THE SCOTT LIBRARY. 
 
 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS. 

 
 FOR FULL LIST OF THE VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES, 
 SEE CATALOGUE AT END OF BOOK.
 
 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS, BY 
 SIR ARTHUR HELPS: WITH 
 AN INTRODUCTION BY E. A. 
 HELPS. 
 
 London: Walter Scott, Ltd., 
 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ESSAYS ....... 1-68 
 
 On Practical Wisdom Aids to Contentment On Self- 
 Discipline On our Judgments of Other Men On the 
 Exercise of Benevolence Domestic Rule Advice 
 Secrecy On the Education of a Man of Business 
 On the Transaction of Business On the Choice and 
 Management of Agents On the Treatment of Suitors 
 Interviews Of Councils, Commissions, and, in 
 general, of Bodies of Men called together to Counsel 
 or to Direct Party- Spirit. 
 
 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL ..... 71-206 
 
 Truth Conformity Despair Recreation Greatness- 
 Fiction On the Art of Living with Others Un- 
 reasonable Claims in Social Affections and Relations 
 Public Improvements History. 
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR ..... 209-252 
 Masters and Men Social Government. 
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER AND THE CROWD . . 255-300
 
 SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 ARTHUR HELPS was born at Balham Hill, Surrey, in 1813 
 He was the fourth and youngest son of Thomas Helps, who 
 was head of a large mercantile house in the city of London. 
 His mother was the only surviving child of John, the fourth son 
 of the Rev. Charles Plucknett, of Wincanton. Though his 
 father was an able and successful man of business, he does not 
 appear to have possessed any literary tastes, whereas his 
 mother was for her day a remarkably cultivated woman. She 
 was an accomplished linguist and a great reader, and, what was 
 quite as uncommon in a woman of those days, a skilful chess- 
 player. 
 
 In his early years Arthur Helps was rather delicate. He was 
 a precocious boy, and at eight years of age he could read Greek. 
 He went to a preparatory school at Balham, and afterwards to 
 Eton with his elder brother. At Eton he was known as a quiet, 
 studious boy, to whom the rougher games did not appeal, though 
 he was fond of riding and fishing. He retained his liking for the 
 former till late in life, and was a fearless though careless rider. 
 He was one of the founders of the school magazine, which 
 numbered amongst its contributors many boys distinguished in 
 after life. From Eton he went to Trinity College, Cambridge, 
 taking his B.A. degree in 1835 (when he came out thirty-first 
 wrangler in the mathematical tripos) and his M.A. in 1839. His 
 health was not robust whilst at the University, which may in part 
 account for his not having taken higher honours, as also the 
 fact that he seems to have devoted himself to general reading
 
 viii SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 rather than to special studies. He was, however, greatly 
 interested in optics, which he studied under Phelps, a life-long 
 friend, afterwards master of Sidney Sussex College. Whilst at 
 Cambridge he made his first literary effort, and published 
 Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd^ reflections and aphor- 
 isms on life, character, and conduct. That his ability and 
 originality were recognised by his contemporaries is shown by 
 the fact that he was elected a member of a society known as 
 " The Apostles," which numbered among its members Alfred 
 Tennyson, Frederick Maurice, Charles Butler, Richard Chevenix 
 Trench, and Arthur Hallam. For Maurice, Arthur Helps had a 
 very special admiration and affection. 
 
 On leaving Cambridge he became private secretary to Mr. 
 Spring-Rice (afterwards Lord Monteagle), whose son had been 
 among his intimate friends. Mr. Spring-Rice was Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer in Lord Melbourne's administration. This 
 appointment Helps held till 1840, when he went to Ireland as 
 private secretary to Lord Morpeth, afterwards Earl of Carlisle, 
 then Chief Secretary for Ireland. He remained in Ireland 
 until the change of government in 1841, when Sir Robert Peel's 
 ministry came into power. Subsequently he was appointed a 
 commissioner for the settlement of Danish claims relating to 
 the bombardment of Copenhagen. Upon the fall of Lord 
 Melbourne's administration, he left official life, devoting himself 
 entirely to literary work. In the troublous times of 1848 he, 
 with Charles Kingsley and others, issued a series of papers 
 called Politics for the People. He went out as a special 
 constable, and afterwards published a letter, in which occurs 
 a passage perhaps worth quoting in these days " Any service, 
 however, which could be imposed upon us is a slight thing 
 compared with the evil, if we saw it in all its fulness, of living 
 in want of harmony with any considerable portion of our fellow- 
 citizens." 
 
 In 1836 he married Miss Bessie Fuller, daughter of Captain 
 Edward Fuller by his marriage with Elizabeth Blennerhassett. 
 Soon after his retirement from office he bought a house about 
 four miles from Botley, on the South- Western Railway, known
 
 SIR ARTHUR HELPS. ix 
 
 as Vernon Hill Admiral Vernon had lived there. The house 
 is situated on a hill commanding the country stretching away to 
 the Solent : on a clear day might be seen a silver streak of sea 
 and the hills of the Isle of Wight. Facing the house, at about 
 a mile's distance, lies a lake, near which stand the remains of 
 Waltham Abbey, while on the left rise the roofs of the village 
 of Bishop's Waltham. Here he occupied himself for many 
 years with literary work, at the same time keeping in touch 
 with sanitary and social work in London. He cultivated little 
 local society, but made to himself many friends among his 
 poorer neighbours and dependants, and busied himself in 
 studying their condition. Among other things he set on foot a 
 lending library for the villagers. Gardening, and the enlarge- 
 ment of his house, which was carried out so as to provide a 
 corridor for exercise in wet weather, and to meet the require- 
 ments of his family now growing up, occupied his leisure. The 
 planting and transplanting of trees especially interested him, 
 and to this day flourishing plantations of fir and larch bear 
 witness to his care and foresight. It was here that many of 
 the walks recorded in Friends in Council took place in com- 
 pany with some of his guests, among whom may be 
 mentioned Emerson, Kingsley, G. W. Lewes, John Hullah, 
 Phelps, the Doyles, Coleridge, Charles Buller, and W. G. 
 Clark, all of whom it was his delight to entertain in a quiet, 
 homely fashion. 
 
 On the resignation of the Hon. W. L. Bathurst, in 1860, the 
 Clerkship of the Privy Council was offered to him, on Lord 
 Granville's recommendation, by Lord Palmerston, to whom he 
 was introduced by Macaulay as " one of the ablest men of the 
 day." This office he accepted and held until his death. In 
 1864 he received the honorary degree of D.C.L. from the 
 University of Oxford, in 1871 he was made C.B., and in the 
 following year K.C.B. 
 
 His growing interest in agriculture had led him to undertake 
 farming on a small scale, and, later, the discovery of what 
 was believed to be a valuable bed of clay induced him to 
 embark in a commercial undertaking, which unfortunately
 
 x SIX ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 resulted in great loss to himself and those friends who had been 
 associated with him in the enterprise. The anxieties connected 
 with this affair had a serious effect upon his health for some 
 time, and his losses obliged him to give up Vernon Hill. After 
 a short residence at Croydon, the Queen offered him a house at 
 Kew Gardens, where he lived until his death in 1875, greatly 
 delighting in the Royal Gardens, in which he used often to stroll 
 in friendly converse with the director, Sir Joseph Hooker, 
 who became one of his most intimate friends. His death in 
 1875, at the comparatively early age of sixty-two, was due to a 
 severe attack of pleurisy, resulting from a cold caught on a bleak 
 March day in attending a levee, 
 
 Of Arthur Helps' official career little can be said here. As 
 the permanent head of the Privy Council Office, which from its 
 constitution is necessarily brought into relation with the great 
 departments of state, he saw much of men and affairs. The 
 fruits of his experience are embodied in such works as 
 Thoughts upon Government, As Clerk of the Council he came 
 into contact with the chief members of every administration, 
 and among them he made many personal friends ; of these 
 one of the most intimate in later years was W. E. Forster. 
 Though he had no very strong party bias he inclined to 
 Liberalism, and was what was then called a Liberal-Con- 
 servative. He was treated with equal confidence by Lord 
 Derby and Lord Russell, by Robert Lowe and Lord Carnarvon. 
 During his term of office considerable additions were made 
 to the statutory powers of the Privy Council Office. An out- 
 break of rinderpest led to the establishment of a supplementary 
 office, for dealing with the infectious diseases of cattle, and, as 
 chairman of the Transit of Animals Committee, he had the 
 great satisfaction of initiating measures for regulating the 
 carriage of animals by sea and land. These measures were 
 afterwards adopted both at home and abroad, and have done 
 much to lessen the suffering of cattle, and provide for their 
 better treatment. 
 
 The performance of Arthur Helps' duties as Clerk of the 
 Council necessarily brought him into personal communication
 
 ARTHUR HELPS. xi 
 
 with the Queen and the Prince Consort, who both soon recog- 
 nised and appreciated his chivalrous nature, and relied much 
 upon his judgment. The following extract from an obituary 
 notice in the Times may perhaps be quoted in this connexion. 
 " No one had learnt to appreciate his qualities more highly 
 than her Majesty. In her Clerk of the Council she always 
 could reckon upon a staunch, thoughtful, and capable adviser, 
 whose views had not been rashly arrived at, whose information 
 was ample, and who had neither personal nor party interests 
 to serve." 
 
 When her Majesty desired to make better known to her 
 people the nature of the great loss she had sustained, she 
 showed her reliance upon Arthur Helps' insight and judgment 
 by asking him to undertake the editing of the Prince's speeches 
 and addresses. His sketch of the Prince given in the preface 
 to this work is, I believe, accepted as one of the best attempts, 
 if not the best attempt, at depicting the character and aims of 
 one of the most remarkable men of our time. In after years her 
 Majesty entrusted to him the preparation for the press of Leaves 
 from our Journal in the Highlands, a work which has done much 
 to endear the Queen to her subjects throughout the empire. 
 For many years Arthur Helps was honoured by being one of 
 her Majesty's most trusted friends and counsellors. His 
 position was in some respects unique, for not only was he 
 personally acquainted with the leading men of all parties, but 
 he moved in all sections of society from the Court downwards, 
 and his advice was sought by men of the most opposite views. 
 He enjoyed the friendship of Palmerston and of Disraeli, of 
 Carlyle and of Dickens, of Frederick Maurice and of Norman 
 Macleod. 
 
 In domestic life he was just, affectionate, and genial, often 
 charming with bright flashes of playful humour. To dependants, 
 by all of whom he was worshipped, he was ever courteous and 
 considerate. As a host he had the art of making every one at 
 ease, and of bringing out the best points of all. He delighted 
 in the society of young people, and few sons can look back as 
 his can upon their father's companionship as that of an infinitely
 
 xii SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 tender, wise, and sympathetic elder brother, always interesting, 
 and always willing to be interested. He was by nature of 
 a calm, studious, and reserved temperament. His reticence 
 and reserve made him the recipient of all sorts of con- 
 fidences. Many good stories might be told of his reserve. The 
 following is characteristic. On the occasion of a change of 
 ministry a certain high official was somewhat pompously 
 informing him of the probable composition of the Cabinet. 
 Sir Arthur responded with polite vague commonplaces, 
 observing with a smile to his companion as the high official 
 left the room, " I have the list here," putting his hand on 
 his breast pocket. He was tolerant in all things but one 
 cruelty to animals. The sufferings inflicted on dumb creatures 
 would rouse his wrath, exciting it to a white heat, and 
 his language on such occasions was alarmingly forcible and 
 impressive. Rounded periods of scathing denunciation would 
 be hurled at the object of his wrath. Had a stranger been 
 present at one of these outbursts, he would have formed an 
 utterly wrong impression of his real nature. As all his readers 
 know, war, large cities, foul dwellings, and competitive examina- 
 tions were hateful to him ; but, strong as his opinions were on 
 these subjects, he rarely obtruded them in general conversation. 
 He was himself scrupulously accurate in statement and 
 impatient of inaccuracy in others. He had great powers of 
 sarcasm, but his kindly nature rarely allowed him to use them, 
 except playfully. His sense of humour and love of fun were 
 both keen, and he could heartily enjoy any joke against himself 
 levelled at his inconsistency in action or argument, or at his 
 lack of artistic power. He was absolutely devoid of what some 
 people call " proper pride," and he would arrive at a great house 
 in the most squalid of cabs, and with the shabbiest luggage. 
 In dress, appearance was entirely subordinated to comfort, and 
 he always preferred clothes of the " baggy" order. He had an 
 oriental liking for bright colours both in the house and in dress. 
 He was utterly careless as to what he ate or drank. Music, as 
 a rule of a simple, tuneful order, afforded him great pleasure, 
 but he also appreciated classical music, which always threw him
 
 ARTHUR HELPS. xiii 
 
 into profound reveries. His active and vigorous mind found 
 relief from one occupation in recourse to another ; and when 
 wearied by the official and literary labour of the day, he would 
 turn to a German novel or a scientific treatise. He was, as his 
 books show, an omnivorous reader. 
 
 He displayed great ease and eloquence in speaking, and 
 there is little doubt that had he gone into Parliament he would 
 have made his mark. As Sir Theodore Martin truly says in his 
 sympathetic notice of Sir Arthur Helps in the Encyclopedia 
 Britannica : " As an orator, a character for which he had 
 many intellectual qualities, he could scarcely have failed to 
 attain a high rank. He was himself not unconscious of his 
 gifts in this direction ; but he was altogether of too fine a fibre 
 for the hard hitting and the fiery struggle of the political arena, 
 in which alone he would have coveted distinction. Wisely 
 therefore he made for himself, as was well said by a friend at 
 the time of his death, 'work of another sort, applying his gentle, 
 ever busy mind to such discussion as purifies the thought, 
 informs the pity, and confirms the forbearance of mankind. 5 " 
 
 To turn to his literary work, besides the early works already 
 mentioned, in 1841 he wrote Essays Written in the Intervals of 
 Business, probably the outcome of his experience as private 
 secretary. In 1843 he brought out two historical plays, 
 Catherine Douglas and Henry II. In 1844, in The Claims of 
 Labour, is struck the note of all his most earnest and purpose- 
 ful work. In these essays, which show the need of sanitary and 
 political reform, and suggest remedial measures, he endeavoured 
 to rouse the public conscience, and to interest the thinker in the 
 condition of poor and suffering humanity. These aims are 
 kept in view in many of his subsequent works, sometimes 
 indirect methods being employed, as in Oulita, Friends in 
 Council, Realinah, and Companions of my Solitude; sometimes 
 direct ones, as in Essays on Organisation in Daily Life, and 
 Thoughts on Government, etc. 
 
 In 1845 another essay was added to Claims of Labour, 
 entitled, " On the Means of Improving the Health and Increas- 
 ing the Comfort of the Labouring Classes." In 1847 appeared
 
 xiv SIX ARTHUR HELPS, 
 
 the work by which he is best known, Friends in Council, 
 where he adopted the plan of submitting formal essays, chiefly 
 on social and moral questions, to an imaginary coterie, whose 
 names to readers of Sir Arthur's books are familiar as house- 
 hold words, by whom the essays are criticised and discussed. 
 In following this plan he may be said to have introduced a new 
 way of conducting controversy. A spirit of toleration and fair- 
 ness, which, as may be seen by reference to the reviews and 
 essays of that day, was often wanting, presided over these 
 discussions, and the comparison of many points of view was 
 obtained. 
 
 The subject of slavery had a peculiar interest for him. In the 
 first series of Friends in Council several chapters are devoted 
 to showing that it is " cruel, needless, and unauthorised." In 
 Conquerors of the A r evu World the events which led to the 
 introduction of slavery in America are treated at some length, 
 whilst in the Spanish Conquest of America the historical events 
 which brought about the distribution of races in the New World 
 are traced. This work, to which he devoted many years' 
 labour, entailed much research and investigation into Spanish 
 history, and necessitated two journeys to Spain to study MSS. 
 and records at Madrid. 
 
 The book was not a success. It has been thought that the 
 author's method of considering the evidence for or against 
 any part of the narrative wearied the reader, accustomed to 
 have his history set before him in no undecided manner, and 
 that the habit of interrupting the story to analyse character, 
 investigate motives, and philosophise, detracted from its literary 
 merit. However that may be, the biographies of Las Casas, 
 Columbus, Pizarro, and others, which were afterwards eliminated 
 from the history and with very little amplification published 
 separately, met with a favourable reception. In 1851 he had 
 brought out Companions of my Solitude, in which some of his 
 deepest and tenderest thought appears. In 1858 he wrote a 
 tragedy called Oulita, or the Serf, in the author's opinion the 
 best of his lighter works. In Casimtr Maremma he employed 
 fiction as a vehicle for conveying his views upon emigration ;
 
 ARTHUR HELPS. xv 
 
 while in Realmah, an account of an imaginary kingdom of the 
 bronze period, in depicting the life, religion, laws, and customs 
 of a community of lake dwellers, social and political problems 
 of our time, and leading men, are treated of under a thin 
 disguise. 
 
 A second series of Friends in Council appeared in 1859. 
 Beside the works already enumerated may be mentioned 
 Organisation in Daily Life, Conversation on War and General 
 Culture, Brevia, a collection of short essays and aphorisms, 
 Thoughts iipon Government, and the Life and Labours of Mr. 
 Brassey. He also contributed occasionally to several leading 
 magazines, and his pen was frequently enlisted to pay a last 
 tribute to men of note, such as Lord Clarendon, Kingsley, and 
 Dickens. 
 
 He had always felt deeply concerning the cruelties inflicted 
 upon the lower animals by brutality and want of thought, and in 
 1873 he brought out Animals and their Masters, which covers 
 nearly the whole field of our relations to, and responsibilities 
 for domestic animals. 
 
 Ivan de Brian, a story of Russian life in the last century, is 
 perhaps the only one of his works written without a purpose. 
 
 In 1875 appeared his last work, Social Pressure, in which he 
 returns to many of the subjects dealt with in earlier writings. 
 
 To give an idea of the pains he took to secure accuracy, the 
 following passage from a notice in the Athenceum, written by 
 John Hullah, may be quoted : " If there was ever a writer in 
 reference to whom it could be said that genius and industry 
 were convertible terms, it was he. No expenditure of toil or 
 money did he ever allow to stand between him and a truth 
 of whatever kind. Were the only copy of a manuscript at 
 Simancas, to Simancas he would go ; were a book inaccessible 
 save by purchase, he would buy it ; were it written in a language 
 he did not know bitter experience had given him an absolute 
 distrust of translations he would set to work to study that 
 language. The world is so much accustomed to associate 
 learning with dulness, that many of Sir Arthur Helps' most 
 loving and constant readers will be as much surprised to find
 
 xvi SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 
 the former of these qualities attributed to him as they would be 
 the latter. Yet in the widest sense of the word he was one of 
 the most learned men of his age. He was what is generally 
 understood by an elegant if not a great scholar. He had the 
 use, and was well read in the literatures, of four living languages 
 besides his own. It would have been nearly impossible to 
 begin a quotation in any one of these which he could not 
 have finished." 
 
 It is perhaps worthy of mention that none of Sir Arthur 
 Helps' works were written with his own hand. His practice 
 was to dictate sometimes to an amanuensis, sometimes to a 
 member of his family or to a friend pressed into the service, 
 often pacing up and down his study smoking a cigarette. The 
 mechanical work of writing seemed to interrupt the flow of 
 thought. He rarely altered what he wrote, and he could 
 dictate letters or articles on two entirely different subjects 
 simultaneously. Of him it may be fitly said, " le style est 
 Phomme meme." H v . strongest convictions and most earnest 
 desires, expressed with moderation and tolerance, stand revealed 
 in his writings. The very simplicity of his style carries with 
 it the stamp of sincerity. I cannot better conclude this brief 
 sketch than by again quoting from Sir T. Martin :" No man 
 was more eager to do what he might towards obviating or curing 
 the folly, stupidity, lethargy, and selfishness to which so much 
 of the misery, the ill-health, the suffering, and the sin of the 
 world is due." 
 
 In regarding some of Sir Arthur Helps' writings on social 
 questions, such as the Claims of Lab our ^ of which the first two 
 chapters have been chosen for this volume, as more directly 
 bearing upon the questions of to-day than others, it is interest- 
 ing to note how many of the reforms he advocated have been 
 carried out often on the lines he indicated and how even 
 the very words and phrases of his discourses have become part 
 of the stock-in-trade of the social reformer. Many of the 
 questions treated of in these works are still " burning " ; among 
 them one of the most painful and perplexing problems of life 
 in great cities that referred to in Companions of my Solitude
 
 SIR ARTHUR HELPS. xvii 
 
 remains unsolved. But the remedies which he suggested more 
 than forty years ago are in accord with much of the best of 
 modern thought on this subject. 
 
 It is hoped that this volume may create a desire to become 
 better acquainted with the works of a writer who was a pioneer 
 in the army of social reformers, and one of the thinkers con- 
 cerning whom Ruskin (Modern Painters, iii. p. 268) has written 
 "a true thinker, who has practical purpose in his thinking, 
 and is sincere, as Plato, or Carlyle, or Helps, becomes in some 
 sort a seer, and must always be of infinite use in his genera- 
 tion." 
 
 E. A. HELPS. 
 
 Novemler 1892.
 
 ESSAYS AND APHORISMS.
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 ON PRACTICAL WISDOM. 
 
 PRACTICAL wisdom acts in the mind, as gravitation does in 
 the material world : combining, keeping things in their 
 places, and maintaining a mutual dependence amongst the 
 various parts of our system. It is for ever reminding us 
 where we are, and what we can do, not in fancy, but in real 
 life. It does not permit us to wait for dainty duties, pleasant 
 to the imagination, but insists upon our doing those which 
 are before us. It is always inclined to make much of what 
 it possesses ; and is not given to ponder over those schemes 
 which might have been carried on if what is irrevocable had 
 been other than it is. It does not suffer us to waste our 
 energies in regret. In journeying with it we go towards the 
 sun, and the shadow of our burden falls behind us. 
 
 In bringing anything to completion, the means which it 
 looks for are not the shortest, nor the neatest, nor the best 
 that can be imagined. They have, however, this advantage, 
 that they happen to be within reach. 
 
 We are liable to make constant mistakes about the nature 
 of practical wisdom, until we come to perceive that it con- 
 sists not in any one predominant faculty or disposition, but 
 
 i
 
 2 ESS A YS. 
 
 rather in a certain harmony amongst all the faculties and 
 affections of the man. Where this harmony exists, there are 
 likely to be well-chosen ends, and means judiciously adapted. 
 But, as it is, we see numerous instances of men who, with 
 great abilities, accomplish nothing, and we are apt to vary 
 our views of practical wisdom according to the particular 
 failings of these men. Sometimes we think it consists in 
 having a definite purpose, and being constant to it. But 
 take the case of a deeply selfish person : he will be constant 
 enough to his purpose, and it will be a definite one. Very 
 likely, too, it may not be founded upon unreasonable expec- 
 tations. The object which he has in view may be a small 
 thing ; but being as close to his eyes as to his heart, there 
 will be times when he can see nothing above it, or beyond 
 it, or beside it. And so he may fail in practical wisdom. 
 
 Sometimes it is supposed that practical wisdom is not 
 likely to be found amongst imaginative persons. And this 
 is very true, if you mean by " imaginative persons " those 
 who have an excess of imagination. For in the mind, as in 
 the body, general dwarfishness is often accompanied by a 
 disproportionate size of some part. The large hands and 
 feet of a dwarf seem to have devoured his stature. But if 
 you mean that imagination, of itself, is something incon- 
 sistent with practical wisdom, I think you will find that 
 your opinion is not founded on experience. On the 
 contrary, I believe that there have been few men who 
 have done great things in the world who have not had a 
 large power of imagination. For imagination, if it be 
 subject to reason, is its "slave of the lamp." 
 
 It is a common error to suppose that practical wisdom 
 is something Epicurean in its nature, which makes no 
 difficulties, takes things as they come, is desirous of 
 getting rid rather than of completing, and which, in
 
 ON PRACTICAL WISDOM. 3 
 
 short, is never troublesome. And from a fancy of this 
 kind many persons are considered speculative merely 
 because they are of a searching nature ; and are not 
 satisfied with small expedients, and such devices as serve 
 to conceal the ills they cannot cure. And if to be practical 
 is to do things in such a way as to leave a great deal for 
 other people to undo at some future and no very distant 
 period then, certainly, these scrutinising, painstaking sort 
 of persons are not practical. For it is their nature to prefer 
 a good open visible rent to a time-serving patch. I do not 
 mean to say that they may not resort to patching as a means 
 of delay. But they will not permit themselves to fancy that 
 they have done a thing when they have only hit upon some 
 expedient for putting off the doing. 
 
 Bacon says, "In this theatre of man's life, God and 
 angels only should be lookers-on ; that contemplation and 
 action ought ever to be united, a conjunction like unto 
 that of the two highest planets, Saturn the planet of rest, 
 and Jupiter the planet of action." It is in this conjunction, 
 which seems to Bacon so desirable, that practical wisdom 
 delights ; and on that account it is supposed by some men 
 to have a tinge of baseness in it They do not know that 
 practical wisdom is as far from what they term expediency 
 as it is from impracticability itself. They see how much 
 of compromise there is in all human affairs. At the same 
 time they do not perceive that this compromise, which 
 should be the nice limit between wilfulness and a desertion 
 of the light that is within us, is the thing of all others which 
 requires the diligent exercise of that uprightness which 
 they fear to put in peril, and which, they persuade them- 
 selves, will be strengthened by inactivity. They fancy, too, 
 that high moral resolves and great principles are not for 
 daily use, and that there is no room for them in the affairs
 
 4 SSA YS. 
 
 of this life. This is an extreme delusion. For how is the 
 world ever made better ? not by mean little schemes which 
 some men fondly call practical, not by setting one evil thing 
 to counteract another, but by the introduction of those 
 principles of action which are looked upon at first as 
 theories, but which are at last acknowledged and acted 
 upon as common truths. The men who first introduce 
 these principles are practical men, though the practices 
 which such principles create may not come into being in 
 the lifetime of their founders. 
 
 AIDS TO CONTENTMENT. 
 
 THE first object of this essay is to suggest some antidotes 
 against the manifold ingenuity of self-tormenting. 
 
 For instance, how much fretting might be prevented by 
 a thorough conviction that there can be no such thing as 
 unmixed good in this world ! In ignorance of this, how 
 many a man, after having made a free choice in any matter, 
 contrives to find innumerable causes for blaming his judg- 
 ment ! Blue and green having been the only colours put 
 before him, he is dissatisfied with himself because he omitted 
 to choose pure white. Shenstone has worked out the whole 
 process with fidelity. "We are oftentimes in suspense 
 betwixt the choice of different pursuits. We choose one at 
 last doubtingly, and with an unconquered hankering after 
 the other. We find the scheme, which we have chosen, 
 answer our expectations but indifferently most worldly 
 projects will. We therefore repent of our choice, and 
 immediately fancy happiness in the paths which we 
 decline; and this heightens our uneasiness. We might 
 at least escape the aggravation of it. It is not improbable
 
 AIDS TO CONTENTMENT. 5 
 
 we had been more unhappy, but extremely probable we 
 had not been less so, had we made a different decision." 
 
 A great deal of discomfort arises from over-sensitiveness 
 about what people may say of you, or your actions. This 
 requires to be blunted. Consider whether anything that 
 you can do will have much connection with what they will 
 say. And besides, it may be doubted whether they will say 
 anything at all about you. Many unhappy persons seem to 
 imagine that they are always in an amphitheatre, with the 
 assembled world as spectators ; whereas, all the while they 
 are playing to empty benches. They fancy, too, that they 
 form the particular theme of every passer-by. If, however, 
 they must listen to imaginary conversations about them- 
 selves, they might, at any rate, defy the proverb, and insist 
 upon hearing themselves well spoken of. 
 
 Well, but suppose that it is no fancy; and that you really 
 are the object of unmerited obloquy. What then ? It has 
 been well said, that in that case the abuse does not touch 
 you; and if you are guiltless, it ought not to hurt your 
 feelings any more than if it were said of another person, 
 with whom you are not even acquainted. You may answer 
 that this false description of you is often believed in by 
 those whose good opinion is of importance to your welfare. 
 That certainly is a palpable injury; and the best mode of 
 bearing up against it is to endeavour to form some just 
 estimate of its nature and extent. Measure it by the 
 worldly harm which is done to you. Do not let your 
 imagination conjure up all manner of apparitions of scorn, 
 and contempt, and universal hissing. It is partly your own 
 fault if the calumny is believed in by those who ought to 
 know you, and in whose affections you live. That should 
 be a circle within which no poisoned dart can reach you. 
 And for the rest, for the injury done you in the world's
 
 YS. 
 
 estimation, it is simply a piece of ill-fortune, about which it 
 is neither wise nor decorous to make much moaning. 
 
 A little thought will sometimes prevent you from being 
 discontented at not meeting with the gratitude which you 
 have expected. If you were only to measure your expecta- 
 tions of gratitude by the extent of benevolence which you 
 have expended, you would seldom have occasion to call 
 people ungrateful. But many persons are in the habit of 
 giving such a factitious value to any services which they 
 may render, that there is but little chance of their being 
 contented with what they are likely to get in return; which, 
 however, may be quite as much as they deserve. 
 
 Besides, it is a common thing for people to expect from 
 gratitude what affection alone can give. 
 
 There are many topics which may console you when you 
 are displeased at not being as much esteemed as you think 
 you ought to be. You may begin by observing that people 
 in general will not look about for anybody's merits, or 
 admire anything which does not come in their way. You 
 may consider how satirical would be any praise which 
 should not be based upon a just appreciation of your 
 merits: you may reflect how few of your fellow-creatures 
 can have the opportunity of forming a just judgment about 
 you : you may then go further, and think how few of those 
 few are persons whose judgment would influence you deeply 
 in other matters : and you may conclude by imagining that 
 such persons do estimate you fairly, though perhaps you 
 never hear it 
 
 The heart of man seeks for sympathy, and each of us 
 craves a recognition of his talents and his labours. But 
 this craving is in danger of becoming morbid, unless it be 
 constantly kept in check by calm reflection on its vanity, or 
 by dwelling upon the very different and far higher motives
 
 AIDS TO CONTENTMENT. ^ 
 
 which should actuate us. That man has fallen into a 
 pitiable state of moral sickness, in whose eyes the good 
 opinion of his fellow-men is the best of merit, and their 
 applause the principal reward for exertion. 
 
 A habit of mistrust is the torment of some people. It 
 taints their love and their friendship. They take up small 
 causes of offence. They expect their friends to show the 
 same aspect to them at all times; which is more than 
 human nature can do. They try experiments to ascertain 
 whether they are sufficiently loved : they watch narrowly 
 the effects of absence, and require their friends to prove to 
 them that the intimacy is exactly upon the same footing as 
 it was before. Some persons acquire these suspicious ways 
 from a natural diffidence in themselves ; for which they are 
 often loved the more : and they might find ample comfort 
 in that, if they could but believe it. With others, these 
 habits arise from a selfishness which cannot be satisfied. 
 And their endeavours should be to uproot such a dis- 
 position, not to soothe it. 
 
 Contentment abides with truth. And you will generally 
 suffer for wishing to appear other than what you are; 
 whether it be richer, or greater, or more learned. The 
 mask soon becomes an instrument of torture. 
 
 Fit objects to employ the intervals of life are among the 
 greatest aids to contentment that a man can possess. The 
 lives of many persons are an alternation of the one engross- 
 ing pursuit, and a sort of listless apathy. They are either 
 grinding, or doing nothing. Now to those who are half 
 their lives fiercely busy, the remaining half is often torpid 
 without quiescence. A man should have some pursuits 
 which may be always in his power, and to which he may 
 turn gladly in his hours of recreation. 
 
 And if the intellect requires thus to be provided with
 
 8 SSA KS. 
 
 perpetual objects, what must it be with the affections? 
 Depend upon it, the most fatal idleness is that of the heart. 
 And the man who feels weary of life may be sure that he 
 does not love his fellow-creatures as he ought 
 
 You cannot hope for anything like contentment so long 
 as you continue to attach that ridiculous degree of import- 
 ance to the events of this life which so many people are 
 inclined to do. Observe the effect which it has upon 
 them : they are most uncomfortable if their little projects 
 do not turn out according to their fancy nothing is to be 
 angular to them they regard external things as the only 
 realities ; and as they have fixed their abode here, they 
 must have it arranged to their mind. In all they undertake 
 they feel the anxiety of a gambler, and not the calmness of 
 a labouring man. It is, however, the success or failure of 
 their efforts, and not the motives for their endeavour, which 
 gives them this concern. "It will be all the same a 
 hundred years hence." So says the Epicurean as he 
 saunters by. The Christian exhorts them to extend their 
 hopes and their fears to the far future. But they are up to 
 their lips in the present, though they taste it none the more 
 for that. And so they go on, fretting, and planning, and 
 contending ; until an event, about which of all their anxieties 
 they have felt the least anxious, sweeps them and their 
 cobwebs away from the face of the earth. 
 
 I have no intention of putting forward specifics for real 
 afflictions, or pretending to teach refined methods for 
 avoiding grief. As long, however, as there is anything to 
 be done in a matter, the time for grieving about it has not 
 come. But when the subject for grief is fixed and inevitable, 
 sorrow is to be borne like pain. It is only a paroxysm of 
 either that can justify us in neglecting the duties which no 
 bereavement can lessen, and which no sorrow can leave us
 
 ON SELF-DISCIPLINE. 9 
 
 without. And we may remember that sorrow is at once 
 the lot, the trial, and the privilege of man. 
 
 Most of the aids to contentment above suggested are, 
 comparatively, superficial ones; and though they may be 
 serviceable, there is much in human nature that they 
 cannot touch. Even pagans were wont to look for more 
 potent remedies. They could not help seeking for some 
 great idea to rest upon ; something to still the throbbings 
 of their souls; some primeval mystery which should be 
 answerable for the miseries of life. Such was their idea of 
 Necessity, the source of such systems as the Stoic and the 
 Epicurean. Christianity rests upon very different founda- 
 tions. And surely a Christian's reliance on divine goodness, 
 and his full belief in another world, should console him 
 under serious affliction, and bear the severer test of sup- 
 porting him against that under-current of vexations which is 
 not wanting in the smoothest lives. 
 
 ON SELF-DISCIPLINE. 
 
 THERE is always some danger of self-discipline leading to a 
 state of self-confidence : and the more so, when the motives 
 for it are of a poor and worldly character, or the results 
 of it outward only, and superficial. But surely when a man 
 has got the better of any bad habit or evil disposition, his 
 sensations should not be those of exultation only: ought 
 they not rather to be akin to the shuddering faintness with 
 which he would survey a chasm that he had been guided to 
 avoid, or with which he would recall to mind a dubious 
 deadly struggle which had terminated in his favour ? The 
 sense of danger is never, perhaps, so fully apprehended as 
 when the danger has been overcome.
 
 io JSSSAYS. 
 
 Self-discipline is grounded on self-knowledge. A man 
 may be led to resolve upon some general course of self- 
 discipline by a faint glimpse of his moral degradation : let 
 him not be contented with that small insight. His first 
 step in self-discipline should be to attempt to have some- 
 thing like an adequate idea of the extent of the disorder. 
 The deeper he goes in this matter the better : he must try 
 to probe his own nature thoroughly. Men often make use 
 of what self-knowledge they may possess to frame for them- 
 selves skilful flattery, or to amuse themselves in fancying 
 what such persons as they are would do under various 
 imaginary circumstances. For flatteries and for fancies of 
 this kind not much depth of self-knowledge is required; 
 but he who wants to understand his own nature for the 
 purpose of self-discipline, must strive to learn the whole 
 truth about himself, and not shrink from telling it to his 
 own soul 
 
 " To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 The old courtier Polonius meant this for worldly wisdom; 
 but it may be construed much more deeply. 
 
 Imagine the soul, then, thoroughly awake to its state of 
 danger, and the whole energies of the man devoted to 
 self-improvement. At this, there often arises a habit of 
 introspection which is too limited in its nature: we scrutinise 
 each action as if it were a thing by itself, independent and 
 self-originating; and so our scrutiny does less good, perhaps, 
 than might be expected from the pain it gives and the 
 resolution it requires. Any truthful examination into our 
 actions must be good; but we ought not to be satisfied with 
 it, until it becomes both searching and progressive. Its
 
 ON SELF-DISCIPLINE. n 
 
 aim should be not only to investigate instances, but to 
 discover principles. Thus, suppose that our conscience 
 upbraids us for any particular bad habit, we then regard 
 each instance of it with intense self-reproach, and long for 
 an opportunity of proving the amendment which seems 
 certain to arise from our pangs of regret. The trial comes, 
 and sometimes our former remorse is remembered, and 
 saves us; and sometimes it is forgotten, and our conduct is 
 as bad as it was before our conscience was awakened. Now 
 in such a case we should begin at the beginning, and strive 
 to discover where it is that we are wrong in the heart. This 
 is not to be done by weighing each particular instance, and 
 observing after what interval it occurred and whether with 
 a little more, or a little less, temptation than usual : instead 
 of dwelling chiefly on mere circumstances of this kind, we 
 should try and get at the substance of the thing, so as to 
 ascertain what fundamental precept of God is violated by 
 the habit in question. That precept we should make our 
 study; and then there is more hope of a permanent amend- 
 ment. 
 
 Infinite toil would not enable you to sweep away a mist; 
 but, by ascending a little, you may often look over it 
 altogether. So it is with our moral improvement : we 
 wrestle fiercely with a vicious habit, which would have 
 no hold upon us if we ascended into a higher moral 
 atmosphere. 
 
 As I have heard suggested, it is by adding to our good 
 purposes, and nourishing the affections which are rightly 
 placed, that we shall best be able to combat the bad ones. 
 By adopting such a course you will not have yielded to 
 your enemy, but will have gone, in all humility, to form 
 new alliances : you will then resist an evil habit with the 
 strength which you have gained in carrying out a good one.
 
 12 JSSSAYS. 
 
 You will find, too, that when you set your heart upon the 
 things that are worthy of it, the small selfish ends, which 
 used to be so dear to it, will appear almost disgusting; you 
 will wonder that they could have had such hold upon you. 
 
 In the same way, if you extend and deepen your sym- 
 pathies, the prejudices which have hitherto clung obstinately 
 to you will fall away, your former uncharitableness will 
 seem absolutely distasteful : you will have brought home to 
 it feelings and opinions with which it cannot live. 
 
 Man, a creature of twofold nature, body and soul, should 
 have both parts of that nature engaged in any matter in 
 which he is concerned : spirit and form must both enter 
 into it It is idol-worship to substitute the form for the 
 spirit ; but it is a vain philosophy which seeks to dispense 
 with the form. All this applies to self-discipline. 
 
 See how most persons love to connect some outward 
 circumstances with their good resolutions ! they resolve on 
 commencing the new year with a surrender of this bad 
 habit : they will alter their conduct as soon as they are at 
 such a place. The mind thus shows its feebleness ; but we 
 must not conclude that the support it naturally seeks is 
 useless. At the same time that we are to turn our chief 
 attention to the attainment of right principles, we cannot 
 safely neglect any assistance which may strengthen us in 
 contending against bad habits : far is it from the spirit of 
 true humility to look down upon such assistance. Who 
 would not be glad to have the ring of Eastern story which 
 should remind the wearer by its change of colour of 
 his want of shame ? Still these auxiliaries partake of a 
 mechanical nature : we must not expect more from them 
 than they can give : they may serve as aids to memory ; 
 they may form landmarks, as it were, of our progress ; but 
 they cannot, of themselves, maintain that progress.
 
 ON OUR JUDGMENTS OF OTHER MEN. 13 
 
 It is in a similar spirit that we should treat what may be 
 called prudential considerations. We may listen to the 
 suggestions of prudence, and find them an aid to self- 
 discipline ; but we should never rest upon them. While we 
 do not fail to make the due use of them, we must never 
 forget that they do not go to the root of the matter. 
 Prudence may enable a man to conquer the world, but not 
 to rule his own heart : it may change one evil passion for 
 another ; but it is not a thing of potency enough to make a 
 man change his nature. 
 
 Prayer is a constant source of invigoration to self- 
 discipline ; not the thoughtless praying, which is a thing of 
 custom ; but that which is sincere, intense, watchful. Let 
 a man ask himself whether he really would have the thing 
 he prays for : let him think, while he is praying for a spirit 
 of forgiveness, whether even at that moment he is disposed 
 to give up the luxury of anger. If not, what a horrible 
 mockery it is ! To think that a man can find nothing 
 better to do, in the presence of his Creator, than telling off 
 so many words ; alone with his God, and repeating his task 
 like a child ; longing to get rid of it, and indifferent to its 
 meaning ! 
 
 ON OUR JUDGMENTS OF OTHER MEN. 
 
 IN forming these lightly, we wrong ourselves, and those 
 whom we judge. In scattering such things abroad we 
 endow our unjust thoughts with a life which we cannot take 
 away, and become false witnesses to pervert the judgments 
 of the world in general. Who does not feel that to describe 
 with fidelity the least portion of the entangled nature that is 
 within him would be no easy matter ? And yet the same
 
 I 4 ESS A YS. 
 
 man who feels this, and who, perhaps, would be ashamed of 
 talking at hazard about the properties of a flower, of a weed, 
 of some figure in geometry, will put forth his guesses about 
 the character of his brother-man, as if he had the fullest 
 authority for all that he was saying. 
 
 But perhaps we are not wont to make such rash remarks 
 ourselves; we are only pleased to receive them with the 
 most obliging credence from the lips of any person we 
 may chance to meet with. Such credulity is anything but 
 blameless. We cannot think too seriously of the danger of 
 taking upon trust these off-hand sayings, and of the positive 
 guilt of uttering them as if they were our own, or had been 
 assayed by our observation. How much we should be 
 ashamed if we knew the slight grounds of some of those 
 uncharitable judgments to which we lend the influence of 
 our name by repeating them ! And even if we repeat such 
 things only as we have good reason to believe in, we should 
 still be in no hurry to put them forward, especially if they 
 are sentences of condemnation. There is a maxim of this 
 kind which Thomas a Kempis, in his chapter " De prudentia 
 in agendis," has given with all the force of expression that 
 it merits. " Ad hanc etiam pertinet, non quibuslibet 
 hominum verbis credere; nee audita vel credita, mox ad 
 aliorum aures effundere" 
 
 There are certain things quite upon the surface of a man's 
 character : there are certain obvious facts in any man's 
 conduct ; and there are persons who, being very much 
 before the world, offer plenty of materials for judging about 
 them. Such circumstances as these may fairly induce you 
 to place credence in a general opinion, which, however, you 
 have no means of verifying in any way for yourself: but in 
 no case should you suffer yourself to be carried away at 
 once by the current sayings about men's characters and
 
 ON OUR JUDGMENTS OF OTHER MEN. 15 
 
 conduct. If you do, you are helping to form a mob. 
 Consider what these sayings are : how seldom they embody 
 the character discussed ; or go far to exhaust the question, 
 if it is one of conduct. It is well if they describe a part 
 with faithfulness, or give indications from which a shrewd 
 and impartial thinker may deduce some true conclusions. 
 Again, these sayings may be true in themselves, but the 
 prominence given to them may lead to very false impres- 
 sions. Besides, how many of them must be formed upon 
 the opinion of a few persons, and those, perhaps, forward 
 thinkers. 
 
 You feel that you yourself would be liable to make 
 mistakes of all kinds if you had to form an independent 
 judgment in the matter; do not too readily suppose that 
 the general opinions you hear are free from such mistakes 
 merely because they are made, or appear to you to be 
 made, by a great many people. 
 
 If we come to analyse the various opinions we hear of 
 men's character and conduct, there must be many which 
 are formed wrongly, though sincerely, either from imperfect 
 information, or erroneous reasoning. There will be others 
 which are the simple result of the prejudices and passions 
 of the persons judging, of their humours, and sometimes 
 even of their ingenuity. There will be others grounded 
 on total misrepresentations, which arise from imperfect 
 hearing, or from some entire mistake, or from a report 
 being made by a person who understood so little of the 
 matter that it was not possible for him to convey, with 
 anything like accuracy, what he heard about it. Then 
 there are the careless things which are said in general 
 conversation, but which often have as much apparent 
 weight as if they had been well considered. Sometimes 
 these various causes are combined, and the result is that
 
 1 6 ASSAYS. 
 
 an opinion of some man's character and conduct gets 
 abroad which is formed after a wrong method, by preju- 
 diced persons, upon a false statement of facts, respecting 
 a matter which they cannot possibly understand ; and this 
 is then left to be inflated by Folly, and blown about by 
 Idleness. 
 
 There is an excellent passage in Wollaston's Religion of 
 Nature upon this subject, where he says, " The good or bad 
 repute of men depends in a great measure upon mean 
 people, who carry their stories from family to family, 
 and propagate them very fast ; like little insects, which 
 lay apace, and the less the faster. There are few, very few, 
 who have the opportunity and the will and the ability to 
 represent things truly. Beside the matters of fact them- 
 selves, there are many circumstances which, before sentence 
 is passed, ought to be known and weighed, and yet scarce 
 ever can be known but to the person himself who is con- 
 cerned. He may have other views, and another sense of 
 things, than his judges have; and what he understands, 
 what he feels, what he intends, may be a secret confined to 
 his own breast. Or perhaps the censurer, notwithstanding 
 this kind of men talk as if they were infallible, may be 
 mistaken himself in his opinion, and judge that to be wrong 
 which in truth is right." 
 
 Few people have imagination enough to enter into the 
 delusion of others, or indeed to look at the actions of any 
 other person with any prejudices but their own. Perhaps, 
 however, it would be nearer the truth to say that few 
 people are in the habit of employing their imagination in 
 the service of charity. Most persons require its magic aid 
 to gild their castles in the air ; to conduct them along those 
 fancied triumphal processions in which they themselves play 
 so conspicuous a part; to conquer enemies for them without
 
 ON OUR JUDGMENTS OF OTHER MEN. 17 
 
 battles; and to make them virtuous without effort. This is 
 what they want their imagination for: they cannot spare it 
 for any little errand of charity. And sometimes when men 
 do think charitably, they are afraid to speak out, for fear of 
 being considered stupid or credulous. 
 
 We have been considering the danger of adopting current 
 sayings about men's character and conduct: but suppose 
 we consider, in detail, the difficulty of forming an original 
 opinion on these matters ; especially if we have not a 
 personal knowledge of the men of whom we speak. In 
 the first place, we seldom know with sufficient exactness 
 the facts upon which we judge; and a little thing may make 
 a great difference when we come to investigate motives. 
 But the report of a transaction sometimes represents the 
 real facts no better than the laboured variation does the 
 simple air; which, amidst so many shakes and flourishes, 
 might not be recognised even by the person who composed 
 it. Then, again, how can we ensure that we rightly inter- 
 pret those actions which we exactly know ? Perhaps one of 
 the first motives that we look for is self-interest, when we 
 want to explain an action : but we have scarcely ever such 
 a knowledge of the nature and fortunes of another, as to be 
 able to decide what is his interest, much less what it may 
 appear to him to be: besides, a man's fancies, his envy, 
 his wilfulness, every day interfere with and override his 
 interests. He will know this himself, and will often try to 
 conceal it by inventing motives of self-interest to account 
 for his doing what he has a mind to do. 
 
 It is well to be thoroughly impressed with a sense of the 
 difficulty of judging about others; still, judge we must, and 
 sometimes very hastily; the purposes of life require it. We 
 have, however, more and better materials, sometimes, than 
 we are aware of : we must not imagine that they are always 
 
 2
 
 1 8 ESS A YS. 
 
 deep-seated and recondite: they often lie upon the surface 
 Indeed, the primary character of a man is especially dis 
 cernible in trifles: for then he acts, as it were, almost 
 unconsciously. It is upon the method of observing and 
 testing these things that a just knowledge of individual 
 men in great measure depends. You may learn more of a 
 person even by a little converse with him than by a faithful 
 outline of his history. The most important of his actions 
 may be anything but the most significant of the man : for 
 they are likely to be the results of many things besides his 
 nature. To understand that, I doubt whether you might 
 not learn more from a good portrait of him than from two 
 or three of the most prominent actions of his life. Indeed, 
 if men did not express much of their nature in their 
 manners, appearance, and general bearing, we should be 
 at a sad loss to make up our minds how to deal with each 
 other. 
 
 In judging of others, it is important to distinguish those 
 parts of the character and intellect which are easily dis- 
 cernible from those which require much observation. In 
 the intellect, we soon perceive whether a man has wit, 
 acuteness, or logical power. It is not easy to discover 
 whether he has judgment. And it requires some study of 
 the man to ascertain whether he has practical wisdom; 
 which, indeed, is a result of high moral, as well as intel- 
 lectual, qualities. 
 
 In the moral nature we soon detect selfishness, egotism, 
 and exaggeration. Carelessness about truth is soon found 
 out ; you see it in a thousand little things. On the other 
 hand, it is very difficult to come to a right conclusion about 
 a man's temper, until you have seen a great deal of him. 
 Of his tastes, some will lie on' the surface, others not; for 
 there is a certain reserve about most people in speaking of
 
 ON OUR JUDGMENTS OF OTHER MEN. 19 
 
 the things they like best Again, it is always a hard matter 
 to understand any man's feelings. Nations differ in their 
 modes of expressing feelings, and how much more individual 
 men ! 
 
 There are certain cases in which we are peculiarly liable 
 to err in our judgments of others. Thus, I think, we are 
 all disposed to dislike, in a manner disproportionate to their 
 demerits, those who offend us by pretension of any kind. 
 We are apt to fancy that they despise us ; whereas, all the 
 while, perhaps, they are only courting our admiration. 
 There are people who wear the worst part of their characters 
 outwards: they offend our vanity; they rouse our fears; and 
 under these influences we omit to consider how often a 
 scornful man is tender-hearted, and an assuming man, one 
 who longs to be popular and to please. 
 
 Then there are characters of such a different kind from 
 our own, that we are without the means of measuring and 
 appreciating them. A man who has no humour, how 
 difficult for him to understand one who has ! 
 
 But of all the errors in judging of others, some of the 
 worst are made in judging of those' who are nearest to us. 
 They think that we have entirely made up our minds about 
 them, and are apt to show us that sort of behaviour only 
 which they know we expect. Perhaps, too, they fear us, or 
 they are convinced that we do not and cannot sympathise 
 with them. And so we move about in a mist, and talk of 
 phantoms as if they were living men, and think that we 
 understand those who never interchange any discourse with 
 us but the talk of the market-place; or if they do, it is 
 only as players who are playing a part set down in certain 
 words, to be eked out with the stage gestures for each 
 affection, who would deem themselves little else than mad 
 if they were to say out to us anything of their own.
 
 20 
 
 ON THE EXERCISE OF BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 WITH the most engaging objects of benevolence around 
 them, men consume the largest part of their existence in the 
 acquisition of money, or of knowledge ; or in sighing for the 
 opportunities of advancement ; or in doting over some 
 unavailing sorrow. Or, as it often happens, they are out- 
 wardly engaged in slaving over the forms and follies of the 
 world, while their minds are given up to dreams of vanity; 
 or to long-drawn reveries, a mere indulgence of their fancy. 
 And yet hard by them are groans, and horrors, and suffer- 
 ings of all kinds, which seem to penetrate no deeper than 
 their senses. 
 
 Let them think what boundless occupations there are 
 before us all ! Consider the masses of human beings in our 
 manufacturing towns and crowded cities, left to their own 
 devices the destitute peasantry of our sister-land the 
 horrors of slavery wherever it exists the general aspect of 
 the common people the pervading want of education the 
 fallacies and falsehoods which are left, unchecked, to 
 accomplish all the mischief that is in them the many legal 
 and executive reforms not likely to meet with much popular 
 impulse, and requiring, on that account, the i**ore diligence 
 from those who have any insight into such matters. By 
 employing himself upon any one of the above subjects, a 
 man is likely to do some good. If he only ascertains what 
 has been done, and what is doing, in any of these matters, 
 he may be of great service. A man of real information 
 becomes a centre of opinion, and therefore of action. 
 
 Many a man will say, " This is all very true : there cer- 
 tainly is a great deal of good to be done. Indeed, one is 
 perplexed what to choose as one's point of action ; and still
 
 ON THE EXERCISE OF BENEVOLENCE. 21 
 
 more how to begin upon it." To which I would answer, 
 Is there no one service for the great family of man which 
 has yet interested you ? Is no work of benevolence brought 
 near to you by the peculiar circumstances of your life? If 
 there is, follow it at once. If not, still you must not wait 
 for something apposite to occur. Take up any subject 
 relating to the welfare of mankind, the first that comes to 
 hand ; read about it ; think about it ; trace it in the world, 
 and see if it will not come to your heart. How listlessly 
 the eye glances over the map of a country upon which we 
 have never set foot ! On the other hand, with what satis- 
 faction we contemplate the mere outline only of a land we 
 have once travelled over ! Think earnestly upon any sub- 
 ject, investigate it sincerely, and you are sure to love it. 
 You will not complain again of not knowing whither to 
 direct your attention. There have been enthusiasts about 
 heraldry. Many have devoted themselves to chess. Is the 
 welfare of living, thinking, suffering, eternal creatures, less 
 interesting than " argent " and " azure," or than the knight's 
 move and the progress of a pawn ? 
 
 There are many persons, doubtless, who feel the wants 
 and miseries of their fellow-men tenderly if not deeply ; but 
 this feeling is not of the kind to induce them to exert them- 
 selves out of their own small circle. They have little faith 
 in their individual exertions doing aught towards a remedy 
 for any of the great disorders of the world. If an evil of 
 magnitude forces itself upon their attention, they take 
 shelter in a comfortable sort of belief that the course of 
 events, or the gradual enlightenment of mankind, or, at any 
 rate, something which is too large for them to have any 
 concern in, will set it right. In short, they are content to 
 remain spectators, or, at best, to wait until an occasion 
 shall arrive when their benevolence may act at once, with
 
 22 ESSAYS. 
 
 as little preparation of means, as if it were something 
 magical. 
 
 But opportunities of doing good, though abundant and 
 obvious enough, are not exactly fitted to our hands : we 
 must be alert in preparing ourselves for them. Benevo- 
 lence requires method and activity in its exercise. It 
 is by no means the same sort of thing as the indolent 
 good-humour with which a well-fed man, reclining on 
 a sunny bank, looks upon the working world around 
 him. 
 
 As to the notion of waiting for the power to do good, it 
 is one that we must never listen to. Surely the exercise of 
 a man's benevolence is not to depend upon his worldly 
 good fortune ! Every man has to-day the power of laying 
 some foundation for doing good, if not of doing it. And 
 whoever does not exert himself until he has a large power 
 of carrying out his good intentions, may be sure that he will 
 not make the most of the opportunity when it comes. It 
 is not in the heat of action, nor when a man, from his 
 position, is likely to be looked up to with some reverence, 
 that he should have to begin his search for facts or prin- 
 ciples. He should then come forth to apply results ; not 
 to work them out painfully, and perhaps precipitately, 
 before the eyes of the world. 
 
 The worldly-wise may ask, " Will not these benevolent 
 pursuits prevent a man from following with sufficient force 
 (what they call) his legitimate occupations?" I do not see 
 why. Surely Providence has not made our livelihood such 
 an all-absorbing affair that it does not leave us room or 
 time for our benevolence to work in. However, if a man 
 will only give up that portion of his thinking time which he 
 spends upon vainglory, upon imagining, for instance, what 
 other people are thinking about him, he will have time
 
 ON THE EXERCISE OF BENEVOLENCE. 23 
 
 and energy enough to pursue a very laborious system of 
 benevolence. 
 
 I do not mean to contend that active benevolence may 
 not hinder a man's advancement in the world ; for advance- 
 ment greatly depends upon a reputation for excellence in 
 some one thing of which the world perceives that it has 
 present need, and an obvious attention to other things, 
 though perhaps not incompatible with the excellence itself, 
 may easily prevent a person from obtaining a reputation for 
 it. But any deprivation of this kind would be readily 
 endured if we only took the view of our social relations 
 which Christianity opens to us. We should then see that 
 benevolence is not a thing to be taken up by chance, and 
 put by at once to make way for every employment which 
 savours of self-interest. Benevolence is the largest part of 
 our business, beginning with our home duties, and extend- 
 ing itself to the utmost verge of humanity. A vague feeling 
 of kindness towards our fellow-creatures is no state of mind 
 to rest in. It is not enough for us to be able to say that 
 nothing of human interest is alien to us, and that we give 
 our acquiescence, or indeed our transient assistance, to any 
 scheme of benevolence that may come in our way. No ; 
 in promoting the welfare of others we must toil ; we must 
 devote to it earnest thought, constant care, and zealous 
 endeavour. What is more, we must do all this with 
 patience, and be ready, in the same cause, to make an 
 habitual sacrifice of our own tastes and wishes. Nothing 
 short of this is the visiting the sick, feeding the hungry, 
 and clothing the naked, which our creed requires 
 of us. 
 
 Kindness to animals is no unworthy exercise of benevo- 
 lence. We hold that the life of brutes perishes with their 
 breath, and that they are never to be clothed again with
 
 24 ESSA YS. 
 
 consciousness. The inevitable shortness then of their exjst 
 ence should plead for them touchingly. The insects on the 
 surface of the water, poor ephemeral things, who would 
 needlessly abridge their dancing pleasure of to-day ? Such 
 feelings we should have towards the whole animate creation. 
 To those animals, over which we are masters for however 
 short a time, we have positive duties to perform. This seems 
 too obvious to be insisted upon ; but there are persons who 
 act as though they thought they could buy the right of ill- 
 treating any of God's creatures. 
 
 We should never in any way consent to the ill-treatment 
 of animals, because the fear of ridicule, or some other fear, 
 prevents our interfering. As to there being anything really 
 trifling in any act of humanity, however slight, it is moral 
 blindness to suppose so. The few moments in the course of 
 each day which a man absorbed in some worldly pursuit 
 may carelessly expend in kind words or trifling charities to 
 those around him, and kindness to an animal is one of these, 
 are perhaps, in the sight of Heaven, the only time that he 
 has lived to any purpose worthy of recording. 
 
 DOMESTIC RULE. 
 
 TACITUS says of Agricola, that "he governed his family, 
 which many find to be a harder task than to govern a 
 province." And the worst of this difficulty is, that its exist- 
 ence is frequently unperceived, until it comes to be pressingly 
 felt. 
 
 For, either a man thinks that he must needs understand 
 those whom he sees daily, and also, perhaps, that it is no 
 great matter whether he understand them or not, if he is 
 resolved to do his duty by them ; or he believes that in
 
 DOMESTIC RULE. 25 
 
 domestic rule there is much licence, and that each occasion 
 is to be dealt with by some law made at the time, or after ; 
 or he imagines that any domestic matter which he may leave 
 to-day omitted or ill-done can be repaired at his leisure, 
 when the concerns of the outer world are not so pressing 
 as they are at present. 
 
 But each day brings its own duties, and carries them along 
 with it ; and they are as waves broken on the shore, many 
 like them coming after but none ever the same. And 
 amongst all his duties, as there are none in which a man acts 
 more by himself and can do more harm with less outcry 
 from the world, so there are none requiring more forethought 
 and watchfulness than those which arise from his domestic 
 relations. Nor can there be a reasonable hope of his fulfil- 
 ling those duties while he is ignorant of the feelings, however 
 familiar he may be with the countenances, of those around 
 him. 
 
 The extent and power of domestic rule are very great : 
 but this is often overlooked by the persons who possess 
 it; and they are rather apt to underrate the influence of 
 their own authority. They can hardly imagine how strongly 
 it is felt by others, unless they see it expressed in something 
 outward. The effects of this mistake are often increased 
 by another, which comes into operation when men are deal- 
 ing with their inferiors in rank and education : in which 
 case, they are rather apt to fancy that the natural sense of 
 propriety, which would put the right limit to familiar inter- 
 course, belongs only to the well-educated or the well-born. 
 And from either of these causes, or both united, they are 
 led, perhaps, to add to their authority by a harshness not 
 their own rather than to impair it, as they fancy, by that 
 degree of freedom which they must allow to those around 
 them, if they would enter into their feelings, and understand
 
 26 SSA YS. 
 
 their dispositions. Perhaps there are some persons 
 who think that they can manage very well without this 
 familiar intercourse : and certainly there is but little 
 occasion for knowing much about the nature of those whom 
 you intend only to restrain. Coercion, however, is but a 
 small part of government. 
 
 We should always be most anxious to avoid provoking 
 the rebel spirit of the will in those who are entrusted to 
 our guidance : we should not attempt to tie them up to 
 their duties, like galley-slaves to their labour. We should 
 be very careful that, in our anxiety to get the outward part 
 of an action performed to our mind, we do not destroy 
 that germ of spontaneousness which could alone give any 
 significance to the action. God has allowed free will to 
 man, for the choice of good or evil ; and is it likely that 
 it is left to us to make our fellow-creatures virtuous by word 
 of command? We may insist upon a routine of proprieties 
 being performed with soldier-like precision ; but there is 
 no drilling of men's hearts. 
 
 It is a great thing to maintain the just limits of domestic 
 authority, and to place it upon its right foundation. You 
 cannot make reason conform to it. It may be fair to insist 
 upon a certain thing being done, but not that others should 
 agree with you in saying that it is the best thing that could 
 have been done; for there cannot be a shorter way of 
 making them hypocritical. Your submitting the matter 
 at all to their judgments may be gratuitous ; but if you do 
 so, you must remember that the Courts of Reason recognise 
 no difference of persons. Your wishes may fairly outweigh 
 their arguments ; but this of course is foreign to the reason- 
 ableness or unreasonableness of the thing itself, considered 
 independently. 
 
 Domestic Rule is founded upon truth and love. If
 
 DOMESTIC RULE. 27 
 
 it has not both of these, it is nothing better than a 
 despotism. 
 
 It requires the perpetual exercise of love in its most 
 extended form. You have to learn the dispositions of 
 those under you, and to teach them to understand yours. 
 In order to do this, you must sympathise with them, and 
 convince them of your doing so ; for upon your sympathy 
 will often depend their truthfulness. Thus, you must 
 persuade a child to place confidence in you, if you wish 
 to form an open, upright character. You cannot terrify 
 it into habits of truth. On the contrary, are not its earliest 
 falsehoods caused by fear much oftener than from a wish 
 to obtain any of its little ends by deceit? How often the 
 complaint is heard from those in domestic authority that 
 they are not confided in ! But they forget how hard 
 it is for an inferior to confide in a superior, and that he 
 will scarcely venture to do so without the hope of some 
 sympathy on the part of the latter; and the more so, 
 as half our confidences are about our follies, or what we 
 deem such. 
 
 Every one who has paid the slightest attention to this 
 subject knows that domestic rule is built upon justice, 
 and therefore upon truth ; but it may not have been 
 observed what evils will arise from even a slight deviation 
 into conventionality. For instance, there is a common 
 expression about "overlooking trifles." But what many 
 persons should say, when they use this expression, is, 
 That they affect not to observe something, when there is 
 no reason why they should not openly recognise it. Thus 
 they contrive to make matters of offence out of things 
 which really have no harm in them. Or the expression 
 means that they do not care to take notice of something 
 which they really believe to be wrong ; and as it is not
 
 28 ESS A YS. 
 
 of much present annoyance to them, they persuade them- 
 selves that it is not of much harm to those who practise 
 it. In either case, it is their duty to look boldly at the 
 matter. The greater quantity of truth and distinctness 
 you can throw into your proceedings the better. Conniv- 
 ance creates uncertainty, and gives an example of slyness ; 
 and very often you will find that you connive at some 
 practice, merely because you have not made up your mind 
 whether it is right or wrong, and you wish to spare yourself 
 the trouble of thinking. All this is falsehood. 
 
 Whatever you allow in the way of pleasure or of liberty, 
 to those under your control, you should do it heartily : you 
 should recognise it entirely, encourage it, and enter into it. 
 If, on the contrary, you do not care for their pleasures, or 
 sympathise with their happiness, how can you expect to 
 obtain their confidence ? And when you tell them that you 
 consult their welfare, they look upon it as some abstract 
 idea of your own. They will doubt whether you can know 
 what is best for them, if they have good reason for thinking 
 that you are likely to leave their particular views of happi- 
 ness entirely out of the account. 
 
 We come next to consider some of the various means 
 which may be made use of in Domestic Rule. 
 
 Of course it is obvious that his own example must be the 
 chief means in any man's power, by which he can illustrate 
 and enforce those duties which he seeks to impress upon 
 his household. 
 
 Next to this, praise and blame are among the strongest 
 means which he possesses; and they should not depend 
 upon his humour. He should not throw a bit of praise at 
 his dependants by way of making up for a previous display 
 of anger not warranted by the occasion. 
 
 Ridicule is in general to be avoided; not that it is
 
 DOMESTIC RULE. 29 
 
 inefficient, perhaps, for the present purpose ; but because it 
 tends to make a poor and world-fearing character. It is 
 too strong a remedy; and can seldom be applied with such 
 just precision as to neutralise the evil aimed at, without 
 destroying, at the same time, something that is good. 
 
 Still less should it ever appear that ridicule is directed 
 against that which is good in itself, or which may be the 
 beginning of goodness. There is, perhaps, more gentleness 
 required in dealing with the infant virtues, than even with 
 the vices of those under our guidance. We should be very 
 kind to any attempts at amendment An idle sneer, or a 
 look of incredulity, has been the death of many a good 
 resolve. We should also be very cautious in reminding 
 those who now would fain be wiser, of their rash sayings of 
 evil, of their early and uncharitable judgments of others; 
 otherwise we run a great risk of hardening them in evil. 
 This is especially to be guarded against with the young; 
 for never having felt the mutability of all human things, nor 
 having lived long enough to discover that his former cer- 
 tainties are amongst the strangest things which a man looks 
 back upon in the vista of the past : not perceiving that time 
 is told by that pendulum, man, which goes backwards and 
 forwards in its progress; nor dreaming that the way to 
 some opinions may lie through their opposites ; they are 
 mightily ashamed of inconsistency, and may be made to 
 look upon reparation as a crime. 
 
 The following are some general maxims which may be o 
 service to any one in domestic authority. 
 
 The first is to make as few crimes as he can : and not to 
 lay down those rules of practice which, from a careful 
 observation of their consequences, he has ascertained to be 
 salutary, as if they were so many innate truths which all 
 persons alike must at once, and fully, comprehend.
 
 30 ESSA YS. 
 
 Let him not attempt to regulate other people's pleasures 
 by his own tastes. 
 
 In commanding, it will not always be superfluous for him 
 to reflect whether the thing commanded is possible. 
 
 In punishing, he should not consult his anger ; nor in 
 remitting punishment, his ease. 
 
 Let him consider whether any part of what he is inclined 
 to call disobedience may have resulted from an insufficient 
 expression of his own wishes. 
 
 He should be inclined to trust largely. 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 ADVICE is sure of a hearing when it coincides with our 
 previous conclusions, and therefore comes in the shape of 
 praise or of encouragement. It is not unwelcome when we 
 derive it for ourselves, by applying the moral of some other 
 person's life to our own, though the points of resemblance 
 which bring it home may be far from flattering and the 
 advice itself far from palatable. We can even endure its 
 being addressed to us by another, when it is interwoven 
 with regret at some error, not of ours, but of his ; and when 
 we see that he throws in a little advice to us, by way of 
 introducing, with more grace, a full recital of his own mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 .But in general it is with advice as with taxation : we can 
 endure very little of either, if they come to us in the direct 
 way. They must not thrust themselves upon us. We do 
 not understand their knocking at our doors ; besides, they 
 always choose such inconvenient times, and are for ever 
 talking of arrears. 
 
 There is a wide difference between the advice which is
 
 ADVICE. 31 
 
 thrust upon you, and that which you have to seek for ; the 
 general carelessness of the one, and the caution of the 
 other, are to be taken into account. In sifting the latter, 
 you must take care to separate the decorous part of it. I 
 mean all that which the adviser puts in, because he thinks 
 the world would expect it from a person of his character and 
 station all that which was to sound well to a third party, 
 of whom, perhaps, the adviser stands somewhat in awe. 
 You cannot expect him to neglect his own safety. The 
 oracles will Philippise, as long as Philip is the master ; but 
 still they have an inner meaning for Athenian ears. 
 
 It is a disingenuous thing to ask for advice y when you 
 mean assistance; and it will be a just punishment if you 
 get that which you pretended to want. There is a still 
 greater insincerity in affecting to care about another's 
 advice, when you lay the circumstances before him only for 
 the chance of his sanctioning a course which you had 
 previously resolved on. This practice is noticed by Roche- 
 foucauld, who has also laid bare the falseness of those 
 givers of advice who have hardly heard to the end of 
 your story, before they have begun to think how they 
 can advise upon it to their own interest, or their own 
 renown. 
 
 It is a maxim of prudence that when you advise a man 
 to do something which is for your own interest as well as 
 for his, you should put your own motive for advising him 
 full in view, with all the weight that belongs to it. If you 
 conceal the interest which you have in the matter, and he 
 should afterwards discover it, he will be resolutely deaf even 
 to that part of the argument which fairly does concern him- 
 self. If the lame man had endeavoured to persuade his 
 blind friend that it was pure charity which induced him to 
 lend the use of his eyes, you may be certain that he never
 
 32 ESS A YS. 
 
 would have been carried home, though it was the other's 
 interest to carry him. 
 
 To get extended views, you should consult with person? 
 who differ from you in disposition, circumstances, and 
 modes of thought. At the same time, the most practicable 
 advice may often be obtained from those who are of a 
 similar nature to yourself, or who understand you so 
 thoroughly that they are sure to make their advice personal. 
 This advice will contain sympathy ; for as it has been said, 
 a man always sympathises to a certain extent with what he 
 understands. It will not, perhaps, be the soundest advice 
 that can be given in the abstract, but it may be that which 
 you can best profit by ; for you may be able to act up to 
 it with some consistency. This applies more particularly 
 when the advice is wanted for some matter which is not of 
 a temporary nature, and where a course of action will have 
 to be adopted. It is observed in The Statesman with much 
 truth, "Nothing can be for a man's interest in the long run 
 which is not founded on his character." 
 
 For similar reasons, when you have to give advice, you 
 should never forget whom you are addressing, and what is 
 practicable for him. You should not look about for the 
 wisest thing which can be said, but for that which your 
 friend has the heart to undertake, and the ability to 
 accomplish. You must sometimes feel with him, before 
 you can possibly think for him. There is more need of 
 keeping this in mind, the greater you know the difference 
 to be between your friend's nature and your own. Your 
 advice should not degenerate into comparisons between 
 what would have been your conduct, and what was your 
 friend's. You should be able to take the matter up at the 
 point at which it is brought to you. It is very well to go 
 back, and to show him what might, or what ought to have
 
 ADVICE. 33 
 
 been done, if it throws any light upon what is to be done; 
 or if you have any other good purpose in such conversation. 
 But remember that comment, however judicious, is not 
 advice ; and that advice should always tend to something 
 practicable. 
 
 The advice which we just have been speaking of, is of 
 that kind which relates to points of conduct. If you want 
 to change a man's principles, you may have to take him out 
 of himself, as it were; to show him fully the intense 
 difference between your own views and his, and to trace up 
 that difference to its source. Your object is not to make 
 him do the best with what he has, but to induce him to 
 throw something away altogether. 
 
 There are occasions on which a man feels that he has so 
 fully made up his mind that hardly anything could move 
 him ; and, at the same time, he knows that he shall meet 
 with much blame from those whose good opinion is of 
 value to him, if he acts according to that mind. Let him 
 not think to break his fall by asking their advice before- 
 hand. As it is, they will be severe upon him for not 
 having consulted them; but they will be outrageous if, 
 after having consulted them, he then acts in direct opposi- 
 tion to their counsel. Besides, they will not be so inclined 
 to parade the fact of their not having been consulted, as 
 they would of their having given judicious advice which 
 was unhappily neglected. I am not speaking of those 
 instances in which a man is bound to consult others, 
 but of such as constantly occur, where his consulting them 
 is a thing which may be expected, but is not due. 
 
 In seeking for a friend to advise you, look for uprightness 
 in him, rather than for ingenuity. It frequently happens 
 that all you want is moral strength. You can discern con- 
 sequences well enough, but cannot make up your mind to 
 
 3
 
 34 ESSA YS. 
 
 bear them. Let your Mentor also be a person of nice 
 conscience, for such a one is less likely to fall into that error 
 to which we are all so liable, of advising our friends to act 
 with less forbearance, and with less generosity, than we 
 should be inclined to show ourselves, if the case were our 
 own. " If I were you " is a phrase often on our lips but 
 we take good care not to disturb our identity, nor to quit 
 the disengaged position of a bystander. We recommend 
 the course we might pursue if we were acting for you in 
 your absence, but such as you never ought to undertake in 
 your own behalf. 
 
 Besides being careful for your own sake about the persons 
 whom you go to for advice, you should be careful also for 
 theirs. It is an act of selfishness unnecessarily to consult 
 those who are likely to feel a peculiar difficulty or delicacy 
 in being your advisers, and who, perhaps, had better not be 
 informed at all about the matter. 
 
 SECRECY. 
 
 FOR once that secrecy is formally imposed upon you, it is 
 implied a hundred times by the concurrent circumstances. 
 All that your friend says to you, as to his friend, is entrusted 
 to you only. Much of what a man tells you in the hour of 
 affliction, in sudden anger, or in any outpouring of his heart, 
 should be sacred. In his craving for sympathy he has 
 spoken to you as to his own soul. 
 
 To repeat what you have heard in social intercourse is 
 sometimes a sad treachery; and when it is not treacherous, 
 it is often foolish. For you commonly relate but a part of 
 what has happened, and even if you are able to relate that 
 part with fairness, it is still as likely to be misconstrued as a
 
 SECRECY. 35 
 
 word of many meanings, in a foreign tongue, without the 
 context. 
 
 There are few conversations which do not imply some 
 degree of mutual confidence, however slight And in 
 addition to that which is said in confidence there is 
 generally something which is peculiar, though not con- 
 fidential; which is addressed to the present company alone, 
 though not confided to their secrecy. It is meant for them, 
 or for persons like them, and they are expected to under- 
 stand it rightly. So that when a man has no scruple in 
 repeating all that he hears to anybody that he meets, he 
 pays but a poor compliment to himself; for he seems to 
 take it for granted that what was said in his presence would 
 have been said, in the same words, at any time, aloud, and 
 in the market-place. In short, that he is the average man 
 of mankind; which I doubt much whether any man would 
 like to consider himself. 
 
 On the other hand, there is an habitual and unmeaning 
 reserve in some men which makes secrets without any 
 occasion; and it is the least to say of such things that they 
 are needless. Sometimes it proceeds from an innate shy- 
 ness or timidity of disposition; sometimes from a temper 
 naturally suspicious; or it may be the result of having been 
 frequently betrayed or oppressed. From whatever cause it 
 comes it is a failing. As cunning is some men's strength, 
 so this sort of reserve is some men's prudence. The man 
 who does not know when, or how much, or to whom to 
 confide, will do well in maintaining a Pythagorean silence. 
 It is his best course. I would not have him change it on 
 any account; I only wish him not to mistake it for wisdom. 
 
 That happy union of frankness and reserve which is to 
 be desired comes not by studying rules, either for candour 
 or for caution. It results chiefly from an uprightness of
 
 36 SSA VS. 
 
 purpose enlightened by a profound and delicate care for the 
 feelings of others. This will go very far in teaching us 
 what to confide, and what to conceal, in our own affairs; 
 what to repeat, and what to suppress, in those of other 
 people. The stone in which nothing is seen, and the 
 polished metal which reflects all things, are both alike hard 
 and insensible. 
 
 When a matter is made public, to proclaim that it had 
 ever been confided to your secrecy may be no trifling breach 
 of confidence; and it is the only one which is then left for 
 you to commit. 
 
 With respect to the kind of people to be trusted, it may 
 be observed that grave, proud men are very safe confidants; 
 and that those persons, who have ever had to conduct any 
 business in which secrecy was essential, are likely to acquire 
 a habit of reserve for all occasions. 
 
 On the other hand, it is a question whether a secret will 
 escape sooner by means of a vain man or a simpleton. 
 There are some people who play with a secret until at last 
 it is suggested by their manner to some shrewd person who 
 knows a little of the circumstances connected with it 
 There are others whom it is unsafe to trust : not that they 
 are vain, and so wear the secret as an ornament; not that 
 they are foolish, and so let it drop by accident; not that 
 they are treacherous, and sell it for their own advantage. 
 But they are simple-minded people, with whom the world 
 has gone smoothly, who would not themselves make any 
 mischief of the secret which they disclose, and therefore 
 do not see what harm can come of telling it. 
 
 Before you make any confidence, you should consider 
 whether the thing you wish to confide is of weight enough 
 to be a secret. Your small secrets require the greatest care. 
 Most persons suppose that they have kept them sufficiently
 
 EDUCATION OF A MAN OF BUSINESS. 37 
 
 when they have been silent about them for a certain time; 
 and this is hardly to be wondered at, if there is nothing in 
 their nature to remind a person that they were told to him 
 as secrets. 
 
 There is sometimes a good reason for using concealment 
 even with your dearest friends. It is that you may be less 
 liable to be reminded of your anxieties when you have 
 resolved to put them aside. Few persons have tact enough 
 to perceive when to be silent, and when to offer you counsel 
 or condolence. 
 
 You should be careful not to entrust another unnecessarily 
 with a secret which it may be a hard matter for him to keep, 
 and which may expose him to somebody's displeasure, when 
 it is hereafter discovered that he was the object of your 
 confidence. Your desire for aid, or for sympathy, is not to 
 be indulged by dragging other people into your misfortunes. 
 
 There is as much responsibility in imparting your own 
 secrets, as in keeping those of your neighbour. 
 
 ON THE EDUCATION OF A MAN OF BUSINESS. 
 
 THE essential qualities for a man of business are of a moral 
 nature : these are to be cultivated first. He must learn 
 betimes to love truth. That same love of truth will be found 
 a potent charm to bear him safely through the world's 
 entanglements I mean safely in the most worldly sense. 
 Besides, the love of truth not only makes a man act with 
 more simplicity, and therefore with less chance of error; 
 but it conduces to the highest intellectual development. 
 The following passage in The Statesman gives the reason : 
 "The correspondences of wisdom and goodness are manifold; 
 and that they will accompany each other is to be inferred
 
 38 ESSA YS. 
 
 not only because men's wisdom makes them good, but also 
 because their goodness makes them wise. Questions of 
 right and wrong are a perpetual exercise of the faculties of 
 those who are solicitous as to the right and wrong of what 
 they do and see ; and a deep interest of the heart in these 
 questions carries with it a deeper cultivation of the under- 
 standing than can be easily effected by any other excitement 
 to intellectual activity." 
 
 What has just been said of the love of truth applies also 
 to other moral qualities. Thus, charity enlightens the 
 understanding quite as much as it purifies the heart. And 
 indeed knowledge is not more girt about with power than 
 goodness is with wisdom. 
 
 The next thing in the training of one who is to become a 
 man of business will be for him to form principles ; for 
 without these, when thrown on the sea of action, he will be 
 without rudder and compass. They are the best results of 
 study. Whether it is history, or political economy, or 
 ethics, that he is studying, these principles are to be the 
 reward of his labour. A principle resembles a law in the 
 physical world ; though it can seldom have the same 
 certainty, as the facts which it has to explain "and embrace 
 do not admit of being weighed or numbered with the same 
 exactness as material things. The principles which our 
 student adopts at first may be unsound, may be insufficient, 
 but he must not neglect to form some; and must only 
 nourish a love of truth that will not allow him to hold to 
 any the moment that he finds them to be erroneous. 
 
 Much depends upon the temperament of a man of busi- 
 ness. It should be hopeful, that it may bear him up against 
 the faint-heartedness, the folly, the falsehood, and the 
 numberless discouragements which even a prosperous man 
 will have to endure. It should also be calm; for else he
 
 EDUCATION OF A MAN OF BUSINESS. 39 
 
 may be driven wild by any great pressure of business, and 
 lose his time, and his head, in rushing from one unfinished 
 thing to begin something else. Now this wished-for con- 
 junction of the calm and the hopeful is very rare. It is, 
 however, in every man's power to study well his own 
 temperament, and to provide against the defects in it. 
 
 A habit of thinking for himself is one which may be 
 acquired by the solitary student. But the habit of deciding 
 for himself, so indispensable to a man of business, is not to 
 be gained by study. Decision is a thing that cannot be 
 fully exercised until it is actually wanted. You cannot play 
 at deciding. You must have realities to deal with. 
 
 It is true that the formation of principles, which has been 
 spoken of before, requires decision; but it is of that kind 
 which depends upon deliberate judgment : whereas the 
 decision which is wanted in the world's business must ever 
 be within call, and does not judge so much as it foresees 
 and chooses. This kind of decision is to be found in those 
 who have been thrown early on their own resources, or who 
 have been brought up in great freedom. 
 
 It would be difficult to lay down any course of study, not 
 technical, that would be peculiarly fitted to form a man of 
 business. He should be brought up in the habit of reason- 
 ing closely : and to ensure this there is hardly anything 
 better for him than the study of geometry. 
 
 In any course of study to be laid down for him some- 
 thing like universality should be aimed at, which not only 
 makes the mind agile, but gives variety of information. 
 Such a system will make him acquainted with many modes 
 of thought, with various classes of facts, and will enable 
 him to understand men better. 
 
 There will be a time in his youth which may, perhaps, be 
 well spent in those studies which are of a metaphysical
 
 40 ESSA YS. 
 
 nature. In the investigation of some of the great questions 
 of philosophy a breadth and a tone may be given to a 
 man's mode of thinking which will afterwards be of signal 
 use to him in the business of everyday life. 
 
 We cannot enter here into a description of the technical 
 studies for a man of business ; but I may point out that 
 there are works which soften the transition from the schools 
 to the world, and which are particularly needed in a system 
 of education, like our own, consisting of studies for the 
 most part remote from real life. These works are such as 
 tend to give the student that interest in the common things 
 about him which he has scarcely ever been called upon to 
 feel. They show how imagination and philosophy can be 
 woven into practical wisdom. Such are the writings of 
 Bacon. His lucid order, his grasp of the subject, the com- 
 prehensiveness of his views, his knowledge of mankind 
 the greatest perhaps that has ever been distinctly given 
 out by any uninspired man the practical nature of his 
 purposes, and his respect for anything of human interest, 
 render Bacon's works unrivalled in their fitness to form the 
 best men for the conduct of the highest affairs. 
 
 It is not, however, so much the thing studied as the 
 manner of studying it. Our student is not intended to 
 become a learned man, but a man of business ; not "a full 
 man," but a " ready man." He must be taught to arrange 
 and express what he knows. For this purpose let him 
 employ himself in making digests, arranging and classifying 
 materials, writing narratives, and in deciding upon conflict- 
 ing evidence. All these exercises require method. He 
 must expect that his early attempts will be clumsy ; he 
 begins, perhaps, by dividing his subject in any way that 
 occurs to him, with no other view than that of treating 
 separate portions of it separately ; he does not perceive, at
 
 EDUCATION OF A MAN OF BUSINESS. 41 
 
 first, what things are of one kind, and what of another, and 
 what should be the logical order of their following. But 
 from such rude beginnings method is developed ; and there 
 is hardly any degree of toil for which he would not be com- 
 pensated by such a result. He will have a sure reward in 
 the clearness of his own views, and in the facility of explain- 
 ing them to others. People bring their attention to the 
 man who gives them most profit for it ; and this will be one 
 who is a master of method. 
 
 Our student should begin soon to cultivate a fluency in 
 writing I do not mean a flow of words, but a habit of 
 expressing his thoughts with accuracy, with brevity, and 
 with readiness, which can only be acquired by practice early 
 in life. You find persons who, from neglect in this part of 
 their education, can express themselves briefly and accur- 
 ately, but only after much care and labour. > And again, you 
 meet with others who cannot express themselves accurately, 
 although they have method in their thoughts, and can write 
 with readiness ; but they have not been accustomed to look 
 at the precise meaning of words ; and such people are apt 
 to fall into the common error of indulging in a great many 
 words, as if it were from a sort of hope that some of them 
 might be to the purpose. 
 
 In the style of a man of business nothing is to be aimed 
 at but plainness and precision. For instance, a close repe- 
 tition of the same word for the same thing need not be 
 avoided. The aversion to such repetitions may be carried 
 too far in all kinds of writing. In literature, however, you 
 are seldom brought to account for misleading people ; but 
 in business you may soon be called upon to pay the penalty 
 for having shunned the word which would exactly have 
 expressed your meaning. 
 
 I cannot conclude this essay better than by endeavouring
 
 42 ESSA YS. 
 
 to describe what sort of person a consummate man of 
 business should be. 
 
 He should be able to fix his attention on details, and be 
 ready to give every kind of argument a hearing. This will 
 not encumber him, for he must have been practised before- 
 hand in the exercise of his intellect, and be strong in 
 principles. One man collects materials together, and there 
 they remain, a shapeless heap; another, possessed of method, 
 can arrange what he has collected ; but such a man as I 
 would describe, by the aid of principles, goes farther, and 
 builds with his materials. 
 
 He should be courageous. The courage, however, re- 
 quired in civil affairs is that which belongs rather to the 
 able commander than the mere soldier. But any kind of 
 courage is serviceable. 
 
 Besides a stout heart, he should have a patient tempera- 
 ment, and a vigorous but disciplined imagination ; and then 
 he will plan boldly, and with large extent of view, execute 
 calmly, and not be stretching out his hand for things not yet 
 within his grasp. He will let opportunities grow before his 
 eyes, until they are ripe to be seized. He will think steadily 
 over possible failure, in order to provide a remedy or a 
 retreat There will be a strength of repose about him. 
 
 He must have a deep sense of responsibility. He must 
 believe in the power and vitality of truth, and in all he 
 does or says, should be anxious to express as much truth as 
 possible. 
 
 His feeling of responsibility and love of truth will almost 
 inevitably endow him with diligence, accuracy, and discreet- 
 ness, those commonplace requisites for a good man of 
 business, without which all the rest may never come to be 
 " translated into action."
 
 43 
 
 ON THE TRANSACTION OF BUSINESS. 
 
 THIS subject may be divided into two parts, i. Dealing 
 with others about business. 2. Dealing with the business 
 itself. 
 
 i. Dealing with others about Business. 
 
 The first part of the general subject embraces the choice 
 and management of agents, the transaction of business by 
 means of interviews, the choice of colleagues, and the use of 
 councils. Each of these topics will be treated separately. 
 There remain, however, certain general rules with respect 
 to our dealings with others which may naturally find a place 
 here. 
 
 In your converse with the world avoid anything like a 
 juggling dexterity. The proper use of dexterity is to 
 prevent your being circumvented by the cunning of others. 
 It should not be aggressive. 
 
 Concessions and compromises form a large and a very 
 important part of our dealings with others. Concessions 
 must generally be looked upon as distinct defeats ; and you 
 must expect no gratitude for them. I am far from saying 
 that it may not be wise to make concessions, but this will 
 be done more wisely when you understand the nature of 
 them. 
 
 In making compromises, do not think to gain much by 
 concealing your views and wishes. You are as likely to 
 suffer from its not being known how to please or satisfy 
 you, as from any attempt to overreach you, grounded on a 
 knowledge of your wishes. 
 
 Delay is in some instances to be adopted advisedly. It 
 sometimes brings a person to reason when nothing else
 
 44 ESSA YS, 
 
 could ; when his mind is so occupied with one idea, that he 
 completely over-estimates its relative importance. He can 
 hardly be brought to look at the subject calmly by any force 
 of reasoning. For this disease time is the only doctor. 
 
 A good man of business is very watchful, over both 
 himself and others, to prevent things from being carried 
 against his sense of right in moments of lassitude. After a 
 matter has been much discussed, whether to the purpose 
 or not, there comes a time when all parties are anxious 
 that it should be settled ; and there is then some danger of 
 the handiest way of getting rid of the matter being taken 
 for the best. 
 
 It is often worth while to bestow much pains in gaining 
 over foolish people to your way of thinking ; and you should 
 do it soon. Your reasons will always have some weight with 
 the wise. But if at first you omit to put your arguments 
 before the foolish, they will form their prejudices; and a 
 fool is often very consistent, and very fond of repetition. 
 He will be repeating his folly in season and out of season, 
 until at last it has a hearing ; and it is hard if it does not 
 sometimes chime in with the external circumstances. 
 
 A man of business should take care to consult occasionally 
 with persons of a nature quite different from his own. To 
 very few are given all the qualities requisite to form a good 
 man of business. Thus a man may have a sternness and 
 the fixedness of purpose so necessary in the conduct of 
 affairs, yet these qualities prevent him, perhaps, from enter- 
 ing into the characters of those about him. He is likely to 
 want tact. He will be unprepared for the extent of versatility 
 and vacillation in other men. But these defects and over- 
 sights might be remedied by consulting with persons whom 
 he knows to be possessed of the qualities supplementary to his 
 own. Men of much depth of mind can bear a great deal of
 
 ON THE TRANSACTION OF BUSINESS. 45 
 
 counsel ; for it does not easily deface their own character, 
 nor render their purpose indistinct. 
 
 2. Dealing with the Business itself. 
 
 The first thing to be considered in this division of the 
 subject is the collection and arrangement of your materials. 
 Do not fail to begin with the earliest history of the matter 
 under consideration. Be careful not to give way to any 
 particular theory, while you are merely collecting materials 
 lest it should influence you in the choice of them. You 
 must work for yourself; for what you reject may be as 
 important for you to have seen and thought about, as what 
 you adopt ; besides, it gives you a command of the subject, 
 and a comparative fearlessness of surprise, which you will 
 never have if you rely on other people for your materials. 
 In some cases, however, you may save time by not labour- 
 ing much, beforehand, at parts of the subject which are 
 nearly sure to be worked out in discussion. 
 
 When you have collected and arranged your information, 
 there comes the task of deciding upon it. To make this 
 less difficult you must use method, and practise economy in 
 thinking. You must not weary yourself by considering the 
 same thing in the same way; just oscillating over it, as it 
 were; seldom making much progress, and not marking the 
 little that you have made. You must not lose your atten- 
 tion in reveries about the subject ; but must bring yourself 
 to the point by such questions as the What has been done ? 
 What is the state of the case at present ? What can be 
 done next ? What ought to be done ? Express in writing 
 the answers to your questions. Use the pen there is no 
 magic in it, but it prevents the mind from staggering about. 
 It forces you to methodise your thoughts. It enables you
 
 46 ESSA YS. 
 
 to survey the matter with a less tired eye. Whereas in 
 thinking vaguely, you not only lose time, but you acquire a 
 familiarity with the husk of the subject, which is absolutely 
 injurious. Your apprehension becomes dull ; you establish 
 associations of ideas which occur again and again to distract 
 your attention; and you become more tired than if you had 
 really been employed in mastering the subject. 
 
 When you have arrived at your decision, you have to 
 consider how you shall convey it. In doing this, be sure 
 that you very rarely, if ever, say anything which is not 
 immediately relevant to the subject. Beware of indulging 
 in maxims, in abstract propositions, or in anything of that 
 kind. Let your subject fill the whole of what you say. 
 Human affairs are so wide, subtle, and complicated, that the 
 most sagacious man had better content himself with pro- 
 nouncing upon those points alone upon which his decision 
 is called for. 
 
 It will often be a nice question whether or not to state 
 the motives for your decisions. Much will depend upon 
 the nature of the subject, upon the party whom you have to 
 address, and upon your power of speaking out the whole 
 truth. When you can give all your motives, it will in most 
 cases be just to others, and eventually good for yourself, to 
 do so. If you can only state some of them, then you must 
 consider whether they are likely to mislead, or whether they 
 tend to the full truth. And for your own sake there is this 
 to be considered in giving only a part of your reasons ; that 
 those which you give are generally taken to be the whole, 
 or at any rate, the best that you have. And, hereafter, you 
 may find yourself precluded from using an argument which 
 turns out to be a very sound one, which had great weight 
 with you, but which you were at the time unwilling, or did 
 not think it necessary, to put forward.
 
 ON THE TRANSACTION OF BUSINESS. 47 
 
 When you have to communicate the motives for an un- 
 favourable decision, you will naturally study how to convey 
 them so as to give least pain, and to ensure least discussion. 
 These are not unworthy objects; but they are immediate 
 ones, and therefore likely to have their full weight with you. 
 Beware that your anxiety to obtain them does not carry you 
 into an implied falsehood ; for, to say the least of it, evil is 
 latent in that. Each day's converse with the world ought 
 to confirm us in the maxim that a bold but not unkind 
 sincerity should be the groundwork of all our dealings. 
 
 It will often be necessary to make a general statement 
 respecting the history of some business. It should be lucid, 
 yet not overburdened with details. It must have method 
 not merely running through it, but visible upon it it must 
 have method in its form. You must build it up, beginning 
 at the beginning, giving each part its due weight, and not 
 hurrying over those steps which happen to be peculiarly 
 familiar to yourself. You must thoroughly enter into the 
 ignorance of others, and so avoid forestalling your conclu- 
 sions. The best teachers are those who can seem to forget 
 what they know full well ; who work out results, which have 
 become axioms in their minds, with all the interest of a 
 beginner, and with footsteps no longer than his. 
 
 It is a good practice to draw up, and put on record, an 
 abstract of the reasons upon which you have come to a 
 decision on any complicated subject ; so that if it is referred 
 to, there is but little labour in making yourself master of it 
 again. Of course this practice will be more or less necessary, 
 according as your decision has been conveyed with a 
 reserved or with a full statement of the reasons upon which 
 it was grounded. 
 
 Of all the correspondence you receive, a concise record 
 should be kept ; which should also contain a note of what
 
 48 ESS A YS. 
 
 was done upon any letter, and of where it was sent to, or 
 put away. Documents relating to the same subject should 
 be carefully brought together. You should endeavour to 
 establish such a system of arranging your papers, as may 
 ensure their being readily referred to, and yet not require 
 too much time and attention to be carried into daily 
 practice. Facsimiles should be kept of all the letters which 
 you send out 
 
 These seem little things ; and so they are, unless you 
 neglect them. 
 
 ON THE CHOICE AND MANAGEMENT OF 
 AGENTS. 
 
 THE choice of agents is a difficult matter, but any labour 
 that you may bestow upon it is likely to be well repaid ; 
 for you have to choose persons for whose faults you are to 
 be punished ; to whom you are to be the whipping-boy. 
 
 In the choice of an agent, it is not sufficient to ascertain 
 what a man knows, or to make a catalogue of his qualities ; 
 but you have to find out how he will perform a 
 particular service. You may be right in concluding that 
 such an office requires certain qualities, and you may dis- 
 cern that such a man possesses most of them ; and in the 
 absence of any means of making a closer trial, you may 
 have done the best that you could do. But some deficiency, 
 or some untoward combination of these qualities, may unfit 
 him for the office. Hence the value of any opportunity, 
 however slight, of observing his conduct in matters similar 
 to those for which you want him. 
 
 Our previous knowledge of men will sometimes mislead 
 us entirely, even when we apply it to circumstances but
 
 CHOICE AND MANAGEMENT OF AGENTS. 49 
 
 little different, as we think, from those in which we have 
 actually observed their behaviour. For instance, you might 
 naturally imagine that a man who shows an irritable temper 
 in his conversation is likely to show a similar temper 
 throughout the conduct of his business. But experience 
 does not confirm this ; for you will often find that men who 
 are intemperate in speech are cautious in writing. 
 
 The best agents are, in general, to be found amongst 
 those persons who have a strong sense of responsibility. 
 Under this feeling a man will be likely to grudge no pains ; 
 he will pay attention to minute things ; and, what is of 
 much importance, he will prefer being considered ever so 
 stupid rather than pretend to understand his orders before 
 he does so. 
 
 You should behave to your subordinate agents in such a 
 manner that they should not be afraid to be frank with you. 
 They should be able to comment freely upon your directions, 
 and may thus become your best counsellors. For those who 
 are entrusted with the execution of any work are likely to 
 see things which have been overlooked by the person who 
 designed it, however sagacious he may be. 
 
 You must not interfere unnecessarily with your agents, as 
 it gives them the habit of leaning too much upon you. Sir 
 Walter Scott says of Canning, " I fear he works himself too 
 hard, under the great error of trying to do too much with his 
 own hand, and to see everything with his own eyes. Whereas 
 the greatest general and the first statesman must, in many 
 cases, be content to use the eyes and fingers of others, and 
 hold themselves contented with the exercise of the greatest 
 care in the choice of implements." Most men of vigorous 
 minds and nice perceptions will be apt to interfere too 
 much ; but it should always be one of the chief objects of 
 a person in authority to train up those around him to do 
 
 4
 
 50 ESSA YS. 
 
 without him. He should try to give them some self-reliance. 
 It should be his aim to create a standard as to the way in 
 which things ought to be done not to do them all himself. 
 That standard is likely to be maintained for some time, in 
 case of his absence, illness, or death ; and it will be applied 
 daily to many things that must be done without a careful 
 inspection on his part, even when he is in full vigour. 
 
 With respect to those agents whom you employ to re- 
 present you, your inclination should be to treat them with 
 hearty confidence. In justice to them, as well as for your 
 own sake, the limits which you lay down for their guidance 
 should be precise. Within those limits you should allow 
 them a large discretionary power. You must be careful not 
 to blame your agent for departing from your orders, when 
 in fact the discrepancy which you notice is nothing more 
 than the usual difference in the ways in which different men 
 set about the same object, even when they employ similar 
 means for its accomplishment. For a difference of this 
 kind you should have been prepared. But if you are in 
 haste to blame your representative, your captiousness may 
 throw a great burden upon him unnecessarily. It is not 
 the success of the undertaking only that he will thence- 
 forward be intent upon : he will be anxious that each step 
 should be done exactly after your fancy. And this may 
 embarrass him, render him indecisive, and lead to his failing 
 altogether. 
 
 The surest way to make agents do their work is to show 
 them that their efforts are appreciated with nicety. For 
 this purpose you should not only be very careful in your 
 promotions and rewards, but in your daily dealings with 
 them you should beware of making slight or haphazard 
 criticisms on any of their proceedings. Your praise should 
 not only be right in the substance, but put upon the right
 
 ON THE TREATMENT OF SUITORS. 51 
 
 foundation ; it should point to their most strenuous and most 
 judicious exertion. I do not mean that it should always be 
 given at the time of those exertions being made, but it 
 should show that they had not passed by unnoticed. 
 
 ON THE TREATMENT OF SUITORS. 
 
 THE maxim, " Pars beneficii est, quod petitur si bene neges," 
 is misinterpreted by many people. They construe "bene" 
 kindly, which is right ; but they are inclined to fancy that 
 this kindness consists in courtesy, rather than in explicitness 
 and truth. 
 
 You should be very loth to encourage expectations in a 
 suitor which you have not then the power of fulfilling, or of 
 putting in a course of fulfilment ; for Hope, an architect 
 above rules, can build, in reverse, a pyramid upon a point. 
 From a very little origin there often arises a wildness of 
 expectation which quite astounds you. Like the Fisherman 
 in the " Arabian Nights," when you see " a genie twice as 
 high as the greatest of giants," you may well wonder how he 
 could have come out of so small a vessel ; but in your case 
 there will be no chance of persuading the monster to 
 ensconce himself again, for the purpose of convincing you 
 that such a feat is not impossible. 
 
 In addition also to the natural delusions of hope, there is 
 sometimes the artifice of pretending to take your words for 
 more than they are well known to mean. 
 
 There is a deafness peculiar to suitors : they should 
 therefore be answered as much as possible in writing. The 
 answers should be expressed in simple terms; and all 
 phrases should be avoided which are not likely to convey a 
 clear idea to the man who hears them for the first time.
 
 52 ESS A YS. 
 
 There are many persons who really do not understand 
 forms of writing which may have become common to you. 
 When they find that courteous expressions mean nothing, 
 they think that a wilful deception has been practised upon 
 them. And in general you should consider that people 
 will naturally put the largest construction upon every 
 ambiguous expression, and every term of courtesy which can 
 be made to express anything at all in their favour. 
 
 It will often be necessary to see applicants ; and in this 
 case you must bear in mind that you have not only the 
 delusions of hope and the misinterpretation of language 
 to contend against, but also the imperfection of men's 
 memories. If possible, therefore, do not let the interview 
 be the termination of the matter : let it lead to something 
 in writing, so that you may have an opportunity of recording 
 what you wished to express. Avoid a promising manner; 
 as people will be apt to find words for it. Do not resort to 
 evasive answers for the purpose only of bringing the inter- 
 view to a close ; nor shrink from giving a distinct denial, 
 merely because the person to whom you ought to give it is 
 before you, and you would have to witness any pain which 
 it might occasion. Let not that balance of justice which 
 Corruption could not alter one hair's-breadth be altogether 
 disturbed by Sensibility. 
 
 To determine in what case the refusal of a suit should be 
 accompanied by reasons is a matter of considerable diffi- 
 culty. It must depend very much on what portion of the 
 truth you are able to bring forward. This was mentioned 
 before as a general principle in the transaction of business, 
 and it may be well to abide by it in answering applications. 
 You will naturally endeavour to give somewhat of a detailed 
 explanation when you are desirous of showing respect to the 
 person whom you are addressing; but if the explanation is
 
 INTERVIEWS. 53 
 
 not a sound or a complete one, it would be better to see 
 whether the respect could not be shown in some other way. 
 
 In many cases, and especially when the suit is a mere 
 project of effrontery, it will perhaps be prudent to refuse, 
 without entering at all upon the grounds of your refusal. 
 In an explanation addressed to the applicant, you will be 
 apt to omit the special reasons for your refusal, as they are 
 likely to be such as would mortify his self-love ; and so you 
 lay yourself open to an accusation of unfairness, when he 
 finds, perhaps, that you have selected some other person, 
 who came as fully within the scope of your general objec- 
 tions as he did himself. Therefore, where you are not 
 required, and do not like, to give special reasons, it may 
 often be the best course simply to refuse, or to couch your 
 refusal in impregnable generalities. 
 
 Remember that in giving any reason at all for refusing, 
 you lay some foundation for a future request. 
 
 Those who have constantly to deal with suitors are in 
 danger of giving way too much to disgust at the intrusion, 
 importunity, and egotism which they meet with. As an 
 antidote to this, they should remember that the suit which 
 is a matter of business to them, and which, perhaps, from 
 its hopelessness, they look upon with little interest, seems 
 to the suitor himself a thing of absorbing importance. 
 And they should expect a man in distress to be as unreason- 
 able as a sick person, and as much occupied by his own 
 disorder. 
 
 INTERVIEWS. 
 
 THERE is much that cannot be done without interviews. 
 It would often require great labour, not only on your part, 
 but also on the part of others whom you cannot command,
 
 54 ESSA YS. 
 
 to effect by means of writing what may easily be accom- 
 plished in a single interview. The pen may be a surer, 
 but the tongue is a nicer instrument. In talking, most 
 men sooner or later show what is uppermost in their minds ; 
 and this gives a peculiar interest to verbal communications. 
 Besides, there are looks, and tones, and gestures, which 
 form a significant language of their own. In short, inter- 
 views may be made very useful; and are, in general, 
 somewhat hazardous things; but many people look upon 
 them rather as the pastime of business than as a part of it 
 requiring great discretion. 
 
 Interviews are perhaps of most value when they bring 
 together several conflicting interests or opinions, each of 
 which has thus an opportunity of ascertaining the amount 
 and variety of opposition which it must expect, and so is 
 worn into moderation. It would take a great deal of 
 writing to effect this. 
 
 Interviews are to be resorted to when you wish to prevent 
 the other party from pledging himself upon a matter which 
 requires much explanation ; when you see what will prob- 
 ably be his answer to your first proposition, and know 
 that you have a good rejoinder, which you would wish him 
 to hear before he commits himself by writing upon the 
 subject. In cases of this kind, however, there is the similar 
 danger of a man's talking himself into obstinacy before he 
 has heard all that you have to say. 
 
 Interviews are very serviceable in those matters where 
 you would at once be able to come to a decision, if you 
 did not know the real inclination of the other parties con- 
 cerned ; and, in general, you should take care occasionally 
 to see those with whom you are dealing, if the thing in 
 question is likely to be much influenced by their individual 
 peculiarities, and you require a knowledge of the men.
 
 INTERVIEWS. 55 
 
 Now this is the case with the greatest part of human 
 affairs. 
 
 You frequently want verbal communication in order to 
 encourage the timid, to settle the undecided, and to bring 
 on some definite stage in the proceedings. 
 
 The above are instances in which interviews are to be 
 sought for on their own account; but they are sometimes 
 necessary, merely because people will not be satisfied 
 without them. There are persons who can hardly believe 
 that their arguments have been attended to until they have 
 had verbal evidence of the fact. They think that they 
 could easily answer all your objections, and that they 
 should certainly succeed in persuading you, if they had 
 an opportunity of discussing the matter orally ; and it may 
 be of importance to remove this delusion by an interview. 
 
 On the other hand, interviews are to be avoided, when 
 you have reasons which determine your mind, but which 
 you cannot give to the other party. If you do accede to 
 an interview, you are almost certain to be tempted into 
 giving some reasons, and these not being the strong ones, 
 will very likely admit of a fair answer; and so, after much 
 shuffling, you will be obliged to resort to an appearance of 
 mere wilfulness at last. 
 
 You should also be averse to transacting business 
 verbally with very eager, sanguine persons, unless you 
 feel that you have sufficient force and readiness for it. 
 There are people who do not understand any d.ssent or 
 opposition on your part, unless it is made very manifest. 
 They are fully prepossessed by their own views, and they 
 go on talking as if you agreed with them. Perhaps you 
 feel a delicacy in interrupting them, and undeceiving them 
 at once. The time for doing so passes by; and ever after- 
 wards they quote you as an authority for all their folly. Or
 
 56 SSA YS. 
 
 it ends by your going away pledged to a course of conduct 
 which is anything but what you approve. 
 
 But perhaps there are no interviews less to be sought 
 after than those in which you have to appear in connection 
 with one or two other parties who have exactly the same 
 interest in the matter as your own, and must be supposed to 
 speak your sentiments, but with whom you have had little 
 or no previous communication ; or whose judgment you 
 find that you cannot rely upon. In such a case you are 
 continually in danger of being compromised by the indiscre- 
 tion of any one of your associates. For you do not like to 
 disown one of your own side before the adverse party ; or 
 you are afraid of taking all the odium of opposition on 
 yourself. You may perhaps be quite certain that your 
 indiscreet ally would be as anxious as yourself to recall his 
 words if he could perceive their consequences ; but these 
 are things which you cannot explain to him in that 
 company. 
 
 The men who profit least by interviews are often those 
 who are most inclined to resort to them. They are 
 irresolute persons, who wish to avoid pledging themselves 
 to anything, and so they choose an interview as the safest 
 course which occurs to them. Besides, it looks like pro- 
 gress ; and makes them, as they say, see their way. Such 
 persons, however, are very soon entangled in their own 
 words, or they are oppressed by the earnest opinions of the 
 people they meet. For to conduct an interview in the 
 manner which they intend would require them to have at 
 command that courage and decision which they never 
 attain, without a long and miserly weighing of consequences. 
 
 Indolent persons are very apt to resort to interviews ; 
 for it saves them the trouble of thinking steadily, and of 
 expressing themselves with precision, which they are called
 
 INTERVIEWS. 57 
 
 upon to do, if they come to write about the subject Now 
 they certainly may learn a great deal in a short time, and 
 with very little trouble, by means of an interview ; but if 
 they have to take up the position of an antagonist, of a 
 judge, or indeed any but that of a learner, then it is very 
 unsafe to indulge in an interview, without having prepared 
 themselves for it. 
 
 To conduct an interview successfully requires not only 
 information and force of character, but also a certain intel- 
 lectual readiness. People are so apt to think that there are 
 but two ways in which a thing can terminate. They are 
 ignorant of the number of combinations which even a few 
 circumstances will admit of. And perhaps a proposal is 
 made which they are totally unprepared for, and which they 
 cannot deal with, from being unable to apprehend with 
 sufficient quickness its main drift and consequences. 
 
 There are cases where the persons meeting are upon no 
 terms of equality respecting the interview; where one of 
 them has a great deal to maintain, and the other nothing to 
 lose. Such an instance occurs in the case of a minister 
 receiving a deputation. He has the interests of the public 
 to maintain, and the intentions of the Government to keep 
 concealed. He has to show that he fully understands the 
 arguments laid before him, and all the while to conceal his 
 own bias, and to keep himself perfectly free from any pledge. 
 Any member of the deputation may utter anything that he 
 pleases without much harm coming of it ; but every word 
 that the minister says is liable to be interpreted against him 
 to the uttermost. There are similar occasions in private 
 life, where a man has to act upon the defensive, and where 
 the interview may be considered not as a battle, but as a 
 siege. A man should then confine himself to few words. 
 He should bring forward his strongest arguments only, and
 
 58 SSA YS. 
 
 not state too many of them at a time ; for he should keep 
 a good force in reserve. Besides, it will be much more 
 difficult for the other party to mystify and pervert a few 
 arguments than a set speech. And he will leave them no 
 room for gaining a semblance of victory by answering the 
 unimportant parts of his statement. 
 
 Again, whatever readiness and knowledge of the subject 
 he may possess, he should have somebody by him on his 
 side. For he is opposed to numbers, and must expect that 
 amongst them there will always be some one ready to meet 
 his arguments, if not with argument, at any rate with the 
 proper fallacies; or at least that there will be some one 
 stupid enough to commence replying without an answer. 
 He should therefore have a person who should be able to 
 aid him in replying; and there will be a satisfaction in 
 having somebody in the room who is not in a hostile 
 position towards him. Besides, he will want a witness ; for 
 he must not imagine that the number of his opponents 
 is any safeguard against misrepresentation, but rather a 
 cause, in most people, of less attention, and less feeling 
 of responsibility. And lastly, the most precise man in the 
 world, if he speaks much on any matter, may be glad to 
 hear what was the impression upon another person's mind ; 
 in short, to see whether he conveyed exactly what he meant 
 to convey. 
 
 The best precaution, however, which any man can take 
 under these circumstances, is to state in writing, at the 
 conclusion of the interview, the substance of what he 
 apprehends to have been said, and of what he intends to 
 do. This would require great readiness and the most 
 earnest attention; but, in the end, it would save very much 
 trouble and misapprehension. A similar practice might be 
 adopted in most interviews of business, where the subject
 
 OF COUNCILS, COMMISSIONS, ETC. 59 
 
 would warrant such a formality. It would not only be 
 good in itself, but its influence would be felt throughout 
 the interview; and people would come prepared, and would 
 speak with precision, when there was an immediate prospect 
 of their statements being recorded. 
 
 OF COUNCILS, COMMISSIONS, AND, IN GENERAL, 
 OF BODIES OF MEN CALLED TOGETHER 
 TO COUNSEL OR TO DIRECT. 
 
 SUCH bodies are the fly-wheels and safety-valves of the 
 machinery of business. They are sometimes looked upon 
 as superfluities, but by their means the motion is equalised, 
 and a great force is applied with little danger. 
 
 They are apt contrivances for obtaining an average of 
 opinions, for ensuring freedom from corruption, and the 
 reputation of that freedom. On ordinary occasions they 
 are more courageous than most individuals. They can 
 bear odium better. The world seldom looks to personal 
 character as the predominating cause of any of their doings, 
 though this is one of the first things which occurs td it 
 when the public acts of any individual are in question. 
 The very indistinctness which belongs to their corporate 
 existence adds a certain weight to their decisions. 
 
 Councils are serviceable as affording some means of 
 judging how things are likely to be generally received. It 
 is seldom that any one person, however capable he may be 
 of framing, or of executing a good measure, can come to a 
 satisfactory conclusion as to the various appearances which 
 that measure will present, or can be made to present, to 
 others. In some instances he may be so little under the 
 influences of the" common prejudices around him, as not to
 
 DO ESSA YS. 
 
 understand their force, and therefore not to perceive how a 
 new thing will be received. Now, if he has the opportunity 
 of consulting several persons together, he will not only have 
 the advantage of their common sense and joint information, 
 but he will also have a chance of hearing what will be the 
 common nonsense of ordinary men upon the subject, and of 
 providing as far as possible against it. 
 
 On the other hand, these bodies are much tempted by 
 the division of responsibility to sloth; and therefore to 
 dealing with things superficially and inaccurately. Another 
 evil is the want of that continuity of purpose in their pro- 
 ceedings which is to be found in those of an individual. 
 
 As it tends directly to diminish many of the advantages 
 before mentioned, it is, in general, a wrong thing for a 
 member of a council or commission to let the outer world 
 know that his private opinion is adverse to any of the 
 decisions of his colleagues ; or indeed to indicate the 
 part, whatever it may have been, that he has taken in 
 the transactions of the general body. 
 
 The proper number of persons to constitute such bodies 
 must vary according to the purpose for which they are 
 called together. Such a number as would afford any 
 temptation for oratorical display should in general be 
 avoided. Another limit, which it may be prudent to 
 adopt, is to have only so many members as to make it 
 possible in most cases for each to take a part in the pro- 
 ceedings. By having a greater number, you will not ensure 
 more scrutiny into the business. It will still be done by 
 a few ; but with a feeling of less responsibility than if they 
 were left to themselves, and with the interruptions and 
 inconvenience arising from the number of persons present. 
 Besides, the greater the number, the more likelihood there 
 is of parties being formed in the council.
 
 OF COUNCILS, COMMISSIONS, ETC. 61 
 
 Whether the members are many or few, there should be 
 formalities, strictly maintained. This is essential in the 
 conduct of business. Otherwise there will be such a state 
 of things as that described by Pepys in his account of a 
 meeting of the Privy Council ; which, like most of his 
 descriptions, one feels to be true to the life. "Went to 
 a Committee of the Council to discourse concerning press- 
 ing of men; but, Lord! how they meet; never sit down: 
 one comes, now another goes, then comes another; one 
 complaining that nothing is done, another swearing that 
 he hath been there these two hours and nobody come. At 
 last my Lord Annesley says, ' I think we must be forced to 
 get the King to come to every Committee ; for I do not see 
 that we do anything at any time but when he is here.' " 
 
 The great art of making use of councils, commissions, 
 and such-like bodies, is to know what kind of matter to 
 put before them, and in what state to present it. " There 
 be three parts of business, the preparation ; the debate, or 
 examination ; and the perfection ; whereof, if you look for 
 dispatch, let the middle only be the work of many, and 
 the first and last the work of few." 1 
 
 There is likely to be a great waste of time and labour 
 when a thing is brought in all its first vagueness to be 
 debated or examined by a number of persons. And there 
 will be much in the " preparation " and " perfection " of a 
 matter which will only become confused by being submitted 
 to a full assembly. You might as well think of making 
 love by a council or a board. It should therefore be the 
 business of some one, either in the council or subordinate 
 to it, to bring the matter forward in a distinct and definite 
 shape. Otherwise there will be a wilderness of things said 
 before you arrive at any legitimate point of discussion. And 
 1 Bacon's Essay on Dispatch.
 
 62 ESSA YS. 
 
 hence Bacon adds, " The proceeding upon somewhat con- 
 ceived in writing doth for the most part facilitate dispatch ; 
 for though it should be wholly rejected, yet that negative 
 is more pregnant of direction than an indefinite, as ashes 
 are more generative than the dust." 
 
 In order to bring the responsibility of any act of the 
 general body home to the individuals composing it, no 
 method seems so good as that of requiring the signatures 
 of a large proportion of the council or commission to the 
 directions given in the matter. Even the most careless 
 people have a sort of aversion to signing things which 
 they have never considered. This plan is better than 
 requiring the signatures of the whole body. For it is 
 less likely to degenerate into a mere formality ; and, besides, 
 the other course would give any one crotchety man too 
 great a power of hindrance. 
 
 The responsibility, also, of those persons who settle the 
 details of a matter, whether secretaries, or committees of the 
 council, should be clearly attested either by their signatures, 
 or by a memorandum showing what part of the business has 
 been entrusted to them. 
 
 As to the kind of men to be specially chosen or rejected, 
 it would be trifling to lay down any minute rules. You 
 often require a diversity of natures, in order that the various 
 modes of acting congenial to different minds and tempers 
 should have an opportunity of being canvassed. 
 
 When a man's faults are those which come to the surface 
 in social life, they must be noted as certain hindrances to 
 his usefulness as a member of any of these bodies. A man 
 may be proud or selfish, and yet a good councillor; he may 
 be secretly ill-tempered, and yet a reasonable man in his 
 converse with the world, capable of bearing opposition, and 
 an excellent coadjutor ; but if he is vain, or fond of disputes,
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT. 63 
 
 or dictatorial, you know that his efficiency in a council must 
 to a certain extent be counteracted. 
 
 Those men are the grace and strength of councils who are 
 of that healthful nature which is content to take defeat with 
 good humour, and of that practical turn of mind which 
 makes them set heartily to work upon plans and propositions 
 which have been originated in opposition to their judgment ; 
 who are not anxious to shift responsibility upon others ; and 
 who do not allude to their former objections with triumph, 
 when those objections come to be borne out by the result. 
 In acting with such persons you are at your ease. You 
 counsel sincerely and boldly, and not with a timorous regard 
 to your own part in the matter. 
 
 The men who have method, and, as it were, a judicial 
 intellect, are most valuable councillors. Without some such 
 in a council, a great deal of cleverness goes for nothing ; as 
 there is nobody to see what has been stated and answered, 
 to what their deliberations tend, and what progress has been 
 made. Such persons can gather the sense of a mixed 
 assembly, and suggest some line of action which may 
 honestly meet the different views of the various members. 
 They will bring back the subject-matter when it has all but 
 floated away, while the others have been looking for sea- 
 weed, or throwing stones at one another on the shore. 
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT. 
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT gives a pretext for the exercise of such scorn 
 and malice as could not be tolerated if they did not claim 
 to have their origin in fervent wishes for the public welfare. 
 It consumes in idle contests that energy which the State has 
 need of. By the perpetual interchange of hard names it
 
 64 ESSA YS. 
 
 tends to make a people suspicious and uncharitable ; or it 
 inclines them to think lightly of the kind of offences which 
 they hear so often charged against their most eminent public 
 men ; or it " gives them a habit of using epithets and affect- 
 ing sensations of moral indignation which bear no propor- 
 tion to the thing itself, or to their own real feelings about 
 the thing ; of taking the names of Truth and Virtue in vain." 
 
 Under the influence of party-spirit, a nation sometimes 
 acts towards its dependencies, and in its foreign relations, 
 not with the whole force of the country, but with a portion 
 of it only, bearing some reference to the excess of strength in 
 the ruling party. 
 
 Party-spirit makes people abjure independent thinking. 
 It can leave nothing alone. It must uplift a hand in every 
 man's quarrel, as a knight-errant of old, but with small sense 
 of chivalry. It forces its odious friendship or its unprovoked 
 hostility where neither is fitting. Even the wisest require 
 to be constantly on their guard against it ; or its insidious 
 prejudices, like dirt and insects on the glass of a telescope, 
 will blur the view, and make them see strange monsters 
 where there are none. 
 
 Party-spirit incites people to attack with rashness, and to 
 defend without sincerity. Violent partisans are apt to treat 
 a political opponent in such a manner, when they argue 
 with him, so as to make the question quite personal, as if 
 he had been present, as it were, and a chief agent in all the 
 crimes which they attribute to his party. Nor does the 
 accused hesitate to take the matter upon himself, and, in 
 fancied self-defence, to justify things which otherwise he 
 would not hesitate, for one moment, to condemn. 
 
 These evils must not be allowed to take shelter under 
 the unfounded supposition that party dealings are different 
 from anything else in the world, and that they are to be
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT. 65 
 
 governed by much looser laws than those which regulate 
 any other human affairs. It is a very dangerous thing to 
 acknowledge two sorts of truth, two kinds of charity. 
 
 Is there no harm in never looking further than the worst 
 motive that can possibly be imagined for the actions of our 
 political adversaries ? Are we to consider the opposite 
 party as so many Samaritans ; and is there nothing that we 
 have ever heard or read which should induce us to abate 
 our Jewish antipathy to these brethren of ours who do not 
 worship at our temple ? This is an illustration from which 
 political bigots cannot escape. Even their own pretensions 
 of being always in the right will only bring the instance 
 more home to them. The Jews were right about the matter 
 in dispute between them and the Samaritans. " Salvation 
 is with the Jews." But this is never held out to us as any 
 justification of their behaviour. 
 
 To hear some men talk one would suppose that political 
 distinctions were natural distinctions ; and that they 
 depended upon a man's personal qualities. These people 
 seem to think that all the good are ranged in a row on one 
 side, and all the bad on the other. Now the utmost that 
 can reasonably be alleged is, that there exists in most men 
 a predisposition to one or other of the two great parties 
 which are to be found in every free country; but this cannot 
 be depended upon as the cause which determines men in 
 general to attach themselves to a party. 
 
 As it is, some range themselves on one side, and some 
 on the other, just as they used to do in their school games, 
 and with about as much reflection. A large number of 
 persons, in all ranks, hold hereditary opinions. There are 
 thousands who make their convictions on all political sub- 
 jects subservient to their feelings as members of a class, 
 and to what they believe to be the interests of that class. 
 
 5
 
 66 ESSA YS. 
 
 Then there are those who think whatever the little mob in 
 which they live pleases to think ; and this is the most com- 
 fortable way of thinking. Direct self-interest decides some 
 men. The merest accidents determine others. For 
 instance, how much of a man's opinions through life will 
 depend upon any strong-minded or earnest person that he 
 may have lived with at a time when he was uninformed 
 himself and malleable. Remember, too, that it requires 
 but a slight bias to send a man into a party; for let him 
 agree with it only in a few points, and he will be set down 
 as belonging to it Then, perhaps, he is called upon to act 
 in some way or other politically, and a very little determines 
 a man whose thoughts upon the subject altogether have 
 been few and vague. Thus a political character is impressed 
 upon him without his having had much to do in the matter; 
 but afterwards many things will probably occur to deepen 
 that impression, and to make him a decided partisan. 
 
 A true analysis of the composition of parties would afford 
 a good lesson of political tolerance. We should learn from 
 it what a mixed thing a party is : that there is no single law 
 that will explain its cohesion; and still less is there any good 
 ground for insisting that the distinctions of party have their 
 origin in moral worth or turpitude. 
 
 It is of importance that we should train ourselves to make 
 the fitting allowance for the political prejudices of others. 
 
 Pascal asks, " Whence comes it to pass that we have so 
 much patience with those who are maimed in body, and so 
 little with those who are defective in mind?" And he 
 says, " It is because the cripple acknowledges that we have 
 the use of our legs ; whereas the fool obstinately maintains 
 that we are the persons who halt in understanding. Without 
 this difference in the case, neither object would move our 
 resentment, but both our compassion." We might try to
 
 PARTY-SPIRIT. 67 
 
 overlook this difference, and find it an aid to charity to 
 consider that men's prejudices are the same kind of things 
 as their personal defects. Whether a man is labouring 
 under some degree of physical deafness, or under some 
 strong prejudice, which, being ever by his side, is always 
 sure of the first hearing, and produces a sort of numbness 
 to anything else : it comes nearly to the same thing as 
 regards the weight which he is likely to attach to any of our 
 arguments, when adverse to his prejudice. In both cases 
 the cause is decided without our being fully heard. 
 
 But at the same time that we have recourse to such views 
 as the above, to moderate our impatience of other people's 
 prejudices, we should keep a vigilant watch on our own. 
 We often forget that we are partisans ourselves, and that 
 we are contending with partisans. We first give ourselves 
 credit for a judicial impartiality in all that concerns public 
 affairs, and then call upon our opponents actually to be as 
 impartial as we assert ourselves to be. But few of us, I 
 suspect, have any right to take this high ground. Our 
 passions master us ; and we know them to be our enemies. 
 Our prejudices imprison us ; and, like madmen, we take our 
 jailors for a guard of honour. 
 
 I do not mean to suggest that truth and right are always 
 to be found in middle courses ; or that there is anything 
 particularly philosophic in concluding that "both parties 
 are in the wrong," and " that there is a great deal to be said 
 on both sides of the question," phrases which may belong 
 to indolence as well as to charity and candour. Let a man 
 have a hearty strong opinion, and strive by all fair means to 
 bring it into action if it is, in truth, an opinion, and not a 
 thing inhaled like some infectious disorder. 
 
 Many persons persuade themselves that the life and well- 
 being of a State are something like their own fleeting health
 
 68 ESSA YS. 
 
 and brief prosperity. And hence they see portentous things 
 in every subject of political dispute. Such fancies add 
 much to the intolerance of party-spirit. But the State will 
 bear much killing. It has outlived many generations of 
 political prophets and it may survive the present ones. 
 
 Divisions in a State are a necessary consequence of 
 freedom ; and the practical question is not to dispense with 
 party, but to make the most good of it. The contest must 
 exist ; but it may have something of generosity in it And 
 how is this to be? Not by the better kind of men 
 abstaining from any attention to politics, or shunning 
 party connections altogether. Staying away from a danger 
 which in many instances it is their duty to face, would be 
 but a poor way of keeping themselves safe. It would be a 
 doubtful policy to encourage political indifference as a cure 
 for the evils of party-spirit, even if it were a certain cure ; 
 but we cannot take this for granted, especially when we 
 observe that the vices of party are not always to be seen 
 most in those who have the most earnest political feelings. 
 Indeed, the attachment to a party may be, and often is, an 
 affection of the most generous kind ; and it must, I think, 
 be allowed, that even with men who do not discern the true 
 end of party, nor its limits, party-spirit is often a rude kind 
 of patriotism. 
 
 The question, then, is how to regulate party-spirit. Like 
 all other affections, its tendency is to overspread the whole 
 character. One who has nothing in his soul to resist it, or 
 much that assimilates with its worst influences, is carried 
 away by it to evil. But a good man will show the earnest- 
 ness of his attachment to his party by his endeavour to 
 elevate its character; and in the utmost heat of party 
 contests he will try to maintain a love of truth, and a 
 regard for the charities of life.
 
 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
 
 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 but those who, like myself, have once lived in intellec- 
 ual society, and then have been deprived of it for years, can 
 ippreciate the delight of finding it again. Not that I have 
 my right to complain, if I were fated to live as a recluse for 
 :ver. I can add little, or nothing, to the pleasure of any 
 :ompany ; I like to listen rather than to talk ; and when 
 mything apposite does occur to me, it is generally the day 
 .fter the conversation has taken place. I do not, however, 
 ove good talk the less for these defects of mine; and I 
 :onsole myself with thinking that I sustain the part of a 
 udicious listener, not always an easy one. 
 
 Great, then, was my delight at hearing last year that my 
 ld pupil, Milverton, had taken a house which had long been 
 acant in our neighbourhood. To add to my pleasure, his 
 ollege friend, Ellesmere, the great lawyer, also an old pupil of 
 nine, came to us frequently in the course of the autumn. 
 Jilverton was at that time writing some essays which he occa- 
 ionally read to Ellesmere and myself. The conversations 
 rhich then took place I am proud to say that I havechronicled.
 
 72 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 I think they must be interesting to the world in general, 
 though of course not so much so as to me. 
 
 Milverton and Ellesmere were my favourite pupils. 
 Many is the heartache I have had at finding that those 
 boys, with all their abilities, would do nothing at the 
 University. But it was in vain to urge them. I grieve to 
 say that neither of them had any ambition of the right kind. 
 Once I thought I had stimulated Ellesmere to the proper 
 care and exertion ; when, to my astonishment and vexation, 
 going into his rooms about a month before an examination, 
 I found that, instead of getting up his subjects, like a 
 reasonable man, he was absolutely endeavouring to invent 
 some new method for proving something which had been 
 proved before in a hundred ways. Over this he had wasted 
 two days, and from that moment I saw it was useless to 
 waste any more of my time and patience in urging a scholar 
 so indocile for the beaten path. 
 
 What tricks he and Milverton used to play me, pretending 
 not to understand my demonstration of some mathematical 
 problem, inventing all manner of subtle difficulties, and 
 declaring they could not go on while these stumbling- 
 blocks lay in their way ! But I am getting into college 
 gossip, which may in no way delight my readers. And I 
 am fancying, too, that Milverton and Ellesmere are the 
 boys they were to me ; but I am now the child to them. 
 During the years that I have been quietly living here, they 
 have become versed in the ways of the busy world. And 
 though they never think of asserting their superiority, I feel 
 it, and am glad to do so. 
 
 My readers would, perhaps, like me to tell them some- 
 thing of the characters of Ellesmere and Milverton ; but it 
 would ill become me to give that insight into them, which 
 I, their college friend and tutor, imagine I have obtained.
 
 TRUTH. 73 
 
 Their friendship I could never understand. It was not on 
 the surface very warm, and their congeniality seemed to 
 result more from one or two large common principles of 
 thought than from any peculiar similarity of taste, or from 
 great affection on either side. Yet I should wrong their 
 friendship if I were to represent it otherwise than a most 
 true-hearted one; more so, perhaps, than some of softer 
 texture. What needs be seen of them individually will be 
 by their words, which I hope I have in the main retained. 
 
 The place where we generally met in fine weather was on 
 the lawn before Milverton's house. It was an eminence 
 which commanded a series of valleys sloping towards the 
 sea. And, as the sea was not more than nine miles off, it 
 was a matter of frequent speculation with us whether the 
 landscape was bounded by air or water. In the first valley 
 was a little town of red brick houses, with poplars coming 
 up amongst them. The ruins of a castle, and some water 
 which, in olden times, had been the lake in " the pleasaunce," 
 were between us and the town. The clang of an anvil, or 
 the clamour of a horn, or busy wheelwright's sounds, came 
 faintly up to us when the wind was south. 
 
 I must not delay my readers longer with my gossip, but 
 bring them at once into the conversation that preceded our 
 first reading. 
 
 Milverton. I tell you, Ellesmere, these are the only 
 heights I care to look down from, the heights of natural 
 scenery. 
 
 Ellesmere. Pooh ! my dear Milverton, it is only because 
 the particular mounds which the world calls heights, you 
 think you have found out to be but larger ant-heaps. When- 
 ever you have cared about anything, a man more fierce 
 and nnphilosophical in the pursuit of it I never saw. To
 
 74 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 influence men's minds by writing for them, is that no 
 ambition ? 
 
 Milverton. It may be, but I have it not. Let any kind 
 critic convince me that what I am now doing is useless, or 
 has been done before, or that, if I leave it undone, some 
 one else will do it to my mind; and I should fold up my 
 papers, and watch the turnips grow in that field there, with 
 a placidity that would, perhaps, seem very spiritless to your 
 now restless and ambitious nature, Ellesmere. 
 
 Ellesmere. If something were to happen which will not, 
 then O Philosophy, Philosophy, you, too, are a good old 
 nurse, and rattle your rattles for your little people, as well 
 as old Dame World can do for hers. But what are we to 
 have to-day for our first reading ? 
 
 Milverton. An Essay on Truth. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, had I known this before, it is not the 
 novelty of the subject which would have dragged me up the 
 hill to your house. By the way, philosophers ought not to 
 live upon hills. They are much more accessible, and I 
 think quite as reasonable, when, Diogenes-like, they live in 
 tubs upon flat ground. Now for the essay. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Truth is a subject which men will not suffer to grow old. 
 Each age has to fight with its own falsehoods : each man 
 with his love of saying to himself and those around him 
 pleasant things and things serviceable for to-day, rather 
 than the things which are. Yet a child appreciates at once 
 the divine necessity for truth; never asks, "What harm is 
 there in saying the thing that is not ? " and an old man 
 finds, in his growing experience, wider and wider applica- 
 tions of the great doctrine and discipline of truth.
 
 TRUTH. 75 
 
 Truth needs the wisdom of the serpent as well as the 
 simplicity of the dove. He has gone but a little way in 
 this matter who supposes that it is an easy thing for a man 
 to speak the truth, " the thing he troweth ; " and that it is 
 a casual function, which may be fulfilled at once after any 
 lapse of exercise. But, in the first place, the man who 
 would speak truth must know what he troweth. To do 
 that, he must have an uncorrupted judgment. By this is 
 not meant a perfect judgment or even a wise one, but one 
 which, however it may be biassed, is not bought is still a 
 judgment. But some people's judgments are so entirely 
 gained over by vanity, selfishness, passion, or inflated pre- 
 judices and t fancies long indulged in ; or they have the 
 habit of looking at everything so carelessly, that they see 
 nothing truly. They cannot interpret the world of reality. 
 And this is the saddest form of lying, "the lie that sinketh 
 in," as Bacon says, which becomes part of the character and 
 goes on eating the rest away. 
 
 Again, to speak truth, a man must not only have that 
 martial courage which goes out, with sound of drum and 
 trumpet, to do and suffer great things ; but that domestic 
 courage which compels him to utter small sounding truths 
 in spite of present inconvenience and outraged sensitiveness 
 or sensibility. Then he must not be in any respect a slave 
 to self-interest. Often it seems as if but a little misre- 
 presentation would gain a great good for us; or, perhaps, 
 we have only to conceal some trifling thing, which, if told, 
 might hinder unreasonably, as we think, a profitable bargain. 
 The true man takes care to tell, notwithstanding. When 
 we think that truth interferes at one time or another with all 
 a man's likings, hatings, and wishes, we must admit, I 
 think, that it is the most comprehensive and varied form of 
 self-denial.
 
 76 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Then, in addition to these great qualities, truth-telling 
 in its highest sense requires a well-balanced mind. For 
 instance, much exaggeration, perhaps the most, is occasioned 
 by an impatient and easily moved temperament which longs 
 to convey its own vivid impressions to other minds, and 
 seeks by amplifying to gain the full measure of their 
 sympathy. But a true man does not think what his hearers 
 are feeling, but what he is saying. 
 
 More stress might be laid than has been on the intel- 
 lectual requisites for truth, which are probably the best part 
 of intellectual cultivation; and as much caused by truth 
 as causing it But, putting the requisites for truth at the 
 fewest, see of how large a portion of the character truth is 
 the resultant. If you were to make a list of those persons 
 accounted the religious men of their respective ages, you 
 would have a ludicrous combination of characters essentially 
 dissimilar. But true people are kindred. Mention the 
 eminently true men, and you will find that they are a 
 brotherhood. There is a family likeness throughout them. 
 
 If we consider the occasions of exercising truthfulness 
 and descend to particulars, we may divide the matter into 
 the following heads : Truth to oneself truth to mankind 
 in general truth in social relations truth in business 
 truth in pleasure. 
 
 i. Truth to oneself. All men have a deep interest that 
 each man should tell himself the truth. Not only will he 
 become a better man, but he will understand them better. 
 If men knew themselves, they could not be intolerant to 
 others. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say much about the advantage 
 of a man knowing himself for himself. To get at the truth
 
 TRUTH. 77 
 
 of any history is good ; but a man's own history when he 
 reads that truly, and, without a mean and over-solicitous 
 introspection, knows what he is about and what he has been 
 about, it is a Bible to him. "And David said unto Nathan, 
 I have sinned before the Lord." David knew the truth 
 about himself. But truth to oneself is not merely truth 
 about oneself. It consists in maintaining an openness and 
 justness of soul which brings a man into relation with all 
 truth. For this, all the senses, if you might so call them, 
 of the soul must be uninjured that is, the affections and 
 the perceptions must be just. For a man to speak the 
 truth to himself comprehends all goodness; and for us 
 mortals can only be an aim. 
 
 2. Truth to mankind in general. This is a matter which, 
 as I read it, concerns only the higher natures. Suffice it to 
 say, that the withholding large truths from the world may 
 be a betrayal of the greatest trust. 
 
 3. Truth in social relations. Under this head come the 
 practices of making speech vary according to the person 
 spoken to ; of pretending to agree with the world when you 
 do not ; of not acting according to what is your deliberate 
 and well-advised opinion, because some mischief may be 
 made of it by persons whose judgment in this matter you 
 do not respect ; of maintaining a wrong course for the sake 
 of consistency ; of encouraging the show of intimacy with 
 those whom you never can be intimate with ; and many 
 things of the same kind. These practices have elements of 
 charity and prudence as well as fear and meanness in them. 
 Let those parts which correspond to fear and meanness be 
 put aside. Charity and prudence are not parasitical plants 
 which require boles of falsehood to climb up upon. It is
 
 78 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 often extremely difficult in the mixed things of this world to 
 act truly and kindly too ; but therein lies one of the great 
 trials of man, that his sincerity should have kindness in it, 
 and his kindness truth. 
 
 4. Truth in business. The more truth you can get into 
 any business, the better. Let the other side know the 
 defects of yours, let them know how you are to be satisfied, 
 let there be as little to be found as possible (I should say 
 nothing), and if your business be an honest one, it will be 
 best tended in this way. The talking, bargaining, and 
 delaying that would thus be needless, the little that would 
 then have to be done over again, the anxiety that would be 
 put aside, would even in a worldly way be "great gain." 
 It is not, perhaps, too much to say, that the third part of 
 men's lives is wasted by the effect, direct or indirect, of 
 falsehoods. 
 
 Still, let us not be swift to imagine that lies are never of 
 any service. A recent Prime Minister said that he did not 
 know about truth always prevailing, and the like ; but lies 
 had been very successful against his government. And 
 this was true enough. Every lie has its day. There is no 
 preternatural inefficacy in it by reason of its falseness. 
 And this is especially the case with those vague injurious 
 reports which are no man's lies, but all men's carelessness. 
 But even as regards special and unmistakable falsehood, we 
 must admit that it has its success. A complete being 
 might deceive with wonderful effect; however, as nature 
 is always against a liar, it is great odds in the case of 
 ordinary mortals. Wolsey talks of 
 
 " Negligence 
 Fit for a fool to fall by,"
 
 TRUTH. 79 
 
 when he gives Henry the wrong packet ; but the Cardinal 
 was quite mistaken. That kind of negligence was just the 
 thing of which far-seeing and thoughtful men are capable, 
 and which, if there were no higher motive, should induce 
 them to rely on truth alone. A very close vulpine nature, 
 all eyes, all ears, may succeed better in deceit. But it is a 
 sleepless business. Yet, strange to say, it is had recourse 
 to in the most spendthrift fashion, as the first and easiest 
 thing that comes to hand. 
 
 In connection with truth in business, it may be observed 
 that if you are a truthful man, you should be watchful over 
 those whom you employ ; for your subordinate agents are 
 often fond of lying for your interests, as they think. Show 
 them at once that you do not think with them, and that 
 you will disconcert any of their inventions by breaking in 
 with the truth. If you suffer the fear of seeming unkind to 
 prevent your thrusting well-meant inventions aside, you 
 may get as much pledged to falsehoods as if you had 
 coined and uttered them yourself. 
 
 5. Truth in pleasure. Men have been said to be sin- 
 cere in their pleasures ; but this is only that the taste and 
 habits of men are more easily discernible in pleasure than 
 in business. The want of truth is as great a hindrance to 
 the one as to the other. Indeed, there is so much insin- 
 cerity and formality in the pleasurable department of 
 human life, especially in social pleasures, that instead of a 
 bloom there is a slime upon it, which deadens and cor- 
 rupts the thing. One of the most comical sights to superior 
 beings must be to see two human creatures with elaborate 
 speech and gestures making each other exquisitely uncom- 
 fortable from civility : the one pressing what he is most 
 anxious that the other should not accept, and the other
 
 8o FRIENDS IN COUNCIL, 
 
 accepting only from the fear of giving offence by refusal. 
 There is an element of charity in all this too ; and it will be 
 the business of a just and refined nature to be sincere and 
 considerate at the same time. This will be better done by 
 enlarging our sympathy, so that more things and people are 
 pleasant to us, than by increasing the civil and conventional 
 part of our nature, so that we are able to do more seeming 
 with greater skill and endurance. Of other false hindrances 
 to pleasure, such as ostentation and pretences of all kinds, 
 there is neither charity nor comfort in them. They may 
 be got rid of altogether, and no moaning made over them. 
 Truth, which is one of the largest creatures, opens out the 
 way to the heights of enjoyment, as well as to the depths of 
 self-denial. 
 
 It is difficult to think too highly of the merits and 
 delights of truth; but there is often in men's minds an 
 exaggerated notion of some bit of truth, which proves a 
 great assistance to falsehood. For instance, the shame of 
 some particular small falsehood, exaggeration, or insincerity, 
 becomes a bugbear which scares a man into a career of 
 false dealing. He has begun making a furrow a little out 
 of the line, and he ploughs on in it to try and give some con- 
 sistency and meaning to it. He wants almost to persuade 
 himself that it was not wrong, and entirely to hide the 
 wrongness from others. This is a tribute to the majesty of 
 truth; also to the world's opinion about truth. It pro- 
 ceeds, too, upon the notion that all falsehoods are equal, 
 which is not the case ; or on some fond craving for a show 
 of perfection, which is sometimes very inimical to the 
 reality. The practical, as well as the high-minded, view in 
 such cases, is for a man to think how he can be true now. 
 To attain that, it may, even for this world, be worth while
 
 TRUTH. 8 1 
 
 for a man to admit that he is inconsistent, and even that he 
 has been untrue. His hearers, did they know anything of 
 themselves, would be fully aware that he was not singular, 
 except in the courage of owning his insincerity. 
 
 Ellestnere. That last part requires thinking about. If 
 you were to permit men, without great loss of reputation, 
 to own that they had been insincere, you might break down 
 some of that majesty of truth you talk about. And bad 
 men might avail themselves of any facilities of owning 
 insincerity, to commit more of it. I can imagine that the 
 apprehension of this might restrain a man from making any 
 such admission as you allude to, even if he could make up 
 his mind to do it otherwise. 
 
 Milverton, Yes ; but can anything be worse than a man 
 going on in a false course ? Each man must look to his 
 own truthfulness, and keep that up as well as h3 can, even 
 at the risk of saying or doing something which may be 
 turned to ill account by others. We may think too much 
 about this reflection of our external selves. Let the real 
 self be right. I am not so fanciful as to expect men to go 
 about clamouring that they have been false ; but at no risk 
 of letting people see that, or of even being obliged to own 
 it, should they persevere in it. 
 
 Dunsford. Milverton is right, I think. 
 
 Ellesmere. Do not imagine that I am behind either of 
 you in a wish to hold up truth. My only doubt was as to 
 the mode. For my own part, I have such faith in truth 
 that I take it mere concealment is in most cases a mischief. 
 And I should say, for instance, that a wise man would be 
 sorry that his fellows should think better of him than he 
 deserves. By the way, that is a reason why I should not 
 
 6
 
 82 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 like to be a writer of moral essays, Milverton one should 
 be supposed to be so very good. 
 
 Milverton. Only by thoughtless people then. There is a 
 saying given to Rousseau, not that he ever did say it, for I 
 believe it was a misprint, but it was a possible saying for 
 him, "Chaque homme qui pense est me"chant." Now, 
 without going the -length of this aphorism, we may say that 
 what has been well written has been well suffered. 
 
 " He best can paint them who has felt them most." 
 
 And so, though we should not exactly declare that writers 
 who have had much moral influence have been wicked 
 men, yet we may admit that they have been amongst the 
 most struggling, which implies anything but serene self- 
 possession and perfect spotlessness. If you take the great 
 ones, Luther, Shakespeare, Goethe, you see this at 
 once. 
 
 Dunsford. David, St. Paul. 
 
 Milverton. Such men are like great rocks on the sea- 
 shore. By their resistance, terraces of level land are 
 formed; but the rocks themselves bear many scars and 
 ugly indents, while the sea of human difficulty presents the 
 same unwrinkled appearance in all ages. Yet it has been 
 driven back. 
 
 Elksmcre. But has it lost any of its bulk, or only gone 
 elsewhere ? One part of the resemblance certainly is that 
 these same rocks, which were bulwarks, become, in their 
 turn, dangers. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, there is always loss in that way. It is 
 seldom given to man to do unmixed good. But it was not 
 this aspect of the simile that I was thinking of: it was the 
 scarred appearance.
 
 TRUTH. 83 
 
 Dunsford. Scars not always of defeat or flight ; scars in 
 the front. 
 
 Milverton. Ah, it hardly does for us to talk of victory or 
 defeat, in these cases ; but we may look at the contest 
 itself as something not bad, terminate how it may. We 
 lament over a man's sorrows, struggles, disasters, and short- 
 comings; yet they were possessions too. We talk of the 
 origin of evil and the permission of evil. But what is evil ? 
 We mostly speak of sufferings and trials as good, perhaps, 
 in their result ; but we hardly admit that they may be good 
 in themselves. Yet they are knowledge how else to be 
 acquired, unless by making men as gods, enabling them to 
 understand without experience. All that men go through 
 may be absolutely the best for them no such thing as evil, 
 at least in our customary meaning of the word. But, you 
 will say, they might have been created different and higher. 
 See where this leads to. Any sentient being may set up 
 the same claim : a fly that it had not been made a man ; 
 and so the end would be that each would complain of not 
 being all. 
 
 Ellesmere. Say it all over again, my dear Milverton ; it is 
 rather hard. [Milverton did so, in nearly the same words.] 
 I think I have heard it all before. But you may have it as 
 you please. I do not say this irreverently, but the truth is, I 
 am too old and too earthly to enter upon these subjects. I 
 think, however, that the view is a stout-hearted one. It is 
 somewhat in the same vein of thought that you see in 
 Carlyle's works about the contempt of happiness. But in 
 all these cases, one is apt to think of the sage in Rasselas, 
 who is very wise about human misery till he loses his 
 daughter. Your fly illustration has something in it. Cer- 
 tainly when men talk big about what might have been 
 done for man, they omit to think what might be said, on
 
 84 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 similar grounds, for each sentient creature in the universe. 
 But here have we been meandering off into origin of evil, 
 and uses of great men, and wickedness of writers, etc., 
 whereas I meant to have said something about the essay. 
 How would you answer what Bacon maintains? "A 
 mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure." 
 
 Milverton. He is not speaking of the lies of social life, 
 but of self-deception. He goes on to class under that head 
 "vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imagina- 
 tions as one would." These things are the sweetness of 
 " the lie that sinketh in." Many a man has a kind of 
 mental kaleidoscope, where the bits of broken glass are his 
 own merits and fortunes, and they fall into harmonious 
 arrangements and delight him often most mischievously 
 and to his ultimate detriment, but they are a present 
 pleasure. 
 
 Elksmere. Well, I am going to be true in my 
 pleasures ; to take a long walk alone. I have got a 
 difficult case for an opinion, which I must go and think 
 over. 
 
 Dunsford. Shall we have another reading to-morrow ? 
 
 Milverton. Yes, if you are both in the humour for it. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 As the next day was fine, we agreed to have our 
 reading in the same spot that I have described before. 
 There was scarcely any conversation worth noting, 
 until after Milverton had read us the following essay 
 on Conformity.
 
 CONFORMITY. 85 
 
 CONFORMITY. 
 
 The conformity of men is often a far poorer thing than 
 that which resembles it amongst the lower animals. The 
 monkey imitates from imitative skill and gamesomeness ; 
 the sheep is gregarious, having no sufficient will to form an 
 independent project of its own. But man often loathes 
 what he imitates, and conforms to what he knows to be 
 wrong. 
 
 It will ever be one of the nicest problems for a man to 
 solve how far he shall profit by the thoughts of other 
 men, and not be enslaved by them. He comes into the 
 world, and finds swaddling clothes ready for his mind as 
 well as his body. There is a vast scheme of social 
 machinery set up about him ; and he has to discern how 
 he can make it work with him and for him, without 
 becoming part of the machinery itself. In this lie the 
 anguish and the struggle of the greatest minds. Most sad 
 are they, having mostly the deepest sympathies, when they 
 find themselves breaking off from communion with other 
 minds. They would go on, if they could, with the opinions 
 around them. But, happily, there is something to which a 
 man owes a larger allegiance than to any human affection. 
 He would be content to go away from a false thing, or 
 quietly to protest against it ; but in spite of him the strife 
 in his heart breaks into burning utterance by word or 
 deed. 
 
 Few, however, are those who venture, even for the shortest 
 time, into that hazy world of independent thought, where 
 a man is not upheld by a crowd of other men's opinions, 
 but where he must find a footing of his own. Among the 
 mass of men, there is little or no resistance to conformity.
 
 86 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Could the history of opinions be fully written, it would be 
 seen how large a part in human proceedings the love of 
 conformity, or rather the fear of non-conformity, has 
 occasioned. It has triumphed over all other fears ; over 
 love, hate, pity, sloth, anger, truth, pride, comfort, self- 
 interest, vanity, and maternal love. It has torn down the 
 sense of beauty in the human soul, and set up in its place 
 little ugly idols which it compels us to worship with more 
 than Japanese devotion. It has contradicted Nature in the 
 most obvious things, and been listened to with abject 
 submission. Its empire has been no less extensive than 
 deep-seated. The serf to custom points his finger at the 
 slave to fashion as if it signified whether it is an old or a 
 new thing which is irrationally conformed to. The man of 
 letters despises both the slaves of fashion and of custom, 
 but often runs his narrow career of thought, shut up, though 
 he sees it not, within close walls which he does not venture 
 even to peep over, 
 
 It is hard to say in what department of human thought 
 and endeavour conformity has triumphed most. Religion 
 comes to one's mind first ; and well it may when one thinks 
 what men have conformed to in all ages in that matter. If 
 we pass to art, or science, we shall see there too the 
 wondrous slavery which men have endured from puny 
 fetters, moreover, which one stirring thought would, as 
 we think, have burst asunder. The above, however, are 
 matters not within every one's cognisance ; some of them 
 are shut in by learning or the show of it; and plain 
 "practical" men would say, they follow where they have no 
 business but to follow. But the way in which the human 
 body shall be covered is not a thing for the scientific and 
 the learned only ; and is allowed on all hands to concern, 
 in no small degree, one half at least of the creation. It is
 
 CONFORMITY. 87 
 
 in such a simple thing as dress that each of us may form 
 some estimate of the extent of conformity in the world. A 
 wise nation, unsubdued by superstition, with the collected 
 experience of peaceful ages, concludes that female feet are 
 to be clothed by crushing them. The still wiser nations of 
 the west have adopted a swifter mode of destroying health, 
 and creating angularity, by crushing the upper part of the 
 female body. In such matters nearly all people conform. 
 Our brother man is seldom so bitter against us, as when we 
 refuse to adopt at once his notions of the infinite. But even 
 religious dissent were less dangerous and more respectable 
 than dissent in dress. If you want to see what men will do 
 in the way of conformity, take a European hat for your 
 subject of meditation. I dare say there are twenty-two 
 millions of people at this minute each wearing one of these 
 hats in order to please the rest. As in the fine arts, and in 
 architecture, especially, so in dress, something is often 
 retained that was useful when something else was beside it. 
 To go to architecture for an instance, a pinnacle is retained, 
 not that it is of any use where it is, but in another kind 
 of building it would have been. That style of building, 
 as a whole, has gone out of fashion, but the pinnacle has 
 somehow or other kept its ground and must be there, no 
 one insolently going back to first principles and asking what 
 is the use and object of building pinnacles. Similar in- 
 stances in dress will occur to my readers. Some of us are 
 not skilled in such affairs ; but looking at old pictures, we 
 may sometimes see how modern clothes have attained their 
 present pitch of frightfulness and inconvenience. This 
 matter of dress is one in which, perhaps, you might expect 
 the wise to conform to the foolish; and they have. 
 
 When we have once come to a right estimate of the 
 strength of conformity, we shall, I think, be more kindly
 
 88 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 disposed to eccentricity than we usually are. Even a wilful 
 or an absurd eccentricity is some support against the weighty 
 common-place conformity of the world. If it were not for 
 some singular people who persist in thinking for themselves, 
 in seeing for themselves, and in being comfortable, we 
 should all collapse into a hideous uniformity. 
 
 It is worth while to analyse that influence of the world 
 which is the right arm of conformity. Some persons bend 
 to the world in all things, from an innocent belief that what 
 so many people think must be right. Others have a vague 
 fear of the world as of some wild beast which may spring 
 out upon them at any time. Tell them they are safe in 
 their houses from this myriad-eyed creature ; they still are 
 sure that they shall meet with it some day, and would 
 propitiate its favour at any sacrifice. Many men contract 
 their idea of the world to their own circle, and what they 
 imagine to be said in that circle of friends and acquaint- 
 ances is their idea of public opinion " as if," to use a say- 
 ing of Southey's, " a number of worldlings made a world." 
 With some unfortunate people, the much dreaded " world " 
 shrinks into one person of more mental power than their 
 own, or perhaps merely of coarser nature ; and the fancy as 
 to what this person will say about anything they do, sits 
 upon them like a nightmare. Happy the man who can 
 embark his small adventure of deeds and thoughts upon the 
 shallow waters round his home, or send them afloat on the 
 wide sea of humanity, with no great anxiety in either case 
 as to what reception they may meet with ! He would have 
 them steer by the stars, and take what wind may come to 
 them. 
 
 A reasonable watchfulness against conformity will not 
 lead a man to spurn the aid of other men, still less to reject 
 the accumulated mental capital of ages. It does not compel
 
 CONFORMITY. 89 
 
 us to dote upon the advantages of saving life. We would 
 not forego the hard-earned gains of civil society because 
 there is something in most of them which tends to contract 
 the natural powers, although it vastly aids them. We would 
 not, for instance, return to the monosyllabic utterance of 
 barbarous men, because in any formed language there are a 
 thousand snares for the understanding. Yet we must be most 
 watchful of them. And in all things a man must beware of 
 so conforming himself as to crush his nature and forego the 
 purpose of his being. We must look to other standards 
 than what men may say or think. We must not abjectly 
 bow down before rules and usages ; but must refer to 
 principles and purposes. In few words, we must think, not 
 whom we are following, but what we are doing. If not, 
 why are we gifted with individual life at all ? Uniformity 
 does not consist with the higher forms of vitality. Even 
 the leaves of the same tree are said to differ, each one from 
 all the rest. And can it be good for the soul of a man 
 " with a biography of his own like to no one else's," to 
 subject itself without thought to the opinions and ways of 
 others ; not to grow into symmetry, but to be moulded down 
 into conformity? 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, I rather like that essay. I was afraid, 
 at first, it was going to have more of the fault into which 
 you essay writers generally fall, of being a comment on the 
 abuse of a thing, and not on the thing itself. There always 
 seems to me to want another essay on the other side. But 
 I think, at the end, you protect yourself against miscon- 
 struction. In the spirit of the essay, you know, of course, 
 that I quite agree with you. Indeed, I differ from all the 
 ordinary biographers of that independent gentleman, Don't 
 Care. I believe Don't Care came to a good end. At any
 
 90 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 rate he came to some end. Whereas numbers of people 
 never have beginning, or ending, of their own. An obscure 
 dramatist, Milverton, whom we know of, makes one of his 
 characters say, in reply to some world-fearing wretch 
 
 " While you, you think 
 
 What others think, or what you think they'll say, 
 Shaping your course by something scarce more tangible 
 Than dreams, at best the shadows on the stream 
 Of aspen leaves by flickering breezes swayed 
 Load me with irons, drive me from morn till night, 
 I am not the utter slave which that man is 
 Whose sole word, thought, and deed are built on what 
 The world may say of him." 
 
 Milverton. Never mind the obscure dramatist. But, 
 Ellesmere, you really are unreasonable, if you suppose that, 
 in the limits of a short essay, you can accurately distinguish 
 all you write between the use and the abuse of a thing. 
 The question is, will people misunderstand you not, is the 
 language such as to be logically impregnable? Now, in 
 the present case, no man will really suppose it is a wise 
 and just conformity that I am inveighing against. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am not sure of that. If everybody is to 
 have independent thought, would there not be a fearful 
 instability and want of compactness ? Another thing, too 
 conformity often saves so much time and trouble. 
 
 Milverton. Yes; it has its uses. I do not mean, in the 
 world of opinion and morality, that it should be all elasticity 
 and no gravitation ; but at least enough elasticity to preserve 
 natural form and independent being. 
 
 Ellesmere. I think it would have been better if you had 
 turned the essay another way, and instead of making it on 
 conformity, had made it on interference. That is the 
 greater mischief and the greater folly, I think. Why do
 
 CONFORMITY. 91 
 
 people unreasonably conform? Because they feel un- 
 reasonable interference. War, I say, is interference on a 
 small scale compared with the interference of private life. 
 Then the absurdity on which it proceeds ; that men are all 
 alike, or that it is desirable that they should be ; and that 
 what is good for one is good for all. 
 
 Dunsford. I must say, I think, Milverton, you do not 
 give enough credit for sympathy, good-nature, and humility 
 as material elements in the conformity of the world. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am not afraid, my dear Dunsford, of the 
 essay doing much harm. There is a power of sleepy 
 conformity in the world. You may just startle your 
 conformists for a minute, but they gravitate into their old 
 way very soon. You talk of their humility, Dunsford, but 
 I have heard people who have conformed to opinions, 
 without a pretence of investigation, as arrogant and intolerant 
 towards anybody who differed from them as if they stood 
 upon a pinnacle of independent sagacity and research. 
 
 Dunsford. One never knows, Ellesmere, on which side 
 you are. I thought you were on mine a minute or two 
 ago; and now you come down upon me with more than 
 Milverton's anti-conforming spirit. 
 
 Ellesmere. The greatest mischief, as I take it, of this 
 slavish conformity, is in the reticence it creates. People 
 will be, what are called, intimate friends, and yet no real 
 interchange of opinion takes place between them. A man 
 keeps his doubts, his difficulties, and his peculiar opinions 
 to himself. He is afraid of letting anybody know that he 
 does not exactly agree with the world's theories on all 
 points. There is no telling the hindrance that this is to 
 truth. 
 
 Milverton. A great cause of this, Ellesmere, is in the 
 little reliance you can have on any man's secrecy. A man
 
 92 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 finds that what, in the heat of discussion, and in the perfect 
 carelessness of friendship, he has said to his friend, is 
 quoted to people whom he would never have said it to ; 
 knowing that it would be sure to be misunderstood, or half- 
 understood, by them. And so he grows cautious; and is 
 very loth to communicate to anybody his more cherished 
 opinions, unless they fall in exactly with the stream. 
 Added to which, I think there is in these times less than 
 there ever was of a proselytising spirit ; and people are 
 content to keep their opinions to themselves more perhaps 
 from indifference than from fear. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, I agree with you. 
 
 By the way, I think your taking dress as an illustration 
 of extreme conformity is not bad. Really it is wonderful 
 the degree of square and dull hideousness to which, in the 
 process of time and tailoring, and by severe conformity, the 
 human creature's outward appearance has arrived. Look 
 at a crowd of men from a height, what an ugly set of ants 
 they appear ! Myself, when I see an Eastern man, one of 
 the people attached to their embassies, sweeping by us in 
 something flowing and stately, I feel inclined to take off my 
 hat to him (only that I think the hat might frighten him), 
 and say, Here is a great, unhatted, uncravated, bearded 
 man, not a creature dipt and twisted and tortured into 
 tailorhood. 
 
 Dunsford. Ellesmere broke in upon me just now, so that 
 I did not say all that I meant to say. But, Milverton, 
 what would you admit that we are to conform to ? In 
 silencing the general voice, may we not give too much 
 opportunity to our own headstrong suggestions, and to 
 wilful licence ? 
 
 Milverton. Yes ; to be somewhat deaf to the din of the 
 world may be no gain, even loss, if then we only listen
 
 CONFORMITY. 93 
 
 more to the worst part of ourselves ; but in itself it is a 
 good thing to silence that din. It is at -least a beginning 
 of good. If anything good is then gained, it is not a 
 sheepish tendency, but an independent resolve growing 
 out of our nature. And, after all, when we talk of non- 
 conformity, it may only be that we non-conform to the 
 immediate sect of thought or action about us, to conform 
 to a much wider thing in human nature. 
 
 Ellesmere. Ah, me ! how one wants a moral essayist 
 always at hand to enable one to make use of moral essays. 
 
 Milverton. Your rules of law are grand things the 
 proverbs of justice ; yet has not each case its specialities, 
 requiring to be argued with much circumstance, and 
 capable of different interpretations ? Words cannot be 
 made into men. 
 
 Dunsford. I wonder you answer his sneers, Milverton. 
 
 Ellesmere. I must go and see whether words cannot be 
 made into guineas ; and then guineas into men is an easy 
 thing. .These trains will not wait even for critics, so, for 
 the present, good-bye. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ELLESMERE soon wrote us word that he would be able to 
 come down again ; and I agreed to be at Worth-Ashton 
 (Milverton's house) on the day of his arrival. I had 
 scarcely seated myself at our usual place of meeting before 
 the friends entered, and after greeting me, the conversation 
 thus began 
 
 Ellesmere. Upon my word, you people who live in the
 
 94 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 country have a pleasant time of it. As Milverton was 
 driving me from the station through Durley Wood, there 
 was such a rich smell of pines, such a twittering of birds, 
 so much joy, sunshine, and beauty, that I began to think, 
 if there were no such place as London, it really would be 
 very desirable to live in the country. 
 
 Milverton. What a climax ! But I am always very 
 suspicious, when Ellesmere appears to be carried away 
 by any enthusiasm, that it will break off suddenly, like the 
 gallop of a post-horse. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, what are we to have for our essay ? 
 
 Milverton. Despair. 
 
 Ellesmere. I feel equal to anything just now, and so, if 
 it must be read sometime or other, let us have it now. 
 
 Milverton. You need not be afraid. I want to take away, 
 not to add gloom. Shall I read ? 
 
 We assented, and he began. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Despair may be serviceable when it arises from a tem- 
 porary prostration of spirits ; during which the mind is 
 insensibly healing, and her scattered power silently return- 
 ing. This is better than to be the sport of a teasing hope 
 without reason. But to indulge in despair as a habit 
 is slothful, cowardly, short-sighted; and manifestly tends 
 against Nature. Despair is then the paralysis of the soul. 
 
 These are the principal causes of despair remorse, the 
 sorrows of the affections, worldly trouble, morbid views of 
 religion, native melancholy.
 
 DESPAIR. 95 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Remorse does but add to the evil which bred it, when 
 it promotes, not penitence, but despair. To have erred 
 in one branch of our duties does not unfit us for the 
 performance of all the rest, unless we suffer the dark spot 
 to spread over our whole nature, which may happen 
 almost unobserved in the torpor of despair. This kind 
 of despair is chiefly grounded on a foolish belief that 
 individual words or actions constitute the whole life of 
 man ; whereas they are often not fair representatives of 
 portions even of that life. The fragments of rock in a 
 mountain stream may tell much of its history, are in fact 
 results of its doings, but they are not the stream. They 
 were brought down when it was turbid ; it may now be 
 clear : they are as much the result of other circumstances 
 as of the action of the stream ; their history is fitful ; they 
 give us no sure intelligence of the future course of the 
 stream, or of the nature of its waters ; and may scarcely 
 show more than that it has not been always as it is. The 
 actions of men are often but little better indications of 
 the men themselves. 
 
 A prolonged despair arising from remorse is unreasonable 
 at any age, but if possible still more so when felt by the 
 young. To think, for example, that the great Being who 
 made us could have made eternal ruin and misery inevit- 
 able to a poor, half-fledged creature of eighteen or nineteen ! 
 And yet how often has the profoundest despair from remorse 
 brooded over children of that age and eaten into their 
 hearts ! 
 
 There is frequently much selfishness about remorse. Put 
 what has been done at the worst. Let a man see his own 
 evil word, or deed, in full light, and own it to be black as
 
 96 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 hell itself. He is still here. He cannot be isolated. 
 There still remain for him cares and duties; and, there- 
 fore, hopes. Let him not in imagination link all creation 
 to his fate. Let him yet live in the welfare of others, 
 and, if it may be so, work out his own in this way ; if not, 
 be content with theirs. The saddest cause of remorseful 
 despair is when a man does something expressly contrary 
 to his character: when an honourable man, for instance, 
 slides into some dishonourable action ; or a tender-hearted 
 man falls into cruelty from carelessness ; or, as often 
 happens, a sensitive nature continues to give the greatest 
 pain to others from temper, feeling all the time, perhaps, 
 more deeply than the persons aggrieved. All these cases 
 may be summed up in the words, "That which I would 
 not, that I do," the saddest of all human confessions, made 
 by one of the greatest men. However, the evil cannot 
 be mended by despair. Hope and humility are the only 
 supports under this burden. As Mr. Carlyle says 
 
 " What are faults, what are the outward details of a life ; if the 
 inner secret of it, the remorse, temptations, true, often-baffled, never- 
 ended struggle of it, be forgotten. ' It is not in man that walketh to 
 direct his steps." Of all acts, is not, for a man, repentance the most 
 divine? The deadliest sin, I say, were that same supercilious con- 
 sciousness of no sin ; that is death : the heart so conscious is divorced 
 from sincerity, humility, and fact ; is dead : it is ' pure ' as dead dry 
 sand is pure. David's life and history, as written for us in those Psalms 
 of his, I consider to be the truest emblem ever given of a man's moral 
 progress and warfare here below. All earnest souls will ever discern 
 in it the faithful struggle of an earnest human soul towards what is 
 good and best. Struggle often baffled, sore baffled, down as into 
 entire wreck ; yet a struggle never ended ; ever, with tears, repentance, 
 true unconquerable purpose, begun anew. Poor human nature ! is not 
 a man's walking, in truth, always that : a ' succession of falls ! ' Man 
 can do no other. In this wild element of a Life, he has to struggle 
 onwards ; now fallen, deep abased ; and ever, with tears, repentance,
 
 DESPAIR. 97 
 
 with bleeding heart, he has to rise again, struggle again still onwards. 
 That his struggle be a faithful unconquerable one : this is the question 
 of questions. " 
 
 THE SORROWS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 
 
 The loss by death of those we love has the first place in 
 these sorrows. Yet the feeling in this case, even when 
 carried to the highest, is not exactly despair, having too 
 much warmth in it for that. Not much can be said in the 
 way of comfort on this head. Queen Elizabeth, in her 
 hard, wise way, writing to a mother who had lost her son, 
 tells her that she will be comforted in time ; and why 
 should she not do for herself what the mere lapse of time 
 will do for her ? Brave words ! and the stern woman, more 
 earnest than the sage in Rasselas^ would have tried their 
 virtue on herself. But I fear they fell somewhat coldly on 
 the mother's ear. Happily, in these bereavements, kind 
 Nature with her opiates, day by day administered, does 
 more than all the skill of the physician moralists. Sir 
 Thomas Browne says 
 
 " Darkness and light divide the course of time, and oblivion shares 
 with memory a great part even of our living beings ; we slightly 
 remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction leave but 
 short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows 
 destroy us or themselves. To weep into stones are fables. Afflictions 
 induce callosities, miseries are slippery, or fall like snow upon us, 
 which, notwithstanding, is no unhappy stupidity. To be ignorant of 
 evils to come, and forgetful of evils past, is a merciful provision in 
 Nature, whereby we digest the mixture of our few and evil days, and 
 our delivered senses not relapsing into cutting remembrances, our 
 sorrows are not kept raw by the edge of repetitions." 
 
 The good knight thus makes much comfort out of our 
 physical weakness. But something may be done in a very 
 
 7
 
 98 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 different direction, namely, by spiritual strength. By 
 elevating and purifying the sorrow, we may take it more 
 out of matter, as it were, and so feel less the loss of what 
 is material about it. 
 
 The other sorrows of the affections which may produce 
 despair are those in which the affections are wounded, as 
 jealousy, love unrequited, friendship betrayed, and the like. 
 As, in despair from remorse, the whole life seems to be 
 involved in one action : so in the despair we are now con- 
 sidering, the whole life appears to be shut up in the one 
 unpropitious affection. Yet human nature, if fairly treated, 
 is too large a thing to be suppressed into despair by one 
 affection, however potent. We might imagine that if there 
 were anything that would rob life of its strength and 
 favour, it is domestic unhappiness. And yet how numerous 
 is the bond of those whom we know to have been eminently 
 unhappy in some domestic relation, but whose lives have 
 been full of vigorous and kindly action. Indeed, the cul- 
 ture of the world has been largely carried on by such 
 men. As long as there is life in the plant, though it 
 be sadly pent in, it will grow towards any opening of 
 light that is left for it. 
 
 WORLDLY TROUBLE. 
 
 This appears to mean a subject for despair, or, at least, 
 unworthy of having any remedy, or soothing thought out of 
 it. Whether a man lives in a large room or a small one, 
 rides or is obliged to walk, gets a plenteous dinner every 
 day, or a sparing one, do not seem matters for despair. 
 But the truth is, that worldly trouble, such, for instance, 
 as loss of fortune, is seldom the simple thing that poets 
 would persuade us.
 
 DESPAIR. 99 
 
 " The little or the much she gave is quietly resigned ; 
 Content with poverty, my soul I arm, 
 And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm." 
 
 So sings Dryden, paraphrasing Horace, but each of them, 
 with their knowledge of the world, cross-questioned in 
 prose, could have told us how the stings of fortune really 
 are felt. The truth is, that fortune is not exactly a distinct 
 isolated thing which can be taken away "and there an 
 end." But much has to be severed, with undoubted pain 
 in the operation. A man mostly feels that his reputation 
 for sagacity, often his honour, the comfort, too, or supposed 
 comfort, of others are embarked in his fortunes. Mere 
 stoicism, and resolves about fitting fortune to oneself, not 
 oneself to fortune, though good things enough in their way, 
 will not always meet the whole of the case. And a man 
 who could bear personal distress of any kind with Spartan 
 indifference, may suffer himself to be overwhelmed by de- 
 spair growing out of worldly trouble. A frequent origin of 
 such despair, as indeed of all despair (not by any means 
 excluding despair from remorse), is pride. Let a man say 
 to himself, " I am not the perfect character I meant to be ; 
 this is not the conduct I had imagined for myself; these 
 are not the fortunate circumstances I had always intended 
 to be surrounded by." Let him at once admit that he is 
 on a lower level than his ideal one ; and then see what is to 
 be done there. This seems the best way of treating all 
 that part of worldly trouble which consists of self-reproval. 
 We scarcely know of any outward life continuously 
 prosperous (and a very dull one it would be) : why 
 should we expect the inner life to be one course of 
 unbroken self-improvement, either in prudence or in 
 virtue. 
 
 Before a man gives way to excessive grief about the
 
 too FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 fortunes of his family being lost with his own, he should 
 think whether he really knows wherein lies the welfare of 
 others. Give him some fairy power, inexhaustible purses or 
 magic lamps, not, however, applying to the mind ; and see 
 whether he could make those whom he would favour good 
 or happy. In the East they have a proverb of this kind, 
 Happy are the children of those fathers who go to the Evil 
 One. But for anything that our Western experience shows, 
 the proverb might be reversed, and, instead of running thus, 
 Happy are the sons of those who have got money anyhow, 
 it might be, Happy are the sons of those who have failed in 
 getting money. In fact, there is no sound proverb to be 
 made about it either way. We know nothing about the 
 matter. Our surest influence for good or evil over others is 
 through themselves. Our ignorance of what is physically 
 good for any man may surely prevent anything like despair 
 with regard to that part of the fortunes of others dear to us, 
 which, as we think, is bound up with our own. 
 
 MORBID VIEWS OF RELIGION. 
 
 As religion is the most engrossing subject that can be 
 presented to us, it will be considered in all states of mind 
 and by all minds. It is impossible but that the most 
 hideous and perverted views of religion must arise. To 
 combat the particular views which may be supposed to cause 
 religious despair would be too theological an undertaking 
 for this essay. One thing only occurs to me to say, namely, 
 that the lives and the mode of speaking about themselves 
 adopted by the founders of Christianity afford the best 
 contradiction to religious melancholy that I believe can be 
 met with.
 
 DESPAIR. ioi 
 
 NATIVE MELANCHOLY. 
 
 There is such a thing. Jacques, without the "sundry 
 contemplation" of his travels, or any "simples" to "com- 
 pound " his melancholy form, would have ever been wrapped 
 in a "most humorous sadness." It was innate. This 
 melancholy may lay its votaries open to any other cause of 
 despair, but having mostly some touch of philosophy (if it 
 be not absolutely morbid), it is not unlikely to preserve 
 them from any extremity. It is not acute, but chronic. 
 
 It may be said in its favour that it tends to make men 
 indifferent to their own fortunes. But then the sorrow of 
 the world presses more deeply upon them. With large open 
 hearts, the untowardness of things present, the miseries of 
 the past, the mischief, stupidity, and error which reign in 
 the world, at times almost crush your melancholy men. 
 Still, out of their sadness may come their strength, or, at 
 least, the best direction of it. Nothing, perhaps, is lost; 
 not even sin much less sorrow. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am glad you have ended as you have ; for, 
 previously, you seemed to make too much of getting rid of 
 all distress of mind. I always liked that passage in " Philip 
 van Artevelde," where Father John says 
 
 " He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. 
 Eternity mourns that." 
 
 You have a better memory than I have ; how does it go 
 on ? 
 
 Miiverton. 
 
 " 'Tis an ill cure 
 
 For life's worst ills, to have no time to feel them. 
 Where sorrow's held intrusive and turned out, 
 There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, 
 Nor aught that dignifies humanity."
 
 loa FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Still this does not justify despair, which was what I was 
 writing about. 
 
 Ellesmere. Perhaps it was not a just criticism of mine. One 
 part of the subject you have certainly omitted. You do not 
 tell us how much there often is of physical disorder in despair. 
 I dare say you will think it a coarse and unromantic mode 
 of looking at things ; but I must confess I agree with what 
 Leigh Hunt has said somewhere, that one can walk down 
 distress of mind even remorse, perhaps. 
 
 Milverton. Yes ; I am for the Peripatetics against all 
 other philosophers. 
 
 Ellesmere. By the way, there is a passage in one of 
 Hazlitt's essays I thought of while you were reading, 
 about remorse and religious melancholy. He speaks of 
 mixing up religion and morality ; and then goes on to say 
 that Calvinistic notions have obscured and prevented self- 
 knowledge. 1 
 
 1 The passage which must have been alluded to is this: "The 
 stricter tenets of Calvinism, which allow no medium between grace and 
 reprobation, and doom man to eternal punishment for every breach of the 
 moral law, as an equal offence against Infinite truth and justice, proceed 
 (like the paradoxical doctrine of the Stoics) from taking a half-view of 
 this subject, and considering man as amenable only to the dictates of 
 his understanding and his conscience, and not excusable from the 
 temptations and frailty of human ignorance and passion. The mixing 
 up of religion and morality together, or the making us accountable for 
 every word, thought, or action, under no less a responsibility than our 
 everlasting future welfare or misery, has also added incalculably to the 
 difficulties of self-knowledge, has superinduced a violent and spurious 
 state of feeling, and made it almost impossible to distinguish the bound- 
 aries between the true and false, in judging of human conduct and 
 motives. A religious man is afraid of looking into the state of his 
 soul, lest at the same time he should reveal it to heaven ; and tries to 
 persuade himself that by shutting his eyes to his true character and 
 feelings, they will remain a profound secret, both here and hereafter.
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 103 
 
 Give me the essay there is a passage I want to look at. 
 This comparison of life to a mountain stream, the rocks 
 brought down by it being the actions, is too much worked 
 out. When we speak of similes not going on four legs, it 
 implies, I think, that a simile is at best but a four-legged 
 animal. Now this is almost a centipede of a simile. I 
 think I have had the same thought as yours here, and I 
 have compared the life of an individual to a curve. You 
 both smile. Now I thought that Dunsford at any rate would 
 be pleased with this reminiscence of college days. But to 
 proceed with my curve. You may have numbers of the 
 points through which it passes given, and yet know nothing 
 of the nature of the curve itself. See, now, it shall pass 
 through here and here, but how it will go in the interval, 
 what is the law of its being, we know not. But this simile 
 would be too mathematical, I fear. 
 
 Milverton. I hold to the centipede. 
 
 Elksmere. Not a word has Dunsford said all this time. 
 
 Dunsford. I like the essay. I was not criticising as we 
 went along, but thinking that perhaps the greatest charm of 
 books is, that we see in them that other men have suffered 
 what we have. Some souls we ever find who could have 
 responded to all our agony, be it what it may. This at 
 least robs misery of its loneliness. 
 
 Elksmere. On the other hand, the charm of intercourse 
 with our fellows, when we are in sadness, is that they do 
 not reflect it in any way. Each keeps his own trouble to 
 himself, and often pretending to think and care about other 
 thing*, comes to do so for the time. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, but you might choose books which would 
 not reflect your troubles. 
 
 Elksmere. But the fact of having to make a choice to do 
 this does away, perhaps, with some part of the benefit :
 
 104 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 whereas, in intercourse with living men, you take what you 
 find, and you find that neither your trouble, nor any like- 
 ness of it, is absorbing other people. But this is not the 
 whole reason : the truth is, the life and impulses of other 
 men are catching; you cannot explain exactly how it is that 
 they take you out of yourself. 
 
 Milverton. No man is so confidential as when he is 
 addressing the whole world. You find, therefore, more 
 comfort for sorrow in books than in social intercourse. I 
 mean more direct comfort; for I agree with what Ellesmere 
 says about society. 
 
 Ellesmere. In comparing men and books, one must 
 always remember this important distinction that one can 
 put the books down at any time. As Macaulay says, 
 "Plato is never sullen. Cervantes is never petulant 
 Demosthenes never comes unseasonably. Dante never 
 stays too long." 
 
 Milverton. Besides, one can manage to agree so well, 
 intellectually, with a book; and intellectual differences are 
 the source of half the quarrels in the world. 
 
 Ellesmere. Judicious shelving ! 
 
 Milverton. Judicious skipping will nearly do. Now when 
 one's friend, or oneself, is crotchety, dogmatic, or disputa- 
 tious, one cannot turn over to another day. 
 
 Ellesmere. Don't go, Dunsford. Here is a passage in the 
 essay I meant to have said something about " why should 
 we expect the inner life to be one course of unbroken self- 
 improvement," etc. You recollect? Well, it puts me in 
 mind of a conversation between a complacent poplar and a 
 grim old oak, which I overheard the other day. The poplar 
 said that it grew up quite straight, heavenwards, that all its 
 branches pointed the same way, and always had done so. 
 Turning to the oak, which it had been talking at before for
 
 DESPAIR. 105 
 
 some time, the poplar went on to remark, that it did not 
 wish to say anything unfriendly to a brother of the forest, 
 but those warped and twisted branches seemed to show 
 strange struggles. The tall thing concluded its oration by 
 saying, that it grew up very fast, and that when it had done 
 growing, it did not suffer itself to be made into huge float- 
 ing engines of destruction. But different trees had different 
 tastes. There was then a sound from the old oak, like an 
 "ah" or a "whew," or, perhaps, it was only the wind 
 amongst its resisting branches; and the gaunt creature said 
 that it had had ugly winds from without and cross-grained 
 impulses from within; that it knew it had thrown out 
 awkwardly a branch here and a branch there, which would 
 never come quite right again it feared; that men worked it 
 up, sometimes for good and sometimes for evil but that at 
 any rate it had not lived for nothing. The poplar began 
 again immediately, for this kind of tree can talk for ever, 
 but I patted the old oak approvingly and went on. 
 
 Milverton. Well, your trees divide their discourse some- 
 what Ellesmerically : they do not talk with the simplicity 
 La Fontaine's would; but there is a good deal in them. 
 They are not altogether sappy. 
 
 Ellesmere. I really thought of this fable of mine the 
 other day, as I was passing the poplar at the end of the 
 valley, and I determined to give it you on the first 
 occasion. 
 
 Dunsford. I hope, Ellesmere, you do not intend to put 
 sarcastic notions into the sap of our trees hereabouts. 
 There's enough of sarcasm in you to season a whole forest. 
 
 Ellesmere. Dunsford is afraid of what the trees may say 
 to the country gentlemen, and whether they will be able to 
 answer them. I will be careful not to make the trees too 
 clever.
 
 106 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL 
 
 Milverton. Let us go and try if we can hear any more 
 forest talk. The winds, shaped into voices by the leaves, 
 say many things to us at all times. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN the course of our walk Milverton promised to read the 
 following essay on Recreation the next day. I have no 
 note of anything that was said before the reading. 
 
 RECREATION. 
 
 This subject has not had the thought it merits. It seems 
 trivial. It concerns some hours in the daily life of each of 
 us; but it is not connected with any subject of human 
 grandeur, and we are rather ashamed of it. Schiller has 
 some wise, but hard words that relate to it. He perceives 
 the pre-eminence of the Greeks, who could do many things. 
 He finds that modern men are units of great nations ; but 
 not great units themselves. And there is some room for 
 this reasoning of his. 
 
 Our modern system of division of labour divides wits 
 also. The more necessity there is, therefore, for finding in 
 recreation something to expand men's intelligence. There 
 are intellectual pursuits almost as much divided as pin- 
 making; and many a man goes through some intellectual 
 process, for the greater part of his working hours, which 
 corresponds with the making of a pin's head. Must there 
 not be some danger of a general contraction of mind from 
 this convergence of attention upon something very small, 
 for so considerable a portion of a man's life ?
 
 RECREATION. 
 
 107 
 
 What answer can civilisation give to this ? It can say 
 that greater results are worked out by the modern system ; 
 that though each man is doing less himself than he might 
 have done in former days, he sees greater and better things 
 accomplished ; and that his thoughts, not bound down by 
 his petty occupation, travel over the work of the human 
 family. There is a great deal, doubtless, in this argument ; 
 but man is not altogether an intellectual recipient. He is a 
 constructive animal also. It is not the knowledge that you 
 can pour into him that will satisfy him, or enable him to 
 work out his nature. He must see things for himself; he 
 must have bodily work and intellectual work different from 
 his bread-getting work ; or he runs the danger of becoming 
 a contracted pedant with a poor mind and a sickly body. 
 
 I have seen it quoted from Aristotle, that the end of 
 labour is to gain leisure. It is a great saying. We have in 
 modern times a totally wrong view of the- matter. Noble 
 work is a noble thing, but not all work. Most people seem 
 to think that any business is in itself something grand ; that 
 to be intensely employed, for instance, about something 
 which has no truth, beauty, or usefulness in it, which makes 
 no man happier or wiser, is still the perfection of human 
 endeavour, so that the work be intense. It is the intensity, 
 not the nature, of the work that men praise. You see the 
 extent of this feeling in little things. People are so ashamed 
 of being caught for a moment idle, that if you come upon 
 the most industrious servants or workmen whilst they are 
 standing looking at something which interests them, or 
 fairly resting, they move off in a fright, as if they were 
 proved, by a moment's relaxation, to be neglectful of their 
 work. Yet it is the result that they should mainly be 
 judged by, and to which they should appeal. But amongst 
 all classes, the working itself, incessant working, is the thing
 
 io8 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 deified. Now what is the end and object of most work ? 
 To provide for animal wants. Not a contemptible thing by 
 any means, but still it is not all in all with man. Moreover, 
 in those cases where the pressure of bread-getting is fairly 
 past, we do not often find men's exertions lessened on that 
 account There enter into their minds as motives, ambition, 
 a love of hoarding, or a fear of leisure things which, in 
 moderation, may be defended or even justified ; but which 
 are not so peremptory, and upon the face of them 
 excellent, that they at once dignify excessive labour. 
 
 The truth is, that to work insatiably requires much less 
 mind than to work judiciously, and less courage than to 
 refuse work that cannot be done honestly. For a hundred 
 men whose appetite for work can be driven on by vanity, 
 avarice, ambition, or a mistaken notion of advancing their 
 families, there is about one who is desirous of expanding 
 his own nature and the nature of others in all directions, of 
 cultivating many pursuits, of bringing himself and those 
 around him in contact with the universe in many points, of 
 being a man and not a machine. 
 
 It may seem as if the preceding arguments were directed 
 rather against excessive work than in favour of recreation. 
 But the first object in an essay of this kind should be to 
 bring down the absurd estimate that is often formed of 
 mere work. What ritual is to the formalist, or contempla- 
 tion to the devotee, business is to the man of the world. 
 He thinks he cannot be doing wrong as long as he is doing 
 that. 
 
 No doubt hard work is a great police agent. If every- 
 body were worked from morning till night and then care- 
 fully locked up, the register of crimes might be greatly 
 diminished. But what would become of human nature? 
 Where would be the room for growth in such a system of
 
 RECREATION. 109 
 
 things ? It is through sorrow and mirth, plenty and need, 
 a variety of passions, circumstances, and temptations, even 
 through sin and misery, that men's natures are developed. 
 
 Again, there are people who would say, " Labour is not 
 all ; we do not object to the cessation of labour a mere 
 provision for bodily ends; but we fear the lightness and 
 vanity of what you call recreation." Do these people take 
 heed of the swiftness of thought of the impatience of 
 thought ? What will the great mass of men be thinking of, 
 if they are taught to shun amusements and the thoughts of 
 amusement ? If any sensuality is left open to them, they 
 will think of that. If not sensuality, then avarice, or ferocity 
 for " the cause of God," as they would call it. People who 
 have had nothing else to amuse them have been very apt 
 to indulge themselves in the excitement of persecuting their 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Our nation, the northern part of it especially, is given to 
 believe in the sovereign efficacy of dulness. To be sure, 
 dulness and solid vice are apt to go hand in hand. But 
 then, according to our notions, dulness is in itself so good a 
 thing almost a religion. 
 
 Now, if ever a people required to be amused, it is we 
 sad-hearted Anglo-Saxons. Heavy eaters, hard thinkers, 
 often given up to a peculiar melancholy of our own, with a 
 climate that for months together would frown away mirth if 
 It could many of us with very gloomy thoughts about our 
 hereafter if ever there were a people who should avoid 
 increasing their dulness by all work and no play, we are that 
 people. " They took their pleasure sadly," says Froissart, 
 "after their fashion." We need not ask of what nation 
 Froissart was speaking. 
 
 There is a theory which has done singular mischief to
 
 1 1 o FRIENDS IN CO UNC1L. 
 
 the cause of recreation and of general cultivation. It is 
 that men cannot excel in more things than one ; and that if 
 they can, they had better be quiet about it "Avoid music, 
 do not cultivate art, be not known to excel in any craft but 
 your own," says many a worldly parent, thereby laying the 
 foundation of a narrow, greedy character, and destroying 
 means of happiness and of improvement which success, or 
 even real excellence, in one profession only cannot give. 
 This is, indeed, a sacrifice of the end of living for the 
 means. 
 
 Another check to recreation is the narrow way in which 
 people have hitherto been brought up at schools and 
 colleges. The classics are pre-eminent works. To acquire 
 an accurate knowledge of them is an admirable discipline. 
 Still, it would be well to give a youth but few of these great 
 works, and so leave time for various arts, accomplishments, 
 and knowledge of external things exemplified by other 
 means than books. If this cannot be done but by over- 
 working, then it had better not be done ; for of all things, 
 that must be avoided. But surely it can be done. At 
 present, many a man who is versed in Greek metre, and 
 afterwards full of law reports, is childishly ignorant of 
 Nature. Let him walk with an intelligent child for a 
 morning, and the child will ask him a hundred questions 
 about sun, moon, stars, plants, birds, building, farming, 
 and the like, to which he can give very sorry answers, if 
 any; or, at the best, he has but a second-hand acquaint- 
 ance with Nature. Men's conceits are his main knowledge, 
 Whereas, if he had any pursuits connected with Nature, all 
 Nature is in harmony with it, is brought into his presence 
 by it, and it affords at once cultivation and recreation. 
 
 But, independently of those cultivated pursuits which 
 form a high order of recreation, boyhood should never pass
 
 RECREATION. in 
 
 without the boy's learning several modes of recreation of 
 the humbler kind. A parent or teacher seldom does a 
 kinder thing by the child under his care than when he 
 instructs it in some manly exercise, some pursuit connected 
 with Nature out of doors, or even some domestic game. 
 In hours of fatigue, anxiety, sickness, or worldly ferment, 
 such means of amusement may delight the grown-up man 
 when other things would fail. 
 
 An indirect advantage, but a very considerable one, 
 attendant upon various modes of recreation, is, that they 
 provide opportunities of excelling in something to boys and 
 men who are dull in things which form the staple of educa- 
 tion. A boy cannot see much difference between the nomi- 
 native and the genitive cases still less any occasion for aorists 
 but he is a good hand at some game or other ; and he keeps 
 up his self-respect, and the respect of others for him, upon 
 his prowess in that game. He is better and happier on that 
 account. And it is well, too, that the little world around 
 him should know that excellence is not all of one form. 
 
 There are no details about recreation in this essay, the 
 object here being mainly to show the worth of recreation, 
 and to defend it against objections from the over-busy and 
 the over-strict. The sense of the beautiful, the desire for 
 comprehending Nature, the love of personal skill and 
 prowess, are not things implanted in men merely to be 
 absorbed in producing and distributing the objects of our 
 most obvious animal wants. If civilisation required this, 
 civilisation would be a failure. Still less should we fancy 
 that we are serving the cause of godliness when we are 
 discouraging recreation. Let us be hearty in our pleasures, 
 as in our work, and not think that the gracious Being who 
 has made us so open-hearted to delight, looks with dissatis- 
 faction at our enjoyment, as a hard task-master might, who
 
 j 12 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 in the glee of his slaves could see only a hindrance to their 
 profitable working. And with reference to our individual 
 cultivation, we may remember that we are not here to 
 promote incalculable quantities of law, physic, or manu- 
 factured goods, but to become men, not narrow pedants, 
 but wide-seeing, mind-travelled men. Who are the men of 
 history to be admired most? Those whom most things 
 became who could be weighty in debate, of much device 
 in council, considerate in a sick-room, genial at a feast, 
 joyous at a festival, capable of discourse with many minds, 
 large-souled, not to be shrivelled up into any one form, 
 fashion, or temperament. Their contemporaries would 
 have told us that men might have various accomplishments 
 and hearty enjoyments, and not for that be the less effective 
 in business, or less active in benevolence. I distrust the 
 wisdom of asceticism as much as I do that of sensuality ; 
 Simeon Stylites no less than Sardanapalus. 
 
 Ellesmere. You alluded to Schiller at the beginning of 
 the essay : can you show me his own words ? I have a 
 lawyer's liking for the best evidence. 
 
 Milverton. When we go in, I will show you some passages 
 which bear me out in what I have made him say at least, 
 if the translation is faithful. 1 
 
 1 This was one of the passages which Milverton afterwards read 
 to us : 
 
 " Thus, however much may be gained for the world as a whole 
 by this fragmentary cultivation, it is not to be denied that the individuals 
 whom it befalls are cursed for the benefit of the world. An athletic 
 frame, it is true, is fashioned by gymnastic exercises ; but a form of 
 beauty only by free and uniform action. Just so the exertions of single 
 talents can create extraordinary men indeed ; but happy and perfect 
 men only by their uniform temperature. And in what relation should
 
 RECREATION. II3 
 
 Ellesmere. I have had a great respect for Schiller ever 
 since I heard that saying of his about death, "Death 
 cannot be an evil, for it is universal." 
 
 Dunsford. Very noble and full of faith. 
 
 Ellesmere. Touching the essay, I like it well enough; 
 but, perhaps, people will expect to find more about 
 recreation itself not only about the good of it, but 
 what it is, and how it is to be got. 
 
 Milverton. I do not incline to go into detail about 
 the matter. The object was to say something for the 
 respectability of recreation, not to write a chapter of a 
 book of sports. People must find out their own ways 
 of amusing themselves. 
 
 Ellesmere. I will tell you what is the paramount thing to 
 be attended to in all amusements that they should be 
 short. Moralists are always talking about "short-lived" 
 pleasures ; would that they were ! 
 
 Dunsford. Hesiod told the world, some two thousand 
 years ago, how much greater the half is than the whole. 
 
 Ellesmere. Dinner-givers and managers of theatres should 
 
 we stand, then, to the past and coining ages, if the cultivation of 
 human nature made necessary such a sacrifice ? We should have been 
 the slaves of humanity, and drudged for her century after century, and 
 stamped upon our mutilated natures the humiliating traces of our 
 bondage that the coming race might nurse its moral healthfulness in 
 blissful leisure, and unfold the free growth of its humanity ! 
 
 " But can it be intended that man should neglect himself for any 
 particular design ? Ought Nature to deprive us, by its design, of a 
 perfection which Reason, by its own, prescribes to us ? Then it must 
 be false that the development of single faculties makes the sacrifice 
 of totality necessary ; or, if indeed the law of Nature presses thus 
 heavily, it becomes us to restore, by a higher art, this totality in our 
 nature which art has destroyed." The Philosophical and dLsthetical 
 Letters and Essays of Schiller, Translated by J. Weiss, pp. 74, 75.
 
 1 1 4 FRIENDS IN CO UNCIL. 
 
 forthwith be made aware of that fact. What a sacrifice of 
 good things, and of the patience and comfort of human 
 beings, a cumbrous modern dinner is ! I always long to 
 get up and walk about. 
 
 Dunsford. Do not talk of modern dinners. Think what 
 a Roman dinner must have been. 
 
 Milverton. Very true. It has always struck me that 
 there is something quite military in the sensualism of the 
 Romans an "arbiter bibendi " chosen, and the whole 
 feast moving on with fearful precision and apparatus of all 
 kinds. Come, come ! the world's improving, Ellesmere. 
 
 Ellesmere. Had the Romans public dinners ? Answer 
 me that Imagine a Roman, whose theory, at least, of 
 a dinner was that it was a thing for enjoyment, whereas we 
 often look on it as a continuation of the business of the day 
 I say, imagine a Roman girding himself up, literally gird' 
 ing himself up to make an after-dinner speech. 
 
 Milverton. I must allow that is rather a barbarous 
 practice. 
 
 Ellesmere. If charity, or politics, cannot be done without 
 such things, I suppose they are useful in their way ; but let 
 nobody ever imagine that they are a form of pleasure. 
 People smearing each other over with stupid flattery, and 
 most of the company being in dread of receiving some com- 
 pliment which should oblige them to speak ! 
 
 Dunsford. I should have thought, now, that you would 
 always have had something to say, and therefore that you 
 would not be so bitter against after-dinner speaking. 
 
 Ellesmere. No; when I have nothing to say, I can say 
 nothing. 
 
 Milverton. Would it not be a pleasant thing if rich people 
 would ask their friends sometimes to public amusements 
 order a play for them, for instance or at any rate, provide
 
 RECREATION. 
 
 "5 
 
 some manifest amusement ? They might, occasionally with 
 great advantage, abridge the expense of their dinners, and 
 throw it into other channels of hospitality. 
 
 Ellesmere. Ah, if they would have good acting at their 
 houses, that would be very delightful; but I cannot say 
 that the being taken to any place of public amusement 
 would much delight me. By the way, Milverton, what do 
 you say of theatres in the way of recreation ? This decline 
 of the drama, too, is a thing you must have thought about : 
 let us hear your notions. 
 
 Milverton. I think one of the causes sometimes assigned, 
 that reading is more spread, is a true and an important one ; 
 but, otherwise, I fancy that the present decline of the drama 
 depends upon very small things which might be remedied. 
 As to a love of the drama going out of the human heart, 
 that is all nonsense. Put it at the lowest, what a great 
 pleasure it is to hear a good play read. And again, as to 
 serious pursuits unfitting men for dramatic entertainments, 
 it is quite the contrary. A man, wearied with care and 
 business, would find more change of ideas with less fatigue, 
 in seeing a good play, than in almost any other way of 
 amusing himself. 
 
 Dunsford. What are the causes, then, of the decline of the 
 drama? 
 
 Milverton. In England, or rather in London, for Lon- 
 don is England for dramatic purposes; in London, then, 
 theatrical arrangements seem to be framed to drive away 
 people of sense. The noisome atmosphere, the difficult 
 approach, the over-size of the great theatres, the intolerable 
 length of performances. 
 
 Ellesmere. Hear ! hear ! 
 
 Milverton. The crowding together of theatres in one part 
 of the town, the lateness of the hours
 
 1 1 6 FRIENDS IN CO UNCIL. 
 
 Ellesmere. The folly of the audience, who always applaud 
 in the wrong place 
 
 Dunsford. There is no occasion to say any more ; I am 
 quite convinced. 
 
 Milverton. But these annoyances need not be. Build 
 a theatre of modern dimensions ; give it great facility of 
 approach ; take care that the performances never exceed 
 three hours ; let lions and dwarfs pass by without any 
 endeavour to get them within the walls ; lay aside all 
 ambition of making stage waves which may almost equal 
 real Ramsgate waves to our cockney apprehensions. Of 
 course there must be good players and good plays. 
 
 Ellesmere. Now we come to the part of Hamlet. 
 
 Milverton. Good players and good plays are both to be 
 had if there were good demand for them. But, I was going 
 to say, let there be all these things, especially let there be 
 complete ventilation, and the theatre will have the most 
 abundant success. Why, that one thing alone, the villain- 
 ous atmosphere at most public places, is enough to daunt 
 any sensible man from going to them. 
 
 Dunsford. There should be such a choice of plays not 
 merely Chamberlain-clipt as any man or woman could 
 goto. 
 
 Milverton. There should be certainly, but how is such 
 a choice to be made, if the people who could regulate it, for 
 the most part, stay away ? It is a dangerous thing, the 
 better classes leaving any great source of amusement and 
 instruction wholly, or greatly, to the less refined classes. 
 
 Dunsford. Yes, I must confess it is. 
 
 Great part of your arguments apply to musical as well as 
 to theatrical entertainments. Do you find similar results 
 with respect to them ? 
 
 Milverton. Why, they are not attended by any means
 
 RE CREA TION. 1 1 7 
 
 as they would be, or made what they might be, if the 
 objections I mentioned were removed. 
 
 Dunsford. What do you say to the out-of-door entertain- 
 ments for a town population ? 
 
 Milverton. As I said before, my dear Dunsford, I cannot 
 give you a chapter of a " Book of Sports." There ought, 
 of course, to be parks for all quarters of the town ; and I 
 confess it would please me better to see, in holiday times 
 and hours of leisure, hearty games going on in these parks, 
 than a number of people sauntering about in uncomfortably 
 new and unaccustomed clothes. 
 
 Ellesmere. Do you not see, Dunsford, that, like a 
 cautious official man, he does not want to enter into 
 small details, which have always an air of ridicule? He 
 is not prepared to pledge himself to cricket, golf, football, 
 or prisoner's bars ; but in his heart he is manifestly a 
 Young Englander without the white waistcoat. Nothing 
 would please him better than to see in large letters, on 
 one of those advertising vans, " Great match ! Victoria 
 Park ! ! Eleven of Fleet Street against the Eleven of 
 Saffron Hill ! ! ! " 
 
 Milverton. Well, there is a great deal in the spirit of 
 Young England that I like very much, indeed that I 
 respect. 
 
 Ellesmere. I should like the Young England party better 
 myself if I were quite sure there was no connection between 
 them and a clan of sour, pity-mongering people, who wash 
 one away with eternal talk about the contrast between riches 
 and poverty ; with whom a poor man is always virtuous ; 
 and who would, if they could, make him as envious and 
 as discontented as possible. 
 
 Milverton. Nothing can be more strikingly in con- 
 trast with such thinkers than Young England. Young
 
 1 1 8 FRIENDS IN CO UNCIL. 
 
 Englanders, according to the best of their theories, ought 
 to be men of warm sympathy with all classes. There is 
 no doubt of this, that very seldom does any good thing 
 arise, but there comes an ugly phantom of a caricature of 
 it, which sidles up against the reality, mouths its favourite 
 words as a third-rate actor does a great part, under-mimics 
 its wisdom, over-acts its folly, is by half the world taken for it, 
 goes some way to suppress it in its own time, and, perhaps, 
 lives for it in history. 
 
 Ellesmerc. Well brought out, that metaphor, but I don't 
 know that it means more than that the followers of a system 
 do in general a good deal to corrupt it, or that when a 
 great principle is worked into human affairs, a consider- 
 able accretion of human folly and falseness mostly grows 
 round it: which things some of us had a suspicion of 
 before. 
 
 Dunsford. To go back to the subject. What would you 
 do for country amusements, Milverton ? That is what 
 concerns me, you know. 
 
 Milverton. Athletic amusements go on naturally here: 
 do not require so much fostering as in towns. The 
 commons must be carefully kept : I have quite a Cobbettian 
 fear of their being taken away from us under some plausible 
 pretext or other. Well, then, it strikes me that a great 
 deal might be done to promote the more refined pleasures 
 of life among our rural population. I hope we shall live 
 to see many of Hullah's pupils playing an important part 
 in this way. Of course, the foundation for these things 
 may best be laid at schools ; and is being laid in some 
 places, I am happy to say. 
 
 Ellesmere. Humph, music, sing-song ! 
 
 Milverton. Don't you observe, Dunsford, that when 
 Ellesmere wants to attack us, and does not exactly see
 
 RECREATION, 119 
 
 how, he mutters to himself sarcastically, sneering himself 
 up, as it were, to the attack. 
 
 Ellesmere. You and DunsTord are 'both wild for rausic, 
 from barrel-organs upwards. 
 
 Milverton. I confess to liking the humblest attempts at 
 melody. 
 
 Dunsford, I feel as Sir Thomas Browne tells us he felt, 
 that " even that vulgar and tavern music, which makes one 
 man merry, another mad, strikes in me a deep fit of 
 devotion and a profound contemplation of the first 
 composer. There is something in it of divinity more 
 than the ear discovers ; it is an hieroglyphical and 
 shadowed lesson of the whole world and creatures of 
 God : such a melody to the ear as the whole world well 
 understood would afford the understanding." 
 
 Milverton. Apropos of music in country places, when 
 I was going about last year in the neighbouring county, 
 I saw such a pretty scene at one of the towns. They had 
 got up a band, which played once a week in the evening. 
 It was a beautiful summer evening, and the window of 
 my room at the end overlooked the open space they had 
 chosen for their performances. There was the great man 
 of the neighbourhood in his carriage looking as if he came 
 partly on duty, as well as for pleasure. Then there were 
 burly tradesmen, with an air of quiet satisfaction, sauntering 
 about, or leaning against railings. Some were no doubt 
 critical thought that Will Miller did not play as well as 
 usual this evening. Will's young wife, who had come out 
 to look again at him in his band dress (for the band had a 
 uniform), thought differently. Little boys broke out into 
 imaginary polkas, having some distant reference to the 
 music : not without grace though. The sweep was pre- 
 eminent : as if he would say, " Dirty and sooty as I am
 
 i2o FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 I have a great deal of fun in me. Indeed, what would 
 May-day be but for me?" Studious little boys of the 
 free school, all green grasshopper-looking, walked about 
 as boys knowing something of Latin. Here and there 
 went a couple of them in childish loving way, with their 
 arms about each other's necks. Matrons and shy young 
 maidens sat upon the door-steps near. Many a merry 
 laugh filled up the interludes of music. And when evening 
 came softly down upon us, the band finished with " God 
 save the Queen," the little circle of those who would hear 
 the last note moved off, there was a clattering of shutters, 
 a shining of lights through casement windows, and soon 
 the only sound to be heard was the rough voice of some 
 villager, who would have been too timid to adventure any- 
 thing by daylight, but now sang boldly out as he went 
 homewards. 
 
 Ellesmere. Very pretty, but it sounds to me somewhat 
 fabulous. 
 
 Mtlverton. I assure you 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, you were tired, had a good dinner, read 
 a speech for or against the corn-laws, fell asleep of course, 
 and had this ingenious dream, which, to this day, you 
 believe to have been a reality. I understand it all. 
 
 Mtlverton. I wish I could have many more such dreams. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OUR last conversation broke off abruptly on the entrance of 
 a visitor: we forgot to name a time for our next meeting; 
 and when I came again, I found Milverton alone in his 
 study. He was reading Count Rumford's essays.
 
 GREATNESS. ii 
 
 Dunsford. So you are reading Count Rumford. What is 
 it that interests you there? 
 
 Milverton. Everything he writes about. He is to me a 
 delightful writer. He throws so much life into all his 
 writings. Whether they are about making the most of food 
 or fuel, or propounding the benefits of bathing, or inveighing 
 against smoke, it is that he went and saw and did and 
 experimented himself upon himself. His proceedings at 
 Munich to feed the poor are more interesting than many a 
 novel. It is surprising, too, how far he was before the 
 world in all the things he gave his mind to. 
 
 Here Ellesmere entered 
 
 Ellesmere. I heard you were come, Dunsford ; I hope we 
 shall have an essay to-day. My critical faculties have been 
 dormant for some days, and want to be roused a little. 
 Milverton was talking to you about Count Rumford when I 
 came in, was he not? Ah, the Count is a great favourite 
 with Milverton when he is down here ; but there is a book 
 upstairs which is Milverton's real favourite just now, a 
 portentous-looking book; some relation to a blue-book, 
 something about sewerage, or health of towns, or public 
 improvements, over which said book our friend here goes 
 into enthusiasms. I am sure if it could be reduced to the 
 size of that tatterdemalion Horace that he carries about, 
 the poor little Horace would be quite supplanted. 
 
 Milverton. Now, I must tell you, Dunsford, that Elles- 
 mere himself took up this book he talks about, and it was 
 a long time before he put it down. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, there is something in real life, even 
 though it is in the unheroic part of it, that interests one. I 
 mean to get through the book.
 
 122 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Dunsford. What are we to have to-day for our essay ? 
 Milverton, Let us adjourn to the garden, and I will read 
 you an essay on Greatness, if I can find it. 
 
 We went to our favourite place, and Milverton read 
 us the following essay. 
 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 You cannot substitute any epithet for great, when you 
 are talking of great men. Greatness is not general dexterity 
 carried to any extent; nor proficiency in any one subject 
 of human endeavour. There are great astronomers, great 
 scholars, great painters, even great poets, who are very far 
 from great men. Greatness can do without success and 
 with it. William is greater in his retreats than Marlborough 
 in his victories. On the other hand, the uniformity of 
 Caesar's success does not dull his greatness. Greatness is 
 not in the circumstances, but in the man. 
 
 What does this greatness then consist in? Not in a 
 nice balance of qualities, purposes, and powers. That will 
 make a man happy, a successful man, a man always in his 
 right depth. Nor does it consist in absence of errors. We 
 need only glance back at any list that can be made of great 
 men to be convinced of that. Neither does greatness 
 consist in energy, though often accompanied by it. Indeed, 
 it is rather the breadth of the waters than the force of the 
 current that we look to, to fulfil our idea of greatness. 
 There is no doubt that energy acting upon a nature endowed 
 with the qualities that we sum up in the word cleverness, 
 and directed to a few clear purposes, produces a great 
 effect, and may sometimes be mistaken for greatness. If a 
 man is mainly bent upon his own advancement, it cuts
 
 GREATNESS. 123 
 
 many a difficult knot of policy for him, and gives a force 
 and distinctness to his mode of going on which looks 
 grand. The same happens if he has one pre-eminent idea 
 of any kind, even though it should be a narrow one. 
 Indeed, success in life is mostly gained by unity of purpose ; 
 whereas greatness often fails by reason of its having mani- 
 fold purposes, but it does not cease to be greatness on that 
 account. 
 
 If greatness can be shut up in qualities, it will be found 
 to consist in courage and in openness of mind and soul. 
 These qualities may not seem at first to be so potent. But 
 see what growth there is in them. The education of a man 
 of open mind is never ended. Then, with openness of 
 soul, a man sees some way into all other souls that come 
 near him, feels with them, has their experience, is in 
 himself a people. Sympathy is the universal solvent. 
 Nothing is understood without it. The capacity of a man, 
 at least for understanding, may almost be said to vary 
 according to his powers of sympathy. Again, what is there 
 that can counteract selfishness like sympathy? Selfishness 
 may be hedged in by minute watchfulness and self-denial, 
 but it is counteracted by the nature being encouraged to 
 grow out and fix its tendrils upon foreign objects. 
 
 The immense defect that want of sympathy is, may be 
 strikingly seen in the failure of the many attempts that have 
 been made in all ages to construct the Christian character, 
 omitting sympathy. It has produced numbers of people 
 walking up and down one narrow plank of self-restraint, 
 pondering over their own merits and demerits, keeping out, 
 not the world exactly, but their fellow-creatures from their 
 hearts, and caring only to drive their neighbours before 
 them on this plank of theirs, or to push them headlong. 
 Thus, with many virtues, and much hard work at the
 
 124 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 formation of character, we have had splendid bigots or 
 censorious small people. 
 
 But sympathy is warmth and light too. It is, as it were, 
 the moral atmosphere connecting all animated natures. 
 Putting aside, for a moment, the large differences that 
 opinions, language, and education make between men, look 
 at the innate diversity of character. Natural philosophers 
 were amazed when they thought they had found a new- 
 created species. But what is each man but a creature such 
 as the world has not before seen ? Then think how they 
 pour forth in multitudinous masses, from princes delicately 
 nurtured to little boys on scrubby commons, or in dark 
 cellars. How are these people to be understood, to be 
 taught to understand each other, but by those who have the 
 deepest sympathies with all ? There cannot be a great man 
 without large sympathy. There may be men who play 
 loud-sounding parts in life without it, as on the stage, where 
 kings and great people sometimes enter who are only 
 characters of secondary import deputy great men. But 
 the interest and the instruction lie with those who have to 
 feel and suffer most. 
 
 Add courage to this openness we have been considering, 
 and you have a man who can own himself in the wrong, 
 can forgive, can trust, can adventure, can, in short, use 
 all the means that insight and sympathy endow him 
 with. 
 
 I see no other essential characteristics in the greatness 
 of nations than there are in the greatness of individuals. 
 Extraneous circumstances largely influence nations as 
 individuals; and make a larger part of the show of the 
 former than of the latter; as we are wont to consider no
 
 GREATNESS. 125 
 
 nation great that is not great in extent or resources, as well 
 as in character. But of two nations, equal in other respects, 
 the superiority must belong to the one which excels in 
 courage and openness of mind and soul. 
 
 Again, in estimating the relative merits of different 
 periods of the world, we must employ the same tests of 
 greatness that we use to individuals. To compare, for 
 instance, the present and the past. What astounds us most 
 in the past is the wonderful intolerance and cruelty: a 
 cruelty constantly turning upon the inventors; an intolerance 
 provoking ruin to the thing it would foster. The most 
 admirable precepts are thrown from time to time upon this 
 cauldron of human affairs, and oftentimes they only seem 
 to make it blaze the higher. We find men devoting the 
 best part of their intellects to the invariable annoyance and 
 persecution of their fellows. You might think that the 
 earth brought forth with more abundant fruitfulness in the 
 past than now, seeing that men found so much time for 
 cruelty, but that you read of famines and privations which 
 these latter days cannot equal. The recorded violent 
 deaths amount to millions. And this is but a small part 
 of the matter. Consider the modes of justice; the use of 
 torture, for instance. What must have been the blinded 
 state of the wise persons (wise for their day) who used 
 torture? Did they ever think themselves, "What should 
 we not say if we were subjected to this ? " Many times 
 they must really have desired to get at the truth; and such 
 was their mode of doing it. Now, at the risk of being 
 thought " a laudator " of time present, I would say, here is 
 the element of greatness we have made progress in. We 
 are more open in mind and soul. We have arrived (some 
 of us at least) at the conclusion that men may honestly 
 differ without offence. We have learned to pity each other
 
 126 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 more. There is a greatness in modern toleration which our 
 ancestors knew not 
 
 Then comes the other element of greatness, courage. 
 Have we made progress in that? This is a much more 
 dubious question. The subjects of terror vary so much 
 in different times that it is difficult to estimate the different 
 degrees of courage shown in resisting them. Men fear 
 public opinion now as they did in former times the Star 
 Chamber; and those awful goddesses, Appearances, are to 
 us what the Fates were to the Greeks. It is hardly possible 
 to measure the courage of a modern against that of an 
 ancient; but I am unwilling to believe but that enlighten- 
 ment must strengthen courage. 
 
 The application of the tests of greatness, as in the above 
 instance, is a matter of detail and of nice appreciation, as 
 to the results of which men must be expected to differ 
 largely: the tests themselves remain invariable openness 
 of nature to admit the light of love and reason, and courage 
 to pursue it. 
 
 Ellesmere. I agree to your theory, as far as openness of 
 nature is concerned; but I do not much like to put that 
 half-brute thing, courage, so high. 
 
 Milverton. Well, you cannot have greatness without it: 
 you may have well-intentioned people and far-seeing people; 
 but if they have no stoutness of heart, they will only be 
 shifty or remonstrant, nothing like great. 
 
 Ellesmere. You mean will, not courage. Without will, 
 your open-minded, open-hearted man may be like a great, 
 rudderless vessel driven about by all winds; not a small 
 craft, but a most uncertain one. 
 
 Milverton. No, I mean both ; both will and courage. 
 Courage is the body to will.
 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 127 
 
 Ellesmere. I believe you are right in that; but do not 
 omit will. It amused me to see how you brought in one of 
 your old notions that this age is not contemptible. You 
 scribbling people are generally on the other side. 
 
 Milverton. You malign us. If I must give any account 
 for my personal predilection for modern times, it consists 
 perhaps it this, that we may now speak our mind. What 
 Tennyson says of his own land, 
 
 " The land where, girt with friend or foe, 
 A man may say the thing he will," 
 
 may be said, in some measure, of the age in which we live. 
 This is an inexpressible comfort. This doubles life. These 
 things surely may be said in favour of the present age, not 
 with a view to puff it up, but so far to encourage ourselves, 
 as we may by seeing that the world does not go on for 
 nothing, that all the misery, blood, and toil that have been 
 spent, were not poured out in vain. Could we have our 
 ancestors again before us, would they not rejoice at seeing 
 what they had purchased for us : would they think it any 
 compliment to them to extol their times at the expense of 
 the present, and so to intimate that their efforts had led to 
 nothing? 
 
 Ellesmere. " I doubt," as Lord Eldon would have said; 
 no, upon second thoughts, I do not doubt. I feel assured 
 that a good many of these said ancestors you are calling up 
 would be much discomforted at finding that all their suffer- 
 ing had led to no sure basis of persecution of the other 
 side. 
 
 Dunsford. I wonder, Ellesmere, what you would have 
 done in persecuting times. What escape would your 
 sarcasm have found for itself?
 
 128 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Milverton. Some orthodox way, I dare say. I do not 
 think he would have been particularly fond of martyrdom. 
 
 Ellesmere. No. I have no taste for making torches for 
 truth, or being one; I prefer human darkness to such 
 illumination. At the same time one cannot tell lies ; and 
 if one had been questioned about the incomprehensibilities 
 which men in former days were so fierce upon, one must 
 have shown that one disagreed with all parties. 
 
 Dunsford. Do not say "one"; / should not have 
 disagreed with the great Protestant leaders in the Reforma- 
 tion, for instance. 
 
 Ellesmere. Humph. 
 
 Milverton. If we get aground upon the Reformation, we 
 shall never push off again else would I say something far 
 from complimentary to those Protestant proceedings which 
 we may rather hope were Tudoresque than Protestant 
 
 Ellesmere. No, that is not fair. The Tudors were a 
 coarse, fierce race ; but it will not do to lay the faults of 
 their times upon them only. Look at Elizabeth's ministers. 
 They had about as much notion of religious tolerance as 
 they had of Professor Wheatstone's telegraph. It was not 
 a growth of that age. 
 
 Milverton. I do not know. You have Cardinal Pole and 
 the Earl of Essex, both tolerant men in the midst of bigots. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, as you said, Milverton, we shall never 
 push off, if we once get aground on this subject. 
 
 Dunsford. I am in fault ; so I will take upon myself to 
 bring you quite away from the Reformation. I have been 
 thinking of that comparison in the essay of the present with 
 the past. Such comparisons seem to me very useful, as 
 they best enable us to understand our own times. And, 
 then, when we have ascertained the state and tendency of 
 our own age, we ought to strive to enrich it with those
 
 GREATNESS. 129 
 
 qualities which are complementary to its own. Now 
 with all this toleration, which delights you so much, dear 
 Milverton, is it not an age rather deficient in caring about 
 great matters ? 
 
 Milverton. If you mean great speculative matters, I 
 might agree with you ; but if you mean what I should call 
 the greatest matters, such as charity, humanity, and the 
 like, I should venture to differ with you, Dunsford. 
 
 Dunsford. I do not like to see the world indifferent to 
 great speculative matters. I then fear shallowness and 
 earthiness. 
 
 Milverton. It is very difficult to say what the world is 
 thinking of now. It is certainly wrong to suppose that this 
 is a shallow age because it is not driven by one impulse. 
 As civilisation advances, it becomes more difficult to 
 estimate what is going on, and we set it all down as 
 confusion. Now there is not one "great antique heart," 
 whose beatings we can count, but many impulses, many 
 circles of thought in which men are moving many objects. 
 Men are not all in the same state of progress, so cannot be 
 moved in masses as of old. At one time chivalry urged all 
 men, then the Church, and the phenomena were few, 
 simple, and broad, or at least they seem so in history. 
 
 Ellesmere. Very true; still I agree somewhat with 
 Dunsford, that men are not agitated as they used to be 
 by the great speculative questions. I account for it in this 
 way, that the material world has opened out before us, and 
 we cannot but look at that, and must play with it and work 
 at it. I would say, too, that philosophy had been found 
 out, and there is something in that. Still, I think if it were 
 not for the interest now attaching to material things, great 
 intellectual questions, not exactly of the old kind, would 
 arise and agitate the world. 
 
 9
 
 i 3 o fRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Milverton. There is one thing in my mind that may 
 confirm your view. I cannot but think that the enlarged 
 view we have of the universe must in some measure damp 
 personal ambition. What is it to be a King, Sheik, 
 Tetrarch, or Emperor, over a bit of a little bit ? Macbeth's 
 speech, " we'd jump the life to come," is a thing a man with 
 modern lights, however madly ambitious, would hardly 
 utter. 
 
 Dunsford. Religious lights, Milverton. 
 
 Milverton. Of course not, if he had them ; but I meant 
 scientific lights. Sway over our fellow-creatures, at any 
 rate anything but mental sway, has shrunk into less pro- 
 portions. 
 
 Eliesmere. I have been looking over the essay. I think 
 you may put in somewhere that that age would probably 
 be the greatest in which there was the least difference 
 between great men and the people in general when the 
 former were only neglected, not hunted down. 
 
 Milverton. Yes. 
 
 Eliesmere. You are rather lengthy here about the 
 cruelties to be found in history ; but we are apt to forget 
 these matters. 
 
 Milverton. They always press upon my mind 
 
 Dunsford. And on mine. I do not Iik6 to read much of 
 history for that very reason. I get so sick at heart about 
 it all. 
 
 Milverton. Ah, yes, history is a stupendous thing. To 
 read it is like looking at the stars; we turn away in awe 
 and perplexity. Yet there is some method running through 
 the little affairs of man as through the multitude of suns, 
 seemingly to us as confused as routed armies in full flight. 
 
 Dunsford. Some law of love. 
 
 Eliesmere. I am afraid it is not in the past alone that we
 
 GREATNESS. 131 
 
 should be awe-struck with horrors ; we, who have a slave- 
 trade still on earth. But, to go back to the essay, I like 
 what you say about the theory of constructing the Christian 
 character without geniality ; only you do not go far enough. 
 You are afraid. People are for ever talking, especially you 
 philanthropical people, about making others happy. I do 
 not know any way so sure of making others happy as 
 of being so oneself, to begin with. I do not mean that 
 people are to be self-absorbed ; but they are to drink in 
 nature and life a little. From a genial, wisely-developed 
 man good things radiate ; whereas you must allow, Milver- 
 ton, that benevolent people are very apt to be one-sided 
 and fussy, and not of the sweetest temper if others will not 
 be good and happy in their way. 
 
 Milverton. That is really not fair. Of course, acid, 
 small-minded people carry their narrow notions and their 
 acidity into their benevolence. Benevolence is no abstract 
 perfection. Men will express their benevolence according 
 to their other gifts or want of gifts. If it is strong, it 
 overcomes other things in the character which would be 
 hindrances to it ; but it must speak in the language of the 
 soul it is in. 
 
 Ettesmere. Come, let us go and see the pigs. I hear 
 them grunting over their dinners in the farmyard. I 
 like to see creatures who can be happy without a theory. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE next time that I came over to Worth-Ashton it was 
 raining, and I found my friends in the study. 
 
 "Well, Dunsford," said Ellesmere, "is it not comfortable
 
 132 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 to have our sessions here for once, and to be looking out on 
 a good solid English wet day? " 
 
 Dunsford. Rather a fluid than a solid. But I agree with 
 you in thinking it is very comfortable here. 
 
 Ellesmere. I like to look upon the backs of books. First 
 I think how much of the owner's inner life and character is 
 shown in his books ; then perhaps I wonder how he got 
 such a book which seems so remote from all that I know of 
 him 
 
 Milverton. I shall turn my books the wrong side upwards 
 when you come into the study. 
 
 Ellesmere. But what amuses me most is to see the odd 
 way in which books get together, especially in the library of 
 a man who reads his books and puts them up again when- 
 ever there is room. Now here is a charming party : " A 
 Treatise on the Steam-Engine" between "Locke on 
 Christianity " and Madame de StaeTs " Corinne." I 
 wonder what they talk about at night when we are all 
 asleep. Here is another happy juxtaposition : old Claren- 
 don next to a modern metaphysician whom he would posi- 
 tively loathe. Here is Sadler next to Malthus, and Horsley 
 next to Priestley ; but this sort of thing happens most in the 
 best regulated libraries. It is a charming reflection for 
 controversial writers, that their works will be put together 
 on the same shelves, often between the same covers ; and 
 that in the minds of educated men the name of one writer 
 will be sure to recall the name of the other. So they go 
 down to posterity as a brotherhood. 
 
 Milverton. To complete Ellesmere's theory, we may say 
 that all those injuries to books which we choose to throw upon 
 some wretched worm, are but the wounds from rival books. 
 
 Ellesmere. Certainly. But now let us proceed to polish 
 up the weapons of another of these spiteful creatures.
 
 FICTION, 133 
 
 Dunsford. Yes. What is to be our essay to-day, Mil- 
 verton ? 
 
 Milverton. Fiction. 
 
 Ellesmere. Now, that is really unfortunate. Fiction is 
 just the subject to be discussed no, not discussed, 
 talked over out of doors on a hot day, all of us 
 lying about in easy attitudes on the grass, Dunsford 
 with his gaiters forming a most picturesque and pro- 
 minent figure. But there is nothing complete in this life. 
 " Surgit amari aliquid ; " and so we must listen to Fiction 
 in arm-chairs. 
 
 FICTION. 
 
 The influence of works of fiction is unbounded. Even 
 the minds of well-informed people are often more stored 
 with characters from acknowledged fiction than from history 
 or biography, or the real life around them. We dispute 
 about these characters as if they were realities. Their 
 experience is our experience ; we adopt their feelings, and 
 imitate their acts. And so there comes to be something 
 traditional even in the management of the passions. Shake- 
 speare's historical plays were the only history to the Duke 
 of Marlborough. Thousands of Greeks acted under the 
 influence of what Achilles or Ulysses did, in Homer. The 
 poet sings of the deeds that shall be. He imagines the 
 past; he forms the future. 
 
 Yet how surpassingly interesting is real life when we get 
 an insight into it. Occasionally a great genius lifts up the 
 veil of history, and we see men who once really were alive, 
 who did not always live only in history; or, amidst the 
 dreary page of battles, levies, sieges, and the sleep-inducing 
 weavings and unweavings of political combination, we come, 
 ourselves, across some spoken or written words of the great
 
 i 3 4 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 actors of the time, and are then fascinated by the life and 
 reality of these things. Could you have the life of any man 
 really portrayed to you, sun-drawn as it were, its hopes, its 
 fears, its revolutions of opinion in each day, its most anxious 
 wishes attained, and then, perhaps, crystallising into its 
 blackest regrets such a work would go far to contain all 
 histories, and be the greatest lesson of love, humility, and 
 tolerance that men had ever read. 
 
 Now fiction does not attempt something like the above. 
 In history we are cramped by impertinent facts that must, 
 however, be set down ; by theories that must be answered ; 
 evidence that must be weighed ; views that must be taken. 
 Our facts constantly break off just where we should wish to 
 examine them most closely. The writer of fiction follows 
 his characters into the recesses of their hearts. There are 
 no closed doors for him. His puppets have no secrets 
 from their master. He plagues you with no doubts, no 
 half-views, no criticism. Thus they thought, he tells you ; 
 thus they looked, thus they acted. Then, with every 
 opportunity for scenic arrangement (for though his characters 
 are confidential with him, he is only as confidential with 
 his reader as the interest of the story will allow), it is not to 
 be wondered at that the majority of readers should look 
 upon history as a task, but tales of fiction as a delight 
 
 The greatest merit of fiction is the one so ably put for- 
 ward by Sir James Mackintosh, namely, that it creates and 
 nourishes sympathy. It extends this sympathy, too, in 
 directions where, otherwise, we hardly see when it would 
 have come. But it may be objected that this sympathy is 
 indiscriminate, and that we are in danger of mixing up virtue 
 and vice, and blurring both, if we are led to sympathise with 
 all manner of wrong-doers. But, in the first place, virtue 
 and vice are so mixed in real life, that it is well to be some-
 
 FICTION. I35 
 
 what prepared for that fact; and, moreover, the sympathy 
 is not wrongly directed. Who has not felt intense sympathy 
 for Macbeth? Yet could he be alive again, with evil 
 thoughts against " the gracious Duncan," and could he see 
 into all that has been felt for him, would that be an encour- 
 agement to murder ? The intense pity of wise people for 
 the crimes of others, when rightly represented, is one of 
 the strongest antidotes against crime. We have taken the 
 extreme case of sympathy being directed towards bad men. 
 How often has fiction made us sympathise with obscure 
 suffering and retiring greatness, with the world-despised, and 
 especially with those mixed characters in whom we might 
 otherwise see but one colour with Shylock and with 
 Hamlet, with Jeanie Deans and with Claverhouse, with 
 Sancho Panza as well as with Don Quixote. 
 
 On the other hand, there is a danger of too much converse 
 with fiction leading us into dreamland, or rather into 
 lubber-land. Of course this "too much converse" implies 
 large converse with inferior writers. Such writers are too 
 apt to make life as they would have it for themselves. 
 Sometimes, also, they must make it to suit booksellers' 
 rules. Having such power over their puppets they abuse it. 
 They can kill these puppets, change their natures suddenly, 
 reward or punish them so easily, that it is no wonder they 
 are led to play fantastic tricks with them. Now, if a 
 sedulous reader of the works of such writers should form 
 his notions of real life from them, he would occasionally 
 meet with rude shocks when he encountered the realities of 
 that life. 
 
 For my own part, notwithstanding all the charms of life 
 in swiftly-written novels, I prefer real life. It is true that,
 
 136 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 in the former, everything breaks off round, every little event 
 tends to some great thing, everybody one meets is to 
 exercise some great influence for good or ill upon one's fate. 
 I take it for granted one fancies oneself the hero. Then 
 all one's fancy is paid in ready money, or at least one can 
 draw upon it at the end of the third volume. One leaps to 
 remote wealth and honour by hairbreadth chances ; and one's 
 uncle in India always dies opportunely. To be sure the 
 thought occurs, that if this novel life could be turned into 
 real life, one might be the uncle in India and not the hero 
 of the tale. But that is a trifling matter, for at any rate one 
 should carry on with spirit somebody else's story. On the 
 whole, however, as I said before, I prefer real life, where 
 nothing is tied up neatly, but all in odds and ends ; where 
 the doctrine of compensation enters largely, where we are 
 often most blamed when we least deserve it, where there is 
 no third volume to make things straight, and where many 
 an Augustus marries many a Belinda, and, instead of being 
 happy ever afterwards, finds that there is a growth of trials 
 and troubles for each successive period of man's life. 
 
 In considering the subject of fiction, the responsibility of 
 the writers thereof is a matter worth pointing out. We see 
 clearly enough that historians are to be limited by facts and 
 probabilities ; but we are apt to make a large allowance for 
 the fancies of writers of fiction. We must remember, 
 however, that fiction is not falsehood. If a writer puts 
 abstract virtues into book-clothing, and sends them upon 
 stilts into the world, he is a bad writer ; if he classifies men, 
 and attributes all virtue to one class and all vice to another, 
 he is a false writer. Then, again, if his ideal is so poor, 
 that he fancies man's welfare to consist in immediate 
 happiness ; if he means to paint a great man and paints
 
 FICTION. 137 
 
 only a greedy one, he is a mischievous writer ; and not the 
 less so, although by lamplight and amongst a juvenile 
 audience, his coarse scene-painting should be thought very 
 grand. He may be true to his own fancy, but he is 
 false to Nature. A writer, of course, cannot get beyond his 
 own ideal ; but at least he should see that he works up to 
 it ; and if it is a poor one, he had better write histories of 
 the utmost concentration of dulness, than amuse us with 
 unjust and untrue imaginings. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am glad you have kept to the obvious 
 things about fiction. It would have been a great nuisance 
 to have had to follow you through intricate theories about 
 what fiction consists in, and what are its limits, and so on. 
 Then we should have got into questions touching the laws 
 of representation generally, and then into art, of which, 
 between ourselves, you know very little. 
 
 Dunsford. Talking of representation, what do you two, 
 who have now seen something of the world, think about 
 representative government ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Dunsford plumps down upon us sometimes 
 with awful questions : what do you think of all philosophy ? 
 or what is your opinion of life in general ? Could you not 
 throw in a few small questions of that kind, together with 
 your representative one, and we might try to answer them 
 all at once. Dunsford is only laughing at us, Milverton. 
 
 Milverton. No, I know what was in Dunsford's mind 
 when he asked that question. He has had his doubts 
 and misgivings, when he has been reading a six nights' 
 debate (for the people in the country I dare say do read 
 those things), whether representative government is the 
 most complete device the human mind could suggest for 
 getting at wise rulers.
 
 138 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Ellesmere. It is a doubt which has crossed my mind. 
 
 Milverton. And mine ; but the doubt, if it has ever been 
 more than mere petulance, has not had much practical 
 weight with me. Look how the business of the world is 
 managed. There are a few people who think out things, 
 and a few who execute. The former are not to be secured 
 by any device. They are gifts. The latter may be well 
 chosen, have often been well chosen, under other forms 
 of government than the representative one. I believe that 
 the favourites of kings have been a superior race of men. 
 Even a fool does not choose a fool for a favourite. He 
 knows better than that ; he must have something to lean 
 against. But between the thinkers and the doers (if, 
 indeed, we ought to make such a distinction), what a 
 number of useful links there are in a representative govern- 
 ment on account of the much larger number of people 
 admitted into some share of government. What general 
 cultivation must come from that, and what security ! Of 
 course, everything has its wrong side ; and from this 
 number of people let in there comes declamation and clap- 
 trap and mob-service, which is much the same thing as 
 courtiership was in other times. But then, to make the 
 comparison a fair one, you must take the wrong side of any 
 other form of government that has been devised. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, but so much power centring in the 
 lower house of Parliament, and the getting into Parliament 
 being a thing which is not very inviting to the kind of 
 people one would most like to see there, do you not think 
 that the ablest men are kept away ? 
 
 ' Milverton. Yes ; but if you make your governing body a 
 unit or a ten, or any small number, how is this power, 
 unless it is Argus-eyed, and myriad-minded, and right- 
 minded too, to choose the right men any better than they
 
 FICTION. 139 
 
 are found now ? The great danger, as it appears to me, of 
 representative government is lest it should slide down from 
 representative government to delegate government. In my 
 opinion, the welfare of England, in great measure, depends 
 upon what takes place at the hustings. If, in the majority 
 of instances, there were abject conduct there, electors and 
 elected would be alike debased ; upright public men could 
 not be expected to arise from such beginnings ; and 
 thoughtful persons would begin to consider whether some 
 other form of government could not forthwith be made out. 
 
 Ellesmere. I have a supreme disgust for the man who at 
 the hustings has no opinion beyond or above the clamour 
 round him. How such a fellow would have kissed the 
 ground before a Pompadour, or waited for hours in a 
 Buckingham's ante-chamber, only to catch the faintest beam 
 of reflected light from royalty. 
 
 But I declare we have been just like schoolboys talking 
 about forms of government and so on. 
 
 " For forms of government let fools contest, 
 That which is worst administered is best," 
 
 that is, representative government. 
 
 Milverton. I should not like either of you to fancy, from 
 what I have been saying about representative government, 
 that I do not see the dangers and the evils of it. In fact, 
 it is a frequent thought with me of what importance the 
 House of Lords is at present, and of how much greater 
 importance it might be made. If there were Peers for life, 
 and official members of the House of Commons, it would, 
 I think, meet most of your objections, Dunsford. 
 
 Dunsford. I suppose I am becoming a little rusty and 
 disposed to grumble, as I grow old; but there is a good
 
 140 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 deal in modern government which seems to me very rude 
 and absurd. There comes a clamour, partly reasonable \ 
 power is deaf to it, overlooks it, says there is no such thing ; 
 then great clamour; after a time, power welcomes that, 
 takes it to its arms, says that now it is loud it is very wise, 
 wishes it had always been clamour itself. 
 
 Ellesmere. How many acres do you farm, Dunsford? 
 How spiteful you are ! 
 
 Dunsford. I am not thinking of Corn Laws alone, as you 
 fancy, Master Ellesmere. But to go to other things. I 
 quite agree, Milverton, with what you were saying just now 
 about the business of the world being carried on by few, 
 and the thinking few being in the nature of gifts to the 
 world, not elicited by King or Kaiser. 
 
 Milverton. The mill-streams that turn the clappers of the 
 world arise in solitary places. 
 
 Ellesmere. Not a bad metaphor, but untrue. Aristotle, 
 Bacon 
 
 Milverton. Well, I believe it would be much wiser to say, 
 that we cannot lay down rules about the highest work; 
 either when it is done, where it will be done, or how it can 
 be made to be done. It is too immaterial for our measure- 
 ment ; for the highest part even of the mere business of the 
 world is in dealing with ideas. It is very amusing to 
 observe the misconceptions of men on these points. They 
 call for what is outward can understand that, can praise it. 
 Fussiness and the forms of activity in all ages get great 
 praise. Imagine an active, bustling little prastor under 
 Augustus, how he probably pointed out Horace to his sons 
 as a moony kind of man, whose ways were much to be 
 avoided, and told them it was a weakness in Augustus to 
 like such idle men about him instead of men of business. 
 
 Elksmere. Or fancy a bustling Glasgow merchant of
 
 FICTION. 141 
 
 Adam Smith's day watching him. How little would the 
 merchant have dreamt what a number of vessels were to be 
 floated away by the ink in the Professor's inkstand ; and 
 what crashing of axes, and clearing of forests in distant 
 lands, the noise of his pen upon the paper portended ! 
 
 Milverton. It is not only the effect of the still-working 
 man that the busy man cannot anticipate, but neither can 
 he comprehend the present labour. If Horace had told 
 my praetor that 
 
 "Abstinuit Venere et vino, sudavit et alsit," 
 
 " What, to write a few lines ! " would his prsetorship have 
 cried out. "Why, I can live well and enjoy life; and I 
 flatter myself no one in Rome does more business." 
 
 Dunsford. All of it only goes to show how little we know 
 of each other, and how tolerant we ought to be of others' 
 efforts. 
 
 Milverton. The trials that there must be every day with- 
 out any incident that even the most minute household 
 chronicler could set down ; the labours without show or 
 noise ! 
 
 Ellesmere. The deep things that there are which, with 
 unthinking people, pass for shallow things, merely because 
 they are clear as well as deep. My fable of the other day, 
 for instance which instead of producing any moral effect 
 upon you two, only seemed to make you both inclined to 
 giggle. 
 
 Milverton. I am so glad you reminded me of that. I, 
 too, fired with a noble emulation, have invented a fable 
 since we last met which I want you to hear. I assure you 
 I did not mean to laugh at yours : it was only that it came 
 rather unexpectedly upon me. You are not exactly the 
 person from whom one should expect fables.
 
 142 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Dunsford. Now for the fable. 
 
 Milverton. There was a gathering together of creatures 
 hurtful and terrible to man, to name their king. Blight, 
 mildew, darkness, mighty waves, fierce winds, Will-o'-the- 
 wisps, and shadows of grim objects, told fearfully their 
 doings and preferred their claims, none prevailing. But 
 when evening came on, a thin mist curled up, derisively, 
 amidst the assemblage, and said, " I gather round a man 
 going to his own home over paths made by his daily foot- 
 steps; and he becomes at once helpless and tame as a 
 child. The lights meant to assist him, then betray. You 
 find him wandering, or need the aid of other Terrors to 
 subdue him. I am, alone, confusion to him." And all the 
 assemblage bowed before the mist, and made it king, and 
 set it on the brow of many a mountain, where, when it is 
 not doing evil, it may be often seen to this day. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, I like that fable : only I am not quite 
 clear about the meaning. 
 
 Ellesmere. You had no doubt about mine. 
 
 Dunsford. Is the mist calumny, Milverton ? 
 
 Ellesmere. No, prejudice, I am sure. 
 
 Dunsford. Familiarity with the things around us, obscuring 
 knowledge ? 
 
 Milverton. I would rather not explain. Each of you 
 make your own fable of it. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, if ever I make a fable, it shall be one of 
 the old-fashioned sort, with animals for the speakers, and a 
 good easy moral. 
 
 Ellesmere. Not a thing requiring the notes of seven 
 German metaphysicians. I must go and talk a little to my 
 friends the trees, and see if I can get any explanation from 
 them. It is turning out a beautiful da / after all, notwith- 
 standing my praise of its solidity.
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 143 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WE met as usual at our old spot on the lawn for our next 
 reading. I forget what took place before reading, except 
 that Ellesmere was very jocose about our reading " Fiction " 
 in-doors, and the following " November Essay," as he called 
 it, "under a jovial sun, and with the power of getting up 
 and walking away from each other to any extent." 
 
 ON THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 
 
 The Iliad for war ; the Odyssey for wandering ; but where 
 is the great domestic epic ? Yet it is but commonplace to 
 say, that passions may rage round a tea-table, which would 
 not have misbecome men dashing at one another in war- 
 chariots ; and evolutions of patience and temper are per- 
 formed at the fireside, worthy to be compared with the 
 Retreat of the Ten Thousand. Men have worshipped 
 some fantastic being for living alone in a wilderness ; but 
 social martyrdoms place no saints upon the calendar. 
 
 We may blind ourselves to it if we like, but the hatreds 
 and disgusts that there are behind friendship, relationship, 
 service, and, indeed, proximity of all kinds, is one of the 
 darkest spots upon earth. The various relations of life, 
 which bring people together, cannot, as we know, be per- 
 fectly fulfilled except in a state where they will, perhaps, be 
 no occasion for any of them. It is no harm, however, to 
 endeavour to see whether there are any methods which 
 may make these relations in the least degree more har- 
 monious now. 
 
 In the first place, if people are to live happily together, 
 they must not fancy, because they are thrown together now,
 
 14 1 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 that all their lives have been exactly similar up to the pre- 
 sent time, that they started exactly alike, and that they are 
 to be for the future of the same mind. A thorough con- 
 viction of the difference of men is the great thing to be 
 assured of in social knowledge : it is to life what Newton's 
 law is to astronomy. Sometimes men have a knowledge of 
 it with regard to the world in general : they do not expect 
 the outer world to agree with them in all points, but are 
 vexed at not being able to drive their own tastes and 
 opinions into those they live with. Diversities distress 
 them. They will not see that there are many forms of 
 virtue and wisdom. Yet we might as well say, " Why all 
 these stars; why this difference; why not all one star?" 
 
 Many of the rules for people living together in peace 
 follow from the above. For instance, not to interfere un- 
 reasonably with others, not to ridicule their tastes, not to 
 question and re-question their resolves, not to indulge in 
 perpetual comment on their proceedings, and to delight in 
 their having other pursuits than ours, are all based upon 
 a thorough perception of the simple fact that they are 
 not we. 
 
 Another rule for living happily with others is to avoid 
 having stock subjects of disputation. It mostly happens, 
 when people live much together, that they come to have 
 certain set topics, around which, from frequent dispute, 
 there is such a growth of angry words, mortified vanity, and 
 the like, that the original subject of difference becomes a 
 standing subject for quarrel ; and there is a tendency in all 
 minor disputes to drift down to it. 
 
 Again, if people wish to live well together, they must not 
 hold too much to logic, and suppose that everything is to be 
 settled by sufficient reason. Dr. Johnson saw this clearly 
 with regard to married people, when he said, "Wretched
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 145 
 
 would be the pair above all names of wretchedness, who 
 should be doomed to adjust by reason every morning all 
 the minute detail of a domestic day." But the application 
 should be much more general than he made it. There is 
 no time for such reasonings, and nothing that is worth 
 them. And when we recollect how two lawyers, or two 
 politicians, can go on contending, and that there is no end 
 of one-sided reasoning on any subject, we shall not be sure 
 that such contention is the best mode for arriving at truth. 
 But certainly it is not the way to arrive at good temper. 
 
 If you would be loved as a companion, avoid unnecessary 
 criticism upon those with whom you live. The number of 
 people who have taken out judges' patents for themselves 
 is very large in any society. Now it would be hard for a 
 man to live with another who was always criticising his 
 actions, even if it were kindly and just criticism. It would 
 be like living between the glasses of a microscope. But 
 these self-elected judges, like their prototypes, are very apt 
 to have the persons they judge brought before them in the 
 guise of culprits. 
 
 One of the most provoking forms of the criticism above 
 alluded to is that which may be called criticism over the 
 shoulder. "Had I been consulted," "Had you listened 
 to me," " But you always will," and such short scraps of 
 sentences may remind many of us of dissertations which we 
 have suffered and inflicted, and of which we cannot call to 
 mind any soothing effect. 
 
 Another rule is, not to let familiarity swallow up all 
 courtesy. Many of us have a habit of saying to those 
 with whom we live such things as we say about strangers 
 behind their backs. There is no place, however, where 
 real politeness is of more value than where we mostly 
 think it would be superfluous. You may say more truth, 
 
 10
 
 146 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 or rather speak out more plainly, to your associates, but not 
 less courteously than you do to strangers. 
 
 Again, we must not expect more from the society of 
 our friends and companions than it can give, and especially 
 must not expect contrary things. It is something arrogant 
 to talk of travelling over other minds (mind being, for what 
 we know, infinite); but still we become familiar with the 
 upper views, tastes, and tempers of our associates. And it 
 is hardly in man to estimate justly what is familiar to him. 
 In travelling along at night, as Hazlitt says, we catch a 
 glimpse into cheerful-looking rooms with light blazing in 
 them, and we conclude involuntarily how happy the inmates 
 must be. Yet there is heaven and hell in those rooms 
 the same heaven and hell that we have known in 
 others. 
 
 There are two great classes of promoters of social happi- 
 ness cheerful people, and people who have some reticence. 
 The latter are more secure benefits to society even than the 
 former. They are non-conductors of all the heats and 
 animosities around them. To have peace in a house, or 
 a family, or any social circle, the members of it must 
 beware of passing on hasty and uncharitable speeches, 
 which, the whole of the context seldom being told, is 
 often not conveying but creating mischief. They must 
 be very good people to avoid doing this ; for let Human 
 Nature say what it will, it likes sometimes to look on at 
 a quarrel, and that not altogether from ill-nature, but from 
 a love of excitement, for the same reason that Charles II. 
 liked to attend the debates in the Lords, because they were 
 "as good as a play." 
 
 We come now to the consideration of temper, which
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 147 
 
 might have been expected to be treated first. But to cut 
 off the means and causes of bad temper is, perhaps, of 
 as much importance as any direct dealing with the temper 
 itself. Besides, it is probable that in small social circles 
 there is more suffering from unkindness than ill-temper. 
 Anger is a thing that those who live under us suffer more 
 from than those who live with us. But* all the forms of 
 ill-humour and sour-sensitiveness, which especially belong 
 to equal intimacy (though, indeed, they are common to all), 
 are best to be met by impassiveness. When two sensitive 
 persons are shut up together, they go on vexing each other 
 with a reproductive irritability. 1 But sensitive and hard 
 people get on well together. The supply of temper is not 
 altogether out of the usual laws of supply and demand. 
 
 Intimate friends and relations should be careful when 
 they go out into the world together, or admit others to 
 their own circle, that they do not make a bad use of the 
 knowledge which they have gained of each other by their 
 intimacy. Nothing is more common than this, and did it 
 
 1 Madame Necker de Saussure's maxim about firmness with children 
 has suggested the above. "Ce que plie ne peut servir d'appui, et 
 1'enfant veut etre appuye. Non-seulement il en a besoin, mais il le 
 desire, mais sa tendresse la plus constante n'est qu'a ce prix. Si vous 
 lui faites 1'effet d'un autre enfant, si vous partagez ses passions, ses 
 vacillations continuelles, si vous lui rendez tous ses mouvements en les 
 augmentant, soit par la contrariete", soit par un exces de complaisance, 
 il pourra se servir de vous comme d'un jouet, mais non 6tre heureux en 
 votre presence ; il pleurera, se mutinera, et bientot le souvenir d'un 
 temps de desordre et d'humeur se Hera avec votre idee. Vous n'avez 
 pas etc le soutien de votre enfant, vous ne 1'avez pas preserve de cette 
 fluctuation perpetuelle de la volonte, maladie des etres faibles et livre"s a 
 une imagination vive ; vous n'avez assure ni sa paix, ni sa sagesse, ni 
 son bonheur, pourquoi vous croirait-il sa mere." V Education Pro- 
 gressive, voL i. p. 228.
 
 148 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 not mostly proceed from mere carelessness, it would be 
 superlatively ungenerous. You seldom need wait for the 
 written life of a man to hear about his weaknesses, or what 
 are supposed to be such, if you know his intimate friends, 
 or meet him in company with them. 
 
 Lastly, in conciliating those we live with, it is most 
 surely done, not by consulting their interests, nor by giving 
 way to their opinions, so much as by not offending their 
 tastes. The most refined part of us lies in this region of 
 taste, which is perhaps a result of our whole being rather 
 than a part of our nature, and, at any rate, is the region 
 of our most subtle sympathies and antipathies. 
 
 It may be said that if the great principles of Christianity 
 were attended to, all such rules, suggestions, and observa- 
 tions as the above would be needless. True enough ! 
 Great principles are at the bottom of all things ; but to 
 apply them to daily life, many little rules, precautions, and 
 insights are needed. Such things hold a middle place 
 between real life and principles, as form does between 
 matter and spirit, moulding the one and expressing the 
 other. 
 
 Ellesmere. Quite right that last part. Everybody must 
 have known really good people, with all Christian temper, 
 but having so little Christian prudence as to do a great 
 deal of mischief in society. 
 
 Dunsford. There is one case, my dear Milverton, which 
 I do not think you have considered : the case where people 
 live unhappily together, not from any bad relations between 
 them, but because they do not agree about the treatment 
 of others. A just person, for instance, who would
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 149 
 
 bear anything for himself or herself, must remonstrate, 
 at the hazard of any disagreement, at injustice to 
 others. 
 
 Milverton. Yes. That, however, is a case to be decided 
 upon higher considerations than those I have been treating 
 of. A man must do his duty in the way of preventing 
 injustice, and take what comes of it. 
 
 Ellesmere. For people to live happily together, the real 
 secret is that they should not live too much together. Of 
 course, you cannot say that; it would sound harsh, and cut 
 short the essay altogether. 
 
 Again, you talk about tastes and "region of subtle 
 sympathies," and all that. I have observed that if people's 
 vanity is pleased, they live well enough together. Offended 
 vanity is the great separator. You hear a man (call him B) 
 saying that he is really not himself before So-and-so ; tell 
 him that So-and-so admires him very much and is himself 
 rather abashed before B, and B is straightway comfortable, 
 and they get on harmoniously together, and you hear no 
 more about subtle sympathies or antipathies. 
 
 Dunsford. What a low view you do take of things some- 
 times, Ellesmere! 
 
 Milverton. I should not care how low it was, but it is not 
 fair at least, it does not contain the whole matter. In the 
 very case he has put, there was a subtle embarrassment 
 between B and So-and-so. Well, now, let these people not 
 merely meet occasionally, but be obliged to live together, 
 without any such explanation as Ellesmere has imagined, and 
 they will be very uncomfortable from causes that you cannot 
 impute to vanity. It takes away much of the savour of life 
 to live amongst those with whom one has not anything 
 like one's fair value. It may not be mortified vanity, but 
 unsatisfied sympathy, which causes this discomfort. B
 
 150 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 thinks that the other does not know him ; he feels that 
 he has no place with the other. When there is intense 
 admiration on one side, there is hardly a care in the mind 
 of the admiring one as to what estimation he is held in. 
 But in ordinary cases some clearly defined respect and 
 acknowledgment of worth is needed on both sides. See how 
 happy a man is in any office or service who is acknowledged 
 to do something well. How comfortable he is with his 
 superiors ! He has his place. It is not exactly a satisfac- 
 tion of his vanity, but an acknowledgment of his useful 
 existence that contents him. I do not mean to say that 
 there are not innumerable claims for acknowledgment of 
 merit and service made by rampant vanity and egotism, 
 which claims cannot be satisfied, ought not to be satisfied, 
 and which, being unsatisfied, embitter people. But I think 
 your word Vanity will not explain all the feelings we have 
 been talking about. 
 
 Ellesmere. Perhaps not. 
 
 Dunsford. Certainly not. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, at any rate, you will admit that there is 
 a class of dreadfully humble people who make immense 
 claims at the very time that they are explaining that they 
 have no claims. They say they know they cannot be 
 esteemed; they are well aware that they are not wanted, 
 and so on, all the while making it a sort of grievance and a 
 claim that they are not what they know themselves not to 
 be; whereas, if they did but fall back upon their humility, 
 and keep themselves quiet about their demerits, they would 
 be strong then, and in their place and happy, doing what 
 they could. 
 
 Milverion. It must be confessed that these people do 
 make their humility somewhat obnoxious. Yet, after all, 
 you allow that they know their deficiencies, and they only
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 151 
 
 say, " I know I have not much to recommend me, but I 
 wish to be loved, nevertheless." 
 
 Ellesmere. Ah, if they only said it a few times ! Besides, 
 there is a little envy mixed up with the humility that I 
 mean. 
 
 Dunsford. Travelling is a great trial of people's ability to 
 live together. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes. Lavater says that you do not know a 
 man until you have divided an inheritance with him; but I 
 think a long journey with him will do. 
 
 Milverton. Well, and what is it in travelling that makes 
 people disagree? Not direct selfishness, but injudicious 
 management; stupid regrets, for instance, at things not 
 being different from what they are, or from what they might 
 have been, if " the other route " had been chosen ; fellow- 
 travellers punishing each other with each other's tastes; 
 getting stock subjects of disputation ; laughing unseasonably 
 at each other's vexations and discomforts ; and endeavouring 
 to settle everything by the force of sufficient reason, instead 
 of by some authorised will, or by tossing up. Thus, in the 
 short time of a journey, almost all modes and causes of 
 human disagreement are brought into action. 
 
 Ellesmere. My favourite one not being the least over- 
 much of each other's company. 
 
 For my part, I think one of the greatest bores of com- 
 panionship is, not merely that people wish to fit. tastes and 
 notions on you just as they might the first pair of ready- 
 made shoes they meet with, a process amusing enough to 
 the bystander, but exquisitely uncomfortable to the person 
 being ready-shod : but that they bore you with never-ending 
 talk about their pursuits, even when they know that you do 
 not work in the same groove with them, and that they 
 cannot hope to make you do so.
 
 152 fRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Dunsford. Nobody can accuse you of that fault, Elles- 
 mere : I never heard you dilate much upon anything that 
 interested you, though I have known you have some pet 
 subject, and to be working at it for months. But this 
 comes of your coldness of nature. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, it might bear a more favourable con- 
 struction. But to go back to the essay. It only contem- 
 plates the fact of people living together as equals, if we may 
 so say ; but in general, of course, you must add some other 
 relationship or connection than that of merely being 
 together. 
 
 Milverton. I had not overlooked that; but there are 
 certain general rules in the matter that may be applied to 
 nearly all relationship, just as I have taken that one from 
 Johnson, applied by him to married life, about not 
 endeavouring to settle all things by reasoning, and have 
 given it a general application which, I believe, it will 
 bear. 
 
 EUesmere. There is one thing that I should think must 
 often make women very unreasonable and unpleasant com- 
 panions. Oh, you may both hold up your hands and eyes, 
 but I am not married, and can say what I please. Of course, 
 you put on the proper official look of astonishment ; and I 
 will duly report it. But I was going to say that Chivalry, 
 which has doubtless done a great deal of good, has also 
 done a great deal of harm. Women may talk the greatest 
 unreason out of doors, and nobody kindly informs them 
 that it is unreason. They do not talk much before clever 
 men, and when they do, their words are humoured and 
 dandled as children's sayings are. Now, I should fancy 
 mind, I do not want either of you to say that my fancy is 
 otherwise than quite unreasonable I should fancy that 
 when women have to hear reason at home it must sound
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 153 
 
 odd to them. The truth is, you know, we cannot pet any- 
 thing much without doing it mischief. You cannot pet the 
 intellect, any more than the will, without injuring it. Well 
 then, again, if you put people upon a pedestal and do a great 
 deal of worship around them, I cannot think but the will in 
 such cases must become rather corrupted, and that lessons 
 of obedience must fall rather harshly 
 
 Dttnsford. Why, you Mahometan, you Turk of a lawyer 
 would you do away with all the high things of courtesy, 
 tenderness for the weaker, and 
 
 Milverton. No, I see what he means, and there is some- 
 thing in it. Many a woman is brought up in unreason and 
 self-will from these causes that he has given, as many a man 
 from other causes ; but there is one great corrective that he 
 has omitted, and which is, that all forms, fashions, and 
 outward things have a tendency to go down before realities 
 when they come hand to hand together. Knowledge and 
 judgment prevail. Governing is apt to fall to the right 
 person in private as in public affairs. 
 
 Ellesmere. Those who give way in public affairs, and let 
 the men who can do a thing do it, are so far wise that they 
 know what is to be done, mostly. But the very things I am 
 arguing against are the unreason and self-will, which, being 
 constantly pampered, do not appreciate reason or just sway. 
 Besides, is there not a force in ill-humour and unreason to 
 which you constantly see the wisest bend ? You will _come 
 round to my opinion some day. I do not want, though, to 
 convince you. It is no business of mine. 
 
 Milverton. Well, I may be wrong, but I think, when we 
 come to consider education, I can show you how the 
 dangers you fear may be greatly obviated, without Chivalry 
 being obliged to put on a wig and gown, and be 
 wise.
 
 154 FAIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Dunsford. Meanwhile, let us enjoy the tlelightful 
 atmosphere of courtesy, unreasonable sometimes, if you 
 like, which saves many people being put down with the 
 best arguments in the most convincing manner, or being 
 weighed, estimated, and given way to, so as not to spoil 
 them. 
 
 Ellesmere. Do not tell, either of you, what I have been 
 saying. I shall always be poked up into some garret when 
 I come to see you, if you do. 
 
 Dunsford. I think the most curious thing, as regards 
 people living together, is the intense ignorance they some- 
 times are in of each other. Many years ago one or other 
 of you said something of this kind to me, and I have often 
 thought of it since. 
 
 Milverton. People fulfil a relation towards each other, 
 and they only know each other in that relation, especially if 
 it is badly managed by the superior one ; but any way the 
 relationship involves some ignorance. They perform orbits 
 round each other, each gyrating, too, upon his own axis, 
 and there are parts of the character of each which are never 
 brought into view of the other. 
 
 Ellesmere. I should carry this notion of yours, Milverton, 
 farther than you do. There is a peculiar mental relation 
 soon constituted between associates of any kind, which 
 confines and prevents complete knowledge on both sides. 
 Each man, in some measure therefore, knows others only 
 through himself. Tennyson makes Ulysses say 
 
 " I am a part of all that I have seen ; " 
 it might have run 
 
 " I am a part of all that I have heard."
 
 THE ART OF LIVING WITH OTHERS. 155 
 
 Dunsford. Ellesmere becoming metaphysical and trans- 
 cendental ! 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, well, we will leave these heights, and 
 descend in little drops of criticism. There are two or three 
 things you might have pointed out, Milverton. Perhaps you 
 would say that they are included in what you have said, but 
 I think not. You talk of the mischief of much comment on 
 each other amongst those who live together. You might 
 have shown, I think, that in the case of near friends and 
 relations this comment also deepens into interference at 
 least it partakes of that nature. Friends and relations 
 should, therefore, be especially careful to avoid needless 
 comments on each other. They do just the contrary. That 
 is one of the reasons why they often hate one another so 
 much. 
 
 Dunsford. Ellesmere ! 
 
 Ellesmere. Protest, if you like, my dear Dunsford. 
 
 Dissentient, 
 
 1. Because I wish it were not so. 
 
 2. Because I am sorry that it is. 
 
 (Signed) DUNSFORD. 
 
 Milverton. "Hate" is too strong a word, Ellesmere; 
 what you say would be true enough, if you would put "are 
 not in sympathy with." 
 
 Ellesmere. " Have a quiet distaste for." That is the 
 proper medium. Now, to go to another matter. You have 
 not put the case of over-managing people, who are 
 tremendous to live with. 
 
 Milverton. I have spoken about "interfering unreason- 
 ably with others." 
 
 Ellesmere. That does not quite convey what I mean. It
 
 156 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 is when the manager and the managee are both of the 
 same mind as to the thing to be done; but the former 
 insists, and instructs, and suggests, and foresees, till the 
 other feels that all free agency for him is gone. 
 
 Milverton. It is a sad thing to consider how much of 
 their abilities people turn to tiresomeness. You see a man 
 who would be very agreeable if he were not so observant : 
 another who would be charming, if he were deaf and dumb : 
 a third delightful, if he did not vex all around him with 
 superfluous criticism. 
 
 Ellcsmere. A hit at me that last, I suspect. But I shall 
 go on. You have not, I think, made enough merit of 
 independence in companionship. If I were to put into 
 an aphorism what I mean, I should say, Those who depend 
 wholly on companionship are the worst companions ; 01 
 thus : Those deserve companionship who can do without 
 it. There, Mr. Aphoriser General, what do you say to 
 that ? 
 
 Milverton. Very good, but 
 
 Ellesmere. Of course a " but" to other people's aphorisms, 
 as if every aphorism had not buts innumerable. We critics, 
 you know, cannot abide criticism. We do all the criticism 
 that is needed ourselves. I wonder at the presumption 
 sometimes of you wretched authors. But to proceed. 
 You have not said anything about the mischief of super- 
 fluous condolence amongst people who live together. I 
 flatter myself that I could condole anybody out of all 
 peace of mind. 
 
 Milverton. All depends upon whether condolence goes 
 with the grain, or against the grain, of vanity. I know what 
 you mean, however. For instance, it is a very absurd thing 
 to fret much over other people's courses, not considering 
 the knowledge and discipline that there is in any course
 
 THE ART OF LIVJNG WITH CIPHERS. 157 
 
 that a man may take. And it is still more absurd to be 
 constantly showing the people fretted over that you are 
 fretting over them. I think a good deal of what you call 
 superfluous condolence would come under the head of 
 superfluous criticism. 
 
 Ellesmere. Not altogether. In companionship, when an 
 evil happens to one of the circle, the others should simply 
 attempt to share and lighten it, not to expound it, or dilate 
 on it, or make it the least darker. The person afflicted 
 generally apprehends all the blackness sufficiently. Now, 
 unjust abuse by the world is to me like the howling of the 
 wind at night when one is warm within. Bring any draught 
 of it into one's house though, and it is not so pleasant. 
 
 Dunsford. Talking of companionship, do not you think 
 there is often a peculiar feeling of home where age or 
 infirmity is? The arm-chair of the sick or the old is 
 the centre of the house. They think, perhaps, that they 
 are unimportant; but all the household hopes and cares 
 flow to them and from them. 
 
 Milverton. I quite agree with you. What you have just 
 depicted is a beautiful sight, especially when, as you often 
 see, the age or infirmity is not in the least selfish or 
 exacting. 
 
 Ellesmere, We have said a great deal about the com- 
 panionship of human beings; but, upon my word, we 
 ought to have kept a few words for our dog friends. 
 Rollo has been lolling out his great tongue, and looking 
 wistfully from face to face, as we each began our talk. A 
 few minutes ago he was quite concerned, thinking I was 
 angry with you, when I would not let you " but " my 
 aphorism. I am not sure which of the three I should 
 rather go out walking with now: Dunsford, Rollo, Milverton. 
 The middle one is the safest companion. I am sure not
 
 158 FX1ENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 to get out of humour with him. But I have no objection 
 to try the whole three : only I vote for much continuity of 
 silence, as we have had floods of discussion to-day. 
 
 Dunsford, Agreed ! 
 
 Ellesmere. Come, Rollo, you may bark now, as you have 
 been silent, like a wise dog, all the morning. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 BEFORE leaving my friends, I promised to come over again 
 to Worth-Ashton in a day or two, to hear another essay. I 
 came early and found them reading their letters. 
 
 " You remember Annesleigh at college," said Milverton, 
 "do you not, Dunsford?" 
 
 Dunsford. Yes. 
 
 Milverton. Here is a long letter from him. He is 
 evidently vexed at the newspaper articles about his 
 
 conduct in a matter of , and he writes to tell me 
 
 that he is totally misrepresented. 
 
 Dunsford. Why does he not explain this publicly ? 
 
 Milverton. Yes, you naturally think so at first, but such 
 a mode of proceeding would never do for a man in office, 
 and rarely, perhaps, for any man. At least, so the most 
 judicious people seem to think. I have known a man in 
 office bear patiently, without attempting any answer, a serious 
 charge which a few lines would have entirely answered, 
 indeed, turned the other way. But then he thought, I 
 imagine, that if you once begin answering, there is no 
 end to it, and also, which is more important, that the public 
 journals were not a tribunal which he was called to appear 
 before. He had his official superiors.
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 159 
 
 Dunsford. It should be widely known and acknowledged, 
 then, that silence does not give consent in these cases. 
 
 Milverton. It is known, though not, perhaps, sufficiently. 
 
 Dunsford. What a fearful power this anonymous journal- 
 ism is ! 
 
 Milverton. There is a great deal certainly that is mis- 
 chievous in it; but, take it altogether, it is a wonderful 
 product of civilisation morally too. Even as regards 
 those qualities which would in general, to use a phrase 
 of Bacon's, "be noted as deficients" in the press, in 
 courtesy and forbearance, for example, it makes a much 
 better figure than might have been expected; as any one 
 would testify, I suspect, who had observed, or himself 
 experienced, the temptations incident to writing on short 
 notice, without much opportunity of after-thought or cor- 
 rection, upon subjects about which he had already expressed 
 an opinion. 
 
 Dunsford. Is the anonymousness absolutely necessary ? 
 
 Milverton. I have often thought whether it is. If the 
 anonymousness were taken away, the press would lose 
 much of its power; but then, why should it not lose a 
 portion of its power, if that portion is only built upon 
 some delusion? 
 
 Ellesmere. It is a question of expediency. As govern- 
 ment of all kinds becomes better managed, there is less 
 necessity for protection for the press. It must be recollected, 
 however, that this anonymousness (to coin a word) may not 
 only be useful to protect us from any abuse of power, but 
 that at least it takes away that temptation to discuss things 
 in an insufficient manner which arises from personal fear of 
 giving offence. Then, again, there is an advantage in con- 
 sidering arguments without reference to persons. If well- 
 known authors wrote for the press and gave their signatures,
 
 160 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 we should often pass by the arguments unfairly, saying, 
 "Oh, it is only so-and-so : that is the way he always looks 
 at things," without seeing whether it is the right way for the 
 occasion in question. 
 
 Milverton. But take the other side, Ellesmere. What 
 national dislikes are fostered by newspaper articles, and 
 
 Ellesmere. Articles in reviews and by books. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, but somehow or other people imagine 
 that newspapers speak the opinion of a much greater 
 number of people 
 
 Ellesmere. Do not let us talk any more about it. We 
 may become wise enough and well-managed enough to 
 do without this anonymousness : we may not. How it 
 would astound an ardent Whig or Radical of the last 
 generation if we could hear such a sentiment as this as 
 a toast we will say " The Press : and may we become so 
 civilised as to be able to take away some of its liberty." 
 
 Milverton.. It may be put another way : " May it become 
 so civilised that we shall not want to take away any of its 
 liberty." But I see you are tired of this subject Shall we 
 go on the lawn and have our essay ? 
 
 We assented, and Milverton read the following : 
 
 UNREASONABLE CLAIMS IN SOCIAL AFFEC- 
 TIONS AND RELATIONS. 
 
 We are all apt to magnify the importance of whatever we 
 are thinking about, which is not to be wondered at; for 
 everything human has an outlet into infinity, which we 
 come to perceive on considering it. But with a knowledge 
 of this tendency, I still venture to say that, of all that
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 161 
 
 concerns mankind, this subject has, perhaps, been the 
 least treated of in regard to its significance. For once that 
 unreasonable expectations of gratitude have been reproved, 
 ingratitude has been denounced a thousand times ; and the 
 same may be said of inconstancy, unkindness in friendship, 
 neglected merit and the like. 
 
 To begin with ingratitude. Human beings seldom have 
 the demands upon each other which they imagine ; and for 
 what they have done they frequently ask an impossible 
 return. Moreover, when people really have done others a 
 service, the persons benefited often do not understand it. 
 Could they have understood it, the benefactor, perhaps, 
 would not have had to perform it. You cannot expect 
 gratitude from them in proportion to your enlightenment. 
 Then, again, where the service is a palpable one, thoroughly 
 understood, we often require that the gratitude for it should 
 bear down all the rest of the man's character. The dog is the 
 very emblem of faithfulness ; yet I believe it is found that 
 he will sometimes like the person who takes him out and 
 amuses him more than the person who feeds him. So, 
 amongst bipeds, the most solid service must sometimes give 
 way to the claims of congeniality. Human creatures are, 
 happily, not to be swayed by self-interest alone : they are 
 many-sided creatures; there are numberless modes of 
 attaching their affections. Not only like likes like, but 
 unlike likes unlike. 
 
 To give an instance which must often occur. Two 
 persons, both of feeble will, act together; one as superior, 
 the other as inferior. The superior is very kind, the inferior 
 is grateful. Circumstances occur to break this relation. 
 The inferior comes under a superior of strong will, who is 
 not, however, as tolerant and patient as his predecessor. 
 But this second superior soon acquires unbounded influence
 
 1 62 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 over the inferior : if the first one looks on, he may wonder 
 at the alacrity and affection of his former subordinate 
 towards the new man, and talk much about ingratitude. 
 But the inferior has now found somebody to lean upon and 
 to reverence. And he cannot deny his nature and be 
 otherwise than he is. In this case it does not look like 
 ingratitude, except perhaps to the complaining person. 
 But there are doubtless numerous instances in which, if we 
 saw all the facts clearly, we should no more confirm the 
 charge of ingratitude than we do here. 
 
 Then, again, we seldom make sufficient allowance for 
 the burden which there is in obligation, at least to all but 
 great and good minds. There are some people who can 
 receive as heartily as they would give ; but the obligation of 
 an ordinary person to an ordinary person is more apt to be 
 brought to mind as a present sore than as a past delight. 
 
 Amongst the unreasonable views of the affections, the 
 most absurd one has been the fancy that love entirely 
 depends upon the will ; still more that the love of others for 
 us is to be guided by the inducements which seem probable 
 to us. We have served them ; we think only of them ; we 
 are their lovers, or fathers, or brothers; we deserve and 
 require to be loved and to have the love proved to us. But 
 love is not like property ; it has neither duties nor rights. 
 You argue for it in vain ; and there is no one who can give 
 it you. It is not his or hers to give. Millions of bribes 
 and infinite arguments cannot prevail. For it is not a 
 substance, but a relation. There is no royal road. We are 
 loved as we are lovable to the person loving. It is no 
 answer to say that in some cases the love is based on no 
 reality, out is solely in the imagination that is, that we are 
 loved not for what we are, but for what we are fancied to 
 be. That will not bring it any more into the dominions of
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 163 
 
 logic; and love still remains the same untamable creature, 
 deaf to advocacy, blind to other people's idea of merit, and 
 not a substance to be weighed or numbered at all. 
 
 Then, as to the complaints about broken friendship. 
 Friendship is often outgrown ; and his former child's clothes 
 will no more fit a man than some of his former friendships. 
 Often a breach of friendship is supposed to occur when 
 there is nothing of the kind. People see one another 
 seldom ; their courses in life are different ; they meet, and 
 their intercourse is constrained. They fancy that their 
 friendship is mightily cooled. But imagine the dearest 
 friends, one coming home after a long sojourn, the other 
 going out to new lands : the ships that carry these meet ; 
 the friends talk together in a confused way not relevant at 
 all to their friendship, and, if not well assured of their 
 mutual regard, might naturally fancy that it was much 
 abated. Something like this occurs daily in the stream of 
 the world. Then, too, unless people are very unreasonable, 
 they cannot expect that their friends will pass into new 
 systems of thought and action without new ties of all 
 kinds being created, and some modification of the old ones 
 taking place. 
 
 When we are talking of exorbitant claims made for the 
 regard of others, we must not omit those of what is called 
 neglected merit. A man feels that he has abilities or 
 talents of a particular kind, that he has shown them, and 
 still he is a neglected man. I am far from saying that merit 
 is sufficiently looked out for ; but a man may take the sting 
 out of any neglect of his merits by thinking that at least it 
 does not arise from malice prepense, as he almost imagines 
 in his anger. Neither the public, nor individuals, have the 
 time, or will, resolutely to neglect anybody. What pleases
 
 164 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 us we admire and further; if a man in any profession, 
 calling, or art, does things which are beyond us, we are as 
 guiltless of neglecting him as the Caffres are of neglecting 
 the differential calculus. Milton sells his Paradise Lost for 
 ten pounds ; there is no record of Shakespeare dining much 
 with Queen Elizabeth. And it is Utopian to imagine 
 that statues will be set up to the right men in their 
 day. 
 
 The same arguments which applied to the complaints of 
 ingratitude, apply to the complaints of neglected merit. 
 The merit is oftentimes not understood. Be it ever so 
 manifest, it cannot absorb men's attention. When it is 
 really great, it has not been brought out by the hope of 
 reward, any more than the kindest services by the hope of 
 gratitude. In neither case is it becoming or rational to be 
 clamorous about payment. 
 
 There is one thing that people hardly ever remember, or, 
 indeed, have imagination enough to conceive ; namely, the 
 effect of each man being shut up in his individuality. Take 
 a long course of sayings and doings in which many persons 
 have been engaged. Each one of them is in his own mind 
 the centre of the web, though, perhaps, he is at the edge of 
 it. We know that in our observations of the things of 
 sense, any difference in the points from which the observa- 
 tion is taken gives a different view of the same thing. 
 Moreover, in the world of sense, the objects and the points 
 of view are each indifferent to the rest ; but in life the 
 points of view are centres of action that have had something 
 to do with the making of the things looked at. If we could 
 calculate the moral parallax arising from these causes, we 
 should see, by the mere aid of the intellect, how unjust we 
 often are in our complaints of ingratitude, inconstancy, and 
 neglect. But without these nice calculations, such errors of
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 165 
 
 view may be corrected at once by humility, a more sure 
 method than the most enlightened appreciation of the cause 
 of error. Humility is the true cure for many a needless 
 heartache. 
 
 It must not be supposed that in thus opposing unreason- 
 able views of social affections, anything is done to dissever 
 such affections. The Duke of Wellington, writing to a 
 man in a dubious position of authority, says, " The less you 
 claim, the more you will have." This is remarkably true of 
 the affections; and there is scarcely anything that would 
 make men happier than teaching them to watch against 
 unreasonableness in their claims of regard and affection ; 
 and which at the same time would be more likely to ensure 
 their getting what may be their due. 
 
 Elksmere (clapping his hands). An essay after my heart; 
 worth tons of soft trash. In general you are amplifying 
 duties, telling everybody that they are to be so good to 
 every other body. Now it is as well to let every other body 
 know that he is not to expect all he may fancy from every- 
 body. A man complains that his prosperous friends neglect 
 him ; infinitely overrating, in all probability, his claims, and 
 his friends' power of doing anything for him. Well, then, 
 you may think me very hard, but I say that the most 
 absurd claims are often put forth on the ground of relation- 
 ship. I do not deny that there is something in blood, but 
 it must not be made too much of. Near relations have 
 great opportunities of attaching each other ; if they fail to 
 use these, I do not think it is well to let them imagine that 
 mere relationship is to be the talisman of affection. 
 
 Dunsford. I do not see exactly how to answer all that 
 you or Milverton have said; but I am not prepared, as 
 official people say, to agree with you. I especially disagree
 
 166 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 with what Milverton has said about love. He leaves much 
 too little power to the will. 
 
 Milverton. I dare say I may have done so. These are 
 very deep matters, and any one view about them does not 
 
 exhaust them. I remember C once saying to me that 
 
 a man never utters anything without error. He may even 
 think of it rightly ; but he cannot bring it out rightly. It 
 turns a little false, as it were, when it quits the brain and 
 comes into life. 
 
 Elksmere. I thought you would soon go over to the soft 
 side. Here, Rollo ; there's a good dog. You do not form 
 unreasonable expectations, do you ? A very little petting 
 puts you into an ecstasy, and you are much wiser than many 
 a biped who is full of his claims for gratitude, and friend- 
 ship, and love, and who is always longing for well-merited 
 rewards to fall into his mouth. Down, dog ! 
 
 Milverton. Poor animal ! it little knows that all this 
 sudden notice is only by way of ridiculing us. Why I did 
 not maintain my ground stoutly against Dunsford is, that I 
 am always afraid of pushing moral conclusions too far. 
 Since we have been talking, I think I see more clearly than 
 I did before what I mean to convey by the essay namely, 
 that men fall into unreasonable views respecting the 
 affections from imagining that the general laws of the mind 
 are suspended for the sake of the affections. 
 
 Dunsford. That seems safer ground. 
 
 Milverton. Now to illustrate what I mean by a very 
 similar instance. The mind is avid of new impressions. 
 It "travels over," or thinks it travels over, another mind; 
 and, though it may conceal its wish for " fresh fields and 
 pastures new," it does so wish. However harsh, therefore, 
 and unromantic it may seem, the best plan is to humour 
 Nature, and not to exhaust by over-frequent presence the
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 167 
 
 affection of those whom we would love, or whom we would 
 have to love us. I would not say, after the manner of 
 Rochefoucauld, that the less we see of people the more we 
 like them; but there are certain limits of sociality; and 
 prudent reserve and absence may find a place in the 
 management of the tenderest relations. . 
 
 Dunsford. Yes, all this is true enough : I do not see any- 
 thing hard in this. But then there is the other side. 
 Custom is a great aid to affection. 
 
 Milverton. Yes. All I say is, do not fancy that the 
 general laws are suspended for the sake of any one 
 affection. 
 
 Dunsford. Still this does not go to the question whether 
 there is not something more of will in affection than you 
 make out. You would speak of inducements and counter- 
 inducements, aids and hindrances ; but I cannot but think 
 you are limiting the power of will, and therefore limiting 
 duty. Such views tend to make people easily discontented 
 with each other, and prevent their making efforts to get 
 over offences, and to find out what is lovable in those about 
 them. 
 
 Ellesmere. Here we are in the deep places again. I see 
 you are pondering, Milverton. It is a question, as a minister 
 would say when Parliament perplexes him, that we must go 
 to the country upon; each man's heart will, perhaps, tell 
 him best about it. For my own part, I think that the con- 
 tinuance of affection, as the rise of it, depends more on the 
 taste being satisfied, or at least not disgusted, than upon 
 any other single thing. Our hearts may be touched at our 
 being loved by people essentially distasteful to us, whose 
 modes of talking and acting are a continual offence to us; 
 but whether we can love them in return is a question. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, we can, I think. I begin to see that it
 
 1 68 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 is a question of degree. The word love includes many 
 shades of meaning. When it includes admiration, of course 
 we cannot be said to love those in whom we see nothing to 
 admire. But this seldom happens in the mixed characters 
 of real life. The upshot of it all seems to me to be, that, 
 as Guizot says of civilisation, every impulse has room ; so 
 in the affections, every inducement and counter-inducement 
 has its influence; and the result is not a simple one, which 
 can be spoken of as if it were alike on all occasions and 
 with all men. 
 
 Dunsford. I am still unanswered, I think, Milverton. 
 What you say is still wholly built upon inducements, and 
 does not touch the power of will. 
 
 Milverton. No; it does not. 
 
 Ellesmere. We must leave that alone. Infinite piles of 
 books have not as yet lifted us up to a clear view of that 
 matter. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, then, we must leave it as a vexed 
 question; but let it be seen that there is such a question. 
 Now, as to another thing: you speak, Milverton, of men's 
 not making allowance enough for the unpleasant weight of 
 obligation. I think that weight seems to have increased in 
 modern times. Essex could give Bacon a small estate, 
 and Bacon could take it comfortably, I have no doubt. 
 That is a much more wholesome state of things among 
 friends than the present. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, undoubtedly. An extreme notion about 
 independence has made men much less generous in receiv- 
 ing. 
 
 Dunsford. It is a falling off, then. There was another 
 comment I had to make. I think, when you speak about 
 the exorbitant demands of neglected merit, you should say 
 more upon the neglect of the just demands of merit.
 
 SOCIAL AFFECTIONS AND RELATIONS. 169 
 
 Milverton. I would have the Government and the public 
 in general try by all means to understand and reward merit, 
 especially in those matters wherein excellence cannot, other- 
 wise, meet with large present reward. But, to say the truth, 
 I would have this done, not with the view of fostering 
 genius so much as of fulfilling duty : I would say to a 
 minister it is becoming in you it is well for the nation, 
 to reward, as far as you can, and dignify, men of genius. 
 Whether you will do them any good, or bring forth more of 
 them, I do not know. 
 
 Ellesmere. Men of great genius are often such a sensitive 
 race, so apt to be miserable in many other than pecuniary 
 ways and want of public estimation, that I am not sure 
 that distress and neglect do not take their minds off worse 
 discomforts. It is a kind of grievance, too, that they like 
 to have. 
 
 Dimsford. Really, Ellesmere, that is a most unfeeling 
 speech. 
 
 Milverton. At any rate, it is right for us to honour and 
 serve a great man. It is our nature to do so, if we are 
 worth anything. We may put aside the question whether 
 our honour will do him more good than our neglect. That 
 is a question for him to look to. The world has not yet so 
 largely honoured deserving men in their own time, that we 
 can exactly pronounce what effect it would have upon them. 
 
 Ellesmere. Come, Rollo, let us leave these men of senti- 
 ment. Oh, you will not go, as your master does not move. 
 Look how he wags his tail, and almost says, " I should 
 dearly like to have a hunt after the water-rat we saw in the 
 pond the other day, but master is talking philosophy, and 
 requires an intelligent audience." These dogs are dear 
 creatures, it must be owned. Come, Milverton, let us have 
 a walk.
 
 i;o FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AFTER the reading in the last chapter, my friends walked 
 homewards with me as far as Durley Wood, which is about 
 half-way between Worth-Ashton and my house. As we 
 rested here, we bethought ourselves that it would be a 
 pleasant spot for us to come to sometimes and read our 
 essays. So we agreed to name a day for meeting there. 
 The day was favourable, we met as we had appointed, and 
 finding some beech logs lying very opportunely, took posses- 
 sion of them for our council. We seated Ellesmere on one 
 that we called the woolsack, but which he said he felt him- 
 self unworthy to occupy in the presence of King Log, 
 pointing to mine. These nice points of etiquette being 
 at last settled, Milverton drew out his papers and was 
 about to begin reading, when Ellesmere thus interrupted 
 him : 
 
 Ellesmere. You were not in earnest, Milverton, about 
 giving us an essay on population ? Because if so, I think 
 I shall leave this place to you and Dunsford and the 
 ants. 
 
 Milverton. I certainly have been meditating something 
 of the sort; but have not been able .to make much 
 of it. 
 
 Ellesmere. If I had been living in those days when it 
 first beamed upon mankind that the earth was round, I am 
 sure I should have said, "We know now the bounds of the 
 earth; there are no interminable plains joined to the regions 
 of the sun, allowing of indefinite sketchy outlines at the 
 edges of maps. That little creature man will immediately 
 begin to think that his world is too small for him." 
 
 Milverton. There has probably been as much folly uttered
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. i 7I 
 
 by political economy as against it, which is saying some- 
 thing. The danger as regards theories of political economy 
 is the obvious one of their abstract conclusions being 
 applied to concrete things. 
 
 Ellesmere. As if we were to expect mathematical lines to 
 bear weights. 
 
 Milverion. Something like that. With a good system of 
 logic pervading the public mind, this danger would of course 
 be avoided ; but such a state of mind is not likely to occur 
 in any public that we or our grandchildren are likely to 
 have to deal with. As it is, an ordinary man hears some 
 conclusion of political economy, showing some particular 
 tendency of things, which in real life meets with many 
 counteractions of all kinds ; but he, perhaps, adopts the 
 conclusion without the least abatement, and would work 
 it into life, as if all went on there like a rule-of-three 
 sum. 
 
 Ellesmere. After all, this error arises from the man's not 
 having enough political economy. It is not that a theory is 
 good on paper, but unsound in real life. It is only that in 
 real life you cannot get at the simple state of things to which 
 the theory would rightly apply. You want many other 
 theories and the just composition of them all to be able to 
 work the whole problem. That being done (which, how- 
 ever, scarcely can be done), the result on paper might be 
 read off as applicable at once to life. But now, touching 
 the essay ; since we are not to have population, what is it 
 to be? 
 
 Milverton. Public improvements. 
 
 Ellesmere. Nearly as bad ; but as this is a favourite 
 subject of yours, I suppose it will not be polite to go 
 away. 
 
 Milverton. No ; you must listen.
 
 1 7 2 FRIENDS IN CO UNCIL. 
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 What are possessions ? To an individual, the stores of 
 his own heart and mind pre-eminently. His truth and 
 valour are amongst the first His contentedness, or his 
 resignation, may be put next. Then his sense of beauty, 
 surely a possession of great moment to him. Then all those 
 mixed possessions which result from the social affections 
 great possessions, unspeakable delights, much greater than 
 the gift last mentioned in the former class, but held on more 
 uncertain tenure. Lastly, what are generally called posses- 
 sions ? However often we have heard of the vanity, un- 
 certainty, and vexation that beset these last, we must not 
 let this repetition deaden our minds to the fact. 
 
 Now, national possessions must be estimated by the same 
 gradation that we have applied to individual possessions. 
 If we consider national luxury, we shall see how small a 
 part it may add to national happiness. Men of deserved 
 renown, and peerless women, lived upon what we should 
 now call the coarsest fare, and paced the rushes in their 
 rooms with as high or as contented thoughts as their better- 
 fed or better-clothed descendants can boast of. Man is 
 limited in this direction ; I mean in the things that concern 
 his personal gratification ; but when you come to the higher 
 enjoyments, the expansive power both in him and them is 
 greater. As Keats says 
 
 " A thing of beauty is a joy for ever ; 
 Its loveliness increases ; it will never 
 Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep 
 A bower quiet for us, and a sleep 
 Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing." 
 
 What then are a nation's possessions ? The great words
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. 173 
 
 that have been said in it; the great deeds that have been 
 done in it ; the great buildings, and the great works of art, 
 that have been made in it. A man says a noble saying : it 
 is a possession, first to his own race, then to mankind. A 
 people get a noble building built for them : it is an honour 
 to them, also a daily delight and instruction. It perishes. 
 The remembrance of it is still a possession. If it was 
 indeed pre-eminent, there will be more pleasure in thinking 
 of it than in being with others of inferior order and design. 
 
 On the other hand, a thing of ugliness is potent for evil. 
 It deforms the taste of the thoughtless ; it frets the man 
 who knows how bad it is ; it is a disgrace to the nation who 
 raised it ; an example and an occasion for more monstrosi- 
 ties. If it is a great building in a great city, thousands of 
 people pass it daily, and are the worse for it, or at least not 
 the better. It must be done away with. Next to the folly 
 of doing a bad thing is that of fearing to undo it. We must 
 not look at what it has cost, but at what it is. Millions 
 may be spent upon some foolish device which will not the 
 more make it into a possession, but only a more noticeable 
 detriment. 
 
 It must not be supposed that works of art are the only, or 
 the chief, public improvements needed in any country. 
 Wherever men congregate, the elements become scarce. 
 The supply of air, light, and water is then a matter of the 
 highest public importance ; and the magnificent utilitarian- 
 ism of the Romans should precede the nice sense of beauty 
 of the Greeks. Or, rather, the former should be worked out 
 in the latter. Sanitary improvements, like most good works, 
 may be made to fulfil many of the best human objects. 
 Charity, social order, conveniency of living, and the love of
 
 174 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 the beautiful, may all be furthered by such improvements. 
 A people is seldom so well employed as when, not suffering 
 their attention to be absorbed by foreign quarrels and 
 domestic broils, they bethink themselves of winning back 
 those blessings of Nature which assemblages of men mostly 
 vitiate, exclude, or destroy. 
 
 Public improvements are sometimes most difficult in free 
 countries. The origination of them is difficult there, many 
 diverse minds having to be persuaded. The individual, or 
 class, resistance to the public good is harder to conquer 
 than in despotic states. And, what is most embarrassing, 
 perhaps, individual progress in the same direction, or indi- 
 vidual doings in some other way, form a great hindrance, 
 sometimes, to public enterprise. On the other hand, the 
 energy of a free people is a mine of public welfare ; and 
 individual effort brings many good things to bear in much 
 shorter time than any government could be expected to 
 move in. A judicious statesman considers these things ; 
 and sets himself especially to overcome those peculiar 
 obstacles to public improvement which belong to the institu- 
 tions of his country. Adventure in a despotic state, com- 
 bined action in a free state, are the objects which peculiarly 
 demand his attention. 
 
 To return to works of art. In this also the genius of 
 the people is to be heeded. There may have been, there 
 may be, nations requiring to be diverted from the love of 
 art to stern labour and industrial conquests. But certainly 
 it is not so with the Anglo-Saxon race, or with the Northern 
 races generally. Money may enslave them ; logic may 
 enslave them; art never will. The chief men, therefore, 
 in these races will do well sometimes to contend against 
 the popular current, and to convince their people that there
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. 175 
 
 are other sources of delight, and other objects worthy of 
 human endeavour, than severe money-getting or mere 
 material successes of any kind. 
 
 In fine, the substantial improvement, and even the 
 embellishment of towns, is a work which both the central 
 and local governing bodies in a country should keep a 
 steady hand upon. It especially concerns them. What 
 are they there for but to do that which individuals cannot 
 do? It concerns them, too, as it tells upon the health, 
 morals, education, and refined pleasures of the people 
 they govern. In doing it, they should avoid pedantry, 
 parsimony, and favouritism ; and their mode of action 
 should be large, considerate, and foreseeing. Large, inas- 
 much as they must not easily be contented with the second 
 best in any of their projects. Considerate, inasmuch as 
 they have to think what their people need most, not what 
 will make most show. And therefore they should be con- 
 tented, for instance, at their work going on underground 
 for a time, or in byways, if needful ; the best charity in 
 public works, as in private, being often that which courts 
 least notice. Lastly, their work should be with foresight, 
 recollecting that cities grow up about us like young people, 
 before we are aware of it. 
 
 Elksmere. Another very merciful essay ! When we had 
 once got upon the subject of sanitary improvements, I 
 thought we should soon be five fathom deep in blue-books, 
 reports, interminable questions of sewerage, and horrors of 
 all kinds. 
 
 Milverton. I am glad you own that I have been very 
 tender of your impatience in this essay. People, I trust, 
 are now so fully aware of the immense importance of 
 sanitary improvements, that we do not want the elementary
 
 1 76 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 talking about such things that was formerly necessary. It 
 is difficult, though, to say too much about sanitary matters, 
 that is, if by saying much one could gain attention. I am 
 convinced that the most fruitful source of physical evil 
 to mankind has been impure air, arising from circumstances 
 which might have been obviated. Plagues and pestilences 
 of all kinds, cretinism too, and all scrofulous disorders, are 
 probably mere questions of ventilation. A district may 
 require ventilation as well as a house. 
 
 Ellesmere. Seriously speaking, I quite agree with you. 
 And what delights me in sanitary improvements is, that 
 they can hardly do harm. Give a poor man good air, and 
 you do not diminish his self-reliance. You only add to his 
 health and vigour make more of a man of him. But now 
 that the public mind, as it is facetiously called, has got 
 hold of the idea of these improvements, everybody will be 
 chattering about them. 
 
 Milverton. The very time when those who really do care 
 for these matters should be watchful to make the most of 
 the tide in their favour, and should not suffer themselves 
 to relax their efforts because there is no originality now 
 about such things. 
 
 Dunsford, Custom soon melts off the wings which 
 Novelty alone has lent to Benevolence. 
 
 Ellesmere. And down comes the charitable 'Icarus. A 
 very good simile, my dear Dunsford, but rather of the 
 Latin-verse order. I almost see it worked into an hexa- 
 meter and pentameter, and delighting the heart of an Eton 
 boy. 
 
 Dunsford. Ellesmere is more than usually vicious to-day, 
 Milverton. A great "public improvement" would be to 
 clip the tongues of some of these lawyers. 
 
 Ellesmere. Possibly. I have just been looking again at
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. 177 
 
 that part of the essay, Milverton, where you talk of the 
 little gained by national luxury. I think with you. There 
 is an immensity of nonsense uttered about making people 
 happy, which is to be done, according to happiness-mongers, 
 by quantities of sugar and tea, and such-like things. One 
 knows the importance of food, but there is no Elysium to 
 be got out of it. 
 
 Milverton. I know what you mean. There is a kind of 
 pity for the people now in vogue which is most effeminate. 
 It is a sugared sort of Robespierre talk about "The poor 
 but virtuous People." To address such stuff to the people 
 is not to give them anything, but to take away what they 
 have. Suppose you could give them oceans of tea and 
 mountains of sugar, and abundance of any luxury that you 
 choose to imagine, but at the same time you inserted a 
 hungry, envious spirit in them, what have you done ? 
 Then, again, this envious spirit, when it is turned to 
 difference of station, what good can it do ? Can you give 
 station according to merit? Is life long enough for it? 
 
 Ellesmere. Of course we cannot always be weighing men 
 with nicety, and saying, " Here is your place, here yours." 
 
 Milverton. Then, again, what happiness do you confer 
 on men by teaching them to disrespect their superiors in 
 rank, by turning all the embellishments which adorn various 
 stations wrong side out, putting everything in its lowest 
 form, and then saying, "What do you see to admire here?" 
 You do not know what injury you may do a man when 
 you destroy all reverence in him. It will be found out 
 some day that men derive more pleasure and profit from 
 having superiors than from having inferiors. 
 
 Dunsford. It is seldom that I bring you back to your 
 subject, but we are really a long way off at present ; and I 
 want to know, Milverton, what you would do specifically in 
 
 12
 
 178 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 the way of public improvements. Of course you cannot 
 say in an essay what you would do in such matters, but 
 amongst ourselves. In London, for instance. 
 
 Milverton. The first thing for Government to do, Duns 
 ford, in London, or any other great town, is to secure open 
 spaces in it and about it. Trafalgar Square may be dotted 
 with hideous absurdities, but it is an open space. They 
 may collect together there specimens of every variety of 
 meanness and bad taste ; but they cannot prevent its being 
 a better thing than if it were covered with houses. Public 
 money is scarcely ever so well employed as in securing bits 
 of waste ground and keeping them as open spaces. Then, 
 as under the most favourable circumstances, we are likely 
 to have too much carbon in the air of any town, we should 
 plant trees to restore the just proportions of the air as far 
 as we can. 1 Trees are also what the heart and the eye 
 desire most in towns. The Boulevards in Paris show the 
 excellent effect of trees against buildings. There are many 
 parts of London where rows of trees might be planted along 
 the streets. The weighty dulness of Portland Place, for 
 instance, might be thus relieved. Of course, in any scheme 
 of public improvements, the getting rid of smoke is one of 
 the first objects. 
 
 Ellesmere, Yes, smoke is a great abuse ; but then there 
 is something ludicrous about it, just as there is about 
 sewerage. I believe, myself, that for one person that the 
 Corn Laws have injured, a dozen have had their lives 
 shortened and their happiness abridged in every way by 
 these less palpable nuisances. But there is no grandeur in 
 opposing them no "good cry" to be raised. And so, as 
 abuses cannot be met in our days but by agitation a com- 
 mittee, secretaries, clerks, newspapers, and a review and 
 1 See Health of Towns Report, 1844, vol. i. p. 44.
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS. 179 
 
 as agitation in this case holds out fewer inducements than 
 usual, we have gone on year after year being poisoned by 
 these various nuisances, at an incalculable expense of life 
 and money. 
 
 Milverton. There is something in what you say, I think, 
 but you press it too far ; for of late these sanitary subjects 
 have worked themselves into notice, as you yourself admit. 
 
 Elhsmere. Late indeed. 
 
 Milverton. Well, but to go on with schemes for im- 
 proving London. Open spaces, trees then comes the 
 supply of water. This is one of the first things to be done. 
 Philadelphia has given an example which all towns ought 
 to imitate. It is a matter requiring great thought, and the 
 various plans should be thoroughly canvassed before the 
 choice is made. Great beauty and the highest utility may 
 be combined in supplying a town like London with water. 
 By the way, how much water do you think London requires 
 daily? 
 
 Elksmere. As much as the Serpentine and the water in 
 St. James's Park. 
 
 Milverton. You are not so far out. 
 
 Well, then, having gone through the largest things that 
 must be attended to, we come to minor matters. It is a 
 great pity that the system of building upon leases should 
 be so commonly adopted. Nobody expects to live out the 
 leasehold term which he takes to build upon. But things 
 would be better done if people were more averse to having 
 anything to do with leasehold property. C. always says 
 that the modern lath-and-plaster system is a wickedness, 
 and upon my word I think he is right. It is inconceivable 
 to me how a man can make up his mind to build, or to do 
 anything else, in a temporary, slight, insincere fashion. 
 What has a man to say for himself who must sum up the
 
 i8o FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 doings of his life in this way, " I chiefly employed myself in 
 making or selling things which seemed to be good and were 
 not, and nobody has occasion to bless me for anything I 
 have done." 
 
 Ellesmere. Humph ! you put it mildly. But the man 
 has made perhaps seven per cent, off his money ; or, if he 
 has made no per cent, has ruined several men of his own 
 trade, which is not to go for nothing when a man is taking 
 stock of his good deeds. 
 
 Milverton. There is one thing I forgot to say, that we 
 want more individual will in building, I think. As it is at 
 present, a great builder takes a plot of ground and turns 
 out innumerable houses, all alike, the same faults and merits 
 running through each, thus adding to the general dulness 
 of things. 
 
 Ellesmere. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, when she came 
 from abroad, remarked that all her friends seemed to have 
 got into drawing-rooms which were like a grand piano, first 
 a large square or oblong room, and then a small one. 
 Quite Georgian, this style of architecture. But now I think 
 we are improving immensely at any rate in the outside of 
 houses. By the way, Milverton, I want to ask you one 
 thing : How is it that Governments and Committees, and 
 the bodies that manage matters of taste, seem to be more 
 tasteless than the average run of people? I will wager 
 anything that the cabmen round Trafalgar Square would 
 have made a better thing of it than it is. If you had put 
 before them several prints of fountains, they would not 
 have chosen those. 
 
 Milverton. I think with you, but I have no theory to 
 account for it. I suppose that these committees are fre- 
 quently hampered by other considerations than those which 
 come before the public when they are looking at the work
 
 PUBLIC IMPROVEMENTS 181 
 
 done ; and this may be some excuse. There was a custom 
 which I have heard prevailed in former days in some of the 
 Italian cities, of making large models of the works of art 
 that were to adorn the city, and putting them up in the 
 places intended for the works when finished, and then 
 inviting criticism. It would really be a very good plan in 
 some cases. 
 
 Ellesmere. Now, Milverton, would you not forthwith 
 pull down such things as Buckingham Palace and the 
 National Gallery? Dunsford looks at me as if I were 
 going to pull down the Constitution. 
 
 Mih'erton. I would pull them down to a certainty, or 
 some parts of them at any rate; but whether "forthwith" is 
 another question. There are greater things, perhaps, to be 
 done first. We must consider, too, 
 
 " That eternal want of pence 
 Which vexes public men." 
 
 Still, I think we ought always to look upon such buildings 
 as temporary arrangements, and they vex one less then. 
 The Palace ought to be in the higher part of the Park, 
 perhaps on that slope opposite Piccadilly. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, it does amuse me the way in which you 
 youngsters go on, pulling down, in your industrious imagina- 
 tions, palaces and national galleries, building aqueducts 
 and cloacae maximns, forming parks, destroying smoke (so 
 large a part of every Londoner's diet), and abridging plaster, 
 without fear of Chancellors of the Exchequer, and the 
 resistance of mankind in general. 
 
 Milverton. We must begin by thinking boldly about 
 things. That is a larger part of any undertaking than it 
 seems, perhaps. 
 
 Dunsford. We must, I am afraid, break off our pleasant
 
 1 82 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 employment of projecting public improvements, unless we 
 mean to be dinnerless. 
 
 Ellesmere. A frequent fate of great projectors, I fear. 
 
 Milverton. Now, then, homewards. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MY readers will, perhaps, agree with me in being sorry to 
 find that we are coming to the end of our present series. 
 I say " my readers," though I have so little part in purvey- 
 ing for them, that I mostly consider myself one of them. 
 It is no light task, however, to give a good account of a 
 conversation ; and I say this, and would wish people to 
 try whether I am not right in saying so, not to call attention 
 to my labour in the matter, but because it may be well to 
 notice how difficult it is to report anything truly. Were 
 this better known, it might be an aid to charity, and pre- 
 vent some of those feuds which grow out of the poverty of 
 man's power to express, to apprehend, to represent, rather 
 than out of any malignant part of his nature. But I must 
 not go on moralising. I almost feel that Ellesmere is 
 looking over my shoulder, and breaking into my discourse 
 with sharp words, which I have lately been so much 
 accustomed to. 
 
 I had expected that we should have many more readings 
 this summer, as I knew that Milverton had prepared more 
 essays for us. But finding, as he said, that the other sub- 
 jects he had in hand were larger than he had anticipated, 
 or was prepared for, he would not read even to us what he 
 had written. Though I was very sorry for this for I may 
 not be the chronicler in another year I could not but say
 
 HISTORY. i& 3 
 
 he was right. Indeed, my ideas of literature, nourished as 
 they have been in much solitude, and by the reading, if I 
 may say so, mainly of our classical authors, are very high 
 placed, though I hope not fantastical. And, therefore, I 
 would not discourage any one in expending whatever 
 thought and labour might be in him upon any literary work. 
 
 In fine, then, I did not attempt to dissuade Milverton 
 from his purpose of postponing our readings; and we 
 agreed that there should only be one more for the present. 
 I wished it to be at our favourite place on the lawn, which 
 had become endeared to me as the spot of many of our 
 friendly councils. 
 
 It was later than usual when I came over to Worth- 
 Ashton for this reading ; and as I gained the brow of the 
 hill, some few clouds tinged with red were just grouping 
 together to form the accustomed pomp upon the exit of the 
 setting sun. I believe I mentioned in the introduction to 
 our first conversation that the ruins of an old castle could 
 be seen from our place of meeting. Milverton and Elles- 
 mere were talking about it as I joined them. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, Ellesmere, many a man has looked out 
 of those windows upon a sunset like this, with some of the 
 thoughts that must come into the minds of all men on seeing 
 this great emblem, the setting sun has felt, in looking at 
 it, his coming end, or the closing of his greatness. Those 
 old walls must have been witness to every kind of human 
 emotion. Henry the Second was there; John, I think; 
 Margaret of Anjou and Cardinal Beaufort; William of 
 Wykeham ; Henry the Eighth's Cromwell ; and many 
 others who have made some stir in the world. 
 
 Ellesmere. And, perhaps, the greatest there were those 
 who made no stir. 
 
 " The world knows nothing of its greatest men."
 
 184 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Milverton. I am slow to believe that. I cannot well 
 reconcile myself to the idea that great capacities are 
 given for nothing. They bud out in some way or 
 other. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes, but it may not be in a noisy way. 
 
 Milverton. There is one thing that always strikes me very 
 much in looking at the lives of men : how soon, as it were, 
 their course seems to be determined. They say, or do, or 
 think something which gives a bias at once to the whole of 
 their career. 
 
 Dunsford. You may go further back than that, and speak 
 of the impulses they got from their ancestors. 
 
 Ellesmere. Or the nets around them of other people's 
 ways and wishes. There are many things, you see, that go 
 to make men puppets. 
 
 Milverton. I was only noticing the circumstance that 
 there was such a thing, as it appeared to me, as this early 
 direction. But, if it has been ever so unfortunate, a man's 
 folding his hands over it in a melancholy mood, and suffer- 
 ing himself to be made a puppet by it, is a sadly weak 
 proceeding. Most thoughtful men have probably some 
 dark fountains in their souls, by the side of which, if there 
 were time, and it were decorous, they could let their 
 thoughts sit down and wail indefinitely. That long Byron 
 wail fascinated men for a time ; because there is that in 
 Human Nature. Luckily, a great deal besides. 
 
 Ellesmere. I delight in the helpful and hopeful men. 
 
 Milverton. A man that I admire very much, and have 
 met with occasionally, is one who is always of use in any 
 matter he is mixed up with, simply because he wishes that 
 the best should be got out of the thing that is possible. 
 There does not seem much in the description of such a 
 character ; but only see it in contrast with that of a brilliant
 
 HISTORY. 185 
 
 man, for instance, who does not ever fully care about the 
 matter in hand. 
 
 Dunsford. I can thoroughly imagine the difference. 
 
 Milverton. The human race may be bound up together 
 in some mysterious way, each of us having a profound 
 interest in the fortunes of the whole, and so, to some extent, 
 of every portion of it. Such a man as I have described 
 acts as though he had an intuitive perception of that rela- 
 tion, and therefore a sort of family feeling for mankind, 
 which gives him satisfaction in making the best out of any 
 human affair he has to do with. 
 
 But we really must have the essay, and not talk any more. 
 It is on History. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 Among the fathomless things that are about us and 
 within us, is the continuity of time. This gives to life one 
 of its most solemn aspects. We may think to ourselves : 
 Would there could be some halting-place in life, where we 
 could stay, collecting our minds, and see the world drift by 
 us. But no : even while you read this, you are not pausing 
 to read it. As one of the great French preachers, I think, 
 says, We are embarked upon a stream, each in his own 
 little boat, which must move uniformly onwards, till it 
 ceases to move at all. It is a stream that knows " no haste, 
 no rest ; " a boat that knows no haven but one. 
 
 This unabated continuity suggests the past as well as the 
 future. We would know what mighty empires this stream 
 of time has flowed through, by what battle-fields it has 
 been tinged, how it has been employed towards fertility, 
 and what beautiful shadows on its surface have been seized 
 by art, or science, or great words, and held in time-lasting, 
 if not in everlasting, beauty. This is what history tells us.
 
 1 86 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Often in a faltering, confused, be-darkened way, like the 
 deed it chronicles. But it is what we have, and we must 
 make the best of it. 
 
 The subject of this essay may be thus divided : Why 
 history should be read how it should be read by whom 
 it should be written how it should be written and how 
 good writers of history should be called forth, aided, and 
 rewarded. 
 
 I. WHY HISTORY SHOULD BE READ. 
 
 It takes us out of too much care for the present ; it 
 extends our sympathies ; it shows us that other men have 
 had their sufferings and their grievances; it enriches dis- 
 course, it enlightens travel. So does fiction. But the effect 
 of history is more lasting and suggestive. If we see a place 
 which fiction has treated of, we feel that it has some interest 
 for us ; but show us a spot where remarkable deeds have 
 been done, or remarkable people have lived, and our 
 thoughts cling to it. We employ our own imagination 
 about it : we invent the fiction for ourselves. Again, 
 history is at least the conventional account of things : that 
 which men agree to receive as the right account, and which 
 they discuss as true. To understand their talk, we must 
 know what they are talking about. Again, there is some- 
 thing in history which can seldom be got from the study of 
 the lives of individual men ; namely, the movements of men 
 collectively, and for long periods of man, in fact, not of 
 men. In history the composition of the forces that move 
 the world has to be analysed. We must have before us 
 the law of the progress of opinion, the interruptions to it of 
 individual character, the principles on which men act in the 
 main, the trade winds, as we may say, in human affairs, and 
 the recurrent storms which one man's life does not tell us
 
 HISTORY. ,87 
 
 of. Again, by the study of history, we have a chance of 
 becoming tolerant, travelling over the ways of many nations 
 and many periods ; and we may also acquire that historic 
 tact by which we collect upon one point of human affairs 
 the light of many ages. 
 
 We may judge of the benefit of historical studies by 
 observing what great defects are incident to the moral and 
 political writers who know nothing of history. A present 
 grievance, or what seems such, swallows up in their minds 
 all other considerations ; their little bottle of oil is to still 
 the raging waves of the whole human ocean ; their system, 
 a thing that the historian has seen before, perhaps, in many 
 ages, is to reconcile all diversities. Then they would 
 persuade you that this class of men is wholly good, that 
 wholly bad ; or that there is no difference between good 
 and bad. They may be shrewd men, considering what they 
 have seen, but would be much shrewder if they could know 
 how small a part that is of life. We may all refer to our 
 boyhood, and recollect the time when we thought the things 
 about us were the type of all things everywhere. That was, 
 perhaps, after all no silly princess who was for feeding the 
 famishing people on cakes. History takes us out of this 
 confined circle of child-like thought; and shows us what 
 are the perennial aims, struggles, and distractions of man- 
 kind. 
 
 History has always been set down as the especial study 
 for statesmen, and for men who take an interest in public 
 affairs. For history is to nations what biography is to 
 individual men. History is the chart and compass for 
 national endeavour. Our early voyagers are dead : not a 
 plank remains of the old ships that first essayed unknown 
 waters ; the sea retains no track ; and were it not for the 
 history of these voyages contained in charts, in chronicles,
 
 1 88 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 in hoarded lore of all kinds, each voyager, though he were 
 to start with all the aids of advanced civilisation (if you 
 could imagine such a thing without history), would need the 
 boldness of the first voyager. 
 
 And so it would be with the statesman, were the civil 
 history of mankind unknown. We live to some extent in 
 peace and comfort upon the results obtained for us by the 
 chronicles of our forefathers. We do not see this without 
 some reflection. But imagine what a full-grown nation 
 would be if it knew no history like a full-grown man with 
 only a child's experience. 
 
 The present is an age of remarkable experiences. Vast 
 improvements have been made in several of the outward 
 things that concern life nearly, from intercourse rapid as 
 lightning to surgical operation without pain. We accept 
 them all ; still, the difficulties of government, the manage- 
 ment of ourselves, our relations with others, and many of 
 the prime difficulties of life remain but little subdued. 
 History still claims our interest, is still wanted to make us 
 think and act with any breadth of wisdom. 
 
 At the same time, however, that we claim for history great 
 powers of instruction, we must not imagine the examples 
 which it furnishes will enable its readers to anticipate the 
 experience of life. An experienced man reads that Caesar 
 did this or that, but he says to himself, " I am not Caesar." 
 Or, indeed, as is most probable, the reader has not to reject 
 the application of the example to himself: for from first to 
 last he sees nothing but experience for Csesar in what Caesar 
 was doing. I think it may be observed, too, that general 
 maxims about life gain the ear of the inexperienced, in 
 preference to historical examples. But neither wise sayings 
 nor historical examples can be understood without experi- 
 ence. Words are only symbols. Who can know anything
 
 HISTORY. 189 
 
 soundly with respect to the complicated affections and 
 struggles of life, unless he has experienced some of them ? 
 All knowledge of humanity spreads from within. So in 
 studying history, the lessons it teaches must have something 
 to grow round in the heart they teach. Our own trials, 
 misfortunes, and enterprises are the best lights by which 
 we can read history. Hence it is that many an historian 
 may see far less into the depths of the very history he has 
 himself written than a man who, having acted and suffered, 
 reads the history in question with all the wisdom that comes 
 from action and suffering. Sir Robert Walpole might 
 naturally exclaim, "Do not read history to me, for that, I 
 know, must be false." But if he had read it, I do not doubt 
 that he would have seen through the film of false and 
 insufficient narrative into the depth of the matter narrated, 
 in a way that men of great experience can alone attain to, 
 
 II. HOW HISTORY SHOULD BE READ. 
 
 I suppose that many who now connect the very word 
 history with the idea of dulness, would have been fond and 
 diligent students of history if it had had fair access to their 
 minds. But they were set down to read histories which 
 were not fitted to be read continuously, or by any but 
 practised students. Some such works are mere framework, 
 a name which the author of the Statesman applies to them ; 
 very good things, perhaps, for their purpose, but that is not 
 to invite readers to history. You might almost as well read 
 dictionaries with a hope of getting a succinct and clear view 
 of language. When, in any narration, there is a constant 
 heaping up of facts, made about equally significant by the 
 way of telling them, a hasty delineation of characters, and 
 all the incidents moving on as in the fifth act of a confused
 
 190 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL 
 
 tragedy, the mind and memory refuse to be so treated ; and 
 the reading ends in nothing but a very slight and inaccurate 
 acquaintance with the mere husk of the history. You 
 cannot epitomise the knowledge that it would take years to 
 acquire into a few volumes that may be read in as many 
 weeks. 
 
 The most likely way of attracting men's attention to 
 historical subjects will be by presenting them with small 
 portions of history, of great interest, thoroughly examined. 
 This may give them the habit of applying thought and 
 criticism to historical matters. 
 
 For, as it is, how are people interested in history ? and 
 how do they master its multitudinous assemblage of facts ? 
 Mostly, perhaps, in this way. A man cares about some one 
 thing, or person, or event, and plunges into its history, 
 really wishing to master it. This pursuit extends; other 
 points of research are taken up by him at other times. 
 His researches begin to intersect. He finds a connection in 
 things. The texture of his historic acquisitions gradually 
 attains some substance and colour; and so at last he begins 
 to have some dim notions of the myriads of men who came, 
 and saw, and did not conquer only struggled on as they 
 best might, some of them and are not. 
 
 When we are considering how history should be read, the 
 main thing perhaps is, that the person reading should desire 
 to know what he is reading about, not merely to have read 
 the books that tell of it. The most elaborate and careful 
 historian must omit, or pass lightly over, many points of his 
 subject. He writes for all readers, and cannot indulge 
 private fancies. But history has its particular aspect for 
 each man ; there must be portions which he may be 
 expected to dwell upon. And everywhere, even where the 
 history is most laboured, the reader should have something
 
 HISTORY. 191 
 
 of the spirit of research which was needful for the writer ; 
 if only so much as to ponder well the words of the writer. 
 That man reads history, or anything else, at great peril of 
 being thoroughly misled, who has no perception of any 
 truthfulness except that which can be fully ascertained by 
 reference to facts ; who does not in the least perceive the 
 truth, or the reverse, of a writer's style, of his epithets, of 
 his reasoning, of his mode of narration. In life, our faith 
 in any narration is much influenced by the personal appear- 
 ance, voice, and gesture of the person narrating. There is 
 some part of all these things in his writing ; and you must 
 look into that well before you can know what faith to give 
 him. One man may make mistakes in names, and dates, 
 and references, and yet have a real substance of truthfulness 
 in him, a wish to enlighten himself and then you. Another 
 may not be wrong in his facts, but have a declamatory or 
 sophistical vein in him, much to be guarded against. A 
 third may be both inaccurate and untruthful, caring not so 
 much for anything as to write his book. And if the reader 
 cares only to read it, sad work they make between them of 
 the memories of former days. 
 
 In studying history, it must be borne in mind that a 
 knowledge is necessary of the state of manners, customs, 
 wealth, arts, and science at the different periods treated of. 
 The text of civil history requires a context of this knowledge 
 in the mind of the reader. For the same reason, some of 
 the main facts of the geography of the countries in question 
 should be present to him. If we are ignorant of these aids 
 to history, all history is apt to seem alike to us. It 
 becomes merely a narrative of men of our own time, in our 
 own country ; and then we are prone to expect the same 
 views and conduct from them that we do from our con- 
 temporaries. It is true that the heroes of antiquity have
 
 1 9 2 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL, 
 
 been represented on the stage in bag-wigs, and the rest of 
 the costume of our grandfathers; but it was the great 
 events of their lives that were thus told the crisis of their 
 passions and when we are contemplating the representa- 
 tion of great passions and their consequences, all minor 
 imagery is of little moment. In a long-drawn narrative, 
 however, the more we have in our minds of what concerned 
 the daily life of the people we read about, the better. And 
 in general it may be said that history, like travelling, gives 
 a return in proportion to the knowledge that a man brings 
 to it. 
 
 III. BY WHOM HISTORY SHOULD BE WRITTEN. 
 
 Before entering directly on this part of the subject, it is 
 desirable to consider a little the difficulties in the way of 
 writing history. We all know the difficulty of getting at the 
 truth of matter which happened yesterday, and about which 
 we can examine the living actors upon oath. But in history 
 the most significant things may lack the most important 
 part of their evidence. The people who were making 
 history were not thinking of the convenience of future 
 writers of history. Often the historian must contrive to get 
 his insight into matters from evidence of men and things 
 which is like bad pictures of them. The contemporary, if 
 he knew the man, said of the picture, " I should have 
 known it, but it has very little of him in it." The poor 
 historian, with no original before him, has to see through the 
 bad picture into the man. Then, supposing our historian 
 rich in well-selected evidence I say well-selected, because, 
 as students tell us, for many an historian one authority is of 
 the same weight as another, provided they are both of the 
 same age ; still, how difficult is narration even to the man 
 who is rich in well-selected evidence. What a tendency
 
 HISTOR Y. 193 
 
 there is to round oft a narrative into falsehood ; or else by 
 parenthesis to destroy its pith and continuity. Again, the 
 historian knows the end of many of the transactions he 
 narrates. If he did not, how differently often he would 
 narrate them. It would be a most instructive thing to give 
 a man the materials for the account of a great transaction, 
 stopping short of the end, and then see how different would 
 be his account from the ordinary ones. Fools have been 
 hardly dealt with in the saying that the event is their master 
 ("eventus stultorum magister"), seeing how it rules us all. 
 And in nothing more than in history. The event is always 
 present to our minds ; along the pathways to it, the historian 
 and the moralist have walked till they are beaten pathways, 
 and we imagine that they were so to the men who first went 
 along them. Indeed, we almost fancy that these ancestors 
 of ours, looking along the beaten path, foresaw the event as 
 we do ; whereas they mostly stumbled upon it suddenly in 
 the forest. This knowledge of the end we must, therefore, 
 put down as one of the most dangerous pitfalls which beset 
 the writers of history. Then consider the difficulty in the 
 "composition," to use an artist's word, of our historian's 
 picture. Before both the artist and the historian lies 
 Nature as far as the horizon ; how shall they choose that 
 portion of it which has some unity and which shall represent 
 the rest ? What method is needful in the grouping of facts ; 
 what learning, what patience, what accuracy ! 
 
 By whom, then, should history be written ? In the first 
 place, by men of some experience in real life ; who have 
 acted and suffered ; who have been in crowds, and seen, 
 perhaps felt, how madly men can care about nothings; 
 who have observed how much is done in the world in an 
 uncertain manner, upon sudden impulses and very little 
 reason ; and who, therefore, do not think themselves bound 
 
 13
 
 194 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 to have a deep-laid theory for all things. They should be 
 men who have studied the laws of the affections, who know 
 how much men's opinions depend on the time in which 
 they live, how they vary with their age and their position. 
 To make themselves historians, they should also have con- 
 sidered the combinations amongst men and the laws that 
 govern such things; for there are laws. Moreover, our 
 historians, like most men who do great things, must com 
 bine in themselves qualities which are held to belong to 
 opposite natures ; must at the same time be patient in 
 research and vigorous in imagination, energetic and calm, 
 cautious and enterprising. Such historians, wise, as we 
 may suppose they will be, about the affairs of other men, 
 may, let us hope, be sufficiently wise about their own affairs 
 to understand that no great work can be done without great 
 labour, that no great labour ought to look for its reward. 
 But my readers will exclaim as Rasselas to Imlac on hear 
 ing the requisites for a poet, " Enough ! thou hast con- 
 vinced me that no human being can ever be an historian. 
 Proceed with thy narration." 
 
 IV. HOW HISTORY SHOULD BE WRITTEN. 
 
 One of the first things in writing history is for the 
 historian to recollect that it is history he is writing. The 
 narrative must not be oppressed by reflections, even by wise 
 ones. Least of all should the historian suffer himself to 
 become entangled by a theory or a system. If he does, 
 each fact is taken up by him in a particular way : those 
 facts that cannot be so handled cease to be his facts, and 
 those that offer themselves conveniently are received too 
 fondly by him. 
 
 Then, although our historian must not be mastered by
 
 H1STOR Y. 
 
 '95 
 
 system, he must have some way of taking up his facts 
 and of classifying them. They must not be mere isolated 
 units in his eyes, else he is mobbed by them. And a man 
 in the midst of a crowd, though he may know the names 
 and nature of all the crowd, cannot give an account of their 
 doings. Those who look down from the housetop must do 
 that. 
 
 But, above all things, the historian must get out of his 
 own age into the time in which he is writing. Imagination 
 is as much needed for the historian as the poet. You may 
 combine bits of books with other bits of books, and so 
 make some new combinations, and this may be done 
 accurately, and, in general, much of the subordinate prepara- 
 tion for history may be accomplished without any great 
 effort of imagination. But to write history in any large 
 sense of the words, you must be able to comprehend other 
 times. You must know that there is a right and wrong 
 which is not your right and wrong, but yet stands upon the 
 right and wrong of all ages and all hearts. You must also 
 appreciate the outward life and colours of the period you 
 write about. Try to think how the men you are telling of 
 would have spent a day, what were their leading ideas, what 
 they cared about. Grasp the body of the time, and give it 
 to us. If not, and these men could look at your history, 
 they would say, " This is all very well ; we daresay some 
 of these things did happen ; but we were not thinking 
 of these things all day long. It does not represent 
 us." 
 
 After enlarging upon this great requisite, imagination, it 
 seems somewhat prosaic to come down to saying that 
 history requires accuracy. But I think I hear the sighs, 
 and sounds more harsh than sighing, of those who have 
 ever investigated anything, and found by dire experience
 
 196 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 the deplorable inaccuracy which prevails in the world. 
 And, therefore, I would say to the historian almost as the 
 first suggestion, " Be accurate ; do not make false refer- 
 ences, do not mis-state : and men, if they get no light from 
 you, will not execrate you. You will not stand in the way, 
 and have to be explained and got rid of." 
 
 Another most important matter in writing history, and 
 that indeed in which the art lies, is the method of narrating. 
 This is a thing almost beyond rules, like the actual execu- 
 tion in music or painting. A man might have fairness, 
 accuracy, an insight into other times, great knowledge of 
 facts, some power even of arranging them, and yet make 
 a narrative out of it all, so protracted here, so huddled 
 together there, the purpose so buried or confused, that men 
 would agree to acknowledge the merit of the book, and 
 leave it unread. There must be a natural line of associa- 
 tions for the narrative to run along. The separate threads 
 of the narrative must be treated separately, and yet the 
 subject not be dealt with sectionally, for that is not the way 
 in which the things occurred. The historian must, there- 
 fore, beware that those divisions of the subject which he 
 makes for our ease and convenience, do not induce him to 
 treat his subject in a flimsy manner. He must not make 
 his story easy where it is not so. 
 
 After all, it is not by rule that a great history is to be 
 written. Most thinkers agree that the main object for the 
 historian is to get an insight into the things which he tells 
 of, and then to tell them with the modesty of a man who is 
 in the presence of great events; and must speak about them 
 carefully, simply, and with but little of himself or of his 
 affections thrown into the narration.
 
 HISTORY. 197 
 
 V. HOW GOOD WRITERS OF HISTORY SHOULD BE CALLED 
 FORTH, AIDED, AND REWARDED. 
 
 Mainly by history being properly read. The direct ways 
 of commanding excellence of any kind are very few, if any. 
 When a State has found out its notable men, it should 
 reward them, and will show its worthiness by its measure 
 and mode of reward. But it cannot purchase them. It 
 may do something in the way of aiding them. In history, 
 for instance, the records of a nation may be discreetly 
 managed, and some of the minor work, therefore, done to 
 the hand of the historian. But the most likely method to 
 ensure good historians is to have a fit audience for them. 
 And this is a very difficult matter. In works of general 
 literature, the circle of persons capable of judging is large; 
 even in works of science or philosophy it is considerable; 
 but in history it is a very confined circle. To the general 
 body of readers, whether the history they read is true or 
 not is in no way perceptible. It is quite as amusing to 
 them when it is told in one way as in another. There is 
 always mischief in error; but in this case the mischief is 
 remote, or seems so. For men of ordinary culture, even if 
 of much intelligence, the difficulty of discerning what is 
 true or false in the histories they read makes it a matter of 
 the highest duty for those few persons who can give us 
 criticism on historical works, at least to save us from insolent 
 and mendacious carelessness in historical writers, if not by 
 just encouragement to secure for nations some results not 
 altogether unworthy of the great enterprise which the 
 writing of history holds out itself to be. " Hujus enim 
 fidei exempla majorum, vicissitudines rerum, fundamenta 
 prudentise civilis, hominum denique nomen et fama com- 
 
 missa sunt." 1 
 
 1 Bacon, De Augmentis Scientiarum.
 
 198 fR/EA J DS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Ellesmere. Just wait a minute for me, and do not talk 
 about the essay till I come back. I am going for Anster's 
 Faust. 
 
 Dunsford. Wtiat has Ellesmere got in his head ? 
 
 Milverton. I see. There is a passage where Faust, in his 
 most discontented mood, falls foul of history in his talk 
 to Wagner, if I am not mistaken. 
 
 Dunsford. How beautiful it is this evening ! Look at 
 that yellow-green near the sunset. 
 
 Milvcrton. The very words that Coleridge uses. I always 
 think of them when I see that tint. 
 
 Dunsford. I daresay his words were in my mind, but I 
 have forgotten what you allude to. 
 
 Milverton. 
 
 ' ' O Lady ! in this wan and heartless mood, 
 To other thoughts by yonder throstle woo'd, 
 
 All this long eve, so balmy and serene, 
 Have I been gazing on the western sky, 
 And its peculiar tint of yellow-green : 
 And still I gaze and with how blank an eye ! 
 And those thin clouds above, in flakes and bars, 
 That give away their motion to the stars; 
 Those stars that glide behind them or between, 
 Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but always seen : 
 Yon crescent Moon as fixed as if it grew 
 In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue ; 
 I see them all so excellently fair, 
 I see, not feel how beautiful they are." 
 
 Dunsford. Admirable ! In the Ode to Dejection^ is it 
 not ? where, too, there are those lines 
 
 ' ' O Lady ! we receive but what we give, 
 And in our life alone does Nature live." 
 
 Milverton. But here comes Ellesmere with triumphant
 
 HISTORY. 199 
 
 look. You look as jovial, my dear Ellesmere, as if you were 
 a Bentley that had found a false quantity in a Boyle. 
 Ellesmere. Listen and perpend, my historical friends. 
 
 " To us, my friend, the times that are gone by 
 Are a mysterious book, sealed with seven seals : 
 That which you call the spirit of ages past 
 Is but, in truth, the spirit of some few authors 
 In which those ages are beheld reflected, 
 With what distortion strange heaven only knows. 
 Oh ! often, what a toilsome thing it is 
 This study of thine at the first glance we fly it. 
 A mass of things confusedly heaped together; 
 A lumber-room of dusty documents, 
 Furnished with all approved court-precedents 
 And old traditional maxims ! History ! 
 Facts dramatised say rather action plot 
 Sentiment, everything the writer's own, 
 As it best fits the web-work of his story, 
 With here and there a solitary fact 
 Of consequence, by those grave chroniclers 
 Pointed with many a moral apophthegm, 
 And wise old saws, learned at the puppet-shows." 
 
 Milverton. Yes ; admirable lines ; they describe to the 
 life the very faults we have been considering as the faults 
 of badly-written histories. I do not see that they do much 
 more. 
 
 Ellesmere. 
 
 ' ' To us, my friend, the times that are gone by 
 Are a mysterious book. " 
 
 Milverton. Those two first lines are the full expression of 
 Faust's discontent unmeasured as in the presence of a 
 weak man who could not check him. But, if you come to 
 look at the matter closely, you will see that the time present
 
 2 oo FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 is also in some sense a sealed book to us. Men that we 
 live with daily we often think as little of as we do of Julius 
 Caesar, I was going to say but we know much less of them 
 than of him. 
 
 Ellesmere. I did not mean to say that Faust spoke my 
 sentiments about history in general. Still, there are periods 
 of history which we have very few authors to tell us about, 
 and I daresay in some of those cases the colouring of their 
 particular minds gives us a false idea of the whole age they 
 lived in. 
 
 Dunsford. This may have happened, certainly. 
 
 Milverton. We must be careful not to expect too much 
 from the history of past ages, as a means of understanding 
 the present age. There is something wanted besides the 
 preceding history to understand each age. Each individual 
 life may have a problem of its own, which all other 
 biography accurately set down for us might not enable us 
 to work out. So of each age. It has something in it not 
 known before, and tends to a result which is not down in 
 any books. 
 
 Dunsford. Yet history must be of greatest use in dis- 
 cerning this tendency. 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes ; but the Wagner sort of pedant would 
 get entangled in his round of history in his historical 
 resemblances. 
 
 Dunsford. Now, Milverton, if you were called upon to 
 say what are the peculiar characteristics of this age, what 
 should you say? 
 
 Ellesmere. One of Dunsford's questions this, requiring a 
 stout quarto volume with notes in answer. 
 
 Milverton. I would rather wait till I was called upon. I 
 am apt to feel, after I have left off describing the character 
 of any individual man, as if I had only just begun. And I
 
 HISTOR K 201 
 
 do not see the extent of discourse that would be needful in 
 attempting to give the characteristics of an age. 
 
 Ellesmere, I think you are prudent to avoid answering 
 Dunsiord's question. For my own part, I should prefer 
 giving an account of the age we live in after we have come 
 to the end of it in the true historical fashion. And so, 
 Dunsford, you must wait for my notions. 
 
 Dunsjord. I am afraid, Milverton, if you were to write 
 history, you would never make up your mind to condemn 
 anybody. 
 
 Milverton. I hope I should not be so inconclusive. I 
 certainly do dislike to see any character, whether of a living 
 or a dead person, disposed of in a summary way. 
 
 Ellesmere. For once I will come to the rescue of Mil- 
 verton. I really do not see that a man's belief in the 
 extent and variety of human character, and in the difficulty 
 of appreciating the circumstances of life, should prevent him 
 from writing history from coming to some conclusions. 
 Of course such a man is not likely to write a long course of 
 history ; but that I hold has been a frequent error in 
 historians that they have taken up subjects too large for 
 them. 
 
 Milverton. If there is as much to be said about men's 
 character and conduct as I think there mostly is, why 
 should we be content with shallow views of them ? Take 
 the outward form of these hills and valleys before us. 
 When we have seen them a few times, we think we know 
 them, but are quite mistaken. Approaching from another 
 quarter, it is almost new ground to us. It is a long time 
 before you master the outward form and semblance of any 
 small piece of country that has much life and diversity in 
 it. I often think of this, applying it to our little knowledge 
 of men. Now, look there a moment : you see that house ;
 
 202 FRIEt^DS IN COUNCJl. 
 
 close behind it is apparently a barren tract. In reality 
 there is nothing of the kind there. A fertile valley with a 
 great river in it, as you know, is between that house and 
 the moors. But the plane of those moors and of the house 
 is coincident from our present point of view. Had we not, 
 as educated men, some distrust of the conclusions of our 
 senses, we should be ready to swear that there was a lonely 
 house on the border of the moors. It is the same in 
 judging of men. We see a man connected with a train 
 of action which is really not near him, absolutely foreign to 
 him, perhaps, but in our eyes that is what he is always 
 connected with. If there were not a Being who under- 
 stands us immeasurably better than other men can, 
 immeasurably better than we do ourselves, we should be 
 badly off. 
 
 Such precautionary thoughts as these must be useful, I 
 contend. They need not make us indifferent to character, 
 or prevent us from forming judgments where we must form 
 them, but they show us what a wide thing we are talking 
 about when we are judging the life and nature of s. man. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am sure, Dunsford, you are already con- 
 vinced; you seldom want more than a slight pretext for 
 going over to the charitable side of things. You are only 
 afraid of not dealing stoutly enough with bad things and 
 people. Do not be afraid, though. As long as you have 
 me to abuse, you will say many unjust things against me, 
 you know, so that you may waste yourself in good thoughts 
 about the rest of the world, past and present. Do you know 
 the lawyer's story I had in my mind then ? " Many times 
 when I have had a good case," he said, "I have failed; 
 but then I have often succeeded with bad cases. And so 
 justice is done." 
 
 Milverton. To return to the subject. It is not a sort of
 
 HISTORY. 203 
 
 equalising want of thought about men that I desire ; only 
 not to be rash in a matter that requires all our care and 
 prudence. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, I believe I am won over. But now to 
 another point. I think, Milverton, that you have said 
 hardly anything about the use of history as an incentive to 
 good deeds and a discouragement to evil ones. 
 
 Milverton. I ought to have done so. Bolingbroke gives 
 in his Letters on History, talking of this point, a passage 
 from Tacitus, " Prascipuum munus annalium," can you go 
 on with it, Duns/ord ? 
 
 Dunsford. Yes, I think I can. It is a passage I have 
 often seen quoted. "Prsecipuum munus annalium, reor, 
 ne virtutes sileantur; utque pravis dictis factisque ex 
 posteritate et infamii metus sit." 
 
 Ellesmere. Well done ; Dunsford may have invented it, 
 though, for aught that we know, Milverton, and be passing 
 himself off upon us for Tacitus. 
 
 Milverton. Then Bolingbroke goes on to say (I wish I 
 could give you his own flowing words), that the great duty 
 of history is to form a tribunal like that amongst the 
 Egyptians which Diodorus tells of, where both common 
 men and princes were tried after their deaths, and received 
 appropriate honour or disgrace. The sentence was pro- 
 nounced, he says, too late to correct or to recompense ; but 
 it was pronounced in time to render examples of general 
 instruction to mankind. Now, what I was going to remark 
 upon this is, that Bolingbroke understates his case. History 
 well written is a present correction, and a foretaste of recom- 
 pense, to the man who is now struggling with difficulties 
 and temptations, now overcast by calumny and cloudy 
 misrepresentation . 
 
 Ellesmere. Yes ; many a man makes an appeal to
 
 204 FXJENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 posterity which will never come before the court; but if 
 there were no such court of appeal 
 
 Milverton. A man's conviction that justice will be done 
 to him in history is a secondary motive, and not one which, 
 of itself, will compel him to do just and great things; but, 
 at any rate, it forms one of the benefits that flow from 
 history, and it becomes stronger as histories are better 
 written. Much may be said against care for fame ; much 
 also against care for present repute. There is a diviner 
 impulse than either at the doing of any actions that are 
 much worth doing. As a correction, however, this anticipa- 
 tion of the judgment of history may really be very powerful. 
 It is a great enlightenment of conscience to read the 
 opinions of men on deeds similar to those we are engaged 
 in or meditating. 
 
 Dun$ford. I think Bolingbroke's idea, which I imagine 
 was more general than yours, is more important; namely, 
 that this judicial proceeding, mentioned by Diodorus 
 Siculus, gave significant lessons to all people, not merely to 
 those who had any chance of having their names in history. 
 
 Milverton. Certainly; for this is one of Bolingbroke's 
 chief points, if I recollect rightly. 
 
 Elksmere. Our conversations are much better things than 
 your essays, Milverton. 
 
 Milverton. Of course I am bound to say so ; but what 
 made you think of that now ? 
 
 Ellesmcre. Why, I was thinking how in talk we can know 
 exactly where we agree or differ. But I never like to 
 interrupt the essay. I never know when it would come to 
 an end if I did. And so it swims on like a sermon, having 
 all its own way : one cannot put in an awkward question 
 in a weak part, and get things looked at in various 
 ways.
 
 H2STOR Y. 
 
 205 
 
 Dunsford. I suppose, then, Ellesmere, you would like to 
 interrupt sermons. 
 
 Ellesmere. Why, yes, sometimes do not throw sticks at 
 me, Dunsford. 
 
 Dunsford. Well, it is absurd to be angry with you; 
 because if you long to interrupt Milverton with his cautious 
 perhapses and probablys, of course you will be impatient 
 with discourses which do, to a certain extent, assume 
 that the preacher and the hearers are in unison upon great 
 matters. 
 
 Ellesmere. I am afraid to say anything about sermons, for 
 fear of the argumentum baculinum from Dunsford ; for many 
 essay writers, like Milverton, delight to wind up their para- 
 graphs with complete little aphorisms shutting up some- 
 thing certainly, but shutting out something too. I could 
 generally pause upon them a little. 
 
 Milverton. Of course one may err, Ellesmere, in too 
 much aphorising as in too much of anything. But your 
 argument goes against all expression of opinion, which 
 must be incomplete, especially when dealing with matters 
 that cannot be circumscribed by exact definitions. Other- 
 wise a code of wisdom might be made which the fool 
 might apply as well as the wisest man. Even the best 
 proverb, though often the expression of the widest experi- 
 ence in the choicest language, can be thoroughly misapplied. 
 It cannot embrace the whole of the subject, and apply in 
 all cases like a mathematical formula. Its wisdom lies in 
 the ear of the hearer. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, I do not know that there is anything 
 more to say about the essay. I suppose you are aware, 
 Dunsford, that Milverton does not intend to give us any 
 more essays for some time. He is distressing his mind 
 about some facts which he wants to ascertain before he will
 
 zo6 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 
 
 read any more to us. I imagine we are to have something 
 historical next. 
 
 Milverton. Something in which historical records are 
 useful. 
 
 Ellesmere. Really it is wonderful to see how beautifully 
 human nature accommodates itself to anything, even to the 
 listening to essays. I shall miss them. 
 
 Milverton. You may miss the talk before and after. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, there is no knowing how much of that 
 is provoked (provoked is a good word, is it not ?) by the 
 essays. 
 
 Dunsford. Then, for the present, we have come to an 
 end of our readings. 
 
 Milverton. Yes, but I trust at no distant time to have 
 something more to try your critical powers and patience 
 upon. I hope that that old tower will yet see us meet 
 together here on many a sunny day, discussing various 
 things in friendly council.
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR.
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 
 
 IT is a thing so common, as almost to be ridiculous, for a 
 man to express self-distrust at the commencement of any 
 attempt in speech or writing. And yet, trite as this mode 
 of beginning is, its appropriateness makes each one use it 
 as heartily as if it were new and true for him, though it 
 might have been a commonplace for others. When he 
 glances hurriedly across the wide extent of his subject, 
 when he feels how inadequate his expression will be even 
 to his conception, and, at the same time, has a yearning 
 desire to bring his audience into the same mind with 
 himself, it is no wonder if he begins with a few, hesitating, 
 oft-repeated words about his own insufficiency compared 
 with the greatness of his subject. 
 
 Happily, I have not occasion to dwell much upon the 
 importance of the subject to which I am anxious to engage 
 attention. For a long time it has been gradually emerging 
 from the darkness in which it had been left. The claims of 
 labour and the rights of the humble and the poor have
 
 2io THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 necessarily gained more of the attention of mankind, as 
 Christianity has developed itself. That power was sure, in 
 its gradual encroachments upon the evil nature of man, to 
 make its voice heard in this matter. It is a voice which 
 may come out of strange bodies, such as systems of ethics, 
 or of politics ; but men may call it what they please, it goes 
 on doing its appointed work, "conquering and to conquer." 
 
 Persons of a thoughtful mind seeing closely the falsehood, 
 the folly, and the arrogance, of the age in which they live, 
 are apt, occasionally, to have a great contempt for it ; and I 
 doubt not that many a man looks upon the present time as 
 one of feebleness and degeneracy. There are, however, signs 
 of an increased solicitude for the claims of labour, which of 
 itself is a thing of the highest promise, and more to be 
 rejoiced over than all the mechanical triumphs which both 
 those who would magnify, and those who would depreciate, 
 the present age, would be apt to point to as containing its 
 especial significance and merit. 
 
 But what do all these mechanical triumphs come to ? It 
 is in vain that you have learned to move with double or 
 treble the velocity of your immediate predecessors : it is in 
 vain that you can show new modes of luxury, or new- 
 resources in art. The inquiring historian will give these 
 things their weight, but will, nevertheless, persevere in 
 asking how the great mass of the people were fed, and 
 clothed, and taught \ and whether the improvement in their 
 condition corresponded at all with the improvement of the 
 condition of the middle and upper classes. What a sorry 
 answer any one, replying for this age, would have to give 
 him. Nor would it be enough, indeed, if we could make a 
 satisfactory reply to his questions about the physical state 
 of the people. We ought to be able to say that the different
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 211 
 
 orders of society were bound together by links of gratitude 
 and regard : that they were not like layers of various coloured 
 sand, but that they formed one solid whole of masonry, 
 each part having its relation of use and beauty to all the 
 others. 
 
 Certainly, if we look at the matter, we have not much 
 to say for ourselves, unless it be in that dawning of good 
 intentions which I have alluded to before. There is to be 
 found in our metropolis, in our great towns, and even in 
 our rural districts, an extent of squalid misery such as we 
 are almost afraid to give heed to, and which we are glad to 
 forget as soon as we have read or heard of it. It may be 
 that our ancestors endured, it may be that many savage 
 tribes still endure, far more privation than is to be found in 
 the sufferings of our lowest class. But the mind refuses 
 to consider the two states as analogous, and insists upon 
 thinking that the state of physical and moral degradation 
 often found amongst our working classes, with the arabesque 
 of splendour and luxury which surrounds it, is a more 
 shocking thing to contemplate than a pressing scarcity of 
 provisions endured by a wandering horde of savage men 
 sunk in equal barbarism. But when we follow men home, 
 who have been co-operating with other civilised men in 
 continuous labour throughout the livelong day, we should 
 not, without experience, expect to find their homes dreary, 
 comfortless, deformed with filth, such homes as poverty 
 alone could not make. Still less, when we gaze upon some 
 pleasant-looking village, fair enough in outward seeming for 
 poets' songs to celebrate, should we expect to find scarcity 
 of fuel, scantiness of food, prevalence of fever, the healthy 
 huddled together with the sick, decency outraged, and self- 
 respect all gone. And yet such sights, both in town and 
 country, if not of habitual occurrence, are at any rate sadly
 
 212 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 too numerous for us to pass them by as rare and exceptional 
 cases. 
 
 Is this then the inevitable nature of things ? Has the 
 boasted civilisation of the world led only to this ? Do we 
 master the powers of nature only to let forth a new and 
 fkrce torrent of social miseries upon us? Let not such 
 thoughts be ours. Pagans, the slaves of destiny, might 
 well have held them. But we cannot doubt that the 
 conditions of labour, under which man holds the earth, 
 express the mercy and the goodness, no less than the 
 judgment, of God. 
 
 Many benevolent persons feel, doubtless, very sensitively 
 for the sad condition of the labouring classes, and are 
 anxiously looking about for remedies to meet it I would 
 not speak slightingly of any attempt in that direction. 
 There are problems in political economy, in government, 
 and, perhaps, even in the adaptation of machinery, which 
 may be worked out with signal service to the great cause 
 of suffering humanity. It is not my intention, however, to 
 dwell upon such topics. My object is to show what can be 
 done with the means that are at the present moment in 
 everybody's power. Many a man, who is looking about for 
 some specific, has in his hands the immediate means of 
 doing great good, which he would be ready 'enough to 
 employ, if he had but imagination to perceive that he 
 possessed them. My endeavour then will simply be to 
 show what can be done by the employers of labour in their 
 individual and private capacity. 
 
 What an important relation is that of Master and Man ! 
 How it pervades the world; ascending from the lowest 
 gradation of planter and slave through the states of master
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 213 
 
 and servant, landlord and labourer, manufacturer and artisan, 
 till it comes to the higher degrees of rule which one 
 cultivated man has to exercise over another in the perform- 
 ance of the greatest functions. See, throughout, what 
 difficulties and temptations encumber this relation. How 
 boundless is the field of thought which it opens to us, how 
 infinite the duties which it contains, how complete an 
 exercise it is for the whole faculties of man. Observe what 
 wretchedness is caused by a misunderstanding of this 
 relation in domestic matters. See the selfish carelessness 
 about the happiness of those around them of men not ill- 
 intentioned, nor unkind, perhaps, in their dealings with the 
 world in general, but lamentably unfit for the management 
 of a home. Then observe the effects of similar mismanage- 
 ment in dealing with a country. Look at the listless 
 loiterers about an Irish town ; you would naturally say to 
 yourself, " Surely this people have done all that there can 
 be for them to do." You walk out of the town, and find 
 the adjacent fields as listless-looking, and neglected, as the 
 men themselves. Think what a want there must be of 
 masters of labour, that those hands and these weeds are 
 not brought into closer contact. 
 
 It may be said that the distressed condition of the 
 labouring classes is owing to temporary causes, and that 
 good times, by which is meant good wages, would remove 
 a large part of the evil. I confess it does not appear to me 
 that a good harvest or two, or ready customers on the other 
 side of the Atlantic, or the home demand that may arise 
 from exhausted stocks, or any other cause of that nature 
 which is simply to end in better wages, would of itself do 
 all, or even any considerable part, of what we should desire. 
 I do not, for a moment, mean to depreciate the good effects
 
 214 THE CLAIMS Of LABOUR. 
 
 that would flow from an increase of employment and better 
 wages. But still I imagine that there are many cases in 
 which, if you were, in ordinary times, to double the amount 
 of wages, a very inadequate proportion of good would 
 follow. You have to teach these poor people how to spend 
 money ; you have to give them the opportunities of doing 
 so to advantage ; you have to provide a system of education 
 which shall not vary with every fluctuation of trade ; and to 
 adopt such methods of working as shall make the least 
 possible disturbance of domestic ties. No sudden influx of 
 money will do all these things. In fact, whatever part of 
 this subject one takes up, one is perpetually brought back 
 to the conviction of the necessity which exists for an earnest 
 and practical application, on the part of the employing 
 class, of thought and labour for the welfare of those whom 
 they employ. 
 
 Some of my readers may think that I have spoken of the 
 distress of the labouring population in exaggerated terms. 
 Let them only read the details of it in the Report of 1842, 
 on the Sanitary Condition of the labouring population, or 
 in the Report of 1843, on the condition of the children and 
 young persons employed in mines and manufactures. I 
 scarcely know what extracts to give of these direful 
 reports, that may briefly convey the state of things to those 
 who have not studied the subject. Shall I tell them of 
 children ignorant who Jesus Christ was ; or of others who 
 know no more of the Lord's Prayer than the first words, 
 "Our Father," and whose nightly prayers begin and end 
 with those two words ? Shall I tell them of great towns in 
 which one half at least of the juvenile population is growing 
 up without education of any kind whatever? Shall I show 
 that working people are often permitted to pass their labour
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 215 
 
 time, the half of their lives, in mines, workshops, and manu- 
 factories, where an atmosphere of a deleterious kind 
 prevails ; and this, too, not from any invincible evil in the 
 nature of the employment, but from a careless or penurious 
 neglect on the part of their employers ? Shall I go into a 
 lengthened description of the habitations of the poor which 
 will show that they are often worse housed than beasts of 
 burden ? Or need I depict at large the dark stream of 
 profligacy which overflows and burns into those parts of the 
 land where such Want and Ignorance prevail ? 
 
 How many of these evils might have been mitigated, if 
 not fully removed, had each generation of masters done but 
 a small part of its duty in the way of amelioration. But it 
 was not of such things that they were thinking. The 
 thoughtless cruelty in the world almost outweighs the rest. 
 
 " Why vex me with these things ? " exclaims the general 
 reader. "Have we not enough of dismal stories? It 
 oppresses us to hear them. Let us hope that something 
 will occur to prevent such things in future. But I am not 
 a redresser of grievances. Let those who live by the manu- 
 facturing system cure the evils incident to it. Oh, that there 
 had never been such a thing as a manufacturing system ! " 
 With thoughts vague, recriminatory, and despondent, as the 
 foregoing, does many a man push from him all consideration 
 on the subject. It is so easy to despair ; and the largeness 
 of a calamity is so ready a shelter for those who have not 
 heart enough to adventure any opposition to it. 
 
 Thus, by dwelling upon the magnitude of the evils we 
 long to lessen, we are frightened and soothed into letting 
 our benevolent wishes remain as wishes only. But surely a 
 man may find a sphere small enough, as well as large 
 enough, for him to act in. In all other pursuits we are 
 obliged to limit the number and extent of our objects, in
 
 2 T 6 THE CLAIMS OF LA BO UR. 
 
 order to give full effect to our endeavours ; and so it should 
 be with benevolence. The foolish sluggard stares hope- 
 lessly into the intricacies of the forest, and thinks that it 
 can never be reclaimed. The wiser man, the labourer, 
 begins at his corner of the wood, and makes out a task for 
 himself for each day. Let not our imaginations be em- 
 ployed on one side only. Think, that large as may appear 
 the work to be done so too the result of any endeavour, 
 however small in itself, may be of infinite extent in the 
 future. Nothing is lost. 
 
 And why should we despair ? A great nation is never in 
 extreme peril until it has lost its hopeful spirit If, at this 
 moment, a foreign enemy were on the point of invading us, 
 how strenuous we should be : what moral energy would 
 instantly pervade us. Faster than the beacon lights could 
 give the intelligence from headland to headland ; from city 
 to city would spread the national enthusiasm of a people 
 that would never admit the thought of being conquered. 
 Trust me, these domestic evils are foes not less worthy of 
 our attention than any foreign invaders. It seems to me, I 
 must confess, a thing far more to be dreaded, that any 
 considerable part of our population should be growing up in 
 a state of absolute ignorance, than would be the danger, not 
 new to us, of the combined hostility of the civilised world. 
 Our trials, as a nation, like our individual ones, are 
 perpetually varied as the world progresses. 
 
 " The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways." 
 
 We have not the same evils to contend with as our 
 ancestors had ; but we need the same stoutness of heart 
 that bore them through the contest. The sudden growth
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 217 
 
 of things, excellent in themselves, entangles the feet of that 
 generation amongst whom they spring up. There may be 
 something, too, in the progress of human affairs like the 
 coming in of the tide, which, for each succeeding wave, 
 often seems as much of a retreat as an advance ; but still 
 the tide comes on. 
 
 The settled state of things attendant upon peace, and an 
 unquestioned dynasty, is good, as it enables men to look 
 more to civil affairs ; but it has, perhaps, a drawback in a 
 certain apathy which is wont to accompany it. The ordinary 
 arrangements of social life, for a long time uninterrupted 
 by any large calamity, appear to become hardened into 
 certainties. A similar course of argument would, on a 
 large scale, apply not only to this country, but to the world 
 in general. Security is the chief end of civilisation, and as 
 it progresses the fortunes of individuals are, upon the 
 whole, made less liable to derangement. This very security 
 may tend to make men careless of the welfare of others, 
 and, as Bacon would express it, may be noted as an impedi- 
 ment to benevolence. I have often thought, whether in 
 former times, when men looked to those immediately 
 around them as their body-guard against sudden and violent 
 attacks, they ventured to show as much ill-temper to those 
 they lived with as you sometimes see them do now, when 
 assistance of all kinds is a purchasable commodity. Con- 
 siderations of this nature are particularly applicable when 
 addressed to persons living in a great capital like London. 
 All things that concern the nation, its joys, its sorrows, and 
 its successes, are transacted in this metropolis ; or, as one 
 might more properly say, are represented in transactions in 
 this metropolis. But still this often happens in such a 
 manner as would be imperceptible even to people of vast
 
 2i8 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 experience and observation. The countless impulses which 
 travel up from various directions to this absorbing centre 
 sometimes neutralise each other, and leave a comparative 
 calm ; or they create so complex an agitation that it may be 
 next to impossible for us to discern and estimate the com 
 ponent forces. Hence the metropolis may not at times be 
 sufficiently susceptible in the case either of manufacturing or 
 agricultural distress, or of any colonial perturbation. This 
 metropolitan insensibility has some great advantages, but it 
 is well for us to observe the corresponding evil, and, as far 
 as may be, to guard our own hearts from being rendered 
 apathetic by its influence. 
 
 I do not seek to terrify any one into a care for the 
 labouring classes, by representing the danger to society of 
 neglecting them. It is certainly a fearful thing to think of 
 large masses of men being in that state of want and misery 
 which leaves them nothing to hazard ; and who are likely to 
 be without the slightest reverence or love for the institutions 
 around them. Still it is not to any fear, grounded on such 
 considerations, that I would appeal. The flood-gates may be 
 strong enough to keep out the torrent for our time. These 
 things are not in our reckonings. Occasionally the up- 
 heaving of the waves may frighten timid, selfish men into 
 concessions which they would not otherwise have made; 
 but those whom I would seek to influence are likely to court 
 danger and difficulty rather than to shun it. Nor would 
 I even care to disturb the purely selfish man by dwelling 
 studiously on any social dangers around us, or labouring to 
 discern in present disturbance or distress the seeds of inevit- 
 able revolution. No, I would say to him, if it all ends here, 
 
 " But here, upon this bank and shoal of time," 
 you may have chosen wisely. It is true there are sources of
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 219 
 
 happiness which you now know nothing of, and which may 
 be far beyond any selfish gratification you have ever 
 experienced. Indeed, it may be, that you cannot enjoy 
 the highest delights without sharing them, that they are not 
 things to be given out to each of us as individuals, now to 
 this man, then to that, but that they require a community 
 of love. But, at any rate, I do not wish to scare you into 
 active and useful exertion by indicating that you are, other- 
 wise, in danger of losing any of the good things of this 
 world. 
 
 The great motive to appeal to is not a man's apprehen- 
 sion of personal loss or suffering, but his fear of neglecting 
 a sacred duty. And it will be found here, I believe, as 
 elsewhere, that the highest motives are those of the most 
 sustained efficiency. 
 
 But little as I would counsel despair, or encourage 
 apathy, or seek to influence by terror, it is not that I look 
 to the " course of events," or any other rounded collection 
 of words, to do anything for us. What is this " course of 
 events" but the continuity of human endeavour? And 
 giving all due weight to the influence of those general 
 currents which attend the progress of opinions and institu- 
 tions, we must still allow largely for the effect of individual 
 character, and individual exertions. The main direction that 
 the stream will take is manifest enough perhaps ; but it may 
 come down upon long tracts of level ground which it will 
 overspread quietly, or it may enter into some rocky channel 
 which will control it ; or it may meet with some ineffectual 
 mud embankment which it will overthrow with devastation. 
 
 Putting aside then such phrases as " course of events," 
 and the like, let us look to men. And whom shall we look 
 to first but the Masters of Thought ? Surely the true poet
 
 220 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 will do something to lilt the burden of his own age. What 
 is the use of wondrous gifts of language, if they are 
 employed to enervate, and not to ennoble, their hearers? 
 What avails it to trim the lights of history, if they are made 
 to throw no brightness on the present, or open no track into 
 the future ? And to employ Imagination only in the service 
 of Vanity, or Gain, is as if an astronomer were to use his 
 telescope to magnify the pot-herbs in his kitchen garden. 
 
 Think what a glorious power is that of expression ; and 
 what responsibility follows the man who possesses it. That 
 grace of language which can make even commonplace 
 things beautiful, throwing robes of the poorest texture into 
 forms of all-attractive loveliness ; why does it not expend 
 its genius on materials that would be worthy of the artist ? 
 The great interests of Man are before it, are crying for it, 
 can absorb all its endeavour, are, indeed, the noblest field 
 for it. Think of this then think what a waste of high 
 intellectual endowments there has been in all ages from the 
 meanest of motives. But what wise man would not rather 
 have the harmless fame which youths, on a holiday, scratch 
 for themselves upon the leaden roof of some cathedral 
 tower, than enjoy the undeniable renown of those who, with 
 whatever power, have written from slight or unworthy 
 motives what may prove a hindrance, rather than an aid, to 
 the well-being of their fellow-men ? 
 
 But, passing from those who are often the real, though 
 unrecognised, rulers of their own age, and the despots of 
 the succeeding generation, let us turn to the ostensible and 
 immediate ruling powers. Assuredly the government may 
 do something towards removing part of the evils we have 
 been considering as connected with the system of labour. 
 It seems as if there were a want of more departments ; and
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 221 
 
 certainly of many more able men. The progress of any 
 social improvement appears to depend too much on chance 
 and clamour. I do not suppose, for a moment, that we can 
 have the cut-and-dried executive, or legislative, arrange- 
 ments that belong to despotic governments ; and it is, in 
 some respects, a wholesome fear that we have of the inter- 
 ference of government. Still, we may recollect that England 
 is not a small state, nor an inactive one, where the public 
 energies are likely to be deadened, or over-ridden, by 
 activity on the part of the government, which might, 
 perhaps, with much safety undertake more than it has been 
 wont to do. One thing is certain, that it may do great 
 good, if it would but look out for men of ability to fill 
 the offices in its gift. No government need fear such a 
 course as destructive to its party interests. In appointing 
 and promoting the fittest men, you are likely to ensure 
 more gratitude than if you selected those who, being the 
 creatures of your kindness, could never, you imagine, be 
 otherwise than most grateful for it. Weak people are 
 seldom much given to gratitude : and even if they were, it 
 is dearly that you purchase their allegiance; for there are 
 few things which, on the long run, displease the public 
 more than bad appointments. But, putting aside the 
 political expediency either way, it is really a sacred duty 
 in a statesman to choose fit agents. Observe the whirlpool 
 of folly that a weak man contrives to create round him ; 
 and see, on the other hand, with what small means a wise 
 man manages to have influence and respect, and force, in 
 whatever may be his sphere. 
 
 There is a matter connected with the functions of govern- 
 ment which seems to be worthy of notice : and that is, the 
 distribution of honours. These honours are part of the 
 resources of the state ; and it is a most spendthrift thing to
 
 222 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 bestow them as they frequently are bestowed. It is not 
 merely that government gives them unworthily j it abso- 
 lutely plays with them ; gives them, as one might say, for 
 the drollery of the thing, when it adds a title to some foolish 
 person, whose merits not even the Public Orator at a 
 university could discover. It is idle to talk of such things 
 being customary. A great minister would not recommend 
 his sovereign to confer honours on such people; and 
 sensible men would be glad to see that the resources of 
 the state, in all ways, were dealt with considerately. 
 
 The above reflections are not foreign to the main subject 
 of this essay ; for a government, having at heart the 
 improvement of the labouring population, or any other 
 social matter, might direct the stream of honours towards 
 those who were of service to the state in this matter, and so 
 might make the civic crown what it was in ancient days. 
 Not, however, that I mean to say that the best men are to 
 be swayed by these baubles. The hope of reward is not 
 the source of the highest endeavour. 
 
 There is a class of persons who interest themselves so far 
 in the condition of the labouring population as to bring 
 forward sad instances of suffering, and then to say, " Our 
 rich men should look to these things." This kind of 
 benevolence delights to bring together, in startling contrast, 
 the condition of different classes, and then to indulge in 
 much moral reflection. Now riches are very potent in their 
 way ; but a great heart is often more wanted than a full 
 purse. I speak it not in any disparagement of the rich or 
 great when I say that we must not trust to them alone. 
 Amongst them are many who use their riches as God's 
 stewards ; but the evils which we have to contend against 
 are to be met by a general impulse in the right direction of
 
 M 'ASTERS AND MEN. 223 
 
 people of all classes. There are instances where a man's 
 wealth enables him to set forth more distinctly to the 
 world's eye some work of benevolence, even to be the 
 pioneer in improvements, which persons of smaller fortunes 
 could scarcely have effected. In such a case great indeed 
 is the advantage of riches. But do not let us accustom our 
 minds to throw the burden of good works on the shoulders 
 of any particular class. God has not given a monopoly of 
 benevolence to the rich. 
 
 What I have just said about individual rich men applies 
 in some measure to associations for benevolent purposes. 
 They are to be looked upon as accessories often very 
 useful ones but they are not to be expected to supersede 
 private enterprise. A man should neither wait for them ; 
 nor, when they exist, should he try to throw his duties upon 
 them, and indolently expect that they are to think and act 
 in all cases for him. Wherever a strong feeling on any 
 subject exists, societies will spring up in connection with 
 it; and we cannot but be pleased that it is so. What such 
 bodies have to do is to direct their energies to those parts 
 of the matter in which it is especially difficult for private 
 enterprise to succeed. And private individuals should be 
 cautious of slackening their endeavours in any good cause, 
 merely because they are aware that some society exists 
 which has the same object in view. 
 
 I come now to some member of that large class of persons 
 who are not rich, nor great employers of labour, nor in any 
 station of peculiar influence. He shudders as he reads 
 those startling instances of suffering or crime in which the 
 distress and ignorance of the labouring population will, 
 occasionally, break out into the notice of the world. 
 "What can I do?" he exclaims. " I feel with intensity the
 
 224 THE CLAIMS OF LABOVR. 
 
 horrors I read of; but what can one man do?" I only ask 
 him to study what he feels. He is a citizen. He cannot 
 be such an isolated being as to have no influence. The 
 conclusions which he comes to, after mature reflection, will 
 not be without their weight. If individual citizens were 
 anxious to form their opinions with care, on those questions 
 respecting which they will have to vote and to act, there 
 would be little need of organised bodies of men to carry 
 great measures into effect. The main current of public 
 opinion is made up of innumerable rills, so small, 
 perhaps, that a child might with its foot divert the course 
 of any one of them ; but collected together they rush down 
 with a force that is irresistible. If those who have actively 
 to distribute the labour of the world knew that you, the 
 great mass of private men, regarded them not for their 
 money, but for their conduct to those in their employ, not 
 for the portion which they may contrive to get for them- 
 selves, but for the well-being which they may give rise to, 
 and regulate, amongst others; why then your thoughts 
 would be motives to them, urging them on in the right 
 path. Besides, you would not stop at thinking. The 
 man who gives time and thought to the welfare of 
 others will seldom be found to grudge them anything 
 else. 
 
 Again, have not you, though not manufacturers, or 
 master-workmen, or owners of land, have not you de- 
 pendents, in whose behalf you may find exercise for the 
 principles to which I am convinced that study in this matter 
 will lead you ? Your regard for servants is a case in point. 
 And, moreover, you may show in your ordinary, every-day 
 dealings with the employers of labour a considerateness for 
 those under them which may awaken the employers to 
 a more lively care themselves. Only reflect on the duty :
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 225 
 
 opportunities of testing the strength of your resolves will 
 not be wanting. 
 
 We sometimes feel thoroughly impressed by some good 
 thought, or just example, that we meet with in study or real 
 life, but as if we had no means of applying it. We cannot 
 at once shape for ourselves a course that shall embrace this 
 newly-acquired wisdom. Often it seems too grand for the 
 occasions of ordinary life ; and we fear that we must keep 
 it laid up for some eventful day, as nice housewives their 
 stateliest furniture. However, if we keep it close to the 
 heart, and make but the least beginning with it, our infant 
 practice leads to something better, or grows into something 
 ampler. In real life there are no isolated points. 
 
 You, who have but one or two dependents, or, perhaps, 
 but one drudge dependent upon you, whether as servant, 
 apprentice, or hired labourer, do not think that you have 
 not an ample opportunity for exercising the duties of an 
 employer of labour. Do not suppose that these duties 
 belong to the great manufacturer with the population of a 
 small town in his own factory, or to the landlord with vast 
 territorial possessions, and that you have nothing to do with 
 them. The Searcher of all hearts may make as ample a 
 trial of you in your conduct to one poor dependent, as of 
 the man who is appointed to lead armies and administer 
 provinces. Nay, your treatment of some animal entrusted 
 to your care may be a history as significant for you as the 
 chronicles of kings for them. The moral experiments in 
 the world may be tried with the smallest quantities. 
 
 I cannot quit this part of the subject without alluding 
 more directly to the duties of the employers of domestic 
 servants. Of course the principles which should regulate 
 the conduct of masters and mistresses towards their servants, 
 
 15
 
 226 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 are the same as those which should regulate the employers 
 of labour generally. But there are some peculiar circum- 
 stances which need to be noticed in the application of these 
 principles. That, in this case, the employers and the 
 employed are members of one family, is a circumstance 
 which intensifies the relation. It is a sad thing for a man 
 to pass the working part of his day with an exacting, unkind 
 master; but still, if the workman returns at evening to a 
 home that is his own, there is a sense of coming joy and 
 freedom which may support him throughout the weary 
 hours of labour. But think what it must be to share one's 
 home with one's oppressor ; to have no recurring time when 
 one is certain to be free from those harsh words, and unjust 
 censures, which are almost more than blows, ay, even to 
 those natures we are apt to fancy so hardened to rebuke. 
 Imagine the deadness of heart that must prevail in that 
 poor wretch who never hears the sweet words of praise or of 
 encouragement. Many masters of families, men living in 
 the rapid current of the world, who are subject to a variety 
 of impressions which, in their busy minds, are made and 
 effaced even in the course of a single day, can with difficulty 
 estimate the force of unkind words upon those whose 
 monotonous life leaves few opportunities of effacing any 
 unwelcome impression. There is nothing in which the aid 
 of imagination, that handmaid of charity, may be more 
 advantageously employed, than in considering the condition 
 of domestic servants. Let a man endeavour to realise it to 
 himself, let him think of its narrow sphere, of its unvarying 
 nature, and he will be careful not to throw in, unnecessarily, 
 the trouble even of a single harsh word, which may make so 
 large a disturbance in the shallow current of a domestic's 
 hopes and joys. How often, on the contrary, do you find 
 that masters seem to have no apprehension of the feelings
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 227 
 
 of those under them, no idea of any duties on their 
 side beyond "cash payment," whereas the good, old, 
 patriarchal feeling towards your household is one which the 
 mere introduction of money wages has not by any means 
 superseded, and which cannot, in fact, be superseded. You 
 would bear with lenity from a child many things, for which, 
 in a servant, you can find nothing but the harshest names. 
 Yet how often are these poor, uneducated creatures little 
 better than children ! You talk, too, of ingratitude from 
 them, when, if you reflected a little,. you would see that they 
 do not understand your benefits. It is hard enough some- 
 times to make benefits sink into men's hearts, even when 
 your good offices are illustrated by much kindness of words 
 and manner ; but to expect that servants should at once 
 appreciate your care for them is surely most unreasonable, 
 especially if it is not accompanied by a manifest regard and 
 sympathy. You would not expect it, if you saw the child- 
 like relation in which they stand to you. 
 
 Another mode of viewing with charity the conduct of 
 domestic servants, is to imagine what manner of servant you 
 would make yourself, or any one of those whom in your own 
 rank you esteem and love. Do you not perceive, in almost 
 every character, some element which would occasionally 
 make its possessor fail in performing the duties of domestic 
 service ? Do you find that faithfulness, accuracy, diligence, 
 and truth pervade the circle of your equals in such 
 abundance that you should be exorbitantly angry the 
 moment you perceive a deficiency in such qualities amongst 
 those who have been but indifferently brought up, and who, 
 perhaps, have early imbibed those vices of their class, 
 fear and falsehood; vices which their employers can 
 only hope to eradicate by a long course of considerate 
 kindness.
 
 228 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 I do not speak of the conduct of masters and mistresses 
 as an easy matter ; on the contrary, I believe that it is one 
 of the most difficult functions in life. If, however, men 
 only saw the difficulty, they would see the worthiness of 
 trying to overcome it. You observe a man becoming day 
 by day richer, or advancing in station, or increasing in 
 professional reputation, and you set him down as a successful 
 man in life. But, if his home is an ill-regulated one, where 
 no links of affection extend throughout the family, whose 
 former domestics (and he has had more of them than he 
 can well remember) look back upon their sojourn with him 
 as one unblessed by kind words or deeds, I contend that 
 that man has not been successful. Whatever good fortune 
 he may have in the world, it is to be remembered that he 
 has always left one important fortress untaken behind him. 
 That man's life does not surely read well whose benevolence 
 has found no central home. It may have sent forth rays in 
 various directions, but there should have been a warm focus 
 of love that home nest which is formed round a good 
 man's heart 
 
 Having spoken of some of the duties of private persons, 
 we come now to the great employers of labour. Would 
 that they all saw the greatness of their position. Strange as 
 it may sound, they are the successors of the feudal barons, 
 they it is who lead thousands to peaceful conquests, and 
 upon whom, in great measure, depends the happiness of 
 large masses of mankind. As Mr. Carlyle says, " The 
 Leaders of Industry, if Industry is ever to be led, are 
 virtually the Captains of the World ; if there be no noble- 
 ness in them, there will never be an Aristocracy more." 
 Can a man, who has this destiny entrusted to him, imagine 
 that his vocation consists merely in getting together a large
 
 MASTERS AND MEN. 229 
 
 lump of gold, and then being off with it, to enjoy it, as he 
 fancies, in some other place ; as if that, which is but a 
 small part of his business in life, were all in all to him ; as 
 if, indeed, the parable of the talents were to be taken 
 literally, and that a man should think that he has done his 
 part when he has made much gold and silver out of little ? 
 If these men saw their position rightly, what would be their 
 objects, what their pleasures? Their objects would not 
 consist in foolish vyings with each other about the grandeur 
 or the glitter of life. But, in directing the employment of 
 labour, they would find room for the exercise of all the 
 powers of their minds, of their best affections, and of what- 
 ever was worthy in their ambition. Their occupation, so far 
 from being a limited sphere of action, is one which may 
 give scope to minds of the most various capacity. While 
 one man may undertake those obvious labours of benevo- 
 lent superintendence which are of immediate and pressing 
 necessity, another may devote himself to more remote and 
 indirect methods of improving the condition of those about 
 him, which are often not the less valuable because of their 
 indirectness. In short, it is evident that to lead the labour 
 of large masses of people, and to do that, not merely with 
 a view to the greatest product of commodities, but to the 
 best interests of the producers, is a matter which will 
 sufficiently and worthily occupy men of the strongest minds 
 aided by all the attainments which cultivation can bestow. 
 
 I do not wish to assert a principle larger than the occasion 
 demands ; and I am, therefore, unwilling to declare that we 
 cannot justly enter into a relation so meagre with our 
 fellow-creatures, as that of employing all their labour, and 
 giving them nothing but money in return. There might, 
 perhaps, be a state of society in which such a relation would 
 not be culpable, a state in which the great mass of the
 
 230 THE CLAIMS OF LABOVR. 
 
 employed were cultivated and considerate men ; and where 
 the common interests of master and man were well under- 
 stood. But we have not to deal with any such imaginary 
 case. So far from working men being the considerate 
 creatures we have just imagined them, it is absolutely 
 requisite to protect, in the most stringent manner, the 
 interests of the children against the parents, who are often 
 anxious to employ their little ones most immaturely. Nay, 
 more it is notorious that working men will frequently omit 
 to take even the slightest precaution in matters connected 
 with the preservation of their own lives. If these poor men 
 do not demand from you as Christians something more than 
 mere money wages, what do the injunctions about charity 
 mean ? If those employed by you are not your neighbours, 
 who are ? 
 
 But some great employer may exclaim : " It is hard that 
 we, the agents between the consumer and the producer, 
 should have all the sacrifices to make, should have all the 
 labouring population thrown, as it were, on our hands." 
 In reply, I say that I have laid down no such doctrine. I 
 have urged the consumer to perform his duties, and tried 
 to point out to him what some of those duties are. As 
 a citizen he may employ himself in understanding this 
 subject, and in directing others rightly ; he may, in his 
 capacity of voter, or in his fair influence on voters, urge 
 upon the state its duty, and show, that as an individual, 
 he would gladly bear his share of any increased burdens 
 which that duty might entail upon the state. He may 
 prove in many ways, as a mere purchaser, his concern for 
 the interests of the producer. And there are, doubtless, 
 occasions on which you, the great employers of labour, may 
 call upon him to make large sacrifices of his money, his
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 231 
 
 time, and his thoughts, for the welfare of the labouring 
 classes. His example and his encouragement may cheer 
 you on ; and as a citizen, as an instructor, as a neighbour, 
 in all the capacities of life, he may act and speak in a way 
 that may indirectly, if not directly, support your more 
 manifest endeavours in the same good cause. It is to no 
 one class that I speak. We are all bound to do something 
 towards this good work. If, hereafter, I go more into 
 detail as regards the especial methods of improving his 
 work-people that a manufacturer might employ, it is not 
 that I wish to point out manufacturers as a class especially 
 deficient in right feelings towards those under them. Far 
 from it. Much of what I shall venture to suggest has been 
 learnt from what I have seen, and heard, amongst the 
 manufacturers themselves. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 
 
 SUPPOSING, reader, that whether you are manufacturer, 
 master-workman, owner of land, or private individual, you 
 are now thoroughly impressed with the duty of attending to 
 the welfare of your dependents ; I proceed to make some 
 general reflections which may aid you in your outset, or 
 sustain you in the progress, of your endeavours. 
 
 And, first, let me implore you not to delay that outset. 
 Make a beginning at once, at least in investigating the 
 matters to which I have striven to draw your attention. It 
 is no curious work of art that you have to take up; it
 
 232 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 requires no nicety of apprehension ; you can hardly begin 
 wrongly, I do not say in action, but in the preparation for 
 action. However little of each day you may be able to call 
 your own for this purpose, it is better to begin with that 
 little than to wait for some signal time of leisure. Routine 
 encumbers us ; our days are frittered away by most minute 
 employments that we cannot control ; and, when spare 
 moments do occur, we are mostly unprepared with any 
 pursuits of our own to go on with. Hence it is, that the 
 most obvious evils go on, generation after generation, people 
 not having time, as they would say, to interfere. Men are 
 for ever putting off the concerns which should be dearest to 
 them to a " more convenient season," when, as they hope, 
 there may be fewer trifles to distract their attention : but a 
 great work, which is to commence in the heart, requires not 
 to have the first stone laid for it, with pomp, upon some 
 holiday. It is good to have made a beginning upon it at 
 any time. 
 
 The wisdom, or the folly, of delay is in most instances 
 like that of a traveller coming to a stream, and wishing to 
 ford it, yet continuing his journey along its banks : and 
 whether this is wise, or not, depends mainly on the simple 
 fact of whether he is walking up to the source, or down to 
 the fall The latter is apt to be the direction in the case of 
 our generous resolves : their difficulty widens as we delay to 
 act upon them. 
 
 Throughout the progress of your work, there is nothing 
 that you will have more frequently to be mindful of than 
 your views with respect to self-advancement. To take one 
 form of it, the acquisition of money. Money, as Charles 
 Lamb, a great despiser of cant, observed, is not dross, but 
 books, pictures, wines, and many pleasant things. Still I
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 233 
 
 suspect that money is more sought after to gratify vanity, 
 than to possess the means of enjoying any of the above- 
 named pleasant things. Money is so much desired, because 
 it is a measure of success ; so much regretted, because we 
 fancy the loss of it leaves us powerless and contemptible. 
 That kind of satire, therefore, which delights to dwell upon 
 the general subserviency to wealth is not likely to make 
 men less desirous of riches. But a man would be likely to 
 estimate more reasonably the possession of money and of 
 all kinds of self-advancement, if he did but perceive that 
 even a man's worldly success is not to be measured by his 
 success for himself alone, but by the result of his endeavours 
 for the great family of man. 
 
 There is a source of contemplation which Nature affords 
 us, one, too, that is open to the dweller in crowded cities as 
 well as to the shepherd on Salisbury plain, and which might 
 sometimes suggest the foolishness of an inordinate love of 
 money. Consider the prospect which each unveiled night 
 affords us, telling of wonders such as we have hardly the 
 units of measurement to estimate; and then think how 
 strange it is that we should ever allow our petty personal 
 possessions of to-day to render us blind to the duties 
 which, alone, are the great realities of life. There was some 
 excuse, perhaps, for the men of olden time, who looked 
 upon this earth, the birthplace of their gods, as no mean 
 territory. That they should dote upon terrestrial things 
 was not to be wondered at. But what is to be said for us 
 who know that this small planet is but a speck, as it were, 
 from which we look out upon the profusion of immensity. 
 To think that a man, who knows this, should nevertheless 
 not hesitate to soil his soul, lying here, cringing there, 
 pursuing tortuous schemes of most corrupt policy \ or that 
 he should ever suffer himself to be immersed, innocently, if
 
 234 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 it may be so, in selfish, worldly pursuits, forgetful of all 
 else ; when, at the best, it is but to win some acres of this 
 transitory earth, or to be noted as one who has been 
 successful for himself. The folly of the gambling savage 
 who stakes his liberty against a handful of cowrie shells is 
 nothing to it. 
 
 Perhaps the next thing that is likely to divert you from 
 useful endeavours for the benefit of others is fear of 
 criticism : you do not know what the world will say ; 
 indeed, they may pronounce you an enthusiast, which word, 
 of itself, is an icy blast of ridicule to a timid mind. You 
 shudder at doing anything unusual, and even hear by 
 anticipation the laugh of your particular friends. You are 
 especially ashamed at appearing to care for what those about 
 you do not care for. A laugh at your humanity, or your 
 "theories," would disconcert you. You are fearfully 
 anxious that any project of benevolence you undertake 
 should succeed, not altogether on its own account, but 
 because your sagacity is embarked in it, and plentiful will 
 be the gibes at its failure, if it should fail. Put these fears 
 aside. All that is prominent, all that acts, must lay itself 
 open to shallow criticism. It has been said that in no case 
 of old age, however extreme, has the faculty for giving 
 advice been known to decay ; depend upon it, that of 
 criticism flourishes in the most indolent, the most feeble, 
 the most doting minds. Let not the wheels of your 
 endeavour be stayed by accumulated rubbish of this kind. 
 We are afraid of responsibility, afraid of what people may 
 say of us, afraid of being alone in doing right ; in short, the 
 courage which is allied to no passion Christian courage, as 
 it may be called is in all ages and amongst all people one 
 of the rarest possessions.
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 235 
 
 The fear of ridicule is the effeminacy of the soul. 
 
 Great enterprises and for you this attempt to make 
 your working men happier is a great enterprise great enter- 
 prises demand an habitual self-sacrifice in little things ; and, 
 hard as it may be to keep fully in mind the enterprise itself, 
 it is often harder still to maintain a just sense of the con- 
 nection between it and these said trifling points of conduct, 
 which, perhaps, in any single instance, seem so slightly and 
 so remotely connected with it But remember it is not 
 always over great impediments that men are liable to 
 stumble most fatally. 
 
 You must not expect immediate and obvious gratitude to 
 crown your exertions. The benevolence that has not duty 
 for its stem, but merely springs from some affectionateness 
 of nature, must often languish, I fear, when it comes to 
 count up its returns in the way of grateful affection from 
 those whom it has toiled for. And yet the fault is often as 
 much in the impatience and unreasonable expectation of 
 the benefactors, as in any ingratitude on the part of the 
 persons benefited. If you must look for gratitude, at any 
 rate consider whether your exertions are likely to be fully 
 understood at present by those whom you have served ; 
 and whether it is not a reversion, rather than an immediate 
 return, that you should look for a reversion, too, in many 
 cases to be realised only on the death of the benefactor. 
 Moreover, it is useless and unreasonable to expect that any 
 motives of gratitude will uniformly modify for you the 
 peculiar tempers and dispositions of those whom you have 
 served. Your benefits did not represent a permanent 
 state of mind; neither will their gratitude. The sense 
 of obligation, even in most faithful hearts, is often
 
 236 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR, 
 
 dormant; but evil tempers answer quickly to the lightest 
 summons. 
 
 In all your projects for the good of others, beware lest 
 your benevolence should have too much of a spirit of inter- 
 ference. Consider what it is you want to produce. Not an 
 outward, passive, conformity to your wishes, but something 
 vital which shall generate the feelings and habits you long 
 to see manifested. You can clip a tree into any form you 
 please, but if you wish it to bear fruit when it has been 
 barren you must attend to what is beneath the surface, you 
 must feed the roots. You must furnish it with that nutri- 
 ment, you must supply it with those opportunities of sun- 
 shine, which will enable it to use its own energies. See 
 how the general course of the world is governed. How 
 slowly are those great improvements matured which our 
 impatient nature might expect to have been effected at a 
 single stroke. What tyrannies have been under the sun, 
 things which we can hardly read of without longing for 
 some direct divine interference to have taken place. 
 Indeed, if other testimony were wanting, the cruelties 
 permitted on earth present an awful idea of the general 
 freedom of action entrusted to mankind. And can you 
 think that it is left for you to drill men suddenly into your 
 notions, or to produce moral ends by mere mechanical 
 means ? You will avoid much of this foolish spirit if you 
 are really unselfish in your purposes ; if, in dealing with 
 those whom you would benefit, you refer your operations to 
 them as the centre, and not to yourself, and the success of 
 your plans. There is a noble passage in the history of the 
 first great Douglas, the "good Lord James," who, just 
 before the battle of Bannockburn, seeing Randolph, his 
 rival in arms, with a small body of men, contending against
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 237 
 
 a much superior English force, rushed to his aid. " The 
 little body of Randolph," says Sir Walter Scott, "was seen 
 emerging like a rock in the waves, from which the English 
 cavalry were retreating on every side with broken ranks, 
 like a repelled tide. ' Hold and halt ! ' said the Douglas to 
 his followers; ' we are come too late to aid them ; let us not 
 lessen the victory they have won by affecting to claim a 
 share in it.'" It is the self-denying nature of this chivalrous 
 deed that I would apply to far other circumstances. The 
 interfering spirit, which I deprecate, would come, not to 
 consummate the victory, but to hinder it 
 
 For similar reasons I would have you take care that you 
 do not adopt mere rules, and seek to impress them rigidly 
 upon others, as if they were general principles, which must 
 at once be suitable to all mankind. Do not imagine that 
 your individual threads of experience form a woven garment 
 of prudence, capable of fitting with exactness any member 
 of the whole human family. 
 
 There are several ungenerous motives, of some subtlety, 
 which hide in the dark corners of the heart, and stand in 
 the way of benevolence. For instance, even in good 
 minds, there is apt to lurk some tinge of fear, or of dislike, 
 at the prospect of an undoubted amelioration of the lot of 
 others coming too fast, as these good people would say. 
 Indeed, some persons find it hard to reconcile themselves 
 to the idea of others' burdens being readily removed, even 
 when they themselves are making exertions to remove them. 
 
 Another feeling to beware of is that of envy, which, 
 strange as it seems, may sometimes arise upon the view of 
 that very prosperity which the person, feeling envy, has 
 helped to create. The truth is, it is comparatively easy to 
 avoid being envious of the good fortune which was
 
 238 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 established before our time, or which is out of our own 
 sphere ; but to be quite pleased with the good fortune of 
 those whom we recollect in other circumstances, and who, 
 perhaps, have been accustomed to ask advice or assistance 
 from us that is the trial. 
 
 Another ungenerous sentiment, similar to the foregoing, 
 and likely at times to prove a hindrance to benevolent 
 exertion, arises from the comparison of our own past lot 
 with that of the persons whose condition is sought to be 
 improved. Most of us have a little tendency to grudge 
 them this amelioration. We should shudder at the brutality 
 of one, who, having attained to power, is more cruel 
 because he has suffered much himself ("e0 immitior quia 
 toleraverat") ; but are we not of a like spirit, if any dis- 
 satisfaction steals over our minds at seeing others exempt 
 from those sufferings, which in our own career fell heavily 
 upon us ? It is difficult to dislodge this kind of selfishness 
 from the heart Indeed, there can hardly be a surer 
 symptom of sound benevolence in a man than his taking 
 pleasure in those paths being smoothened which he will 
 never have to traverse again : I do not say in making them 
 smoother it is much easier to reconcile himself to that 
 but in their being made so without his interference. 
 
 It would be well, indeed, if selfishness came into play on 
 those occasions only where self is really concerned. 
 
 There is nothing which a wise employer will have more 
 at heart than to gain the confidence of those under him. 
 The essential requisites on his part are truth and kindness. 
 These qualities may, however, belong in a high degree to 
 persons who fail to gain the confidence of their dependents. 
 In domestic life confidence may be prevented by fits of 
 capricious passion on the part of the ruling powers ; and a
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 239 
 
 man who, in all important matters, acts justly and kindly 
 towards his family, may be deprived of their confidence by 
 his weakness of temper in little things. For instance, you 
 meet with persons who fall into a violent way of talking 
 about all that offends them in their dependents ; and who 
 express themselves with as much anger about trivial in- 
 advertencies as about serious moral offences. In the course 
 of the same day that they have given way to some outbreak 
 of temper they may act with great self-denial and watchful 
 kindness ; but they can hardly expect their subordinates to 
 be at ease with them. Another defect which prevents con- 
 fidence is a certain sterility of character, which does not 
 allow of sympathy with other people's fancies and pursuits. 
 A man of this character does not understand any likings but 
 his own. He will be kind to you, if you will be happy in 
 his way ; but he has nothing but ridicule or coldness for 
 anything which does not suit him. This imperfection of 
 sympathy, which prevents an equal from becoming a friend, 
 may easily make a superior into a despot. Indeed, I 
 almost doubt whether the head of a family does not do 
 more mischief if he is unsympathetic than even if he were 
 unjust. The triumph of domestic rule is for the master's 
 presence not to be felt as a restraint. 
 
 In a larger sphere than the domestic one, such as 
 amongst the employers of labour and their men, the same 
 elements are required on the part of the masters to produce 
 confidence. Much frankness also and decisiveness are 
 required. The more uneducated people are, the more 
 suspicious they are likely to be ; and the best way of 
 meeting their suspiciousness is to have as few concealments 
 as possible ; for instance, not to omit stating any motives 
 relating to your own interest as master, which may influence 
 your conduct towards your men.
 
 2 4 o THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 * 
 
 There is a class of persons brought into contact with the 
 employers of labour and their men who might often do 
 good service to both, by endeavouring, when it is deserved, 
 to inspire the men with confidence in the kindly intentions 
 of their masters. This is a duty which belongs to the clergy 
 and professional men in manufacturing towns. There are 
 many things which a man cannot say for himself; and, as 
 Bacon has observed, it is one of the advantages of friend- 
 ship that it provides some person to say these things for 
 one. So, in this case, it must often have a very good effect, 
 when a bystander, as it were, explains to the men the kind 
 wishes and endeavours of a master manufacturer, which 
 explanation would come with much less force and grace 
 from the master himself. 
 
 I come now to a subject bordering on the former, namely, 
 the political confidence of the operatives. I am afraid 
 that, at present, there is a great distrust amongst them of 
 public men. This is not to be wondered at. Their 
 distrust is much fostered by the practice of imputing bad 
 motives, and calling ill names, so much the fashion in 
 political writing of all kinds. It is not a vice peculiar to 
 this age : indeed, I question whether political writing has 
 ever, upon the whole, been more well-bred and considerate 
 than it is now. But at all times the abusive style is the 
 easiest mode of writing, and the surest of sympathy. The 
 skill to make, and that to cure, a wound are different things; 
 but the former is the one which belongs to most people, 
 and often attracts most attention and encouragement. This, 
 then, is one cause of the distrust of the working classes, 
 which will only be mitigated by a higher tone of moral 
 feeling on the part of the people generally. Another cause 
 is to be found in the unwise, if not dishonest, conduct of
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 241 
 
 public men. Look at the mode of proceeding at elections. 
 I put aside bribery, intimidation, and the like, the wrong- 
 fulness of which I hope we are all agreed upon ; and I 
 come to the intellectual part of the business. Extreme 
 opinions are put forth by the candidates, often in violent 
 and injurious language. Each strives to keep studiously 
 in the background any points of difference between himself 
 and the electing body. Electors are not treated as rational 
 beings ; their prejudices and their antipathies are petted as 
 if they belonged to some despot whom it was treason to 
 contradict. Whereas, if ever there is a time in his life when 
 a man should weigh his words well, and when he should 
 gird himself up to speak with truth and courage, it is when 
 he is soliciting the suffrages of an electoral body. That is 
 the way to anticipate inconsistency ; the crime of which is 
 more often in the hastiness of the first-formed opinion, than 
 in the change from it. What is called the inconsistency 
 may be the redeeming part of the transaction. The candi- 
 date is naturally tempted to fall in with the exact opinions 
 that are likely to ensure success, and to express them 
 without modification in fact, for the sake of his present 
 purpose, to leave as little room for the exercise of his 
 discretion as possible. It is easy for him to make uncon- 
 ditional assertions when nothing is to be done upon them, 
 but it is another thing when he has to bring them into 
 action. The direction which he may wish to give to public 
 affairs is likely to be met by many other impulses ; and 
 then he may have to remain consistent and useless, or to 
 link himself to some friendly impulse which brings him, 
 however, into opposition to some of his former broad and 
 careless declarations. He has left himself no room for 
 using his judgment. Indeed, one does not see very clearly 
 why he takes his seat amongst men who are met to 
 
 16
 
 242 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 deliberate. The evils that must arise from rash promises 
 at elections are so great, that it is fortunate when the topioe 
 mooted on those occasions form but a small part of those 
 which ultimately come under the consideration of the person 
 elected; and, as often happens, that important public 
 matters come to be discussed, which were not seen on the 
 political horizon at the election time. 
 
 In addition to the distrust of individual legislators, which 
 is, probably, frequent amongst the poorer classes, there is 
 also, I suspect, a great distrust amongst them of the leading 
 parties in the state. They perceive the evils of party, and 
 see nothing on the other side. The meaning and intent of 
 party, the way in which by its means social good is often 
 worked out in a manner less harsh and abrupt, perhaps, 
 than by any other means that has hitherto been devised, 
 are considerations probably unknown to them. To address 
 them upon such matters would be thought absurd. It 
 would be said, that philosophical disquisitions on govern- 
 ment are for the closet of the studious man, but not for 
 common people coming to perform a plain, practical duty. 
 Great principles, however, are at the foundation of all good 
 action. Look to the divine teaching. See how the highest 
 things are addressed to all classes. There is no esoteric 
 philosophy there one thing to the initiated, and another to 
 the outer populace. And so I am persuaded in address- 
 ing the great masses of mankind on other subjects, you can 
 hardly be too profound, if you contrive to express yourself 
 without pedantry ; you can hardly put motives of too much 
 generosity before them, if you do so with complete sincerity 
 and earnestness. All this is very difficult, but what social 
 remedies are not ? They are things to be toiled and bled 
 for; and what is far more, you must run the risk of 
 ridicule, endure want of sympathy, have the courage to
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 243 
 
 utter unpalatable truths, and not unfrequently resist the 
 temptation of saying such things as are sure to elicit 
 immediate and hearty approbation. When a statesman 
 has a craving for present applause, it is an evil spirit 
 always by his side, but which springs up to its utmost 
 height, and overshadows him with its most baneful in- 
 fluence, at some of the most critical periods of his career. 
 
 But, in addition to the want of confidence in public men 
 caused by malicious writing, or by their injudicious or 
 dishonest conduct as candidates, or by the ignorance 
 amongst the operatives of the good uses of party ; is there 
 not also a just want of confidence arising from the mode 
 in which party warfare has sometimes been carried on 
 in the legislative body? Remember that it is possible to 
 intrigue with " interests," as we call them, as well as with 
 private persons. The nice morality which would shudder 
 at the revelations of petty intrigue disclosed by the diary of 
 a Bubb Doddington, may urge on, and ride triumphantly, 
 some popular cry, the justice of which it has never paused 
 to examine. There are also such things- as a factious 
 opposition to the Government, a selfish desertion from it, 
 or a slavish obedience to it; which things, the people in 
 general are not slow to note, and often prone to attribute, 
 even when there is no sufficient cause for attributing them. 
 But of all the things which tend to separate the operatives 
 from the governing classes, is the suspicion (oh, that we 
 could say that it was altogether an unjust one !) that laws 
 are framed, or maintained, which benefit those classes at 
 the expense of their poorer brethren. We think it a mar- 
 vellous act of malversation in a trustee, to benefit himself 
 unjustly out of the funds entrusted to his care. Wrongs 
 of this kind may appear to be diluted when the national 
 prosperity is the trust-fund, and the legislative body is the
 
 244 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 trustee. The largeness, however, of the transaction, does 
 not diminish the injustice of it, although it may soothe the 
 conscience, or partially excuse the conduct, of any individual 
 member of the governing class. By governing class, I do 
 not merely mean the legislative bodies, but I include the 
 electing body, who are of course equally guilty when they 
 clamour for what they deem their own peculiar interest, 
 instead of calling for just laws. And they may be sure, 
 that when once the great mass of the people are persuaded 
 that the injustice which I have spoken of, is a ruling 
 principle in any government; that government, if it lives, 
 is henceforth based upon fear, and not upon affection. 
 
 I shall now put down a few points of practice, which, 
 though they are classed together, have no other link than 
 that they all relate to our conduct in a family and towards 
 dependents. 
 
 In social government, no less than in legislating for a 
 state, there should be constant reference to great principles, 
 if only from the exceeding difficulty of foreseeing, or appre- 
 ciating, the results in detail of any measure. 
 
 It is a foolish thing when a man so guides himself that 
 it is generally supposed in his family, and among his 
 dependents, that no arguments of theirs are likely to per- 
 suade him to alter his views. Such a one may fancy that 
 what he calls his firmness is the mainstay of his authority : 
 but the obstinacy, which never listens, is not less fatal than 
 the facility which never listens but to yield. If your rule 
 has the reputation of not being amenable to reason, it is 
 liable to sudden convulsions and headstrong distempers, or
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 245 
 
 to unreasonable cringings in which your welfare, and that 
 of those whom you rule, are sacrificed to the apprehension 
 of provoking your self-will. Moreover, the fear of irrational 
 opposition on your part, often tempts those about you into 
 taking up courses, which, otherwise, they might have thrown 
 aside upon reflection, or after reasonable converse with you 
 on the subject. You may have, in the end, to oppose 
 yourself sternly to the wishes of those whom you would 
 guide wisely ; but at any rate give yourself the chance of 
 having, in the first instance, the full effect of any forces in 
 their own minds which may be on your side. You cannot 
 expect to have these useful allies, if your wont is to be 
 blindly obstinate, and to carry things, on all occasions, 
 by heavy-handed authority. The way in which expected 
 opposition acts in determining the mind, is not always by 
 creating immediate wilfulness : but a man, knowing that 
 there is sure to be objection made, in any particular quarter, 
 to his taking a course, respecting which he has not made 
 up his own mind, sets to work to put aside that contingent 
 obstacle to his freedom of action. In doing this, however, 
 he generates, as it were, a force in the opposite direction ; in 
 arguing against contingent opposition, he is led to make 
 assertions which he is ashamed to draw back from ; and so, 
 in the end, he fails to exercise an unbiassed judgment. I 
 have gone minutely into this matter; but it cannot be 
 unimportant for those who rule, to consider well the latent 
 sources of human motive. 
 
 In addressing persons of inferior station, do not be prone 
 to suppose that there is much occasion for intellectual 
 condescension on your part : at any rate do not be care- 
 less in what you say, as if anything would do for them. 
 Observe the almost infinite fleetness of your own powers of
 
 246 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 thought, and then consider whether it is likely that education 
 has much to do with this. Use simple language, but do 
 not fear to put substance in it : choose, if you like, common 
 materials, but make the best structure that you can of them : 
 and be assured that method and logical order are not thrown 
 away upon any one. The rudest audience, as well as the 
 most refined, soon grows weary, I suspect, of protracted, 
 driftless tautology. 
 
 Do not dwell more than you can help upon the differences 
 of nature between yourself and those with whom you live. 
 Consider whether your own vanity is not too requiring. 
 See that others have not the same complaint to make of 
 your uncongeniality, that you are, perhaps, prone to make 
 of theirs. If you are, indeed, superior, reckon it as your 
 constant duty to try and sympathise with those beneath 
 you ; to mix with their pursuits, as far as you can, and thus, 
 insensibly, to elevate them. Perhaps there is no mind that 
 will not yield some return for your labour: it seems the 
 dullest, bleakest rock, not earth enough to feed a nettle; 
 yet up grows, with culture, the majestic pine. 
 
 A want of sympathy leads to the greatest ignorance in the 
 intellect as well as in the heart. 
 
 Remember that your dependents have seldom a full 
 power of replying to you ; and let the recollection of that 
 make you especially considerate in your dealings with them. 
 
 When you find a lack of truth in those about you, con- 
 sider whether it may not arise from the furiousness of your 
 own temper which scares truth away from you ; and reflect 
 how fearful a part the angry man may have in the sin of 
 those falsehoods which immoderate fear of him gives rise to.
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 247 
 
 Such, I am afraid, is the tyrannous nature of the human 
 heart that we not only show, but really feel, more anger at 
 offence given us by those under our power, than at any 
 other cause whatever. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that we necessarily become 
 indifferent to the faults and foibles of those with whom we 
 live : on the contrary, we sometimes grow more and more 
 alive to them ; they seem, as it were, to create a corre- 
 sponding soreness in ourselves ; and, knowing that they 
 exist in the character, we are apt to fancy that we perceive 
 them even on occasions when they are not in the least 
 brought into play. 
 
 Do not be fond of the display of authority, or think that 
 there is anything grand in being obeyed with abject fear. 
 One certainly meets with persons who are vain of their ill- 
 temper, and of seeing how it keeps the people about them 
 in order ; a species of vanity which they might share with 
 any wild animal at large. 
 
 In reasoning with your dependents, do not allow yourself 
 to make broad assertions and careless conclusions, merely 
 because you are addressing inferiors. "The Courts of 
 Reason recognise no difference of persons." And when 
 you wish to disabuse the minds of those entrusted to your 
 guidance of anything which you are convinced is erroneous, 
 do not attempt to do so by unmeasured condemnation. It 
 is seldom that a secure answer is given to any theory, or 
 system, except by one who exhausts, and lays before you, 
 the good in it. 
 
 Let not your forgiveness be of that kind which may 
 almost be set down as forgetfulness.
 
 248 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 You must not always expect to hear a good explanation 
 of a man's reasons for his conduct. In the first place he 
 does not carry such things about with him in a producible 
 shape ; some of them he has probably forgotten, although 
 their influence may still remain strongly upon his mind ; 
 and such as he does give are likely to be those which he 
 thinks will have most weight with the person to whom he is 
 speaking. 
 
 In giving way to selfish persons, remember that you 
 cannot sacrifice yourself alone. Any relation in which you 
 may be placed to them, especially if you are the superior, is 
 not a thing that concerns you only ; but is, as it were, a 
 trust for society in general 
 
 It is hard to judge about quarrels, for the points on which 
 they openly break out have often no more to do with the 
 real grounds of difference than the place of a battle with the 
 cause of the war. Many a quarrel, after running for a long 
 time under ground, gushes forth with a vehemence which 
 seems unaccountable ; and it is difficult to divine what 
 lands it has passed through in its hidden course. Any 
 particular outbreak cannot safely be taken as an index of 
 the general conduct of the parties towards each other. 
 
 Playfulness is a good means of softening social distances. 
 A stiff, grave man is always in danger of being feared too 
 much. On the other hand, as the self-love of many people 
 is suspicious in the extreme, you must expect that your 
 most innocent playfulness will often be mistaken for 
 ridicule. 
 
 It is a duty not to allow yourself to think of any living
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 249 
 
 man, still less to treat him, as if your hopes of his amend- 
 ment were utterly dead and gone. 
 
 You must not be much surprised at the ingratitude of 
 those to whom you have given nothing but money. 
 
 Once give your mind to suspicion, and there will be sure 
 to be food enough for it. In the stillest night the air is 
 filled with sounds for the wakeful ear that is resolved to 
 listen. 
 
 A misproud man resolves to abide by the evil words 
 which he has spoken in anger. This freezing of foam is 
 wilfully unnatural, and turns a brief madness into a settled 
 insanity. 
 
 A man of any wisdom, in domestic authority, so far from 
 making large claims to the love of those whom he rules, and 
 exacting all manner of observance as his due, will often 
 think with fear how unworthy he is of the affection even of 
 the dullest and least-gifted creature about him. 
 
 In commenting on any error of an agent or dependent, 
 beware of making your own vexation, and not the real 
 offence, the measure of your blame. This is a most 
 frequent source of injustice, and one, moreover, which tends 
 to prevent anything like consistent training. 
 
 The poor, the humble, and your dependents, will often 
 be afraid to ask their due from you : be the more mindful 
 of it yourself. 
 
 With what degree of satisfaction do you feel that you
 
 250 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR. 
 
 could meet those persons in a future state over whom you 
 have any influence now? Your heart's answer to this 
 question is somewhat of a test of your behaviour towards 
 them. 
 
 How ready we should often be to forgive those who are 
 angry with us, if we could only see how much of their anger 
 arises from vexation with themselves for having begun to be 
 angry at all. 
 
 I am not sorry to introduce a maxim, like the above, 
 which relates, perhaps, rather more to dependents than to 
 those in authority, and which claims a place among precepts 
 on social government, only as it may tend to promote social 
 harmony and peace. I have not attempted, throughout, to 
 give any account of the duties of dependents, which, how- 
 ever, are easily inferred as supplementary to the duties of 
 masters. It is not to be supposed that any relation in life 
 is one-sided, that kindness is to be met by indifference, or 
 that loyalty to those who lead us is not a duty of the highest 
 order. But, fortunately, the proneness of men to regard 
 with favour those put in authority over them is very strong ; 
 and I have but little fear of finding any large body of 
 thoughtful and kind masters suffering from permanent 
 indifference, or ingratitude, on the part of their dependents. 
 
 I cannot close the chapter better than by entreating 
 those who are endeavouring to carry on any system of 
 benevolence, to be very watchful in the management of 
 details, and to strengthen themselves against any feelings of 
 disgust and weariness which may encroach upon them, 
 when their undertaking has lost the attraction of novelty. 
 Details are like the fibres at the root of a tree : without their
 
 SOCIAL GOVERNMENT. 251 
 
 aid the tree would have but little hold against the wind ; 
 they are the channels for its terrestrial nutriment ; they are 
 its ties to earth, its home and birthplace ; and, insignificant 
 as they seem, it could live almost better without light than 
 without them. Here it is that practical wisdom comes in 
 that faculty, without which the greatest gifts may serve to 
 make a noise and a flame, and nothing more. It holds its 
 object neither too near nor too far off; without exaggerating 
 trifles, it can see that small things may be essential to the 
 successful application of great principles ; it is moderate in 
 its expectations ; does not imagine that all men must be full 
 of its projects ; and holds its course with calmness, with 
 hope, and with humility. 
 
 You must not enter upon a career of usefulness without 
 expecting innumerable vexations and crosses to affect the 
 details of any project or system you may undertake. And 
 when the novelty of your purpose has somewhat worn off, 
 and you have to meet with the honest opposition of other 
 minds, as well as to contend against their vanity, their 
 selfishness, and their unreasonableness, it requires a high 
 and full source for your benevolence to flow from, if it would 
 bear down these annoyances. Even when they cannot dry 
 up the stream, or change its current, if you are not watchful 
 over yourself, they may make it flow more feebly. The very 
 prospect of success is to some minds a great temptation to 
 make them slacken their efforts. Throughout the course of 
 our pursuit, we are never, perhaps, so prone to be weary and 
 to repine as when we begin to feel sure of ultimate success, 
 but at the same time to perceive that a long and definite 
 period must elapse before the completion of our under- 
 taking. 
 
 Against the many temptations that beset a man in such a 
 career, I do not believe that any good feeling, which stands
 
 252 THE CLAIMS OF LABOUR, 
 
 upon no other than mere human relations, will be found a 
 sufficient support No sentimental benevolence will do; 
 nor even, at all times, a warm and earnest philanthropy : 
 there must be the inexorable sense of duty arising from a 
 man's apprehension, if but in a feeble degree, of his relation 
 towards God, as well as to his fellow-man.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER 
 AND THE CROWD.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER 
 AND THE CROWD. 
 
 WE all seek happiness so eagerly, that in the pursuit we 
 often lose that joyous sense of existence, and those quiet 
 daily pleasures, the value of which our pride alone prevents 
 us from acknowledging. 
 
 It has been said with some meaning, that if men would 
 but rest in silence, they might always hear the music of the 
 spheres. 
 
 Those who never philosophised until they met with 
 disappointments, have mostly become disappointed 
 philosophers. 
 
 - The unfortunate Ladurlad did not desire the sleep that 
 for ever fled his weary eyelids with more earnestness than 
 most people seek the deep slumber of a decided opinion. 
 
 The business of the head is to form a good heart, and 
 not merely to rule an evil one, as is generally imagined. 
 
 There is hardly a more common error than that of taking 
 the man who has one talent, for a genius.
 
 256 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER, 
 
 The world will find out that part of your character which 
 concerns it : that which especially concerns yourself, it will 
 leave for you to discover. 
 
 They tell us that "Pity is akin to Love ;" if so, Pity must 
 be a poor relation. 
 
 The step from the sublime to the ridiculous is not so 
 short as the step from the confused to the sublime in the 
 minds of most people, for want of a proper standard of 
 comparison. If you hear a fine sentence from /Eschines, 
 you may remember one still more noble from Demosthenes : 
 but when a person comes up to you and exclaims, " I have 
 put my hand into the hamper ; I have looked upon the 
 sacred barley; I have eaten out of the drum; I have drunk 
 and was well pleased ; I have said konx ompax^ and it is 
 finished ! " 1 you are confounded, and instantly begin to 
 admire. We always believe the clouds to be much higher 
 than they really are, until we see them resting on the 
 shoulders of the mountains. 
 
 There is no occasion to regard with continual dislike 
 one who had formerly a mean opinion of your merits ; for 
 you are never so sure of permanent esteem as from the man 
 who once esteemed you lightly, and has corrected his 
 mistake if it be a mistake. 
 
 A friend is one who does not laugh when you are in 
 a ridiculous position. Some may deny such a test, saying, 
 
 1 Eleusinian Mysteries.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 257 
 
 that if a man have a keen sense of the ridiculous, he cannot 
 help being amused, even though his friend be the subject of 
 ridicule. No, your friend is one who ought to sympathise 
 with you, and not with the multitude. 
 
 You cannot expect that a friend should be like the 
 atmosphere, which confers all manner of benefits upon you, 
 and without which indeed it would be impossible to live, 
 but at the same time is never in your way. 
 
 The proverbs of a country are often the proverbs of that 
 country, and cannot be translated without losing some of 
 their meaning ; but there is an eastern proverb which 
 rightly belongs to the western world 
 
 " People resemble still more the time in which they live, 
 than they resemble their fathers." 
 
 It would often be. as well to condemn a man unheard as 
 to condemn him upon the reasons which he openly avows 
 for any course of action. 
 
 The apparent foolishness of others is but too frequently 
 our own ignorance, or, what is much worse, it is the direct 
 measure of our own tyranny. 
 
 The extreme sense of perfection in some men is the 
 greatest obstacle to their success. 
 
 Emulation, sometimes but a more plausible name for 
 
 17
 
 258 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 envy, is like the Amreeta cup: it may be the greatest blessing 
 it often proves the greatest curse. When a youth is taught 
 to feel emulation, not of putting further and further back 
 the bounds of science, not of comprehending the mighty 
 minds of olden time, not of benefiting the state by 
 profound policy, but of being a great mathematician, a 
 distinguished scholar, a successful statesman ; then the cup 
 a golden one perhaps, for 
 
 "... nulla aconita bibuntur 
 Fictilibus," 
 
 will eventually prove one of unmixed bitterness. 
 
 Those who once submit to the tyranny of this absorbing 
 passion, only struggle to become its more devoted victims. 
 Like the spur-ridden horses in the Corso, the greater efforts 
 they make the more severe are their sufferings under an 
 ever-clinging tormentor. 
 
 There is nothing more painful to contemplate than a 
 young child impressed with a de-ire to excel, when a fatal 
 self-sentience has usurped the place of childishness. It has 
 been said that the children of the poor are never young : I 
 am sure that the children of the ambitious are equally 
 unfortunate. Rousseau observes that "it is very strange, 
 that ever since mankind have taken it into their heads to 
 trouble themselves so much about the education of children, 
 they should never have thought of any other instruments to 
 effect their purpose than those of emulation, jealousy, envy, 
 pride, covetousness, and servile fear all passions the most 
 dangerous, the most apt to ferment, and the most fit to 
 corrupt the soul, even before the body is formed With 
 every premature instruction we instil into the head, we 
 implant a vice in the bottom of the heart." 
 
 Let no colour be given to the theory of this morbid
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 259 
 
 philosopher, who seems to have thought that people met 
 together to constitute society for the purpose of more 
 effectually tormenting each other. There are many objects 
 that call for our united energies. Let us strive to overcome 
 the obstinacy of the material world, to make nature sur- 
 render up her secrets, to ascertain with more certainty the 
 best forms of government, the wisest modes of life, the real 
 limits of the understanding ; but do not let us for ever be 
 engaged in a petty contest with our fellow-men, in order 
 that we may be, or appear to be, less ignorant than those 
 around us. 
 
 The noblest objects in this life may be too intensely 
 regarded. Newton once gazed upon the sun until he was 
 haunted by its image whithersoever he went and wheresoever 
 he looked. 
 
 The religion of some sectarians consists in a definite 
 notion of an infinite subject. 
 
 When the subtle man fails in deceiving those around him, 
 they are loud in their reproaches; when he succeeds in 
 deceiving his own conscience, it is silent. The last is not 
 the least misfortune, for it were better to make many 
 enemies than to silence one such friend. 
 
 It is quite impossible to understand the character of 
 a person from one action, however striking that action 
 may be. 
 
 The youngest mathematician knows that one point is 
 insufficient to determine a straight line, much less any thing
 
 260 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 so curve-like as the character even of the most simple and 
 upright of mankind. 
 
 If you are obliged to judge from a single action, let it not 
 be a striking one. 
 
 Men rattle their chains to manifest their freedom. 
 
 "Eventus stultorum magister" and would that it were only 
 over the minds of th6 foolish, and would that it were only 
 over the minds of the spectators, that the event ruled so 
 imperiously ; but, alas ! it is often not so important in itself as 
 in the fatal influence it exercises over the mind, or I should 
 rather say the temperament of the principal actor himself. 
 A Brutus was not ashamed to conceal his patriotism under 
 the mask of idiocy, and there have been men in all ages 
 who were content to abide, who even felt a proud pleasure 
 in abiding under the cloud for a season; but rare have 
 been these instances, and few have found consolation in the 
 idea which the poet of the desert might have suggested to 
 them, that the lesser lights alone are those which never suffer 
 an eclipse. Hence it is that the experienced have universally 
 agreed in the immense advantage of early success. 
 
 The failure of many of our greatest men in their early 
 career a fact on which the ignorant and weak are fond of 
 vainly leaning for support is a very interesting subject for 
 consideration. 
 
 The rebelliousness of great natures is a good phrase, but 
 I fear it will not entirely satisfy all our questionings. It has 
 been said, that if we could, with our limited capacities and 
 muffled souls, compare this life and the future, and retain 
 the impression, that our daily duties here would be neglected, 
 and that all below would become "weary, flat, stale, and
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 261 
 
 unprofitable." Now may not the pursuit of any particular 
 study or worldly aim become to the far-seeing genius dis- 
 gusting in the same way ? May he not be like one on a 
 lofty rock, who can behold and comprehend all the objects 
 in the distance, can thence discover the true path that 
 leadeth to the glad city ; but, from his very position, cannot 
 without great pain and danger scrutinise the ground imme- 
 diately under him? Many fail from the extent of their 
 views. "Nevertheless," as Bacon says, "I shall yield, that 
 he that cannot contract the sight of his mind, as well as 
 disperse and dilate it, wanteth a great faculty." 
 
 There is another cause of failure that has not often been 
 contemplated. The object may be too eagerly desired ever 
 to be obtained. Its importance, even if it be important, 
 may too often be presented to the mind. The end may 
 always appear so clearly defined that the aspirant, forgetting 
 the means that are necessary, forgetting the distance that 
 must intervene, is for ever stretching out his hand to grasp 
 that which is not yet within his power. The calm exercise 
 of his faculties is prevented, the habit of concentrating his 
 attention is destroyed, and one form under a thousand 
 aspects disturbs his diseased imagination. The unhappy 
 sailor thinks upon his home, and the smiling fields, and the 
 village church, until he sees them for ever pictured in the 
 deep, and with folded arms he continues to gaze, incapable 
 alike of thought or action. This disease is called the calen- 
 ture. There is an intellectual calenture. 
 
 The worst use that can be made of success is to boast 
 of it. 
 
 Few have wished for memory so much as they have 
 longed for forgetfulness.
 
 262 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 I can understand the ambition of former days, when the 
 earth, the birthplace of Jupiter, was the universe to those 
 who inhabited it; when the stars but served to register 
 "my nativity," and lead on the way to future fortune. I 
 can understand the ambition of an Alexander, and still 
 better his tears after having conquered a world which in his 
 eyes was everything, and in ours is a mere point that will 
 not even serve as a base for measuring the distances of 
 the heavenly bodies : I can understand the fascination of 
 ambitious pursuits at a time when art, science, and 
 literature were in darkness; when religion itself was in 
 its rude infancy ; but at the present day it is difficult 
 to comprehend the ambition of a philosopher, of a 
 Christian, of a Christian philosopher. And yet such 
 things are. 
 
 Perhaps it is the secret thought of many, that an ardent 
 love of power and wealth, however culpable in itself, is 
 nevertheless a proof of superior sagacity. But in answer to 
 this, it has been well remarked that even a child can clench 
 its little hand the moment it is born ; and if they imagine 
 that the successful at any rate must be sagacious, let 
 them remember the saying of a philosopher, that the 
 meanest reptiles are found at the summit of the loftiest 
 pillars. 
 
 If we are really in a state of intellectual progress ; if we 
 are not deceived by the outward shows of things ; if we are 
 not giving applause merely because across the stage 
 
 " Esseda festinant, pilenta, petorrita, naves; " 
 
 then indeed we may hope for the days when ambition, in 
 the sense which the word now bears, will be the last infirmity 
 to which a noble mind will own subjection.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 263 
 
 The Simoon of the desert is not the only evil that may 
 be avoided by stooping. 
 
 The Pyramids ! What a lesson to those who desire a 
 name in the world does the fate of these restless, brick- 
 piling monarchs afford ! Their names are not known, and 
 the only hope for them is, that by the labours of some 
 cruelly industrious antiquarian they may at last become 
 more definite objects of contempt. 
 
 We should remember that in every undertaking each 
 individual concerned has his own peculiar views ; and that 
 as no two human beings can have exactly the same motives, 
 so they can never act, as the saying is, with one mind. 
 
 We talk of early prejudices, of the prejudices of religion, 
 of position, of education ; but in truth we only mean the 
 prejudices of others. It is by the observation of trivial 
 matters that the wise learn the influence of prejudice over 
 their own minds at all times, and the wonderfully moulding 
 power which those minds possess in making all things 
 around conform to the idea of the moment. Let a man 
 but note how often he has seen likenesses where no resem- 
 blance exists; admired ordinary pictures, because he 
 thought they were from the hands of celebrated masters; 
 delighted in the commonplace observations of those who 
 had gained a reputation for wisdom; laughed where no wit 
 was ; and he will learn with humility to make allowance for 
 the effect of prejudice in others. 
 
 In a quarrel between two friends, if one of them, even the 
 injured one, were, in the retirement of his chamber, to
 
 264 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 consider himself as the hired advocate of the other at the 
 court of wronged friendship ; and were to omit all the facts 
 which told in his own favour, to exaggerate all that could 
 possibly be said against himself, and to conjure up from his 
 imagination a few circumstances of the same tendency ; he 
 might with little effort make a good case for his former 
 friend. Let him be assured that whatever the most skilful 
 advocate could say, his poor friend really believes and feels; 
 and then, instead of wondering at the insolence of such a 
 traitor walking about in open day, he will pity his friend's 
 delusion, have some gentle misgivings as to the exact 
 propriety of his own conduct, and perhaps sue for an 
 immediate reconciliation. 
 
 There are often two characters of a man that which is 
 believed in by people in general, and that which he enjoys 
 among his associates. It is supposed, but vainly, that the 
 latter is always a more accurate approximation to the truth, 
 whereas in reality it is often a part which he performs to 
 admiration ; while the former is the result of certain minute 
 traits, certain inflections of voice and countenance, which 
 cannot be discussed, but are felt as it were instinctively by 
 his domestics and by the outer world. The impressions 
 arising from these slight circumstances he is able to efface 
 from the minds of his constant companions, or from habit 
 they have ceased to observe them. 
 
 We often err by contemplating an individual solely in hii 
 relation and behaviour to us, and generalising from that 
 with more rapidity than wisdom. We might as well argue 
 that the moon has no rotation about her axis, because the 
 same hemisphere is always presented to our view.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 265 
 
 We are pleased with one who instantly assents to our 
 opinions ; but we love a proselyte. 
 
 The accomplished hypocrite does not exercise his skill 
 upon every possible occasion for the sake of acquiring 
 facility in the use of his instruments. In all unimportant 
 matters, who is more just, more upright, more candid, 
 more honourable ? 
 
 An elaborate defence, if not the best, is certainly the 
 gravest form of accusation. 
 
 Those who are successfully to lead their fellow-men, 
 should have once possessed the nobler feelings. We have 
 all known individuals whose magnanimity was not likely to 
 be troublesome on any occasion ; but then they betrayed 
 their own interests by unwisely omitting the consideration, 
 that such feelings might exist in the breasts of those whom 
 they had to guide and govern : for they themselves cannot 
 even remember the time when in their eyes justice appeared 
 preferable to expediency, the happiness of others to self- 
 interest, or the welfare of a state to the advancement of a 
 party. 
 
 The ear is an organ of finer sensibility than the eye, 
 according to the measurement of philosophers. 
 
 Remember this, ye diplomatists : there are some im- 
 perturbable countenances, but a skilful ear will almost 
 infallibly detect guile.
 
 266 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 Slight thinkers imagine that when a man is inattentive to 
 the forms, he is also inattentive to the ways of the world. 
 
 It is a shallow mind that suspects or rejects an offered 
 kindness, because it is unable to discover the motive. It 
 would have been as wise for the Egyptians to have scorned 
 the pure waters of the Nile, because they were not quite 
 certain about the source of that mighty river. 
 
 To simulate is much easier than to dissemble. 
 
 Hence, he who is suffering from intense grief, is not 
 cheerful, but wildly gay. Hence, the man of philanthropic 
 feeling, after a short intercourse with the world, not un- 
 frequently affects the misanthrope. Hence, strange as it 
 may appear, a forwardness in society often arises from 
 conscious timidity. The common saying, "extremes meet," 
 is a statement of the fact, and not a solution of the difficulty. 
 
 The sun is shining all around, but there are some who 
 will only contemplate their own shadows. 
 
 Strong feelings are generally allied to strong intellects, 
 and both together form the truly great character. Even the 
 great in science are not always exceptions ; witness Galileo, 
 Pascal, Newton, D'Alembert, Cuvier, and many others. 
 
 The great man is one of boundless love and extended 
 sympathies, not the general philanthropist, "who makes 
 animating speeches at religious meetings, about sending the 
 words of truth and love through the whole family of man, 
 and never speaks one loving and true word in his own
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 267 
 
 family : " but one who loves the good, the true, the 
 beautiful ; who thinks not his own pursuit the only path of 
 a wise man; who thinks not his own sect the only ark in 
 which the covenant is preserved ; who can weep over the 
 weaknesses, and glory in the dignity and grandeur of human 
 nature himself a man. The poet has said, that 
 
 "The man of abject soul in vain 
 Shall walk the Marathonian plain; 
 
 Or thrid the shadowy gloom, 
 That still invests the guardian pass, 
 Where stood, sublime, Leonidas, 
 
 Devoted to the tomb." 
 
 Not only the Marathonian plain, but every spot on this 
 bright earth, calls forth the sympathies of the great man, for 
 it may have been a witness to human joys or human 
 sufferings ; and the fields too he loveth for their own sake. 
 
 Misery appears to improve the intellect, but this is only 
 because it dismisses fear. 
 
 Intellectual powers may dignify, but cannot diminish 
 our sorrows ; and when the feelings are wounded, and the 
 soul is disquieted within you, to seek comfort from purely 
 intellectual employments, is but to rest upon a staff which 
 pierces rather than supports. 
 
 When your friend is suffering under great affliction, either 
 be entirely silent, or offer none but the most common topics 
 of consolation. For in the first place they are the best; 
 and also from their commonness they are easily understood. 
 Extreme grief will not pay attention to any new thing.
 
 268 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 There is a want of refinement in the man who loves 
 a parody. 
 
 It is commonly remarked, that we are indifferent to the 
 evils and sufferings of a state through which we ourselves 
 have passed. Hence, from the frequent cruelty of men to 
 the brute creation, we may put some trust in the theory of 
 Archelaus, who anticipated Lord Monboddo, and taught 
 " that mankind had insensibly separated themselves from 
 the common herd of the inferior animals." This philo- 
 sopher, however, does not seem to have contemplated the 
 probability of any relapse into the brute state. 
 
 Irony is Contempt disguised as an actor in the ancient 
 tragedy, with the buskin and the mask, at once elevated and 
 concealed. It may give your adversary discomfort, but will 
 never persuade him to alter his opinion ; for, in order to 
 convince, we must not only be, but appear in earnest ; and, 
 as the son of Sirach observes, " The finding out of parables 
 is a wearisome labour of the mind." 
 
 When we consider the incidents of former days, and 
 perceive, while reviewing the long line of causes, how the 
 most important events of our lives originated in the most 
 trifling circumstances ; how the beginning of our greatest 
 happiness or greatest misery is to be attributed to a delay, 
 to an accident, to a mistake ; we learn a lesson of profound 
 humility. This is the irony of life. 
 
 The irony of a little child and its questions, at times how 
 bitter !
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 269 
 
 Those who support startling paradoxes in society, must 
 expect severe treatment. By the articles of war, the con- 
 querors never spare those who maintain indefensible 
 positions. 
 
 Eccentric people are never loved for their eccentricities. 
 
 What is called firmness, is often nothing more than con- 
 firmed self-love. 
 
 The total failure of many a scheme arises from the 
 apparent certainty of its partial success. 
 
 Many know how to please, but know not when they have 
 ceased to give pleasure. 
 
 The same in arguing : they never lead people to a con- 
 clusion, and permit them to draw it for themselves ; being 
 unaware that most persons, if they had but placed one brick 
 in a building, are interested in the progress, and boast of 
 the success of a work in which they have been so materially 
 engaged. 
 
 There is an honesty which is but decided selfishness in 
 disguise. The man who will not refrain from expressing his 
 sentiments and manifesting his feelings, however unfit the 
 time, however inappropriate the place, however painful to 
 others this expression may be, lays claim forsooth to our 
 approbation as an honest man, and sneers at those of finer 
 sensibility as hypocrites.
 
 2 70 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 Do not mistake energy for enthusiasm; the softest 
 speakers are often the most enthusiastic of men. 
 
 The best commentary upon any work of literature is 
 a faithful life of the author. And one reason, among 
 many, why it must always be so advantageous to read the 
 works of the illustrious dead, is that their lives are more 
 fairly written, and their characters better understood. 
 
 It may appear to an unthinking person that the life, 
 perhaps an unobtrusive one, of the man who has devoted 
 himself to abstract and speculative subjects, can be of no 
 very considerable importance. But it is far otherwise. 
 For instance, if Locke had never been engaged in the affairs 
 of this world, would his biography have been of no import- 
 ance if it had only informed us that for many years he 
 devoted himself to the study of medicine ? Are there no 
 passages in his Essay concerning Human Understanding, 
 which such a fact tends to elucidate? Or is it not, in 
 reality, the clue to a right understanding of all his meta- 
 physical writings ? 
 
 How often does a single anecdote reveal the real motive 
 which prompted an author to write a particular work, and 
 the influence of which is visible in every page ! " When 
 I returned from Spain by Paris (says Lord Clarendon), 
 Mr. Hobbes frequently came to me and told me his book 
 (which he would call Leviathan) was then printing in 
 England, and that he received every week a sheet to 
 correct, of which he showed me one or two sheets, and 
 thought it would be finished within little more than a 
 month ; and showed me the epistle to Mr. Godolphin, 
 which he meant to set before it, and read it to 
 me, and concluded that he knew, when I read his
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 271 
 
 book, I would not like it, and thereupon mentioned 
 some of his conclusions. Upon which I asked him why 
 he would publish such doctrine ; to which, after a discourse 
 between jest and earnest upon the subject, he said, ' The 
 truth is, I have a mind to go home? " Perhaps this anecdote 
 may explain many hard sayings in the Leviathan. 
 
 It is worthy of remark, that The Prince is now supposed 
 to have been written solely from a wish to please the ruling 
 powers, as appears in a private letter from Macchiavelli to 
 his friend the Florentine ambassador at the Papal court, 
 which was discovered at Rome, and first published to the 
 world in 1810, by Ridolfi. In this letter Macchiavelli says 
 that his work ought to be agreeable to a prince, and 
 especially to a prince lately raised to power ; and that he 
 himself cannot continue to live as he was then living, without 
 becoming contemptible through poverty. And also, in his 
 dedication to Lorenzo de Medici, after having said that 
 subjects understand the disposition of princes best, as it 
 is necessary to descend into the plains to consider the 
 nature of the mountains, he thus concludes " And if your 
 Magnificence from the very point of your highness will 
 sometimes cast your eyes upon those inferior places, you 
 will see how undeservedly I undergo an extreme and 
 continual despite of fortune." 
 
 After this we are not so much astonished at finding the 
 following gentle admonition : " Let a prince therefore take 
 the surest courses he can to maintain his life and state; the 
 means will always be thought honourable, and be com- 
 mended by every one." 
 
 There is an embarrassed manner of speaking which arises 
 from the crowd of ideas that press upon the attention of a
 
 272 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 rich and well-stored mind ; but which is commonly supposed 
 to be the effect of an imperfect conception of one idea. 
 
 Thoughts there are, not to be translated into any language, 
 and spirits alone can read them. 
 
 Our knowledge of human nature is for the most part 
 empirical ; and it would often be better, if, instead of 
 endeavouring to say some new thing ourselves, we were to 
 confirm without more words the sayings of another. I shall 
 accordingly subjoin the following passage from South's 
 sermons : " Ingratitude sits on its throne, with Pride on its 
 right hand, and Cruelty on its left, worthy supporters of 
 such a state. You may rest upon this as a proposition of 
 an eternal unfailing truth that there neither is, nor ever 
 was, any person remarkably ungrateful, who was not also 
 insufferably proud; nor, convertibly, any one proud, who 
 was not equally ungrateful." 
 
 The noblest works, like the temple of Solomon, are 
 brought to perfection in silence. 
 
 The man of genius may be a guide, but the man of 
 talents will be a leader. And he who is so fortunate as to 
 combine talents and genius, may become an inventor. 
 
 Some of our law maxims are admirable rules of conduct. 
 If, in spite of the censorious calumny of the world, we 
 considered "a man innocent until he were proved guilty;"
 
 THOUGHTS /A THE CLOISTER. 273 
 
 or if, in our daily thoughts, words, and actions, we did but 
 "give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt;" what much 
 better Christians we should become. 
 
 That any necessary connection exists between gravity and 
 wisdom has long been abandoned ; but there is still a 
 lurking belief that gravity and prudence are nearly allied. 
 For all prudential purposes, you may as well be thoughtless 
 as abstracted. 
 
 Those who are devoted to science solely ; the men 
 
 "Who never caught a noontide dream 
 By murmur of a running stream, 
 Could strip, for aught the prospect yields 
 To them, their verdure from the fields ; 
 And take the radiance from the clouds 
 In which the sun his setting shrouds ; " 
 
 who look coldly round a superb edifice, and ask why it was 
 built, and think how it was constructed, are not unlike the 
 bones spoken of by the prophet Ezekiel " And, behold, 
 there were very many in the open valley, and lo, they were 
 very dry." We ought to pray that either domestic affection, 
 or refined philanthropy, or sincere religion, may be infused 
 into their hard natures, saying, " O breath, breathe upon 
 these slain, that they may live." 
 
 It is an error to suppose that no man understands his 
 own character. Most persons know even their failings very 
 well, only they persist in giving them names different from 
 those usually assigned by the rest of the world ; and they 
 
 18
 
 274 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 compensate for this mistake by naming, at first sight, with 
 singular accuracy, these very same failings in others. 
 
 Those who are much engaged in acquiring knowledge 
 will not always have time for deep thought or intense 
 feeling. 
 
 Men love to contradict their general character. Thus a 
 man is of a gloomy and suspicious temperament, is deemed 
 by all morose, and ere long finds out the general opinion. 
 He then suddenly deviates into some occasional acts of 
 courtesy. Why ? Not because he ought, not because his 
 nature is changed ; but because he dislikes being thoroughly 
 understood. He will not be the thing whose behaviour on 
 any occasion the most careless prophet can with certainty 
 foretell. 
 
 "... Delight in little things, 
 The buoyant child surviving in the man." 
 
 Alas ! it is not the child, but the boy that generally survives 
 in the man. 
 
 When we see the rapid motions of insects at evening, we 
 exclaim, how happy they must be ! so inseparably are 
 activity and happiness connected in our minds. 
 
 The most enthusiastic man in a cause is rarely chosen as 
 the leader. 
 
 We have some respect for one who, if he tramples on the
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 275 
 
 feelings of others, tramples on his own with equal apparent 
 indifference. 
 
 Tact is the result of refined sympathy. 
 
 It is frequently more safe to ridicule a man personally 
 than to decry the order to which he belongs. 
 
 Every man has made up his mind about his own merits; 
 but, like the unconvinced believers in religion, he will not 
 listen with patience to any doubts upon a subject which he 
 himself would be most unwilling to investigate. 
 
 The love of being considered well-read is one of the most 
 fatal of all the follies which subdue the present generation. 
 It is not so much what we have read, as what we can 
 readily recall, that will give us real pleasure and permanent 
 advantage. I do not mean for a moment to contend that 
 it is necessary to read every book with great attention, or to 
 say that our taste may not insensibly be formed by works of 
 which we do not remember a single sentence. In the pure 
 sciences, to have caught the modes and the spirit of the 
 reasoning will perhaps be sufficient for all who do not 
 intend to pursue these branches of knowledge ; but what is 
 the use of havihg read a book of travels if we only remember 
 the frontispiece, "A picture of the author in the dress 
 of the country ! " What avails it to have perused the lives 
 of the learned, and the witty, and the valiant, and the wise, 
 if, without having gained one single rule of action, we 
 merely remember that in all ages the generality of mankind 
 have contrived to make themselves miserable by their own 
 follies and their own vices; and that when there would
 
 276 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 have been a happy one, he was persecuted ? What avails 
 it to have read so many polemical discussions, if we merely 
 remember the intemperate zeal and the learned bitterness 
 which gave equal animation to each contending party? 
 Surely it would be better to remember Coleridge's " Ode to 
 Dejection," Wordsworth's " Intimations of Immortality from 
 the recollections of early childhood," Shelley's " Invocation 
 to Night," Southey's beautiful description of 
 
 " How happily the years 
 Of Thalaba went by," 
 
 Manfred's last Soliloquy, the fond look of "The adventurous 
 Boy," leaving his native village, in the " Pleasures of 
 Memory ; " Moore's Irish melody, 
 
 "As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow ; " 
 
 and the " Cotter's Saturday Night ; " than to have read all 
 the poets from Chaucer downwards, and possess a dim, 
 shadowy notion rather of their merits than of them enough 
 forsooth to talk critically. 
 
 We want the brilliant ideas of the poet, and the majestic 
 thoughts of the philosopher, as companions for our weary 
 hours, to charm away the solemn dulness of every-day life, 
 to wander with us over the hills, in solitude to form the link 
 between us and our fellow-creatures, in the society of those 
 we love, to be a test of their perfect sympathy ; and there- 
 fore we must not spare the labour of imprinting them on the 
 tablets of our memory for ever. " Knowledge," as Bacon 
 in his overflowing language exclaims, "is not a couch where- 
 upon to rest a searching and restless spirit; or a terrace for 
 a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down with a 
 fair prospect ; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise 
 itself upon ; or a fort or commanding ground for strife and
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 277 
 
 contention ; or a shop for profit or sale but a rich store- 
 house for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of man's 
 estate." 
 
 The opinion which a person gives of any book is fre- 
 quently not so much a test of his intellect or his taste, as it 
 is of the extent of his reading. An indifferent work may be 
 joyfully welcomed by one who has neither had time nor 
 opportunity to form a literary taste. It is from comparisons 
 between different parts of the same book that you must 
 discover the depth and judgment of an uncultivated mind. 
 
 "It is my opinion," says Herodotus, "that the Nile 
 overflows in the summer season, because in the winter the 
 sun, driven by the storms from his usual course, ascends 
 into the higher regions of the air above Libya." 
 
 Many a man will smile at the delightful simplicity of the 
 historian, and still persevere in dogmatising about subjects 
 upon which he does not even possess information enough 
 to support him in hazarding a conjecture. 
 
 It is not in the solar spectrum only that the least warmth 
 is combined with the deepest colour. 
 
 How often we should stop in the pursuit of folly, if it 
 were not for the difficulties that continually beckon us 
 onwards. 
 
 Simple Ignorance has in its time been complimented by 
 the names of most of the vices, and of all the virtues.
 
 278 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 Extremes do not meet, but are often linked together. 
 
 Respect and dutiful kindness are the ashes of love ; and 
 are not unfrequently found in greatest abundance where the 
 flame is altogether extinct 
 
 No man ever praised two persons equally and pleased 
 them both. 
 
 Solitude is of many kinds. There is the solitude of our 
 own chamber the solitude of the gentle walk of the great 
 library of the gay ball-room of the desert Solitude must 
 not be confounded with retirement. A man may be solitary 
 without retiring from the world ; may seek retirement, and 
 yet not be solitary. Some are impatient of the human 
 voice, others of the human countenance; the former are 
 contemplative, the latter misanthropical. The former in 
 their lonely walks would courteously return, rather pleased 
 than pained, the silent salutation of the unobtrusive peasant; 
 to the others, nature undeformed by the footsteps of man 
 alone is tolerable. 
 
 A great many wise sayings have been uttered about the 
 effects of solitary retirement ; but the motives which impel 
 men to seek it are not more various than the effects which 
 it produces on different individuals. One thing is certain, 
 that those who can with truth affirm that they are "never 
 less alone than when alone," might generally add that they 
 never feel more lonely than when not alone. 
 
 A keen observer of mankind has said, that " to aspire is 
 to be alone : " he might have extended his aphorism to 
 think deeply upon any subject is indeed to be alone.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 279 
 
 In the world of mind, as in that of matter, we always 
 occupy a position. . 
 
 He who is continually changing his point of view will see 
 more, and that too more clearly, than one who, statue-like, 
 for ever stands upon the same pedestal, however lofty and 
 well-placed that pedestal may be. 
 
 A very grave author, Agrippa of Nettesheim by name, 
 who lived in those times which are familiarly called the 
 Dark Ages, wrote a serious treatise, " De nobilitate et 
 prgecellentia foeminei sexus," in which, not omitting our 
 first parents, he endeavours to show that throughout all 
 time women have been very superior to men. But I do 
 not remember that he devoted an especial chapter to the 
 consideration of the patient endurance of women : and in 
 this how measureless is their superiority ! Does a man 
 suffer injury, all around him feel his bitterness. The world 
 is but a stage for exhibiting his wrath; and if any one 
 presumes to complain, he answers with the pride of an 
 Achilles " I too have suffered." A woman endures with 
 cheerfulness, suffers so that those around her suffer not; for 
 
 "That woman could not be of nature's making, 
 Whom, being kind, her misery made not kinder." 
 
 The feelings often cut a Gordian knot, which reason could 
 never have untied ; and the oracle is it not fulfilled ? 
 
 Some people are too foolish to commit follies. 
 
 The knowledge of others which experience gives us is of
 
 280 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 slight value when compared with that which we obtain from 
 having proved the inconstancy of our own desires. 
 
 The world will tolerate many vices, but not their diminu- 
 tives. 
 
 The vain man and the proud man both love praise. The 
 former is mortified if but one withhold his applause; the 
 latter is not discontented if but one applaud and that one 
 is himself. 
 
 A great and frequent error in our judgment of human 
 nature is to suppose that those sentiments and feelings have 
 no existence, which may be only for a time concealed. 
 
 The precious metals are not found at the surface of the 
 earth, except in sandy places. 
 
 It is a weak thing to tell half your story, and then ask 
 your friend's advice a still weaker thing to take it 
 
 The maxim, " nosdtur a sorii's," is true to a certain extent; 
 but it is generally applied to prove something which such a 
 maxim as nosdtur a socio would render only probable. 
 
 How to gain the advantages of society, without at the 
 same time losing ourselves, is a question of no slight 
 difficulty. The wise man often follows the crowd at a little 
 distance, in order that he may not come suddenly upon it, 
 nor become entangled With it, and that he may with some
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 281 
 
 means of amusement maintain a clear and quiet path- 
 way. 
 
 The author of a book called Rural Philosophy laments 
 that such extravagant regard has been paid to the produc- 
 tions of pagan writers ; that though we possess so much that 
 is wise, so much that is beautiful, and at the same time so 
 much that is unread, in the literature of our own country ; 
 yet we still continue to go down to the Philistines "to 
 sharpen, every one his share, and his coulter, and his axe, 
 and his mattock," as if there were no smith in Israel. 
 Would that this were the only cause of lamentation ! but 
 how imperfectly is the work executed among the Philistines, 
 and what little use is generally made of the share, the 
 coulter, the axe, and the mattock when sharpened. We 
 are told that the foundation is being laid, that the individual 
 will himself complete the superstructure ; but youth, with its 
 anxious love of knowledge, passes by; and the poets, the 
 historians, the moralists, the metaphysicians, the divines of 
 his fatherland, are frequently unknown even by name to the 
 hypercritical scholar who can give the various readings in a 
 fragment of ^Eschylus or Aristophanes. 
 
 There is a war at present going on against the study of 
 the dead languages. I should be sorry to see the enemies 
 of our present system prevail ; for there are immense 
 advantages which arise from the study of the science of 
 grammar in the dead languages. 1 Even if it were possible 
 for these advantages to be obtained in any other way, I 
 should still be sorry if our youths had not the wit of Horace, 
 the wisdom of Thucydides, the tenderness of Sophocles, 
 the grand simplicity of good old Homer, urged upon them 
 
 1 Vide Sewell's Cultivation of the Intellect.
 
 2S 2 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 for a time. But, on the other hand, it would be well to 
 consider whether the defects pointed out can be remedied, 
 and the universal application of the system still maintained 
 and if not, whether the benefit arising from an exception 
 in some particular cases, would be entirely counterbalanced 
 by the evil of making any exception whatever. 
 
 It requires a strong mind to bear up against several 
 languages. Some persons have learnt so many, that they 
 have ceased to think in any one. Roger Ascham's opinion 
 is, that " as a hawk fleeth not hie with one wing, so a man 
 reacheth not to excellency with one tongue." But the 
 scholar seems to have forgotten that the Greeks had no 
 dead languages to learn ; yet poets, historians, and philo- 
 sophers did attain to some excellency among so unfortunate 
 a people. " The Greeks," says an eloquent writer, " who 
 were masters of composition, were ignorant of all languages 
 but their own. They concentrated their study of the 
 genius of expression upon one tongue. To this they owe 
 that blended simplicity and strength of style, which the 
 imitative Romans, with all their splendour, never attained." 
 
 Pride, if not the origin, is the medium of all wickedness 
 the atmosphere, without which it would instantly die 
 away. 
 
 Tolerance is the only real test of civilisation. 
 
 Some are contented ta- wear the mask of foolishness, in 
 order to carry on their vicious schemes ; and not a few are
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 283 
 
 willing to shelter their folly behind the respectability of 
 downright vice. 
 
 There are some books which we at first reject, because 
 we have neither felt, nor seen, rior thought, nor suffered 
 enough to understand and appreciate them. Perhaps 
 The Excursion is one of these. 
 
 A great library ! What a mass of human misery is here 
 commemorated ! how many buried hopes surround us ! 
 The author of that work was the greatest natural philo- 
 sopher that ever enlightened mankind. His biographers are 
 now disputing whether at one period of his life he was not 
 of unsound mind but all agree that he was afterwards able 
 to understand his own writings. 
 
 The author of those numerous volumes was logician, 
 metaphysician, natural historian, philosopher; his sanity 
 was never doubted, and with his last breath he regretted his 
 birth, mourned over his life, expressed his fear of death, and 
 called upon the Cause of causes to pity him. His slightest 
 thoughts continued to domineer over the world for ages, 
 until they were in some measure silenced by those works 
 which contain the unfettered meditations of a very great 
 man, who, being more careless than corrupt in the ad- 
 ministration of his high office, has gone down to posterity, 
 
 as 
 
 "The wisest, brightest, meanest, of mankind." 
 
 For his wisdom has embalmed his meanness. 
 
 Those volumes contain the weighty, if not wise opinions 
 of one who, amidst penury and wretchedness, first learnt to 
 moralise with companions as poor and wretched as himself.
 
 284 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 Even in his latter years, when sought by a monarch, and 
 listened to with submission by all who approached him, 
 his life can scarcely be called a happy one ; yet he must 
 have enjoyed some moments of triumph, if not of happiness, 
 in contemplating the severe but well-merited rebuke which 
 he inflicted upon that courtier, who could behold his 
 difficulties with all the indifference that belongs to good- 
 breeding, and then thought fit, in the hour of his success, 
 to encumber him with paltry praises. 
 
 Those poems were the burning words of one 
 
 "... Cradled into poetry by wrong, 
 Who learnt in suffering what he taught in song." 
 
 The slightest foibles of this unhappy man have been brought 
 into odious prominence, for he was the favourite author of 
 his age, and therefore the property of the public. 
 
 That boyish book absolved its author from a father's 
 cares ; and he was one to whom those cares would have 
 been dearest joys, who loved to look upon a poor man's 
 child. Listen to the music of his sadness 
 
 " I see the deep's untrampled floor 
 
 With green and purple seaweeds strown ; 
 I see the waves upon the shore, 
 
 Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown : 
 I sit upon the sands alone, 
 
 The lightning of the noontide ocean 
 Is Sashing round me, and a tone 
 
 Arises from its measured motion, 
 How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion." 
 
 The sharp arrows of criticism were successfully directed 
 against that next volume, and are said to have been the 
 means of hurrying its author to that world of dreams and
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 285 
 
 shadows, for which, in the critic's opinion, he was so 
 pre-eminently fitted. 
 
 " Where is the youth, for deeds immortal born, 
 Who loved to whisper to th' embattled corn, 
 And cluster'd woodbines, breathing o'er the stream 
 Endymion's beauteous passion for a dream ? " 
 
 You already smile, my friend ; but to know the heights 
 and the depths, you must turn your attention to those 
 numberless, unread, unheard-of volumes. Their authors 
 did not suffer from the severity of the critic or the judge, 
 but were only neglected. If Mephistopheles ever requires 
 
 rest and seclusion But, hark ! is there not a laugh ? 
 
 and that grotesque face in the carved wood- work, how 
 scoffingly it is looking down upon us ! 
 
 Oh, that mine enemy had written a book ! and that it 
 were my life ; unless indeed it provoked my friend to write 
 another. 
 
 It has always appeared to me a strong argument for the 
 non-existence of spirits, that these friendly microscopic 
 biographers are not haunted by the ghosts of the un- 
 fortunate men whom they persist in holding up to public 
 contempt. 
 
 Private correspondence, unless upon literary or scientific 
 subjects, ought not often to be published. The contrary 
 practice has a very bad influence on the letter-writing of 
 the present generation, who are thus tempted to write for 
 effect, and who never can entirely forget the author in the 
 friend.
 
 286 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 We are frequently understood the least by those who 
 have known us the longest. 
 
 The reasons which any man offers to you for his own 
 conduct betray his opinion of your character. 
 
 There is a versatility which appears profound ; as there is 
 a rapid motion of unconnected things which presents an 
 appearance of continuity. 
 
 If you are very often deceived by those around you, you 
 may be sure that you deserve to be deceived; and that 
 instead of railing at the general falseness of mankind, you 
 have first to pronounce judgment on your own jealous 
 tyranny, or on your own weak credulity. 
 
 Those only who can bear the truth will hear it. 
 
 The wisest maxims are not those which fortify us against 
 the deceit of others. 
 
 Very subtle-minded persons often complain that their 
 friends fall from them ; and these complaints are not 
 altogether unjust. One reason of this is that they display 
 so much dialectic astuteness on every occasion, that their 
 friends feel certain that such men, however unjustifiably 
 they may behave, will always be able to justify themselves 
 to themselves. Now we mortals are strangely averse to 
 loving those who are never in the wrong, and much more 
 those who are always ready to prove themselves in the 
 right
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER, 287 
 
 You cannot ensure the gratitude of others for a favour 
 conferred upon them in the way which is most agreeable to 
 yourself. 
 
 How singularly mournful it is to observe in the conversa- 
 tion or writings of a very superior man and original thinker, 
 homely, if not commonplace expressions about the vanity 
 of human wishes, the mutability of this world, the weariness 
 of life. It seems as if he felt that his own bitter experience 
 had taken away the triteness from that which is nevertheless 
 so trite; as if he thought it were needless to seek fine 
 phrases, and as idle a mockery as it would be to gild an 
 instrument of torture. 
 
 It must be a very weary day to the youth, when he first 
 discovers that after all he will only become a man. 
 
 It is unwise for a great man to reason as if others were 
 like him : it is much more unwise to treat them as if they 
 were very different. 
 
 An author's works are his esoteric biography. 
 
 We are not so easily guided by our most prominent 
 weaknesses, as by those of which we are least aware. 
 
 There was a law in the Roman empire, that he who fore- 
 told the death of the emperor should lose his own life 
 And shall the man who loves with an appearance of 
 oracular wisdom to declare that our star has culminated ;
 
 288 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 that the time has come; that there are manifest signs of 
 decay ; that our empire is fast fading from us shall he be 
 suffered with impunity to commit so great an offence 
 against the majesty of the state ? Such prophets 
 
 "Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell." 
 
 Men are ruined by the exceptions to their general rules 
 of action. This may seem a mockery, but it is nevertheless 
 a fact to be observed in the records of history, as well as in 
 the trivial occurrences of daily life. One who is habitually 
 dark and deceptive, commits a single act of confidence, and 
 his subtle schemes are destroyed for ever. His first act of 
 extravagance ruins the cautious man. The coward is brave 
 for a moment, and dies ; the hero wavers for the first and 
 the last time. 
 
 If thy cause be just, choose for a judge an enemy rather 
 than a friend. For thy friend often loveth thee too well to 
 do thee justice; and surely thine enemy hateth thee too 
 much to be unjust in thy cause. 
 
 Some persons are insensible to flattering words ; but who 
 can resist the flattery of modest imitation ? 
 
 An inferior demon is not a great man, as some writers 
 would fain persuade us. 
 
 The world would be in a more wretched state than it is at 
 present, if riches and honours were distributed according to 
 merit alone. It is the complaint of the wisest of men, that 
 he "returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 289 
 
 the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to 
 the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet 
 favour to men of skill ; but time and chance happeneth to 
 them all." But if it were otherwise, if bread were indeed 
 the portion of the wise, then the hungry would have some- 
 thing to lament over more severe even than the pangs of 
 hunger. The belief that merit is generally neglected forms 
 the secret consolation of almost every human being, from 
 the mightiest prince to the meanest peasant. Divines have 
 contended that the world would cease to be a place of trial 
 if a system of impartial distribution according to merit were 
 adopted. This is true, for it would then be a place of 
 punishment. 
 
 There is no power in the wisdom of the insincere. 
 
 We long to search out the inscrutable mysteries of the 
 grave, but we slight the knowledge of the death-bed, which 
 it requires but little penetration to obtain. 
 
 It is there, on the couch of sorrow and of pain, that the 
 thought of one purely virtuous action is like the shadow of 
 a lofty rock in the desert like the light footstep of that little 
 child who continued to dance before the throne of the 
 unjust king, when his guards had fled, and his people had 
 forsaken him like the single thin stream of light which the 
 unhappy captive has at last learned to love like the soft 
 sigh before the breeze that wafts the becalmed vessel and 
 her famished crew to the haven where they would be. 
 
 Conviction never abides without a welcome from the 
 heart. . 
 
 19
 
 2 9 o THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 Indulge your imagination, if it must be indulged, in 
 adorning the past, and not in creating the future. 
 
 Entrust a secret to one whose importance will not be 
 much increased by divulging it. 
 
 It is necessary to be decisive ; not because deliberate 
 counsel would never improve your designs, but because the 
 foolish and the unthinking will certainly act if there be but 
 a moment's pause. 
 
 Those who are always railing at metaphysics and 
 psychology are not to be blamed. Why should they be 
 anxious to study anything in which they can have so little 
 interest as the nature and powers of the mind ? 
 
 Those who honestly discourage the study of metaphysics 
 on account of what appears to them its abstruse nature and 
 evil tendency, should remember the admirable advice that 
 has been offered to all such timid persons by one of the 
 greatest of modern metaphysicians. 
 
 " I would remind them, that as long as there are men in 
 the world to whom the rVw#t creavrov is an instinct and a 
 command from their own nature, so long will there be 
 metaphysicians and metaphysical speculations; that false 
 metaphysics can be effectually counteracted by true meta- 
 physics alone ; and that if the reasoning be clear, solid, and 
 pertinent, the truth deduced can never be- the less valuable
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 291 
 
 on account of the depth from which it may have been 
 drawn." 1 
 
 The practical man an especial favourite in this age 
 often takes the field with his single fact against a great 
 principle, in the reckless spirit of one who would not 
 hesitate to sever the thread on which he is unable to string 
 his own individual pearl perhaps a false one even though 
 he should scatter many jewels worthy of a prince's diadem. 
 
 Even the meanest are mighty to do evil. 
 
 Remember that to classify is the work of genius alone ; 
 and then judge how much faith ought to be reposed 
 in the classifications which are generally received. Some 
 adventitious circumstance, common to all, is made the 
 connecting link between natures in reality differing in all 
 their essential attributes ; and then the world, delighted at 
 its own sagacity, hastens to compare the things or persons 
 so judiciously classed, as if they were the same in kind. 
 
 If there is any one quality of the mind in which the 
 really great have conspired, as it were, to surpass other 
 men, it is moral courage. He who possesses this quality 
 may sometimes be made a useful tool or a ready sacrifice 
 in the hands of crafty statesmen ; but let him be the chief, 
 and not the subordinate, give him the field, grant him the 
 opportunity, and his name will not deserve to be unwritten 
 in the records of his country. When such a man perceives 
 
 1 Biographia Lileraria.
 
 2 9 2 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 that if he fail, every one will be able to understand the risk 
 that has been incurred ; but that if he succeed, no one will 
 estimate the danger that has silently been overcome ; he 
 bows, nevertheless, to the supreme dictates of his own 
 judgment, regardless alike of the honours of his own age, 
 and the praises of posterity. 
 
 It requires some moral courage to disobey, and yet there 
 have been occasions when obedience would have been 
 defeat. 
 
 But it is not only in the council, in the senate, in the 
 field, that its merits are so pre-eminent. In private life, 
 what daily deceit would be avoided, what evils would 
 be remedied, if men did but possess more moral courage ! 
 not that false image of it which proceeds from a blind 
 and inconsiderate rashness, from an absence both of fore- 
 thought and imagination; but that calm reliance on the 
 decisions of reason, that carelessness of the undeserved 
 applause of our neighbour, which will induce the great man 
 to act according to his own informed judgment, and not 
 according to the opinions of those who will not know, and 
 who could never appreciate his motives. 
 
 Feeble applause may arise from a keen and fastidious 
 sense of the slightest imperfection; but it is more frequently 
 to be attributed to an inadequate notion of the dangers 
 which have been avoided, and the difficulties which have 
 been overcome. 
 
 The trifling of a great man is never trivial. 
 
 The study of abstruse and speculative subjects ought to
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 293 
 
 be one of the most certain methods of implanting a spirit of 
 practical tolerance. He who has reasoned about his own 
 identity, and entertained doubts upon the existence of the 
 material world, cannot surely be astonished at finding two 
 very different opinions upon any civil or religious question. 
 
 When two disputants relinquish a discussion, each 
 apparently more convinced by his adversary's arguments of 
 the goodness of his own cause, we imagine that debates of 
 this kind can produce no beneficial effect. We are mis- 
 taken : after a well-fought battle both parties send their 
 herald to claim a victory, but under cover of night the 
 vanquished will find out their defeat, and retire in silence 
 to their ships. 
 
 It is difficult to discover the estimation in which one 
 man holds another's powers of mind by seeing them 
 together. The soundest intellect and the keenest wit will 
 sometimes shrink at the vivacity, and pay an apparent 
 deference to the energy of mere cleverness ; as Faust, 
 when overcome by loud sophistry, exclaims, "He who is 
 determined to be right, and has but a tongue, will be right 
 undoubtedly." 
 
 You wonder that your friend listens with such patience to 
 your catalogue of his peculiar faults and vices; while he 
 thinks that you are but enumerating those distinctions 
 which separate him from the multitude, and is somewhat 
 flattered at finding himself an object of your continual 
 attention.
 
 294 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 He who, after considering the merits of a system, turns 
 instantly to the attack upon it, does not always pursue the 
 most judicious mode for the discovery of truth or the 
 detection of error ; and moreover, he does not allow his own 
 mind sufficient influence. Perhaps the mind from its mani- 
 fold stores would have added strength to the system. 
 Perhaps it would have detected the fallacy without having 
 recourse to the arguments advanced against it by others. 
 The most fatal bigotry may certainly be produced by 
 reading only one side of a question, but at the same time it 
 is not altogether wise to treat the intellect as a mere court 
 of justice, and always to bring the accuser and the accused 
 immediately to confront one another. 
 
 It is not to be forgotten that two waves of light may 
 interfere in such a manner as to produce total darkness. 
 
 If you would understand your own age, read the works of 
 fiction produced in it. People in disguise speak freely. 
 
 It appears wonderful to you that the world should con- 
 tinue to be deceived by the same deceiver ; and you think 
 that your knowledge of a crafty man's craftiness will 
 assuredly defeat his most subtle machinations. Believe it 
 not ; you may discover part of his schemes, but there lives 
 not a more complete dupe than he who sees through half the 
 design of an accomplished dissembler. 
 
 The account which Lord Bolingbroke gives of Dr. 
 Cudworth is, that he read too much to think enough, and 
 admired too much to think freely. The first part of this
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 295 
 
 sentence might be applied to many persons in our own day, 
 but is peculiarly applicable to Cudworth, whose learning 
 never, like that of Bishop Watson, enlivened by severe 
 disdain, or by sarcastic bitterness, like that of Warburton, is 
 oppressive in the extreme. But in the second clause there 
 lurks a popular and dangerous fallacy. It is the man who 
 sees but little to admire that is always found to be the sure 
 slave of some fatal prejudice. Nothing can be more un- 
 philosophical than to adopt an eclectic method ; but he who 
 does not perceive something to admire in almost every 
 system will not choose the best whenever it may be 
 presented to his observation. 
 
 Wretched indeed is the mental state of that man who, by 
 a strange fatality, is doomed to perceive the reflection of his 
 own weak and inconclusive nature in all the works of 
 others ; and seeing that, and that only, scatters his censure 
 with lavish profusion, in the vain hope that he is manifesting 
 his own intellectual superiority. 
 
 You may be forgiven for an injury, which, when made 
 known to the world, will render you alone the object of its 
 ridicule. 
 
 The habit of deluding our friends by sophisms, and of 
 carrying on warfare by throwing dust in the eyes of our 
 antagonists, is as frequent now as ever it was in the days of 
 the schoolmen. How unkind it is to sacrifice truth to the 
 amusement of the passing moment ! Has the wisest 
 amongst us any more right to trifle with the meanest 
 intellect, than the strong man has to spoil and oppress his 
 neighbour? Is the abuse of intellectual power the less
 
 296 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 culpable because no laws can be made to restrain it ? But 
 there is some comfort for the injured in this case. Such a 
 mode of arguing infallibly brings with it its own punish- 
 ment; and he who has long deceived his hearers will at 
 last become the unconscious dupe of his own base 
 sophistry. 
 
 We may sometimes be deluded into a right conclusion, 
 but such results are like the countries we arrive at in our 
 dreams ; and the very first inquiry as to how we could have 
 performed the journey convinces us that we have made no 
 journey at all, and even in our sleep we know that it is but 
 a dream. 
 
 The character of Bayle, as given by his great antagonist, 
 is so applicable here, that, whether it be just or not, I shall 
 make no apology for transcribing it. " Mr. Bayle, the last 
 supporter of this paradox, is of a very different character 
 from these Italian sophists (Pomponatius and Cardan). A 
 writer who, to the utmost strength and clearness of reason- 
 ing, hath added all the liveliness and delicacy of wit ; who, 
 pervading human nature at his ease, struck into the pro- 
 vince of paradox, as an exercise for the unwearied vigour of 
 his mind ; who, with a soul superior to the sharpest attacks 
 of fortune, and a heart practised to the best philosophy, had 
 not yet enough of real greatness to overcome that last 
 foible of superior minds, the temptation of honour which 
 the academic exercise of wit is conceived to bring to its 
 professors." 
 
 There are many dangers like comets terrible indeed 
 
 in their aspect to the vulgar, but of such a nature 
 
 that the heavens may be seen through them by philo- 
 sophers.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 297 
 
 When a subtle distinction is drawn between two char- 
 acters, those who can discern its nature, in their delight at 
 an intellectual triumph, will often neglect to perceive the 
 injustice of its application. 
 
 The suspicious may perhaps have ceased to be guilty of 
 the wickedness they are for ever imputing to others. 
 
 There are many who do not perceive that in the en- 
 deavour to remove those ornaments which in their opinion 
 conceal and finally subdue the best qualities of the heart, 
 they are destroying the strongest aids to virtue. Romance, 
 refinement, sensibility, are terms which of themselves will 
 always provoke the idle laughter of the selfish, the coarse, 
 and the hard-hearted. But it is vexatious to behold the 
 real friends of virtue priding themselves on their strength of 
 mind, and joining with the worldly and the hard-hearted, 
 to decry that which often immediately proceeds from prin- 
 ciples which they themselves would desire to see established, 
 and acting upon which, they have undertaken so perilous 
 an enterprise with such unworthy allies. I know it may be 
 said that it is against the excess that their ridicule is directed. 
 But let them feel certain that an intercourse with the world 
 will destroy all that they would wish to be destroyed and, 
 alas ! much more ; and that they will never have cause to 
 reproach their consciences with any omission in this matter. 
 
 Music recalls a state of feeling, and not merely a series of 
 incidents. When we listen to the long-forgotten melody, 
 we do not review the scenes and actions of our childhood in
 
 298 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 succession, but we become for the moment children once 
 again. 
 
 A celebrated writer has lamented that in our language so 
 little has been said of music, worthy of such a subject 
 This neglect, however, may have arisen from a conscious- 
 ness that words must ever sound so feeble in attempting to 
 express the magic power of melody. 
 
 " Your music's power your music must disclose, 
 And what light is, 'tis only light that shows." 
 
 There are moments of indecision both before and after 
 the most decided step of the most decisive of mankind, and 
 very few there are who regard or profit by the latter. The 
 reaction that everybody may foresee both in himself and 
 others, is for the most part entirely disregarded. 
 
 It were certainly charitable, and perhaps just, to suppose 
 that it is in their haste to regain the paths of innocence, that 
 the guilty so often add stupidity to guilt. 
 
 How little do they know of human nature, who imagine 
 that pride is likely to be subdued by adversity. 
 
 If there is any one thing in which wisdom is pre-eminently 
 conspicuous, it is in the wonderful ease with which its 
 possessor is enabled to set apart the materials from which a 
 correct opinion may be formed. The fool perceives one 
 circumstance, and cannot withhold his facile judgment.
 
 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 299 
 
 The man who suffers under prudence without wisdom, 
 collects a vast body of disorderly facts which only serve to 
 perplex his wearied understanding. That power of giving 
 the best advice on sudden emergencies, and of conjecturing 
 with felicity about future events, which the historian ascribes 
 to Themistocles, and which might have been ascribed to 
 Caesar, and perhaps to Buonaparte, is mainly to be attributed 
 to their avoiding these opposite errors of foolish prudence 
 and imprudent folly. 
 
 The warmth of his friend's heart is the last thing of which 
 a wise man is certain ; but the first thing a fool is sure to 
 discover and to boast of. 
 
 We must often consider, not what the wise will think, but 
 what the foolish will be sure to say. 
 
 The self-love which Rochefoucauld discovers in all our 
 actions, which, to use his own words, settles on external 
 things, only as the bee doth on flowers, to extract what 
 may be serviceable, is merely the condition of existence. 
 Language has descended to us unprepared for the discussion 
 of such a question as the followers of Rochefoucauld would 
 press upon us. We are entangled in a web of words ; and 
 when we begin to argue, we are but seeking refuge in the 
 strongholds of the enemy. And why should we commence 
 a fruitless investigation, in order to destroy a system which, 
 unless the heart be indeed the dupe of the head, will never 
 gain any abiding credence ? 
 
 The better order of mankind will always believe that
 
 300 THOUGHTS IN THE CLOISTER. 
 
 ". . . To live by law, 
 Acting the law we live by without fear, 
 And, because right is right, to follow right, 
 Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence." 
 
 And they will love virtue, 
 
 ' ' Not as men value gold, because it tricks 
 And blazons outward life with ornament, 
 But rather as the miser for itself." 
 
 Those who lament that it is impossible to do a purely dis- 
 interested action, may enjoy their lamentations in the 
 society of those sages who would repiningly proclaim that 
 the human eye is not quite achromatic ; and that the moon 
 might, for all earthly purposes, have been better placed 
 upon the economical system suggested by Laplace. 
 
 The image that appeared to King Nebuchadnezzar in a 
 dream was made of gold, of silver, of iron, and of clay. 
 The idol of this world differs from that seen by the Baby- 
 lonian monarch ; for it is all gold pure gold and does not 
 even possess the humanity of clay. 
 
 Few will at first be pleased with those thoughts which are 
 entirely new to them, and which, if true, they feel to be 
 truths which they should never have discovered for them- 
 selves. 
 
 Perhaps if the power of becoming beautiful were granted 
 to the ugliest of mankind, he would only wish to be so 
 changed, that when changed he might be considered a very 
 handsome likeness of his former self. 
 
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 41 POE'S TALES AND ESSAYS. EDITED, WITH INTRO- 
 
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 42 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Edited, with Preface, by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 43 POLITICAL ORATIONS, FROM WENTWORTH TO 
 
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 44 THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY 
 
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 45 THE POET AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. BY OLIVER 
 
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 46 THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST- TABLE. BY 
 
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 47 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Selected, with Introduction, by Charles Sayle. 
 
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 50 ELIZABETHAN ENGLAND. EDITED BY LOTHROP 
 
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 61 ESSAYS OF ELIA. BY CHARLES LAMB. EDITED, 
 
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 62 BALZAC'S SHORTER STORIES. TRANSLATED BY 
 
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 63 COMEDIES OF DE MUSSET. EDITED, WITH AN 
 
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 67 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
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 69 ESSAYS AND PAPERS BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED 
 
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 70 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. BY 
 
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 71 "THE ATHENIAN ORACLE." A SELECTION. EDITED 
 
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 76 SELECTIONS FROM SYDNEY SMITH. EDITED, WITH 
 
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 77 THE NEW SPIRIT. BY HAVELOCK ELLIS. 
 
 78 THE BOOK OF MARVELLOUS ADVENTURES. FROM 
 
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 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW. By PROF. ERIC S. ROBERTSON. 
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 LIFE OF EMERSpN. By RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D. 
 
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 LIFE OF CRABBE. By T. E. KEBBEL. 
 
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 LIFE OF MILL. By W. L. COURTNEY. 
 
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 LIFE OF JANE AUSTEN. By GOLDWIN SMITH. 
 
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 PEER GYNT: A Dramatic Poem. 
 
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 VOL. IV. "EMPEROR AND GALILEAN." With an 
 Introductory Note by WILLIAM ARCHER. 
 
 VOL. V. "ROSMERSHOLM," "THE LADY FROM THE 
 SEA," "HEDDA GABLER." Translated by WILLIAM 
 ARCHER. With an Introductory Note. 
 
 The sequence of the plays in each volume is chronological ; the complete 
 set of volumes comprising the dramas thus presents them in chronological 
 order. 
 
 " The art of prose translation does not perhaps enjoy a very high literary 
 status in England, but we have no hesitation in numbering the present 
 version of Ibsen, so far as it has gone (Vols. I. and II.), among the very 
 best achievements, in that kind, of our generation. 1 ' Academy. 
 
 " We have seldom, if ever, met with a translation so absolutely 
 idiomatic." Glasgow Herald. 
 
 LONDON: WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED, 24 WARWICK LANE.
 
 THE CANTERBURY POETS. 
 
 EDITED BY WILLIAM SHARP. IN I/- MONTHLY VOLUMES. 
 
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 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR, _ By the Rev. John Keble. 
 
 COLERIDGE Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 LONGFELLOW Edited by Eva Hope. 
 
 CAMPBELL Edited by John Hogben. 
 
 SHELLEY Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 WORDSWORTH Edited by A. J. Symington. 
 
 BLAKE Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 WHITT1ER Edited by Era Hope. 
 
 FOE Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 CHATTERTON Edited by John Richmond. 
 
 BURNS. Poema Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 BURNS. Songrs Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 MARLOWE Edited by Percy E. Pinkerton. 
 
 KEATS Edited by John Hogben. 
 
 HERBERT Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 HUGO Translated by Dean Carrington. 
 
 CO WFER Edited by Eva Hope. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S POEMS, Etc. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 EMERSON Edited by Walter Lewin. 
 
 SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 WHITMAN Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 SCOTT. Mannion, etc. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 SCOTT. Lady of the Lake, etc. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 PRAED Edited by Frederick Cooper. 
 
 HOGG Edited by his Daughter, Mrs. Garden. 
 
 GOLDSMITH Edited by William Tirebuck. 
 
 LOVE LETTERS. Etc. By Eric Mackay. 
 
 SPENSER Edited by Hon. Roden NoeL 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE POETS Edited by Eric S. Robertson. 
 
 JONSON EditedbyJ. Addington Symonda. 
 
 BYRON (2 Vols.) Edited by MathUde Blind. 
 
 THE SONNETS OF EUROPE Edited by S. Waddington. 
 
 RAMSAY EditedbyJ. Logie Robertson. 
 
 DOBELL Edited by Mrs. DobelL 
 
 London: WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED, 24 Warwick Lane.
 
 THE CANTERBURY POETS continued. 
 
 DAYS OF THE YEAR With Introduction by William Shan* 
 
 POPE Edited by John Hogben. 
 
 HEINE Edited by Mrs. Kroeker. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER Edited by John S. Fletcher. 
 
 BOWLES, LAMB, &c Edited by William Tirebuck. 
 
 EARLY ENGLISH POETRY Edited by H. Macaulay Fitzgibbon. 
 
 SKA MUSIC Edited by Mrs Sharp. 
 
 HERRICK Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 BALLADES AND RONDEAUS Edited by J. Gleeson White. 
 
 IRISH MINSTRELSY Edited by H. Halliday Sparling. 
 
 MILTON'S PARADISE LOST Edited by J. Braclshaw, M. A., LL.D. 
 
 JACOBITE BALLADS Edited by O. S. Macquoid. 
 
 AUSTRALIAN BALLADS Edited by D. B. W. Sladen, B. A. 
 
 MOORE Edited by John Dorrian. 
 
 BORDER BALLADS Edited by Graham R. Tomson. 
 
 SONG-TIDE By Philip Bourke Marston. 
 
 ODES OF HORACE Translations by Sir Stephen de Vere, Bt. 
 
 OSSIAN Edited by George Eyre-Todd. 
 
 ELFIN MUSIC Edited by Arthur Edward Waite. 
 
 SOUTHEY Edited by Sidney R. Thompson. 
 
 CHAUCER Edited by Frederick Noel Paton. 
 
 POEMS OF WILD LIFE Edited by Charles G. D. Roberts, M. A. 
 
 PARADISE REGAINED Edited by J. Bradshaw, M.A.,LL.t>. 
 
 CRABBE Edited by E. Lamplough. 
 
 DORA GREENWELL Edited by William Dorling. 
 
 FAUST Edited by Elizabeth Craigmyle. 
 
 AMERICAN SONNETS Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 LANDOR'S POEMS Edited by Ernest Radford. 
 
 GREEK ANTHOLOGY Edited by Graham R. Tomson. 
 
 HUNT AND HOOD Edited by J. Harwood Panting. 
 
 HUMOROUS POEMS ' Edited by Ralph H. Caine. 
 
 LYTTON'S PLAYS Edited by R. Farquharson Sharp. 
 
 GREAT ODES Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 MEREDITH'S POEMS Edited by M. Betham-Edwards. 
 
 PAINTER-POETS Edited by Kineton Parkes. 
 
 WOMEN POETS Edited by Mrs. Sharp. 
 
 LOVE LYRICS Edited by Percy Hulburd. 
 
 AMERICAN HUMOROUS VERSE Edited by James Barr. 
 
 MINOR SCOTCH LYRICS Edited by Sir George Douglas. 
 
 CAVALIER LYRISTS Edited by Will H. Dircks. 
 
 GERMAN BALLADS Edited by Elizabeth Craigmyle, 
 
 SONGS OF BERANGER Translated by William Toynbee. 
 
 POEMS OF THE HON. RODEN NOEL. With an Introduction by 
 Robert Buchanan.
 
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