, because, complete repose being unattain- 
 able in this world, it would be idle to expect or strive 
 after pleasure; to the third, because it gives no ex- 
 planation of such pure pleasure as is derived from 
 music or friendship ; and to the fourth, because, if the 
 best part of pleasure is unconscious, wdiy should any 
 effort be made to attain to it ? 
 
 The only intelligible solution is that Pleasure is 
 not a thing, but a sensation caused by the fitting 
 together of desire and accomplishment. There is 
 such a thing as honey, but there is no such thing 
 as sweetness, until contact takes place between the 
 tongue and some object capable of imparting to the 
 gustative po/^i/Zo; that sensation which we call sweet- 
 ness. For moralists, therefore, to rail against pleasure, 
 is as irrational as it would be for physicians to warn 
 people against sweetness ; there are wholesome things 
 that taste sweet as well as unwholesome, there are 
 noble and holy sources of pleasure as well as ignoble 
 and unclean. In pursuing pleasure men are trying to 
 grasp a phantom — in declaiming against it tliey are 
 beating the air ; the important thing is, what is the 
 nature of the desire ? for it is of the union of desire 
 and accomplishment that pleasure is born, and the 
 nature of the offspring depends on its parentage. 
 The forbidden objects of desire are contained in six
 
 266 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 of the ten commandments ; besides these, there are 
 a multitude of objects capable of yielding pleasure, 
 against which there is no law. We have fallen into 
 the habit of speaking antithetically of duty and 
 pleasure, as if they were mutually destructive of one 
 another ; but this is equally unjust to both, for of all 
 the collects of the Church there is none wiser than 
 that containing the prayer, " put into our minds good 
 desires."
 
 PERSONAL NAMES. 
 
 rriHEEE is a great deal in a name, all argument, 
 dogma, philosophic theory, or pretty woman's as- 
 sertion to the contrary notwithstanding. To the last- 
 named source, indeed, few people would be so simple 
 as to go for precise information or logical statement 
 (shall one gather grapes of thorns ?), all the less if 
 the young person has betrayed the fallibility of her 
 understanding by falling in love. We may there- 
 fore dismiss the pronouncement on this matter by the 
 enamoured Juliet as ohiter dictum. Eomeo and she 
 would never have become, among Western nations 
 at least, the type of all that is passionate and tender, 
 had their sponsors named them Abraham and Sarah ; 
 and the imagination recoils from the possibility that 
 Eomeo, had he been an Englishman, might, in tender 
 moments, have profaned the name of his lady-love 
 by turning it into Judy. No one knew better than 
 Shakespeare how to wield the spell of nomenclature :
 
 268 Noontide Essays. 
 
 it was delicacy of ear that caused him, when he 
 borrowed the story of the Prince of Denmark from 
 Saxo Grammaticus, to alter the name Hambleth, as 
 it stood in the original, to the more musical Hamlet, 
 Apart from the potent charm of association, there 
 is an appreciable suggestion of moral or physical 
 excellence in the harmonious combination of vocal 
 sounds ; while a name, harsh in sound, or having a 
 grotesque appearance when written, discourages ex- 
 pectation of lofty qualities either of mind or body. 
 If it be true that the gift of a bad name involves 
 sinister consequences on a dog's destiny, it is equally 
 true that a good one will sometimes help him over 
 the stile. 
 
 As an example of this — by no means extreme — let 
 us compare the various forms of the patronymic 
 signifying " the son of David " — viz., Davidson, 
 Dodson, Dodds (i.e., David's), Davison, and Dawson 
 (from the diminutive Davy and Daw), Dawkins (from 
 the Anglo - Saxon form of diminutive in Jdn), and 
 O'Dowd. The last— the Celtic form— may be dis- 
 missed as having a flavour of burlesque about it, 
 suggestive of Donnybrook fair. Of the others, with 
 the exception of the third, it may be said that there 
 is nothing specially attractive or romantic about 
 them: they have a neutral, workaday sound, and 
 postulate no extraordinary effort either to live up to 
 or to live down. Any one of them might be borne 
 with equal congruity by a Prime Minister, a Poet- 
 Laureate, or a hero of melodrama. But can it be
 
 Personal Names. 269 
 
 argued that a lad starting in life under the name of 
 Dodds is not somewhat heavily handicapped ? 
 
 Or, applying the money test — the fame of the 
 accomplished Paderewski has for months attracted 
 thousands to his recitals : it is unjust to the musical 
 sense of the British public to doubt whether as many 
 would have been drawn had the foreigner's name 
 appeared on the hoardings in homely English — 
 Paterson ? Here, however, association counts for a 
 good deal : we are accustomed to expect better music 
 from foreigners than from among ourselves, and the 
 prophet Paterson might in his own country receive 
 less than his meed. 
 
 Association does prevail sometimes to hallow, en- 
 dear, or dignify the most awkward arrangement of 
 vowels and consonants. The names conferred by 
 sailors upon their battle-ships, like those chosen by 
 Eed Indians for their braves, usually convey an idea 
 of awe, grandeur, swiftness, or beauty ; but there was 
 something comically incongruous in the despatches 
 which reached this country of the doughty per- 
 formances of the Chilian ironclad, the O'Higgins, in 
 the late war. Speculation is baffled in attempting to 
 read the significance underlying that patronymic ; for, 
 even as pronounced by a foreigner, with the true 
 value of the vowel i — O'Heeggeens — it is impossible, 
 without knowing the history attached, to receive the 
 impression of terror or admiration. 
 
 Unquestionably we are careless — culpably careless 
 — in the bestowal of names, and indifferent to the
 
 270 Noontide Essays. 
 
 forms they are suffered to assume. In a philosophic 
 essay, written in 1751, entitled a 'Letter on the Deaf 
 and Dumb for the use of those who can hear and 
 see,' Diderot indulged in what he calls metaphysical 
 anatomy, and, analysing the senses of man, decided 
 that of all of them the ear is the proudest. In our 
 own country this must be the intense pride which 
 apes humility ; for, hitherto, we have made no con- 
 scious effort to retain noble forms of names, but have, 
 on the contrary, allowed many of high descent to 
 creep into sordid shapes. It had surely been worth 
 an effort to save the Saxon Godbert being degraded 
 into service as the surname Gotobed, or the Norman 
 Joscelin or Guesclin into Gosling. The latter of 
 these has hardly fared better in Ireland, for there, 
 having first become MacGostelin, it has since been 
 tricked out in the exotic guise of Costello. John of 
 Sevenoaks was mercifully spared the humiliation of 
 foreseeing that his descendants would come to be 
 known as Snooks. It is only a people sadly indiffer- 
 ent to beauty of sound, who, having refused to accept 
 Lizavir and Isabeau from the Normans, admitted 
 Isabel only to show their preference for a fourth 
 and uncouth form of the same name — viz., Elizabeth. 
 We might be well enough off with Isabel, though, as 
 a matter of fact, it is a name formed on a false sup- 
 position that Isabeau was masculine, whereas it was 
 always a woman's name. And, having the pretty 
 Alice well established here, would it not be well to 
 put an end to the ungainly Eliza, which Mr Eer-
 
 Personal Names. 271 
 
 guson has shown to be its equivalent (not, as is com- 
 monly supposed, a shortened form of Elizabeth)/ and, 
 if variety be desired, have recourse to the old diminu- 
 tive, Alison ? 
 
 Arnold, as a baptismal name, is seldom used now, 
 nor is it likely to be dissociated from disciplinary 
 memories connected with Latin exercises till it is 
 restored to its old form, Ernauld. As for Joan, that 
 soft appellative is too seldom heard among us, though 
 the ^shrill Jane only came in with Henry VIII.'s 
 reign ; but we are occasionally called on to tolerate 
 the barbarous Joanna. 
 
 Surely, of all people that on earth do dwell, there 
 is none that should cultivate such fastidious care in 
 the bestowal of names as the English, who have 
 crushed the music out of so many of them by an 
 excruciating insular pronunciation of vowels. The 
 peculiarities of our climate, our food, or some other 
 unknown conditions affecting the structure of the 
 mouth and larynx, have caused us to warp the long 
 vowels d, 6, {, d, u (pronounced in the original Mer- 
 cian, and probably in literary Middle-English, to cor- 
 respond with the vowel - sounds in our 'pass, 'pane, 
 preen, prone, prune) into a private gibberish, in which 
 they sound as in pace, peace, price, port, peio. One of 
 the least evils consequent on this perversity is that 
 Englishmen are debarred from conversing with for- 
 eigners in Latin, the speech of science and art com- 
 mon to all nations. 
 
 ^ Surnames as a Scieuce. By Robert Ferguson, M. P. London: 1884.
 
 272 Noontide Essays. 
 
 The symbol i we choose to regard as signifying the 
 dij^hthong ai (ah, ee) ; the result being a cruel min- 
 cing and distortion of that name which Christian 
 nations hold highest in esteem — the name of the 
 Mother of God. How can one endure the Britannic 
 ' Maria ' when he knows the liquid beauty of the 
 Italian ? How is it that genteel people persist in 
 talking of ' Mary,' when they have only to travel 
 as far as Cumberland to hear the name pronounced 
 in the sweet intonation of old Northern English, nearly 
 like the French Marie ? The old diminutive of Marion 
 retains more of the true sound, and it is a pity that 
 it is fallen so much out of fashion. Spoken by a 
 Welshman, our language sounds strangely musical to 
 ears accustomed to the coarse intonation in London 
 streets, or wearied by the lazy drawl of drawing-room 
 English, because the Welshman gives the vowels their 
 full value, which his native speech retains. It were 
 hard to forgive our forefathers for losing the broad 
 Middle -English accent, if for no other reason than 
 that the change has killed one of the sweetest names 
 of women. Diana, as we pronounce it, is positively 
 ugly, but on the lips of an Italian it is a poem in it- 
 self. Other and less remediable causes have deprived 
 us of two mellifluous feminine names — Delilah and 
 Sapphira ; for until some adventurous writer success- 
 fully whitewashes the historical characters who bore 
 them, these must remain in the ' Index Expurgatorius.' 
 
 In early days, before the world was so full or so 
 busy as it is now, babes were named with great sig- 
 
 i
 
 Personal Names. 
 
 273 
 
 nificance. Thus Eve called her third son Seth— z.e., 
 who piitteth ; " for God, she said, had appointed her 
 another seed instead of Abel, whom Cain slew." 
 Hannah chose the name Samuel — i.e., heard or asked 
 of God; and when Phinehas's wife heard of Eli's 
 death, ere she died in childbirth, she named her son 
 Ichabod, Where is the glory? The Old Testament 
 teems with instances of such a natural practice, which 
 survived almost into historic times in this country, 
 though many of the names bestowed by Saxon pa- 
 rents on their offspring can have expressed no more 
 than affectionate aspiration for their welfare or for 
 the development of character. Such, at least, must 
 have been the motive in the numerous baptismal 
 names beginning witli cad, happiness, as Edward, 
 Edgar, Edmond, Edwin, Edith. More intelligent is 
 the rule observed by the Dacota Indians, who have 
 two fixed lists of names for boys and girls respec- 
 tively, applied to each in order of birth: — 
 
 Eldest son, 
 
 Chashe. 
 
 Eldest daughter, 
 
 Wenonah. 
 
 Second w 
 
 Haparm. 
 
 Second 
 
 M 
 
 Harpen. 
 
 Third m 
 
 Ha-pe-dah. 
 
 Third 
 
 M 
 
 Harpstenah. 
 
 Fourth 1! 
 
 Chatun, 
 
 Fourth 
 
 II 
 
 JVaska. 
 
 Fifth M 
 
 Harlca. 
 
 Fifth 
 
 II 
 
 JFe-harlM. 
 
 These childish appellatives serve well enough to dis- 
 tinguish them, till circumstance 'or the development 
 of character suggests some other name which sticks 
 to the youth for life.^ 
 
 By Edward B. Tylor. Thh-d edition. Two 
 
 ^ Primitive Culture. 
 vols. London : 1891. 
 
 S
 
 274 Noontide Essays. 
 
 There are still some parents among us who ticket 
 their hapless brood with opportunist or occasional 
 names. It will be in the twentieth century before a 
 number of young persons of both sexes will find them- 
 selves approaching maturity indelibly stamped with 
 the barbarous name Jubilee, in commemoration of the 
 year 1887. It is not often that irritation finds such 
 temperate expression as that found by the sorely tried 
 father, who had his twins christened Cherubim and 
 Seraphim, because " they ceased not day nor night 
 crying." 
 
 There was, indeed, an era in our history when 
 British insensibility to the poetry of sound permitted 
 the Puritans to indulge with grotesque effect in allusive 
 baptismal names. The height of the Puritan's devo- 
 tion liad its counterpart in the depth of his fanaticism, 
 unchecked by the slightest sense of humour or modera- 
 tion. English people in the seventeenth century not 
 only called their children after the moral virtues, but 
 even chose for them names, and sentences from Scrip- 
 ture to serve as names, implying abject degradation 
 and abasement of the creature. It is nauseous to read 
 of innocent children receiving at the font the tarnished 
 names of Cain, Tamar, Korah, Abiram, Ananias, Sap- 
 phira, and even Milcom, " the abomination of the 
 children of Amnion." Camden alludes to some of 
 these names — Earth, Dust, Ashes, Tribulation, The- 
 Lord-is-near, More-trial, &c., as having "been given 
 by some to their children, with no evil meaning, but 
 upon some singular and precise conceit." Now surely
 
 Personal Names. 275 
 
 it might have been possible to reconcile some respect 
 for pleasant sound with pious fervour. The Puritan 
 names Patience, Mercy, Faith, are framed on similar 
 lines and with almost as sweet effect as Lsetitia, Serena, 
 and Victoria among the Eomans, or Glycere, Euphemia, 
 and Theodosia among the Greeks, and we should be 
 loath to give up Christian and Grace. But the 
 thoroughgoing fanatic is not satisfied till he has got 
 rid of every shred of romance. It is no part of his 
 mission to suggest righteousness, much less impute it ; 
 if there is a sore, he is not happy till he gets his finger 
 on it ; and those sponsors must have felt they were 
 bearing noble witness to Christian charity who were 
 answerable for the following entry in the baptismal 
 register of Waldron : — 
 
 " Flie-fornication, the bace sonne of Catren Andrewes, 
 bapt. y'' 17th Desemb., 1609." 
 
 Poor Katrine Andrewes ! how those crood men must 
 have made your cheeks tingle, having in this respect 
 such an advantage over their Master, that they were 
 not touched even by a feeling for your infirmity. 
 
 A more charitable spirit moved the sponsors of 
 another unwelcome little stranger, who is recorded 
 in the Piegister of Kingsdown, in Kent, in 1581, as 
 " Inocent Day, the base borne sone of one Day." 
 
 A tearful little tragedy is quoted by Mr Bardsley 
 from the Eegister of St Helen, Bishopsgate. The 
 record runs : — 
 
 " Sejiternher 1, 1611. — Job-rakt-out-of-the-asshes, being
 
 276 Noontide Essays. 
 
 borne the last of August in the lane going to Sir John 
 Spencer's back-gate, and there laide in a heape of seacole 
 asshes, was baptized the ffirst day of September folloAving, 
 and dyed the next day after," 
 
 Happily, we have purged ourselves from this un- 
 lovely practice so far, that the only results traceable 
 at this day are the frequency of Scriptural names in 
 our registers, and the survival of some of the virtues 
 as women's names, Mr Dudgeon answers for knowinfj 
 two ladies called Mehetabel, a name preserved in their 
 family from Puritan times, and contracted familiarly 
 into Belle.^ Among Scriptural names Sarah was at 
 one time a great favourite, though now it is happily 
 fallen out of vogue. John Dunton, the bookseller, 
 who died in 1735, aged 76, leaving behind him a 
 curious autobiography called the ' Life and Errors of 
 John Dunton,' had a unique experience with ladies 
 of that name. He describes his first love-affair with 
 Susannah Parkhurst ; but that came to nought. So 
 did the next, with the beautiful Sarah Seaton, who 
 " gave him a mortal wound." He recovered, however, 
 and was presently in love with three ladies simul- 
 taneously, Sarah Day, Sarah Doolittle, and Sarah 
 Briscoe. Before he could make up his mind he 
 changed it, proposed to and w\as accepted by Miss 
 Annesley, whose real name does not transpire, for he 
 paraphrases it as the " lovely Iris." After some years 
 of married life, Iris died, and within six months 
 
 ^ A Short Introduction to the Origin of Surnames. By Patrick 
 Dudgeon. Edinburgh : 1890.
 
 Personal Names. 277 
 
 Dunton took to himself a second wife, Sarah 
 Nicholas. 
 
 One old English name, and one only, came out of 
 the fires of the Eeformation chastened and more 
 beautiful than before — that is, the feminine Custance, 
 mentioned by Chaucer in the ' Man of Lawes Tale,' 
 which now appears as Constance. 
 
 Except from Scriptural association few foreign 
 names have found their way into our lists, or, having 
 done so, have not remained long. In the American 
 civil war some volunteer regiments were raised in 
 Kansas for the Northern army, and certain officers 
 appear in the Army Eegister of 1862-65 as Captains 
 Tuc-ka-bat-che-ha-jo, No-ko-so-lo-che, Tus-te-nup-chup- 
 ko, Ak-ti-yah-gi-ya-ho-lah, and Lieutenants Ko-ne-pe- 
 a-ho-la, Tats-ca-ha-jo, Pa-ho-se-mah-lah, Tus-te-nuk- 
 ko-chee, and many others. But some of these gallant 
 fellows had adapted themselves to civilisation by 
 translating their native names into English, and one 
 may read of Captain Stand-whirlwind and Lieutenant 
 Tenni-walkingstick. There was a boy at Eugby school 
 in 1875 called Alatan Tam Chiboulac Atkinson, who, 
 having been born in Armenia, was named after some 
 of the mountains there. 
 
 A writer in 'Notes and Queries' (12th December 
 1891), states that in 1874 the following was registered 
 in the parish of St Faith's, Norwich : — 
 
 "Dods Eliza Delilah, daughter of Arphad Ambrose 
 Alexander Habbakuk William Shclah and Virtue Leah 
 Woodcock."
 
 278 Noontide Essays. 
 
 This is enough to make one regret that a clause pro- 
 hibitincc such barbarism had not been inserted in the 
 Act recently passed for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
 Children. 
 
 Almost as grotesque as the passion for humiliating 
 names is that for romantic and high-sounding appel- 
 latives. An example of this may be found in the 
 ' Times ' law report for February 1, 1890, wherein it 
 is recorded that one Charles Groom had, by deed poll, 
 duly enrolled, assumed the name of " Charles de Bour- 
 bon d'Este Palteologus Gonzaga." Surely a more con- 
 venient and descriptive one might have been found in 
 the Old Testament— Nabal, " folly is with thee." 
 
 Mr Bardsley, in his excellent work on English 
 nomenclature,^ gives some interesting statistics show- 
 ing the various degrees of popular favour accorded 
 at different times to different names, and is able, in 
 some instances, to trace the causes for the change. It 
 would be difficult, if not impossible, to estimate the 
 relative frequency of names prior to the Norman Con- 
 quest, which created something like a revolution in 
 that respect. "William, of course, got a good start, as 
 is shown - in ' Domesday Book,' where stand 
 
 68 Williams, 48 Roberts, 28 Walters, 10 Johns. 
 
 In 1173 Sir William St John and Sir William Fitz- 
 Hamon entertained a dinner-party at the Court of 
 Henry II. The invitations were limited to knights 
 
 ^ English Surnames, their Sources and Siguificauce. By C. W. 
 Bardsley. Second edition. London : 1875. 
 2 Op. cit., p. 42.
 
 Personal Names. 279 
 
 of the name of William, and the company numbered 
 120. But the day of John was not long to tarry, and 
 in 1347 the Common Council of London contained 
 
 35 Johns, 
 17 Williams, 
 
 15 Thomas's, 
 10 Richards, 
 
 8 Roberts ; 
 
 and in 1385, out of 376 names enrolled in the Guild 
 of St George at Norwich, there were 
 
 128 Johns, 47 Williams, 41 Thomas's. 
 
 From that day to this John and AVilliam have held 
 their ground as the commonest baptismal names in 
 England. 
 
 Allusion has been made to the disfavour into which 
 some names have fallen, and Mr Bardsley ^ mentions 
 the beautiful name Isabel or (less musically) Isabella 
 as an instance. He attributes its unpopularity with 
 the lower and middle orders to their hatred of John 
 Lackland, whose consort was Isabella of Angouleme ; 
 but it may be surmised that it was some other in- 
 fluence which prevailed to bring it into or keep it 
 in disfavour, for surely popular feeling would have 
 shown itself chiefly against the name of John himself. 
 This, as has been shown, was not the case ; but what- 
 ever was the reason, Isabel, though common among the 
 aristocracy, never became a favourite with the English 
 people till Edward IV.'s marriage reconciled them to 
 it under the form of Elizabeth, a name which received 
 an amazing impulse in the following century under 
 good Queen Bess. 
 
 1 O}]. c'lt., p. 79.
 
 280 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Nowadays, for the most part, people show prefer- 
 ence for family names. William succeeds William, 
 and John, John, in monotonous succession ; or, at 
 most, alternate generations repeat the same Christian 
 name. The former custom would have been im- 
 practicable in days before surnames became fixed ; 
 indeed, that the device of alternation did not help 
 matters much is shown by a dispensation issued from 
 Rome in 1402, in favour of " Eichard Johnson, son of 
 John Eichardsou." An earlier and more illustrious 
 example is that of Alanus dapifer, the progenitor of 
 the royal House of Stewart, whose son was styled 
 Walter FitzAlan, and Walter's son became Alan Fitz- 
 Walter ; and the same method of distinction was 
 adopted by the Hamilton line, in which are recorded 
 Walter FitzGilbert and Gilbert FitzWalter. 
 
 It is not often thouarht necessary to consult the 
 infant in the selection of his name, nevertheless Mr 
 Tylor quotes this practice as prevailing among two 
 nations at opposite sides of the earth. 
 
 " The New Zealand j)riest would repeat to the infant a long 
 list of names of its ancestors, fixing upon that name which 
 the child, by sneezing or crying when it was uttered, was 
 considered to select for itself ; while the Cheremiss in 
 Russia would shake the baby till it cried, and then repeat 
 names to it till it chose itself one by leaving off crying." ^ 
 
 Parents of halting imagination in this country have 
 
 ^ Primitive Culture, vol. ii. p. 4.
 
 Personal Names. 281 
 
 recourse to the names of distinguished persons : those 
 of monarchs, generals, and nohlemen are public pro- 
 perty, and the influence of high rank is distinctly 
 to be traced on the registers. Charles, so common 
 on the Continent from early times, hardly makes an 
 appearance in England before our first king of that 
 name. For one person called Albert or Victoria in 
 the first quarter of the present century, there are now 
 thousands. It was my lot to spend a good deal of my 
 early life in lodgings, and I was soon convinced that 
 Anne was almost the generic designation of maids in 
 such establishments. " Hann, show the gen'leman the 
 rooms," was the almost invariable order given by 
 the landlady to one in search of apartments. Its 
 frequency may be traced iiartly, no doubt, to its 
 popularity in Puritan times as a Scriptural name, but 
 more directly to the prestige of the last Stuart that 
 reigned over this kingdom. Possibly, however, this 
 is an instance of generic nomenclature, just as all 
 soldiers are " Tommy Atkins's," and all sailors " Jack 
 Tars." 
 
 One of the most melodious additions made in 
 modern times to feminine nomenclature originated in 
 the battle of Alma. Less important circumstances, 
 however, sometimes give rise to names. I was 
 acquainted with a gallant fellow who fought in the 
 ranks of the Connaught Rangers in that action, who, 
 when afterwards in my father's service, was presented 
 by his wife with two daughters in two successive years.
 
 282 Noontide Essays. 
 
 The first was called Jane, and the second Phoebe, and 
 on being asked why he had selected the latter name, 
 he replied : " Well, sorr, ye see our eldest was borne 
 in January, so we called her Jane ; and the other was 
 borne in February, so we just called her Faybie." 
 
 It is remarkable, considering how closely flowers 
 have woven themselves into our affections, that only 
 three have freely lent their names to our baptismal 
 lists — namely, Eose, Violet, and Lily, Lilian, or Lilias. 
 It is true we have borrowed the general term Flora, 
 and Laura also comes to us through foreign channels. 
 Daisie and Eglantine are met with, though more often 
 in novels than in real life. Iris, also, is a woman's 
 name and that of a beautiful flower ; but each comes 
 independently from a common source, and the same 
 is the case with Hyacinth. The fact is, our English 
 flower-names are quaint rather than pretty ; they have 
 suffered from the same cause as our personal names. 
 We are not fastidious as to sound, leaning, indeed, to 
 those words which are homely, and even ugly. Thus, 
 while the Latin ^crmVica, Kousseau's favourite flower, 
 becomes mellifluous 2^'^'^'^'^''^^^^^ oi^ French lips, we 
 grossly translate it periwinkle, a polysyllable, which 
 it is to be hoped no girl will ever be asked to carry 
 about with her. The primrose is as great a favourite 
 as any, but its origin as a surname is traced to certain 
 lands in Fife ; and as for its near relation the cowslip, 
 its modern as well as its ancient English name — 
 paigle — puts it out of the question for baptismal 
 purposes. Crabbe makes allusion to floral names : —
 
 Personal Names. 283 
 
 " ' Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child ?,' 
 I asked the gardener's wife, in accents mild : 
 ' We have a right,' replied the sturdy dame ; — 
 And Lonicera was the infant's name. 
 If next a son shall yield our gardener joy, 
 Then Hyacinthus shall be that fair hoy ; 
 And if a girl, they will at length agree 
 That Belladonna that fair maid shall be." 
 
 The classical renaissance had a marked effect upon 
 our Christian names — at least on those of women, for 
 we do not often encounter Strephon, Amyntas, or 
 Corydon in real life. But Celia, Diana, Chloe, 
 Cynthia, Lucrece, and Lydia perhaps owe their com- 
 parative permanence on the Continent to the benign 
 influence of the Hotel Eambouillet, and Phyllis and 
 Phoebe are thoroughly naturalised in our villages to 
 this day. 
 
 Family or fixed surnames were unknown in Eng- 
 land before the Norman Conquest. In Saxon circles, 
 indeed, men were distinguished by two names, indi- 
 cative of their appearance, habits, or profession ; but 
 these were never hereditary. Feudal land-tenure, 
 however, had initiated our conquerors into the con- 
 venience of territorial surnames, and their appearance 
 in this island synchronises with the first Norman 
 king. But the possession of land could only find 
 names for a limited class, and Camden observes, 
 " Certain it is that as the better sort, even from the 
 Conquest, by little and little took surnames, so they 
 were not settled among the common people fully until 
 about the time of Edward the Second."
 
 284 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 There is not much mystery about these territorial 
 
 names — any doubts as to their origin may generally 
 
 be solved by a reference to Burke ; but there is one 
 
 point connected with them which may be noted. It 
 
 does not follow, because the bearer of a chivalrous 
 
 surname may be found in humble or even destitute 
 
 circumstances, that it is owing to distressing family 
 
 vicissitudes, or that it is the fault of Fortune, 
 
 because 
 
 " It is still her use 
 To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
 An age of poverty," 
 
 Sinclair, Charteris, Bruce, Montgomerie, Mowat {de 
 monte alto), Muschet (dc monte fixd), Hay, Vance {de 
 VaiLx), Weir (dc Vere), and many others, are all names 
 derived from lands in Normandy ; bvit it must not be 
 supposed that the multitudes who bear them are all 
 poor relatives of the seignorial families. In early times, 
 especially in the Highlands and on the Borders, where 
 the clan system prevailed, it was common for men, 
 casting about for a surname, to make use of that of 
 their territorial chief. Again, there are many places 
 in Great Britain which, having first yielded a terri- 
 torial surname to a gentle family, afterwards supplied 
 a local one, indicative of his origin, to many a trades- 
 man, craftsman, or labourer. Country John, leaving 
 his native fields or village to better his fortunes in the 
 town, found himself rubbing shoulders with scores of 
 other Johns: he would become known as John o'
 
 Personal Names. 
 
 285 
 
 Hastings, o' Musgrave, o' Haverington, according to 
 his birthplace, and become the progenitor of a line of 
 Hastings, Musgraves, or Harringtons, in no degree 
 akin to the aristocratic personages who had already 
 derived their family names from these places. This 
 easy practice of calling a man after his native place 
 did not escape the observation of Verstegan, one of 
 the earliest analysts of personal names, who, writing in 
 the seventeenth century, quotes the following lines : — 
 
 " In ' ford,' in * ham,' in ' ley,' in * ton,' 
 The most of English surnames run." 
 
 Thousands of English family names have arisen in 
 this way ; and just as one finds in breccia rock-frag- 
 ments of older geological strata imbedded, so in these 
 borrowed names there are often to be found the older 
 names of those from whom the place was originally 
 named. The following may be taken as examples : — 
 
 Modern jilape-iiatne 
 and surname. 
 
 Abingdon 
 Aylesford 
 Ashbury 
 Dowdswell 
 Effingham 
 Grimstone 
 Hambledon 
 Ormsby 
 
 Petridge (altered to sur- ) 
 name of Partridge) \ 
 
 Ramsden 
 Winslow 
 
 Original form. 
 
 AbbandUn 
 
 ^glesford 
 
 ^scesbyrig 
 
 Dogodeswel 
 
 Effingeham 
 
 Grimaston 
 
 Hamelendrin 
 
 Ormisby 
 
 Pedanhrycg 
 
 Remnesdiin 
 Uines-hlau 
 
 Meaning. 
 
 Abba's fort, 
 Ogle's ford. 
 (Esc's stronghold. 
 Dogod's well. 
 E(fa's house. 
 Grim's farm. 
 Haniela's fort. 
 Orm's dwellin". 
 
 Peda's ridge. 
 
 C Renin's or Eaven's 
 \ fort. 
 Uine's hill.
 
 286 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 There is a still further stage where a man's name, 
 like Washington, originally derived from a place, is 
 again conferred upon another place, owing to the 
 distinction of the individual. 
 
 One significant fact will be noticed in examining 
 surnames derived from localities, is that the frequency 
 with which a place-name is so employed is in inverse 
 ratio to the importance of the place. London, Edin- 
 burgh, and Dublin are most rare as family names, but 
 almost every village of any antiquity in Great Britain 
 has plenty of human namesakes. The reason for this 
 is simple enough: in old times, as now, it was the 
 countrymen who flocked into the great towns, not 
 the towns-people who peopled the country. It is a 
 very old piece of chaff against Scotsmen that they 
 have spread themselves all over the world to avoid 
 starving in their own country; hence people bearing 
 the name Scott are very numerous compared with 
 those answering to Inglis, who are only to be found, 
 in limited numbers, near the Border. Against this 
 may be set the fact that Scotland owed her indepen- 
 dence, at a critical time, to one whose name means 
 Welshman — i.e., Wallace (Waleys) — and, at another, 
 to one of direct Norman descent, bearing a foreign 
 territorial surname — Bruce (de Brus). 
 
 The salient facts in the history of our nation should 
 suffice to prevent us ever boasting of the purity of 
 our blood. Successive waves of invasion have made 
 the people (especially the well-to-do classes) thoroughly 
 hybrid, and the strains of Celtic, Eoman, Saxon, Dan-
 
 Personal Names. 287 
 
 ish, and Norman blood can never more be separated. 
 But in addition to such wholesale influx, there was 
 the sporadic settlement of foreign merchants indicated 
 by such surnames as Fleming, Hansard (of the great 
 trading Hanseatic League), Eomayne, Holland, Allman, 
 and Dollman (d'Almaigne), Lubbock (Lubeck), &c. 
 
 It might very likely sometimes be inconvenient, in 
 unsettled times, for a settler to give exact reference 
 to his last residence ; hence, presumably, such sur- 
 names as Newcome and Newcomen, Strange and 
 L'Estrange. But the Scottish family of Strang of 
 Balcaskie, in Fife, simply bore the northern form of 
 the adjective " strong " ; although a cadet of that 
 family, who became distinguished as an engraver and 
 received knighthood, became known as Sir Eobert 
 Strange. 
 
 Akin to these surnames of origin are those of loca- 
 tion, arising from the position of the dwelling of differ- 
 ent individuals. They are innumerable, but it is only 
 necessary to mention a few of them in order to illus- 
 trate a class which some people may find it interesting 
 to trace out for themselves. As in surnames of origin 
 the English preposition of or the French dc was em- 
 ployed, so in locative surnames the connection was 
 supplied by the preposition at, or less frequently 
 in, corresponding to, and sometimes indistinguish- 
 able from, the French «, though sometimes de was 
 employed, as in territorial titles. Thus, to take a 
 well-known name, Thomas a Becket was Thomas at 
 the becket or brooklet; the preposition has dropped
 
 288 Noontide Essays. 
 
 out and left the familiar Becket of the present day. 
 Sometimes the preposition has been incorporated in 
 the family name, as when John-de-lane or William- 
 atte-wode left descendants known either as Delane 
 or Lane, as "Wood or Attwood. Who can number 
 the generations reckoned as Lea (Lee, Leigh, Legh), 
 Field, Moore, Wells (also By well and Attwell), Street, 
 Cross, Down, Eidge and Attridge, Brook and Attbrook, 
 Eivers, Flood, Shore, Cliffe or Olive, Mill or Mills, 
 Combe and Atcombe, Kirke, Craig, Glen, and Forrest, 
 of which each individual bears about with him an 
 indelible record of some prominent object near which 
 an ancestor happened to dwell when surnames were 
 becoming fixed ? Occasionally the meaning of the 
 name is obscured by a classical aspect : perhaps the 
 great authority on population, Malthus, was not aware 
 that he owed his surname to a malthouse ; and there 
 are families of Bacchus extant now who may trace 
 their descent, not from a wine - shop, but from a 
 bakehouse. 
 
 The use of territorial and locative names has sur- 
 vived in the Lowlands of Scotland to this day. Not 
 only are lairds habitually spoken of and addressed 
 by the name of their estate or residence, but farmers 
 in certain districts respond most freely to the names 
 of their lands. There used to be an old fellow, tenant 
 of a small farm on the Tig, a tributary of the Stinchar, 
 in Ayrshire. One day he was cutting his oats, and 
 a friend driving past along the road called out to 
 him, " You're cutting your crop rather green, Chal-
 
 Personal Names. 289 
 
 loch." The old fellow never stopped mowing, but 
 replied over his shoulder, "If the Lord disna ken 
 when to ripen, Challoch-on-Tig kens when to maw." 
 
 Hitherto, in dealing with the territorial, natal, and 
 locative classes of surnames, reference has only been 
 made to the Anglian part of the population under the 
 influence of Norman rule. The Celtic race, owing to 
 their peculiar land-system, under which territory was 
 the joint property of the sept or clan, never named 
 men after lands or towns or natural features ; but the 
 Welsh, Irish, and Gaelic element must be taken into 
 account in considering the three remaining classes of 
 surname — viz. : the pure patronymic, the names from 
 otfices or trades, and those from personal character- 
 istics, including "to-names" or nicknames. 
 
 Of all methods of surname, the patronymic is per- 
 haps the most general and most direct ; but Camden 
 gives an excellent illustration of its inconvenience in 
 the extent to which the Celts carried it : — 
 
 "In late times — in the time of King Henry VIII. — an 
 ancient -vvorshipfnl gentleman of Wales, being called at the 
 pannell of a jury by the name of Thomas Ap WilHam Ap 
 Thomas Ap Eichard Ap Hoel Ap Evan Vaghan, &c., was 
 advised by the judge to leave that old manner ; whereupon 
 he afterwards called himself Moston, according to the name of 
 his principal house, and left that surname to his posteritie." 
 
 Other Welshmen of liigh descent were content to 
 merge the preposition, and Ap Kobert became Probert ; 
 
 T
 
 290 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Ap Rhys, Price ; Ap Eichard, Pritchard ; Ab Owen, 
 Bowen ; Ap Hugh, Pugh. Ah m Welsh, meamng 
 a son, corresponds to the Irish and Gaelic mac, of 
 which the old Welsh form was map (now mob). Both 
 came from a common source, maccu, genitive maqyi ; 
 the Welsh Celt perpetuated the labial, the Gaelic Celt 
 the guttural, sound : thus Probert and MacRobert are 
 precisely the same, both in meaning and ultimate ety- 
 mology. But the Irish Gael made use of another 
 form of patronymic by prefixing ua, race or grandson ; 
 as, Sorle ua Niaill — i.e., Charles O'Neill. English 
 people often think this " 0' " is a contraction for 
 "of." 
 
 Purely Celtic names are generally to be easily dis- 
 tinguished — though the late Mr Cosmo Innes vouches 
 for one story to show that even in these one is apt to 
 be deceived : — 
 
 " A Dublin citizen (I think a dealer in snuff and tobacco) 
 about the end of last century had lived to a good age, and 
 in great repute, under the name of Halfpenny. He throve 
 in trade, and his children prevailed on him in his latter 
 years to change tlie name, which they thought imdignified, 
 and this he did by simply dropping the last letter. He 
 died and was buried as Mr Halpen. The fortune of the 
 family did not recede ; and the son of our citizen tliought 
 proper to renounce retail dealing, and at the same time 
 looked about for a euphonious change of name. He made 
 no scruple of dropping the unnecessary h, and that being 
 done, it was easy to go into the Celtic rage, which Sir 
 Walter Scott and ' The Lady of the Lake ' had just raised 
 to a great height ; and he who had run the streets as Httle
 
 Personal Names. 
 
 291 
 
 Kenny Halfpenny came out (in full Rob Eoy tartan, I trust) 
 as Kenneih MacAlpin, the descendant of a hundred kings." ^ 
 
 As a rule, of course, English patronymics are more 
 easily understanded of the people than those in Celtic 
 speech. Yet, in order to trace the formation of the 
 former, it is necessary to bear in mind the diminutives 
 or pet abbreviations of Christian names, which were 
 of old much more varied than those in use now. 
 Our commonest pet names are made by adding ie or y 
 either to the first syllable — as Frederick, Freddy ; or 
 to the whole name if a monosyllable — as Grace, Gracie. 
 But in early times pet names were much more elabo- 
 rate. The Saxons used hin and cock, and the Normans 
 introduced et and ot, en and on ; and with these, as 
 well as from abbreviations pure and simple, the changes 
 were rung interminably on Christian names. A few 
 may be given here to assist in the recognition of 
 others : — 
 
 Christian 
 name. 
 
 William 
 
 Pet name. 
 
 Will 
 
 Wilcock 
 
 Wilkin 
 
 ' Concerning some Scottish Surnames, 
 burgh: 1860. 
 
 Patronymic. 
 
 r Williams. 
 
 Mac William. 
 
 Williamson. 
 
 Wills. 
 ^ Wilson. 
 i Wilcocks. 
 ' Wilcox. 
 ( Wilcockson. 
 
 Wilkins. 
 
 Wilkisoii. 
 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 By Cosmo Innes. Edin-
 
 292 
 
 Christian 
 name. 
 
 William 
 
 Noontide Essays, 
 
 Pet name. 
 Willet or GuiUot 
 
 Willy 
 
 Willamot or Guillamot 
 
 Willen or Gillon 
 BiU 
 
 Guill 
 
 1 
 { 
 
 Robert 
 
 Philip 
 
 Robin 
 
 Dobb 
 Hob 
 Rob 
 Hobkin 
 
 Phip 
 Philipot 
 
 Ricliard 
 
 Patronymic. 
 
 Willet. 
 
 Willetson. 
 
 Gillott. 
 
 Willison. 
 
 Wilmot. 
 
 Guillemard. 
 
 WiUing. 
 
 Gillon. 
 
 Bilson. 
 
 'Gill. 
 Gilson. 
 Gilkens. 
 Gilkinson. 
 ^Gilkison. 
 / Roberts. 
 j Robertson. 
 ^ :MacRobert. 
 ( Probert. 
 / Robins. 
 ) Robinson. 
 '\ Robison. 
 \ Probyn. 
 Dobbs. 
 Dobson. 
 j Hobbs. 
 \ Hobson. 
 [ Robbs. 
 \ Robson. 
 ( Hopkins. 
 I Hopkinson. 
 [ Phillips. 
 ( Phillipson. 
 Phipps. 
 Philpotts. 
 / Richards. 
 \ Richardson. 
 \ Rickards. 
 V Pritchard.
 
 Diccon 
 Hitcliiu 
 
 Fei^sonal Names. 293 
 
 Christian Pet name. Patronymic, 
 
 name. -d • 
 
 Kichard Ricli I^i-^o"- 
 
 j Eitcliie. 
 
 I^ic^^e \ Ritcbie«on. 
 
 { Dick. 
 Dick ] Dixie. 
 
 ( Dixon. 
 
 j Dickens. 
 
 \ Dickenson. 
 
 I Hitchins. 
 
 \ Hitcliison.^ 
 
 ^^. . , r Hitchcock. 
 
 Hitchcock N TT-x 1 
 
 ( Hitchcox. 
 
 And so on, David giving patronymics from its variants 
 — Dawe, Dawkin, Davie ; Henry from Hal and Harry 
 — Hallet, Halket, Harriet, and Hawkin ; John from 
 Jack and Jenkin ; Simeon from Simkin ; Mary from 
 Mariot ; Walter from Wat, Watkin, &c., &c. In 
 short, the patronymics formed from abbreviations are 
 much more numerous than those from the original 
 name, and have long outlived the old endearing ap- 
 pellatives. 
 
 A whole essay might be written — nay, very many 
 have been written — on the subject of surnames de- 
 rived from offices and trades. They are a spontane- 
 ous growth wherever surnames are known, especially 
 in those races where, as among the Celts, office and 
 trade were hereditary. The commonest surname of 
 all is Smith, even in Scotland, where a pure patro- 
 nymic — Macdonald — holds the second place, and an 
 allusive name — Brown — the third. The Celtic word 
 
 ^ Hutchins and Hutchinson are from diminutives of Hugh ; and 
 Hodgkins, Hodgkinson, from Geoi'ge.
 
 294 Noontide Essays. 
 
 for Smith — Gow — is common in the Highlands, Le- 
 fevre has established itself in England, and the Italian 
 equivalent became known to us through the excel- 
 lence of the blades made in the sixteenth century 
 by Andrea Ferara, or Maestro Andrea del Ferari, of 
 Belluno. Mackintosh bespeaks lofty descent — mac 
 an toseaich, the thane's son ; on the other hand, in 
 Stewart a lowly office has been raised to very high 
 levels. It is, in fact, the " stye ward," from the 
 Anglo-Saxon stigc wcarcl, the Master, not of the 
 Horse, but of the Hogs — an important official in 
 days when a lord's wealth was reckoned by his bestial, 
 and gradually transferred to the chief officer of the 
 household — the steward, seneschallus or dapifer. When 
 the origin of the name is remembered, how trivial 
 seem the squabbles whether it is rightly spelt with 
 u or 2'\ W, of course, is organic in the name, and 
 was only altered to ii to suit the French alphabet. 
 Cook, Butler, Spencer, Chamberlain, Durward (door- 
 ward), Cator (caterer), have all risen in life. 
 
 Sometimes the same office or profession has given 
 rise to very differelit surnames, as Grosvenor and 
 Hunter. Thackeray and Eeader do not seem to have 
 much in common, but the ancestors of persons bearing 
 these names must once have been thackei^es and recdcrs 
 — i.e.y thatchers and those who thatched with reeds. 
 
 As the regular clergy in the days when surnames 
 mostly originated were under the rule of celibacy, there 
 is something not altosjether illustrious about certain 
 patronymics both in Anglican and Celtic families.
 
 Personal Names. 295 
 
 Vickers and Parsons both imply the progeny o£ a 
 vicar and a parson ; MacNab is mac an aib, the ab- 
 bot's son ; MacTaggart, mac-t-sagairt, the priest's son ; 
 M'Chlery, mac cleraig, the clergyman's son ; Macpher- 
 son, iimc 'jjhairsidn, the parson's son ; MacBriar, mac 
 hrathair, the friar's son. It is charitable to remember 
 that in very early times of the Church the secular 
 clergy were not commanded to abstain from marriage ; 
 and this may be held to account for what is recorded 
 of the priest who had charge of the instruction of St 
 Comgall : quadam node cum clericus ille cum mulierc 
 clormivit. On the other hand, the same excuse will 
 hardly screen Lugudius Clodus, an ecclesiastic of Magh 
 Breg, who, says Adamnan, was rich and much honoured 
 by the people, but who choked on a piece of meat and 
 died, cum meretrice in codcm lectido cuhans} 
 
 The last of the four principal sources of surnames 
 —that from personal qualities — is hardly less prolific 
 than the other three, but their meaning is generally 
 so obvious that it is scarcely necessary to deal with 
 them in detail. But, as being common to both Teu- 
 tonic and Celtic races, it may prove interesting to 
 show how surnames of this class, though very different 
 in appearance, may have the same meaning. The 
 simplest way of doing this is to put a few of them 
 in tabular form. It is necessary to bear in mind that 
 the Celtic diminutive suffixes an and ach are fre- 
 quently added to an adjective in applying it to a 
 person. 
 
 1 Adtimnani Vita Sancti Columbre, Lib. I., cap. xxx.
 
 296 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 English surname. 
 White (with, dimin- 
 utive Whittuck) 
 
 Black 
 
 Grey 
 
 Reid (red) 
 Ruddiman 
 
 Brown 
 Long ^ 
 Lang \ 
 Laing ) 
 
 Bigg \ 
 Mickle \ 
 Little ) 
 Small 1 
 
 Celtic adjective. 
 (Ban 
 ( Fionn 
 
 < Dubh (pron. doo, 
 \ (low, or duv) 
 
 Ciar (pron. keer) 
 
 Glas 
 
 Ruadh {dh mute) 
 
 Corcradh {dh mute) 
 Donn 
 
 Fada 
 
 Mor 
 Beg 
 
 Celtic surname. 
 
 Bean, Macbean. 
 Finn, Finlay, Fina- 
 
 gan. 
 Dow, Duff, Duffie, 
 
 Macduff. 
 Keran, Keiran. 
 Glass, M'Glashan. 
 
 Roy. 
 
 Corkran, Cochrane. 
 Dunn, Donnan. 
 
 M'Fadzean. 
 
 [ More, Moore. 
 
 I Moran, M'Morran. 
 
 Beggs. 
 
 It would be easy to prolong the list, but any one 
 can follow the clue given at his own pleasure. 
 
 In early days, when Gaelic was giving place to An- 
 glian as the speech of the commonalty in Scotland, 
 members of the same family sometimes bore, one a 
 Gaelic, the other a Saxon name. Thus, in a charter 
 printed in Anderson's ' Diplomata Scotiffi,' No. 75, it is 
 set forth how Eichard de Morville, Constable of Scot- 
 land, in 1166, sells Edmund, the son of Bonda, and 
 Gillemichel, his brother, to Henry St Clair. Here 
 Edmund and Bonda are Saxon names, but Gillemichel 
 is the Gaelic for " Michael's servant." 
 
 It might be supposed that the wants even of an 
 exuberant population might be supplied by ringing
 
 Personal Names. 297 
 
 the changes on the abundant sources of nomenclature 
 — baptismal and surname — already alluded to. But 
 that is not so. Strange to say, it is in some of the 
 remote and thinly populated districts that recourse 
 is still had to " to-names " or nicknames to distinguish 
 individuals, and this cannot be better illustrated than 
 by quoting from a most amusing paper which appeared 
 in ' Blackwood's Magazine ' for March 1842. 
 
 '~*The fishers are generally in want of surnames. . . . 
 There are seldom more than two or three surnames in a 
 fish-town [the writer is referring to Aberdeenshire]. There 
 are twenty-five George Cowies in Buckie. The grocers, 
 in booking then fishing customers, mvariably insert the 
 nickname or ^ee-name, and, in the case of married men, 
 write down the wife's along with the husband's name. . . . 
 In the town register of Peterhead these signatures occur : 
 Elizabeth Taylor, spouse to John Thomson, Soiiples ; Agnes 
 Farquhar, spouse to AY. Findlater, Stouttie. . . . 
 
 " It is amusing enough to turn over the leaves of a 
 grocer's ledger and see the ^ee-names as they come up : 
 Buckij, Beauhj, Biggelugs, Collop, Helldom, the King, 
 the Provost, Rochie, Stoattie, Sillerton, the Smack, Snipe, 
 Snuffers, Toothie, Todloiorie. Ladies are occasionahy found 
 who are gallantly and exquisitely called the Gidter, the 
 Bear, Sec. Among the twenty -five George Cowies in 
 Buckie there are George Cowie, doodle; George Cowie, 
 carrot ; and George Cowie, neep [turnip]. 
 
 " A stranger had occasion to call on a fisherman in one 
 of the Buchan fishing-villages of the name of Alexander 
 White. Meeting a girl, he asked — 
 
 " ' Could you teU me far Sanny Fite lives % ' 
 
 " ' Filk Sanny Fite 1 '
 
 298 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 " ' Muckle Sanny Fite.' 
 
 " ' Filk muckle Sanny Fite 1 ' 
 
 " ' Muckle lang Sanny Fite.' 
 
 " 'Filk muckle lang Sanny Fite?' 
 
 " ' Muckle lang gleyed [squinting] Sanny Fite.' 
 
 " * Oh ! it's Goup-the-lift ye' re seeking,' cried the girl ; 
 ' and fat the deevil for dinna ye speer for the man by his 
 richt name at ance ? ' " 
 
 Mr Cosmo Innes corroborated this by his own 
 experience. He quotes ^ from the records of Justiciary 
 the names occurring in a case tried before the Spring 
 Circuit of Aberdeen, 1844, in which John Geddes 
 alias John Jack was indicted for assaulting John 
 Cowie, Pum. Among the witnesses were Margaret 
 Cowie, Pum; John Eeid, Jocdes; James Green, Rovk; 
 John Geddes, Jack son; Alexander Geddes, Duke; and 
 John Eeid, Dey, all described as fishermen. 
 
 Mr Dudgeon - gives a more recent and even more 
 remarkable instance of these totemic names. There 
 is, as he truly says, no more matter-of-fact species of 
 literature than the official register of voters, none is 
 more rigidly scanned and pruned of all fanciful or ex- 
 traneous matter, yet he was eyewitness that in the 
 list of voters for the counties of Elgin, Banff, and 
 Nairn, duly authenticated by the Sheriff, these nick- 
 names are always entered. They are placed in in- 
 verted commas after each voter's name, thus : — 
 " William Flett ' Yankie,' 
 James Murray ' Costie Bird,' 
 George ISIair ' Shy Bobbin,' " 
 
 1 Scotch Surnames, p. 18. ^ Origin of Surnames, p. 9.
 
 Personal Names. 209 
 
 — ^and so on through two or three hundred names like 
 Bukie, Caukie, Cock Carrot, Shavie, Eosie BovAc, Upplc, 
 Helens Dod, Bosie, Gug, Bussie, &c. 
 
 Truly it is refreshing to come upon such picturesque 
 elasticity in close proximity to the ballot-boxes. 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed that all surnames 
 that look like arbitrary nicknames were conferred in 
 this way. The ancient practice of distinguishing shops 
 by signs gave rise to a peculiar class of locative names; 
 hemse the frequency of such surnames as Sparrow, 
 Eoebuck, liose. Nightingale, Oliphant (Elephant), Bell, 
 and others. 
 
 The converse process to that which takes place in 
 the use of "to -names," is the application of family 
 names to manufactured articles as a stimulus to com- 
 merce. Some of the haughtiest patronymics have 
 been affected thus to a degree which it will take gen- 
 erations to repair. Mackintosh, for example, no longer 
 conveys the idea of the " thane's son," but that of a 
 useful, though homely, article of clothing. There is 
 no loftier name in history than Gregory, but the happy 
 ingenuity of a physician who bore it has inseparably 
 associated it with an admirable, but unpalatable, medi- 
 cine. Keating was a good Anglo-Saxon family, but 
 who is now able to divest it from its connection with 
 flea-powder. Bass, AUsopp, and Guinness, have all won 
 places in the peerage, but Bacchus and Dionysius were 
 not more consciously convivial names in classic times 
 than these are at this day. That Chesterfield and
 
 300 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Gladstone have a deeper significance than that of a 
 coat or a bag must be taken as a tribute to the power- 
 ful individuality of two distinguished men ; but a 
 sandwich is severed from all trace of its origin in the 
 ingenuity of a fastidious Earl of Sandwich; and exclu- 
 sive dealing is so much more conveniently expressed 
 by the verb " to boycott," that another generation will 
 probably have forgotten all the tragic circumstances 
 which gave rise to its adoption. 
 
 Instances are not wanting of unmerited dishonour 
 overwhelming a respectable name. Dr Guillotin has 
 been almost universally credited with the invention 
 of the guillotine, but, in truth, up to the time of his 
 death he protested continually against the associa- 
 tion of his name with that machine. It is true that 
 in the Constituent Assembly he advocated it as a 
 merciful means of despatching criminals, compared 
 with the nameless horrors that used to be inflicted on 
 malefactors such as Damiens, whose mortal agony 
 was judicially prolonged for three or four days. But 
 the real inventor was Dr Louis, and the machine was 
 known in the early days of the Terror as Louison or 
 Louisette. Nevertheless, Guillotin's name became at- 
 tached to it, and, after his death in 1814, his children 
 obtained permission to change their family name. 
 
 The time for creating surnames has gone by, but it 
 would contribute to the continuity of history, as well as 
 to the seemliness of literature and of social life, if some 
 of those now in use were recast in their original mould.
 
 B I E D S. 
 
 rriHEEE are something under four hundred species 
 -*- of birds resident in or visitants, more or less 
 regular, to the British Isles, and this number is less 
 likely to increase than to diminish as the population 
 becomes more dense. The wealth of woodland and 
 uncultivated demesne which surround many of the 
 homes of our landed gentry offers a convenient object 
 of invective to the land reformer and of unkindly 
 comment to the socialist, but the naturalist delights 
 in it, for it gives a shelter to many an interesting 
 tribe that would otherwise long since have been 
 killed out, and tempts others to linger that might 
 hurry on to other lands. Yet these sylvan shades 
 screen many a senseless act of bloodshed, whereby 
 numbers of rare and beautiful creatures pay the 
 penalty of their resemblance to others really hurtful 
 to game, or fall victims to naturalists of that class 
 which pursues a bird to the death with bloodthirsti- 
 ness proportioned to its scarcity. It is a common
 
 302 Noontide Essays. 
 
 complaint that gamekeepers include in their list of 
 vermin many birds that are absolutely guiltless of 
 injury to game : no doubt that is true, " and pity 'tis 
 'tis true " ; but who is the real culprit ? Not the 
 gamekeeper ; he is but a servant, and holds his place 
 only so long as he does his master's pleasure. He is 
 possessed of traditions as to the injurious habits of 
 certain animals ; they are a matter of faith with him, 
 and so long as he believes them he will feel it to be 
 his duty to protect his master's property. He does 
 it quite openly, and takes a pride in the grisly display 
 of corpses hanging on the back wall of the kennel. 
 The true barbarian is the master who permits the 
 massacre ; the root of the evil is his unpardonable 
 ignorance. K'ot indifference, mark you, for very few 
 country gentlemen are indifferent to things concerning 
 the kingdom of field-sports (it will be a bad day for 
 their class — pace Mr Wordsworth — should they ever 
 become so) ; it is sheer ignorance. Ask each of the 
 first twenty squires you meet to name to you, out 
 of the four hundred British birds, one hundred that 
 he knows by sight. Very likely not one of them will 
 be able to do so, still less tell you anything about 
 their habits. Gamekeepers the culprits ! Often and 
 often has my blood boiled to see a poor owl, disturbed 
 by the line of beaters and dazzled by the daylight, float 
 noiselessly towards the forward guns, to be knocked 
 over by a cigarette-smoking biped who perhaps never 
 has done so much good to his fellow-creatures as his 
 victim hag in many a night's mouse-hunting.
 
 Birds. 30 
 
 o 
 
 Now what is the story revealed by impartial inquiry 
 into the charge made against the owl's character ? It 
 happens that it is as simple a matter to analyse his 
 diet as if the various articles composing it were set 
 forth in a printed menu ; for the owl, like other birds 
 of prey, has the power of disgorging the indigestible 
 parts of his food in what are called pelts or pellets. 
 Dr Altum, a German naturahst, has lately been at 
 praiseworthy pains in examining these pelts, and the 
 facts revealed by him should once and for all remove 
 all doubts as to, not only the harmless, but the useful 
 habits of the owl. The tawny owl {Strix stridida) is 
 the species that bears the worst character for poaching ; 
 in 210 pelts of this bird Dr Altum found the remains 
 of 1 stoat (mark that, keeper !), 6 rats, 371 mice, 48 
 moles, 18 small birds, and many beetles and cock- 
 chafers. Again, 706 pelts of the barn-owl produced 
 16 bats, 3 rats, 2520 mice, 1 mole, and 22 small 
 birds. 
 
 Very creditable to the owls, it may be said ; but at 
 what time of year was this analysis made ? Unless it 
 was in June, when the young pheasants and partridges 
 were about, it is worthless ; because the owl who will 
 take a sparrow will not disdain a young plieasant. 
 Probably not, if he gets the chance ; but the owl feeds 
 only by night, when every young game-bird is safe 
 under his mother's feathers. 
 
 I venture to commend this simple experiment to 
 the attention of those who can hardly be numbered 
 among the disciples of the Goddess of Intellect
 
 304 Noontide Essays. 
 
 so long as they senselessly persecute her chosen 
 bird. 
 
 Surely it is not too much to expect that the day 
 may come when the true sportsman will not be esti- 
 mated only by the percentage of rocketers he can " tear 
 from the skies " or the number of driven grouse he can 
 pile around his box ; when woodcraft shall be required 
 to consist of more than the art of destruction, and to 
 include some knowledge of the wild animals met with 
 in a day's shooting. The mere pleasure derived from 
 sport must be infinitely enhanced to one like the late 
 Charles St John, to whom every passing bird was an 
 object of interest, quite apart from its quality on the 
 table or its value at the poulterer's. People are some- 
 times deterred from natural history by the polysyllabic 
 names in scientific works ; it is not the least necessary 
 to begin with them, though the delight in classification 
 is sure to follow open-air study. 
 
 When that day comes, the gamekeeper will take his 
 cue from his master ; the destruction of innocent birds 
 will be forbidden, and Velveteens will then take as 
 much pride in showing rare creatures on the wing as 
 he now does in showing them rotting on a board. He 
 will be as anxious to chronicle the nesting of rare 
 visitors as the bailiff whose master, a former Earl of 
 Mayo, as is said, imported some emus, and, having 
 to go up to London, left strict injunctions that he 
 was to be informed when they began to lay. Not 
 Ions: after he received the followino- letter from the 
 bailiff:—
 
 Birds. 305 
 
 "My Lord, — I have the honour to inform your lordship 
 that one of the emus has begun to lay. In the absence of 
 your lordship, I have put the eggs under the biggest goose 
 we have." 
 
 Does such a state of things seem Utopian ? Then let 
 me illustrate its possibility by an actual incident. 
 Few birds have been subjected to more persecution 
 or more strictly confined to the wildest parts of our 
 country than the golden eagle. In the season of 
 1890 I was stalking in the forest of Achnacarry. 
 We had sighted a large herd of deer on the opposite 
 side of a wide corrie. To approach them it was 
 necessary to descend a steep glen, with scattered 
 birch and rowan offering a welcome cover. About 
 half - way down the stalker suddenly stopped and 
 pointed out to me a fine eagle sitting on a bare 
 branch within five - and - twenty yards of us. The 
 bird saw us almost as quickly, and left his perch, 
 soaring off in majestic curves across the gulf. Of 
 course it was an anxious moment, for it was very 
 likely the deer would take the alarm ; nevertheless, 
 the stalker betrayed the feeling uppermost in his 
 mind by ejaculating, " Noble bird, mistress eagle ! " 
 Strict orders have been maintained for years in this 
 forest (all honour to its owner !) against the destruc- 
 tion of eagles, and the men now take pride in being 
 able to show this king of "vermin." The incident 
 gave me so much pleasure that, rather than have 
 missed it, I would willingly have given up the issue 
 of the stalk (which turned out successfully). 
 
 U
 
 o 
 
 06 Noontide Essays, 
 
 But of course the golden eagle is a gentleman re- 
 quiring elbow-room. His taste for tender lamb makes 
 him obnoxious except in tlie great deer-forests of the 
 North ; yet his visits to the low country are so rare 
 that it is scarcely too much to ask that he might be 
 more hospitably received there than is generally the 
 case. Mr Euskin says somewhere that if an angel 
 from heaven were to alight upon British soil the 
 first idea occurring to any one in sight would be to 
 get a gun, in order, I presume, to add him to some 
 local collection. This is exactly what happens when 
 an eagle is seen. But if the golden eagle deserves 
 persecution for his marauding habits, the same cannot 
 be said, at least in the same degree, of other birds, 
 scarcely inferior in beauty, which meet with similar 
 treatment. Of these the kite is one — the common 
 kite it is called in ornithological works ; but alas ! 
 it is common no longer. There were plenty of them 
 aliout the great woods of the English midlands within 
 the memory of people still living, but it is now reck- 
 oned among the rarest of our birds. It was deplor- 
 able to read in the columns of the ' Field ' (the lead- 
 ing journal of sport, forsooth !) that during the summer 
 of 1889 five of these splendid birds were destroyed in 
 a certain district of Wales. It cannot be claimed for 
 them that they are harmless ; they have a hankering 
 for chickens about a farmyard, and, if kites were 
 about, a careful eye would have to be kept over young 
 pheasants at the coops ; but they are not nearly so 
 hurtful as their formidable size and appearance would
 
 Birds. 307 
 
 lead one to suppose. Clusius states that in his day 
 they were plentiful in the streets of London and 
 quite tame, being protected by the municipality on 
 account of their usefulness as scavengers.^ 
 
 Polygamy among wild birds, though rare, is not 
 unknown, witness our own blackgame and pheasants ; 
 but it is said to be among kites and cuckoos alone 
 that polyandry is practised. The female bird permits 
 the addresses of several males ; and this leads to an 
 exception to the adage, " Hawks dinna pyke out 
 hawks' e'en," for the males, fired by jealousy, engage 
 in fierce conflicts at the nesting season. 
 
 Another bird of noble aspect that is now seldom 
 seen is tlie buzzard. Though reckoned a woodland 
 bird, he used to be not unfrequent a few years ago 
 in the bare southern uplands of Scotland. A pair 
 of these circling about the crags of some mountain 
 solitude, uttering shrill cries, add almost as wild a 
 charm to the landscape as the eagle. In such dis- 
 tricts he may be acquitted of injury to winged game, 
 his favourite food being " braxy" — i.e., dead sheep. Yet 
 he has paid a heavy penalty for his warlike mien and 
 has been ruthlessly killed down. On many a height 
 that he used to adorn he is seen no more. In his 
 search for carrion he is specially liable to fall into 
 that most horrible of all snares — a pole trap, Per- 
 
 ^ Since these lines were published in the ' Nineteenth Century,' I 
 have had the pleasure of being informed that strict orders have been 
 given on a large estate in South "Wales that the kites, which have 
 returned to breed there, are not to be molested.
 
 308 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 haps the reader is in happy ignorance of that fiend- 
 ish invention. Let me enhghten — even at the risk 
 of sickening him ; for unless these things are known, 
 how can they be condemned? A pole is erected in 
 some waste likely to be frequented by hawks; on 
 the summit of it is fixed a strong steel trap, baited 
 with a lump of meat. The trap is secured to the pole 
 by a chain, so that when some soaring bird of prey 
 descends to seize the lure he is caught by the leg, 
 the trap falls off the pole, and the wretched animal 
 dangles head downwards till the keeper comes to put 
 him out of his misery. But the worst remains to be 
 told. Owing to the fact that these traps are generally 
 set in some lonely place — the summit of a hill or the 
 middle of a peat - moss — they cannot be regularly 
 visited; the trapped bird sometimes swings for days 
 till a lingering death ensues. No one who has once 
 met the fierce, full eye of a falcon caught in one of 
 these hideous contrivances, who has seen the strong, 
 bold wings, that once bore him so gallantly on the 
 gale, now flapping helplessly against the pole, and the 
 limb crushed in the cruel steel, can ever, one would 
 think, forget the feeling of deep shame that burned in 
 his heart. Yet this is part of the regular business of 
 game-preserving on many moors in the north. Noth- 
 ing need be said against the greedy black-backed gull, 
 the carrion-crow, even the rook, when he takes to 
 robbing nests, paying the thief's penalty ; one would 
 even judge leniently the man who, giving a high rent 
 for a grouse-moor, objects to sharing the stock on it
 
 Birds. 309 
 
 with the lordly peregrine and the nimble merlin ; but, 
 in the name of all that is merciful, let them be done 
 to death cleanly and fairly by powder and shot, and 
 let no one with the remotest claim to rank as a 
 sportsman sanction these infernal pole traps, which 
 are just as likely to catch and torture an innocent 
 kestrel that never struck at anything heavier than a 
 field-mouse. 
 
 Even while these sheets are going through the press, 
 L cut the following paragraph from a local paper in 
 the South of Scotland, the very district which is suf- 
 fering from the scourge of field-voles : — 
 
 " A feAV days ago a gamekeeper in the Stewartry went to 
 examine a trap which he had set for hawks. He found one 
 hawk in it, and, strange to say, its mate had been feeding it. 
 '^0 feAver than portions of twenty-two mice were discovered 
 lying around it, includmg a number of voles or field-mice. 
 It is alleged that the gamekeeper killed the hawk, although 
 such proof was given of its being the farmer's friend." 
 
 Surely this is a signal case of stupid cruelty. The 
 species of hawk is not mentioned, but in all probability 
 the victim was a kestrel. 
 
 Mr Robert Gray describes another inhuman method 
 of destroying the hen-harrier : — 
 
 " Keepers, on finding a nest, usually wait until the eggs 
 are hatched, and are in the habit of killing all the young 
 birds except one, which they fasten by the leg to a stake, 
 and thus oblige to remain there, even after bcmg fully 
 fledged, until an opportunity occurs for shooting the old 
 birds. This is sometimes but too easily accomplished, as
 
 310 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 they continue bringing prey to the tethered captive long 
 after it should have been hunting the moors on its own 
 account." 
 
 Cruelty is hateful wherever it is practised; but, 
 enacted among the fairest scenes of nature, it seems to 
 take a deeper shade by contrast. 
 
 I think I hear the snort of contempt with which 
 the term " innocent kestrel " may be received by some. 
 Nevertheless no epithet was ever more strictly ac- 
 curate ; this bird is as harmless to game as a water- 
 hen. Apply the same test to the pelts of the kestrel 
 or windhover as Dr Altuni did to those of the owl, 
 and no feathers will be detected in them. He feeds 
 on mice, frogs, and coleopterous insects. A true falcon, 
 as shown by the second pen-feather of the wing being 
 longest ; one of the five British species of falcon, still 
 the commonest, but fast dwindling in numbers, a very 
 Ariel among fowls, he loves 
 
 " To ride 
 On the curl'd clouds." 
 
 His graceful flight — now cleaving the air with strong, 
 rapid wing - strokes, now poised against the breeze 
 almost motionless but for a tremulous movement of 
 the pinions, and then veering away in wide curves 
 to hover again over some likely mouse - ground 
 — is a sight of which the eye never wearies. Some 
 few landowners, more enlightened than their fellows, 
 have forbidden his destruction, otherwise he would by 
 this time have become as scarce as his near relative,
 
 Birds. 311 
 
 the hobby ; but this does not protect him when he 
 roves into less friendly territory. 
 
 Would that such birds could know the lands of 
 their friends from those of their foes ! It is only a few 
 years since the last pair of eagles (the white-tailed 
 kind, Halidetus alhicilla) known to breed in the south 
 of Scotland disappeared. Year after year these splen- 
 did birds had their eyrie on the flanks of Cardorcan 
 in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, till one unlucky 
 day they were found transgressing on the territory of 
 a neighbouring lord, and paid the penalty of death. 
 There is a tantalising passage in a description of these 
 Galloway hills among the Macfarlane MSS. in the 
 Edinburgh Advocates' Library, showing that four 
 animals, at least, have disappeared from the fauna of 
 the district since the beginning of last century. 
 
 "In the remote parts of this great mountain are very 
 large red-deer; and about the top thereof that fine bird 
 called the mountam partridge, or, by the commonalty, the 
 tarmachan, about the size of a red-cock, . . . makes its pro- 
 tection in the chinks and hollow places of thick stones from 
 the msults of the eagles, which are in plenty, both the large 
 grey and the black, in tliat mountain." 
 
 One peak of the liill referred to (the Merrick, 2700 
 feet) still bears the name of Benyellary, that is, heann 
 iolaire, the eagle's hill; and ptarmigan are said to 
 have been last seen there in the dry summer of 1826 
 — the " year of the short corn," as the country people 
 call it.
 
 312 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Perhaps it may be interesting to record the fate of 
 the last golden eagle bred in these southern uplands. 
 About the year 1835 a pair of eaglets were taken from 
 the eyrie on a precipitous face of Cairnsmore. One 
 of them died from unskilful treatment, the other was 
 rescued by Mr Stewart of Cairnsmore, and given by 
 him to the Earl of Galloway. It lived for some time 
 at Cumloden ; but in a furious gale the wooden shed 
 which it inhabited was overturned, and the bird 
 escaped. Some months afterwards a pedlar was 
 traversing the wild road that passes by Clattering- 
 shaws from New Galloway to Newton-Stewart. It 
 was hard frost at the time. Suddenly he was alarmed 
 by a large bird lighting on the road before him, and, 
 as he thought, threatening to attack him. He killed 
 it with a blow on the head from his stick. It was 
 the tame eagle from Cumloden, which, being hard 
 pressed for food, had come, poor fellow, to beg from 
 the wayfarer. Thus died the last golden eagle bred 
 in the Lowlands of Scotland — for the parent birds 
 never returned to their eyrie. 
 
 There is one beautiful bird upon whom the per- 
 versity of nomenclature has been peculiarly oppressive. 
 " Give a bird a bad name and shoot him " is the 
 verdict of Jeddart justice upon more than one guilt- 
 less creature, so it is not surprising that a bird styled 
 variously the fern-owl, night-hawk, or goat-sucker, 
 should be hardly dealt with. All these are mislead- 
 ing titles, for it is neither an owl nor a hawk, but 
 a member of the beneficent family of Chelidones or
 
 Birds. 313 
 
 swallows, and it can neither suck goats nor anything 
 else. The only good popular name for it is the night- 
 jar, as those can testify who have learned to associate 
 its vibrating cry with the cockchafer's hum, the night- 
 ingale's soncr, the scent of hawthorn, and other ac- 
 companiments of a warm evening in early summer. 
 In a list of so-called vermin destroyed between 1850 
 and 1854 by the same keepers who killed the last 
 eagles of Cardorcan, there occurs the item — thirty- 
 three fern-owls. If yon ask why they are destroyed, 
 you will probably be told they suck the milk of cows ; 
 if you press for an instance when they have been 
 seen to do so, you will be told that old people say 
 they do it, and, anyhow, they suck eggs. Suck eggs ! 
 it would be as reasonable to accuse a Chelsea pensioner 
 of tickling trout or stealing deer. It is physically 
 impossible for this bird to suck anything, for his gape 
 is wide and shallow, plentifully fringed and specially 
 formed for catching moths. Besides, he feeds by 
 night, like the owls, when the eggs in all well- 
 regulated nests, except his own and the owl's, are 
 covered. This is one of the birds which exhibit the 
 touching practice of feigning to be crippled, in order 
 to lure intruders from their young. The female night- 
 jar is a most accomplished actress in this respect. I 
 once followed one for more than a hundred yards, 
 pretending to be deceived by her flopping and scram- 
 bling over the ground : now and then she would let me 
 come close to her, as she sat up with drooping wings 
 and gaping beak, hissing like a snake ; indeed I began
 
 314 Noontide Essays. 
 
 to think she really was winged, when suddenly she 
 rose and skimmed away over the bracken. 
 
 In spite of the unthinking mischief wrought or 
 permitted by sportsmen, it must not be supposed that 
 their influence has been altogether adverse to the 
 preservation of wild birds. Far otherwise ; but for 
 the shelter of quiet woodlands and wastes reserved 
 for game, many native species would long before this 
 have been numbered with the past ; game-birds would 
 first have been hunted to extinction, then lesser fowls 
 would have become the objects of pursuit, till, as it 
 is in many parts of the continent of Europe, the song 
 of the thrush would have been as seldom heard as 
 the hooping of the wild swan. Wordsworth failed 
 to persuade his fellow-countrymen with leisure or 
 means 
 
 " Never to blend tlieir pleasure or their pride 
 With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels ; " 
 
 and it is lucky that he did not succeed, else our 
 fcrce natnroi would have fallen into less discrimi- 
 nate and less merciful liands. Despite his jealousy 
 of any species supposed to interfere with his beloved 
 grouse and pheasants, the sportsman has a kindly 
 regard for most living creatures. All that is required 
 is that this regard should be made a little more 
 intelligent and catholic. A great deal of squeamish 
 nonsense is talked, and more is written, about the 
 cruelty of field - sports ; the best answer is, that if 
 there were no battues there would be no pheasants.
 
 Birds. 315 
 
 It is a matter of feeling, not easily to be decided by 
 arithmetic, where legitimate sport ceases and slaughter 
 begins ; there is a line somewhere, ^vhich every owner 
 of coverts must draw according to his judgment ; but 
 whether the bag consist of scores or of hundreds, 
 the pheasants or the grouse, could they be consulted, 
 would affirm with one voice, " 'lis better to be hatched 
 and shot than never to be hatched at all ; " and unless 
 they are preserved for shooting they never would 
 come into existence, that is alb 
 
 It is, therefore, to sportsmen we must look for aid 
 in preventing the extinction of some of our fast-failing 
 species. Once let them know something about the 
 mischief that is being done, and, depend upon it, the 
 much-abused gamekeeper will find it to be his interest 
 to change his practice. There is one bird which may 
 freely be made over to his tender mercies. As the 
 rat is among mammals, so among birds is the carrion- 
 crow; whether attired in the black uniform of the 
 native species or in the grey and sable motley of the 
 migratory hooded crow (there seems to be no specific 
 distinction between them), he has and deserves no 
 friends. Mr Eobert Mudie sums up the indictment 
 against him truthfully enough : — 
 
 " They prowl about even to the doors of the houses, and 
 into poultry-yards, and are voracious devourers of eggs, 
 young poultry, young rabbits, and young game, even more 
 so than the regular birds of prey. They punch out the 
 eyes of weak animals, hawk at birds on the wing, open 
 shelled mollusca on the sea-shore."
 
 316 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Against this heavy charge there is not a single ami- 
 able trait to be recorded ; nor does he serve any useful 
 purpose, so far as can be seen, in this country, where 
 we are able to dispose of our own carrion. Neither 
 is there the slightest fear of his being lost to our 
 fauna, for he exists in numbers, in different disguises 
 of plumage, throughout the northern hemisphere, and 
 the home stock is constantly replenished by immigra- 
 tion. " Hoodies " have become very plentiful near 
 London ; numbers of them breed in the grounds of 
 Chiswick and in the woods near Wimbledon ; and the 
 keepers in Eegent's Park have to shoot them in order 
 to protect the young ducks. 
 
 Probably it is better not to spoil a good case by 
 asking too much; otherwise great is the temptation 
 to put in a word for the magpie, now never to be seen 
 in some counties, and nowhere abundant in England 
 or Scotland. He is a gay and handsome rascal, but 
 a rascal he is — past praying for. Scarce as he has 
 become in this island, he is still a common object in 
 an Irish landscape. Some years ago I was staying at 
 a village in the north on a fishing excursion ; magpies 
 roosted in numbers in a wood hard by. My com- 
 panion, coveting some tail-feathers for cleaning his 
 pipe, stationed himself one evening at a place on the 
 highroad where they used to cross in flying home. 
 He shot seventeen, and I must confess that the sight 
 inspired in me some uncharitable feelings towards 
 the marksman. 
 
 There is so much character, even though it be of a
 
 Birds. 317 
 
 sinister cast, about this family of birds, tliat it is 
 difficult to part from them without mentioning them 
 all. The raven (now happily the object of careful 
 protection in some of his northern breeding-places), 
 the rook, the jackdaw, the jay (would that keepers 
 would be blinder to his faults and kinder to his 
 virtues !), each is a bird of wits, whose merits and 
 demerits cannot be weighed in a paragraph. Passing 
 over these, it is a pleasure to find one of the group 
 of absolutely blameless character, whose increasing 
 scarcity cannot be laid at the gamekeeper's door, but 
 is due to the ardour of the collector (of whom more 
 presently) and the high price which is paid for young 
 birds to rear as pets. 
 
 " The chough," writes Mudie, no less accurately than 
 picturesquely, " is as much a bird of the breeze as the jay is 
 of the shade and shelter of the woods. The loose and com- 
 paratively downy plumage of the jay enables it to glide 
 between trees, and softens its collision with branches, while 
 the firm plumage of the chough enables it to bear the storm 
 when beating on the rocks in Avliich it takes up its abode." 
 
 A charming bird it is, the chosen one of St Columba, 
 with its jetty plumage with beetle-blue reflections and 
 carmine bill and feet, but it is only in a few parts of 
 our rocky western coasts that it may still be admired. 
 Even there it falls a frequent victim to that senseless 
 destroyer, the shore-loafer. 
 
 The destruction of birds of prey, much as it is to be 
 deplored in the extent to which it has been carried,
 
 318 Noontide Essays. ^ 
 
 has favoured the increase of many species whose in- 
 terests were not considered when it was undertaken. 
 None has derived more benefit from it than a species 
 of that very group, the Corvidcc, last under considera- 
 tion. Many people must have noticed the great in- 
 crease of late years in the numbers of starlings. It 
 is not long since, in certain parts of the country, its 
 pretty pale-blue egg, of a hue more watery than the 
 turquoise of the thrush, was prized by boys as some- 
 what of a rarity ; now it is among the commonest of 
 birds. Though afflicted with disreputable relatives, 
 the fair fame of the starling has never been smirched 
 even by peccadilloes. He earns an honest living, for 
 which he has to travel far and work hard. Being 
 mainly an animal feeder, the number of grubs and 
 insects which a flock of four or five hundred starlings 
 pick up in the course of a day must be stupendous. 
 
 They are fond of roosting in reeds, and it is pretty 
 to watch them collecting in an autumn evening and 
 goins through aerial drill. Parties of from five to 
 fifty who have been out foraying during the day begin 
 to arrive towards sunset: the numbers soon mount 
 up to hundreds, even thousands, and the whole flock, 
 constantly increasing in numbers as twilight begins, 
 wheels and spreads, veers and deploys over the surface 
 of the water with admirable precision. Then what 
 a whistling and chattering as they settle to rest upon 
 the bending reeds ; if a man shouts or claps his hands, 
 what instant silence ; and next what a rush of wings as 
 the flock rises and begins its evolutions over again.
 
 Birds. 319 
 
 Gregarious though he is, the starling never loses 
 his individuality ; some seem to prefer solitude or the 
 company of two or three of their kind. He is worth 
 listening to as he sits on a winter morning on the 
 house-top. He is an excellent mimic, and may be 
 heard repeating to himself in a low tone snatches of 
 the songs of summer birds, just as people returning 
 from the opera hum over (not always with due appre- 
 ciation from their companions) bars of the most taking 
 airs. Then he breaks off into the sharp chuck-chuck 
 of the water-hen, the coot's croak, or the plover's pipe. 
 Altogether he is a most fascinating bird (though he 
 has never got the poets fairly on his side yet), if it 
 is only for the memories of dead summers that his 
 chatter awakes. 
 
 Association is nearly as readily stirred by sounds as 
 by scents. Often and often the laughing cry of the 
 gulls in St James's Park transports me to the shores 
 of a certain Highland loch, dark-bosomed, barred with 
 streaks of intense light, and fringed with masses of 
 golden tangle. The sombre pile in Downing Street 
 seems to transform itself into the towering bulk of 
 Bennaveoch, rising with fold upon fold of brown 
 heather and velvety fern into cool tones of grey crag 
 and shadowy cleft to where his riven brow cuts dark 
 and sharp against the morning clouds. I seem to 
 hear the lap of the tide against the stones, and the 
 path transforms itself into a white road winding along 
 the shore, not between black iron hurdles, but banks 
 of green turf and hazel copse.
 
 320 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Another rural sovind there is which of late years 
 has gratified the ears of Londoners. In the spring 
 of 1883 a pair of wood-pigeons built their nest in 
 St James's Park, It is said they were part of an 
 importation from Belgium, escaped from confinement ; 
 but whether that is so, or whether they had wandered 
 in from the country, they were the true English ring- 
 dove. How they have fared may be judged from the 
 fact that one Sunday in August 1889 I counted no 
 fewer than seventy-three cropping the young clover 
 in the turf behind the Row in Hyde Park. All their 
 native wariness has been laid aside ; you can watch 
 them running over the sward, so near sometimes that 
 you could almost touch them with a walking-stick, 
 preening their somewhat sooty plumage and actually 
 lying on their sides like a spaniel in the sun : and all 
 this in the presence of hundreds of passers-by. Never 
 was there a more welcome addition to the London 
 fauna. " Take two cows, Taffy ! " sounds dreamily 
 from amid the foliage of the plane-trees, till you can 
 almost swear you scent the odour of the larch woods, 
 or hear the breeze sighing in the pines. 
 
 As flowers gain the affection of man chiefly by 
 pleasing his eye, so it is through his ear that wild 
 birds endear themselves. They are too shy in their 
 habits, too quick in motion, their flight too far tran- 
 scends his sluggish gait for him to make near acquaint- 
 ance with them, unless with elaborate precaution. 
 But how lavishly they fill the air with sound! Let 
 alone song-birds, how oppressive would be the silence
 
 Birds. 321 
 
 of the country if there were no cawing rooks or crow- 
 ing cocks, no wail of curlew or clamour of wild-fowl. 
 Even in the depth of our winters there is no silence. 
 The wild-fowler, astir before dawn, knows this. The 
 land is deep with snow, every pool is hard bound in 
 ice, only the springs and the muddy shore flats are 
 green and soft. As he stations himself at the chosen 
 spot, and the east begins to pale, he hears many 
 sounds familiar to his ear — the clangour of a string 
 of wild geese passing to the shore, the whistle of 
 ducks' wings overhead, with an occasional quack 
 from the leader of the flock, the pipe of the plover, 
 and the screech of the heron out on the shore. 
 Where there are birds there cannot be silence. 
 
 MacGillivray, the ornithologist, thorough scientist 
 as he was, could not always confine himself to the 
 dry details of his favourite subject. Every now and 
 then he was carried away into a modest rhapsody, 
 and the thrush's sons; seemed to him like the unknown 
 tongues of the prophets, capable of interpretation if 
 one had but the key. He tried to transpose it into 
 literature ; it looks awkward enough so, but no one is 
 likely to succeed better than he did : — 
 
 " Dear, dear, dear, 
 In the rocky glen, 
 Far away, far away, far away 
 The haunts of men ; 
 There shall we dwell in love 
 With the lark and the dove, 
 Cuckoo and corn rail, 
 Feast on the bearded snail, 
 X
 
 322 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Worm and gilded fly, 
 Drink of the crystal rill 
 Winding adovvn the hill 
 Never to dry. 
 With glee, with glee, with glee 
 
 Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up here ; 
 Nothing to harm us, then sing merrily. 
 
 Sing to the loved one, whose nest is near. 
 Qui, qui, queen quip ; 
 Tiurru, tiurru, chipiwi, 
 Too-tee, too-tee, chin-choo, 
 Chirri, chirri, chooee. 
 
 Quill, qui, qui." 
 
 Perhaps the best part of this is the five lines of gib- 
 berish at the end, which really recall the original. 
 What a wonderful melody it is ! One is apt to 
 underrate it when every grove has been resounding 
 with song for months. To feel its full influence, go 
 into the woods some still evening in mild February 
 weather, when the grey cloud canopy opens towards 
 the west, and pale rays of sunshine steal level across 
 the landscape. The dead leaves under foot, too damp 
 to rustle, light up into clear tones of russet and ochre ; 
 the moss, spangled with hanging moisture, is touched 
 into sheets of malachite green, the stems of the oak 
 copse gleam like frosted silver against the dark sky. 
 Hark ! there it is at last — the voice that has been 
 silent through all the sullen months, clear and fault- 
 less as ever, in all those well-remembered trills and 
 runs. As your ear drinks it in, you seem to feel the 
 warmth of summer suns, and bathe in the brightness 
 of far-off days; then, as you take your way home
 
 Birds. 323 
 
 through the deepening dusk, perhaps it occurs to you 
 that although these be days when every properly in- 
 structed person mentions a flower as a phanerogamous 
 inflorescence, and sees, as the primary object of its 
 loveliness, neither the glory of God nor the pleasure 
 of man, but the attraction of insects to secure cross- 
 fertilisation ; when to say that the " morning stars 
 sang together" when the corner-stone of the earth 
 was laid, is to use a poetic but highly unscientific 
 metaphor, and to allude to the way of a bird in the 
 air as one of the things " past finding out," is felt to 
 be a slight upon our powers of research — in spite of 
 all this, you feel there are still some souls which 
 respond gratefully to the Song of tlie Three Children : 
 " Oh, all ye fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord ; praise 
 Him and magnify Him for ever." 
 
 An appeal has been made to sportsmen in the ear- 
 lier pages of this paper, and perhaps it is not being 
 over-sanguine to expect that it will meet with some 
 response, for there is the example of not a few of 
 their own number to encourage that hope. There 
 remains an appeal, less hopeful but not less urgent, 
 to be made to another class — the collectors. Alas ! 
 here we have a totally different set of considerations 
 to be dealt with. The high price given by taxider- 
 mists for the skins of rare species combines with the 
 enthusiasm of managers of local museums to reduce 
 to a minimum the safety of occasional and coveted 
 visitors. With the first influence it is impossible 
 to grapple : so long as certain birds command a good
 
 324 Noontide Essays. 
 
 price in the market, collectors will carry on their 
 work, and to ask a taxidermist to stop buying good 
 specimens w^ould be very much like proposing to a 
 miller that he should stop grinding corn, or to a 
 publican that he should stop selling beer. But with 
 the other kind, the local naturalist, surely he may 
 learn the better way. It is a good thing, the growing 
 love of natural science and archaeology in our provin- 
 cial towns, but it requires guidance. Those who come 
 under its influence should have the spirit of these 
 words of Lord Lilford rubbed into them : — 
 
 " This beautiful species (the golden oriole) is one of the 
 many summer visitors to the continent of Europe, which, as 
 I am firmly persuaded, only requires protection and en- 
 couragement to become tolerably common with us. At 
 present it is an annual visitor, in small numbers, to our 
 eastern and southern counties, and has been known to breed 
 in England on several occasions ; but most of the records of 
 its appearance in our islands are accompanied by the state- 
 ment that the specimen is in the hands of some local 
 taxidermist, these artists being, with few exceptions, always 
 ready to give a good price, and demand a much better one, 
 for an oriole, or indeed, any unfortunate and uncommon 
 strassler to our shores." 
 
 *oo 
 
 It is sadly true. No Wild Birds or Small Birds 
 Protection Acts prevail against this stupid practice ; 
 and what can be more dismal than a collection of 
 stuffed birds ? Glossy and shapely though they may 
 be when they are first set up, they soon begin to get 
 dim and unsightly. Even in that princely collection
 
 Birds. 325 
 
 in the Natural History Museum at South Kensington, 
 all the loving care of an enthusiastic professor and a 
 practised staff cannot protect them from the tarnishing 
 touch of time. Xow Lord Lilford is engaged at the 
 present time in a work which ought to supersede 
 every stuffed collection except the national one. He 
 is publishing in parts his ' Coloured Figures of the 
 Birds of the British Isles,' a work of exquisite beauty 
 and permanent worth. Setting aside Gould's figures 
 in elephant folio, which, though splendid works of art, 
 are unmanageable from their size, and Dresser's noble 
 work, which, however, includes all European birds, no 
 series illustrating British birds has ever been under- 
 taken equal to this, which is in the convenient size 
 of large octavo. Of infinitely more beauty than stuffed 
 specimens, these figures would be more attractive and 
 equally useful to the students in our towns. Turn, 
 for example, to the three plates in Part IX., illustrat- 
 ing the three phases of the ptarmigan's plumage. 
 Fidelity to nature could hardly be carried further. 
 The figure of the bittern in Part VII., taken from 
 live specimens in his lordship's aviary, show the very 
 action and expression of the bird. Some of the plates, 
 besides their scientific accuracy, are perfect little 
 pictures, such as that of the bullfinch in Part VI II., 
 worthy of a tasteful frame — and all of them include 
 pleasant scraps of landscape or studies of flowers and 
 foliage characteristic of the life-history of the animal. 
 These, then, are things of beauty and use, practically 
 imperishable, and illustrating British ornithology with
 
 326 Noontide Essays. 
 
 far more accuracy and far more vividly than a crowd 
 of dusty, distorted, stuffed skins. Lord Lilford's work 
 (now in progress) only requires to be known to have 
 as many admirers as there are lovers of birds, and 
 as many subscribers as can afford it. 
 
 A last word, and on a painful subject. It is strange 
 that bird-lovers should so often develop into bird- 
 jailers. One would think that the most ingenious 
 punishment that could be devised for a bird is to 
 deprive it of that faculty which has been the envy 
 of man in all ages — the power of flight. To take a 
 consummate piece of mechanism specially and ex- 
 quisitely adapted for certain work, so to maim it or 
 so to place it that that work can never be performed, 
 seems a clumsy way of showing affection : but that is 
 just what is done by well-disposed people in many an 
 English home. Yet it is told of the stern ascetic and 
 relentless moralist, William Law, whose nerve never 
 flinched from contemplating the most realistic doctrine 
 of eternal punishment, that he could never see a caged 
 bird without feeling an almost irresistible impulse to 
 release it. 
 
 "Walking one hot May morning down that grimmest 
 of all thoroughfares, Victoria Street, bewailing, as I 
 saw the dry white clouds floating across the strip 
 of blue overhead, the unkind fate that kept me from 
 green fields and pleasant river-banks, I chanced to 
 look down an area. There, in a little low cage, on a 
 withered piece of turf, was a wretched, restless pris- 
 oner — a lark, ceaselessly fluttering up and down the
 
 Birds. 327 
 
 few inches the height of his cage allowed him, and 
 thrusting his breast hopelessly against the wires. How 
 I longed to let him out, to bid him obey the irresistible 
 impulse to rise and pour out the marvellous volume of 
 sound pent in his little body, to seek a mate before 
 the happy season of love was over, and on breezy down 
 or springing corn-field forget the torments to which 
 stupid senseless man had condemned him ! It is a 
 threadbare theme — the sorrows of a caged bird, yet 
 perhaps no one has ever thoroughly realised what 
 suffering is involved in being able to fly and being 
 forbidden to do so. All children and most grown per- 
 sons have, in different ways, a kindly feeling for birds ; 
 would that they would show it in less ogreish fashion, 
 and spend pains on developing rather than warping 
 and destroying their special faculties !
 
 E D U C A T I K 
 
 An Address to the Wigtonsliire Branch of the Educational 
 Institute: January 1892. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, — 
 
 T AM not unfamiliar with tlie sensation of being 
 -^ placed on a platform and of addressing such of 
 my fellow-creatures as may be found with patience to 
 listen to me ; but when I reflect on the character and 
 composition of this meeting, I ask myself, who am I 
 that I should presume to offer counsel to the teachers 
 of Wigtonshire ? 
 
 Dicite quis, medici, medicis medicahiticr ipsis ? 
 
 Tell me, physicians, who shall prescribe for 
 physicians themselves ? Not I, surely, for I am pain- 
 fully conscious of a miserable educational record. An 
 idle schoolboy, an unsuccessful collegian, having now 
 arrived at the meridian of life, I am toiling painfully 
 in the noontide heat to overtake some, at least, of the 
 work which ought to have been done in the fresh cool 
 hours of morning. I remember when, after a short.
 
 Education. 329 
 
 inglorious career at Oxford, I took leave of my tutor, 
 he shook his head reproachfully aud said, " The day 
 will come when you will be forced, for your own 
 amusement, to read those writings which you are turn- 
 ing from to-day. " His words have come true to the 
 letter ; and now I have to snatch intervals from the 
 business of life to acquire that knowledge which ought 
 to have been laid up long ago. Therefore, gentlemen, 
 in venturing to address the Wigtonshire Branch of the 
 Educational Institute, I am very much in the position 
 of the converted housebreaker lecturing a bench of 
 magistrates. In a worse position, indeed ; for he, at 
 least, might be able to tell his hearers something they 
 did not know before ; but from what storehouse can I 
 produce information or suggestion which is not already 
 in your possession ? I can but offer a few observa- 
 tions on the general work of your profession, made 
 from the standpoint of one who is in keen sympathy 
 with the peculiar trials inseparable from a teacher's 
 life, and anxious to secure the fullest harvest from the 
 seed which it is your constant task to commit to the 
 soil. 
 
 Speaking as an outsider, that seems to me to be the 
 trying characteristic of the profession of teaching. 
 
 " Hos ego versiculos feci, tuht alter lionores : 
 Sic vos non vobis." 
 
 Ye are sheep producing fleeces, but not for your- 
 selves. Ye labour, but another reaps the fruit of your 
 toil. Ah, but your toil is not thrown away ; you have
 
 330 Noontide Essays. 
 
 a lofty office committed to you — lofty not only in its 
 object, but also in that it must be wrought unselfishly. 
 There must be times when your labour seems to you 
 to be sheer drudgery ; when you must be weary of 
 ferrying passengers over the same stream, and return- 
 ing for more, without leisure even to wait and watch 
 whither those bend their steps whom you have landed 
 on the further shore. Often you must long for release 
 from the oar, so that you might voyage on your own 
 account, upon the archipelago of research. We must 
 all feel for you and with you in this — all, that is, who 
 have the power of thought. But there should be 
 present to you also, as there is present with us, a 
 sense of the dignity of your standing. Titles of 
 honour once had a significance which they do not bear 
 now: a duke was dux, one who leads, but it is not 
 every duke who can lead in the right way ; an earl 
 was jarl, a hero, alas ! I have known earls with little 
 of the heroic about them. But your title of Master 
 (which in the days of our grandfathers was affection- 
 ately rendered to you in Latin — dominie) — your title 
 of master is no unmeaning one, for you are the masters 
 of letters, masters of arts, the masters of the key that 
 unlocks the gate of wisdom. 
 
 I trust that I carry you with me in distinguishing 
 between knowledge and wisdom. It is true that 
 knowledge is the key to the gate of wisdom, but there 
 be many holding the key who never open the gate. 
 There can, it is true, be no wisdom without know- 
 ledge, but there is plenty of knowledge without wis-
 
 Education. 331 
 
 dom, and a knowing fellow does not always grow into 
 a wise man. 
 
 We are passing a critical era in our national educa- 
 tion. "We have just closed the first year in which, in our 
 land, primary education has been declared to be with- 
 out money and without price. Everything seems to 
 favour us. Public opinion, long sluggish and difficult 
 to move, sets strongly with us : the Church, which, 
 under what seems to us the blind and inhuman policy 
 of her leaders, was in the middle ages the unrelenting 
 foe to knowledge, now smiles encouragement and 
 lends all the weight of her powerful organisation in 
 aid of our work ; is it a matter for wonder, then, that 
 some of us, wlio are deeply concerned in the welfare 
 of our country, are specially concerned in the course 
 which is about to be taken ; and in this time of great 
 promise, we stand not without anxiety waiting the 
 development of so momentous a scheme ? If, gentle- 
 men, I proceed to offer a few remarks for your con- 
 sideration on this weighty subject, do not put them 
 down to my frowardness or regard them as rash 
 meddling with a province in which I have no concern. 
 It is probable— nay, it is certain— that, speaking 
 from my standpoint without the profession, I will 
 not take a view identical with you, who stand within 
 the profession; but I should be paying you a poor 
 compliment if, having undertaken to speak on the 
 subject, I left you in any doubt as to my real views, 
 however innnature or divergent from yours these 
 views may be.
 
 332 Noontide Essays. 
 
 Now, if I were asked to give my notion of right 
 education, I should not employ words of my own, but 
 I should quote a sentence from a modern writer 
 closely connected with this county — a teacher to 
 whom I owe far more than I can ever repay. " The 
 first use of education," says John Euskin, " is to en- 
 able us to consult with the wisest and greatest men 
 upon all points of earnest difficulty ; ... to appeal 
 to them when our own knowledge and power of thought 
 fails ; to be led by them into wider sight and purer 
 conception than our own ; and receive from them 
 the united sentence of the judges and council of all 
 time, against our solitary and unstable opinion." 
 You see that is exactly what I have done in this case. 
 On a point of earnest difficulty, I have consulted one 
 of the wisest men of our time ; where my knowledge 
 and power of thought failed, I have appealed to him, 
 and I have given you his sentence ratlier than my 
 solitary and unstable opinion. But see in what further 
 difficulty it has landed us — in the very thick of that 
 controversy which has been carried on so long, and is 
 raging hotter now than ever, whether the true object 
 of education be, as jMontesquieu said, to form heads or 
 to Jill them. Here is the whole gist of the question 
 between the classical and the modern school. Euskin, 
 you see, leans to the side of forming the head rather 
 than filling it. ISTeither he nor any one else would 
 maintain that a knowledge of Latin and Greek was in 
 itself as useful to a man entering life as a knowledge, 
 say, of shorthand or book-keeping. But he holds that,
 
 Education. 333 
 
 in order to give capacity to the understanding, and to 
 arm a man for the conduct of life, it is wise to sacrifice 
 instruction for the sake of education. Between edu- 
 cation and instruction, as it seems to me, there is the 
 same difference as between wisdom and knowledge. 
 Young human beings are pliant instruments, you can 
 teach them almost anything — to train them is a 
 greater matter. 
 
 The French writer Guyau is peculiarly luminous on 
 this point. He denounces as a fallacy the view that 
 intellectual education has for its object the acquire- 
 ment of useful knowledge. Its sole aim, he says, is 
 to develop the mind, not in one direction, but in all. 
 " Outside the sum total of the narrow and positive 
 science indispensable in practical life " (I call your at- 
 tention to these words, for I shall have occasion to 
 revert to them presently), " all restricted scientific in- 
 struction is sterile." Now, whatever direction it may 
 take in the future, you will agree with me that the 
 aim of education in this country in the past has been 
 mental development rather than scientific information 
 or technical instruction. We have had nearly twenty 
 years' experience of compulsory education in this 
 country ; millions of our children have passed through 
 the schools ; what has been the result on the mental 
 development of the nation ? It is somewhat difficult 
 to find an efficient test. Granted that it is but a rude 
 one, let us take Mr liuskin's. " The first use of educa- 
 tion is to enable us to consult with the wisest and the 
 greatest men on all points of difficulty." The only
 
 334 Noontide Essays. 
 
 means of applying that test which occurs to me is to 
 examine the returns of the Free Libraries now, hap- 
 pily, becoming so common in all our populous places. 
 Plenty of people make use of them — is it the " wisest 
 and greatest of men " that they consult ? Alas, no ! 
 for every ten works of deep thought and wise inquiry 
 into life's enigma that are asked for, it is no exaggera- 
 tion to say that there are a thousand ephemeral works 
 of fiction, Eeaders still for the most part turn to 
 books only for pastime ; they 
 
 " Love to hear 
 A soft pulsation in their easy ear ; 
 To turn the page and let the senses drink 
 A lay that shall not trouble them to think." 
 
 Do not misunderstand me. I am not underrating the 
 value of fiction, whether as a recreation or as a means 
 of developing certain valuable qualities of mind. But 
 when we find that the result of our scheme of educa- 
 tion is a demand at the libraries for one hundred 
 novels for every single work of science, history, or 
 philosophy, then we are driven to the discouraging 
 conclusion that, though knowledge comes, wisdom 
 still tarries. 
 
 I am reminded of what was once told me by one 
 who had been private secretary to Mr Disraeli. That 
 statesman used to receive many books as gifts from the 
 authors. His secretary was directed to reply in one 
 unvarying formula, "Mr Disraeli intends to lose no 
 time in perusing your interesting work." Now I am 
 not prepared to defend that two-edged phrase on the
 
 Education. 335 
 
 ground of candour, yet I could wish that fewer people 
 would " lose time " in the perusal of trashy fiction. 
 
 Think not that I am imputing shortcoming to the 
 teachers, I believe they have done their part faith- 
 fully and well. I know that they are bound within 
 certain limits by the requirements of the Code. But I 
 would venture to remind them, and still more urgently 
 would I remind school-managers, that a number of op- 
 tional subjects are included within the four corners of 
 the. Code, and that a wise regard to these optional sub- 
 jects must have a marked effect upon the results of 
 your labours. 
 
 "We have seen that Mr Euskin's ideal of education 
 has not yet been fulfilled ; let us turn to some of the 
 older educational precepts, for this is a subject that 
 occupied the attention of mankind even in the early 
 days of civilisation. 
 
 The Persians were a powerful nation, and their 
 education code was an exceedingly simple one. " Let 
 a boy," thus it ran, " learn to ride well, to shoot 
 straight with the bow, and to tell the truth. That 
 sufficeth." But, though the Persians were a highly 
 civilised race, the conditions under which they lived 
 were totally different to those of modern life in this 
 densely peopled country. I think we may find a 
 closer analogy to our circumstances in Italian society 
 under the later Ptoman emperors. One of the sterner 
 and wiser moralists of that era, the satirist Juvenal, 
 seems to me to have summarised the whole scope and 
 aim of sound education in a simple phrase, Mens sana
 
 336 Noontide Essays. 
 
 in corpore sano. A healthy mind in a healthy body. 
 This seems to be the kernel of the whole matter. 
 It forces upon our attention that which we, in our 
 eagerness, are too likely to overlook — namely, that 
 the intellectual life rests on a physical basis ; that be- 
 fore you can get satisfactory mental results you must 
 secure adequate physical vigour. That great pioneer 
 of the intellectual movement in England, Francis 
 Bacon, insists upon this at great length in his ' Ad- 
 vancement of Learning.' " This various and subtle 
 composition and fabrick of man's body hath made 
 it as a curious instrument, easy to be distempered; 
 therefore the poets did well to conjoyn musick and 
 medicine in Apollo, for the genius of both these arts 
 is almost the same." 
 
 See at what pains men foremost in intellectual 
 achievement have been to keep their bodies in good 
 health. Vasari tells us how Leonardo da Vinci, that 
 intellectual giant, believed horse-exercise to be so in- 
 dispensable to enabling him to carry on his work, that 
 although he was often in dire straits of poverty, he 
 never could be persuaded to sell his horses or dismiss 
 his grooms. Goethe was so devoted to swimming, skat- 
 ing, and riding, that his praise of these exercises some- 
 times verges on the extravagant. Humboldt, who was 
 a sickly, delicate youth, inured himself to exercise and 
 fatisue, without which training he never could have 
 carried out his fruitful explorations. Scott, though 
 lame, was a great rider and pedestrian ; and who has 
 not heard of the long excursions that Wordsworth 
 
 f
 
 Education. 337 
 
 took on foot ? iDimanuel Kant was, perhaps, un- 
 rivalled among intellectual labourers for the care with 
 which he treated his body. He certainly carried it 
 far further than I am disposed to advocate. For 
 more than thirty years he always rose precisely at the 
 same minute. His breakfast was at five o'clock — a 
 single cup of tea and a pipe of tobacco. Thereafter 
 he worked till one, when he dined ; in the afternoon 
 he never missed his walk, and never ate anything in 
 tiie evening, so that he might work till bedtime. Mr 
 Hamerton tells us how he had a peculiar way of fold- 
 ing himself into the bedclothes, passing them under 
 and over his shoulders, and then he tells us, he 
 used to say to himself, " Can any one be in better 
 health than I am ? " Observe — not " who is cleverer, 
 more industrious, more successful than I ? " but " who 
 is healthier ? " 
 
 So much for intellectual workers who carefully 
 tended the physical basis. Turn we now to an in- 
 stance of one, of great intellect, who purposely 
 neglected his body and deliberately encouraged a 
 morbid habit. Those of you who have been in Brus- 
 sels have doubtless visited the Wiertz Museum. It 
 contains the works of the painter Wiertz, who thought 
 it his mission to depict the horrible. In order to en- 
 courage terrible visions it is said that he took means 
 to procure indigestion, that he used to sup on raw 
 pork, and lie in a bed where he could not straighten 
 himself, and work in a studio where he could not 
 stand upright. The result is painfully evident in his 
 
 Y
 
 338 Noontide Essays. 
 
 work ; for although he was so industrious that a large 
 building is entirely filled with his canvases, I know 
 of nothing more depressing than that collection of 
 cruelties, obscenities, and dismal horrors. Not only 
 are the subjects revolting, but the technical work — 
 the painting — is bad. I do not doubt that here was a 
 great master ruined by the miserable treatment which 
 be bestowed on his body. 
 
 Now let me apply these instances to our present 
 purpose. In order to do so I must repeat the quota- 
 tion I have already given from the French educationist 
 Guyau : " Outside the sum total of the narrow and 
 positive science indispensable in practical life, all re- 
 stricted scientific instruction is sterile." The question 
 I have to ask is this, Does our present system of 
 education jDrovide instruction in the positive physical 
 science, which even so stern a classicist as Guyau 
 speaks of as indispensable ? I am tempted to beheve 
 it does not. I know, for instance, that in the essential 
 matter of food there is a sad lack of information. 
 How many parents are there, for instance, who think 
 that they have provided a sufficient mid-day meal for 
 their children at school, in giving them a slice of white 
 bread, with perhaps some jam or treacle. I am not 
 speaking only of this county, but of districts with 
 which I am acquainted in England. I remember 
 when, as a child, I had incurred punishment, I was 
 given dry bread and water instead of a regular meal, 
 and if I did not eat it, it was said, " Oh, he is not 
 hungry, or he would not refuse that." But those who
 
 Education. 339 
 
 said that were ignorant that although bread, even white 
 bread, with plenty of butter, is sustaining food, dry 
 bread is not food at all, or at most but imperfect food ; 
 for in order to make flour the corn is deprived of its 
 most nitrogenous parts (those parts which give the 
 value to porridge and oatcake), and little is left except 
 the gluten and the starch of the grain. Therefore, it 
 is quite possible for a hungry boy to reject white 
 bread alone ; for it does not contain the heat-giving 
 properties which his system craves, though he will 
 eat it gladly if is thickly spread with butter. It is 
 not greed which makes him do so, it is true natural 
 instinct ; for butter or other adipose is precisely what 
 is required to make dry bread suitable food. 
 
 Gentlemen, I regard knowledge of the elementary 
 chemistry of food as part of the positive science which 
 M, Guyau declares to be " indispensable to practical 
 life," and therefore inseparable from true primary 
 education. Meanwhile, shall I be transgressing on 
 your patience if I dwell for a moment on a system 
 which has already been tried with excellent results in 
 various schools throughout the country — I mean the 
 provision of penny dinners for the scholars in rural 
 districts ? Children are sometimes provided with a 
 penny with which to buy food ; alas ! too often it is 
 spent in sweetmeats, or at best, what Oliver Holmes 
 calls a " boggy bun." Under the system which I 
 venture to commend to your attention, that penny 
 may be laid out in palatable and nutritious food. I 
 cannot explain it better than by quoting from a letter
 
 340 Noontide Essays. 
 
 on the subject, which lately appeared in the ' West- 
 moreland Gazette ' : — 
 
 " Few will deny that compulsory education, when it is 
 free, must be an inestimable advantage to our people. 
 AVould that there were also one more clause in the Bill, 
 insisting on the compulsory feeding at mid-day of these 
 children ! Truly it is as useless to ask a brain to do itself 
 full justice when the body is poorly nourished, as it is to 
 expect a steam-engine to run without coal. An occasional 
 visit to any country school after morning lessons will prove 
 what very scanty refreshment is provided for many children 
 by their parents, when their homes He too distant to allow 
 of their returning daily during the dinner-hour. One slice 
 of white bread is constantly deemed quite sufficient to 
 sustain big growing boys between breakfast and tea time. 
 Perhaps if it were more widely understood what a very 
 simple undertaking it is to start penny dinners in country 
 districts, they would become general throughout England. 
 They have been tried in a few cases, and have invariably 
 proved very successful, and even paid themselves, provided 
 the average attendance is not less than between seventy and 
 eighty. In the village to which allusion is made, the 
 following is the system that has been conducted for several 
 years. A small disused schoolroom, filled with forms, 
 accommodates all the cliildren, and the food is cooked over 
 a medium-sized fireplace in a tiny room adjoining. This is 
 entirely done by a woman from the village, who receives 
 Is. 6d. a-day for her services, with 6d, extra when the 
 attendance exceeds a hundred. The following is the bill 
 of fare supplied to each child on the payment of Id. Every 
 day there is good meat-soup, filled with barley, carrots, &c., 
 and two days in the week they have in addition suet 
 puddings, with jam or treacle ; on two other days Irish 
 
 «; 
 «•
 
 Education. 341 
 
 stew (called potato-hash), and on the remaining day rice 
 boiled in milk. These dinners begin on the 1st of No- 
 vember, and continue throughout the winter till April 1st, 
 The only expenditure was at the outset, when all the 
 working utensils — the large earthenAvare dishes to contain 
 the food, and a hundred basins and spoons for the children — 
 had to be provided. These cost from £3 to £4, and were 
 presented by a lady in the neighbourhood ; otherwise the 
 dinners have always paid themselves, excepting last Avinter, 
 when the price of potatoes Avas high, but the balance of 
 preceding years made it up quite easily. The average cost 
 for the Avhole Avinter comes to about ,£25. All the Avaiting 
 on the children is voluntary, as there are several people living 
 near who are pleased to spare at least one half-hour in the 
 week to lend their help, Avhich is only required from 12 
 to 12.30 in the morning. The accounts are managed by 
 the clergyman and his Avife, AA^ho appear fuUy compensated 
 for their trouble by the perfect success Avhich has ahvays 
 attended the penny dinners." 
 
 In our haste to train the intelligence we have hither- 
 to overlooked the commonplace necessity of nourishing 
 the frame ; in stimulating the brain to action we have 
 increased the drafts which it makes on the circulation, 
 and unless means are used to replenish the blood the 
 result must be a heavy penalty in physical develop- 
 ment, and natural repugnance to the task we wish to 
 impose. 
 
 But I would carry compulsory instruction in physi- 
 ology a little — a very little further. We hear a great 
 deal about temperance legislation. For my own part, 
 I believe a great deal more firmly in public opinion in 
 this matter than in prohibitive legislation. Tn the
 
 342 Noontide Essays. 
 
 early years of this century, intemperance — gross, 
 unveiled intemperance — was still characteristic of 
 aristocratic society. Gentlemen were not ashamed to 
 appear in the presence of ladies in that state in 
 which, were one to be seen on the street in our days, 
 he would be taken to the police station. Public 
 opinion would not tolerate such exhibition of vice 
 now. I gratefully recognise the change which has, 
 within my own recollection, manifested itself in the 
 habits of the middle class. It is, happily, a marked 
 feature of the younger generation of farmers that 
 business can be transacted without incessant libations 
 of whisky. It is, I am convinced, not too much to 
 expect that similar influence will, at no distant date, 
 bring about that drunkenness shall be as much the 
 exception and as much detested among the working 
 classes as it has become among their employers. But 
 how much might this healthy influence of public 
 opinion be strengthened if every boy and girl left 
 school with a knowledge of the physiological effects of 
 alcohol upon the system ? Is it probable that any one, 
 for instance, would overcome the natural repugnance 
 to ardent spirits so far as to take a glass of whisky on 
 an empty stomach if he knew accurately what was 
 the cause of that inward glow which the dram-drinker 
 prizes ? He would surely pause, if he knew that it 
 was caused by the violent congestion of blood-vessels 
 in a delicate and vital membrane — if he knew that 
 when it is frequently repeated that membrane gets 
 into a morbid or catarrhal state, causing a craving for
 
 Education, 343 
 
 drink, involuntary but so intense as to enslave the 
 strongest will. It seems to me that, in this matter, 
 knowledge is indeed power, and that more than half 
 the prevalence of intemperance arises from ignorance. 
 Schoolmasters, then, would be the best temperance 
 agents : they would not require to warn their pupils 
 against drunkenness, they would but require to open 
 their eyes to the process which renders drunkenness 
 an inconquerable habit. 
 
 I observe that in the memorandum by the Educa- 
 tional Institute on the allocation of the equivalent 
 grant, a strong claim is made on behalf of technical 
 instruction : schools are called for to " develop com- 
 mercial, agricultural, and mining education, and for 
 instructing our sailors and fishermen." I am afraid 
 that on that subject I am somewhat halting. If I am 
 right in my contention about the object of education, 
 instruction in such things is not education — it is 
 not forming heads, it is filling them. Instruction in 
 practical arts is useful and desirable ; but if money is 
 to be allotted for that purpose, it is my strong opinion 
 there must be an intermediary authority between the 
 Committee of Council on Education and the schools. 
 The proper bodies for the administration of such 
 funds are undoubtedly the County Councils — the 
 concentrated wisdom of localities. For example, you 
 may have noticed that the other day a proposal 
 was made to devote funds at Honiton for technical 
 instruction in lace - making. Well, the people best 
 able to judge of the prospects of that industry are
 
 344 Noontide Essays. 
 
 the local government of the district. Suppose the 
 Education Department were to decree instruction in 
 the manufacture of Honiton lace, and that some 
 disaster were to overtake that industry, such as 
 free trade has brought upon the silk industry of 
 Coventry, or machinery upon the glove-making in- 
 dustry of Gloucestershire, what would be the result ? 
 Why this, that so far from furthering education, the 
 Department would have hindered it, by filling heads 
 with useless instruction instead of developing mental 
 powers to cope with changing circumstances. Tech- 
 nical instruction let there be, easy of access and 
 efficient as possible, but let it be gone about wisely 
 and warily, and do not let us confuse such instruction 
 with education. 
 
 One more point and I have done. It is a point which 
 I approach with some trepidation, for it has been the 
 very thickest of the light for a generation. I am 
 afraid, moreover, that some will esteem me old- 
 fashioned and out of touch with the age in the 
 opinions I hold upon it. It is the old question of re- 
 ligion versus secular education. I am unable, for my 
 part, to conceive any education in the true sense, the 
 preparation of a healthy mind in a healthy body, which 
 does not undertake the inculcation of moral principles. 
 And what sufficient motive can you bring forward for 
 morality if you reject religion ? Philosophers may say 
 that there is an innate love of virtue in the human 
 breast which suffices. That is altogether too hazy an
 
 Education. 345 
 
 influence to be relied on. It was relied on by many 
 persons towards the close of last century ; and a strange 
 outcome of it was the frantic disorders and horrors 
 of the Revolution, followed by the more widespread 
 bloodshed brought on Europe by the ungovernable 
 ambition of Napoleon Buonaparte. I advocate no 
 theological school; no controversy about predestina- 
 tion or free-will ; the actual presence or the apostolic 
 succession. To children at school, perhaps to older 
 pe]:sons also, these things are as vain as the ancient 
 dispute as to how many angels could stand on the 
 point of a needle, or the cMmcera bomhinans in vacuo. 
 Here we are, a nation of professing Christians, on 
 the eve of the twentieth century of Christianity, 
 yet hitherto, so acute is the jealousy of sects, that 
 we cannot hit upon a common form of Christian 
 history and morality to be taught in our schools, 
 lest one sect should thereby obtain an advantage 
 over the other. I care not how it be obtained, but 
 I maintain the belief that it is of vital importance to 
 teach our children that Jesus Christ is a more im- 
 portant person in history than Julius Cffisar — the 
 Sermon on the Mount a loftier code than the morals 
 of Seneca or the sentiments of Epictetus ; and I trust 
 we may unite in resisting what some are striving to 
 bring about — the exclusion of religious teaching even 
 as an optional subject. 
 
 I have, perhaps, in what I have said, had more re- 
 gard to the pupils' interests than the teachers. On 
 the whole question I think you have reason to be
 
 346 
 
 Noontide Essays. 
 
 satisfied with the greatly enhanced regard which your 
 profession commands from your fellow-men. The pub- 
 lic may sometimes seem slow to move in your interests, 
 but they never can be callous to your labours or indif- 
 ferent to their result. For my part, I venture to offer 
 a sincere hope for the prosperous course of your voca- 
 tion. I cannot conclude without thanking you for the 
 privilege you have accorded me of addressing you, and 
 for the indulgent hearing which you have given to my 
 somewhat desultory observations. 
 
 il
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Akenside, his deficiency in the 
 faculty of imagination, 212. 
 
 Alcohol, instruction in its 
 physiological effects upon the 
 system recommended, 342. 
 
 Animals, sufferings of, want of 
 consideration for the, two 
 centuries ago, 136 — sermon 
 by the Rev. James Granger 
 against cruelty to, ib. — feel- 
 ing pi'oduced among his par- 
 ishioners thereby, ib. 
 
 Appellatives, distinguishing, 
 among the Dacota Indians, 
 273. 
 
 Architecture, styles of, in vari- 
 ous ages, 156 — modern, 157 — 
 absurdities of modern, 158. 
 
 Arithmetic, among some of the 
 Australasian tribes, 147— 
 among the West Australians, 
 ib. — and the Tonga Islanders, 
 ib. 
 
 Aroma, each house possesses its 
 own peculiar, 181. 
 
 Art of giving, anecdote regard- 
 ing grace in the, 84. 
 
 Art, two kinds of pleasure de- 
 rived from, 261 — the eye 
 more tolerant of bad, than 
 the ear, 262 — English fashion 
 of bookbinding fatal to the 
 appreciation of genuine, 263. 
 
 Artists, their claim to a mon- 
 opoly in certain words, 113, 
 114. 
 
 Bacon, Roger, as a pioneer of 
 civilisation, 163. 
 
 Balzac, Honore de, his undis- 
 ciplined imagination, 216-218 
 — contrasted with Sir Walter 
 Scott, 219, 220. 
 
 Barbers, Mexican, their mode of 
 shaving, 92. 
 
 Baths and bathing, 96-98. 
 
 Beaconsfield, Lord, the secret of 
 his influence over the minds 
 of others, 83. 
 
 Bear-baiting, bill for the aboli- 
 tion of, defeated in the House 
 of Commons, 164 — advertise- 
 ment regarding, 164, 165. 
 
 Bearing-reins, peculiar form of 
 torture produced by, 167. 
 
 Beauty, the use of wrong terms 
 in discussing its nature. 111, 
 112 — lack of, in portrait- 
 painting, 1 1 7 — reason thereof, 
 ib. — true contrast indispens- 
 able to, 133. 
 
 Bed, a modern, the luxury of, 
 described, 241, 242 — brings 
 no pleasure to the sick or 
 bedridden, 242. 
 
 Birds, number of, in the British
 
 348 
 
 Incl 
 
 ex. 
 
 Isles, 301 — massacre of many 
 that do no injury to game, 
 302 — country gentlemen's 
 ignorance of the names and 
 habits of many, ib. — poly- 
 gamy among wild, rare, 307 
 — influence of sportsmen not 
 altogether adverse to the pre- 
 servation of wild, 314, 315 — 
 various sounds produced by 
 birds, 320, 321 — the silence of 
 the country would be oppres- 
 sive without them, 321 — 
 causes of the scarcity of some 
 species, 323, 324 — stuffed, 
 soon get dim and unsightly, 
 324 — caged, feelings evoked 
 by seeing, 326, 327. 
 
 ' Birds of the British Isles, 
 Coloured Figures of the,' by 
 Lord Lilford, beauty of, com- 
 mended, 325. 
 
 Books, supply of, in country 
 houses, for visitoi's, 52, 53 
 — and for their servants, 55 
 - — pleasure derived from, 242 
 — Mr Ruskin quoted regard- 
 ing, 243 — and Richard of 
 Bury, ib. — scribbling of jour- 
 nalists preferred by many to, 
 ib. — subsidiar}' sources of 
 pleasure to be found in, 260 
 — how and what to read, 257- 
 259 — habit of making notes 
 while reading recommended, 
 259 — and illustrated, ih. 
 
 Borders, the, practice with re- 
 gard to surnames in, 284. 
 
 Buildings, ancient, care now- 
 bestowed on, 159. 
 
 Buzzard, the, 307. 
 
 Byron, Lord, averse to letter- 
 writing, 149. 
 
 Calderon, Mr, incident in con- 
 nection with his picture of .St 
 ElizabethofHungary,126, 127. 
 
 Carrion - crow, the, indictment 
 against, 315. 
 
 Chivalry, what implied by, 232 
 — incident in Mr Disraeli's 
 life illustrative of the charm 
 infused by the spirit of, (7). 
 
 Chough, the, 317. 
 
 Civilisation, march of, a blun- 
 dering, crooked track, 145. 
 
 Commons, House of, dining at, 
 90 — not the practice for- 
 merly, ih. — " Who goes 
 home?" 91— bill for the abo- 
 lition of bear-baiting defeated 
 in the, 164. 
 
 Contrast defined, 114 e< seq. 
 
 Conversation, necessity for, 79 
 — secret of interesting, 80 — 
 chief charm of, 81 — imaginary 
 illustration of trivial, ib.— 
 disguised, illustration of, 240. 
 
 Countenance, pleasant, Mon- 
 taigne's practical instances of 
 the advantage of, 74-77. 
 
 Country houses, their capabili- 
 ties as places of recreation, 4 1 , 
 42 — morning prayer in, 45-48 
 — reform necessary in the ar- 
 rangement of hours for meals 
 in, 48-51 — supply of books in, 
 52, 53 — gardens of, as they 
 are and as they might be, 
 55, 56. 
 
 Cuckoos, polyandry among, 
 307. 
 
 Defoe's grumble about the ser- 
 vant-girl of 1725, 160. 
 
 Dick, Robert, his pleasure in the 
 pursuit of science, 254, 255 — 
 but worn out by the great 
 physical exertion, 256. 
 
 Diderot, his charming narrative 
 of grace in the art of giving, 
 quoted by Mr Morley, 84. 
 
 Dinner, mode of sei'ving, revo- 
 lutionised, 104.
 
 Itidex. 
 
 349 
 
 Dinner-parties, Roman, 105, 106 
 — small, better than large, 
 107 — proposed change in the 
 custom of, 108. 
 
 Dinners, penny, in rural dis- 
 tricts, .339 — quotation from 
 ' Westmorland Gazette ' with 
 reference to, 340, 341. 
 
 Disraeli, Mr, his saying regard- 
 ing imagination, 200 — inci- 
 dent in his life illustrative of 
 the charm infused by the 
 spirit of chivalry, 232. 
 
 Donkeys and ponies, barbarous 
 treatment of costers', in the 
 Birdcage Walk, 165. 
 
 Drawing-masters, old-fashioned, 
 their formula for composing a 
 landscape, 130. 
 
 Dress, the right use of contrast 
 essential in the art of, 128 — 
 women's, criticised, ib. 
 
 Dudgeon, Mr, the use of nick- 
 names corroborated by, 298. 
 
 Eagle, the golden, preservation 
 of, 305 — obnoxious except in 
 deer-forests, 306 — fate of the 
 last, bred in the Lowlands of 
 Scotland, 312. 
 
 Eagles, w'hite-tailed, destruction 
 of the last pair of, in the 
 south of Scotland, 311. 
 
 Education, Mr Ruskin's ideal of, 
 332 — Guyau's views on, 333 
 — the Persians' code of, 335 — 
 Juvenal's maxim regarding 
 sound, ib., 336 — religious 
 versus secular, 344, 345. 
 
 Electi'ic exhibition, uninten- 
 tional cruelty inflicted on a 
 gold-fish at an, 169. 
 
 Elopement in the New Hebrides, 
 Dr Inglis quoted regarding, 
 103. 
 
 Emus, carefulness of a bailiff 
 regarding, 304, 305. 
 
 Englishmen, Baron Holbach's 
 
 opinion of, 77. 
 Eyesight, untrustworthiness of, 
 
 180 — in the opinion of Cicero, 
 
 most to be relied on as the 
 
 basis of memory, 199. 
 
 Fern-owl, night-hawk, or goat- 
 sucker, the, 312,31 3 — popular 
 name for, 313 — destruction 
 of, by gamekeepers, ib. — 
 reason given for their destruc- 
 tion, ib. 
 
 Fiction, great demand for works 
 of, at free libraries, 334. 
 
 Folk-loi-e, imaginary letter on, 
 86. 
 
 Food, ignorance regarding suit- 
 able, 338. 
 
 Free libraries, great demand for 
 works of fiction at, 334. 
 
 French philosophers, Horace 
 Walpole's dislike of, 77. 
 
 Galloway, disappearance of four 
 animals from the fauna of, 
 since the beginning of last 
 century, 311 — fate of the last 
 golden eagle bred in the dis- 
 trict of, 312. 
 
 Gardens of country houses, as 
 they are and as they might 
 be, 55, 56. 
 
 "Gentleman," the 'Edinburgh 
 Magazine' for September 1785 
 quoted as to the extended sig- 
 nilication of the word, 171. 
 
 Giving, grace in the art of, 
 anecdote regarding, quoted 
 by Mr Morlc}' from Diderot, 
 84. 
 
 (xoat-sucker. iS'ee Fern-owl. 
 
 Gold, the vulgar and the proper 
 use of, 161. 
 
 Gold-fish, unintentional cruelty 
 inflicted on, at an electric ex- 
 hibition, 169.
 
 350 
 
 Index. 
 
 Grace before meat, never to be 
 dispensed with, 109 — reasons 
 therefor, 110. 
 
 Guelph Exhibition, the, 2, 3 — 
 imaginary dialogues with the 
 spirits of the pictures in, 6 <'t 
 seq. 
 
 Guillotin, Dr, not the inventor 
 of the machine which bears 
 his name, 300 — change of fam- 
 ily name by the cliildren, ib. 
 
 Gulls, the, in St James's Park, 
 association stii'red by their 
 cry, 319. 
 
 " Halfpenny," the name of, how 
 it gradually became converted 
 into "MacAlpin," 290. 
 
 Hamerton, Mr, quoted regarding 
 manners, 65— interesting note 
 on a copy of his ' Thoughts 
 about Art,' 259. 
 
 "Happy Land, Tlie " (a bur- 
 lesque), outline of, IIS. 
 
 Harmony, in what sense the 
 word is used, 245 — the term 
 almost monopolised by musi- 
 cians, ih. 
 
 Hat, the chimney-pot, univer- 
 s.illy condemned, 95 — instance 
 of its ridiculousness as a head- 
 dress, 96. 
 
 Hawk, the, the farmer's friend, 
 309 — instance of stupid cru- 
 elty to, ih. 
 
 Health, good, necessary for 
 mental vigour, 336, 337 — 
 pains taken by some great 
 men to secure, ib. 
 
 Hebrides, Xew, elevation of 
 elopement into a national in- 
 stitution there, 1 02 — Dr Inglis 
 quoted regarding, 103. 
 
 Hen - harrier, the, inhuman 
 method of destroying, 309. 
 
 Highlands, the, jiractice with 
 regard to surnames in, 284. 
 
 Holbach, Baron, his opinion of 
 Englishmen, 77. 
 
 Holidays, parliamentary, Sir G. 
 Trevelyan's motion regarding, 
 37— summer the season for, 
 59 — one advantage claimed 
 for the prevailing fashion, ib. 
 
 Horses, their sufferings in our 
 streets, 165 et seq. 
 
 Imagination, saying of Mr Dis- 
 raeli's regarding, 200 — indis- 
 pensable in a ruler, 201 — and 
 in subjects, ih. — and illus- 
 trated by reference to Rome, 
 202 — Lord North's want of, 
 203— Pitt's faculty of, 204— 
 various explanations of, ih. — • 
 true definition of, 205 — for- 
 midable power of, illustrated, 
 ih., 206 — instance of second- 
 sight supplied by, ih, 207 — 
 Akenside's want of, 212 — en- 
 joyment of life deepened by 
 its cultivation, 214 — Honore 
 de Balzac's undisciplined, 
 216-218 — power of, capable 
 of infinite extension, 228 — 
 results of more careful culture 
 of the, 230. 
 
 India, barbarous custom of 
 mutilation practised by some 
 hill-tribes in, on the married 
 women, 100, 101. 
 
 Inglis, Dr, quoted regarding 
 elopement in the New Heb- 
 rides, 103. 
 
 Innes, Mr Cosmo, his story of 
 how the name "Halfpenny" 
 liecame changed into " Mac- 
 Alpin," 290 — his corrobora- 
 tion of the use of nicknames, 
 298. 
 
 Intemperance, its prevalence in 
 the early years of this cen- 
 tury, 342— ignorance a great 
 cause of, 343.
 
 Index. 
 
 351 
 
 Jay, the, 317. 
 
 Journalism, new, deterioration 
 of, 224 — substitution of the 
 first person singular for the 
 first person plural in, 225. 
 
 Jubilee, name applied to chil- 
 dren in commemoration of 
 the year 1887, 274. 
 
 Juvenal, his summary of tlie 
 scope and aim of sound educa- 
 tion, 335, 336. 
 
 Kant, his opinion of pleasure, 
 246. 
 
 Kestrel, the, harmless to game, 
 310 — its destruction forbidden 
 by some landowners, ib. 
 
 Kites, now reckoned among the 
 rarest of our birds, 306 — 
 oi'ders for their preservation 
 on a large estate in South 
 Wales, 307 itofe — polyandrj' 
 among, 307. 
 
 Knickerbockers, in portraiture, 
 unendurable, 120. 
 
 Knowledge and wisdom, dis- 
 tinction between, 330. 
 
 Ladies, conversation with, ex- 
 tract from " S. C. 's" chapter 
 on, 63. 
 
 Landscape, a, formula given by 
 old-fashioned drawing-masters 
 for composing, 130. 
 
 Lazarus at the gate of Dives 
 not a true contrast, but a 
 hideous discord, 133, 134. 
 
 Letter - writing. Lord Byron 
 averse to, 149 — ideal, 151- 
 153 — has not lost its virtue, 
 156. 
 
 Lilford, Lord, his remarks on 
 the golden oriole, 324 — his 
 ' Coloured Figures of the 
 Birds of the British Isles ' 
 commended, 325. 
 
 Literature, as a soui'ce of 
 
 pleasure, 257 — modern, vice 
 of over-description prevalent 
 in, 221, 222 — illustration 
 thereof, 222, 223. 
 
 Lizard, a, merciless mutilation 
 of, 136, 137. 
 
 London, winter the time for 
 social enjoyment in, 38. 
 
 Louis, Dr, the real inventor of 
 the guillotine, 300. 
 
 Lowlands of Scotland, the, ter- 
 ritorial and locative names 
 still in use in, 288. 
 
 Lubbock, Sir .John, on science 
 as a source of pleasure, 252. 
 
 MacGillivray, the ornithologist, 
 his versification of the thrush's 
 song, 321, 322. 
 
 Madonna, painting of the, by 
 Murillo, incident in connec- 
 tion with, 125. 
 
 Magpie, the, a plea for, 316. 
 
 Man, brutality of, to his fellow- 
 creatures, 13S — at bottom a 
 savage beast, 140. 
 
 Manner, deferential, the secret 
 of Lord Beaconsfield's in- 
 fluence over the minds of 
 others, 83. 
 
 Manners, ' The Art of Com- 
 plaisance, or the Means to ob- 
 lige in Conversation,' quoted 
 regarding, 61 — complaint of 
 their deterioration with the 
 present generation, 64 — 
 change of, does not neces- 
 sarily imply deterioration, ib. 
 — Mr Hamerton quoted re- 
 garding, 65. 
 
 Memory, eyesight in relation 
 to, 180 — sound in relation to, 
 ib., 184 — the process of, ex- 
 amined, 194 — and illustrated, 
 ib., 195 — value of life en- 
 lianced by its exercise, 195 — 
 devising of mechanical aids
 
 352 
 
 Index. 
 
 to, 197, 198 — the training of 
 the senses as handmaids to, 
 199. 
 
 Millet, price for which he offered 
 his "Angelus," 259 — and 
 price for which it sold after 
 his death, ib. 
 
 Miracles, what? 142-144. 
 
 Montaigne, his practical in- 
 stances of the advantage of a 
 pleasant countenance, 74-77. 
 
 Moustache, the, before the 
 Crimean War, the badge of 
 the cavalry, 93 — prohibited 
 in the infantry, ih. — opinion 
 regarding civilians, when 
 worn by them, ih. 
 
 Murillo, incident in connection 
 with his picture of the Ma- 
 donna, 125. 
 
 Music, men's passions deeply 
 stirred by, 199. 
 
 Mutilation, barbarous custom 
 of, practised by some hill- 
 tribes in India, on the married 
 women, 100, 101. 
 
 Name-plates on doors, disuse of, 
 in the present day, 89. 
 
 Names, personal, various forms 
 of the patronymic signifying 
 "the son of David," 268— 
 association counts for a good 
 deal in, 269 — degradation of, 
 270 — baptismal, 271, 273 
 et seq. — relative frequency of, 
 prior to the Norman Con- 
 quest, 278, 279 — some, fallen 
 into disfavour, 279 — prefer- 
 ence for family, 280 — infants 
 sometimes consulted in the 
 selection of, ih. — recourse had 
 to names of distinguished 
 persons, ib., 281 — floral, 282 
 — marked effect of the clas- 
 sical renaissance on Christian, 
 283 — family, unknown before 
 
 the Norman Conquest, ib. — 
 their origin, 284 H seq. — 
 locative, 287, 299— territorial 
 and locative, still in use in 
 the Lowlands of Scotland, 
 288 — Celtic, generally easily 
 distinguished, 290 — story 
 showing how one may be 
 deceived regarding, ib. — de- 
 rived from offices and trades, 
 293-295 — from personal quali- 
 ties, 295, 296 — degradation 
 of, how eflfected, 299, 300. 
 
 Napoleon, the leading motive of 
 his life, 71 — contrasted with 
 Wellington, ih. 
 
 Nicknames, or "to-names," still 
 in use in some districts, 297 
 — amusing illustrations of, ib. , 
 298, 299 — their use corrobor- 
 ated by Mr Cosmo Innes, 298 
 — and by Mr Dudgeon, ib. 
 
 Night-hawk. See Fern-owl. 
 
 Night-jar, the popular name for 
 the, 313, 
 
 North, Lord, his want of imagi- 
 nation, 203. 
 
 Odours, distinguishing, pertain- 
 ing to houses, 181-183. 
 
 Oriole, the golden, Lord Lilford's 
 remarks on, 324. 
 
 Over-sensitiveness a source of 
 misery, 192. 
 
 Owls not only harmless, but 
 useful, 303 — nature of their 
 prey, ib. 
 
 Patronymics, illustration of the 
 inconvenient extent to which 
 carried by the Celts, 289— 
 Welsh, ib., 290— Irish, 290— 
 English, 291-293. 
 
 Personal appearance, its power 
 of pleasing, 68. 
 
 Pitt, William, his faculty of 
 imagination, 204.
 
 Index. 
 
 353 
 
 Plato, his definition of pleasure, 
 246, 248, 249. 
 
 Pleasm-e, no denunciation of, in 
 the Bible, 23G — pronounced a 
 good and right thing through- 
 out Scripture, 237 — difficult 
 to analyse, 239 — the Cyi-enaic 
 and Epicurean theories of, 
 246— Kant's opinion of, ih. — 
 eludes definition, 249 — "a 
 primasval phenomenon," 250 
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 of, ih. — Sir John Lubbock 
 quoted thereon, 252 — general 
 conclusions as to the nature 
 of, and the surest way of 
 securing, 264, 265. 
 
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 308. 
 
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 kites and cuckoos, 307. 
 
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 rare, 307. 
 
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 irritating discomforts, 78 — 
 incident illustrative thereof, 
 ih., 79. 
 
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 and interest in, 117 — reason 
 thereof, ih. — knickerbockers 
 unendurable in, 120. 
 
 Prayer, morning, in country 
 houses, 45-48. 
 
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 of minute detail in the ro- 
 mance of ' Manon Lescaut,' 
 223. 
 
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 badly placed, ih. 
 
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 1891, in Burlington House, 
 121, 122 — history of his love- 
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 absui'd pi-actice of, 101 — 
 origin of the custom, ih., 102. 
 
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 of, in Northumberland, 185 
 tt se<i. 
 
 Science as a source of pleasure, 
 250 — Sir John Lubbock 
 quoted regarding, 252. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, contrasted 
 with Honors de Balzac, 219, 
 220 — anecdote of, relating to 
 the use of the word "vul- 
 gar," 219— "Rokeby" and, 
 258. 
 
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 handmaids to memory, 199. 
 
 Servants, "not what they 
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 regarding, ih. — spirit of com- 
 plaint far older than Defoe's 
 day, ih., 171. 
 
 Shaving, compulsory limited 
 practice of, as regards domes- 
 tic servants, 92 — and soldiers, 
 ih. — and sailors, ih. — Mexican 
 barbers' mode of, ih. — latest 
 instance of political signifi- 
 cance in the mode of, ib. — by 
 regulation, a badge of service, 
 93 — manner of, among the 
 clergy, ih., 94. 
 
 Shyness, two kinds of, 66, 67. 
 
 " Small Meannesses," essay on, 
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 human nature related therein, 
 208-210. 
 
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 ISO, 181 — cultivation of the 
 sense of, 183. 
 
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 354 
 
 Index. 
 
 contents inimical to a proper 
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 altogether adverse to the 
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 314, 315. 
 
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 although gregarioiis they 
 never lose their individuality, 
 319 — excellent mirnics, ih. 
 
 Surnames. Ste Names. 
 
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 perly cultivated, 211, 212. 
 
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 parted by, 231. 
 
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 confounded with education, 
 343, 344. 
 
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 ornithologist's versification of 
 the, 321, 322— how to feel 
 its full influence, 322. 
 
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 sumed in this country, 228. 
 
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 utation, 234, 235. 
 
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 ation of, by the English, 
 271 — examples thereof, ih., 
 272. 
 
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 Scott regarding the use of 
 the word, 219. 
 
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 French philosophers, 77. 
 
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 263, 264. 
 
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 of the custom, ib., 102. 
 
 Wellington, the Duke of, con- 
 trasted with Napoleon, 71 — 
 anecdote of, ib., 72. 
 
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 dote illustrative of his good- 
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 Wiertz, the painter, his morbid 
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