Ao, 
 
BY 7 HE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 L^' 
 
 POEMS 
 
 1897 
 
 PRESS REVIEWS. 
 
 Times. " Mr. Horace Smith, whose ' Interludes' were received with 
 favour three years ago, has republished some ' Poems.' They all show 
 observation, thoughtfulness, and a graceful gift of verse. Among the 
 best are quasi-elegiacs called ' Strife,' lines which may perhaps have 
 been inspired by Clough, and which Clough would have admired." 
 
 Athencemn. " The feeling of these Hymns reveals a true fervour and 
 sincerity. The author's work shows an earnestness and virility, which 
 in these days should serve as a sufficient reason, if others were wanting, 
 for its welcome." 
 
 Oxford Magazine. " Mr. Smith writes with a sensitive appreciation 
 of the beauties of nature, and writes withal in a pleasant and graceful 
 style. The Hymns are distinctly superior to the ordinary hymn." 
 
 Scotsman. " Hymns and Psalms distinguished by a simplicity and 
 grace rare in religious poetry." 
 
 Observer. " Mr. Smith's style of writing is at once graceful and 
 versatile, and his sacred poetry has the merit of being as simple and 
 unaffected as his boating song." 
 
 Liverpool Post. " His correct and polished verse is certainly more 
 pleasant to read than the pretentious ignorances that sometimes serve 
 for poetry in our day." 
 
 Speaker, "The lyrics are graceful and charming, the work of a 
 scholar and lover of poetry as well as of one with no small aptitude for 
 the methods of poetry. The Hymns, by the way, have nobility of form 
 and purity of expression." 
 
 Yorkshire Post. "They are without exception sweet, genuinely 
 poetic, and good in form." 
 
 Glasgow Herald. ''ThQse. poems are mostly secular, but there are 
 five Hymns and twelve Psalms of quite superior quality. The writer of 
 a good hymn is one in ten thousand. The secular pieces show a 
 marked degree of lyrical ability, . . . strong pieces of blank verse, . . . 
 songs suitable for music that should delight the heart of the composer 
 and singer." 
 
 Manchester Guardian. "Never falls below a level of uncommon 
 merit in dexterity of phrase and breeziness of inspiration." 
 
 Western Daily Press. " Every lover of good poetry should be able 
 to count these excellent poems amongst the treasures of the library." 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 INTERLUDES 
 
 FIRST SERIES 
 
 BEING 
 
 TWO ESSAYS, A STORY, AND SOME VERSES 
 
 PRESS REVIEWS. 
 
 Daily Chronicle. "The essays indicate good old-fashioned reading, 
 and are well written." 
 
 AthencBum. "His essays on 'Criticism and Luxury' are full of 
 genial good sense, and are illuminated here and there by bits of legal 
 anecdotes. The views he expresses are urged so pleasantly, and with so 
 much modesty, that opposition is disarmed." 
 
 Globe. "The essays are on 'Criticism and Luxury,' and show that 
 Mr. Smith has read wisely and well. Perhaps the ' Farrago of Verses * 
 will be best liked and longest remembered by the reader." 
 
 Manchester Guardian. "A volume much more agreeable to read 
 than the works of most professional jesters, or, for the matter of that, 
 of some professional big wigs of literature." 
 
 National Observer. " In no sense unpleasing . . . have an air 
 of jauntiness which makes them rather amusing in these days of 
 dulness and the New Humour." 
 
 Scotsman. " Readable and suggestive." 
 
 Glasgow Herald. "The 'Story' is a serio-comic description of the 
 adventures of a reading party at the seaside. Mr. Smith has managed 
 to pack into very small space matter that is usually spread over three 
 volumes. Mr. Smith's poems are partly grave and partly gay, and 
 nearly all tempt to quotation, and his book is worth getting, solely for 
 the ' Farrago of Verses ' which he seems to have thrown into the 
 bargain." 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 INTERLUDES 
 
 SECOND SERIES 
 
 BEING 
 
 TWO ESSAYS, A FARCE, AND SOME VERSES 
 
 PRESS REVIEWS. 
 
 Zm^j. "Worthy sequel to the first issue, and an interesting proof 
 that a man can be a busy and useful police magistrate and can yet 
 fill his leisure with good literature." 
 
 Miiftchester Guardian. "The favourable reception (in which we 
 think we had some share) of the first little volume of ' Interludes,' 
 which Mr. Horace Smith issued some time ago, seems to have 
 encouraged him to issue a second. It is always good 'Interlude' 
 work showing reading, sense, sound feeling, and a relish for literature 
 that is literature. Some of the parodies are very neat and happy. " 
 
 Academy. "He has every right to claim recognition as a teller of 
 good stories. Shrewd, humorous, ludicrous anecdotes trample on each 
 other's heels through seventy delightful pages. We commend the book 
 to the busy man who wants to be amused over his after-dinner pipe. 
 It were hard to find a more genial companion than the author of 
 ' Interludes.'" 
 
 Glasgow Herald. "We once before spent a pleasant hour in Mr. 
 Smith's company, and his present little literary variety entertainment 
 is excellent of its kind." 
 
 Leeds Mercury. " A new series of ' Interludes' in a busy legal 
 career has just appeared, and the slim volume will not disappoint 
 those who remember the shrewd, common-sense, and fine literary 
 flavour of its predecessor." 
 
 Scotsman. "The book is a small one, but it is never dull, and its 
 versatility keeps a reader's attention pleasantly engaged throughout. 
 It is the very book for a desultory reader. One who has once begun to 
 read the book is sure to go right through with it." 
 
 Globe. " Inspired by good sense, and enlivened by anecdote and 
 literary allusion." 
 
 Athenceum. " Will be welcome to those who found pleasure in the 
 first." 
 
INTERLUDES 
 
 (THIRD SERIES) 
 
 TWO ESSAYS, A GHOST STORY, AND SOME 
 VERSES 
 
INTERLUDES 
 
 (THIRD SERIES) 
 
 TWO ESSAYS, A GHOST STORY, AND 
 SOME VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 HORACE SMITH 
 
 Honbon 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited 
 
 NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1899 
 

 
 > 
 
 
 
 Glasgow: printed at the universitv press bv 
 robert maclehose and co. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In the Preface to my volume of "Poems" published 
 in 1897, I seized the opportunity of thanking my critics 
 for their kindly welcome of my "Interludes." I now 
 have further to thank them for their still heartier 
 appreciation of my " Poems." With some temerity I 
 challenged their approval of the Sacred Verses; and 
 I am rather surprised, and much pleased to find that 
 they meet with general acceptance. That they are not 
 as good as they ought to be is very certain, and I 
 wish they were better. 
 
 Ivy Bank, Beckenham, 
 Aprils 1899. 
 
 862472 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Essays 
 
 PAGE 
 
 T. The Employment of Leisure, i 
 
 II. The Possibilities and Vicissitudes of Man, - - 39 
 
 A Ghost Story Mansfield Castle, - - - - 68 
 
 A Sketch Behind a Hoarding, 87 
 
 A Farrago of Verses 
 
 The Queen, 92 
 
 The Rainbow. Grasmere, 93 
 
 Yesterday. A Song, 94 
 
 The Lay of the Old Alderman, 95 
 
 The Lay of the Bimetallist, 95 
 
 The Speaker's Dinner, - - 96 
 
 To a Scorcher, 95 
 
 The Cab Strike (1896), 97 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 A P'arrago of Verses {continued) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 After Goldsmith, 97 
 
 A Lost Ballad of Policeman X, 9^ 
 
 Curlina, loi 
 
 Laudator Temporis Acti, 102 
 
 " On Such a Night," 105 
 
 Thanksgiving after Victory, 106 
 
 The Lost Poem, I07 
 
 They and We, ^07 
 
 Old Nursery Rhyme, 108 
 
 The Lost Leader, no 
 
 Lines by an Enamoured Undergraduate, - - - 1 1 1 
 
 Barrister's Song, 1^2 
 
 Leeds Summer Assizes (1872), - - - - -US 
 
 In Memoriam Sir Frank Lockwpod, Q.C., M.P., - - 115 
 A Hymn of Prayer and Praise, - - - - -116 
 
ESSAYS. 
 
 EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 Some people are so rich that they can find constant 
 employment in managing their wealth; others are so 
 poor that all their time and energy are exhausted in 
 endeavouring to earn a living ; but almost all men, rich 
 or poor, have some intervals of leisure. The employ- 
 ment of these intervals of leisure is a matter of some 
 importance. Sir Fitzjames Stephen says : " Enjoyment 
 forms a small and unimportant element in the life of 
 most men." Enjoyment (alas !) may form a small 
 element in the life of most men, but is it unimportant! 
 I venture to say that it is not only important but 
 essential to anything like happiness. The millionaire 
 who had spent his life in heaping up riches, upon his 
 death bed remarked : "I am now very sorry that I 
 have not sufficiently enjoyed myself during these many 
 years." This does not seem very edifying; but I 
 believe that many a man might say the same thing in 
 a different sense, and from a different motive. " I am 
 very sorry I have not duly considered that relaxation 
 
 A 
 
^;: ,',^ '^ _<;;,. r 'SSAVS. 
 
 oand^cpjeyrpejvt'are thifi'gs which no man can neglect 
 
 ' Witii 'iilipiin'ityi"' 
 
 If I can assist any person in attaining to a whole- 
 some enjoyment of their leisure moments, I shall feel 
 that I have done something for their benefit, something 
 which will entitle me to write M.D. or F.R.C.S. after 
 my mame for the future. 
 
 Goethe devoted a great deal of his attention to the 
 question of choice of a career. He thought that most 
 men failed to choose the fitting line of life, and that 
 this failure was the cause of great unhappiness. This 
 is no doubt very true ; but, after all, work of any sort, 
 though congenial to the taste at first, will always have 
 a tendency to become monotonous and wearying ; and, 
 in the end, one is tempted to say, all work is pretty 
 much alike; and even work, which to the outside 
 beholder appears to be most delightful, becomes tedious 
 in time. 
 
 " Poor Peggy hawks roses from street to street 
 Till think of that who find life so sweet! 
 She hates the smell of a rose." 
 
 It would be well if all men, having taken Goethe's 
 advice, and chosen a suitable calling, were to consider 
 next how they can best employ their intervals of leisure. 
 How very few young persons seriously consider this 
 question, and how very few older persons think of it 
 for themselves or for the young ! As for thinking of 
 it for themselves, no doubt middle-aged or old people 
 are constantly regretting that they do not know how 
 to occupy their leisure hours : " Oh, if I had only learnt 
 to play the piano ! Oh, if I could only go out sketching ! 
 Oh, if I only cared to read, or carve in wood, or even 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 3 
 
 darn stockings, how much happier I should be ! " Let 
 us all take courage Dr. Johnson read the whole of 
 Virgil's works at the age of seventy-four. Macaulay, 
 a year before his death, rubbed up his German, arid 
 engaged an Italian master. Dr. Temple was made 
 Archbishop of Canterbury when he was seventy-five. 
 Neither Anthony Trollope nor his mother Frances 
 began to write novels till they were fifty, nor De Foe till 
 he was fifty-eight. The world did not know what a great 
 painter Mr. Brabazon was till he was nearly seventy ; 
 and Titian, at ninety-nine, said that he was only just be- 
 ginning to know how to paint. Young wrote his best 
 poetry after he was sixty ; and Tennyson not his worst 
 after he was eighty. Sir Fitzjames Stephen began to 
 learn Spanish after he was sixty, and had had a stroke 
 of paralysis ; and W. H. Smith did not begifi his political 
 career until he was fifty. 
 
 It must be admitted that there are some people in 
 the world who are so incorrigibly dull and stupid that 
 it is mere waste of time to suggest to them any 
 recreation beyond the public-house or the cock-pit; 
 but any man with a capacity for and habit of working 
 can develop a capacity for and a habit of recreation. 
 Moreover, a man who is habitually idle has no apprecia- 
 tion of the idelights of leisure. It was said of a Fellow 
 of some college : " The little time that he can spare 
 from the adornment of his person he devotes to the 
 neglect of his duties " ; so that, no doubt, his time 
 may have been fully occupied, but his life must have 
 been a trifle dull. 
 
 "It is the idle," says Sir John Lubbock, '" who com- 
 plain that they cannot find time to do that which they 
 
4 ESS A YS. 
 
 fancy they wish. In truth, people can generally make 
 time for what they choose to do; it is not really the 
 time but the will that is wanting; and the advantage 
 of leisure is mainly that we may have the power of 
 choosing our own work, not certainly that it confers 
 any privilege of idleness." And, truly, Sir John may 
 be said to be writing from experience. Banker, states- 
 man, patron and chairman of all sorts of societies, 
 political economist, natural historian, botanist, geologist, 
 astronomer, essayist, (and I know not how many other 
 things besides ! ) he seems to find time for everything. 
 He regards time as something precious and not to 
 be wasted. You must neither waste him nor beat him, 
 as the Mad Hatter said, and "if you only keep on 
 good terms with him he'd do almost anything you liked 
 with the clock." 
 
 So far it has been sought to establish two proposi- 
 tions : firstly, that it is desirable to find employment for 
 leisure; and secondly, that, with very few exceptions, 
 all men can find leisure time. 
 
 "Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure, 
 Each day of business has its hour of leisure." 
 
 There is a great difference between the healthy 
 employment of leisure and that extremely fatuous and 
 foolish process called "killing time." The man who 
 turns from his work to the task of "killing time" till 
 labour recommences, will not enter upon his interlude 
 with much hope, or come from it with much cheerful- 
 ness. Many and various are the methods employed to 
 kill Time. Some men endeavour to kill him by 
 
 * Smoking perennial pipes and spitting " ; 
 Others by prolonging their meals, or drinking to an 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 5 
 
 inordinate extent. Prior, the poet, after spending the 
 evening with Oxford, Bolingbroke, Pope, and Swift, 
 would go and smoke a pipe and drink a bottle of ale 
 with a common soldier and his wife before he went 
 to bed. Rochester, the fine gentleman and poet, was 
 for five years together continually drunk. Gay writes, 
 "We have a young lady here who is but seventeen, 
 and has ;^3o,ooo to her fortune, but she places all 
 her wishes on a pot of good ale." The Heaven-born 
 Minister often drank too much. One day in the 
 House it was evident that he was hardly in a fit state 
 to make a speech. So distressing appeared his condi- 
 tion that one of the clerks of the House said that it 
 made him feel ill, and had given him a headache. 
 "An excellent arrangement," said Pitt, "I have the 
 wine, and he has the headache." The same great Prime 
 Minister diverted himself by allowing his friends to 
 smear his face with burnt cork, and appearing in that 
 condition before two Secretaries of State, who had 
 come to transact the business of the Government. 
 Walpole relates how the Royal Princesses pulled a 
 chair away upon which a grand lady was going to 
 sit, and she in revenge pulled the King's chair from 
 under him. The days of practical joking are happily 
 at an end. Manners have changed for the better 
 since then. Lord Carlisle writes to George Selwyn, "I 
 rise at six, play cricket till dinner, and dance in the 
 evening, till I can scarcely crawl to bed at eleven. 
 There is a life for you ! You get up at nine ; play with 
 your dog till twelve in your dressing-gown ; then creep 
 down to White's; are five hours at table; sleep till 
 supper-time; and then make two wretches carry you in a 
 
6 - ESSAYS. 
 
 sedan chair, with three pints of claret in you, three miles 
 for a shilling." I prefer the life led by the cricketer to 
 that of the man of fashion; but one may have too 
 much cricket as easily as too much claret. J. Phillips, 
 one of the old Minor Poets, when a boy, would 
 sit for hours to have his hair combed instead 
 of joining the other boys in their games. Henry of 
 Valois used to " attire himself like a woman, with silken 
 flounces, jewelled stomacher, and painted face, with 
 pearls of great price adorning his bare neck and breast ; 
 and satin slippered feet, of whose delicate shape and 
 size he was justly vain." It is said that "he played at 
 cup and ball as he walked," though I don't quite know 
 how he did that; but he told his beads in the same 
 perambulatory fashion, and no doubt he was ^^ capable 
 de tout J'' One of the kings of Spain used to delight 
 in visiting the dead bodies of his ancestors, and open- 
 ing the lids of their coffins. Charles the Second would 
 appear to .have been an adept in the art of killing 
 time. He spent a great deal of his -time, we are told, 
 in fondling his lap dogs, and "in chatting and toying 
 with three women, whose charms were the boast and 
 whose vices were the disgrace of three nations." Louis 
 the Thirteenth, at Chambord, invited his companion, 
 " Mettons nous a cette fenetre. Monsieur, et ennuyons 
 nous." This was the same king of whom it is reported 
 that, upon observing a billet-doux in the breast of his 
 lady-love, he advanced to take it from its enchanting 
 retreat with a pair of fire-tongs. A prince of the 
 blood-royal in France took pleasure in shooting at the 
 passers-by from the roof of his palace. He wais three 
 times condemned to death for these wanton murders. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. ^ 
 
 and was three times pardoned. ^ He was not only 
 killing time, but killing other people. 
 
 Cock-fighting, bull-baiting, and other like sports were 
 invented, I suppose, mainly to kill time. Spinoza would 
 laugh till he cried again at watching two spiders fight, 
 and I suppose some boys still spin cockchafers upon 
 pins. The consequence of attempting to kill time is 
 very frequently to drive the miserable man to endless 
 dissipation. "Life would be very tolerable," said Sir 
 Cornwall Lewis, "if it were not for its pleasures." A 
 constant round of dissipation is nothing but a weariness 
 to the flesh. Balls, theatres, shows of all sorts, concerts, 
 public meetings, great dinners, may afford relaxation 
 occasionally, but unless used sparingly they become 
 very fatiguing. I heard a little boy about six years old 
 at a small party exclaim, "What, no charades, no 
 conjurer, no magic lantern, and no nothing oh, I say, 
 won't it be slow!" This young man had become 
 blase at an early age. George the Third was one 
 evening talking in his good-natured way to a grand 
 lady, and asked her if she was not tired of the 
 incessant dissipation of the London season. "Yes," 
 she said, " I have seen and done everything. There 
 is only one thing remains to me to wish for." "What 
 is that?" said the reigning monarch. "A coronation," 
 was the unfortunate reply. 
 
 The pursuit of pleasure at popular baths, sea-side 
 resorts, foreign spas, etc., is a form of killing time. 
 Change of scene and air, of course, is a very good thing 
 at times ; but the constant recurrence of the same 
 whirl of excitement, the same scheming and pushing, 
 the same rivalry and show, which has been going on 
 
8 ESS A YS. 
 
 all the year, only in a new situation, is no change 
 at all, but a continuation of the same wearisome 
 delusion. "Make them like unto a wheel," was a 
 terrible curse. 
 
 Gambling is a mode of killing time, from which no 
 good effects to mind or body will accrue. There is 
 excitement enough and to spare. But it is like dram- 
 drinking, constantly calling for more and more, and 
 fatally exhausting the energy and nerve of the performer. 
 The wretched man hates it while he takes it, but yet he 
 craves for it. It becomes like the Scotch lad's porridge, 
 
 "It is sour, burnt, gritty, cold; and, d it, there 
 
 is never enough of it." Moreover, the gambler cares 
 little for the exercise of skill in the game, or even of 
 cunning in calculating the chances; his whole mind 
 is eager on the spoil, and on the lookout for mere 
 luck. All honest men regret the prevalence of the 
 spirit of gambling. It is a remarkable fact that 
 Thackeray always alludes to gaming as an extinct sport: 
 "The gaming table has lost all its splendour. Play 
 is a deposed goddess, her worshippers bankrupt, and 
 her table in rags." Alas, the history of the last thirty 
 years tells a different tale ! 
 
 This desire to kill time affects only the idle. A 
 life all leisure would be a very dull thing. If we had 
 nothing to do but to enjoy ourselves, we should probably 
 be bored to death. 
 
 " Me this unchartered freedom tires; 
 I feel the weight of chance desires." 
 
 We should be for ever seeking for some new pleasure, 
 and always disappointed in the possession of it. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 9 
 
 " Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, 
 
 Sighs for the shades : ' How charming is a park ! ' 
 
 The park is purchased ; but the fair he sees 
 
 All bathed in tears : ' Oh, odious, odious trees ! ' " 
 
 The "Employment of Leisure" is a different thing. 
 It is the reasonable filling up of the gaps between work 
 and work. But, while I protest against the foolishness 
 of killing time, I must not be thought to insist upon 
 laborious dulness as a duty. " Our nation," says Helps, 
 "the northern part of it especially, is given to believe 
 in the sovereign efficacy of dulness it is almost a 
 religion." I think that a certain amount of frivolity 
 thrown into life, by way of giving it a flavour, would 
 be of great advantage. The portentous gravity of many 
 Englishmen is only a cloak for their dulness. " Gravity," 
 said some French wit, "is a mysterious carriage of 
 the body to cover a defect in the mind." Many a 
 man's life would have been longer, and better spent 
 for himself and for his kind, if he had allowed himself 
 relaxation, amusement, and frivolity. Lawyers are a 
 strong instance of this. Their work is hard, engrossing, 
 and incessant, except for a vacation, which few have 
 the capacity or taste to employ in real relaxation. 
 
 Thackeray says of Mr. Paley of the Upper Temple : 
 "He could not cultivate a friendship or do a charity, 
 or admire a work of genius, or kindle at the sight of 
 beauty or the sound of a sweet song ; he had no time, 
 and no eyes for anything but his law books. All was 
 dark outside his reading-lamp. Love, nature, and art 
 (which is the expression of our praise and sense of 
 the beautiful world of God) were shut out from him; 
 and as he turned out his lonely lamp at night he 
 
JO . ESSAYS. 
 
 never thought but that he had spent the day profitably, 
 and went to sleep alike thankless and remorseless." All 
 lawyers, however, are not alike. Lord Brougham was so 
 exceedingly versatile that O'Connell said of him that " if 
 he only knew a little /(^ee' he would know a little' of every- 
 thing." Lord Campbell says that "English lawyers are 
 generally in their retirement left without mental resources, 
 and waste their declining years in frivolous and vairj 
 regrets." Sir Samuel Romilly said, "As soon as I 
 found I was to be a busy lawyer for life, I strenuously 
 resolved to keep up my habit of non-professional reading ; 
 for I had witnessed as much misery in the last years 
 of many great lawyers whom I had known, from their 
 loss of all taste of books, that I regarded their fate 
 as my warning." I have, on another occasion,^ quoted 
 a remarkable passage from the Zt/e of Darwin^ where 
 he bewails the loss of all taste for music, poetry, or 
 painting, by reason of his intense and continuous appli- 
 cation to the minute details of natural history. A lady 
 one evening at dinner in vain tried every topic of 
 conversation with the great lawyer who sat next to 
 her. At last, in despair, she exclaimed, "Pray, Mr. 
 Blank, what do you take an interest in?" "Criminal 
 law ! " 
 
 In the employment of his leisure every man should 
 cheerfully follow his own bent. "The labour we 
 delight in physics pain." There should be an abandon 
 a free and joyous seizing upon opportunities as 
 they arise. " In studies," says Lord Bacon, " whatsoever 
 a man commandeth upon himself, let him set hours 
 for it; but whatsoever is agreeable to his nature, let 
 ^See "Essay on Character," Interludes^ 2nd Series. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE, ij 
 
 him take no care for any set times, for his thoughts 
 will fly to it of themselves." 
 
 If after a hard day's work we trot out our favourite 
 hobby horse, and, mounting briskly into the saddle, 
 have a real good burst upon him, we come back to 
 work looking quite rosy and perky. The employment 
 should be one, as Stevenson says, "into which a man 
 will plunge with ardour, and will desist with reluctance ; 
 in which he will know the weariness of fatigue, but 
 not that of satiety, and which will be ever fresh, 
 pleasing, and stimulating to the taste." 
 
 The word "Recreation" is frequently used to denote 
 some silly and frivolous mode of idleness. Its proper 
 meaning is something which re-creates, and, used in 
 that sense, it is a good word. No doubt it is desirable, 
 if possible, to employ leisure in something which 
 re-creates, but my subject occupies even a wider field. 
 Leisure may be employed in work of some sort which 
 does not lend itself to re-creation. Provided that the 
 strength of the man is equal to the task, he may well 
 employ his leisure in hard work, and be all the 
 stronger and better for it, but this is the privilege of 
 few, and for most men I think leisure employments 
 should be re-creative. Happy is the man who is able 
 to devote his leisure to the study of some science 
 outside of his own profession, who has strength and 
 energy enough to study chemistry, geology, natural 
 history, or botany. Time will fly only too swiftly and 
 happily with such a man. 
 
 If one were to consult any doctor of experience and 
 ability he would say that a man should let his leisure 
 employment be a sort of complement to his ordinary 
 
12 ESSAYS. 
 
 avocation. For instance, if the ordinary avocation is 
 sedentary, the leisure should be devoted to active 
 employment; if, on the contrary, the ordinary employ- 
 ment is of a physically arduous nature, the leisure 
 time should be devoted to some restful amusement. 
 This would be, however, a sort of "counsel of perfection." 
 In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the sedentary 
 man will prefer sedentary diversions, and the active 
 man will prefer active diversions ; and the present 
 writer is not a doctor, but only a would-be cheery 
 philosopher, who counsels everybody to do as they 
 like, and only aspires to assisting them to do so. By 
 all means (if you can) contrive to vary mental with 
 physical exercise ; but, when you cannot do that, you 
 may at least vary the monotony of your work by a 
 variety of amusement suited to your general tastes. 
 Thus it might be difficult to persuade an artist, or 
 musician, or poet to devote a proper amount of time 
 to cricket, lawn-tennis, or golf; but it ought not to be 
 difficult for any one of these to spend some pleasant 
 hours in trying his hand at the other's trade. So it 
 would be labour lost to ask a blacksmith, a carpenter, 
 or a navvy to spend much time upon literature, or 
 music, or art ; but any one of them would find 
 pleasure in wood carving, or netting. It would be use- 
 less for a man to seek about to find a recreation for 
 which he has no sort of taste. The barrel organs, 
 to which the little gutter urchins dance with glee, 
 drove Babbage and John Leech perfectly wild with 
 agony. A ship was called "a prison" by Dr. Johnson, 
 and is so to many a man, while to many others it 
 is a place of unexampled delight and refreshment. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 13 
 
 Mr. Winkle derived no pleasure from either riding or 
 skating. 
 
 Every man must consult his own taste in the 
 choice of his pleasures, and need not assume too 
 readily that what pleases his friend will necessarily 
 please himself; nor, on the other hand, should he 
 think foul scorn of something in which his neighbour 
 delights. "We are all tempted," says Stevenson, "to 
 frown upon our neighbour's pleasures." In truth we 
 cannot understand them, and we feel an irresistible in- 
 clination to interfere, and to stop our neighbour's foolish 
 habit. A gentleman visiting a church asked the sexton, 
 "Do persons ever use this church for private prayer?" 
 "Yes," he replied, "I ketched two of them at it 
 once." 
 
 "When the burglar's not a-burgling, not a-burgling, 
 
 He loves to hear the little stream a-gurgling, a-gurgling." 
 
 And upon the other hand there have been many 
 instances of persons engaged in perfectly honest and 
 remunerative trades, who have nevertheless employed 
 their leisure in picking pockets or committing burglaries. 
 Not long ago two youths, fifteen years of age, were 
 brought before me charged with picking pockets. One 
 was a very bad boy indeed, and had been three times 
 convicted. The other was a very smart-looking and 
 handsome lad, well dressed, and in excellent employ- 
 ment in the city at a large jeweller's shop. His 
 employer stated that the lad had been employed by the 
 firm for six months, that he had been entrusted with 
 jewellery, cheques, money, registered letters, and had 
 faithfully and punctually performed his duty. These 
 young lads had successfully robbed a lady of ^^4, 
 
14 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 and the detective said that he had watched them in 
 a crowd for half-an-hour, and had seen one of them 
 put his hand into thirty different ladies' pockets, whilst 
 the other covered him or kept watch. There is no 
 doubt much that may be said in favour of this mode 
 of employing one's leisure. It seems to afford all that 
 pleasurable relaxation of mind and of body which is 
 so much to be desired by all honest toilers; but as, 
 unfortunately, I hold Her Majesty's Commission of the 
 Peace, I must not let my imagination run away with 
 me on this interesting topic. 
 
 So far this Essay has endeavoured to establish four 
 propositions, viz. first, that most men can find leisure ; 
 secondly, that it is desirable to employ it well ; thirdly, 
 that killing time is not employing leisure; fourthly, 
 that the employment should be renovating, neither silly 
 nor laborious, but suited to our needs and tastes. 
 
 It remains to mention a variety of ways in which leisure 
 may be so employed; but there is a fifth proposition 
 which is most important to bear in mind, and it is 
 this, that no employment is interesting unless and until 
 you can acquire some proficiency or dexterity in it. 
 This is mostly forgotten; and people expect to find 
 pleasure in doing something which they see others do, 
 and are sadly disappointed to discover that they get no 
 pleasure from it when they try it themselves; and the 
 reason (although perhaps they do not know it) is 
 because by nature or by lack of knowledge they can- 
 not perform the thing at all satisfactorily. 
 " Minds that have little to confer, 
 Find little to receive." 
 
 You must bring something with you, either a natural 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 15 
 
 taste for the pursuit you are to engage upon, or you 
 must by perseverance acquire dexterity, and then the 
 pleasure will come. 
 
 For those whose duties are of a sedentary nature, 
 leisure hours are well employed in health-giving sports 
 and pastimes, such as riding (in various ways), fencing, 
 fishing, shooting, swimming, driving, sailing, rowing, 
 cricket, cycling, football, golf, tennis, rackets, fives, 
 hockey, etc., and other less practised sorts of games, 
 as quoits, knurr and spell, or rounders. The worst thing 
 about these sports is that they fail us in middle life 
 and old age. They each have merits of their own, 
 tending not only to enjoyment, but also to the 
 strengthening of mental and moral fibre. They have 
 their votaries. Who does not know persons who are 
 positively mad upon golf, or cricket, or football, or 
 fox-hunting? To the uninitiated stranger many of 
 these sports appear to be somewhat of the Spartan order : 
 
 " There be some sports are painful, and their labour 
 Delight in them sets off." 
 
 An Oriental potentate expressed his surprise on learning 
 that the thirteen cricketers before him were probably 
 all rich men. He exclaimed, "Why don't they pay 
 someone to do it for them?" It is also reported that 
 the disjecta membra of a football team had to be 
 removed from the ground in hampers. But I think 
 of all maniacs the fisherman is the most absolutely and 
 irremediably insane. "Angling is," says Isaac Walton, 
 "after tedious study, a rest to his mind, a cheerer of 
 his spirits, a diverter of sadness, a calmer of unquiet 
 thoughts, a moderator of passions, a procurer of con- 
 tentedness, and begets habits of peace and patience." 
 
1 6 ESSAYS. 
 
 And I suppose it is all this though one catches no fish 
 for a week. Dean Nowell spent "a tenth part of his 
 time in angling ; and the good old man, though he was 
 very learned, yet knowing that God leads us not to 
 Heaven by many, nor by hard questions, like an honest 
 angler, made that good honest unperplexed Catechism, 
 which is printed with our good old Service Book." 
 
 Some of these sorts of relaxation, viz. those of a 
 physical character, are hardly to be compassed by men 
 of very modest means. One of the most delightful 
 of them is travel, and, of course, especially foreign travel. 
 Another is yachting, another hunting, another shooting, 
 especially big game in Asia or Africa and even fishing, 
 if good, is expensive. 1 The delights of all of these do 
 not need to be extolled; but, on the contrary, it may 
 be useful to observe that persons engaged in very 
 expensive recreations often derive less pleasure from 
 them than others do from more moderate diversions. 
 
 Amongst active and health-giving diversions, I must 
 give a high place to gardening; and it has one great 
 advantage, that the poorer a man is (unless he be an 
 absolute pauper) the greater pleasure he can get out 
 of gardening. If he is a rich man his gardeners manage 
 his garden and himself too. "God Almighty first 
 planted a garden ; and indeed it is the purest of human 
 pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of 
 man." But Lord Bacon seemed (as such a very rich 
 and extravagant man naturally would do) to contemplate 
 only the passive enjoyment which a garden may yield, 
 having been ordered, planted, and watered by others. 
 
 1 Antiquarian, geographical, or wide natural history researches 
 are also beyond the reach of most men. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 17 
 
 The greatest delight of gardening, however, is to dig 
 the soil oneself; and to sow the seed, or plant the 
 flower or shrub; to water and tend it till it comes to 
 perfection ; or, if it fail, to begin over again and hope 
 for better things. Descartes employed his leisure in 
 cultivating a small garden ; Walpole in the cultivation 
 of mangel wurzel; Horace Walpole and Shenstone in 
 laying out expensive and elaborate gardens ; Dean 
 Hole and Walsingham in the cultivation of roses ; 
 Gladstone in cutting down trees. The great Washing- 
 ton writes : " How much more delightful to an un- 
 debauched mind is the task of making improvements 
 on the earth, than all the vainglory which can be 
 acquired from ravaging it by the most uninterrupted 
 career of conquest." 
 
 There is some difificulty in placing billiards in any 
 category. As a physical exercise it is very poor; and as its 
 destiny dooms it to be performed in a cloud of tobacco 
 smoke, the exercise is not healthy. Yet it has many 
 good points, and ought not to be despised, though it 
 seems to be going out of fashion. It is good practice 
 for eye and hand, for ingenuity of planning and nerve in 
 executing ; and I know of nothing which gives a better 
 fillip to an overworked brain. 
 
 Some sort of amusement may doubtless be obtained 
 by the keeping of tame creatures. A pet dog, or 
 even a cat, is a resource. So are birds in an aviary. 
 Bees too are interesting. Sir Thomas More kept a 
 fox, a monkey, a ferret, and a weasel in his house at 
 Chelsea. Rossetti kept a racoon, a wombat, a wood- 
 chuck, and a Brahmin bull and a lot of other creatures. 
 Pepys had in his house two dogs, an eagle, a canary, 
 
1 8 ^^^^KS". 
 
 and a blackbird that whistled tunes. Mr. Justice 
 Hawkins used to take a little dog on circuit with him. 
 When I was a boy at home I one day went to 
 Covent Garden Market and purchased a hawk, an owl, 
 and a hedgehog. I put them all in one room for the 
 night, the hawk being in a wicker cage, the other 
 two creatures free. In the morning I found the hedge- 
 hog had bitten its way through the wicker cage and 
 had eaten the whole of the hawk except its head, and 
 the owl had vanished in dismay up the chimney. The 
 keeping of tame creatures, except for purposes of 
 scientific observation, approaches very nearly to the 
 killing of time. 
 
 There are many other ways in which the sedentary 
 or studious man may, if he will, divert and invigorate 
 his mind by some mechanical or physical pursuit. 
 Carpentering, wood-carving, lathe-turning, are all very 
 engrossing pursuits to those who have or can acquire 
 any taste for them. Charles the Fifth spent his leisure 
 in the making of watches and mechanical puppets. 
 When the Bastille was being destroyed. King Louis the 
 Sixteenth 
 
 "heard it as calm as you please, 
 And like a majestical monarch 
 
 Kept filing his locks and his keys." 
 
 George the Third was very fond of drawing maps. 
 Cardinal Richelieu diverted himself by jumping up a 
 wall in competition with his valet. De Gramont used 
 to assist in these diversions; but, being a courtier, he 
 took good care not to jump as high as the Cardinal, 
 and was consequently exalted to very high places at the 
 Court. Samuel Clarke, the logician, used to leap over 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 19 
 
 tables and chairs; and Richardson, the author of Clarissa^ 
 used to bob up and down on a "chamber horse," a 
 sort of leathern seat upon four legs and a strong spring. 
 
 For indoor amusements, many are perhaps too trivial 
 to employ much time, and yet may afford relaxation at 
 odd moments ; and opportunities of learning new games 
 ought not to be let slip. Chess, draughts, backgammon, 
 at which Martin Luther would play for two hours 
 every day after dinner ; games at cards, of which whist 
 is the king, private theatricals, charades, spelling bees, 
 capping verses, cross questions and crooked answers, 
 throwing cards into a hat, or a bag of beans through 
 a hole in a plank, and a thousand other games are 
 useful at times ; but for constant employment they are 
 of small account. Wood-carving, lathe-turning, drawing, 
 etching, engraving, photographing, carpentering, wire or 
 leather working are far more permanently interesting. 
 
 No amusement is so universally a favourite as dancing. 
 When young people meet together and begin to dance 
 they can be thoroughly happy for a long time. The 
 great draw-back to dancing at the present day is the 
 affectation which seems inseparable from it. The room 
 must be so crowded that no one can stir; the dresses, 
 floral decorations, music, supper, must be so expen- 
 sive that no one can afford them ; the hour must be 
 so late that no one can preserve a moderate degree 
 of health; the dances must be of a certain fashion, 
 and the programmes must be arranged beforehand, and 
 indeed the programmes filled up before the dancing 
 begins, so that there is little joyousness and spontaneity 
 about the proceedings. All young people should learn 
 to dance, and to dance well. 
 
ZO SSA VS, 
 
 "And thus till night that our musick came, and 
 the Office ready and candles, and also W. Batelier 
 and his sister Susan came, and also Will Howe and 
 two gentlemen strangers, which, at my request yester- 
 day, he did bring to dance, called Mr. Ireton and 
 Mr. Starkey. We fell to dancing and continued, only 
 with intermission for a good supper, till two in the 
 morning, the musick being Greeting, and another 
 most excellent violin and theorbo, the best in town. 
 And so with mighty mirth, and pleased with their 
 dancing of jigs afterwards several of them ; and, among 
 others, Betty Turner, who did it mighty prettily; and, 
 lastly W. Batelier's ' Blackmore and Blackmore Mad ' ; 
 and then to a country dance again, and so broke up 
 with extraordinary pleasure, as being one of the days 
 and nights of my life spent with the greatest content; 
 and that which I can but hope to repeat again a few 
 times in my whole life. This done, we parted, the 
 strangers home, and I did lodge my cousin Pepys and 
 his wife in our blue chamber. My cousin Turner, her 
 sister, and The., in our best chamber; Bab, Betty, and 
 Betty Turner in our own chamber; and myself and 
 my wife in the maid's bed, which is very good. Our 
 maids in the coachman's bed ; the coachman with 
 the boy in his settle bed; and Tom where he uses 
 to lie." The locality of Tom's bed is not described 
 with any accuracy. It may be presumed that he slept 
 on the floor. 
 
 I have been speaking hitherto of health-giving amuse- 
 ments, but now I turn to more distinctly intellectual 
 pursuits. How happy is that man who has attained 
 sufficient knowledge in any science to be able to engross 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE, 21 
 
 himself in his pursuit of more. In astronomy, natural 
 history, geology, chymistry, what endless realms of 
 wonder and interest lie in front of the seeker. I am 
 inclined to think, howevei that it is not given to many 
 men to have the scientific mind, and that very few can 
 acquire it by education. I think very little of mere col- 
 lecting of specimens {per se), unless it be with an earnest 
 scientific purpose. The collector of pictures, china, 
 autographs, stamps, birds' eggs, butterflies, or beetles is 
 too apt to assume that every one takes the same interest 
 in his specimens which he himself affects. He 
 
 "draws 
 His treasures forth, soliciting regard 
 To this, and this, as worthier than the last, 
 Till the spectator, who awhile was pleased 
 More than the exhibitor himself, becomes 
 Weary and faint, and longs to be released." 
 
 In so far as the collector is advancing his own 
 learning or that of others, nay, even in so far as he 
 is pleasing himself, he is employing his leisure; but 
 there are many persons who are endowed with the 
 bump of acquisitiveness, and who seem to be incapable 
 of restraining this tendency, though they derive no real 
 pleasure from its exercise. Horace Walpole's collections 
 of everything upon earth, at Strawberry Hill, are a 
 notable instance of this kind of infatuation. A certain 
 Mr. Tasker, a short time ago, had a fortune of about 
 ;7oo,ooo left him, and in less than one month he 
 had spent over ;^ 100,000 in jewels and trinkets, for 
 his own sole use and benefit. He acquired in this 
 way the Agra diamond, which was described to be 
 "a gem, whose delicate hues may be said to distil 
 
22 . , SSAYS. . 
 
 the odorous perfume of a new born rose filled with 
 the face of heaven "; he also purchased a model of 
 the Holy City for ^^1500, and a model of his own 
 yacht for ;2^55o, amongst other small trinkets. But 
 it is certain many persons, male and female, are very 
 much addicted to purchasing all sorts of articles for 
 which they have no use, and which, when acquiredj 
 afford them no pleasure or gratification whatever. 
 
 'I shall not be thought willing to underrate the pleasures 
 of reading. Nothing is more soothing, when one is 
 weary with hard work, (even though the work may be 
 hard reading or writing) than to throw oneself back 
 in an easy chair with a book one loves. There is a 
 friendship in books. That very wise and good man, 
 the Rev. F. D. Maurice, wrote on this subject, throwing, 
 as it was usual with him, a new and interesting light upon 
 it. He points out that Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton 
 and others really are our companions ; and they are 
 talking to us about ourselves, and we are asking them 
 questions about ourselves, and hearing their answers. 
 It may be Portia, or Macbeth, or Othello, or Jacques; 
 or it may be the Red Cross Knight, or Sir Guyon, 
 or Britomart; or it may be Satan, or Adam, or Michael 
 who are ostensibly speaking ; but it is really Shakespeare, 
 Spenser, or Milton holding converse with their reader. 
 Let me confess that I like to have a pipe with my 
 book why not ? There are two great advantages in 
 a taste for books : there is an endless quantity of them, 
 and the taste increases rather than diminishes as we 
 grow old. It is a taste which, when once acquired, 
 stays by us to the end of our life. 
 
 Yet here, more than in any other pursuit, comes 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 23 
 
 in the question of knowledge. Those who read only 
 to learn hard facts, or be entertained by thrilling 
 events or startling jokes, will very soon come to an 
 end of their reading. The real persistent reader is 
 one who understands what writing is. The style, the 
 rhythm, the ease and grace with which the language 
 is handled, the wealth of the images, the tone of the 
 thought, the modesty and dignity of the phrases please 
 him on every page, in every line. It is a wonderful 
 thing to think of the education, hard work, pains, and 
 time which a writer has devoted to a page or a 
 sentence, and then to reflect that hundreds will read 
 it without the faintest perception that it is in any 
 degree superior to their ordinary conversation. 
 
 That distractingly charming little girl, Marjory Fleming, 
 writes : "I am now going to tell you the horrible and 
 wretched plague that my multiplication gives me. You 
 can't conceive it ! The most devilish thing is 8 times 
 8 ; and 7 times 7 is what nature itself can't endure." 
 No doubt after that she would find her leisure moments 
 much lightened by the Newgate Calendar^ which she says 
 " is very instructive. The history of all the malcontents 
 as ever was hanged is amusing." Different persons 
 certainly will have different ways of relieving their 
 minds after their arduous duties. "Business first and 
 pleasure afterwards," as Richard the Third said, when 
 he killed t'other king in the Tower, and then went 
 and smothered the infants. All readers should read 
 first-class books as far as they are able, and if they 
 will cultivate their taste they will find increased pleasure 
 in reading good books, and the number of good books 
 is happily as great as the number of bad ones. 
 
24 
 
 ESS A VS. 
 
 Akin to the pleasure of reading is that of writing. 
 Of course I am not now speaking of hard work, but 
 of leisure. I have written as many dull law books as 
 any one, but I have not derived much pleasure from 
 the process; but writing what one wills and when one 
 likes is a very pleasurable process, especially the 
 writing of verse. I do not know, however, whether I 
 can recommend writing to every one. It is surprising 
 how many great folks have found pleasure in it. Mr. 
 Gladstone wrote upon everything under the sun. Mr. 
 Balfour writes philosophy as he travels by railway train. 
 Lord Rosebery, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Lytton (two 
 of them). Lord John Russell, Mr. Trevelyan, and 
 many others have written biographies or other matters 
 in their leisure hours. Sir Walter Raleigh was by trade 
 and occupation a soldier, a courtier, and a navigator; 
 but he devoted his leisure to writing, amongst other 
 smaller treatises, a voluminous History of the World. 
 Sir John Lubbock I have already mentioned. Woolmer 
 wrote My beautiful Lady, Du Maurier has written several 
 novels, and William Morris wrote poetry while manu- 
 facturing wall papers. 
 
 Yet, to be sure, we cannot always be reading or 
 writing. It would neither be good for mind nor body. 
 
 "Books, 'tis a dull and endless task, 
 Come, hear the woodland linnet." 
 
 Very well, let us take a walk in the country. But it 
 is to be feared that very few persons take much 
 pleasure in a country walk, pure and simple. "Sir," 
 said Dr. Johnson, "let us take a walk down Fleet 
 Street." Lamb, too, delighted in the purlieus of Covent 
 Garden, and the cabbage stalks of the costermongers. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 25 
 
 Old Chief Baron Pollock was caught staring into the 
 shop windows in the Strand after his retirement. He 
 declared he had no idea they were so interesting. But, 
 for your country walk, you require knowledge which is 
 really quite rare. Many people do not know the names of 
 the trees or common shrubs or flowers, nor, of course, 
 their habits. They may know wheat from barley, and 
 possibly mangel from turnip, but they know nothing 
 about them. Englishmen have commonly some slight 
 knowledge about horses, cows, dogs, pigs, and poultry; 
 but very few know the appearance or the note of any 
 of the wild birds, or anything about their habits. Nor 
 does one man in a hundred know or care about any 
 wild animal, or grub, or insect. 
 
 Two average young men might go out for a walk 
 of twelve miles, and enjoy themselves in the exuber- 
 ance of their animal spirits; and yet, on their return, 
 they would be unable to tell you whether oaks, or 
 ashes, or elms, or beeches had the more abounded 
 in the district over which their ramble had extended. 
 They would have noticed, perhaps, any wild animal 
 which suddenly crossed their path. I once went a 
 country walk with two friends, when, suddenly, we saw 
 a creature run across the lane. "What is it?" we 
 asked. We were not country-bred enough to know, but 
 our wits were excited. "How do you know it's not a 
 stoat?" said one. "Because it's stoatally different," said 
 another. "Then how do know it's not a weasel?" 
 said one. "Because it's so weasily distinguished," said 
 another. The joke afterwards got into Punch. But I 
 remember to this day the magnificence of the May 
 bushes, and their fragrance, and the brilliance of the 
 
26 ESS A YS. 
 
 green grass in the meadows, and I remember that we 
 all wished we could better understand the beauty 
 which shone around us. 
 
 When you go out for a walk, can you trace the 
 nature of the ground upon which you tread? What 
 is its history? What could it teach you if it could 
 tell ? Has fire or water passed over it ? Have glaciers 
 or forests covered it ? Do you know the chemical pro- 
 perties of the different minerals, or of the different herbs 
 which are round about you? Knowledge is not only 
 power, it is pleasure. Yes ; a country walk may be 
 a dull thing to an ignorant man ; but to a trained 
 intelligence, even without deep or accurate knowledge, 
 the road cannot be dull. At every moment a fresh 
 interest is started in animal, mineral, or vegetable. 
 
 Also I would desire that the eye and the ear should 
 be trained to be alert. I have known people gaze 
 for some minutes at a still lake or pool, and never 
 even see the reflections in the water, though, of course, 
 the image must have fallen upon the retina of their 
 eyes. I have known people walk in the fields and 
 not notice that a thrush, a lark, or a yellow-hammer 
 was discoursing most eloquent music. The artist sees 
 a hundred lovely shapes and colours as he rambles 
 about, and the poet hears all sorts of voices as he 
 lies under the trembling leaves of the beech tree. 
 
 Drawing and sketching are most invaluable resources 
 for leisure hours ; and they have this further advantage, 
 that they teach habits of observation, and so make 
 many things more interesting. I know not why it is, 
 but there seems to be a lurking desire in the minds 
 of many persons to disparage amateur drawing. It is 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE, 27 
 
 thought to be unmanly, and has been the subject of 
 many jests. We have all heard of the tombstone, 
 which, after advertising all the virtues of the dear 
 departed, added as a climax, "She also painted in 
 water-colours, and of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
 I remember a spicy article in the Saturday Review upon 
 the death of a bishop, which described him as an 
 amiable nonentity, and concluded by saying, "He 
 showed, we believe, an elegant taste in water-colour 
 drawing, the flat effects and neutral tints of which art 
 were no doubt admirably suited to his character and 
 disposition." 
 
 A great deal of amusement may be obtained by 
 drawing indoors, and even by candlelight. The 
 Marchioness of Waterford used to employ much of 
 her time in that manner, and produced many beautiful 
 drawings. The famous Marquis of Bute was great at 
 architectural drawing. Sarah Bernhardt had an exhibi- 
 tion of her paintings. Sir Prescott Hewitt and Mr. 
 Tomes, the dentist, were both of them distinguished 
 water-colour painters, and I can remember that John 
 Parry prevailed upon Creswick to teach him to paint. 
 
 In some form or other, in some degree more or less, 
 almost every person could take delight in music Yet 
 how strangely incapable from idleness, prejudice, or 
 want of education, most people are of any effort to 
 amuse or interest themselves or others by music. You 
 may find a room full of fashionable people, men and 
 women, and hardly one or two will be able to perform 
 in any way. Yet, perhaps, a few village lads from 
 the parish church choir might put them to shame. 
 I have noticed that Germans, Italians, and Welsh people 
 
28 ESSAYS. 
 
 (and I dare say there are others) when thrown together 
 easily join in singing glees and choruses. Lancashire 
 and Yorkshire people are not far behind; but much more 
 might be done by early training to fit young people 
 not to be brilliant performers at the Albert Hall but 
 to be ready and willing, nay, delighted, to join, at once 
 and without preparation, in taking part by solo, duet, 
 or glee singing, in the pleasurable relaxation of song. 
 
 Numbers of pleasant hours may be spent in playing 
 upon a favourite instrument of music such as the violin 
 or piano always, let it be said, agreeably to the person 
 performing, and often, it may be hoped, agreeably to 
 other persons. I am bound to say with respect to 
 musical persons that they are rather apt to insist that, 
 at all times and in all places, their favourite hobby-horse 
 should be drawn out and mounted; and to regard any 
 person, who is not absolutely enchanted by the per- 
 formance, as a heathen and a Philistine. Moreover, 
 they appear to be generally unwilling to allow any one 
 to enjoy any music which is not exactly in vogue 
 amongst their particular set. Subject to these ill-natured 
 criticisms, I admit that there is no more delightful way 
 of employing leisure than in performing or listening to 
 music. 
 
 Frederick the Great devoted much time to playing 
 on the flute. In the latter elegant accomplishment 
 the celebrated Dick Swiveller indulged himself, sitting 
 up in bed, and endeavouring to assuage the sorrows 
 of his heart after discovering that Sophy Wackles was 
 lost to him for ever. The only tune he could play, 
 however, was, " Away with Melancholy " ; and he 
 is described by Dickens as being "but imperfectly 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 29 
 
 acquainted with the instrument," so that his mode 
 of employing his leisure must have made him a sad 
 nuisance to his neighbours. Politian sang airs to his 
 lute; George the Third had Handel played to him 
 when nothing else could soothe him; Judge Jeffreys 
 (Heaven save the mark !) was so fond of music, that 
 he was chosen arbitrator in a dispute between the 
 Inner and Middle Temple as to the respective merits 
 of the organs of Harris and Father Smith. The present 
 German Emperor and the late Prince Consort are 
 instances of men, who have found time to interest 
 themselves, and to gratify others by their music. 
 
 There is an art which has almost entirely died out 
 in this busy generation : the art of reading aloud. It 
 has been lost. Almost any one who tries to do it 
 fails. He can neither read clearly, nor sweetly, nor 
 dramatically in fact, he cannot read at all. How 
 few of the clergy can read the Lessons, or even their 
 own sermons, effectively ! There is another art which 
 will soon be forgotten : the art of speech-making. 
 When you, my reader, become a great man (which is 
 sure to happen sooner or later), you will probably be 
 unable to put two words together. Both reading 
 and speaking are to be learnt, but few take the trouble 
 to learn them ; but readers, speakers, and hearers 
 might derive much pleasure, if the reading or speaking 
 were easily and happily performed. But in these days, 
 to ask most people to read aloud is to be guilty of 
 cruelty, and to ask almost any one to make a speech 
 is to endanger his life from nervous shock. 
 
 John Milton employed his two daughters to read 
 Hebrew, Syriac, Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and 
 
30 ESSAYS. 
 
 French. They did not understand one word of what 
 they read, and the fatigue of it must have been 
 maddening. He only left the poor girls ;ioo each 
 upon his death, which seems a very inadequate 
 remuneration for so much drudgery. Mr. Boffin hired 
 the services of one Silas Wegg to read to him "The 
 Decline and Fall off the Roosian Empire," and seemed 
 to derive great comfort therefrom ; while Mrs. Major 
 O'Dowd read the Dean's sermons to the Meejor, 
 whether he asked her or not. " How often has my 
 Mick listened to these sermons," she said, " and me 
 reading in the cabin of a calm." 
 
 "O bliss, when all in circle drawn 
 About him, heart and ear were fed 
 To hear him as he lay and read 
 The Tuscan poets on the lawn." 
 
 Yes, reading aloud is a very pleasant art, and very 
 little understood. I think the drawback to it is that 
 it is apt to make the hearer drowsy. 
 
 I do not know whether there are many persons who 
 care to learn passages of poetry or prose by heart ; but, 
 although the process may be irksome, the reward is 
 great. There are times and places when one is unable 
 to read, write, or move about. In a carriage, or rail- 
 way train, or in bed, one is very much thrown upon 
 one's resources, and I myself have wiled away many 
 weary hours by repeating long passages of poetry to 
 myself. Macaulay learnt whole books of Homer and 
 Virgil by hearty and even went so far as to learn the 
 names of all the peerage, and the titles of their eldest 
 sons. 
 
 There are two other modes of employing leisure, 
 
EMPLOYMENT OE LEISURE. 
 
 31 
 
 which also appear to be fast dying out : the art of 
 letter- writing and the art of conversation. Although 
 these accomplishments are not so necessary in modern 
 times, yet they still seem to me to be worth cultivating. 
 One of the best modes of employing leisure is by 
 the cultivation of friendships. 
 
 "A friend once found and his affection tried, 
 Grapple him to thy soul with links of steel." 
 
 In order, however, to be able to converse with a 
 friend we must cultivate friendship, and not neglect 
 opportunities for forming or fixing friendships ; and, 
 because we must of necessity be losing friends, so we 
 ought to be careful to find new ones. "A man, sir," 
 said Dr. Johnson, " must keep his friendships in constant 
 repair^ It is one of the inevitable misfortunes of old 
 age that friends become scarce. They drop beside 
 us, and the ranks close up ; but we feel that our 
 comrades are being taken from us. There is a story 
 told of some old Irishman, who complained, as friend 
 after friend was removed, that there would soon be 
 no one but himself left to follow him to his grave ! 
 
 In the Life of Sydney Smithy by his daughter. Lady 
 Holland, the following pretty scene is described : " One 
 day, when my elder brother and myself were training 
 our beloved Billy (the donkey), with a pocket hand- 
 kerchief for a bridle, and his head crowned with 
 flowers, to run round our garden, who should arrive 
 in the midst of our sport but Mr. Jeffrey. Finding 
 that my father was out, he, with his usual kindness 
 towards young people, immediately joined in our sport, 
 and, to our infinite delight, mounted our donkey. He 
 was proceeding in triumph, amidst our shouts of 
 
32 ESS A VS. 
 
 laughter, when my father and mother, in company, I 
 believe, with Mr. Horner and Mr. Murray, returned 
 from their walk, and beheld this scene from the garden 
 door. Though years and years have passed away, I 
 still remember the joy-inspiring laughter that burst 
 from my father at this unexpected sight, as, advancing 
 towards his old friend, with a face beaming with delight 
 and with extended arms, he broke forth in the following 
 impromptu : 
 
 Witty as Horatius Flaccus, 
 As great a Jacobin as Gracchus, 
 Short, though not so fat as Bacchus, 
 Riding on a little jackass." 
 
 Beyond the cultivation of individual friendships we 
 may well employ our leisure in general philanthropy : 
 
 "If Time be heavy on your hands. 
 Are there no beggars near your gate, 
 Nor any poor about your lands ? " 
 
 I do not know whether the good Samaritan was 
 bound upon a journey of pleasure or of profit, but, 
 at all events, he found leisure to attend to the wants 
 of his neighbour. It is not by any means an easy 
 art to learn the art of doing good to your neighbour. 
 Even if you have the will, it is not always easy to 
 find the way. A Sunday school teacher asked the 
 top boy of her class, " What is thy duty to thy neigh- 
 bour?" He replied, "My duty to my neighbour is to 
 believe in him" "Go on, next boy!" screamed the 
 exasperated teacher. The difficulty of believing in 
 your neighbour is often a great check to the exercise 
 of philanthropy. 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 
 
 33 
 
 " We went into some of the cottages where the poor 
 people live. Before we went into any, we met an old 
 woman who was very poor, eighty-eight years old, and 
 mother to the former distiller. I gave her a warm 
 petticoat, and the tears rolled down her old cheeks, 
 and she shook my hand and prayed God to bless 
 me it was very touching. I went into a small cabin 
 of old Kitty Kear's, who is eighty-six years old quite 
 erect, and who welcomed us with a great air of dignity 
 she sat down and spun. I gave her also a warm petti- 
 coat. We went on to a cottage to visit old widow 
 Symons, who is past fourscore, with a nice rosy face, 
 but was bent quite double. . . . She said, ' May the 
 Lord attend ye with mirth and joy ; may He ever be 
 with ye in this world, and when ye leave it.' We 
 went into three other cottages, to Mrs. Symons's, who 
 had an 'unwell boy,' then across a little burn to another 
 old woman's; and afterwards peeped into Blair's, the 
 fiddler's. We drove back, and got out again to visit 
 old Mrs. Grant, who is so tidy and clean, and to whom 
 I gave a dress and handkerchief, and she said, 'You're 
 too kind to me, you're overkind to me, ye give me 
 more every year, and I get older every year.' After 
 talking some time with her, she said, 'I'm happy to 
 see ye looking so nice.' She had tears in her eyes, 
 and, speaking of Vicky's going, said, 'I'm very sorry, 
 and I think she is sorry hersel',' and, having said she 
 feared she would not see her again, said, ' I am very 
 sorry I said that, but I meant no harm ; I always say 
 just what I think, not what is fut.'" This is one of 
 the ways in which the greatest lady in the land spends 
 her leisure time : 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 ' ' Not sowing hedgerow texts and passing by, 
 Nor dealing goodly counsel from a height 
 That makes the lowest hate it, but a voice 
 Of comfort and an open hand of help, 
 A splendid presence flattering the poor roofs 
 Revered as theirs." 
 To the man employed in physical work relief is easy. 
 He has only to sit still or lie down ; and, having rested, 
 he is ready for work again. But to the man engaged 
 in any mental work such a relief is probably quite 
 insufficient or impossible, he must seek rehef in some 
 physical or perhaps different mental employment. But, 
 if he seeks relief in different mental employment,, he 
 should be careful to see that it is refreshing. If not, he 
 will end, as A.K.H.B. says, "in having his liver in a bad 
 way, be prone to snub the servants, to box the children's 
 ears, to think that Britain is going to destruction, and 
 that the world is coming to an end." 
 
 A little quiet thought is a good thing at times, even 
 for a man whose whole work involves mental strain. 
 I am sensible of its dangers. Too much mooning is 
 bad for body and mind ; but I cannot help believing 
 that in this "so-called nineteenth century," we are in 
 danger of not giving ourselves time for thinking. Even 
 building castles in the air is not so entirely unprofit- 
 able as some .persons suppose. Lord Macaulay 
 attributed his literary success to his habit of building 
 castles in the air. Any literary work of a high class 
 must require a great deal of meditation. Nor are the 
 pleasures of the "sessions of sweet silent thought" to 
 be despised. There are times when "we can feed this 
 mind of ours in a wise passiveness." Calm thoughts, 
 sound views, healthy emotions do not originate in a 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 35 
 
 hurry or a fever. There must be seasons of quiescence 
 the field must be fallow at times. 
 
 " O, it is pleasant with a heart at ease, 
 Just after sunset, or by moorilight slcies, 
 To make the shifting clouds be what you please " ; 
 or perchance 
 
 *' To dream and dream like yonder amber light, 
 
 That will not leave the myrrh bush on the height." 
 
 But sweet and restful, and even elevating as such 
 moods may be at times, too much indulgence in them 
 would produce an enervating effect. 
 
 Some men, when in deep thought, perform some 
 fidgetty trick, to the terrific torture of their nervous 
 companion. Others walk about to and fro like wild 
 beasts in a cage. Some whistle or hum to themselves 
 a tuneless noise. How very much better women 
 manage to employ themselves while they are only 
 thinking ! Even if a woman sits doing absolutely 
 nothing, she is at least a pleasant and reasonable object ; 
 but a man doing nothing is awkward and grotesque. 
 In Nathaniel Hawthorne's Transformation, the author 
 says : " There is something extremely pleasant and even 
 touching at least of very sweet, soft, and winning 
 effect in this peculiarity of needlework, distinguishing 
 women from men. Our own sex is incapable of any 
 such by-play aside from the main business of life ; but 
 women be they of what earthly rank they may, however 
 gifted with intellect or genius, or endowed with awful 
 beauty have always some little handiwork ready to 
 fill the tiny gap of every vacant moment. A needle 
 is familiar to the fingers of them all. A queen, no 
 doubt, plies it on occasion \ the woman-poet can use 
 
36 SSAYS. 
 
 it as adroitly as her pen; the woman's eye, that has 
 discovered a new star, turns from its glory to send the 
 polished little instrument gleaming along the hem of 
 her kerchief, or to darn a casual fray in her dress. 
 And they have greatly the advantage of us in this 
 respect. The slender thread of silk or cotton keeps 
 them united with the small, familiar, gentle interests 
 of life, the continually operating influences of which 
 do so much for the health of the character. . . . 
 Methinks it is a token of healthy and gentle character- 
 istics when women of high thoughts and accomplishments 
 love to sew, especially as they are never more at home 
 with their own hearts than while so occupied." 
 
 Many people fail to enjoy their leisure because, as 
 I have said, they have not been aware that it is necessary 
 to acquire sufficient power or capacity for the employ- 
 ment. Others fail because they are too idle to do 
 anything. "What I wish first," said Lord Bacon, "is 
 to have leisure without loitering." It is a very common 
 habit of mind to think that it is too hot, or cold, or 
 damp to do anything. Or perhaps the place we are 
 in is uninteresting, or the company is dull, or we are 
 " so slack," or some reason or other, equally bad, makes 
 us lazy. Or we may have adopted that detestable view 
 of things which assumes that no good can come of 
 anything we do : 
 
 '*We have had enough of action and of motion, we." 
 
 There must be a capacity for enjoyment. What is 
 the use of a holiday to a man who does not know 
 how to employ it ! Numbers of persons are more 
 miserable on a Bank Holiday than on any other day 
 in the year ! Some of them (poor souls) get a holiday 
 
EMPLOYMENT OF LEISURE. 37 
 
 SO seldom that when it does come they don't know 
 what to make of it. Mr. Egerton, the late vicar of 
 Burwash, told his gardener he might take a holiday. 
 " No," said the man, " I don't think I will, sir, thank 
 ye. The last holiday I took was ten years ago, at 
 Sizes; I saw a many queer things there to be sure, 
 and enjoyed myself amazing ; but I never wanted 
 another holiday ; but when my old mother goes, heaven 
 bless her, I've a mind to take a holiday for her 
 funeral." The sense of freedom for the day, and the 
 going somewhere, even if packed together like herring 
 in a barrel, seem sufficient for uneducated persons to 
 realize their dreams of a holiday; but for all people, 
 whether educated or not, some more definite aspira- 
 tions ought to be possible. 
 
 If we had more resources in ourselves, more em- 
 ployments for our leisure, we should be better able to 
 bear 
 
 " The weariness, the fever, and the fret. 
 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan." 
 
 Certain it is that to do nothing but mope is 
 
 "To be full of sorrow 
 And leaden-eye' d despairs." 
 
 On the other hand, it is equally certain that to the man 
 who keeps his mind bright and his spirits fresh by 
 relaxation to him, 
 
 " A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass, 
 A purer sapphire melts into the sea." 
 
 This is not the time or place to speak of the consolations 
 of religion; but it is certain that no amount of diversion 
 can make a man happy. As Pascal says, " The Stoics 
 
^8 ESSAYS. 
 
 say, ' Retire within yourselves, there you will find your 
 rest.' Which is not true. Others say, 'Go out of 
 yourselves, seek your happiness in diversion.' Nor is 
 that true, for sickness may come. Happiness is neither 
 outside of us, nor within us. It is in God, outside of us 
 and in us." 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 *' Into this world we come like ships, 
 Launched from the docks, and stocks, and slips, 
 
 For fortune fair or fatal ; 
 And one little craft is cast away 
 In its first little trip in Babbicombe Bay, 
 
 While another rides safe at Port Natal. 
 
 "What different lots our stars accord! 
 This babe to be hail'd and woo'd as a lord, 
 
 And that to be shunn'd like a leper ! 
 One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn, 
 Another, like Colchester native, born 
 
 To its vinegar only, and pepper." 
 
 There is undoubtedly a good deal in "our lot." But 
 we make too much of this view at times. Disraeli 
 and Gladstone were not born to the purple, and yet 
 each of them domineered over the proudest aris- 
 tocracy in the world. Even they at times felt the 
 disadvantage of not being "to the manner born." It 
 makes a difference in the chances of life to be well 
 conditioned. When Artexominus wooed Distaffina the 
 following dialogue took place : 
 
 " He's but a general, damsel, I'm a King.' 
 * Oh, sir, that makes it quite another thing. ' " 
 39 
 
40 ^^-s-^ ys. 
 
 As often as not, however, the advantageous position 
 is the very cause of failure ; and certainly, in these 
 days and in this free country, it does not so much 
 matter to what we are born as to what influences or 
 accidents we are subjected afterwards. At every 
 moment we are urged in one direction or another. 
 A man's career is like the journey of a railway train. 
 The train leaves the departure platform, but has no 
 sooner started than it crosses various points, at any 
 of which, by the turning of a small handle, it will 
 diverge to towns A, B, and C, or to towns D, E, 
 and F. 
 
 In my youth I remember hearing a sermon on the 
 subject of King David. The preacher warned us that 
 we might at any moment commit a murder or other 
 great crime, nay, that it was not at all unlikely we might 
 do so, however improbable it might now seem to us. 
 Who could say that we might not suddenly develop 
 a possibility of evil ? If. King David was not safe, 
 who dare boast? 
 
 On the other hand, it may be observed that no 
 wicked man need despair of reformation ; for he cannot 
 tell what his possibilities for good may be : 
 
 "So groaned Sir Launcelot in remorseful pain, 
 Not knowing he should die a holy man " ; 
 
 and the partner of his guilt 
 
 'An Abbess past 
 To where beyond these voices there is peace." 
 
 It is a curious, if not very profitable, speculation to 
 think what would have happened to any well-known 
 man if things had happened differently. Suppose the 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 41 
 
 traditional ape had dropped the infant Oliver from the 
 roof of the brew-house, and the fall had made Cromwell 
 a cripple for life. Possibly he might have grown up 
 to be a Habakkuk Mucklewrath, but the Dutch would 
 not have been afraid of him. Suppose Bucephalus had 
 thrown Alexander, as was fully expected, and had 
 permanently shaken his nerves, he would never have 
 wept because he had no more worlds to conquer; but 
 all the world would have conquered hi77i. Suppose 
 Clive's twice-snapped pistol had gone off as it ought, 
 and injured him, he might still, perhaps, have cast up 
 the accounts of the East India Company, but he 
 never would have fought the battle of Plassey. At 
 the breaking-out of the Revolution in 1787 Napoleon 
 Buonaparte was so poor that he was obliged to pawn 
 his watch. In a few years he was giving away king- 
 doms. Suppose the pawnbroker had refused to advance 
 any money on the watch, Napoleon might have been 
 a sansculotte and helped to storm the Bastille, but he 
 might never have conquered at Austerlitz. Suppose 
 Wordsworth's heart had not failed him, as he stood 
 with the foil in his hand ready to kill himself, the 
 Excursion would never have been written. Suppose 
 Macaulay had met Wallace in deadly duel, and been 
 shot, we should never have been enthralled by the 
 Great History, or enchanted by the Lays of Ancient 
 Rome, Suppose Swift had accepted the offer of a 
 Master of Horse in a cavalry regiment, I think he 
 would have fought very savagely against the enemy, 
 but Gulliver's Travels would never have scathed all 
 human nature. Lord Justice Bowen very nearly decided 
 to be a soldier. Surely he would have made a very bad 
 
42 ESSAYS. 
 
 one, as surely as he made a perfect judge. Mr. Justice 
 Hawkins told me that he had fully determined to take 
 to the stage, and he added (as I think very justly) 
 that he would probably have risen to the top of his pro- 
 fession; but he could never have exceeded the dramatic 
 power displayed in his speech in the Arthur Orton case. 
 Erskine was a midshipman and a soldier before he 
 became "the greatest forensic orator that Britain ever 
 produced." 
 
 I have half a mind to write a biography of some 
 well-known character, and to pursue it faithfully until 
 I should reach some distinctly marked crisis in his 
 career; and then to make the crucial incident happen 
 differently from the fact, and so to continue and con- 
 clude the history as it probably would have happened 
 thereafter. My hero instead of being buried in West- 
 minster Abbey would die in a workhouse, or vice versa. 
 
 Even the novelist, although his license is large in 
 these days, has not an entirely free hand in evolving 
 the possibilities of his hero. If he lays the scene in 
 the times of William the Conqueror, he cannot make 
 his hero shoot the villain of the novel with a six- 
 chambered revolver; and it would be almost impossible, 
 although something very like it has been attempted, to 
 make the son of an English costermonger become the 
 Grand Lama of Thibet. Nay, the novelist is still 
 further trammeled by his readers' expectations. Charles 
 Dickens was frequently implored not to kill his char- 
 acters ; and Richardson was cursed by a fair corre- 
 spondent in a truly feminine fashion. " May the hatred 
 of all the young, beautiful, and virtuous for ever be 
 your portion ; may your eyes never behold anything 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 43 
 
 but age and deformity; may you meet with applause 
 only from envious old maids, surly bachelors, and 
 tyrannical parents ; may you be doomed to the company 
 of such, and after death may their ugly souls haunt 
 you ! Now make Lovelace and Clarissa unhappy if 
 you dare ! " 
 
 It is a matter of every-day experience that events 
 occur which we call fortunate or unfortunate to the 
 man affected by them. " How fortunate it was for 
 so-and-so," we exclaim ; or, " How unfortunately it 
 happened that so and-so could not at that moment," 
 etc. Perhaps we give too much weight to the event, 
 and not enough to the man. "The man should make 
 the hour, not this the man." 
 
 " In the worst inn's worst room " lingered and 
 perished alone the gay and brilliant ViUiers, while 
 buried with almost regal pomp, the President Garfield, 
 stricken dead by the hand of an assassin, was 
 mourned by the whole of a great nation, who were 
 proud to remember that he was "born in a log hut." 
 
 It is worth while to observe that the arrival of the 
 hour is of no account, if the man be not ready to avail 
 himself of it. 
 
 "There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to Fortune ; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries : 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or loose our ventures." 
 
 And, to the same effect it has been said that "Oppor- 
 tunity has a lock of hair in front, but is bald at 
 the back; if you seize her by the forelock you may 
 
44 ESSAYS. 
 
 hold her, but if you let her pass you cannot catch 
 again from behind." This is all true enough, but the 
 tide or current in the one case, or the forelock in 
 the other, is not so important as the promptitude and 
 alertness of the man who takes advantage of them. 
 I feel convinced that if precisely the same opportunity 
 recurred, the same result would follow. Shakespeare 
 did not mean that a man has only one opportunity 
 given to him, or, if he did mean it, he was wrong. 
 No doubt there are some opportunities which are 
 hardly likely to recur, as, for instance, where a young 
 man misses his chance of marrying a young woman. 
 As Browning says : 
 
 ' ' This could but have been so once, 
 Now we've missed it lost it for ever." 
 
 But a man may miss with his first barrel and kill 
 with the second. A parson may be twice offered a 
 bishopric. There was once an actor who could only 
 play one part, viz. the Apothecary in Romeo and 
 Juliet. He succeeded so well that, like most success- 
 ful men, he got quite fat, and had to be displaced. 
 Then he pined and grew quite thin, and was taken 
 on again, and had a long run. No, it is happily not 
 true that a man has only one opportunity of going 
 right. Many opportunities arise, and the prompt man 
 seizes all he can by their respective forelocks, but the 
 "slackster" lets them all go by. When the keepers 
 are beating up the pheasants, you may be sure some 
 of them will come your way; but, if you don't keep 
 a sharp look out, it is to little purpose that they are 
 driven over your head. 
 
 "Those who know how to employ opportunities 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 45 
 
 will often find that they can create them ; and what 
 we achieve depends less on the amount of time we 
 possess than on the use we make of our time. There 
 is not one of us" (John Stuart Mill was speaking to 
 the young men at St. Andrews), "who may not qualify 
 himself so to improve the average amount of oppor- 
 tunities as to leave his fellow-creatures some little the 
 better for the use he has made of what he has acquired." 
 
 There is another point which seems to me to be 
 worth notice. There are times in a man's career 
 when he has to decide upon some momentous question, 
 some choice between this and that shall I do this, 
 or shall I not do it? But there are also many daily, 
 hourly recurring trifling matters which are affecting 
 our future lives. " There is scarce any thoughtful man 
 or woman, I suppose," writes Thackeray, "but can 
 look back upon his course of past life and remember 
 some point, trifling as it may have seemed at the 
 time of the occurrence, which has nevertheless turned 
 and altered his whole career." 
 
 Look at that baby in yonder cradle. It is only a 
 week old "A (new-born) darling of a pigmy size." 
 What are its possibilities? Well, there is first of all 
 the question of heredity the question of racial or of 
 family peculiarity. Undoubtedly, though one cannot 
 now discern the fact, it has the thick lips of its mother, 
 who has African blood in her veins; and, although 
 one could by no means guess it on the view, it has 
 or will have the Roman nose of its father, its grand- 
 father, and great-grandfather. But as it is with the 
 lips or nose, so is it with the mental and moral quali- 
 ties. It will inherit the deep emotions of its mother. 
 
46 ESS A VS. 
 
 and the downright straightforwardness of the gentleman 
 with the big nose. This introduces some limitations; 
 but Nature is, like Fortune, very fickle. She may 
 endow a baby with talents, failings, virtues which 
 belong to no ancestor whatever, and may prodigally 
 throw away all the characteristics of all the ancestors. 
 Maud, as we know, inherited the nature of her mother, 
 and her brother the nature of her father. But whether 
 by reason of heredity, or from some other law or acci- 
 dent, it is certain that yonder little baby has already 
 within its little frame all sorts of germs of vices, virtues, 
 talents, feelings which will accompany it, more or less, 
 during the whole of its life. Now what are the possi- 
 bilities of that infant.^ Who can tell? Nay, who 
 can say at the end of its career what were its possi- 
 bilities when it started in life? 
 
 ' ' Some mute inglorious Milton there may rest, 
 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood." 
 
 But look at the surroundings of that baby ! It may 
 be rich or it may be poor. As Sir Hugh Evans says, 
 " Seven hundred pounds and possibiHties is good gifts." 
 
 "But if you are poor why it's only a pity 
 So needful it is to have money, heigh ho ! " 
 
 Or the infant may be born in a palace, or in a hovel, 
 in a free country, or in a slave country. It may be 
 surrounded by kind friends, or by bitter enemies. It may 
 have father or mother, good or bad, or it may have 
 lost both. It may have half-a-dozen brothers and sisters, 
 good or bad, or none at all. These, and a hundred 
 other such matters, will not only modify the law of 
 heredity, but will almost abrogate it. Then, too, it 
 must have a name. To be sure its surname is already 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 47 
 
 settled for it. "What mortal would be a Grub by 
 choice." But its Christian name may have an influence 
 upon its career. " Oh Tristram, Tristram ! " " Saint 
 Optat," said the Sacristan, " was a bishop." " I thought 
 so, by heaven," said my father, interrupting him, " how 
 should St. Optat fail?" A young sailor was brought 
 before me for being drunk and disorderly. His name 
 was Horatio Nelson. " It is a great name," said I, 
 " try and live up to it " ; and I sent him back to his 
 ship. How could I fine or imprison Horatio Nelson ! 
 Next, as time goes on, the infant will soon have 
 other surroundings, either of its own seeking or forced 
 upon it; and it will be taught, not by the process of 
 direct teaching, but by the pressure of numberless 
 external influences, perhaps unnoticed by other persons. 
 
 " Think you with all this mighty sum 
 Of things for ever speaking, 
 That nothing of itself will come, 
 But we must still be seeking." 
 
 And so "the little actor cons another part," and 
 begins to form tastes, purposes, and habits, some 
 of which, though apparently trivial at first, will grow 
 into mastering passions. The possibilities of that infant 
 are most undoubtedly wide, although they have their 
 limitations. 
 
 Who has not felt when he has looked at some 
 beautiful child, engaged, perhaps, in some imaginative 
 game with his toys, oblivious of the fact that he is being 
 looked at, unconscious of everything around him, except 
 his own fanciful conceptions of things which are not, 
 but to which he is devoting his whole soul who, I 
 say, upon seeing this, does not feel with Wordsworth 
 
48 ESS A VS. 
 
 a sort of pang to think that all this charm must fade 
 away into the dull grey monotone of adult life. Here 
 seem to be possibilities as of a divine being, a spirit 
 capable of passing the barrier between the seen and 
 the unseen, and of helping us to behold the invisible. 
 What do we do with this spirit-child ? Alas, what we 
 do is mostly to crush out all that is beautiful, and to 
 plant all that is harsh and formal upon that fertile 
 soil ! And to some degree we cannot well help 
 it. If that child could "feed on the roses, and lie 
 in the lilies of life" all its days, it might remain 
 beautiful for ever ; but it will have to deal with thorns 
 and thistles mostly, and not with lilies and roses, and 
 so it must grow up hardy and strong, and its beauty 
 must be marred in the process of bringing up. And 
 yet, for all that, we must educate the infant almost 
 from its earliest breath. It must be taught obedience, 
 love, fairness, honesty, truth. It must learn that every 
 wish cannot be gratified, and every bad temper have 
 its way. This is the point which poor parents fail in. 
 Be they ever so poor they contrive to indulge their 
 babies, and treat them merely as pets to be spoilt. 
 What wonder that, before their children reach the age 
 of eight years, they take them before a magistrate as 
 being "beyond control"; or find that they have to flog 
 and ill-treat them instead of playing with them. 
 
 One is apt to think that the possibilities of a man 
 are the same as the possibilities of a genius. It seems 
 futile to contemplate the possibilities of a dunce ! 
 However that may be, the possibilities of the average 
 man should, at all events, be interesting, and worth im- 
 proving. The excellency of Dr. Arnold's, and still more 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 49 
 
 of Mr. Thring's, teaching lay mainly in this, that it en- 
 couraged and brought out the averagely dull boy, and 
 gave him an interest in, and a capacity for improvement. 
 The notion, that unless a man at college can take a 
 *' First," or a boy at school get into the "Sixth," he 
 had better die and be buried, is a narrow one. A 
 schoolmaster, upon the death of one of his boys, wrote 
 to the bereaved parents, "I am sincerely grieved 
 to hear the sad news of your son's death, but I must 
 inform you that, in any case, he would have had to go 
 down, as he had failed to satisfy the examiners in 
 classical moderations." This was but cold comfort to the 
 parents. 
 
 It is well known that the brightest boy does not 
 always make the ablest man, and that the dullest boy 
 burgeons out into a Duke of Wellington. There are 
 often talents which lie latent because nothing has called 
 them forth. A party of undergraduates paid a visit to 
 a lady phrenologist. One of the party evidently, by 
 his long hair and turn-down collar, fancied himself a 
 poet. The rest of the party "ragged" him a good deal 
 before he submitted his phrenological development to 
 the hands of the fair scientist. After examining his 
 bumps for some time, she exclaimed, " Ah, himmense 
 latent talent, but you're a hutter hidiot ! " The bright 
 and almost angelic looks of a child may not indicate 
 much depth of character ; but, beneath the ugly loutish 
 appearance of its companion, may lurk the genius of 
 a Goldsmith or a Cromwell. 
 
 There is a sort of heredity, which is not derived 
 from one's immediate progenitors, but is either racial, 
 or historical, or social. If I may so speak, there 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 is a kind of atmosphere which surrounds us in which 
 we are born, and which we carry about with us. We 
 are, let us say. Englishmen ; or we come of a race or 
 set of persons who have always been honest, or proud, 
 or vaHant. We follow the tradition of our fathers. In 
 a "leader" of the Times, February 22, 1895, it is said: 
 " Our history has taught us, as history has not taught 
 all other peoples, how immeasurable is the debt we 
 owe to our inherited caste of thought. We feel that 
 our greatness is based upon our character, and that 
 our character is shaped and nurtured by the living 
 faiths our fathers left us." 
 
 Whatever may be the value of the hereditary bias, it 
 is quite certain that even the most marked characteristics 
 of the child may be varied or alleviated by external 
 influence, teaching, or personal effort. 
 
 HazHtt wrote an essay, " On Personal Character," in 
 which (as it is his manner) he very much overstates 
 the effects of heredity, and underrates those of education 
 and circumstance. " Features," he says, " alone do not 
 run in the blood; vices and virtues, genius and folly, 
 are transmitted through the same sure but unseen 
 channel. ... The soul, under the pressure of circum- 
 stances, does not lose its original spring, but, as soon 
 the pressure is removed, recoils with double violence 
 to its first position." How does he know that? It 
 may be true in some instances, but probably only in a 
 few. On the contrary, circumstances induce habits, 
 and habits, good or bad, follow us to the last. 
 Hazlitt did not believe that the "slothful ever becomes 
 active." I have known dozens of such. He did not 
 believe that " the knave can become honest." I am 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 51 
 
 not without hope even in such a case as that. Happily 
 the future of the individual is not bound by fate, or by 
 heredity, or by circumstance, or by teaching, or by 
 climate. We can cultivate our own good qualities if 
 we have any, and, as far as we can get at them, we 
 can do something of the sort for others. It may be 
 we shall fail in our efforts, be they ever so well meant. 
 It is, for instance, a dangerous experiment to select a 
 young person from a lower class, and to push him 
 forward without any very definite prospect in view, 
 only to fit him to be discontented, and unfit for any 
 employment which is likely to offer itself. Too much 
 education too much fuss and excitement has often 
 ended in failure, and has produced only that morbid 
 self-consciousness, which induced the Senior Wrangler 
 of the year to rise and bow to the audience when 
 King George entered the theatre. On the other hand, 
 too little education may lead to a disastrous end, such 
 as befel the other undergraduate, who carried out his 
 resolve to let his mind lie fallow for three years. He 
 was ploughed. The great thing to be desired is a 
 healthy and vigorous body, and a keen and active 
 mind. There are, however, many known instances 
 where the mind has 
 
 " O'er-informed the tenement of clay," 
 and yet has triumphed in the end, though that triumph 
 has been evidently obtained by a severe struggle, and 
 at a great cost. Your giant in body and in mind has, 
 I take it, an easy time of it ; but you must not expect 
 a dwarf to perform the task of a giant. You may 
 aspire too much as easily as too little. A little scullery 
 maid once announced her intention in the servants' 
 
52 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 hall of becoming a nursery governess. "Take my 
 advice," said a powdered menial, " take my advice, 
 'Arriet, and don't look too 'igh, as I think your talents 
 is more adapted to the kitching." 
 
 It seems to be a matter of general observation that 
 success prevails in one family, and failure in another, 
 and it is assumed that chance or destiny is the cause. 
 Probably, if we knew enough of the fortunate or unfor- 
 tunate family, we might find in heredity or in education 
 the real cause of the difference, if there is any ; but 
 as a rule people only say one family is lucky, and 
 the other is unlucky. An old lady in the gallery of 
 the Lyceum, after the curtain had fallen upon the last 
 act of Shakespeare's greatest play, remarked sympa- 
 thetically to her neighbour, "Them 'Ambleths, sir, 
 seem to have had a deal of trouble in their family." 
 Lord Eldon and Lord Stowell were brothers, and 
 the two Pitts were father and son, and so were the 
 two Scipios; and such famiUes as the Sydneys or the 
 Napiers were no doubt eminently successful- The 
 father of Alfred Tennyson had eight sons and four 
 daughters, "all of them," we are told, "more or less 
 true poets." 
 
 But though this observation that talent runs in families 
 is often made, it has nothing very convincing about it. 
 The other observation seems quite as true, that you 
 very seldom find a clever son of a clever father; nay, 
 more, it is often said, "Oh yes, John had all the 
 brains of that family," or "if Mary had only been a 
 boy, she would have been able to carry on the business, 
 but now ! " 
 
 Lord Bacon, and Locke also, believed that a man 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 53 
 
 might be taught to do or to be anything, and appar- 
 ently did not lay much stress upon heredity; and, 
 on the whole, I come to the conclusion that the 
 doctrine of heredity is more interesting than convincing; 
 and that the possibilities of a man lie chiefly in what 
 we call education, in its widest sense, i.e. as J. S. 
 Mill says, "Whatever helps to strengthen the human 
 being." You, sir, and your good wife are probably 
 both great geniuses ; but do not presume too far upon 
 that fact and expect in your children the excellencies 
 of both parents. Or it may be that you are both of 
 you stupid; but I would not therefore have you trust 
 too implicitly to your children being so dull as not to 
 find you out. 
 
 Students of natural science are able to tell us much 
 on this question of heredity. The physical and moral 
 qualities of the parent animal descend with something 
 like a fixed certainty upon the offspring. In the vege- 
 table kingdom the principle or law of heredity is even 
 more clearly apparent. In the human race the law is 
 also to be seen; but in the case of animals and vege- 
 tables there is no conscience, no active will or capacity 
 for direct choice or conduct. Perhaps it may be argued 
 that even quickness or dulness of conscience, and 
 strength or feebleness of will, may be derived from the 
 ancestor ; and probably the observation is sound. But 
 after all is said, there is still the power of choice (be 
 the same more or less), and that power is of great 
 importance, and is in momentary and continual use. 
 
 It is said that ''You cannot make a silk purse out 
 of a sow's ear." That is quite true; but I believe 
 that you can make a very fair purse out of a crocodile's 
 
54 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 skin. By industriously striving to cultivate the human 
 soil you may make it grow a good crop. The fens of 
 Lincolnshire were not exactly propitious, but the 
 Northern Farmer managed to grow wheat there. 
 
 *' Dubbut look at the waaste, theer wam't not feead for a cow ; 
 Nowt at all but braken an' fuzz, an' look at it now ; 
 Nobbut a bit on it's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall, 
 Done it ta-year I mean'd, and runn'd plow thrufF it an' all." 
 
 It is a most depressing doctrine which teaches that 
 men are what they are bom, or what they are fated 
 to be. On the contrary, I am sure they may be very 
 greatly helped or hindered by their fellow-mortals. I 
 do not think that I could endure my everyday work, 
 if I did not believe that I could occasionally help a 
 lame dog over a stile, or give a wanderer a shove in 
 the right direction ; and that I might possibly be doing 
 some permanent benefit. 
 
 It is really remarkable how very little pains we take 
 with ourselves or our offspring to fortify us or them 
 against the inevitable. We must grow old, yet most 
 of all take little or no pains to provide for our old 
 age in any way. We may suddenly become deaf or 
 lose our voice, yet we have not learned the deaf and 
 dumb alphabet. We may become blind, yet we have 
 not learned to love music, or reading aloud, or to 
 improve our faculty of memory, or our sense of touch. 
 We may find ourselves alone in beautiful or wonderful 
 scenery, and cannot draw or paint. We may be sud- 
 denly told by the doctor that we must neither walk nor 
 run, and yet we have never learned to ride not even 
 a bicycle. We may be suddenly upset in a boat, and 
 cannot swim ; we are in a ball-room, and cannot dance ; 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 55 
 
 on the ice, and cannot skate. We are suddenly asked 
 to make a speech, and cannot put two words together 
 to save our lives. We accidently injure our right hand, 
 and our daily bread depends upon its use; and, alas, 
 we are not ambidextrous ! 
 
 It is quite certain that by training and experience 
 the most marked characteristics may be effaced, and 
 such as are wanting may be supplied. That Words- 
 worth was, according to his own account of himself, 
 of a gloomy, obstinate, and violent temper may appear 
 strange to the students of the placid philosophical poet ; 
 and it would, as a fact, scarcely warrant the conclusion 
 that " the child is father of the man." It seems more 
 strange, however, that William the Silent was of a 
 timorous disposition. "Certain it is," says Motley, 
 " that he was destined to confront open danger in 
 every form, that his path was to lead through perpetual 
 ambush, yet that his cheerful confidence and tranquil 
 courage were to become not only unquestionable, but pro- 
 verbial." "Lord John Russell," says M'Carthy, "began 
 with a reputation for a heat of temperament worthy 
 of Achilles, but was for more than half his career 
 regarded as a frigid and bloodless politician." If 
 violent temper can be conquered, or a hot tempera- 
 ment become frigid, and if a timorous nature may 
 become a proverb for bravery, surely heredity is a 
 bugbear. And what are obstacles? They, too, may 
 be made to vanish away. Kavanagh had both his legs 
 amputated, but he was one of the best riders across 
 country. Fawcett was shot blind, but he could marshal 
 whole armies of figures before the House of Commons 
 in a manner astonishing to listen to. Beethoven was 
 
56 SSAVS. 
 
 deaf; Milton was blind. The possibilities of a man 
 are well nigh infinite, and, if foiled in one direction, 
 the great man will attack the fortress from another. 
 
 What I have called education in its widest sense 
 being a thing of so much consequence, it is interesting 
 to inquire what is being done to give it its full effect. 
 
 It is extraordinary how little has been attempted by 
 the State until recent years in the way of education; 
 and even now the State seems very slow to discern 
 that education means much more than cramming, and 
 that man is a physical and moral as well as an intel- 
 lectual being. Board schools are certainly deficient in 
 moral and physical training. Then, as to the important 
 question of heredity, I suppose that almost nothing 
 can be done by the State to prevent the bringing into 
 the world of diseased, or crippled, or feeble persons. 
 What a changed world it would be if silly persons 
 were forbidden to marry by Act of Parliament ! How 
 wit and wisdom would flourish to be sure ! Except 
 that as we should all be witty and wise, there would 
 be no one left to ridicule or to teach, and I am afraid 
 we should all grow very dull and selfish. But 
 although the interference of Parliament in such cases 
 could not be endured, I do think that parents of 
 young people, and the young people themselves, 
 might be more cautious than they are in their selection 
 of marriageable persons. It is strange that we take the 
 greatest pains with horses, dogs, cows, pigeons, fruits, 
 and flowers, and yet we take none whatever with our 
 own race, but trust to chance. Medical science, it is 
 true, has succeeded in increasing longevity, and it is 
 quite possible that it may succeed in decreasing diseases 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 57 
 
 and deficiencies in the human subject ; but, on the 
 whole, it may be doubted whether the race is any more 
 efficient than it used to be. People as a rule live 
 longer, and population increases at a greater rate. 
 
 But what, after all, is being done in education. The 
 instruction, the routine instruction, of the Board school 
 is only a very small part of education. In the question 
 of the education of the poor, the main thing to be 
 provided is better and brighter surroundings. Their 
 dwellings, the streets which they frequent, the places 
 of amusement and refreshment, should be better and 
 brighter. If you confine your walks to Bond Street 
 and Piccadilly, you will not see what I mean; but if 
 you go to St. Giles's, Whitechapel, or Spitalfields, will 
 you tell me that the houses, the streets, the public- 
 houses are likely to be conducive to "sweetness and 
 light " ? As Goethe wrote : 
 
 *' On entering a town one can judge the authorities' fitness ; 
 For, where order and cleanliness reign not supreme in high 
 
 places, 
 Then to dirt and delay the citizens soon get accustomed." 
 
 How can you expect the houses of the poor to be kept 
 clean, if the streets are kept dirty? What is the use 
 of putting clean clothes upon little Tommy and Mary 
 Jane, if, when they fall down on the pavement, they 
 rise up again a mass of black mud ? How can a poor 
 tenant keep the inside of the house tidy if the landlord 
 will not spend a sixpence on the structure? If the pos- 
 sibilities of man depend largely upon his surroundings, 
 the possibilities of Whitechapel and Spitalfields are bad. 
 In the old days men were trained from their earliest 
 years for their future life. The young knight was bred 
 
58 ^^^-^KS". 
 
 up to arms, the young hunter followed in his father's 
 footprints, the young craftsman watched his father at 
 work, and, as soon as possible, was bound as an 
 apprentice in his father's trade. Our notions are now, 
 perhaps not altogether wisely, more in favour of a 
 general education. The Universities, Public schools, 
 School Board schools, etc., are now bent upon teaching 
 anything and everything which can fit the mind 
 generally to encounter the future. The strengthening 
 and enlarging of the mind : I suppose this is the 
 curriculum^ whatever form it may take. Whether it be 
 the dead languages or still deader mathematics, the 
 point is not so much whether the particular thing 
 learnt can by any possibility come into use in after 
 life, but whether the pursuit of it will strengthen and 
 enlarge the mind more than any other pursuit. There 
 is no subject requiring greater concentration of mind 
 than pure mathematics, and there is no bodily exercise 
 so strengthening to the whole physique as rowing. 
 Let the young man learn both, though, to be sure, 
 he is not likely to put the Binomial Theorem or his 
 blue-bladed oar to any use whatever in his after life. 
 This system of education seems to be a development 
 of a man's possibilities. He comes forth into the 
 the world fully equipped for all eventualities. He is 
 armed up to the teeth, and ought to fight well. Yet, 
 at his time of life, a youth of the olden days had 
 already become a master man, had gained his position 
 in the world, and was quite satisfied therewith. 
 
 I think some reasonable compromise may be arrived 
 at between those persons who are all for an ideal 
 training of the mind to fit it for all or any purposes, 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 
 
 59 
 
 and those who are firmly persuaded that the young 
 should be taught from their earliest years the thing by 
 which they mean to live. Difference of position, of 
 probable fortune, of health, strength, capacity should 
 be allowed for. Too rigid a system is sure to fail, 
 because youths are various ; too lax a system is certain 
 to fall short of its intention, because youths are weak, 
 and want the bracing which is obtained by hard study 
 even against the grain. If I may be allowed to use 
 very homely language, I would say that the educator 
 of youth should keep one eye upon the general training 
 of body and mind, and the other eye upon the particular 
 and definite pursuit to be followed in after life. And, 
 speaking generally, the early years should be devoted to 
 general training, and the later years to special subjects. 
 
 The possibilities of a woman are, on the whole, more 
 limited than those of a man. In some degree she is 
 prevented from the full exercise of her powers by the 
 laws of the land, or by the customs of society. Her 
 mental, moral, and physical qualities also differ largely 
 from those of a man, and in general she is of a less 
 robust and active character. Very considerable changes 
 have taken place in the position of women in England 
 during the present century. It is quite obvious that, in 
 many respects, woman has risen to a higher level, but in 
 other respects it may be doubted whether all these 
 changes have been for her benefit. Tennyson wrote : 
 " Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; 
 The man be more of woman, she of man ; 
 He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 
 Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; 
 She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 
 Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind," 
 
6o ESS A YS. 
 
 Also I think she must beware of losing her softness, her 
 gentle and dependent nature, if she would preserve the 
 love of man. Half the love of the man for the woman 
 nay, the very best half of it, is that which is born of 
 a desire to protect, and if necessary to fight for, some- 
 thing weaker and less capable of fighting. The woman 
 who takes up the position that she is as good as the 
 man, and a good deal better, may do very well in the 
 world for herself, but she will have to go alone. If it 
 could be conceived possible, that a time will arrive when 
 men and women have come to the conclusion that they 
 can each row their own boat, there will no longer be any 
 fear of a "surplus population." But probably these 
 attempts to follow out partial theories correct themselves. 
 It is soon and very easily perceived that to imitate men's 
 worst failings is not the way in which a woman can win 
 the respectful admiration of the best men or the love of 
 any man capable of that passion. In any event, she 
 must be always handicapped by the mere fact that she 
 is physically a woman. 
 
 The view which children sometimes take of their own 
 possibilities is often amusing, but occasionally terrible. 
 If you ask the infant son of well-to-do parents what he 
 means to be, he probably says, with much confidence, 
 " Lord Chancellor," or " Archbishop of Canterbury." It 
 is not impossible. When William Pitt said, "I want to 
 speak in the House of Commons like papa," it sounded 
 bumptious, but his desires were fulfilled. The young 
 gentleman in the old pictures from Punch, who an- 
 nounced his intention of being a clown at Astley's, may 
 have been very ambitious, but his taste was low. . Louis 
 Stevenson's little boy was more humble 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 6 1 
 
 " But I, when I am stronger, 
 
 And can choose what I will do, 
 
 Oh, Leary, I'll go round at night 
 
 And light the lamps with you." 
 
 The career of a highwayman has more fascination for 
 the young idea than for the adult; but, perhaps, the 
 young person, who announced her intention of being 
 either a nun or a ballet dancer, offered the widest range 
 of possible possibilities. 
 
 Those among us, who can indulge in a lengthy retro- 
 spect, can remember many friends, whose careers have 
 seemed to give the lie to their possibilities, and to have 
 displayed the vicissitudes of life. 
 
 "Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase? 
 Hal Baylis? blithe Carew? 
 Alack ! they're gone a thousand ways ! 
 And some are serving in * the Greys ' ; 
 
 And some have perished young ! 
 Jack Harris weds his second wife ; 
 Hal Baylis drives the zvane of life ; 
 And blithe Carew is hung ! " 
 " There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage ; 
 There's laughing Tom is laughing yet ; 
 There's brave Augustus keeps a carriage ; 
 There's poor old Fred in the Gazette ; 
 On James's head the grass is growing ; 
 
 Good Lord ! the world has wagged apace 
 Since here we set the Claret flowing, 
 And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse" 
 
 So also we read 
 
 " John Richard William Alexander Dwyer 
 Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire ; 
 But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, 
 Emanuel Jennings polished Stubbs's shoes." 
 
 Dwyer went, let us hope, to some higher sphere, and 
 
62 SSA YS. 
 
 Jennings stepped into his place. And even if Dwyer 
 had a fall, he may have recovered from it later on. 
 No doubt it may be that 
 
 ' ' The prize is sometimes to the fool, 
 
 The race not always with the swift " ; 
 
 but, on the whole, I think Jack and Tom, Augustus 
 and Fred, are pretty much where they ought to be, 
 and where you might expect to find them. On the 
 other hand, it is surely often " borne in upon us " that 
 we might be very much better than we are, and that 
 we might have done very much better for ourselves 
 than we have done. Even in old age there is still 
 room for improvement. Put it at its lowest, we can 
 prevent ourselves from becoming worse than we need. 
 To the very end of life we can still 
 
 "Move upward, working out the beast. 
 And let the ape and tiger die," 
 and so to the last go on evolving those possibilities, 
 which will have their fruition elsewhere. 
 
 Alas, the possibilities of a man may be rudely extin- 
 guished by death. He may "scorn delight and live 
 laborious days," 
 
 '* But the fair guerdon when he hopes to gain. 
 
 And thinks to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, 
 
 And slits the thin-spun life." 
 "Those whom the gods love die young," yet often 
 by their dying they do more than others do by living 
 long. It is not the length of life which is important, 
 but the amount of life which is thrown into the term. 
 There was an old woman of whom it is recorded 
 
 " She lived to the age of a hundred and ten, 
 And died of a fall from an apple tree then." 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. d^i 
 
 This showed considerable vigour, but I do not know 
 whether it was used to much purpose. There was an 
 announcement in a newspaper a short time ago, as to 
 which I apprehend there was some mistake. "She 
 happily recovered and lived to be over eighty, nearly 
 all her children being born afterwards. She joined her 
 husband later on." It is not stated whether her 
 husband got tired of waiting for her. 
 Of King Artexominus it is said 
 
 "Fate cropped him short, but be it understood 
 He would have lived much longer if he could." 
 
 Most of US would endorse this somewhat futile wish. 
 Ah, if we could only think that we had in some fair 
 degree fulfilled our possibilities; but how few of us 
 can think that. 
 
 " Some in the tumult are lost, 
 Baffled, bewildered they stray ; 
 Some as pris'ners draw breath ; 
 Others, the bravest, are cross'd 
 On the height of their bold follow'd way 
 By the swift rushing missile of death. 
 
 " Hardly, hardly shall one 
 Come with countenance bright 
 O'er the cloud-clapped perilous plain, 
 His Master's message well done, 
 Safe through the smoke of the fight 
 Back to his Master again." 
 
 And lastly, what is to be said as to the possibilities 
 of the race. Are the wings ready to burst from our 
 shoulders towards the close of this " so-called nine- 
 teenth century"? 
 
 "In Milton's time," we read, "an opinion prevailed 
 that the world was in its decay, and that we have 
 
64 
 
 ESS A YS. 
 
 had the misfortune to be produced in the decrepitude 
 of nature. It was suspected that the whole creation 
 languished, that neither trees nor animals had the 
 height or bulk of their predecessors, and that every- 
 thing was daily sinking by gradual diminution." So 
 wrote Dr. Johnson concerning Milton's time. Well, 
 from time to time, we have books written to the same 
 effect, and the world reads them, and thinks there is 
 something in them for a week, and then goes on its 
 way unheeding. 
 
 What has the theory of Evolution to say upon this 
 matter? If we cast our glance far enough back, no 
 doubt we shall say that at least the European races of 
 to-day are superior in every way to the races of the 
 earliest infancy of mankind ; nay, more, it is quite 
 possible to maintain that they are on the whole superior 
 to any races which have ever inhabited Europe before 
 the present century; but there would be some rather 
 terrible facts to be got over before such a position 
 could be satisfactorily proved. What about the Ancient 
 Greeks, their art, their philosophy, their literature? 
 What about Ancient Rome, its roads, its aqueducts, 
 its laws? What about Italian and Spanish art? But 
 suppose the position is proved, that, taken as a whole, 
 the European races show a superiority over all the 
 Europeans of other times, still, what can be said of 
 Asia, Africa, America, Australia, and other islands, 
 great and small? Have those races improved? What 
 is happening is that they are being crowded out by 
 European races; but who can say how long that 
 process may continue? What has become of Greece, 
 and Rome, and the Italian cities? What has become 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 65 
 
 of the Empire of Charles V. ? Who knows what changes 
 may come, and who can feel sure that humanity may 
 not be cast back for centuries, instead of advancing ? 
 It may be so ; but the thought that it may be so ought 
 to urge us all by every means in our power to strive 
 that it may not be so. Certainly we in England are 
 not without encouragement ; for, without doubt, the 
 history of our country is a history of progress ; and it 
 may be safely advanced that, in no age or country, has 
 there ever been such a high general level of intelligence, 
 goodness, industry, comfort, happiness, well-being, and 
 well-doing as there is in England at the present day. 
 But then comes the further question : suppose it is 
 granted that the general level is higher, is that a sign 
 that the specimen called man is changing into some- 
 thing higher ? This seems to be a question without 
 any present answer. Does the world in the present 
 time produce a greater than Socrates, Plato, Bacon, 
 or Shakespeare? And, if it does not produce such a 
 specimen, can you really have any sure ground for 
 believing that, in even thousands of years, it will ever 
 do so ? And yet it would appear that, if the general 
 level should constantly rise, there must be a time when 
 the general level should rise above Socrates, Plato, 
 Bacon, and Shakespeare. Let us, at all events, beware 
 of deteriorating of coming to that unhappy pass which 
 befel the last inhabitant of the land of the Doasyoulikes, 
 who wanted to say, " Am I not a man and a brother," 
 but had forgotten how, and only said, "Ab boo boo," 
 and died. 
 
 Perhaps the most charming and interesting book 
 written for many a long year is Dean Church's Gifts 
 
 E 
 
66 ESS A YS. 
 
 of Civilization. He evidently believes in these gifts, 
 but it is with fear and trembling. The inventions of 
 science, almost annihilating space, time, labour, disease, 
 and all other ills, are gifts indeed ; but is it certain 
 that the nature of man is thereby edified or exalted 
 only? In every gift is there not some bitter with the 
 sweet, some serpent lurking in the flower? 
 
 In the year 1851, when the nations were gathered 
 together at the Great Exhibition, many persons, writers 
 in the press, speakers upon platforms, and others, were 
 loud in their prophecies of an era of peace a coming 
 millennium : 
 
 "When the war drum throbbed no longer and the battle flags 
 were furled, 
 In the Parliament of Man, the Federation of the world." 
 
 The Crimean War and the Indian Mutiny followed 
 almost immediately. A very short time since Europe 
 was startled by an invitation to disarm, issued by the 
 potentate whose vast armies were a constant menace of 
 war. The invitation was, perhaps, sincere ; but the way 
 in which it was received offered little encouragement 
 to the hope of a more peaceful condition of Europe 
 in the future. 
 
 We are strange beings with our large possibilities 
 of evil and of good, with our doubts and fears, with 
 our hopes and aspirations. 
 
 "We are children of splendour and flame, 
 Of shuddering also, and tears ; 
 Magnificent out of the dust we came, 
 And abject from the Spheres." 
 
 One moment we think ourselves angels or gods, the 
 next moment we are worms or Yahoos. 
 
POSSIBILITIES AND VICISSITUDES OF MAN. 67 
 
 "How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 
 Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
 A worm ! a god ! " 
 
 " What a piece of work is a man ! How noble in 
 reason ! How infinite in faculty ! in form and moving 
 how express and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! 
 in apprehension how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! 
 the paragon of animals ! and yet to me, what is this 
 quintessence of dust? Man delights me not, no, nor 
 woman neither." Perhaps man is not dehghtful ; but 
 he is certainly very wonderful, and Hamlet was but mad 
 north-north-west. 
 
 And now to sum up : let us never be persuaded to 
 think that, as individuals, we are bound hard and fast 
 by heredity, or by fate. We are what we are, mainly 
 because we like to be so; and if we liked we could 
 be very different from what we are. And, as a race, 
 we may rise higher and higher, or we may sink lower 
 and lower, not because of some law of evolution or 
 devolution ; but because individually we do not strive 
 to be better. Does any one doubt that, if the various 
 items of mankind were to strive towards perfection, the 
 world would soon become very different from what it 
 is at present ? How different who can say ? 
 
A GHOST STORY. 
 
 MANSFIELD CASTLE. 
 
 In one of the quiet dales of Derbyshire there stands 
 a comfortable country house, situate in the midst of 
 park-like grounds, surrounded by hills, and watered 
 by a pretty trout stream shaded by alders and huge 
 entanglements of brambles and wild roses. On a rising 
 ground, about two hundred yards from the modern 
 house, stands the old ruin of the ancient mansion called 
 Mansfield Castle. Its towers still form a picturesque 
 object, peeping in broken outlines from the trees by 
 which it is partly hidden, but it has long since ceased to 
 be inhabited by anything but a few rabbits, starlings, 
 and more than one time-honoured ghost. In 17 the 
 old castle, or mansion, was inhabited by a farmer, his 
 daughter Rachel, and a younger girl, Elsie, a poor rela- 
 tion of the family. The mansion was, even at this 
 time, partly a ruin, and only a few of the rooms were 
 used. One day the younger girl was suddenly missed 
 from the farm. Various and conflicting were the guesses 
 as to the cause of her disappearance. The answers to 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 69 
 
 inquiries at the farm appeared to be unsatisfactory, and 
 it was finally resolved, after consultation with the Squire, 
 who was a magistrate, that the parish constable, with 
 others as his assistants, should, with the farmer's con- 
 sent, make a search of the castle and the grounds 
 surrounding it, in order to obtain, if possible, some clue 
 to the discovery of the missing girl. 
 
 The wiseacres, who conducted the inquiry, made many 
 interesting discoveries. The dust upon a trap-door in 
 an unused room at the farm was observed to have been 
 lately disturbed, and a small spatter of dried blood was 
 discoverable on the jamb of the trap-door. The 
 searchers, after having made this discovery, descended 
 by means of a ladder, with great anticipations, into a 
 vault beneath the trap-door, and by the light of a couple 
 of candles, they traversed an underground passage, 
 where they found a quantity of potatoes, a table, chair, 
 and stool ; but nothing to the point, until, at the far end, 
 they came to the exit, apparently used very lately; for 
 amongst a wilderness of tangled brambles, nettles, rotten 
 wood, and large stones, partly heaped together by the 
 hand of man, and partly by the growth of time, lay a 
 huge heavy door recently thrown down. That some one 
 had been in or out of that place was evident, but the 
 searchers returned baffled, though they sought high and 
 low along the banks of the trout stream for any indi- 
 cations of the missing Elsie. One of the party, 
 extending his search a little more widely than the rest, 
 suddenly came upon some woman's clothes, buried very 
 slightly and hurriedly in the shrubbery near the castle. 
 The clothes were easily identified as belonging to the 
 missing girl. Disconcerted at the results of their investi- 
 
70 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 gations, the searchers turned to question the inmates 
 of the farm. The farmer, who was an irritable old man, 
 was evidently annoyed by the incident, and stoutly 
 refused to give any information, saying the girl was a 
 bad baggage, and had run away, and would turn up like 
 a bad shilling some day. Rachel was much distressed 
 at what had happened. She informed her visitors that 
 a young man had been hanging about the place for 
 many days, and that she and Elsie had remarked upon 
 the circumstances more than once ; but that she had 
 no knowledge of any intimacy between Elsie and the 
 stranger. Rachel discovered that Elsie had taken a 
 change of clothes with her, though why she should bury 
 the clothes found in the garden Rachel confessed she 
 could not tell ; probably Elsie only wished to adopt a 
 disguise, and did not wish to be encumbered in her 
 flight by having to carry a large bundle of clothes. 
 Being questioned as to the apparent fact that the trap- 
 door had been disturbed, and that there was blood 
 upon it, Rachel said that she knew nothing about that ; 
 but the old farmer, on being questioned on that point, 
 said that he had caught his finger in closing it, and he 
 thought it might have bled. He denied that he had 
 been out at the exit of the passage for many a long 
 year ; and Rachel declared that she had never seen 
 the place, but had heard stories of smugglers having 
 used it in old times. It was beyond doubt, every one 
 said, that even a strong man could scarcely have thrown 
 down the heavy door of the exit. 
 
 The searchers were completely confounded. The 
 villagers were much divided in opinion. The majority 
 of the " Blue Boar " were of one opinion ; but the 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 71 
 
 majority of the " Nag's Head " sided with the minority 
 of the " Blue Boar." 
 
 While these various and conflicting views were being 
 discussed at white heat, the Squire told a story which 
 still further divided the village into factions. The night 
 when the rumour got afloat that Elsie was missing, the 
 Squire's wife told him that she had had a great fright. 
 Whilst he was sitting smoking downstairs she suddenly 
 became aware of a figure resembling Elsie, dressed, but 
 with no head-gear, except a white shawl. The moon was 
 shining brightly. The figure had a ghastly appearance, a 
 sort of blue white, and it held up a hand as if counselling 
 silence. "Who is there?" I cried; "at least, I beHeve I 
 did. The figure did not reply, but walked to my 
 dressing table where I usually keep small change. 
 There she bent down and took up a shilling, and showed 
 it to me, without speaking, and departed noiselessly. 
 As soon as the apparition was gone I rushed to the 
 door, and called softly, " Elsie, Elsie," but there was no 
 reply ; so I went back to bed, thinking I must have 
 been dreaming, as, no doubt, I had been. This morning 
 I cannot be sure whether any money is missing or not." 
 The husband thought very little of his wife's dream. It 
 was obviously the result of hearing of Elsie's disappear- 
 ance, and talking about it before going to bed. How- 
 ever, this strange story soon got wind. The elopement 
 theory was at a discount, and murder and a ghost held 
 the field. 
 
 At the " Blue Boar " the blacksmith, William Barker, 
 argued logically. He said, " Facts are facts. What are 
 the facts? One fact is that the girl has disappeared; 
 another fact is that her clothes have been found buried ; 
 
72 
 
 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 the third fact is that a spot of blood was found on the 
 lid of the trap door ; and the fourth fact is that the door 
 at the other end of the passage is down on the ground. 
 These facts all go to show that the girl was murdered." 
 
 " They show just as well she committed suicide," said 
 John Bates, the baker. " Now what I say is, it's no use 
 looking at the facts, you must look at the chances. 
 Now the chances are that no one would murder a poor 
 girl like that. What for should they ? But as to suicide 
 you never know where you are. I knew a young girl 
 once ." 
 
 "Never mind who you knew," interrupted Will 
 Barker, "because one lass committed suicide that's no 
 reason why another should. I say facts are stubborn 
 things." 
 
 "Ah, but," said Thomas Giles, the chemist, "you 
 must have some theory, you must invent a motive, 
 and then the facts will square in. Now I don't wish to 
 say anything against any one, but old Farmer Jones must 
 have wanted to get rid of the girl, and he has said so 
 himself for the matter of that." 
 
 "Oh, aye, aye," said the baker, "get rid of her no 
 doubt, but there are more ways of killing a dog than 
 hanging of it." 
 
 " It's a singular thing to me," said the butcher, 
 Matthew Wild, " that the young Squire, as both the girls 
 set their caps at, has just left the place." 
 
 " Aye, but anyhow he couldn't have nought to do 
 with it," said the blacksmith, " for the fact is, the girls 
 were both alive and well after he had left the country, 
 because I saw them myself. And that's what I say, it's 
 no use going against the facts." 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 
 
 73 
 
 " Well, anyhow," said the baker, " they tell me that 
 the old Squire didn't like the young Squire going after 
 the girls, though they do say that his missus was fond of 
 her as is gone." 
 
 " Gone, you call it, do 'e. She's dead and all, I'll 
 warrant," said the butcher, "however she came to die, or 
 we should have heard of her before this." 
 
 " How can that be ?" said the chemist, " for you can't 
 swear a party is dead unless you see the dead body, and 
 that's Coroner's law, I can tell you." 
 
 " Well, but the Squire's lady saw her ghost they say, 
 and if there's a ghost there's a dead body somewhere 
 for all the Coroner can say to the contrary," retorted the 
 butcher. 
 
 The argument at the " Nag's Head " was conducted 
 in a somewhat different manner. It began and ended 
 with the ghost. 
 
 " They tell me," said the landlord, '' that the Squire's 
 missus saw the girl's ghost and spoke to it, and it's not 
 likely she'd say what isn't true." 
 
 "Yes, but was it a real ghost, or did she only see 
 something," asked the waggoner, " because I've seen 
 many a cow in a field of a Saturday night look like a 
 ghost." 
 
 " She spoke to it, I tell ye." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but did it speak to her?" 
 
 " I'm not that sure about it, but it's like enough 
 it did." 
 
 " Aye, but I heard tell that the ghost took up a 
 shilling and went away with it," said the gamekeeper, 
 " and no ghosts as ever I heard tell of ever stole money, 
 reason why, because it could do them no good where 
 
74 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 they be. The missus must have been a-dreaming, I 
 tell ye." 
 
 " Well, but you know she's not the only ghost as 
 walks the big house, if all I hears is true," said the 
 landlord, " and I've had people come as were visitors 
 there to take a bed at this house, as they couldn't abide 
 the ghosteses at the Hall yonder." 
 
 '' Like enough ; but I say a ghost wouldn't steal 
 money, though it might steal away." 
 
 " It's not a thing to make a joke on, neighbour, any- 
 way," said the landlord. 
 
 " Beg pardon," said the gamekeeper. " Anyhow, the 
 missus said no money was took after all as she knew of." 
 
 " Well, if it's a ghost, it's like we shall hear more of it 
 by-and-bye." 
 
 The view which finally found most favour was that 
 the young Squire had run away with Elsie. Everybody 
 declared that they had always said so it was just as 
 they had always supposed it would turn out. Nothing 
 was more natural. He had nothing to do with his time, 
 and she was a designing little minx, although you might 
 not have thought it to look at her. The old farmer 
 knew of it all along, of course, and was in a quandary 
 as to what the great folks at the Hall would say ; and 
 Rachel, of course, was very much put out, and jealous 
 of the success of Elsie's designs upon the young Squire. 
 Still, the more they talked, the more doubtful they 
 became, and they were soon all abroad again. Suicide, 
 murder, elopement, the ghost, all had their ups and 
 downs, as their betters have had before them. 
 
 Elsie was a pretty, dainty, delicate blonde beauty, 
 with the gentlest manners and the prettiest ways, but 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 
 
 75 
 
 with no power of will, and very little of mind or body. 
 She was, however, a great favourite with everybody. 
 Rachel had many reasons for being jealous of her. It 
 was generally believed that the two young women were 
 not very friendly; and it was said that Miss Rachel 
 bullied her young relation, and was jealous of her per- 
 sonal charms, and of her success in making friends. It 
 was obvious that the gentler nature cowered beneath 
 the more austere, and that the harder nature did not 
 care to conceal its disdain of the softer. There was, 
 however, nothing openly unpleasant in the relations 
 between the two, until an event occurred which set all 
 the village on the alert. It was suddenly announced 
 that the Squire's nephew was coming to live with his 
 uncle and aunt at the Hall, and was going to act as 
 agent for his uncle, and other magnates, for whom his 
 uncle had been acting hitherto. This nephew was as 
 bright and good-looking a young man as one could 
 well fipd. He had a kind of open, cheery frankness 
 of manner, with sufficient good looks to charm without 
 demanding admiration ; and he had also the further 
 advantage of a manly and athletic build, so that hardly 
 any young girl could see him without having her fancy 
 arrested, and feeling a desire to make his acquaintance. 
 As the Squire had no children, this nephew was his heir, 
 and his coming had caused no little flutter in the hearts 
 of all the marriageable yonng women in the neighbour- 
 hood. Very soon after his arrival his behaviour with 
 regard to the two young women at the farm became 
 the subject of comment. It was affirmed that he was 
 deeply in love with the fair girl, and that the dark girl 
 was passionately in love with him ; and that there was 
 
76 A GHOST STORV. 
 
 no love lost between the fair and the dark girl in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 The estrangement between the two young women 
 had for some time past been growing more evident. 
 The attachment of the nephew to the fair girl was 
 apparent. Elsie tried to avoid the young man ; but 
 they seemed destined to meet, and, as it often happened, 
 under the very eyes of Rachel. The young man fretted 
 under the ill temper of the dark girl, who yet could 
 not consent to give up her hopes of ultimate victory, 
 although she was assuredly not playing her own game 
 with advantage. More than once she had surprised 
 Elsie by some stinging remarks about "apparent modesty 
 disguising deep seated boldness," and other such things ; 
 all of which Elsie bore as well as she could, and only 
 strove to avoid arousing her rival's enmity. But the 
 demon of jealousy is unappeasable. When once it has 
 taken up its abode, nothing can sweep it out of the 
 heart. The more Elsie avoided the young Squire, the 
 more Rachel secretly accused her of hypocritically 
 endeavouring to lure him on. The gentler Elsie's 
 manner became towards Rachel, the more Rachel felt 
 that Elsie triumphantly dared to pity her. Things were 
 evidently approaching a dangerous point, and mischief 
 was at hand. 
 
 One evening, after the house-work was at an end, and 
 when Rachel and Elsie were seated, in the dusk of 
 evening, near the open window looking on to an old 
 orchard, and so beyond to the new mansion where lights 
 were just visible, though at the farm the sunset glow was 
 still strong enough to sew by, Rachael suddenly said, 
 " Elsie, I have for some time wished to speak to you 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. yy 
 
 upon a subject of importance, upon which I think I 
 ought to give you a timely warning." 
 
 "What is it?" said Elsie in a nervous manner. "You 
 do not want me here any longer, I suppose ? " 
 
 "No, it is not that," replied Rachael, "at least, not 
 exactly that. It is a subject that is rather difficult to 
 begin upon, and I hope I shall not be misunderstood. 
 It is, in fact, about Mr. Hope." 
 
 Elsie started, but immediately with true feminine 
 diplomacy sought refuge in an equivocation. " What is 
 the matter with him ? He and I are very good friends, 
 and I am sure Mrs. Hope and I are the very best 
 friends in the world." 
 
 " I am not speaking of the old man," said Rachel 
 with asperity, "as I think you can guess, but of the 
 young man." 
 
 Elsie rose from her seat, "Oh, please, don't, don't 
 talk about that. I have nothing to do with him, 
 or he with me. Oh dear, what makes you speak 
 of him?" 
 
 " Elsie, you are very foolish ; you cannot get away 
 from me by such childish talk. What makes me speak of 
 him ? Why should I not speak ? Others notice the 
 attention he pays to you. You are a shameless girl to 
 encourage him. You know his position is so far above 
 yours that marriage is impossible." 
 
 " I never thought of such a thing ! " exclaimed Elsie, 
 " indeed, indeed, I never did." 
 
 "You lie," retorted Rachael, "you have thought it 
 and planned it; I know all about the foolish signals, 
 which go on every night between you and him. They 
 are beginning now at the Hall, and you will shortly set 
 
78 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 up a candle here. I tell you again, a marriage between 
 you is impossible." 
 
 " Well, Rachel, if it is impossible, at least there is an 
 end of it. Pray, don't go on." 
 
 " But I must go on. You have come between him 
 and me. When he first came he was never tired of 
 being with me, and you know it, and you have spoken 
 to me about it, and I like a fool confided in you. But 
 you have come between me and him with your silly soft 
 ways and languishing grimaces. But I will thwart you 
 yet, so beware ! If you don't mean to marry him, what 
 do you mean? Disgrace yourself for ever? Not here, 
 I can tell you. Yes, you may leave the room, and cry 
 your eyes out, if you like, but you shall not make a fool 
 of me, or of the young Squire either." 
 
 Elsie went away to her bedroom and had a good long 
 cry; but she did not omit the signaUing with the lights, 
 which seemed to compose her; and, when she came 
 down again to say good-night, Rachel had recovered 
 her usual demeanour. Elsie did not notice that it was 
 strange that it should seem impossible for her to marry 
 the young Squire, and yet that Rachel might do so. 
 
 It was some days after this quarrel had taken place 
 that the two girls were walking about the ruin, and 
 talking more pleasantly than usual. It was impossible 
 for them to be really at ease after such a scene; but 
 each made an effort to hide from the other all suggestions 
 of disagreement or estrangement. Rachel's father had 
 gone upon a visit to a brother, and the young Squire had 
 just started for the Continent on some matter of busi- 
 ness; and so the two girls were very much alone. In 
 the course of their ramble they came upon a half-ruinous 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 79 
 
 empty room in which there was a trap-door leading, as 
 Rachel said, to a passage, frequented in past times by 
 smugglers, but which had for some years been closed 
 and locked at the furthest end, and was now only 
 used in the Castle for the storage of root vegetables 
 and fruits. A small ladder enabled any person to 
 descend and ascend for the purpose of depositing or 
 raising the vegetables. Months would often pass by 
 without this cellar being entered at all, and as a matter 
 of fact it had been almost entirely disused for above 
 a year. 
 
 "Would you like to see the underground passage, 
 Elsie?" said Rachel, "it is a very strange place. I 
 have been down several times, but never all along the 
 passage. We could not go without a light ; but of 
 course at the opening it is light enough, and you can 
 get down the ladder to the ground. There is an old 
 oak table and some stools and empty barrels. There 
 is a date cut out on the table as if with a dagger point 
 (1645), and it is supposed it was cut by some Cavaliers 
 while in hiding from Cromwell's soldiers." 
 
 "I should like to see it," said Elsie, "only I am 
 always afraid of the dark." 
 
 " Nonsense about the dark, child, it will not bite you, 
 and I will light this candle which the men always use 
 when they go down. See, the flap comes up quite 
 easily. Now, get on that ladder and hold my hand till 
 you get down a few steps." 
 
 Elsie took her hand and began to descend ; but sud- 
 denly she was seized with fear, and she cried, " Lift me 
 up, I'm frightened. What are you going to do ? Don't 
 kill me ! Oh, don't kill me mercy !" 
 
8o A GHOST STORY. 
 
 But Rachel flung her hand away and threw her 
 violently from the ladder, and immediately dragging up 
 the ladder through the aperture with almost superhuman 
 effort, hissed out, " Go down, you wretch you deceiver 
 to perdition for ever ! Go !" 
 
 As she uttered these words she let fall the flap of 
 the cellar with a loud bang, which resounded through 
 the castle. In doing this she slightly cut her own finger, 
 though she did not observe the accident at the time, 
 and a few spots of blood fell upon the cellar flap while 
 she stood listening for any sound. For some minutes 
 she could hear faint muffled cries, as of someone implor- 
 ing aid. But the sounds very soon ceased, and she had 
 time to collect her thoughts. What had she done? 
 Why had she done it ? She hardly knew. She was not 
 conscious that she had planned this strange deed. It 
 seemed to her that she had acted on a wild impulse 
 at the moment she found Elsie in her perilous position 
 on the ladder; but she was aware that, somehow, she 
 had often thought of the cave as a place where, if she 
 dared to murder Elsie, she might hide her body. Now 
 she had been suddenly tempted to a rash, foolish, and 
 malignant deed, of which she could only dread, but 
 could not guess the results. What if Elsie's cries should 
 be heard ? What if she should try, by using the table 
 and barrels, to reach up to the flap of the cellar, and to 
 raise an alarm by knocking. 
 
 This idea terrified her, for it destroyed her hopes 
 that no sound could be heard through the closed trap- 
 door. What if her victim should scream ! The noise 
 might be heard in the park, or in the rooms of the 
 farm while some one was about the place ! In the 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 8i 
 
 sudden temptation to rid herself of her enemy, she 
 had not thought of all these points. She waited 
 there in terror at what she had done for an hour or 
 more, at times thinking she had better recall Elsie, and 
 trust to her fears for silence ; but she dared not take 
 this course (what ignominy, what ridicule, what humi- 
 liation !) ; and she left the spot thinking that Elsie must 
 soon die of exhaustion and fright. Several times in that 
 night, and the day and night following, she visited the 
 trap-door ; but all was still. Her nerves became highly 
 strained. A terror of the wretched fate of the starving 
 girl haunted her every moment. She could neither sit 
 still nor lie down, and she shook at every sound ; and 
 when rumours began to arise in the village, she was not 
 in a fit state to treat them with coolness and equa- 
 nimity. She did not know whether Elsie was dead or 
 not, nor could she tell whether any search would be 
 made, although she felt that she must, if possible, divert 
 any search from the right spot. She constantly set her- 
 self to invent stories, which in any event would enable 
 her to escape from the consequences of her malice. 
 The result was that her premeditated falsehoods became 
 completely confused in her mind, and she was becoming 
 more and more unfit to deal with the emergency the 
 more she planned to meet it. 
 
 Elsie, in the meantime, had cried in vain for help, and 
 after a few minutes of despair and dread of the darkness 
 had fainted away, remaining for about an hour in an 
 insensible condition. On recovering her senses she 
 groped about in the complete darkness, and at length 
 discovered the passage ; and, feeling her way along it as 
 best she could, terrified and wondering at the length of 
 
82 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 it, and believing it must be a mile long, whereas in truth 
 it was only two hundred yards, she struggled forward with- 
 out any distinct hope, but with a blind sense that she was 
 doing the only thing she could do towards saving herself. 
 The effect of absolute pitch darkness was maddening. 
 The floor of the passage was, at its best, rough and 
 uneven, but bits of broken wood, barrels, and baskets 
 were scattered about, and poor Elsie fell from one to 
 another in her violent effort to escape. At length she 
 came to an obstacle which she concluded was the end 
 of the passage. It was still as dark as night, but the 
 darkness was not absolute. Some faint glimmer came 
 from above, and another faint spot of light showed in 
 front of her. By degrees she became aware that the 
 obstruction must be a wooden door of a massive sort. 
 She had always heard that the door was locked and 
 barred. She sank down upon the ground, and was 
 completely overcome by a terrible sense of failing 
 strength. There seemed to be no escape from this 
 horrible prison. Her mind, her hold on existence, was 
 going. Then in an agony she prayed to God to save 
 her. Suddenly rising, she rushed wildly against the 
 door with a loud scream, and threw the whole of her 
 weight and strength into the effort. The great door 
 gave way, tearing up its rotten posts, and tumbling for- 
 ward into a tangle of ferns and brambles. Elsie herself 
 fell upon the door, and for a moment or two could not 
 guess what had happened. Having extricated herself, 
 she found she was close to the little stream, and was at 
 liberty for the present. She sat down to reflect upon 
 what she ought to do next, and to recover from the 
 effects of the struggle and the darkness. She resolved 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 83 
 
 to remain there that night ; and, when morning came on, 
 she lay down to rest just within the passage, but scarcely 
 slept for fear of being discovered. She wandered 
 aimlessly about during the day. The next day she 
 began to feel very faint and hungry. She dared not go 
 to the farmhouse for fear of Rachel, whom she dreaded 
 as a bird fears a serpent. Nor did she dare to go into the 
 village, and tell her tale. What tale? The motive for 
 Rachel's act was jealousy of Elsie's favour in the eyes 
 of the young Squire. She naturally shrunk from such 
 an exposure. Nor was she able to invent any plausible 
 story. In the meanwhile, what must she do ? She had 
 only a few pence in her pocket, and had nothing wdth 
 which to support life except the water of the stream, and 
 some unripe blackberries, and nuts. If she had some 
 disguise, she might in the dusk creep quietly to a baker's 
 shop, and buy some bread, butter, and perhaps milk. She 
 determined to watch Rachel leaving the farm, and then, 
 unnoticed by any one, to get a change of clothes to help 
 to disguise herself, and also for her own comfort. This 
 she did; and then she lightly buried her clothes in the 
 shrubbery, so that, if anybody found the opening to the 
 cave while she was absent, they should not guess of 
 her having been there by finding her clothes. Then she 
 went by dusk into the village, and going into the shop, 
 when only a child was in attendance, she procured some 
 food, and hied back to her cave. It was clear to her 
 that she must adopt some plan or other, but what it was 
 to be she could not guess. She thought that next day 
 she must go and borrow some money from her kind 
 friend, Mrs. Hope, and trust to her for advice, but oh, 
 how she dreaded seeing anybody or saying anything ! 
 
84 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 The young Squire was away ; but even if she could see 
 him what could she say to him? She would have fled 
 away altogether, but she had no one to flee to. And 
 yet it was clear that something must be done. 
 
 It has been frequently observed that timid and shy 
 persons make very good actors. The moment they take 
 a part, and especially when they have put on their dis- 
 guise, they become bold and excited. Elsie was a 
 person of this sort, and was also gifted with a large 
 share of imagination, which had been stimulated by 
 reading romantic stories. She had often assisted at 
 the Hall in the household work, and she knew the 
 habits of the inmates. She knew when Mrs. Hope 
 would retire, and where she would place her money at 
 night. Before Mr. Hope left his papers and his cigar, 
 and went upstairs to bed, she managed to hide herself 
 from the servants ; and, having arrayed herself in a long 
 white shawl, she pretended to be a ghost, and so went 
 into Mrs. Hope's room in the manner subsequently de- 
 scribed by Mrs. Hope to her husband. She possessed 
 herself of a shilling, and sHd noiselessly away without 
 disturbing Mr. Hope, who some two hours afterwards 
 locked the doors as usual before retiring to bed. 
 Elsie had now provided for another day; but her 
 anxiety and distress was making sad havoc of her nerves 
 and strength, and it became a pressing emergency 
 that she should disclose herself. As the day wore 
 on to evening, she felt that another night of suspense 
 would be more than she could bear, and shuddering 
 thoughts of making a desperate end of her troubles 
 came and went like cloud-shadows over her frame. 
 As the last light of evening was fading away, Elsie 
 
MANSFIELD CASTLE. 85 
 
 suddenly appeared at the Hall, and, throwing her- 
 self upon her knees, told the whole true story to Mrs. 
 Hope, who was in some degree relieved to find that 
 matters were no worse. The idea that her nephew was 
 probably in love with Elsie had not been present to 
 her mind. She had feared that his affections turned 
 towards Rachel, whom she disliked. Neither of the 
 girls was a suitable match for her nephew; but Elsie's 
 gentle and refined ways had won her heart. When 
 the young Squire, as he was called, returned from 
 the Continent, he and Elsie became engaged; and in 
 a short time were married, and I suppose were happy 
 ever after. 
 
 Elsie, as we know, never was a ghost, but only pre- 
 tended to be one. Rachel, however, became a real 
 ghost. Her mind completely gave way. She refused 
 to see Elsie, who was ready to pardon her. On the day 
 she heard of Elsie's engagement she attempted to destroy 
 herself; and was then removed to an asylum, where she 
 died. Although she had not committed a murder, yet 
 she had been a murderess in heart ; and therefore it is 
 not to be wondered at that her ghost should visit the 
 grey old ruin where its malignant passions had been 
 allowed to gain complete victory. As ghosts are said to 
 
 " Haunt the places where their honour died;" 
 
 SO she is said to haunt the old ruined castle to this day, 
 or, perhaps I should say, to this night ; for if you will 
 go there after dark, though I don't think you dare, you 
 will hear the flap of the dungeon open with a creaking 
 sound, and then fall again with a loud report, the sounds 
 being so gruesome and horrible that no one has ever 
 
86 A GHOST STORY. 
 
 ventured to try to hear them a second time ; and some 
 persons say that other persons have seen the ghost itself, 
 and I dare say they have ; and I dare say it is very like 
 the . Great Sea Serpent, for to be sure nobody has ever 
 caught it. 
 
BEHIND A HOARDING. 
 
 " It's all right I tells yer. There's nobody a-coming. 
 Blest if I'll go along with you coves any more blind 
 me ! Only one box of seegarettes ! Why didn't yer get 
 some seegars while the old man had got his eye off." 
 
 " Eye off be blow'd. He's eyes in the back of his 
 'ead, he 'as." 
 
 " Well, it's no good jawing, let's 'ave a seegarelte, now 
 we are at 'ome !" 
 
 " Give us a glim ! I sye, Swagger, where was yer last 
 week?" 
 
 " Git along, Box, that's not the gyme. Don't axe a 
 ginnelman orkid questions. If yer must know, Box, I 
 'ad a pressin' invityshon from the Guv'nor of the Jyle." ' 
 
 "What for, Swagger?" 
 
 " Well, I'll tell yer ; I copt five pund out o' a till in 
 a tuck shop. S'elp me, I nivver know'd such a start ! 
 Got clean awye an' all. I 'eld up my 'ead, I can tell 
 yer a bit proud I was. None of yer sneaking pitch- 
 and-toss boys for me. So I made up to Bill Bytes, 
 who's two year older nor me. Sixteen he is, and stands 
 at nuffin, and sports a pistol. Besides his brother is six 
 foot 'igh, and got discharged, he did, for hignomy from 
 
 87 
 
88 BEHIND A HOARDING. 
 
 the Ryle Hengineers. They sye he'd been a-fluctuating 
 cheques. Bytes gives himself airs about his big brother ; 
 but, lor' bless yer, he was quite proud to know me when 
 he know'd what I'd hauled. Now, what d' yer think we 
 doze with our quid, me and my conferrates. Why, we 
 buys arf a dozen of tuppenny seegars at a shop, and 
 a bucket each from a gal as we knew wouldn't blab, 
 and we 'ails the fust 'Ansom, and we syse, quite genteel 
 like, but very firm, ' Drive us to Piccadilly Succus.' 
 * Yes'ur,' syse cabby, and in we goes ; and didn't we larf 
 jest when we settled down inside." 
 
 " My eye, Swagger ! I wish I'd bin along wi' yer." 
 " Yer mye well sye that. It was prime and all. We 
 bashed right through every think ; and when we passed 
 any real tip-top swells in 'Ansoms, we showed we knew 
 'ow the haristocracy behyve, for we stared right through 
 their 'eads just as if we meant to cut 'em stryte." 
 
 " Well, Swagger, what did you come at next, when 
 you got to the Succus ?" 
 
 " Why, when we got to the Succus we got out of 
 course, and then, of course we guv cabby a shillin' 
 mor'n his fare; and then of course we takes another 
 'Ansom, and we drives to St. Paul's. Ripping, I can tell 
 yer ; and we shouts through the 'ole at the top, ' Drive a 
 bit spry, cabby, and we'll give yer a hextra bob.' Express 
 trains ain't in it. Well, at St. Paul's, Bytes syde he'd 'ad 
 enough, and he borrer'd two pound of me, and I nivver 
 so much as syde, ' Pye me back fyre,' for it's not the 
 ticket among gentlefolk." 
 
 "Why, Swagger, yer'U nivver see the colour of that agin." 
 "You shut your 'ead. Box, there's honour among 
 thieves, I tells yer." 
 
BEHIND A HOARDING. 89 
 
 " You bet." 
 
 " Well, I drives all the wye from St. Paul's to the 
 'Ouses of Parliament ; but some'ow I didn't seem to care 
 for it so much after Bytes was gone. But, there, I saw 
 the mimbers a-walking into the 'Ouse ; and, thinks I, 
 some of they bosses 'd be mighty glad of the two sciv 
 I've got in my pocket ; when, just as I was a-thinking of 
 this hup comes a bobby, and cops me as clean as nine- 
 pence. I know'd him at wonst, for I'd marked his 
 shins a month ago. so as I might know him agin. And 
 he know'd me, sure enough. ' I want you, Swagger,' 
 syse he, ' about that till.' ' Right you are,' syse I, and 
 awye we goes to the styshion; and next morning to 
 the Court. And what do you think the old Beak 
 syse. Why, he syse, syse he, ' Spent it all in 'Ansom 
 cabs,' syse he, 'Who'd a thought it?' syse he. * Yes, 
 my washup,' syse the bobby. ' Well,' syse the Beak, 
 ' I don't see what pleasure there can be in driving 
 about all day long in a cab!" A lying old bloke! 
 He's no class, he ain't ; for I see him myself many a 
 time come up to his Court in a 'Ansom, looking as 
 proud as a turnkye. Well, he remands me for a week; 
 and then he syse he thinks I've summat the matter 
 with my 'ead. I'd like to knock his old 'ead off, blast 
 him And then he discharges me." 
 
 "That beats all I ever eared on, like his cheek! But 
 you 'ad a good 'aul you 'ad. I only collared three bob 
 from my stepmother, and I spent it hall on hice creams." 
 
 " I call that mean, Box, you should alius shire with 
 summon. Sides, you couldn't ite three bobs' worth at 
 one go off." 
 
 " Not I, I tells yer. I shired it with two pals, but 
 
90 BEHIND A HOARDING. 
 
 whiles we was a-eating, up comes my boss, who works 
 me on the sly, cos of the blasted Schule Board. Step- 
 mother put 'im on to me, and then the police gets 'old 
 on me and discolates my shoulder, worse luck. Then 
 she tells the Beak as I be beyond control ; so now the 
 old boss can't get me at no price, and I'm ordered to go 
 to schule again ; what do yer think of that for a gime?" 
 
 " I calls that mean, I does." 
 
 "So does I." 
 
 " Well, of course I bean't going to schule none the 
 more for that ; but I means to run a-muck like a Chinee, 
 for it ain't reason to go back again after been free like. 
 But what mikes you look so sheepy, Jack? Summut 
 wrong with yer, eh ?" 
 
 " Well, yer see, I've just done my job two months' 
 'ard, and I'm a bit nervous like about being took agin. 
 Tell yer how it com'd about. I and a conferrate o' mine 
 was a-gitting in at the winder of a ware'us as we'd an eye 
 on some time, when two coppers comes along, and we 
 scrambles back. I was off like a shot, never fear, but 
 Joe Clinker tripped on the curb and was copt, and 
 some'ow he let out on me, and I was took. But that's 
 not 'ow I got the two months, fer they couldn't sye it 
 was me, only by what Joe Clinker said ; and, bless yer, 
 that ain't no evidence in law. But they syde they could 
 prove an assault on the pleece ; and right enough. And 
 ni tell yer how it was and all. When I run awye from the 
 ware'us job, I went a courtin' my young woman. She is 
 a gime lass, I can tell yer; none of your fallal finikin 
 gals as won't stick up for a pal. She's only sixteen. 
 Been to a 'Ome and all, but she soon ran awye from 
 that. Didn't suit her, that didn't. 'Tain't likely. Well, 
 
BEHIND A HOARDING. 91 
 
 we was a-walking along as snug as mye be, and I was 
 a-telling her as I be a-telling you now, 'ow I ran away 
 from the coppers, when she falls to dancing on the pive- 
 ment and shouting, like for jye, and then she ups with 
 her 'and, and knocks an old gent's 'at off, and he taliates, 
 and I 'ad a bit of a argimint with him, and up comes 
 the crowd ; and then, all of a sudden, a pleeceman flies 
 down like a tiger and gets 'old of me. ' You're the cove 
 we've been a-looking for,' syse he. ' Oh, am 1/ syse I,. 
 and I dives right atween his legs, and then I ups agin 
 and hits out wild. ' You shan't tyke him,' shouts out 
 my lass, and seizes 'old of me by the arm, worse luck, 
 but she did her best, and the crowd cried, ' Shyme^ 
 shyme.' At last they cops me fair, but not till I'd 
 marked two of the bobbies, I can tell yer. And I tell 
 yer she comes to the Court, and when the Beak syse, * Two 
 calendar months, 'ard,' she mykes no more, but she jumps 
 up and hugs me by the neck and shouts, ' Keep up. Jack. 
 I'll marry yer the fust day yer comes out.' Now I call 
 that the right sort of gal, and she's a-going to meet me 
 to-night. And what's the odds we shouldn't get married 
 and all. If I goes to gyle, or she goes to gyle, can't be 
 'elped ; but she syse, and I dunno but what she's right, 
 we might do summut in the coster line, and she be 
 selling flowers in the street handy to my barrer. I've an 
 uncle as is a coster, and p'raps it might come right." 
 
 " That 'ud be a- turning of your back on your old 
 friends, Jack, and I don't like that." 
 
 " Never fear, every man to his trade. Give us another 
 seegarette." 
 
 (Little boy puts his head round the hoarding, " Cop- 
 pers are coming." Exeunt omnes.) 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 THE QUEEN.i 
 
 {^The last month of the Jubilee Year.) 
 
 Great Empress for that name thou deign'st to wear- 
 Queen of unnumber'd hearts and half the world ! 
 Where'er thy royal standard is unfurl'd 
 The tyrant quails, the slave forgets his fear. 
 The simple love thee, and the wise revere. 
 Within thy realm are none so poor-forlorn 
 But thou wilt share their sorrow without scorn 
 Thou, in thy lofty station, without peer ! 
 Time cannot stop, alas, the ebbing tide ! 
 God keep thee here awhile ; then make thy fame 
 A beacon unbedimm'd, till men be fir'd 
 To nobler aims, and to a faith more wide. 
 Age after age shall live thy glorious name, 
 While Honour lasts, and Virtue is admir'd. 
 
 1 By the kind permission of the Editor of The Speaker. 
 
 92 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 93 
 
 THE RAINBOW. GRASMERE. 
 
 A show'ry morning not a day we thought 
 
 For long excursion But the afternoon, 
 
 Though stormy, seemed to tempt us out of doors 
 
 To try our luck, encountering foul or fair. 
 
 And so our party, starting, took the path 
 
 To Easedale Tarn. Before we reached the fall 
 
 Of Sour Milk Gill a storm of wind and rain 
 
 Rush'd from the mountains, forcing us to crouch 
 
 Beneath a corner of a wood ; and there 
 
 We sheltered somewhat from the sweeping show'r. 
 
 But I, impatient, saw, or thought I saw. 
 
 The coming sunshine light the topmost peaks ; 
 
 So started in advance of all our troop 
 
 Along the steep and slippery path, my head 
 
 Bent down, picking my way through pools and stones, 
 
 x\nd little torrents running across the path. 
 
 Then on a sudden, I was bathed in light ; 
 
 And, looking up, beheld the whirling clouds 
 
 Ablaze ; and turning round I saw the huge 
 
 Seat Sandal in a glory as of Heaven. 
 
 That moment I beheld two travellers 
 Some yards below me toiling up the steep. 
 " Look there ! Look there ! " I shouted, and they turned, 
 And stood entranced as I did. 
 
 Broad belts of violet, orange, blue, and red 
 Trembled across Seat Sandal's heaving breast, 
 Which glowed in golden green beyond the bow. 
 Above were storm and darkness ; and beneath 
 The vallev and the lake were drenched in rain. 
 
^4 A IBARRA GO OF VERSES. 
 
 Helm Crag frowned still in shadow, and the Gill 
 Roared with its torrent waters. More and more, 
 The dazzling splendour of the blending hues, 
 Pulsing with light ineffable, seemed to swell 
 From earth and man up to the heavens and God. 
 
 Awhile we gazed till all the pageant passed, 
 And then, in silence, recommenced our toil, 
 Strangers once more. Yet I must think, perchance, 
 Some bond still held us ; and would fain believe, 
 That there are times when we are wrought upon 
 To dream a dream of heaven, and to have 
 A foretaste of the wonder and the joy 
 To be revealed hereafter ; and which, seen. 
 Will to our souls recall these glimpses here. 
 
 YESTERDAY A SONG. 
 
 Little bird singing, what do you say 
 
 Little bird up in the bough ? 
 Sing me the song that you sang yesterday. 
 
 What are you singing now ? 
 
 " Never quite sad ; and never quite gay ; 
 My notes are none of them new. 
 The song is the same that I sang yesterday ;- 
 Seems it not so io you ? " 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 95 
 
 THE LAY OF THE OLD ALDERMAN.^ 
 
 Unification is vexation, 
 
 The L.C.C.'s as bad ; 
 The New Citee doth puzzle me, 
 
 And new Mavors drive me mad. 
 
 THE LAY OF THE BIMETALLIST. 
 
 Who is Silver ? What is she, 
 
 That all our swells commend her? 
 Very bright and fair is she, 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her, 
 That adopted she might be ! 
 That adopted she might be ! 
 
 Is she constant as she's fair, 
 
 Or is she light and heady ? 
 Gold might to her arms repair 
 To help to keep him steady ; 
 
 And being helped, inhabit there 
 And being helped, inhabit there. 
 
 Then if Silver plays mad tricks, 
 Or Gold is always changing, 
 So that none their price can fix, 
 From par to premium ranging, 
 Let us both together mix ! 
 Let us both together mix ! 
 
 ^ The six following pieces are printed by the very kind permission 
 of the Editor of Punch. 
 
96 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 THE SPEAKER'S DINNER. 
 
 '* Several Radical Members of Parliament petitioned Mr. Speaker 
 to allow them to attend his Levee in ordinary evening dress." 
 
 Mr. Speaker {sings) 
 
 Oh, ye must walk in silk attire, 
 
 And swords and buckles wear, 
 Gin ye wad come and dine wi' me, 
 
 Or tend my Levees mair. 
 
 The Members {sing) 
 
 Oh, what's to us your silken show, 
 
 And swords and buckles smart ? 
 And if ye still insist upon't, 
 
 Then you and we must part ! 
 
 Mr. Speaker {sings) 
 
 Then ye shall come in what attire 
 
 It suits ye best to wear, 
 Gin ye'll consent to dine wi' me, 
 
 Nor plague your Speaker mair. 
 
 TO A SCORCHER. 
 
 (after WILLIAM WATSON.) 
 
 I DO not, in the crowded street 
 
 Of cab and 'bus and mire. 
 Nor in the country lane so sweet, 
 
 Hope to escape thy tyre. 
 
 One boon, O Scorcher, I implore, 
 
 With one petition kneel. 
 At least abuse me not before 
 
 Thou break me on thy wheel. 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 97 
 
 THE CAB STRIKE, 1896. 
 
 Strike ! Strike ! Strike ! 
 
 For I'm forced to " come out " yer see ; 
 But I would that my tongue might utter 
 
 The oaths that arise in me ! 
 
 Oh, well for the omnibus cad. 
 
 That he shouts " Bank ! Bank ! " all day ! 
 Oh, well for the tramcar lad. 
 
 As he climbs to the roof for pay ! 
 
 And the privileged cabs go on 
 
 To their Euston or Ludgate Hill, 
 
 But, Oh for the crack of my unused whip, 
 And the sound of my wheels that are still ! 
 
 Strike ! Strike ! Strike ! 
 
 But I'll tell yer what strikes me, 
 There isn't nothing to strike about. 
 
 And the game is all U-P. 
 
 AFTER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 When lovely woman strives to " volley," 
 But finds that men her strokes despise, 
 
 What art can soothe her melancholy. 
 And reinstate her in their eyes ! 
 
 The only art her loss to cover, 
 To charm and to subdue alike, 
 
 To bring back her repentant lover. 
 And fire his bosom is to '* bike." 
 
 G 
 
98 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 A LOST BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. 
 
 HOj the hartfulness of villings 
 Such as never you did see ; 
 
 Warning take of honest pleecemen, 
 Listen, ladies unto me ! 
 
 Hupper Street is not hinviting 
 To the West-end dandy's sight. 
 
 But there is a deal of natur, 
 If you only take it right. 
 
 Mrs. Carey 'ad a 'usband 
 Living hout in Hafricay, 
 
 How they came to be sep'rated, 
 Hit is not for me to say ! 
 
 So to cheer her lonely feelings, 
 
 Which to squench she wasn't proof, 
 
 Two young nieces she'd hadmitted 
 Underneath her Christian roof. 
 
 Thus in Hupper Street she lived and 
 Waited for her husband dear ; 
 
 When a stranger called upon her, 
 Saying that he wished to see 'er. 
 
 Which he was a hearty fellah, 
 
 Very free in his address. 
 Hall without looked very pleasant, 
 
 Hall within was wickedness. 
 
 " I'm your 'usband's brother, missus ; 
 He is very far from well. 
 He from Hafricay has sent me 
 'Ome to you the truth to tell." 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 Then she ast him wery kindly 
 
 Hin to take a cup of tea, 
 Hand she introjuiced the nieces, 
 
 Simple, hinnocent and free. 
 
 So he laughed and chatted with 'em, 
 Showed his breast and bared his arm, 
 
 Tatter'd with most strange devices 
 And with many a kewrious charm. 
 
 Many snakes was there depictured, 
 Ankers, ships, and ropes was draw'd ; 
 
 Hand a bally gal in muslin 
 Flinging of her legs abroad. 
 
 How them nieces stared and giggled ! 
 
 Though they didn't like to touch ; 
 But they ast him, wery feeling. 
 
 Whether it had hurt him much. 
 
 Hand he told them what prodigous 
 Bears and lions he had slain ; 
 
 And although they nearly fainted. 
 Yet they ast for it again. 
 
 Then he kissed his new found sister, 
 Likewise kissed his nieces dear. 
 
 More than twice the heartless ruffian 
 (How I wish I had him here !) 
 
 '' Now I'm one of this good fam'ly. 
 And we're 'appy as I think. 
 Let us celebrate this hunion. 
 Come and let us 'ave a drink.' 
 
 So they sallied forth together 
 Little dreaming any wrong ; 
 
 99 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 When outside a pub he 'alted 
 
 " Now," he cried, " we shan't be long.'^ 
 
 Then he snatched pore Mrs. Carey's 
 Watch, and chain, and purse, and all. 
 
 And was gone before the nieces 
 Could begin " perleece " to call. 
 
 Then the)' hurried to the station, 
 And described the wicked thief, 
 
 Specially the bally dancer. 
 
 Likewise snakes in tones of grief. 
 
 Hand this rascal, when I copt him, 
 Swore he never was the man ; 
 
 Hand before the beak he boldly 
 Follow'd up the self-same plan. 
 
 For the lydies were not certing 
 Tender, timid things they be ! 
 
 Though they'd talked to him for howers, 
 And had kissed him after tea. 
 
 But the beak was down upon him 
 
 In a way he Httle guest 
 ' Gaoler," said the Beak majestic, 
 
 " Bare the pris'ner's arm and breast ! '^ 
 
 Then this most etrocious liar 
 'Ung his 'ead and dropped his jore, 
 
 When the snakes and bally dancer 
 Plainly all the gazers sore. 
 
 Three month's hard the Beak awarded 
 Which I think uncommon small, 
 
 Seeing as poor Mrs. Carey 
 
 Lost her watch, and purse, and all. 
 
A FARRAGO OF l^'FJ^SkS. ' 
 
 Has for them two Ibvely nlfeces, 
 Blooming gals as e'er I see, 
 
 Unto either one propishous 
 X would ever faithful be. 
 
 CURLINA. 
 
 CuRLiNA ! 'tis a mystic word 
 
 A weird and wild creation ; 
 Nor can it clearly be inferr'd 
 
 What is its derivation. 
 But this I know, in weal or woe, 
 
 It's name for ever will be 
 Engraven on my grateful soul 
 
 Curlina ! sold by Filby. 
 
 My fringe, whilom so dull and flat, 
 
 Though twisted in curl papers. 
 Now crisps and foams beneath my hat, 
 
 And cuts a thousand capers. 
 In gloss and hue it doth outdo 
 
 The best Medoc of Gilbey ; 
 Nor age, nor race, nor time nor space. 
 
 Shall sever me and Filby. 
 
 On foreign strand, in distant land. 
 
 My constant friend shall still be 
 A bottle of the sacred brand 
 
 Curlina ! sold by Filby. 
 I now can boast I am almost 
 
 As beautiful as " Trilby." 
 To find out why, come buy ! come buy ! 
 
 Curlina, sold by Filby. 
 
I02 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI. 
 
 I REMEMBER the time the time long ago, 
 
 There were many things different then ! 
 Young people may laugh, and believe that they know 
 
 Far better than elderly men ; 
 But if they will listen (I hope that they can) ; 
 
 At any rate p'raps they may try 
 To pardon the talk of a very old man, 
 
 Of the days that are long gone by. 
 
 I remember the time when the younkers said *' Sir " 
 
 To the parent who ruled with the rod ; 
 Now " Guv'nor," or '' Daddy," or " Boss," they prefer. 
 
 And " Father " is thought rather odd. 
 At cricket or football they're perfect I wean, 
 
 At betting or billiards, are spry ; 
 But the awkward young boobies of bashful sixteen 
 
 Are things that are long gone by. 
 
 I remember the time when the girls stayed at home, 
 
 And sewing and cooking would learn, 
 Nor dared without vigilant chap'rons to roam. 
 
 And never spoke out of their turn. 
 Now they scramble for partners at ball or at rout, 
 
 Learn Latin and Greek at the " High," 
 Ride " bikes," play at hockey, talk slangy, and shout, 
 
 There are things that are long gone by. 
 
 The village lass " bobbed " to the " gentleman born," 
 
 And the villager pulled at his locks ; 
 The scythe or the sickle were used to cut corn, 
 
 And labourers gloried in smocks ; 
 
^ FARRAGO OF VERSES. 103 
 
 The farmer paid rent, had a love of fair sport, 
 
 Was out on his farm wet or dry ; 
 And the squire, happy man, drank three bottles of port, 
 
 In the days that have long gone by. 
 
 I remember the time when no gentleman thought 
 
 Of smoking a pipe in the street. 
 Or would modestly drop the cigar he'd just bought. 
 
 If he chanced a fair damsel to meet ; 
 But now he will puff in his lady-love's face, 
 
 Or invite her to smoke on the sly, 
 The manners which flourished with patches and lace 
 
 Are things which are long gone by. 
 
 I remember when sportsmen, and cricketers too, 
 
 Wore hats which of beaver were made ; 
 When straightforward underhand bowling would do. 
 
 And " fifty " was reckoned " well played "; 
 When you really could see both the wickets and " bats," 
 
 On the grass at your ease you could lie, 
 Nor struggle for glimpses mid jungles of hats, 
 
 In the years that are long gone by. 
 
 I remember the time when a duck and green peas 
 
 Was a dinner for gods or for men ; 
 When a roast leg of mutton, with pudding and cheese 
 
 Sufficed for two people, or ten ; 
 Now, Soup a la Orly, Fish, Entree, and Roast, 
 
 Game, Omelette, and Perigord Pie, 
 With the dryest champagne must be served by your 
 host, 
 
 There are things that are long gone by. 
 
I04 
 
 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 I remember the time we had dinner at five, 
 
 And thought it remarkably late ; 
 But now the most indigent pauper alive 
 
 Can't dine until half-past eight ; 
 When people who had their own living to get, 
 
 In bed half the day didn't lie, 
 Nor expected a fortune through some lucky bet, 
 
 In the days that are long gone by. 
 
 I remember the time when you took up a book. 
 
 Or went enfamille to the " Play," 
 Well, sometimes you didn't know which way to look 
 
 For the language was coarse in its way ! 
 But now you can read or can look without fear. 
 
 For Vice is disguised in a lie, 
 And has stolen the garments which Virtue should wear, 
 
 There are things that are long gone by. 
 
 I remember when parsons would preach for an hour ; 
 
 When workmen would work their full time ; 
 When milk wasn't blue, and when beer wasn't sour, 
 
 And oysters, though vulgar, were prime ; 
 When woodcock, though rare, was quite possible fare, 
 
 And often I say with a sigh, 
 The old-fashioned ways of the old-fashioned days 
 
 Are things that are long gone by. 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 105 
 
 "ON SUCH A NIGHT." 
 
 A warm air wafts the scent of flow'rs, but not a leaf is 
 
 stirred ; 
 The brook is sliding slowly on, but not a sound is 
 
 heard ; 
 Deep slumbrous gloom obscures the dell ; but look, look 
 
 up on high ! 
 A thousand stars of heaven, love, are shining in the 
 
 sky. 
 
 I cannot see the crimson rose, I scarce can see the white ; 
 The honey-suckle must be near, though hidden from the 
 
 sight ; 
 The Mary-lilies gleam like ghosts ; the bats go flitting 
 
 by, 
 
 And all the stars of heaven, love, are shining in the sky. 
 
 I cannot see thy face, belov'd, the roses that are there, 
 The lilies of thy brow and neck, the lustre of thy hair. 
 It is enough to hold thy hand, enough that thou art 
 
 nigh, 
 While all the stars of heaven, love, are shining in the 
 
 sky. 
 
Io6 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 THANKSGIVING AFTER VICTORY.^ 
 
 Thee we praise, O King of Heaven, 
 
 Thee we worship and adore ; 
 Unto Thee be glory given, 
 
 Might, dominion evermore. 
 We, Thy humble creatures, bending 
 
 Low before Thine awful throne. 
 Sing, in praises never ending. 
 
 Thee, our God, and Thee alone. 
 
 Thanks we give, and adoration, 
 
 For Thy favour in the past. 
 Guard our Church, and keep our Nation ; 
 
 In Thy strong hand hold us fast. 
 In the path our feet are treading, 
 
 Teach us how to walk upright ; 
 Justice, truth, and virtue spreading, 
 
 Marching ever in Thy sight. 
 
 Bells, ring out from tower and steeple ! 
 
 Beacons flame along our coasts ! 
 Happy, happy are the people, 
 
 Trusting in the Lord of Hosts. 
 In Thine own good time and pleasure 
 
 Bid all strife and war to cease ; 
 Give Thy blessing without measure, 
 
 Everlasting joy and peace. 
 
 1 Written to the Austrian National Air. 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 107- 
 
 THE LOST POEM. 
 
 I INTENDED to Write you a poem : 
 
 I've got a vile cold in my head ; 
 And that horrible doctor well blow him, 
 
 Insists on my lying in bed. 
 
 Broiled sqle, and some thin bread and butter, 
 
 With whisky as prime as can be ; 
 And I felt I was bursting to utter 
 
 The thoughts that were rising in me ; 
 
 For the sole seemed to smell of the Ocean 
 Of Dover, Great Grimsby, Torquay, 
 
 And the whisky induced an emotion 
 Like the breeze of the Hielands to me ! 
 
 That poem is lost to the nation ! 
 It has vanished quite out of my head ! 
 
 I cannot recall the sensation. 
 
 For the ' sole ' and the 'spirit' are fled. 
 
 THEY AND WE. 
 
 (after WILLIAM WATSON.) 
 
 With stormy joy the elephant 
 Will bolt a thousand buns ; 
 
 The cassowary grim and gaunt 
 Will swallow stones by tons ; 
 
 Man only, after dining out, 
 By intermittent throes, 
 
 Either in fingers finds the gout 
 Or finds it in his toes. 
 
io8 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 OLD NURSERY RHYMES. 
 
 ADAPTED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOL BOARDS IN THE 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 III.l 
 
 (Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief.) 
 
 Heredity, that baleful curse no mortal can resist, 
 Hath marked through many ages past the Children of the 
 
 Mist; 
 Their sires were cattle-lifters from the earliest times, I 
 
 trow, 
 That's why their offspring can't refrain from depredation 
 
 now. 
 
 He came to visit at my house, and, much I grieve to say, 
 
 He took a portion of an ox feloniously away ; 
 
 His ancestors had driven off whole herds before, no 
 
 doubt ; 
 Let's hope the kleptomania was slowly dying out. 
 
 I went to ask him what he meant, but found him out of 
 
 town; 
 Returning to my humble roof, he'd been and done me 
 
 brown ; 
 He'd robbed me of the daintiest bit of all the blooming lot. 
 So dear to most, when spread on toast, and eaten piping 
 
 hot. 
 
 1 Numbers i and 2 will be found in Interludes (Second Series). 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 109 
 
 With rage, I ran to find him out, and lo, I found him in, 
 All fast asleep and snoring loud in unrepented sin. 
 The booty he had vilely gained was lying by his bed ; 
 I took it up, and banged it down on his devoted head. 
 
 Moral. 
 
 My little dears, this man was harsh unto this errring boy. 
 'Twas not his fault he stole the beef *twas ancestral 
 
 alloy ] 
 And though he'd twice committed theft, yet still, in point 
 
 of fact, 
 The marrow bone came well within the "First Offenders* 
 
 Act." 
 Thus you may rob and rob again, and though they've 
 
 copped you clean. 
 You'll only be "bound over," dears whatever that may 
 
 mean. 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 THE LOST LEADER.1 
 
 Early one morning, just as the Court were sitting, 
 I heard a Junior whimpering, all in the second row : 
 
 " Oh, don't deceive me ; please don't go and leave me. 
 How could you go and treat a poor Junior so? 
 
 " Remember the vows that you made in consultation. 
 Remember your retainer, which was special, as you 
 know; 
 
 Oh, don't deceive me ; please don't go and leave me, 
 How could you go and treat a poor Junior so ? 
 
 ^' Oh, bad are the pleadings, and many are the pitfalls, 
 And shakey are the proofs, and the witnesses may go ; 
 
 Oh, don't deceive me ; please don't go and leave me, 
 How could you go and treat a poor Junior so ? 
 
 ^' Suppose that the Judge should turn a little testy, 
 
 Suppose an adverse verdict what consequence may 
 flow ! 
 
 Oh, don't deceive me ; never go and leave me, 
 How could you go and treat a poor Junior so ? " 
 
 Thus sang a poor Junior, his sorrows a-bewailing, 
 Thus sang a poor Junior, all in the second row : 
 
 ^' Oh, don't deceive me ; oh, never leave me, 
 Who'd ever be a Junior to be forsaken so ? " 
 
 ^ By the very kind permission of the Editor of Punch. 
 
A FARINA GO OF VERSES. m 
 
 LINES BY AN ENAMOURED UNDER- 
 GRADUATE. 
 
 (after WILLIAM WATSON.) 
 
 Oh, like a queen's her cycle-tread, 
 And oh, the learning in her head ; 
 But oh, at last, when all is said. 
 
 Her woman's hat for me ! 
 
 By college gates she dashed and veered. 
 Mid " dons " that mused, and " men " that sneered,- 
 A mad thing on her "bike," she steered 
 So dexterous and free ! 
 
 But, oh, when she began to speak, 
 Her talk was Latin, mixed with Greek. 
 The " men " forgot their former cheek, 
 The "dons" their reverie. 
 
 And oh, her dainty cycle-tread. 
 And oh, the learning in her head ; 
 But, oh, her hat when all is said 
 Her hat's the thing for me 
 
112 A FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 BARRISTER'S SONG. 
 
 (after SCOTT.) 
 
 While the fog over London is misty and grey, 
 
 My true love has put on his boots and away ; 
 
 By the L.C. & D., over dale and o'er down, 
 
 Heaven shield the brave counsel who's gone up to town ! 
 
 He shall don the stuff gown, which all "Juniors" wear; 
 He shall place the curled wig on his somewhat thin hair; 
 In his bag all of red his fat briefs shall lie down ; 
 Heaven shield the brave counsel who's gone up to town ! 
 
 For the rights of his client he carries that bag ; 
 He follows his " leader," and shares in the swag ; 
 His fee is one guinea, his clerk's half-a-crown ; 
 Heaven help the bold hero who's gone up to town ! 
 
 They may boast of their Websters, their Russells, and all 
 The tag-rag of Law Courts or Westminster Hall ; 
 But tell those bold counsel, employed by the Crown, 
 That the great Smith of Beckenham has gone up to town ! 
 
 Now joy to the crest of the bold barristeer, 
 Be his pleading resistless, his speech without fear. 
 Till home to old Beckenham once more he comes down. 
 And we'll welcome the conqu'ror who's come back from 
 town ! 
 
A FARINA GO OF VERSES, 
 
 113 
 
 LEEDS SUMMER ASSIZE, 1872.1 
 
 " Eef ye cood oblige me, Mr. Field, 
 
 Ye'll address yourself to nie, 
 And not to Mr. S^^ymour at all, 
 
 For its clear ye can't agree. 
 If I understood the question right. 
 
 He asked the witness's naame, 
 And / think he may and the Court above 
 
 Will say if I'm to blaame. 
 
 ^ The above picture will easily be recognized as a Caricature of a 
 very great judge of former times drawn by a most skilful draughts- 
 man, the late Sir Frank Lockwood. The drawing was made to 
 illustrate the lines which are also a Caricature. 
 
 H 
 
114 ^ FARRAGO OF VERSES. 
 
 " Weel ye attend to the question poot, 
 
 And eef y^ cood speak loud, 
 And let there be a leetle less noise, 
 
 And please not to walk in the crowd. 
 Noo^ Mr. Waddy, if ye please, 
 
 If y\S. pool the question again ; 
 And ^^ye cood answer slowly, 
 
 And <?^ye wood follow my pen. 
 
 *' Do not repeat what the witness says, 
 
 I'm sure I've asked before ; 
 It's a idM\\. young Counsel have, I know, 
 
 But donH do it any more. 
 EefyQ must have the document read. 
 
 Ye must hand it to Mr. Cox ; 
 And eef ye weel know what John Jones says, 
 
 Ye vcmsipoot him in the box." 
 
 Thus all night long there rings in my ears - 
 
 A cry of " Weel ye attend ! " 
 And all night long I see a pale face 
 
 Gnawing a quill pen's end ; 
 With his wig awry, and his hand outstretched, 
 
 As a paper or book he seizes ; 
 Till at length I wake with a cry of despair 
 
 " My lord, if your lordship pleases ! " 
 
A FARRAGO OF VERSES. i,,j 
 
 IN MEMORIAM SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD 
 Q.C, M.P. 
 
 Cold is that heart which beat so true 
 
 For friends and for his kind ; 
 Still is the hand which deftly drew 
 
 What humour had designed ; 
 Fled is the courage none could quench ; 
 
 Closed are the witty lips ; 
 The gaiety of Bar and Bench 
 
 Has suffered an eclipse. 
 
 A HYMN OF PRAYER AND PRAISE. 
 
 Lord, when our life is bright and clear, 
 All our desires fulfilled alway, 
 
 Health, riches, fame, and friends to cheer, 
 Lord, teach us then to pray. 
 
 Lord, when our life is clouded o'er, 
 Comfortless sorrow, darken'd days, 
 
 Health, riches, fame, and friends no more, 
 Lord, teach us then to praise. 
 
 Lord, by Thy life, which closed in death, 
 Lord, by Thy death, and life for aye, 
 
 Here, till we draw our latest breath, 
 Teach us to praise and pray. 
 
PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY 
 ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. 
 
863472 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY